by Jo Robertson
"And where did you shoot him, Alma?" Malachi asked, flashing a meaningful look at Emma who shrugged and shook her head. "Think hard. This may be important."
Alma scrunched up her plain face as if trying to visualize the scene.
"In the chest?" he pressed her.
She lifted her left arm, re-enacting the sequence of events. "Not exactly," she answered finally and demonstrated on Malachi. "Joe grabbed his left shoulder and I seen blood running between his fingers."
"His shoulder then? And you are left-handed?"
"Yessir, is that important?"
Malachi and Emma exchanged another look and this time, she understood. If Alma had not fired twice at her lover, who had fired the second shot? If she'd shot Joseph once in the arm, she hadn't killed him because a bullet directly through Joseph Machado's heart was the death shot.
Malachi banged loudly to draw the guard's attention and motioned Emma to follow. "Don't worry about anything, Alma," he said as they hurried into the gloaming. "My task is to ponder and worry. Yours is simply to stay well."
"Did I say somethin' important, Mr. Rivers?"
Malachi grinned at the two women with the excitement of a little boy who'd just discovered a new toy. "I hope so, Alma." He laughed. "By God, I hope so."
With one final glance around the dark cell, Emma shuddered, imagining Alma spending the night in the dank, cold dungeon. She could hardly believe one would survive in such a place, let alone remain well.
Chapter 12
"A hit, a very palpable hit." – Hamlet
"How can Alma be all right in such a stifling place?" she complained as they traversed the downward sloping walk to The Gazette office. "With little light and air?"
Malachi shrugged as if it didn't matter. "It is preferable to being housed with the male prisoners." Emma sensed the tension in his shoulders and heard the sarcasm in his voice. "Society does not expect a woman to behave in so violent a manner as to require incarceration."
"The county wasn't prepared for this," she agreed sadly.
Malachi nodded. "There's never been an Alma Bentley before. She is a new creature to our proper men and women of the community and defies all preconceived notions about the capacity of a woman to behave so cold-bloodedly."
He paused in the middle of the wooden sidewalk to gaze intently at her. Passersby jostled them as they blocked the way.
Malachi seemed intent on making her understand. "I must give the jury an answer to the question: why did this mild-mannered woman murder a man she claimed to love? Do you understand that, Emma?"
He reached for her then and she believed had they not been in public view, he would have embraced her. But he did not.
Right before touching her upper arms, he changed movement and lightly cupped her face. "You understand why I must defend her like this?"
She nodded, hearing his words, but thinking only of the touch of his ungloved hands on her face. The clatter of a child running down the board sidewalk roused her from her reverie and she pulled away.
Malachi stepped back from her as an awkward silence descended between them. All of their shared experiences flashed through her mind like a heady montage she'd seen in one of those film devices just beginning to be popular.
He continued toward the office. "We have much to do if we are to defend our client."
Our client.
Emma liked the ring of those words.
#
By the time they reached Emma's house, the sun had set and the stars were barely visible through the cloudy night. After prolonged persuasion Emma convinced Sarah to prepare Mr. Rivers and her a light supper of fruits, cheeses, and cold chicken, along with her famous cucumber sandwiches. They took their meal at the long formal table in the dining room.
Malachi spread his legal papers across the top of the table and chewed thoughtfully on a sandwich. Emma sat opposite him, nibbling at a late-season strawberry.
He clearly considered this a work affair, for he'd hardly spoken to Emma except about the case. For nearly twenty minutes while he ate, he concentrated in silence over court records, hand-written notes, and a thick sheaf of other documents she could only presume were important to the case.
Emma sighed and drank deeply of her wine, drawing Malachi's eyes for the first time in long, tedious minutes. He lifted his brows and stared at her across the table.
Now that she had his attention, she set her wine glass down and claimed another piece of cheese before speaking. "How will you proceed now that Alma contends she shot Joseph only the single time?"
"The better question is why has Alma changed her story so drastically?" He looked as if it were her fault that his client now expressed doubts about her own guilt.
"She did shoot Joseph," she pointed out. "Of that alone she is guilty."
He scowled, as if ready to do battle with her.
"And that single shot might have killed him if no one had come to his rescue," she continued, nibbling on the piece of cheese.
Malachi shoved aside his papers and pushed away from the table to stand behind his chair, gripping the back. "The bullet was high in the shoulder, missing an artery or vital organ. He would not have died from that single bullet."
Emma merely shrugged.
He'd shorn himself of his morning coat and removed his neck cloth and waistcoat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the dark hairs on his forearms. Emma's concentration faltered momentarily.
"Why would she lie now about a fact like this?" Malachi mused. "So late in the game?"
"In the initial shock of seeing Joseph dead at her feet, realizing what she'd done, she simply forgot?" Emma suggested.
"Possibly," he agreed thoughtfully. "She is not a clever enough woman to deliberately obscure the details."
Malachi paced, bouncing the tips of his fingers together as he re-examined the facts. "Let's re-enact the murder scenario."
He gestured for Emma to join him. "Pretend you are Alma, and I Joseph." He positioned her in front of him and then stepped back several yards. "From the coroner's report, we can presume this distance between them at the moment Joseph was shot."
Emma quickly got into the drama. "Alma goes to the Machado household, taking the murder weapon with her."
"Since she is left-handed, the pistol is strapped to her left ankle."
Emma raised her skirt and pretended to touch an imaginary weapon. She noticed that Malachi's eyes followed her hand and lingered there as she touched her ankle above her boot. A quick allegro beat in the range of her heart.
He raised his eyes to lock with hers, faltered a moment, and then continued slowly. "She's furious with Joseph because he's broken off relations with her, or so she's heard."
Emma couldn't help interrupting the scene. "Is that what Alma told you?"
He shook his head. "Conjecture based on the facts, according to Sheriff Butler. After Alma shot Joseph, she dropped the murder weapon and fled into the woods. That's where the sheriff found her hours later."
"Let's presume her current story is accurate." Emma paused a moment to gather her thoughts before going on. "She's angry, feeling hurt and abandoned, her reputation ruined, her self-esteem in tatters."
She plunged excitedly into the drama of Alma's pitiful tale. "She confronts her lover in the – where?"
"The body was discovered in the kitchen."
" – in the kitchen. They argue. She reaches for the pistol." Emma jerked the pretend Deringer from her ankle, raised it awkwardly with her left hand, and mimicked firing.
Malachi reached across his body to grab his left shoulder, spun around, and collapsed to the floor, landing on his left side.
They both froze for a moment, evaluating the accuracy of their scenario.
"Something's wrong," Emma said at last.
"Yes." Malachi jumped up from the floor and returned to his seat, shuffling through the documents until he pulled out the diagram his friend, Sheriff Nathan Butler, had drawn of the victim's body when he arrived at the Machad
o household the night of the murder.
Emma stared at the sketch, peering over Malachi's arm. "Joseph is lying on his back in the sketch of the crime scene. If Alma's claims are true, shouldn't he ... "
"Precisely." He turned to face her, his lake-blue eyes dark with sudden knowledge.
She nodded slowly and concentrated on her next words. "Joe ought to be lying on his side."
"According to the report, the body was discovered by Mrs. Machado early the next morning when she went downstairs for a cup of hot milk. She claimed she couldn't sleep."
Emma sank back into her chair. "Could she have moved the body in her grief?"
"There were no blood stains on her clothing and she insists she didn't touch her son. I believe her. She was so horrified that she screamed for her husband and waited in another room until he'd returned with Nathan Butler."
The questions bounced out of Emma's mouth without pause. "If Alma truly fired only one shot in the manner she indicated, then what happened? Who killed Joseph if she didn't? What did she tell you?"
Malachi flung himself into the chair beside her and riffled his fingers through his hair. The muscles of his shoulder bunched as he propped himself on his elbows. "She's told me precious little. She keeps repeating that she did it, that she's guilty, but won't be specific."
"Perhaps she doesn't remember the sequence of her actions."
"Shock?"
Emma nodded and shifted in her seat. "Or perhaps she's ashamed," she added.
"Ashamed? Why?"
She glanced sharply at him, gauging his reaction. "She carried on an illicit relationship with a man. It wasn't right, but was forgivable as long as he married her. But when he jilted her ... " Emma spread her hands, palms upward. "Now the entire community knows of her indiscretion."
He turned to face her. "Would you talk to her?"
"Me? Why?"
"If you approached her as a woman, she might tell you what really happened."
"Malachi, I don't think Alma knows or remembers what happened."
"You could help her remember," he urged.
She frowned dubiously. "I suppose."
"She hasn't a single friend in town," he argued. "Everyone who might've supported her has abandoned her instead."
"I'll try." She reached across the table for her glass, and in doing so, her breast brushed against his bare arm. She jumped back as though burned. When she looked at him, however, he appeared unaware of the contact which had run through her body like electricity.
She quickly changed the subject. "I spoke to Thomas the other day. Did you know that Joseph, Sr., has two sons?"
"I thought Joe, Jr., was his only heir."
She shook her head slowly. "No. Apparently this other son, fifteen years Joe's senior, had a falling out with the family and moved to Bakersfield some years ago."
"Good God, I've lived here five years and never heard of another son." He discovered his water glass empty and went to the sideboard to pour more from a pewter carafe.
Emma smiled with satisfaction. She didn't often get ahead of him. "Thomas knows everything about Placer Hills, every family relationship, every birth and death. All the secrets hiding in proper families' closets."
"Where is this other son now?"
"Presumably still in Bakersfield. His name is Aaron and he works for The People's Railroad."
"Ah, I see." He leaned against the sideboard and took a sip of water. "Very good work, Emma."
The praise brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks although she didn't see the significance of another son, nor of his working for the railroad. "Why?"
Malachi smiled and walked to her, clasping his hand firmly on her shoulder. A tiny fluttering set up in her chest and wormed its way down to her belly.
"Because now there's another person in this murder scenario. One who may have had a motive to do away with Joseph Machado."
He sat down with a look of satisfaction on his face. "And if he works for the railroad, a convenient mode of transportation."
Emma frowned. "But you cannot presume ill will between the two brothers."
He sat and picked up his note pad. "Ah ha, there is always a bad history between siblings. Don't you know that?"
"No, and you cannot either."
"Yes, sometimes I forget that you are an only child." He smiled and looked up from his paper. "You are accustomed to getting whatever material possessions or affection you ask for."
His words rekindled the adversarial tenor of their previous conversations and lighted a different kind of fire in Emma's breast. She rose with such passion that her chair clattered backwards.
Malachi looked up, apparently startled, at the effect of his words. "I meant no unkindness. I simply pointed out a fact."
Because he appeared genuinely sorry, she decided not to take further offense. "You should check your facts before speaking so bluntly." As she sat down, she detected a wry smile flit across his lips, the mere lifting of one side of his mouth that quickly passed.
"Perhaps this Aaron Machado had reason to harm Joseph," she conceded. "I can ask Thomas for the complete story behind the disaffection between the elder son and his parents."
"Good idea. And I'll check among the attorneys I know to see if I can discover the terms of the senior Machado's will." He jotted a note on his pad.
"Will? But he – the senior Machado is not dead."
He glanced up, a sly gleam in his eye. "True, but it would be interesting to discover whom he's made his heir, don't you think?"
"Oh, I see. Aaron or Joseph."
"And when you speak with Thomas, also find out whatever you can about ..." He perused his notes. "Patricia Wells, the woman for whom Joseph allegedly was leaving Alma."
Emma smiled smugly. "I already have."
Malachi pushed back in his chair and eyed her with no small measure of astonishment and, she believed, respect. He gestured for her to continue. "Go on."
"Patricia Wells – Patsy – works for the Halverson family as a cook, apparently not a very good one for rumor indicates the family is prepared to let her go." Emma remembered how she'd waggled the information from Sarah. Cooks were notoriously competitive and Sarah was eager to gossip.
"Actually my cook advised me about Patsy Wells." She looked over at the closed door, wondering if Sarah were above listening at doors. She rather thought not.
"Not only is Patsy a poor cook, but she has a proclivity for ... " She felt the heat of embarrassment creep into her cheeks. "She becomes too well-acquainted with the master of the house."
"Ah, Patsy is a woman of loose morals. I wonder why she believed Joseph meant to leave Alma for her." Malachi narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Have you any idea?"
Emma felt uncomfortable with the prurient stories about Patsy's character, but believed the information was germane to the case. She rose, strode to the door, and swung it open.
No one lurked on the other side. She shouldn't like to be overheard telling scandalous tales even in the name of justice and the law.
She stood beside Malachi and leaned against the table, her hips anchored at the edge, her voice lowered as she spoke. "Patsy has been involved with a man in every family who's employed her as a cook, not only here in Placer Hills, but in Sacramento as well."
She felt color creep into her cheeks again, but continued. "Alma, on the other hand, appears only to have been involved with Joseph Machado."
Malachi gazed up into her face with the bemused expression of a parent humoring a child. "And do you believe these tales, Emma?"
He covered her hands and she could feel the warmth of his through the linen of her dress. What must surely be the newly-discovered substance called adrenaline heightened her senses. Her thighs tingled where his hand rested, and her blood pumped furiously through her veins to settle hotly in her extremities.
She shook off his hand and walked to the window, careful to keep her back to him. "I believe Alma is an innocent. Perhaps Joseph took – took her virginity. Perha
ps it was another man. But she is still an innocent, hardly more than a child, and foolish enough to believe a man's promises in the heat of the moment."
Suddenly he stood behind her, his breath ruffling the tendrils of hair at her nape. "What do you know of a man's promises to a woman in the ... heat of the moment?"
She turned to face him, her mouth inches from his chin, the sweet, spicy odor she'd come to associate with him assailing her senses. "I – I have some experience with – "
At that inauspicious moment Sarah banged through the swinging door that led to the kitchen's antechamber, her jacket on and her hat firmly anchored to her head. "We're leaving now, Miss Emma – "
The cook stopped dead in her tracks when she spied the two of them by the window. Startled, Emma took a quick step back, but Malachi merely stared impassively at Sarah.
"I can stay longer, Miss, if you wish." Sarah's faded blue eyes flashed a meaningful look at her mistress. "Both the mister and I can stay late."
"Don't be silly, Sarah." Emma touched a hand to her hot cheek. "Mr. Rivers and I are quite finished with our work on the trial. In fact," she said, moving into the foyer to retrieve his coat, "he was just leaving."
Sarah eyed them both suspiciously. "If you say so, Miss Emma." Lingering a moment longer, she turned with a swoosh of her skirt and retreated through the swinging door into the kitchen.
A moment later Emma heard the back door slam emphatically.
Chapter 13
"Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies."
– Anthony and Cleopatra
Emma and Malachi had moved to the foyer where she clutched his coat in her hands as tightly as if she'd rip it to pieces. He stared at the strain etched on her pale face, unable to tell whether she wanted him to leave or remain.
"I believe my waistcoat and neck cloth are still in the dining room," he reminded her gently.
When she whirled around, he followed her into the room where they'd reenacted Joseph's murder moments before. There she retrieved his belongings and thrust them into his arms as if they were hot coals burning her hands.