The Stills

by Jess Montgomery

  Daddy caught her, of course. And thank God her uncle Henry came charging into the cabin before her father could abuse her.

  Fiona had taken the dish she’d come for from a box under her cot, stumbled back in the dark with Uncle Henry, crying all the way. He was silent, but she knew he forgave her.

  Even after they got back to the farmhouse and found Aunt Nell sobbing, for she’d miscarried while Uncle Henry was gone, he forgave her.

  Fiona turns, continues her trek back to the farmhouse.

  That candy dish—she still has it. She knows right where it is, in which trunk, in the Cincinnati mansion.

  When she’s back, she will unpack it. Put it out somewhere. To remind her where she came from. So she never goes back.

  CHAPTER 25

  LILY

  Saturday, November 26, 1927

  8:00 a.m.

  Hildy is unusually quiet on the drive to Kinship. Not surprising, with Luther’s corpse in the back seat.

  As Hildy quickly but expertly navigates the rises, dips, and turns of Kinship Road, Lily turns her face to the brisk wind. They have the windows down, even in the frigid cold, because of Luther.

  Lily considers: Luther’s injuries, though startling, don’t seem severe enough to cause death. Maybe Dr. Goshen will say otherwise, but Lily’s guess is that Luther must have died from the snakebite.

  But when would Luther have encountered a rattlesnake? The creatures usually stayed in the woods in crevices and under rocks, especially in cold weather.

  And why would Luther have been out in the woods in the middle of a cold, bitter night, after running from the Kinship Inn? But say he had been, had gotten bitten by a snake. The odds of a chance encounter with a snake are small. Maybe he’d been running, tripped, had the unfortunate luck to fall onto a snake in the woods, and in such a way that the startled, scared snake could strike an exposed bit of wrist. Would Luther have had the strength in such condition to stagger into Rossville? And if he’d been able to, had he sought help? And when did the beating take place—before or after the snakebite?

  “Lily?” Hildy’s voice is small, thin.

  Lily looks over at her friend, whose face is pale, taut. “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot—”

  “No, it’s just that … on Thursday night, and then after the barn dance last night—”

  Lily frowns. Odd timing to bring up something so frivolous. But then, Hildy is anything but frivolous. “Yeah?”

  “We saw Luther both nights. Me and Tom. Jurgis and Marvena.”

  Thursday night? She’d spent so much time with Marvena yesterday—why hadn’t she brought this up? Especially since Lily had fessed up about her own encounter with Luther?

  Lily, I oughta tell you …

  Ah. Before the wreck, Marvena had started to tell her but then encouraged Lily to go first. Still, she could have told her later, on the walk to Kinship—though Lily had just wrapped up her own confession as they arrived at the town. Or on the way to the Pentecostal church—though Marvena might have been embarrassed to do so in Benjamin’s presence, while he drove, and Marvena sat up front, and Lily dozed in the back.

  “I know I didn’t, and I don’t for a minute believe any of them had anything to do with—that,” Hildy goes on, twitching her head to the side as a gesture back at Luther. “But you should probably talk with all of us. I think it’s better that way. Before someone talks to you.”

  “What happened, Hildy?”

  “I was mainly a witness. I don’t want to put words in their mouths.” She offers up a thin smile. “I learned that much, helping you out last year with that big-time case.”

  Lily sighs, turns her face to the cold wind. The Thrilling Gumshoe case. She has a feeling that Luther’s murder—if she can solve it—will become another one for the detective magazines.

  * * *

  “Mr. Ross appears to have died from a rattlesnake bite.” Dr. Goshen points to the bite marks on Luther’s wrist. Luther’s body, laid out on a table in the shadowy basement of the Kinship funeral home, already seems shrunken, unreal, a husk cast off.

  Lily follows the doctor’s gesture to the spot. The two piercings are just a quarter inch or so apart. “His injuries from being in a fight appear recent, but not severe enough to indicate a blow to the head sufficient to cause death,” the doctor adds, confirming her earlier thoughts.

  Lily’s aware of the growing impatience of both Dr. Goshen and Mr. Arlington, the funeral home director. The smells of formaldehyde and lamp oil also press in on her, making her head pound, giving her every excuse to leave.

  A snakebite. A beating. What did it matter?

  But it does.

  Because both Luther’s humanity and the rule of law matter more than Lily’s personal feelings. It matters because it’s Lily’s job.

  Dr. Goshen clears his throat. “Lily, I’m sure this is hard for you—”

  She holds her hand up to hush him. Something seems off-kilter.

  She stares a moment longer.

  Then it hits her. Luther is still wearing his winter coat, but it is unbuttoned, flapping open. His suit jacket is flat against his chest. Doesn’t he usually tuck his flask in the inside top pocket? Lily pulls back his jacket. A thin cigarette case, and a Zippo lighter. No flask.

  She checks his pant pockets. There’s loose change.

  Checks the pockets of his overcoat. One glove per pocket.

  No flask, and no automobile keys.

  Where is his automobile?

  And where is his flask?

  Maybe it’s just a small, pointless detail, but she’s never seen Luther without his flask. Why, he’d even had the gall two years before to show up at her first swearing in as sheriff—when she took her husband’s position by special appointment—sipping from his flask.

  “Lily, for God’s sake, can we wrap this up?” Dr. Goshen snaps.

  Lily looks up at him with a small frown.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Goshen says. “The last two days have been—long.”

  “I can sympathize.” Lily is too weary to hold back a note of irony. Her gaze hardens on the doctor. “Very long indeed. After I got back home on Thursday night, I learned that Luther Ross, and another man, had come by my house looking for you, for medicine for Elias Ross—he’d been a doctor in the county—”

  “I know who he is!” Dr. Goshen snaps. He’s glaring at her, but his face has also brightened with red splotches. There’s an uneasy defensiveness in his next words. “Luther and the other man—Abe Miller—were waiting for me at my home. My wife, God love her, such a stickler for rules”—he shakes his head—“wouldn’t dispense medicine without my say-so. She thought I should go see the patient, but it was so late, and Luther already knew what Elias took—a common enough medicine, which Elias had simply forgotten while packing for his trip—so I gave them the pills.”

  “You just gave Luther the medicine? Without going out to check on Elias?”

  Goshen looks away. “It was late, Lily. A common medicine. Elias himself is a doctor.”

  This still strikes her as, at best, lazy, if not technically malpractice.

  “And then what? After you handed over the pills?”

  “They left.”

  “They just—left. Together. No discussion.”

  “That’s right.”

  Lily reflects. Thursday night, Luther and Abe were out, seeking help for Elias. Friday morning, Luther and Special Agent Barnaby Sloan were in her office and Luther had downplayed Elias’s health concerns, which Lily hadn’t believed. He’d made it seem like he’d gone back to the Murphy farmhouse, and indeed Elias must have recovered, for Luther to be out in Kinship on Friday night, at the speakeasy.

  Yet Fiona and Abe had also come by Lily’s house on Friday afternoon, reporting their—well, Fiona’s concern that Luther had never returned to the house since Thursday night.

  Where had he spent Thursday night, then? And Friday, after leaving her office? And why had he been at the Kinship speakeasy with A
rlie Whitcomb, who earlier had been at Marvena’s strict Pentecostal church?

  Fiona had cleverly left word about the local alcohol being poisoned, sufficient to trigger Lily’s raid of the speakeasy. Had she—or George or Abe—had good reason to think Luther would be there, would hope that Lily would capture him?

  Why? Wouldn’t they be afraid Luther would, in that case, sell George out? Or was that the hope Fiona might have had?

  And now Hildy’s indicated that she, Tom, Marvena, and Jurgis had seen Luther both Thursday and Friday evening.

  It’s all a confusing swirl—Luther’s comings and goings. And there are just too many people—probably many she couldn’t even name—who would be plenty glad to see Luther dead. If she could fill in the gaps of where Luther had been on Thursday night, on Friday between her meeting with him and the raid, and then after the raid, maybe she could figure out how he’d ended up dead, in Rossville, by Saturday morning.

  Lily regards Dr. Goshen. “Have you seen Luther Ross since Thursday night?”

  “No,” he says evenly.

  “Even from, say, across the street?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t see him sometime yesterday?”

  “No, Lily.”

  Lily studies the doctor for a long moment. He simply looks weary. She can’t think of any reason he’d lie to her, about Luther Ross, of all people.

  “Well. I see no reason not to release Luther to his next of kin.” She looks at Mr. Arlington. “I expect that Elias Ross will be calling on you later today, or tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Lily emerges from the funeral home and stands for a long moment on the front porch, taking in the lengthening light of late morning. Snow has stopped falling, and what has already fallen is packed down on the streets by automobiles and pedestrians, the slightly muted and slower version of Kinship’s Saturday morning bustle.

  Such a lovely scene. And she would like nothing more than to spend it doing a little shopping herself, but there is much work to be done.

  She needs to track down Arlie, the last person she’s aware of having seen Luther. Revisit the Harkinses and gently ask Ruth what she might know of the missing agent.

  First, though, she has to visit Elias on the Murphy farm.

  The very thought staggers her. Lily leans into the porch column. It had been hard enough, that meeting yesterday with Luther, seeing him again for a few seconds last night.

  But to confront Elias? Though she’d never liked Luther, she’d loved her husband’s uncle Elias. Daniel had seen him as a father, looked up to him, and so Lily had, too. She’d respected and trusted him for years—up until the moment, a few years ago, when she’d discovered the shocking truth: Elias had, more so even than Luther, been a factor in all the threads and conspiracies that eventually led to her husband Daniel’s murder.

  And worse, to see him in the presence of George? He, too, had betrayed her husband, and though he’d come to regret it, he has clearly moved past caring, given that he’s brought Luther and Elias into his fold.

  On top of that, Special Agent Barnaby Sloan believes George is planting a bootlegging operation, right here in Bronwyn County, at the Murphy farm.

  Should she telegram Barnaby? Let him know of Luther’s demise?

  But no—according to Zebediah, the other agent, Colter DeHaven, had come to Kinship earlier than planned. Gotten himself shot.

  She still doesn’t know where Colter might be.

  Whether she should trust Barnaby.

  This visit to the Murphy farm to deliver bad news is a standard part of her job.

  How bitterly ironic—Luther had wanted to draw her out to the farm, into an encounter, she’d suspected, with George.

  Now she’s going out to the farm to inform Elias and the others of his death.

  She’ll assess the situation while there, decide whether to bring Barnaby and the agency back in.

  Just doing her job … but it will test every bit of mettle she has.

  “Lily?”

  Benjamin’s voice lifts her from the darkness of her thoughts. He’s standing below her on the funeral home’s porch steps.

  “I ran into Hildy at the hardware store,” he says. “She filled me in on Luther’s death.”

  He fishes in his pocket, holds out his automobile keys. “I’m guessing you have quite a few places to get to. I assured Hildy I’d make sure you can get where you’re going. She wanted to get back to Rossville. Tutoring students, she said, who need extra help—even if it is a Saturday.”

  Well, that sounds like Hildy.

  What if she also wanted to forewarn Tom, Marvena, and Jurgis that Lily would want to question them?

  Lily shakes her head to clear it. This is what being weary, and caught back up in the world of Luther and Elias and George, would do to her—make her doubt her oldest friend’s integrity. If Hildy wanted to cover for herself, or any of them, she could have just not mentioned that they’d seen Luther on Thursday and again on Friday, probably after that damned barn dance.

  Benjamin smiles, kindly. Lily’s heart pings. So silly, wishing she could have gone to that damned barn dance with him after all. And not to bear witness to Luther’s encounter with her friends, more ’n likely after the dance. Lily can’t imagine Luther kicking up his heels.

  She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her shoulder twinges, just from that small movement. She nearly groans at the notion of driving, at the thought of where she’ll be driving, out to the Murphy farm. Barnaby had commented the land was well situated—between an offshoot near the main road, and another local gravel road. She thinks back to her visit with Nell Murphy, after her husband’s death. Lily doesn’t fully recollect the lay of the land. If Benjamin drives, she can note it carefully, in detail—where are the ridges, the dips. Just in case Barnaby is right and she notes goings-on that justify going back with a warrant and deputies, or the bureau. She’ll want to be aware of where George’s men might have the high ground, might be hiding to ambush any law officers.

  Benjamin had been more helpful than she’d expected yesterday.

  That’s all this is, Lily tells herself. She just needs a bit of help. Lily puts her hand to her sore shoulder. “I appreciate your offer, but if you can stand me taking more of your time, I could use a chauffeur.”

  Benjamin hesitates. Oh, of course. He doesn’t really approve of her job. But then he smiles. “I don’t mind.”

  Lily ducks her head down as she descends, hoping he doesn’t see her cheeks flame.

  “Oh—and I checked with the three other homes with rooms to let,” Benjamin says as she comes up beside him. “No Colter DeHaven.”

  Lily lifts her eyebrows. Well. That was a lot of effort. Maybe he regrets his comments from the night before. But her only comment is, “That was quick.”

  “I usually read on my time off,” Benjamin says. “This was a change of pace.”

  She waits for him to wisecrack about playing detective, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “If he didn’t take a room, hasn’t left a trace, maybe he thought he was only coming for the day, that his business would be over quickly.”

  “Interesting point,” Lily says. “Did you happen to check at the Kinship Inn?”

  Benjamin looks chagrined. “No.”

  “That’s all right,” Lily says brusquely, regaining her confidence now that she can switch back to a professional focus. “I need to see if, by any chance, Luther looped back after we left and checked in.”

  * * *

  “Slow down,” Lily says.

  Benjamin isn’t going too fast, but the lane to the Murphy farm is roughly rutted, far more so than it had been nearly four weeks ago. The weather isn’t enough to explain the deterioration of the dirt lane. Only numerous vehicles would explain that.

  Luther hadn’t, as it turned out, checked into the Kinship Inn late Friday night, after the raid was over.

  So had he and Arlie headed over to Rossville? Gone by the barn dance for some reason? She thinks ba
ck to the meeting, just yesterday morning, at her office with Luther and Barnaby. To her doubts that George would come here just to spend time with Fiona and her aunt when he could be relaxing at his well-appointed Cincinnati mansion.

  After leaving Kinship, Lily had asked Benjamin to go to her house, where she’d quickly retrieved Fiona’s leather gloves, setting the note aside in a drawer in her bureau and writing her own to tuck into the left-hand glove.

  Sure, maybe Fiona would come out for the holiday to visit her aunt. But then there was Fiona and Abe’s odd visit, to announce Luther missing—and Fiona leaving that note about George tainting the local alcohol supply. A risk Fiona had taken? Or something she’d done, for some reason, at George’s direction?

  And then the local alcohol supply hadn’t been poisoned after all. A change in plans? Or had it never been meant to be poisoned?

  It’s all such a tangled web. Will she ever be able to sort it all out?

  Now Lily says, “Stop—but slowly.” She points to a branch that’s fallen on the lane.

  Benjamin does but protests as Lily starts to exit his automobile. “Lily, I can move that—”

  She shakes her head. “The branch hasn’t fallen from the weight of snow or ice. Look at the end.” There’s a clean cut where the branch had been. Someone has sawed it off, left it there deliberately to slow anyone approaching.

  She thinks, If George has men watching, then those who are welcome would have a sign they could give to indicate they’re friend, not foe.

  Maybe it’s a blessing that her automobile, with its distinctive sheriff’s star on the door, is still in the repair shop. For most people, the emblem might generate wariness but also respect. For George’s people, it just might cause his hired guns to start shooting.

  “Keep your hands on the wheel and if anything bad happens, back up as fast as you can and get out of here and gather up my deputies,” Lily says.

  Benjamin frowns, puts his hand on her arm. “Lily, I can’t just let you—”

  “What?” she snaps. “Do my job?”

  She jerks her arm away, grimaces at the sharp pain in her shoulder. She gets out of the passenger side and lifts her hands slowly and as far as her stiff shoulder will allow. “Yoo-hoo!” she calls. “I’m Lily Ross. I have news for Elias Ross and George Vogel.”