The Old Buzzard Had It Coming (5 page)

Chapter Five

Alafair ran the hat pin through her good black felt bonnet with the bunch of carved cherries on the band, anchoring it to the thick knot of dark hair at her crown. It was an ongoing battle of hers to keep her hair neatly pulled back out of the way, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, and exasperated tendrils were always escaping any coif she attempted. She spent a moment trying to force a few tresses back into place.

As her mother arranged herself in the mirror by the door, Phoebe stood aside, clutching a covered dish before her in two hands. In the mirror, Phoebe could see the dart of Alafair’s sharp brown eyes as she sized up Phoebe’s reflection. Apparently, she passed muster, since her mother offered no criticism.

***

The Day farm was a sad, sorry place. The frame house had been white once, but no more. The yard was scattered with trash and rusty farm implements, rangy chickens, a cat or two and a yellow dog. The thought of lockjaw immediately entered Alafair’s mind as they rode up the rutted drive. “Watch where you step, sugar,” she said offhandedly to Phoebe.

A well-appointed buggy stood incongruously in front of the the house, the horse hitched to a porch railing. “Looks like Miz Day already has some visitors,” Phoebe observed.

Several children stood on the porch and watched them as they halted the shay in front of the house and climbed out. The eldest child, an ephemeral brown girl, stepped toward them. “Good morning, Miz Tucker,” she greeted with an adult solemnity that startled Alafair enough to make her look at the girl more closely.

She was a small girl for her age, which Alafair judged to be early teens. She looked stringy and malnourished, even wrapped in a coat two sizes too big for her. Her Chickasaw ancestry showed in her high cheekbones and broad forehead, and her dark coloring. She bore a striking resemblance to John Lee. She had the body and face of a young fairy maiden, but the black eyes that scrutinized Alafair were the eyes of a forty year old woman who had not led a particularly pleasant life.

“You must be Naomi,” Alafair acknowledged. “Will you please tell your mama that she has some callers?”

The girl smiled a weary smile. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve had a passel of callers today. Won’t you ladies please come on in?”

“Why, thank you,” Alafair responded, careful to accord this girl the respect that any civilized woman would show to another.

Naomi nodded, and her gaze shifted to Phoebe as they walked up the steps. “Hello, Phoebe,” she said. “I’m glad you come.”

“I didn’t know you two were so well acquainted,” Alafair said.

“We have spoke,” Naomi informed her, as she led them inside. The knot of urchins followed silently.

Mrs. Day met them just inside the door, and Naomi took her place at her mother’s side. “Y’all come into the parlor and look at how Harley turned out,” Mrs. Day invited, “then have some tea with us in the kitchen. Naomi, take that there dish from Miss Phoebe and put it on the table with the others.”

Alafair removed her coat and handed it to one of Mrs. Day’s other minions, a boy of about ten, who appeared at her elbow. “You’ve been getting a bunch of callers, I hear,” she observed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Day assured her. “I can’t remember when we had so much food in the house.” She led them into the parlor. The room had been cleaned and the beds removed, and Harley had been decently laid out in a plain pine box perched on two sawhorses in the middle of the floor. Alafair stepped up to the coffin and examined Harley’s body, lying so inoffensively boxed. Well, Harley, she thought, look at you now. In all your pathetic life, somebody must have loved you sometime. “He looks right peaceful,” she said.

“Don’t he, though,” Mrs. Day agreed. “Come on into the kitchen for some tea and cake, won’t you? I’d like for you to meet some of our kin that’s come to visit with us.”

When they entered the kitchen, a tall, leathery man with graying hair stood up from a chair at the table. His companion, a pretty, black-haired woman, remained seated, but gave them a sweet smile. She had the most striking blue-green eyes Alafair had ever seen.

“Miz Tucker,” Mrs. Day introduced, “this here is Harley’s sister, Zorah Millar, and her husband, J.D. Zorah and J.D., meet Miz Tucker and her daughter Phoebe, my neighbors from over across the road.”

J.D. muttered a greeting, and Zorah half stood and offered her hand to Alafair from across the table. “Yes, we’ve heard how your family has been so helpful since my brother met his end,” she said. She looked at Phoebe with interest. “You must be John Lee’s friend, Phoebe,” she added.

Phoebe blushed charmingly, but responded with dignity. “Yes, ma’am. I hope I’m a friend to all John Lee’s family.”

Alafair studied the woman who was studying Phoebe. Zorah Millar may have been Harley’s sister, but she resembled Mrs. Day in her size and features, except for the fact that she looked twenty years younger and thirty pounds plumper. It’s a wonder, Alafair thought, what a useful husband and regular meals will do for a body.

Alafair knew of the Millars, but had never actually met any of them. The husband was a small cotton farmer who worked part-time at the brick factory. There were a few young children. They didn’t go to her church, nor were any of their children particular friends of any of Alafair’s. Alafair was not even sure that she had known that Zorah Millar was Harley Day’s sister.

They settled themselves around the groaning kitchen table. Mrs. Day sat herself down with them to act as the official hostess, while the dignified Naomi took on the position of dogsbody, serving the guests.

“Y’all have a farm up north of town, I believe,” Alafair said to the Millars. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize you were Harley’s sister, Miz Millar.”

Zorah and her husband exchanged a glance before she replied. “I don’t wonder that you didn’t know, Miz Tucker. Me and Harley wasn’t exactly close. Nobody in my family has been out here to Harley’s farm in years.”

“I fear Zorah and Harley didn’t get along,” Mrs. Day added.

“It’s more like we had us a feud going,” J.D. acknowledged.

Alafair shook her head. Was there no one in the world who could abide Harley Day? “Well, then, it’s good of you to call on his folks in this time of loss,” she said, at length.

“Oh, we never had no quarrel with the family here,” Zorah hastened to assure her. She cast a sympathetic glance at Mrs. Day, who responded with a weak smile. “Why, we’d have done anything we could have to help these kids. They’re all good kids, Miz Tucker, considering what they’ve had to put up with.”

“That boy John Lee is the only reason this farm is making it at all,” J.D. interjected. “Him and the older girls.” He nodded toward Naomi, who was passing slices of cake on chipped saucers around the table.

“My sister-in-law has her hands full with all these young’un,” Zorah said. “It’s a wonder they’ve done as well as they have. How I wish we could have been more help!” She leaned forward, apparently anxious that Alafair understand their dilemma. “But it got so bad that we feared Harley would do us an injury if me or J.D. came out here.”

“He threatened to,” J.D. said.

Alafair looked over at Mrs. Day, who was listening to the conversation with an expression of polite interest. Nothing that anyone said about her husband seemed to cause her any consternation, Alafair observed to herself. Probably because she had been helpless to change anything for so long. Her gaze returned to Zorah and she smiled. Perhaps things would be different, now, she hoped.

“We’ll be around more, now,” Zorah said, answering Alafair’s unspoken thought.

“Why, whatever could have happened to cause such a falling out between you and your brother, Miz Millar?” Alafair asked.

Zorah sighed. “Oh, it’s a long story, Miz Tucker. I don’t want to plague you with it.”

“No, I’d like to hear it, if you don’t mind,” Alafair assured her, “and if it don’t fret you to hear it, Miz Day. I’d be interested to try and understand something about Mr. Day. I don’t believe I ever knew of anyone with so many enemies. What was it about him that would make somebody want to kill him in such a cold way?”

There was a moment of silence as the Millars and Mrs. Day stared at their laps and pondered Alafair’s question. Alafair took a bite of her cake and cast a glance at Phoebe, who was watching the adults avidly. Naomi appeared at Alafair’s side and refilled her coffee cup.

Zorah came to a decision and looked up. “Well,” she said, “I kind of hate to talk ill of the dead, especially with Harley laid out in the next room and all. But the sheriff has already asked us about all this, so I suppose you’ll hear the whole thing by and by.” She looked at J.D. for support, and he nodded at her.

“Harley was always a rakehell,” she began, “and irresponsible, but he didn’t used to be as bad as he got. Nobody could be, I reckon. But he was a disappointment to our father. For years, Daddy kept trying to help him, don’t you know. Kept giving him money, getting him jobs. Why, Daddy bought this piece of property here and let Harley live on it for just a little rent. Thought that maybe if he couldn’t do nothing else, he could be a farmer. But Harley had big ideas. He didn’t want to work on an oil rig, or at the brick plant, or raise crops. He was always looking for some way to make a lot of money fast.”

“All he ever found was ways to lose his money fast,” J.D. put in.

“That’s the truth,” Zorah agreed. “Before John Lee got old enough to take over, Harley pretty much squandered any money he made on a crop. Gambled most of it away, I think. He reached a point where he couldn’t afford to buy seed, and had to go begging to Daddy for another loan. Well, Daddy give it to him. What could he do? Harley had a passel of kids to feed, and a new one every year. But he told Harley that that was the last money he was ever getting from him, and he better get to cracking.”

“You can guess what happened, Miz Tucker,” J.D. took up the story. “Harley lost every dime of that money on a Choctaw horse race over in Okmulgee. That was the last straw for old Mr. Day. I don’t expect he wanted his grandkids to starve, but he figured that if he cut Harley off, he’d have to straighten up.”

“Then Harley blamed Daddy for making him poor,” Zorah added.

“Nothing was ever Harley’s fault, as far as he was concerned,” J.D. said. The silent Mrs. Day was solemnly nodding her agreement.

“Well, I blame Harley for busting Daddy’s heart,” Zorah said heatedly. Her gaze flicked guiltily toward the parlor, where the said Harley lay in state, unable to defend himself. Zorah sat up straight, stiffening her resolve. “Daddy died just a few weeks after that. His heart give out, Doc Addison said. Harley was his only son, and expected to inherit most of Daddy’s estate. He actually gloated to me at Daddy’s funeral. Can you imagine that, Miz Tucker?” Two spots of color rose in her cheeks. “I wanted to poke him in the face right then and there. But Daddy had the last word in the matter. He left everything to me, except for this pitiful farm. I don’t think he would have left Harley that if it weren’t for the kids.”

“Well, Harley was fit to bust,” J.D. went on. “He accused Zorah of turning their dad against him. He got him a lawyer and contested the will, but he lost, and then on top of everything, he was in debt to the lawyer. He threatened Zorah, said he’d hurt us somehow if she didn’t give him some of that money, but I absolutely forbade her to do it.”

“I didn’t have no desire to, anyway,” Zorah said. “But I did want to help my sister-in-law and these kids. I’d come out here for a while after that, bring food and clothes, but finally Harley said I’d stole everything from him but this farm, and if I set foot on it again, he’d be in his rights to shoot me.”

“I declare!” Alafair breathed.

“Harley discovered moonshining after that,” J.D. informed her. “Then there was just no hope for him at all.”

“He grew to like his product too much,” Zorah said bitterly. “Anyway, we saw John Lee every once in a while, and Maggie Ellen, when they come to town. Maggie Ellen had her a nice boyfriend in town, you remember that?” she asked Mrs. Day. “That Dan Lang who works over at Dasher’s blacksmith shop.”

“Is he any kin to the Mr. Lang the grain merchant?” Alafair asked.

“Yes, his second boy. I expected she’d marry up with him, but then I heard she’d found her somebody else. What ever happened to that Lang boy?”

For the first time, Mrs. Day looked uncomfortable. “Oh, he stopped coming around. Harley didn’t approve.”

Zorah snorted. “That figures, don’t it? Harley couldn’t stand anybody better than him. Which was just about everybody. Well, I’m glad Maggie Ellen up and took matters into her own hands.”

“Why, that’s quite a tale,” Alafair acknowledged. “No wonder you’ve kept your distance.”

“It’s a sad tale,” J.D. said.

“One that the sheriff knew all about,” Zorah added. “I swear, after John Lee come to tell us Harley was dead, the sheriff was at our place with a thousand questions not more than an hour later.”

“What kind of questions?” Alafair wondered.

Zorah shrugged. “He was real interested in what time John Lee showed up, what he said, when he left, which way he went. He asked where I was on Wednesday night. I told him I was home with the kids, and J.D. was out of town. He wanted to know all about where J.D. had gone and when he got back.”

“I went to Tulsa earlier that week,” J.D. explained, “on some business for Mr. Francis. I was supposed to be back Thursday morning, but the train was delayed by the snow. I had to spend the night on a bench at the station in Muskogee, and didn’t get in ’til Friday afternoon.”