Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

Scott said to her, in his most solemn and official voice, “Doc Addison will be out before nightfall, but at this point it looks pretty straightforward to me. I don’t see why we can’t move him on into the house.”
    “Yes, sir, Sheriff,” she said.
    “Looks like he just lay down here and went to sleep.”
    “Yes, Sheriff.”
    “Me and Cousin Shaw here could probably use some help getting him inside. Where is John Lee?”
    Mrs. Day’s bemused expression didn’t change. “He ain’t got back from town yet, Sheriff.”
    Something sharpened in Scott’s expression. “He ain’t?”
    Mrs. Day didn’t seem to be aware of the subtle shift in Scott’s attitude. “Reckon we got a load of relatives to notify, Sheriff.”
    “That so?” Scott responded, mollified. “Well, I expect we’ll manage, though he’s probably pretty stiff by now.”
    Alafair’s eyes widened at Scott’s casual tone.
    “He’s pretty dirty, too, ain’t he?” Scott was saying. “Looks like he rolled around in the pig sty a mite before he decided to have a nap.”
    Mrs. Day dispassionately looked over at the earthly remains of her husband. “Yes,” she said, as though she rather expected that was exactly what happened.
    Scott looked toward Shaw and Alafair and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, acknowledging that questioning the woman right now was probably useless. Shaw moved forward, and Alafair stood aside with Mrs. Day and the girls as the two men hunkered down on either end of the body. They hefted what was left of Harley Day, Shaw at his head and Scott at his feet, and followed the widow up the porch steps and into the house.
    Mrs. Day had already cleared the table, and the men deposited Day on the warped and well-scrubbed surface.
    “You want me to send for the undertaker?” Scott asked, and Mrs. Day looked up at him.
    “No, thank you, Sheriff. I reckon we’ll just keep him in the shed ’til I can get a hole dug in the plot out back.”
    Scott nodded. He hadn’t expected that she could afford the services of Mr. Lee, and the weather was still very cold, after all. “The county will provide you with a box, if you like,” Scott told her.
    “Me and some of my folks would be proud to help you with the grave digging,” Shaw added.
    She looked relieved. “I’m obliged, Mr. Tucker,” she admitted. “It would have been hard for John Lee to do all by hisself.”
    “Now, you men just go out on the porch and wait for Dr. Addison,” Alafair ordered, “while we do what we have to do. Girls,” she said, looking down at the two little clinging bundles of curiosity, “y’all go outside with Mr. Tucker and Sheriff Tucker and let your ma and me get to work.”
    All tasks allocated, the men withdrew, each with a little girl by the hand, and left the two women to the grim and intimate task of preparing the body.
    It took the women a few minutes to tug Harley’s stiff limbs out and arrange him supine on the table.
    Alafair rolled up her sleeves as Mrs. Day removed the big pot of water warming on the stove and brought it to the table. They worked in silence for several minutes, straightening the body and drawing off the wet, muddy clothing. Alafair turned her back as Mrs. Day tugged off the long johns and decently draped Harley’s privates with an old dishtowel.
    Alafair took a wet cloth and lathered it well with lye soap, then began washing the greasy black hair as Mrs. Day started at the feet. Alafair noted with distaste that this was probably the first bath that Harley had had in quite some time. The clothing they had removed from the body was amazingly filthy, as if he had indeed been rolling in some very black mud. The whole right side of his body was coated with a thick layer of it, from tip to toe. His clothes had been well-mended, though. Mrs. Day probably did the best she could under bad circumstances. Alafair glanced at the silent woman.
    “Where’s the rest of your children, Miz Day?” she wondered.
    “Harley’s sister from over north of Boynton come and got most of them just a little while ago,” she replied. “Mattie and Frances wanted to stay. Naomi is around here, somewhere. I swear, that girl is always going off by herself, lately. The others will be back tomorrow, probably.”
    “How many kids you got?”
    Mrs. Day looked up at her, perplexed, and Alafair thought that the woman was not used to someone being interested in anything she might have to say. “They’s seven still alive