Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

drove to the barn. Not another word was exchanged between them on the subject of John Lee Day.
    Something was up. Alafair’s mother-sense was all aquiver. Phoebe was not acting strangely. She had not said anything suspicious or unusual under the circumstances. But something had changed in the ether that surrounded her daughter. Phoebe had found out something while they were at the Day place. Alafair considered how to proceed while she and Phoebe unhitched the horse from the shay. She was going to have to be careful. She decided to say nothing for the moment. Phoebe was preoccupied, and didn’t notice the increased intensity of her mother’s gaze.
    The evening proceeded as usual; housework, animals, supper, cleanup, the ritual of going to bed. Phoebe made her pallet in the kitchen for another night.
    “Aren’t you getting tired of sleeping out here in the middle of everything?” her mother asked her.
    “I kind of like it, Ma, having the bed all to myself.”
    “Suit yourself. But you’re feeling better, now?”
    “Not quite tiptop, but a lot better.”
    “Sleep well, then, honey.”

Chapter Six
    There was no possibility that Alafair was going to fall asleep. She lay on her back next to Shaw, listening to his even breathing, and staring at the ceiling for close to an hour. She was practically in a state of super consciousness, her ears as sharp as any cat’s, hearing and classifying every sound in the house, and dismissing most as unimportant. The clock in the parlor ticked evenly. Charlie, full of little boy energy, even in his dreams, flopped on his cot in the parlor a few times before sinking into the catatonic sleep of the innocent. Blanche sighed in her sleep. One of the older girls in the next room shifted.
    Alafair was drifting in that state between sleep and wake when she heard the brief click click click of Charlie-dog’s toenails on the kitchen floor. Her eyes flew open. There was one tiny rustle, another half-dozen clicks, then silence. The brief, almost imperceptible creak of the back door screen.
    Alafair didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a minute, giving the night-mover a brief head start. The instant she heard the back door latch settle into place, she rolled out of the bed and grabbed her shoes. She didn’t worry about waking Shaw. She could have jumped on the bed without bothering him.
    Alafair glided through the bedroom and the parlor into the kitchen. She was not surprised to see that Phoebe’s pallet was empty. She had been half expecting just such a move since Phoebe’s unusual behavior at the Days’. She snatched her coat off the coat tree by the door, and struggled into her shoes as she peered out the kitchen window into the yard. The moon was winter bright, illuminating the yard whiter than a torch. All was black shapes, except the few patches of unmelted snow, and the white quilt-wrapped shape of Phoebe floating quickly across the ground, past the outhouse, past the hen house, tool shed and barn, even past the stable at the top of the long rise behind the barn, accompanied by the yellow shepherd.
    Alafair’s brow wrinkled. Where was she going? She would have thought the barn the logical place to hide someone, especially in the winter, up in the loft, with the hay for warmth.
    Alafair wrapped a scarf around her head and slipped out the back door, walking hurriedly after the receding figure. The thought of hay had given her the answer. Phoebe was heading for the soddie, or course—the original dwelling Shaw had thrown up when they had first bought the land fourteen years earlier and needed a place to stay while the house was being built. It was used for storing baled hay, now.
    It was small, snug, well-insulated with hay and earth and safe enough as long as the foolish youngster didn’t try to make a fire. Alafair puffed along in the cold and dark, keeping well back from Phoebe, who had the dog with her.
    It was a twenty-minute walk to the soddie in the dark, long enough for Alafair to brood on every aspect of Phoebe’s uncharacteristic behavior. Just how deep did this secret friendship with the Day boy go? Was it only a friendship, or something more? They were both just children, after all, not at an age known for levelheaded and thoughtful behavior. Oh, Lord, had sweet innocent Phoebe fallen for a murderer? Worse than a murderer, a parricide? Tears of anxiety stung Alafair’s eyes. She’d wring that silly girl’s neck. Look at her, so intent on meeting her sweetheart