Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

wall. Only the front bales stood close to the wall. The bales behind were set back a good eighteen inches. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and making herself as skinny as she could, squeezed between the hard, scratchy hay and the soddie wall. For half an instant, she thought she wasn’t going to make it, and an image of herself permanently wedged solid, waiting for rescue by some unsympathetic and highly amused offspring, popped into her mind. The very thought caused her to shrink another couple of inches and pop through into the corridor formed by the bales and the outside wall. She blew out a relieved breath, then paused a moment to pick hay out of her clothes and hair. The little hallway she found herself in was only about six feet long, and turned at an abrupt right angle at the back wall of the soddie. Alafair tiptoed forward and hesitated at the corner. For the first time she felt apprehension. She expected it might not be wise to startle a well-grown young fugitive in his hiding place. It was much warmer inside the soddie, with its tons of hay insulation, but she could still see her breath in the air. She held her breath and inched her eyes around the corner.
    He was there, all right, sleeping like a baby, curled up in one of her better down comforters on a bed of loose hay and rough blankets. His nest was in an opening not six feet by six feet, as cozy and padded as a vixen’s den. Alafair stood and looked at the sleeping boy for a long time. He was lying curled up on his side, swathed in blankets up to his eyes, so that all she could make out was a shock of black hair and two long fringes of black eyelashes. Light, such as it was, and air, were coming in from the high, narrow window just under the roof. The sun was fairly up by now, but it was still very dim, and chilly. A bucket of water sitting next to the wall was covered with a dark skin of ice.
    Alafair looked at the sleeping boy and saw just that—a boy. Certainly no violent murderer. Any fear she may have felt vanished.
    She took a step or two forward so that she was standing over him. “John Lee,” she said in a normal voice. When he didn’t stir, she tried again. “John Lee Day,” she said, louder.
    In the dimness, Alafair saw his eyes open and regard her dreamily for a second, then fly open in consternation. He sat up abruptly, and the comforter fell away from his shoulders.
    There was a long silence as they gazed at one another. Alafair was pleased to see that John Lee’s startle had faded quickly, and he sat looking at her matter-of-factly, plainly trying to decide if she were friend or foe.
    And Alafair realized clearly that whether he had done it or not, she was his friend. Not that she would help him go unpunished if he were guilty. Rather that Alafair Tucker, mother of children, wasn’t going to allow this child to suffer needlessly if she could help it.
    John Lee, for all his rough condition, had the aura of innocence about him. And not just innocence of the death of his father, but soul innocence. How is it that some people can grow up in grinding poverty, in an atmosphere of violence and oppression, forced into literal slavery, and still maintain their innocence? Some are simply in a state of grace, and why God chooses whom he does, Alafair thought, is a mystery.
    John Lee unfolded himself from his blanket and slowly stood up to face her.
    “Miz Tucker,” he greeted warily. “How did you find me?”
    “Phoebe didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
    “Phoebe?” he echoed, with entirely convincing wonder. “Phoebe ain’t got nothing to do with this.”
    An involuntary smile curled Alafair’s lips. Good for you laddie-boy, she thought. But she said, “It’s no use, John Lee. I followed her here last night.”
    He drew a breath, but said nothing.
    “She’s in big trouble, you know,” Alafair observed.
    “I made her help me,” he replied evenly. “She didn’t want to.”
    “Why did you run away, young’un?”
    There was barely a pause before he answered. “Because I killed him.”
    Alafair’s heart dropped. “Killed who?” she asked, giving him every chance.
    “My daddy,” he answered, throwing the chance away. “You don’t need to pretend, Miz Tucker. I know he’s dead. I seen him there, next to the house, all dead and froze.”
    “Doc Addison says your daddy froze to death,” Alafair said.
    “No, ma’am,” John Lee said with conviction. “I shot him.”
    Alafair folded her