Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

he was honest and businesslike, but not given to socializing. Alafair thought him polite enough and not totally devoid of charm, if you held your mouth just right.
    Lang smiled and stood up when he recognized Alafair. Apparently he was not adverse to an interruption on a cold, boring day.
    “You seem to be left to your own devices, Mr. Lang,” Alafair observed.
    Lang stepped out from behind his desk to greet her. “I am indeed, Mrs. Tucker,” he granted. “The clerks are at the warehouse today. What brings you here on such an unpleasant day?”
    “I was in town to visit my sister-in-law,” she extemporized, “and while I’m here, I wondered if I might have a word with you? I won’t take up but a few minutes of your time.”
    He looked properly curious about what she might possibly have to say to him, and opened the gate in his little fence for her. “I’d be pleased,” he said. “Do come in and have a seat.”
    She took the proffered chair in front of his desk, and they settled themselves comfortably. Lang was not a bad-looking man, Alafair noted. Smooth as silk, and apparently always in a good mood. A good way to be if you were in business. Alafair calculated in a split second how to broach her subject, and smiled.
    “What can I do for you, Mrs. Tucker?” Lang opened.
    “Mr. Lang, I expect you heard that Harley Day has gone to meet his maker,” she said.
    He folded his hands on his desk. “Yes, I heard that,” he replied.
    “I expect also that you have heard that a .22 bullet found its way into Mr. Day’s brain on that night, and that the sheriff is proceeding on the assumption that the same bullet is the cause of Mr. Day’s demise.”
    Lang’s lip twitched. “Yes, Mrs. Tucker, I heard that as well,” Lang told her. “It has also come to my attention that young John Lee Day rests under suspicion of having shot that selfsame bullet into his father’s skull.”
    “That is true, Mr. Lang.”
    “Additionally, I have heard that young John Lee Day and one of your lovely daughters are friendly,” Lang added. “Therefore, I might assume that being a loving mother, you wish that evidence existed proving that this young man is not the perpetrator of this ugly deed.”
    Alafair pursed her lips. Lang was astute. “You would be assuming correctly, Mr. Lang,” Alafair admitted. “In fact, knowing the young man as I do, I’m convinced he didn’t do it, and I am going to speak to everyone who could possibly have been in the vicinity of the Day farm that night, and might have seen something that could shed some light on this.”
    “I’m curious as to why you have come to see me, then, Mrs. Tucker.”
    Alafair paused, mildly surprised. Surely he knew that Mrs. Day would have told the sheriff that Lang was scheduled to meet with Harley the evening he disappeared. “I understand that you told John Lee that you intended to drive out to his farm that very evening to discuss the fact that his father owed you money.”
    There was a brief silence as they regarded one another. One of Alafair’s eyebrows inched upward in curiosity. Mr. Lang’s florid face grew more florid. But his expression remained as placid as ever. “Where did you hear that, may I ask?” he wondered.
    “Miz Day mentioned it.”
    Lang nodded. “It is true that I intended to go out there that evening, Mrs. Tucker. But if you will remember, the weather was wretched. It rained a little, then froze. I didn’t even get a quarter-mile out of town before the buggy slid off the road on a curve.”
    “Oh, my. Didn’t hurt your horse, I hope,” Alafair commiserated.
    A smile passed over Lang’s face. “Fortunately, no. Thanks for your concern. He kept his feet. Scared the wadding out of the poor creature, though. Took us close to an hour to haul the buggy out of the ditch.”
    “Us?”
    “Me and the horse,” Lang clarified. “By that time, I had lost my enthusiasm for a confrontation. I intended to go out there Monday afternoon, after the thaw, but by noon it was all over town that Day was dead.”
    Alafair nodded. She didn’t need to pursue this line of questioning any further. Scott would check out every detail vigorously. From the look on his face, Lang knew it, too, and wasn’t too happy about the prospect. He had been smart enough to answer her, she thought, with the truth. Or as close to it as he dare.
    “Do you intend to sue the estate for your money, Mr. Lang?” she asked.
    He answered her in the same civil tones he