Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

boy, I’d like to help him if I can. What I’ve come to tell you is that I’m thinking that someone found that gun that John Lee threw down in the woods on Saturday night and used it to kill Harley. And I’m wondering if you can think of anybody who was around that night that might have done it.”
    A perplexed look crossed Mrs. Day’s features, then relief and—Alafair didn’t know what else to call it—enlightenment flooded into her eyes, and Alafair faltered, startled.
    “Something come to you?” she asked.
    “The answer, I think,” Mrs. Day acknowledged. “Thank you so much for coming out, Miz Tucker. I think my family is saved, now.”
    Alafair’s heart skipped. “What is it?” she wondered excitedly. “Who do you think done it?”
    Mrs. Day smiled and shook her head. “I’ll wait and tell the sheriff, Miz Tucker, if you don’t mind. And don’t worry. I won’t tell him you told me anything. Now, where’s my manners, making you stand out here in the cold? Please come in, and Naomi will heat up some coffee.”
    ***
    Alafair went with Mrs. Day into the house, surrounded by a knot of small children, to wait for Scott. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the woman to tell her what she knew, and she was filled with both fear and hope. Well, she had taken a gamble in telling Mrs. Day her suspicions, and now she just had to accept the consequences and pray everything worked out for the best.
    Naomi was feeding wood into the Franklin stove when they came in, and she looked back over her shoulder at them with an expression of curiosity on her face.
    “Naomi,” Mrs. Day said, after she had installed Alafair at the table, “pour us some hot tea, girl, and see if there’s any of that pie left that Miz Bellows brung over. The sheriff will be here directly. You make yourself to home, Miz Tucker.” She draped her blanket over the back of a chair and sat down on it. Kids stationed themselves around her, and a toddler hoisted himself into her lap.
    Naomi stood and wiped her hands on a cloth, then took two cups from the shelf and placed them on the table. “What’s happening, Ma?” she asked, as she poured tea leaves into a tin coffee pot full of water and put it on the stove. “Did the sheriff figure out who killed Daddy?”
    “He thinks he did. He thinks it’s John Lee.”
    “John Lee,” Naomi repeated.
    “I mean to tell him different,” Mrs. Day stated.
    “What are you going to tell the sheriff?” Alafair urged.
    “Who are you going to say done it, Ma?” Naomi asked, at the same time.
    Mrs. Day shook her head. “I figure the sheriff should know first.”
    Naomi and Alafair exchanged a puzzled glance.
    “Well, I’m mighty curious,” Alafair admitted.
    “I think it was one of them men that used to buy Daddy’s home brew,” Naomi offered, and Alafair looked over at her, taken aback. She couldn’t recall ever hearing Naomi speak so many words all strung together at one time. It hadn’t occurred to her that this shadow of a girl might have an opinion.
    But Mrs. Day dismissed the speculation out of hand. “Wasn’t them. Sure wasn’t John Lee. Hurry up with that pie, Naomi. The sheriff will be here in a few minutes.” Naomi retreated back into herself and moved toward the pie keep.
    ***
    The two women met Scott in front of the house, and Alafair stood back as he explained to Mrs. Day what had happened, much as she had expected.
    “Do you have anything to tell me, now, Mrs. Day?” Scott asked, after he had finished his story.
    Mrs. Day drew herself up. “Yes, Sheriff,” she said, soberly. “I must tell you that it wasn’t John Lee shot his daddy at all. It was me. I found this little gun out in the woods behind the barn and I picked it up. I came back up to the house and I found Harley lying there all drunk and disgusting. I had the little gun in my hand and I put it up against his head and I shot him.” She sat down in a wooden chair propped against the rail. “I ain’t sorry he’s dead. He was a evil man. But I done shot him and I’ll take my punishment. It was worth it to me, for now my body may go to prison, or may hang, but my soul is free. The only thing I’m sorry for is that I let folks think it was John Lee did it. Believe me, though, when I tell you that I’d have confessed before I’d have let you jail him.”
    Alafair was dumbstruck for a moment. “Miz Day…” she managed, at length.
    Scott raised a hand, silencing her. Alafair noticed that he didn’t