Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

look for his dad? Did he tell that to the sheriff?”
    Mrs. Lang bristled, and Alafair wanted to bite her tongue. “I didn’t mean…” she attempted, but Mrs. Lang interrupted her.
    “Isn’t the sheriff your husband’s cousin?”
    “You must think me uncommon nosy, Miz Lang, but I’m concerned about my girl. I imagine you know she and John Lee Day like one another. Your son got mixed up with that family and got hurt. I’d not like to see that happen to Phoebe.”
    Mrs. Lang took her explanation as an apology, and nodded, though her manner had cooled. “If Miz Day says she done it, that’s good enough for me. She had cause. I don’t know what else I can tell you that you don’t already know, Miz Tucker. Seems you already run Dan through the mill, and Russell, too. Yes, the sheriff talked to both of them, and I’ll say to you what they said to him. Neither of them know a thing about that murder. In fact, Dan told the sheriff he ought to look to J.D. Millar for some answers.”
    Alafair blinked at her. “You mean Mr. Day’s brother-in-law?”
    “That’s the one. Him and Mr. Day had quite a feud going. Maggie Ellen told Dan that her daddy and her uncle hated one another like poison, and that J.D. threatened to shoot Day more than once. Ask the sheriff about that, while you’re asking.”
    Alafair put her hand to her forehead. “Hating Harley Day seems to be a popular way to pass the time.”
    “And keep this in mind, too, Miz Tucker,” Mrs Lang added, “John Lee must have seen how his father came between his sister and my Dan. I’m sure he didn’t want the same thing to happen to him and Phoebe. His mother confessed, and I’m sure she did it, but nobody had more reason to get rid of Harley than John Lee himself.”
    Alafair didn’t respond, but she suddenly felt a little nauseated. Mrs. Lang had voiced a thought that she had no wish to ponder.
    “Mama,” Blanche called from her seat on the aisle, “help me tie my shoe. I can’t get it right.”
    “Just a minute, punkin. Thank you for talking to me, Miz Lang. I will ask Sheriff Tucker what he found out about the bad blood between J.D. Millar and Harley Day. If I find out anything that might interest you, I’ll let you know.”
    “I’d appreciate that.”
    “Mama,” Blanche wailed, and Alafair reluctantly returned to her duties.
    ***
    As Shaw pulled the wagon around the side of the Masonic Hall and out into the road, Alafair caught sight of the Langs, father and son, standing in the yard, engaged in intense conversation. Mrs. Lang was walking away from them, back toward the building. As the wagon passed, both the men turned and looked at her sitting next to Shaw on the bench. She was struck again by their resemblance to one another, even in the way they both stood, ramrod straight, in their matching black suits with tan vests, black boots and Stetsons. Dan’s hand came up to finger the scar on his cheek, and Alafair’s heart thudded. The three people eyed each other as the wagon moved away. Russell Lang gave her an ironic smile and tipped his hat.
    Alafair looked away quickly, just in time to see J.D. and Zorah Millar’s buggy coming down the road toward them from the Methodist church on the hill. Zorah Millar’s piercing blue-green gaze followed her until they were out of sight. Alafair felt a thrill of fear in her stomach, and she swallowed. Lord help me, I’m seeing murderers everywhere, she thought.
    “Is Scott going to be at your ma’s for dinner?” she asked Shaw.
    “I think his folks are going to Ma’s house, so I expect Scott will be there with Hattie and the boys. Why? Are you expecting to pick his brain again?”
    “I’m planning to try,” she confessed.

Chapter Twelve
    By late Monday morning, Shaw was long gone from the house, out in the fields with the livestock, hauling feed to them, making sure their ponds and water tanks weren’t frozen over, checking the herds for signs of illness, injury or stress. Alafair and her helper Georgie had left the wash flapping on the line, and Alafair was on her own until dinnertime. She took an empty flour sack and a scoop to the root cellar and scooped a couple of cups of pecans from the big bag in the corner next to the bottom of the steps. The nuts had been curing in the cellar at the side of the house since the family had gathered them from the ground under the trees in Shaw’s mother’s pecan grove the previous November. She took the nuts back into the house and sat