Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

rolling around on the ground and whomping on each other for a spell. Jim says he went on home then, and that night Harley showed up at his place on his mule, still looking to fight. His story is that Harley was so drunk he couldn’t stand, so Jim poked him in the eye, and Harley staggered on home. Forgot all about the mule, he says, so Jim just commandeered it to haul a load of jugs back to his place. That’s when Lang saw him. I’m guessing that’s around when Charlie saw him on the creek path back of the house, too. Jim told Scott he kept the mule in his barn for a spell, but then let it go on the road on Sunday. Seems he got afraid of being accused of rustling.”
    “Now he’s like to be accused of murder,” Mary noted.
    “Looks suspicious,” Shaw agreed.
    “What does Jim say about the gun?” Alafair wondered.
    John Lee shrugged. “He says he don’t know nothing about it.”
    “I expect he would say that,” Alafair said. “Seems odd to me, though, that he didn’t at least move that gun from where I had found it.”
    “How would he know that you had found it?” Mary wondered.
    Alafair looked over at Mary, struck dumb for an instant. She had forgotten that the kids didn’t know the whole story of her misadventure by the creek. As far as they were concerned, her bump on the head came from a jar of canned tomatoes. “Well, as I told your daddy,” she finally improvised, “I could have sworn I saw him peeking at me through the trees after I put the gun back in the jar.”
    Shaw bit his lip to keep from laughing at Alafair’s close call, but Mary’s suspicions weren’t raised. “If that’s so,” Mary offered, “maybe he got scared when he saw you and ran away. Could be he planned to come back, but the sheriff beat him to it.”
    “That sounds logical,” Shaw said. “Also, I think we have to agree that Jim Leonard isn’t much in the genius department.”
    Alafair laughed. “Maybe not. My goodness, Mary, look at all this food you made. We’re going to have a bushel of leftovers. John Lee, I guess you’ll have to do us a favor and tote all this back home to Naomi. Maybe she can put it to some use.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a stricken look pass over Shaw’s face. He loved meat loaf sandwiches. She made a mental note to cook another meat loaf for supper.

Chapter Fourteen
    Later that very afternoon, Mary drove Alafair into town for an outing. The weather had improved immeasurably in the previous few days, becoming fresh and chilly, breezily promising a change of season. Alafair’s inactivity was becoming tedious, and she accepted with alacrity when Mary suggested a trip to the mercantile. The fine, crisp weather was so refreshing that Mary steered the horse and rig on a long, looping detour around to the north of town, passing almost within sight of the Francis Brickworks. They could smell the dry adobe scent of the kilns as they crossed the railroad tracks and the narrow bridge across Cloud Creek. They were passing a small farm with a straight, shrub-lined drive.
    “Ain’t that the Millar farm?” Alafair asked Mary.
    The unexpected question caused Mary to peer sidelong at her mother. “I don’t know,” Mary told her. “The only Millars I know are a couple of little kids in Miss Trompler’s elementary class at school.”
    “This is their farm,” Alafair informed her. “Turn up the drive, sugar. Let’s make a call on Miz Millar. No need to look at me like I’ve gone tetched in the head,” she added with a laugh. “Zorah Millar is John Lee’s aunt. John Lee came up here the day they found Harley dead and got his aunt to drive over to their farm and pick up his brothers and sisters and keep them a while. I remember that he said his aunt didn’t seem very surprised. I met her at the Day place when I went to call on Miz Day after Harley died. I haven’t spoken to her about this business since then. I wonder what she thinks about all these goings on?”
    Mary’s mouth quirked ironically, but she didn’t argue and turned the horse up the drive. Alafair wasn’t quite sure herself why she felt the need to speak to Mrs. Millar again. What the woman could tell her that might be of interest, Alafair didn’t know. She was simply curious to hear what Mrs. Millar had to say about the way things were turning out.
    The Millar farm was as small as the Day farm, but otherwise bore no resemblance to that pathetic scrap. The house was well-kept. At the side of the