Smoke, Mirrors, and Murder

knocked on his brother’s door. If he still harbored resentment toward George for his betrayal, it wasn’t obvious. The brothers seemed to get along all right, and Larry soon moved in with George and Doris, stashing his sleeping roll in an attic alcove.
    Larry had been a long time without female companionship and he was powerfully attracted to his fragile sister-in-law. Although Doris was twenty-nine years old, she still looked like a teenager. The years with George should have aged her a lot more than they had, but the damage had been done more to her spirit and soul than to her outward appearance. Her hair was still dark brown, untouched by gray, and hung almost to her waist. Her brown eyes were clear. There was only a faint hardness—or maybe it was tension—in her facial expression attesting to her years of disillusionment.
    Larry studied her quietly as she moved about, doing the myriad chores required in a house with only the most rudimentary conveniences. She had to haul water from an outside pump, wash clothes by hand, carry in wood, and try to keep the dark rooms clean without the benefit of a vacuum sweeper. George didn’t help her. When he wasn’t working, he was either off at the tavern or sitting at the kitchen table nursing a bottle of whiskey. If he paid her any attention at all, it was to criticize her and bully her or demand his husbandly rights in bed.
    Doris was not unaware of Larry’s eyes following her. It was exhilarating to know she could still attract a man after so many years with no money to spend on herself. Larry wasn’t as good looking as George, and he looked older even though he was six years younger, but unlike her husband, Larry was kind to her. He paid her little compliments and rushed to help her carry the laundry out and bring the wood in. She even allowed herself to flirt a little when George wasn’t looking.
    She knew that Larry wasn’t a much better deal for a woman; he had a police rap sheet longer than George’s, and he was a drinker too. Between them, the two men could easily put away a fifth or two every night, and Larry enjoyed honky-tonking as much as his older brother.
    For a week or so, the two brothers got along, but as the winter storms keened outside, the thin veneer of civility that existed between George and Larry began to crack like the paint on the old farmhouse the trio shared. Liquor served only to bring the hostility closer to the surface. Now, when George gave Doris Mae the back of his hand, Larry intervened, and that made George even angrier. He’d been knocking her around for years and it was none of his brother’s business.
    Shortly after the New Year—in January 1971—George got arrested for driving while intoxicated and without a license. This time it was George who drew a jail sentence. With George locked up, Doris Mae and Larry were thrown together even more. It was pleasant for her to share the home without having to put up with George, even though the presence of the five youngsters didn’t give them much privacy. Maybe they talked about beginning what would be a most dangerous affair, but they didn’t become intimate at that point; they only became allies and the very best of friends. Doris Mae felt as though she had someone on her side at last—someone who would protect her from George’s rage.
    Pete Getchell,* one of George’s new friends, noticed a closeness between Doris Mae and her brother-in-law when he dropped by the farm one night. He wondered what was going to happen when George got out of jail. Pete knew you couldn’t hide the kind of attraction Doris Mae and Larry had for each other—even if they hadn’t consummated their passion yet.
    When George walked out of the Marion County Jail in Salem a few weeks later, the threesome continued to live together as they had before, but tension hung in the air like a palpable thing. George kept smacking Doris, and Larry kept objecting, with most of their arguments occurring in a haze of alcohol.
    Maybe George was getting worried, or maybe he had something else in mind, but sometime early in February, he bought an old double-barreled shotgun and propped it against a wall between his bedroom and Larry’s. He showed it to his good friend Pete but didn’t explain why he’d bought it. Pete hoped that maybe he only wanted to hunt game to feed his family.
    Around the first of March, Larry Light got involved in a tavern brawl. He had objected to something the members of the