He stared at her. In another time and place, an old black man and a young white woman might have hugged. But not there, not then. She covered his hand with hers, turned, and motored away. It was the first time she’d seen him speechless. She kept on buying gas and supplies from him but never accepted a handout from them again. And each time she came to his wharf, she saw her book propped up in the tiny window for all to see. As a father would have shown it.
32.
Low dark clouds raced over a steel sea toward Barkley Cove. The wind hit first, rattling windows and hurling waves over the wharf. Boats, tied to the dock, bobbed up and down like toys, as men in yellow slickers tied this line or that, securing. Then sideways rain slammed the village, obscuring everything except the odd yellow form moving about in the grayness.
The wind whistled through the sheriff’s window, and he raised his voice. “So, Joe, you had something to tell me?”
“Sure do. I found out where Miss Clark will claim she was the night Chase died.”
“What? Did you finally catch up to her?”
“Ya kiddin’? She’s slipperier’n a damn eel. Gets gone ever’ time I get near. So I drove over to Jumpin’s marina this morning to see if he knew when she’d be coming next. Like everybody else she hasta go there for gas, so I figured I’d catch her up sooner or later. You won’t believe what I found out.”
“Let’s have it.”
“I got two reliable sources say she was outta town that night.”
“What? Who? She never goes out of town, and even if she did, who’d know about it?”
“Ya remember Tate Walker? Dr. Walker now. Works out at the new ecology lab.”
“Yeah, I know him. His dad’s a shrimper. Scupper Walker.”
“Well, Tate says he knew Kya—he calls her Kya—quite well when they were younger.”
“Not like that. They were just kids. He taught her to read, ’parently.”
“He tell you this himself?”
“Yep. He was there at Jumpin’s. I was askin’ Jumpin’ if he knew where or how I could ask the Marsh Girl some questions. He said he didn’t know from one minute to the next when he’d see her.”
“Jumpin’s always been good to her. Doubt if he’ll tell us much.”
“Well, I asked him if, by any chance, he knew what she was doin’ the night Chase died. And he said that as a matter of fact he did, that she’d come to his place the second mornin’ after Chase died, and that he was the very one who told her he was dead. He said she’d been in Greenville for two nights, including the night Chase died.”
“Greenville?”
“That’s what he said, and then Tate, who’d been standin’ there all that time, he piped in and said, yeah, she’d been in Greenville, that he was the one who told her how to buy the bus ticket.”
“Well, that is some news,” Sheriff Jackson said. “And very convenient that they were both standing there with the same story. Why would she go over to Greenville?”
“Tate said that a publishing company—ya know, she’s gone and written a book on shells and one of seabirds—well, they paid her expenses to go over there and meet ’em.”
“Hard to imagine fancy publishing people wanting to meet her. I guess it’ll be pretty easy to check out. What’d Tate say about teaching her to read?”
“I asked him how he knew her. He said he useta go out near her place to fish, and when he found out she couldn’t read, he taught her.”
“Um. That so?”
Joe said, “Anyway, this changes everything. She does have an alibi. A good one. I’d say being in Greenville’s a pretty good alibi.”
“Yeah. On the surface. You know what they say about good alibis. And we got that shrimper saying he saw her boating directly toward the fire tower the very night Chase fell off it.”
“He could’ve been wrong. It was dark. No moon until after two A.M. Maybe she was in Greenville, and he saw somebody else out there in a boat looks like hers.”
“Well, like I said, this supposed trip to Greenville should be easy to check out.”
The storm abated into a whine and drizzle; still, instead of walking to the diner, the two lawmen sent a runner for a takeout of chicken ’n’ dumplings, butter beans, summer squash casserole, cane syrup, and biscuits.
• • •
RIGHT AFTER LUNCH, a knock sounded on the sheriff’s door. Miss Pansy Price opened it and stepped inside. Joe and Ed stood. Her turban hat glistened a rose color.
“Afternoon, Miss Pansy.” Both nodded.
“Good afternoon, Ed. Joe. May I have a seat? I won’t take long. I believe I have important information concerning the case.”
“Yes, of course. Sit down, please.” The two men sat as soon as Miss Pansy settled like a fair-sized hen into the chair, tucking feathers here and there, her pocketbook perching on her lap like a prized egg. The sheriff, continuing, couldn’t resist. “And what case would that be, Miss Pansy?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ed. You know what case. Who murdered Chase Andrews. That case.”
“We don’t know if he was murdered, Miss Pansy. All right? Now, what do you have for us?”
