Chapter Thirty-Eight

Francis was daydreaming about Ashley when somebody screamed. For one instant, he thought Blanche had gone into the empty schoolhouse and somehow hurt Ashley, but then he realized the sound came from the opposite direction. The cry sounded like a female, but it wasn’t Faith. He’d recognize her voice. He started to town with purpose.

Ashley appeared at his side, breathing hard. She gripped his arm. “I heard someone screaming?”

“I did too.” He hitched his head. “I was just on my way back. Come with me.” They turned onto a small connecting street. Several small row houses in need of serious repair leaned this way and that. Jack Jones and Deputy Clark had just arrived, evident by the way they gaped around. Daniel Clevenger stood on the porch of one house, the white apron still wrapped around his waist as he held an old woman’s arm.

She sagged and looked about to faint.

“That’s Mrs. Lee,” Ashley said quietly by his side. “She’s in her eighties and lives next door. This is Mildred Kane’s house. Since Mr. Lee died, the women have been inseparable. I hope the worst hasn’t happened.”

They slowly drew closer as others ventured from the main part of town.

“I went inside when Mildred didn’t answer the door.” Mrs. Lee’s voice wobbled with emotion. “We often looked out for each other. But I found her in the basement. Looks like she fell down the steps.” Her words faded, and she began to cry. “What an awful way to die,” she moaned between sobs. “Falling and hurting yourself all alone.” An agonizing groan escaped her lips. “What will I do without her, Sheriff?” Turning her head, she looked up into Clevenger’s face and then back at the sheriff. “I just don’t know what I’ll do.”

Ashley and Francis exchanged a look.

“There’s a dark cloud over this town,” Francis whispered. “I’ll be glad to return to Y Knot.”

“I have to go to her.” Ashley stepped forward.

“In a moment.” Francis guided her around a handful of onlookers to the back of the house. They were alone. “I’m sure Jack won’t let me go inside the house if I ask, so I’m not going to,” he whispered.

“Why would you want to? What could you possibly want to see inside Mrs. Kane’s home? I know you want to clear your boss, but what on earth would this tragedy have to do with that arrest? None of this makes a bit of sense.”

He counted the few freckles across the bridge of her nose he’d just noticed in the sunshine. “You sure? Two deaths in thirteen days? We don’t know what we don’t know.” He waited for her reaction.

“She was old, Francis! She missed a step and fell.” Her lips pulled down, and she plunked fisted hands on her hips. “What could be strange about that? I think you’ve let this situation go to your head. You’re running around town like a Pinkerton detective looking for clues—and I believe you’re enjoying yourself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he responded, fighting against anger at her words. “Things couldn’t be more serious. Luke needs my help. I’ll do anything I can to find the real killer so he can go free. The McCutcheons have been the only family I’ve ever known. I owe them everything. I’ll not let them down, not if I can do something to help.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so gruff. Unable to stop himself, he touched the end of her nose. “I’m going in,” he said softly. “Can you wait here?” Still quiet out back, most people, he was sure, had moved on, writing off Mildred’s death to old age and an accident. A clothesline with a few towels drying wasn’t far away and a barrel of water up against the house. Lattice on one side of the back porch was covered in flowering morning glories.

All seemed peaceful. Voices from the front floated on the air.

With his foot on the bottom step, she grabbed his arm. “Shouldn’t I go with you?”

“No. If someone comes, keep them talking, and I’ll try to sneak out a side window. Or hide behind a curtain.” He couldn’t stop a lopsided grin. “I’ll think of something. The law in this town is already fed up with us McCutcheon men prying into their business. I don’t want to add to our troubles.”

When she nodded, a warm feeling pushed at his chest. Stepping away, he cringed when the door let out a loud screech. Moving even an inch was impossible without the floor squeaking, as well. Jack was already inside, as well as his deputy. Their voices carried easily from the front room. He looked around the kitchen as he listened.

“She misjudged her steps,” Clark said matter-of-factly. “She was old as the hills. Everyone cashes in their chips eventually.”

“I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I liked Mildred. She cooked me supper twice a month. Looked like maybe her neck broke.”

Sunshine streaming through the kitchen window made the room bright. Francis glanced outside at Ashley wringing her hands as she kept watch. Was there anything to find? Any clues?

“We’ll need another coffin.” Clark’s voice easily carried to the kitchen. “Business has been good for the undertaker this month.” The sound of footsteps stopped. “Who’s gonna pay for the pine box?”

“Geez, Hoss, you can be a real heel. I’ll pay, if I have to. Just get over to the undertaker and report this.”

More footsteps and then quiet. Francis hoped Jack had left too.

Had this been a murder or an accident like everyone thought? Clean dishes were stacked in a rack next to the sink as if they’d been washed, two of everything. On the counter was a half-eaten cake. Other than that, the place was as neat as a pin. Francis crept closer to the front rooms.

“Did you see anything?”

So Jack was still here.

“Why, Sheriff?” Mrs. Lee asked timidly. “Do you think foul play was involved?” A new round of tears sounded and then some shushing noises.

“No. My job entails asking. When was the last time you spoke with Mildred? Did you see her yesterday?”

“We always have morning tea. Then again in the afternoon. She came to borrow some eggs to bake a cake.”

Francis looked over at the chocolate cake.

“Why was she baking?”

“Don’t know. She often has company, but she didn’t say anything.”

Francis walked softly over to the cake, bent down, and gave a good sniff. His empty stomach growled in protest. Would eating a piece be unseemly? With his back against the wall, Francis slipped down the hall and darted into a bedroom. Just as neat as the rest of the house.

Who would want to hurt Mildred? What kind of a threat could she have posed? Had she seen something and finally decided to talk? Had she questioned the wrong person? Or had her fall been completely innocent and, like the deputy said, the grim reaper came to call? So many unanswered questions.

More determined than ever, Francis started back the way he’d come, anxious to see Ashley, when he spotted something on the kitchen floor. Squatting, he found several pieces of straw. He held them to his nose. Manure. Not unusual for a town like this. He glanced around. Not uncommon for a man’s house, possibly, or someone who wore boots. But definitely unusual for Mildred’s house. Besides the dishes stacked neatly, the place was clean—spotlessly so. No corrals were around her home either.

Did the straw come from my own boots? Unlikely. He’d walked a good stretch since leaving the livery. And he’d wiped them clean before entering the church. He should report right away to Roady, but first he’d speak with Neil Huntsman.