What the Dead Men Say (10 page)

    At the last name her face turned sour with a frown. “Carlyle, I could understand. But not Mike or Kittredge. They’re good men, Sheriff, and you know it.” She was watching him now, expecting him to agree.

    “That they are, Mike and Dennis,” he said. “Good men. But think back to when the wagon works closed. Think how desperate men were around here.” He didn’t have the courage to look at her as he said this.

    They reached the corner. A small band of kids stood ten feet away pointing at the sheriff, or more specifically at his badge. It always brought a lot of
ooohs
and
aaahs
of the sort kids muster for people in uniform.

    Now they faced each other and Dodds said, “The girl’s father came to town yesterday.”

    “My God. Does he think Mike is responsible?”

    “I’m pretty sure that’s what he thinks.”

    “Are you going to tell him otherwise?”

    This was the hard part for Dodds. “Mrs. Griff, I’d like you to talk to Mike and have him turn himself in at my office.”

    “My God. You think he did it, don’t you?”

    “I’m afraid I do.”

    “My God.”

    “If he don’t turn himself in, Mrs. Griff, he’s at the mercy of this fellow Ryan. So far Ryan has done nothing I can arrest him for. That means he’ll have every opportunity to kill the three men.” He hesitated a minute. “You’d rather have Mike alive, wouldn’t you?”

    “He couldn’t have killed a girl. He just couldn’t have.”

    “It was an accident. Even the bank employees agree on that. An accident. So in all likelihood he wouldn’t be facing any murder charge. Least not a first degree one.” His jaw clamped. “You’ve got to see this Ryan fellow to know what I’m talking about, Mrs. Griff. He’s insane. He’s so grieved over his daughter that nothing else matters than killing the men responsible. If Mike don’t turn himself in, Mrs. Griff, Ryan’s gonna kill him for sure.”

    “My God,” she said.

    The kids watching them inched closer. One kid said, “Sheriff, did your badge really cost two hunnerd dollars?”

    The sheriff winked at Mrs. Griff and said to the kid, “Oh, a lot more than that, Frankie. You just can’t see the jewels I got on the other side.”

    “Jewels! Wow! See, I tole ya!” Frankie said to the other kid and then they took off running, tumbling into the morning.

    “You tell Mike to turn himself in, Mrs. Griff,” Dodds said after turning back to the woman. “That’s the safest way for everybody.” He touched her elbow. “Please do it, Mrs. Griff. I don’t want anybody else to die because of all this. The girl was enough.”

    Mrs. Griff was crying now; soft silver tears in her soft gray eyes. “He just couldn’t have killed any girl, Sheriff,” she said. “Not on purpose; not on purpose.” That’s all she could think of, the girl.

    “You tell him,” Dodds said quietly. “Please, Mrs. Griff. All right?”

    He went back to his office.

    

    

    The hangover felt like a fever in James, but not so much a fever that he couldn’t think about the girl last night. He was changed, and this morning the change felt even more important than it had last night. He wished he had a good male friend in Council Bluffs, somebody you could really talk to-partly to impress, of course (not many boys his age had ever actually slept with a girl), and partly just as a confidant. Obviously he couldn’t tell his mother and he couldn’t tell Marietta. And his uncle already knew about it and…

    His uncle. James looked across at the empty bed. Apparently Septemus had gotten dressed and gone downstairs for breakfast. James thought about last night. It was pretty sad, really, Septemus getting so drunk and sort of shooting up the place and then starting to cry. James thought about what his mother had said of Septemus ever since Clarice had died. How his uncle wasn’t quite right somehow…

    For the twenty minutes James had been awake, shoes and boots and bare feet could be heard passing by on the other side of the door. Every time he’d think it was his uncle, the sound would move on down the hall. So, lying there now, he held out no hope that the sounds of leather squeaking would actually be his uncle. But the door opened abruptly and in came Septemus.

    “Good morning, James!” Septemus said, striding in and shutting the door behind him. “Are you ready for a big breakfast? I certainly am.”

    James rolled off the bed and started getting into his clothes. He kept looking at Septemus. Despite the good cheer of his booming voice, there was something wrong with Septemus. He couldn’t look James in the face.

    “Then we’ll go for a ride,” Septemus said, rummaging for something in his carpetbag.

    James saw Septemus take his Navy Colt from the bag, open his coat, and put the weapon inside his belt. Then he closed the coat again.

    “You ready, son?”

    “Mind if I wash up?”

    “Of course not, James.”

    Septemus slapped James on the back. He would still not let his eyes meet James’s.

    “Uncle Septemus?”

    “Yes, James?”

    “Is something wrong?”

    “Wrong? Why would you say a thing like that? Look out the window. It’s a fine morning. And listen to all the wagons in the street below. It’s not only a fine morning, it’s a busy morning. The sounds of commerce, that’s what you hear in the street below. The sound of commerce.” His voice was good-naturedly booming again. But then why were his eyes filled with tears?

    Something was terribly wrong. James wondered what it could be.

    “I’ll be right back,” James said, and went down the hall.

    A man was coming out of the bathroom just as James was ready to go in. The smell the man had left behind was so sour James had to hold his breath while he poured fresh water into the basin and got himself all scrubbed up.

    When he was all through, he stared at himself in the mirror with his hair combed and a clean collar on.

    Yes, he definitely looked older. Seventeen, maybe; or even eighteen. He had to thank Uncle Septemus for taking him along last night.

    But when he thought of Uncle Septemus, he thought of his strange mood this morning. Where had Septemus gone so early in the day? And why was he putting on this blustery act of being so happy? Septemus hadn’t been a happy man even before the murder of his daughter; afterward, he’d been inconsolable.

    When he got back to the room he saw Septemus sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the rotogravure of Clarice he carried everywhere with him.

    “She was a fine girl,” his uncle said.

    “She sure was.”

    Septemus looked up at him. “You miss her a lot, don’t you, James?”

    “Yes, I do.”

    Septemus continued to stare at him. “It changed all our lives, didn’t it, when she was killed, I mean?”

    James thought a moment. He felt guilty that he could not answer honestly. Sure, he was sad when Clarice had died, and he did indeed think about her pretty often. But change his life? Not really; not in the way his uncle meant. “Yes; yes it did.”

    “You’re a good boy, James.”

    “Thank you.”

    “Or excuse me. After last night, you’re a boy no longer. You’re half a man.”

    “Half?”

    Septemus’s troubled brown eyes remained on his. “There’s one more thing you need to learn. You know firsthand about carnality, and the pleasures only a woman can render a man, but now you need to learn about the opposite of pleasure.”

    “The opposite of pleasure?”

    “Responsibility. You have to pay for the pleasures of being a man by taking on the responsibilities of a man.”

    James noticed how Septemus had gone back to staring at the picture.

    “What responsibilities?”

    Septemus put the picture back in his carpetbag then stood up, putting on the good mood again. “Come on now, young man, we’re going down to the restaurant and have the finest breakfast they’ve ever served.”

    James couldn’t quell his appetite, even while he was beginning to worry about what Septemus must have in mind for them today.

    “Bacon and eggs and hash browns,” Septemus said as they strolled down the hall. “How does that sound?”

    “It sounds great.”

    “And with lots of strawberry marmalade spread all over hot bread.”

    James could barely keep himself from salivating. In the onslaught of such food, he gradually forgot about Septemus’s ominous talk of responsibility.

    

    

    She had sat at the kitchen table rehearsing what she would say to him. How easy it was when it was words spoken only to herself, only in her mind.

    
Be honest with me, Mike. Whatever you’ve done, tell me, and I’ll stand by you. I know you couldn’t have killed that young girl, so tell me your side of things, Mike. Let me hear the honest truth from you.

    Then she saw him coming up the walk, the girls hurling themselves at him so he’d pick them up in his strong callused hands and strong muscular arms and carry them inside.

    The three of them came bursting through the door, the girls laughing because he was tickling them. He set them down and Tess said, “He said I was five years old, Daddy.”

    “Who said?” Griff said, tickling her again.

    “The sheriff.”

    “The sheriff?” Griff said, fluffing her blond hair. “Was he trying to arrest you?”

    Tess nodded to her mother. “He came here to see Mommy.”

    Griff’s face tightened. “Dodds came here?”

    His wife said, “Yes.”

    “When?”

    “Not long after you walked overtown.”

    “What did he want?”

    She scooched the girls outdoors.

    “How come we have to go outside, Mommy?” Tess said.

    “Because it’s summer and that’s where little girls are supposed to be. Outside.”

    She closed the door and turned around. Griff was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. No matter how hot it got, Griff always liked steaming coffee.

    He went over and sat at the kitchen table. “What did he say?”

    She decided against any sort of coyness or hesitation. “He said you were in trouble.”

    “He say what kind?”

    “There was a bank robbery. A young girl was killed.”

    He stared at her a long time. “You believe that?”

    “I’m not sure. Not about the girl, I mean. I know you well enough to know you could never hurt a child.”

    “How about the bank?”

    She came over and sat down across from him at the table. The oilcloth smelled pleasant. “He said it was right after the wagon works closed. I remember what you were like in those days. Desperate. You thought we might lose the house and everything.”

    “What if I told you that I did help rob that bank?”

    “I’d do my best to understand.”

    “What if I told you that the girl dying was a pure accident?”

    “I’d believe that, too.”

    “Dodds tell you that the girl’s father is here?”

    “Yes. He says the man means to kill you.”

    He met her gaze. He looked sad and tense. “Can’t say I blame him, can you?”

    “It was an accident.”

    “What if it was Eloise or Tess? Would you be so forgiving just because it was an accident?”

    “I reckon not.”

    “Dodds going to come and arrest me?”

    “He wants you to turn yourself in.”

    “How do you feel about that?”

    “I wish you would.”

    “It’d mean prison.”

    “I’ve thought about that, Mike.”

    “Not all women want to wait for their men.”

    She touched his coarse strong hand. “I love you, Mike. You made a mistake but that doesn’t take away any of my feelings for you.”

    “I don’t think I could tolerate prison. I’m too old. Too used to my freedom.”

    “What’s the alternative?”

    “Let this man Ryan try something. Then Dodds will have to run him in.”

    “Won’t Dodds turn on you then?”

    “He doesn’t have any evidence. He just has the word of this ex-Pinkerton man who was through here a while back.”

    She put her head down and said a quick prayer for guidance. Then she raised her head and smiled at him. “The girls and I’ll come see you. Every week if they’ll let us.”

    “It’d be a terrible life for you.”

    “We’d get by.”

    He stared out the back window at the barn where his buggies were. She could tell he was thinking about them. Next to the girls and herself, the buggies were his abiding pride. He picked up his steaming coffee and blew on the hot liquid and said, “Let me think about it a little while.”

    She touched his hand again. “I love you, Mike. And so do the girls. Just remember that.”

    His eyes left the window and turned back to her. “I don’t know what the hell I ever did to deserve you, but I sure am a lucky man.” She laughed and there were tears in her laugh. “You expect me to disagree with that?”

    Then he laughed, too, and went back to staring out the window at the buggies.

    

    

    “Your father coming back?”

    James smiled up at the waiter. “Oh, he’s not my father.”

    “Well, I certainly noticed a resemblance, young man.”

    “I suppose it’s because he’s my uncle.”

    “Uncle, is it?” the waiter asked. He had a gray walrus mustache and a thick head of wavy gray hair. His short black jacket was spotless and the serving tray he bore was shiny stainless steel. He also had a heavy brogue. “Uncle would explain it.”