Ruth Farmer was on her hands and knees weeding her vegetable garden when the sheriff arrived. They retired to the back porch for iced tea.
“I’d like to ask you something, Mom,” Farmer said after a few minutes of casual conversation. “You know about the bones found out at the old King place?”
“Yes.” His mother sipped her tea. “A terrible thing.”
“Now I know nobody expects me to find out what happened that far back. I’ll have to close it unresolved. But I can’t help feeling curious. Do you remember anything Grandma or Great-grandma Berniece ever told you that might shed some fight?”
His mother’s rocker stopped rocking. “Why, Carroll, that was years and years ago.”
“I know that. But I could use your help if you’ve got it to give.”
She looked at him for a long minute, then at her lap, finally into the sunny backyard. “When do you think this happened?”
“We can’t pin it down too close. Maybe about nineteen fifteen or so, close to the time Callie left. I know I’ve heard all the old stories, but—”
“No,” his mother said. “Not all of them.” Slowly, she began to rock again, her eyes on him. “Some of the stories I was told swore me to secrecy, Carroll. Nobody but my grandmother, my mother, and I knew. You never heard those stories.”
He stared at her. “Do you know what happened out there?”
Her mouth set. “I know what I was told. In nineteen sixteen Grandma Berniece worked in the kitchen at the big house, along with her sister, Callie. Grandma was twenty-one and Callie was seventeen.”
“Callie, the black sheep,” he said to prompt her.
His mother shook her head. “Let’s say she was foolish.”
She paused for so long he thought she had changed her mind and was not going to tell him. Then she drew a deep breath. “Grandma never knew for sure what happened, understand. Nothing she could prove. But she had a pretty good idea.”
On the following morning, Sheriff Farmer shut down the digging on the Thorne place and promised the family that the county would cover the cost of repair. After conferring with Doc Ebenshaw, he marked the case officially unresolved. He took his wife out for lunch, explained the situation, and received her cooperation. That night he told Raney at supper. His daughter’s face paled with shock.
“You’re just giving up?”
“It’s a waste of my time, Raney. I have other things to do. It’s too late to find the answers. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“But look at all we’ve found out so far!” she protested. “You can’t give up yet. If you’re busy I can ask around, talk to people—”
“You won’t do anything,” he interrupted sharply. “I don’t want you nosing around bothering people. You’re too young to understand, honey, so you’ll have to trust me. That case is over.”
Raney was on her feet, eyes blazing. “I’m not too young! And I’m not a quitter, either. That’s what you are, just a damn quitter!”
She was gone before he could answer, slamming out of the house. The sheriff looked across the table at his wife.
“That hurt. My daughter thinks I’m a quitter.”
“She doesn’t understand, hon. She’ll get over it.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s only one other way,” Dee said after a long silence.
“Is it that important? Would it be right?”
“You have to decide that, Carroll. But I’ll go along with whatever you say.”
Raney was polite but cool as she and her father headed out of town in the family car. The weather had turned kinder, providing them with a light breeze that rippled through green fields as they passed.
“It would be nice if I knew where we were going,” she said after a while.
“Well, I’ll tell you where we’re going,” Farmer said. “We’re going to see someone, and after that I’m going to tell you some things. You say you’re not too young to tackle hard stuff so I’m going to take you up on that. Your mom and I talked it over and it’s okay with her.”
She couldn’t hide the spark of interest. “Who are we going to see?”
He watched her while he told her. “We’re going to visit Miss Elizabeth, Vern King’s daughter.”
Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide. “That Elizabeth? Is she alive? I didn’t know she was still alive.”
“She’s alive. She’s ninety-seven years old and lives in a nursing home outside Durbin. That’s where we’re headed.”
Raney broke out in a sunny smile. “Well, why didn’t you say so before? She can tell us, we can find out—” Suddenly she broke off. “Ninety-seven? That’s old! Is she yucky like Mrs. Miller? I don’t know if I—”
“Yes, she’s old, and I don’t know what you term yucky. But you will be polite and act as though you had a decent upbringing. And Miss Elizabeth won’t tell us anything because her mind is failing. I talked to the head nurse yesterday and she tells me Elizabeth has days she remembers things and days she doesn’t. Besides, we’re not going there to ask her any questions.”
“Then why are we going?”
“Because I want you to see her before I tell you some things,” Farmer said. “Then I hope you’ll understand.”
His daughter settled back, muttering, “I don’t know why nobody told me she was alive.”
“I didn’t think it was important till now,” Farmer said. “She’s lived here for a long time, Raney — over twenty years.”
She was silent for several miles. “Twenty years is a long time.”
“It sure is.”
Raney waited on a bench in the shade beside a small pond while the sheriff went inside. There were a few ducks skating across the water. She stood when she saw her father pushing a wheelchair toward her. Sitting in the chair was a slumped figure wrapped in shawls. Up close, the. figure bore no resemblance to the big strong woman in the historical society’s book. This woman’s face was filled with wrinkles, her bony hands gnarled and twisted. Only her eyes showed any signs of life.
Farmer stopped her in the shade beside the bench. “Miss Elizabeth, this is my daughter, Raney. Raney, Miss Elizabeth King.”
The old woman stirred before Raney could answer. “My name is Mrs. Wesley Burdette,” she corrected in a thin voice. She cocked her head back to glare up at him. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”
The sheriff smiled. “I came to see you, Miss Elizabeth. I’m a friend.”
She studied him suspiciously for a minute before turning her attention to Raney. “What are you standing around for, girl?” she queried sharply. A bony hand shooed her. “Get back to your chores. I don’t pay you to dawdle.”
Raney’s eyes rose to her father’s. “Does she think I work for her?” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” the sheriff said. He sat down on the edge of the bench and pulled the wheelchair close to him. “Miss Elizabeth?” he asked gently. “Look, they gave me some ice cream from the kitchen. They tell me you like ice cream.”
“I like ice cream,” she said, reaching for it. Farmer placed the cup and spoon into her hand.
“Can she eat it by herself?” Raney asked, still whispering.
“They say she can,” her father answered, and slowly the old woman began ladling the melting ice cream into her mouth.
Raney stood frozen to her spot. “Oh, Dad, she’s so sad.”
He nodded at the grass at the foot of the wheelchair. “Come sit over here.” Haltingly, Raney sank down cross-legged at Miss Elizabeth’s feet.
The old woman seemed to have forgotten them as she concentrated on her ice cream. Two ducks squawked in dispute out on the pond. She raised her eyes to watch them.