Charley nodded dumbly as she poured more of the dark, vile brew into his cup.
Coates said, “Ma’am, tell us what happened just before your husband fell off the cliff into the river.”
The woman said, “I don’t wish to speak evil of the dead, young man. But Mr. Purdy was a violent man when he was drinking and he hit me and knocked me down on the floor unconscious, so I don’t know too much about what did happen, to tell the honest truth.”
Coates’ eyes narrowed. “You say you were unconscious?”
“That’s right. He blacked my eye and I hit my head when I fell down.”
“But you said you saw him fall. How’d you see him fall if you were unconscious?”
Martha Purdy inhaled audibly and clamped her hand to her mouth. Finally she stammered, “Well, I mean I was unconscious there on the floor for a minute and then I sort of woke up and I missed Mr. Purdy and I went out to look for him and I saw him fall off the cliff into the Winding River.”
“He was drunk and violent and he knocked you down but you went looking for him,” said Coates doubtfully. “Tell me, when was the last time that old shotgun was fired?”
Martha said, “Is your tea all right, Charley? Can’t I give you a little to warm yours up, young man? You’ve hardly touched your cup.”
Coates shook his head and waited. Charley Estes swallowed tea.
The woman said, “Mr. Purdy was quite a hunter. He... he liked to kill things. Little animals, like rabbits and squirrels, although he never even skinned them. He went hunting in the woods the very day he died. That’s when the gun was fired last.”
Coates said, “Let’s step outside the house a minute, so you can show us right where you were standing when you saw your husband fall.”
“No hurry,” Charley Estes protested. “We haven’t finished our tea yet.”
“No use waiting till it’s dark,” Coates persisted. “It’s almost dark already.”
They went outside the rickety house. The woman was standing on the doorsill. An old tree cut off her view of the towering cliff, but she said, “I was standing here. Just inside the door.”
Coates said, “But you can’t even see the cliff from here, ma’am.”
She said, “Well, I was a little farther out, I guess. I was kind of dazed from being unconscious on the floor. I don’t just remember.”
They moved out farther into the weed-tangled yard. The evening was falling fast now and in the gathering dusk the cliff above the river reared like some misshapen monolith. Coates stiffened, and exclaimed, “What the holy hell is that?”
There was a rock-strewn area at the base of the cliff. In the center of it stood something that resembled a human figure with outstretched arms.
Charley Estes said, “It’s nothing, Coates. It’s an old tree got hit by lightning years ago. The branches stick out like arms, the two lower ones that was left.”
The old woman spoke hurriedly. She said, “It’s a scarecrow. Mr. Purdy hung a scarecrow up to the tree. He didn’t fancy birds. I liked to see them fly and hear them sing, but Mr. Purdy said birds were pesky things and he shot at them and built a scarecrow to frighten them away.” She turned to Estes. “Mr. Purdy called me ‘Scarecrow’ sometimes when he was drinking. He called me that because I’m not pretty like I used to be, I guess.”
Coates was walking toward the rock patch and the stunted tree. Charley Estes called, “Wait up a minute. Where you going?”
Coates said, “I want a look at this scarecrow.”
“Come back here!” Charley Estes snapped. “It’s dark and that’s a rough path. No use wasting time with scarecrows. You going dauncy?”
Coates said, “I think we ought to look at it.”
Estes shook his head. “I said come back and I’m the sheriff. That’s an order, Coates.”
Coates returned reluctantly and they went back into the house.
“I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t take a look, at least,” Coates Williams grumbled.
“It’s getting dark,” said the sheriff. “I don’t want you stumbling into the river, too.”
The woman was lighting another coal-oil lamp. She said, “You two gentlemen must stay and have dinner with me. I just love having visitors. Mr. Purdy never liked social life, but I’m going to have lots of parties now, with all the fine china I got for my wedding present and never used. I’ll go to the smoke house and get some meat and...”
Charley said, “No, Martha. Not tonight. Coates and I are married men and our little women are expecting us for supper. But we can’t leave you out here alone. You need a rest a while in a hospital and have the doctors look you over and get fed up so there’s some meat on those bones. After that, I’m going to see if I can’t get you a job of some sort or other around the courthouse or cleaning up for some nice folks in town. You pick up whatever you need and put a wrap on and come with us.”
“But I can’t!” the woman cried, cowering away from him. “I can’t go with you now!”
“Why?” asked Coates Williams. “Why can’t you go with us?”
“Because there’s things to do before I leave, that’s why.”
“What things?” Coates asked.
“Why, I’ve got to pack up all my wedding china and the trousseau clothes I never wore, and — and lots of things,” the woman said.
“All right, Martha,” Charley Estes said gently. “You do your packing and whatever else you’ve got to do. Coates and I are going in to eat our supper. I’ll drive back here in a couple of hours or so for you. You be ready.”
He shoved Coates toward the door. Coates said, “Why don’t we wait for her? There’s no point in coming all the way back here tonight, Charley. Those last four miles are rough.”
Charley Estes said, “I won’t need you... I’ll come back by myself.”
They got into the car. They were both silent as they drove over the boulder-strewn clay road.
When they reached Route 16 at last, Coates said, “Charley, old Purdy was a hunter. Had been all his life, I hear. Hunters don’t leave the safety off when they set a loaded shotgun in a corner.”
Estes said, “Purdy was a drunk. You can’t calculate the things a drunk might do.”
The car sped over the high-crowned road and the night fluttered like dark mourning streamers.
Coates said, “That’s a funny place to put a scarecrow, in that rocky patch there at the foot of the cliff, beside the river. There’s not even any ragweed for birds to pick at.”
Charley Estes did not answer.
Coates said, “He called her ‘Scarecrow,’ Charley. She must have hated him for that. Now just suppose — just suppose, I say — that she shot him there beside that stunted tree the lightning hit. The tree that’s got two arms reaching out like a man. Just suppose she pulled him up and hitched his body to the tree, like a scarecrow. You couldn’t see it from the road. She would be the only one could see it — from the house. Did you notice the smell when that wind came up from the river, Charley?”
“Can’t say I did,” Estes answered. “Dead fish wash up when the river’s running, anyway. And there’s lots of skunks in this country, Coates.”
Coates grunted doubtfully. “Just suppose she did what I said, though. Can you imagine what it was like the past week or so out there? The thing hanging to the tree and the old woman remembering all his drunken meanness while she stood there outside the doorway, screeching. I can almost hear her yelling at the thing — ‘Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!’ ”
“You got quite an imagination, Coates,” said Charley Estes. “Maybe you shouldn’t be my deputy. Maybe you should be writing story books.”
They were silent until the twinkling lights of Clayville and the hulk of the old covered bridge came into view.