Casually scooping up the money, Tracker dropped it into his coat pocket, extracted the knife from the table, wiped it on his victim’s shirt sleeve, returned it to the scabbard under his coat and glanced around. There were no challengers.
“I guess your nickname is Righty now,” he said with a chuckle.
No one followed when Tracker marched out the door. He instantly put the mangled hand out of his mind. It wasn’t important. What interested him was the story Cephus had recounted.
Buck Thomson had unwittingly inherited a powerful enemy. Did he realize how vulnerable he had become and the danger he posed to the people around him?
Chapter THIRTEEN
The next morning Buck arrived at the Richland County Bank to find his friend Gus closeted with a prominent local client and not expected to be available for the better part of an hour. Buck was turning to leave the building when a male voice called out.
“Buck Thomson? I do declare. Is it really you?”
He swung around.
A young man, dressed in a well-tailored but worn suit with a vest and stained cravat, stepped toward him, hobbling badly on his left leg. Buck’s initial reaction was to attribute his handicap to a war injury. It took him a moment to place the face. “Rex? Rexford Cleburne?”
Not a war casualty at all. Clay’s best friend had broken his ankle badly in a fall while foxhunting as a teenager; the fracture had never healed properly.
“It’s been years,” Rex said, offering his hand. “I’m glad to see you survived the recent unpleasantness, apparently in one piece.”
“It’s good to see you too, Rex. How’ve you been?” He was almost as tall as Buck, with wavy sand-colored hair, parted in the middle, and dark-edged, medium-blue eyes. A handsome young man, who in spite of his limp gave the impression of vigorous good health.
“I understand you’re a doctor now. You planning to open your practice here in Columbia?
“I haven’t made any plans for the future yet. I’m here to discuss options with Mr. Grayson about selling Jasmine.”
“Sell Jasmine? What about Clay? I thought he was going to take over the place.”
Buck paused. “I’m sorry you haven’t heard, Rex. Clay’s dead. He was killed in the war.”
Rex stared at him. “Dead?” His voice shook. “Clay’s dead?”
“I’m sorry,” Buck repeated. “Can we go somewhere? You look like you need to sit down.”
“My office,” Rex muttered.
As he walked beside the limping man, Buck remarked, “Your office? You work here?”
“Have for a couple of years. Used to help Mr. Grayson interview people wanting loans. Nowadays we don’t have any money to lend. I reckon things’ll get even worse with the Yankees in charge. Carpetbaggers! Been invading in droves. Worse than boll weevils.”
Inside a small room with frosted-glass windows on three sides, Rex waved him to a chair while he hobbled behind the scarred wooden desk.
“What happened? How was Clay killed? When?”
“A few months ago, right at the end of the war, up in Virginia. A sniper got him.”
Rex bowed his head.
“Actually, I believe you’re acquainted with the man who killed him.”
Rex looked up, startled and gaped at Buck. “What? I? How could I? Who—”
“Rufus Snead.” Buck watched as the other man rocked in his chair, then heaved himself to his feet.
“That sorry bastard?” He took an unsteady step to one side, reversed course and paced back. “He and his whole damn family are a scourge,” he grumbled in a low intense voice. “Rufus killed Clay? That son of a bitch. I heard talk he was going after your brother. Swore to kill him. I never believed he had the guts to follow through though.” He dropped heavily into his seat again, placed his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. “Sniper, huh? Should have known he’d take a coward’s way, shoot him from afar. An honorable man would’ve faced him. So that worthless piece of scum got his revenge after all.”
“Revenge for what?” Buck had already figured it out, but he wanted independent confirmation. “What reason did Rufus Snead have for killing my brother?”
Rex frowned, as if he were weighing options, then spoke in a confidential whisper. “He hated Clay, Buck. No question about that. He hated your brother. Clay never let Rufus forget he was the overseer’s son, from the time they were boys.”
“But that was years ago, when they were children. Did something transpire between them as adults that drove Rufus to murder?” Buck leaned forward and crossed his arms. “Before he was killed, Clay said he wanted to tell me about a family matter, but he never got a chance. Did it have anything to do with the Sneads?”
Rex sighed. “I reckon everybody in lower Richland County’s familiar with the story.”
“I didn’t keep in contact with people around here after I left for medical school. Then the war broke out. When Clay showed up a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t laid eyes on him in four years or more.”
“A lot happened after you left. You remember Saul Snead’s daughter, Sally Mae? She would’ve been eight or ten years old when you were still living here. The only one in the family who had any looks. Her old lady was ugly enough to freeze up a cotton gin, and her old man . . .”
“Emma says the girl died in childbirth, claims she doesn’t know who the father was.”
Rex stroked his chin pensively. “She knows, Buck, but I reckon she doesn’t feel it’s her place to say.”
“It was Clay, wasn’t it?”
Rex shrugged. “Had to have been him. He was her first and I suspect her only. Hell, I thought I might get . . .” He averted his eyes, embarrassed at the impulsive admission. “She wasn’t like the rest of the Sneads, Buck. Not like her momma, if you following my meaning. I believe she was truly in love with Clay. Kept her knees close together and refused to let any other man touch her. That really riled her daddy, not because she let Clay have her, but because she did it for free. He figured she was gonna be a steady source of income. When she refused to share her favors with other men, he beat her nearly as bad as he whipped those boys of his. Then he told your father what Clay’d done. Next thing you know, the girl’s back in Lexington County and Clay’s off to the Citadel. You said you saw Emma. She still got the boy?”
“You never bothered to check up on your best friend’s son?”
A muscle in Rex’s jaw twitched. “Don’t lay that responsibility on me, Dr. Thomson,” he shot back angrily. “It’s your family, not mine. Raleigh knew Emma had his grandson in her cabin, and he seemed content to let him stay there, while he passed his time up at the big house. Commenced drinking like never before. Far as I know, he never said a word to anyone about the baby. Folks around here didn’t talk about it either, at least not where they could be overheard. I certainly didn’t see any reason why I should get involved.”
Buck nodded. “You’re right. I was away at medical school when all this was going on, so I appreciate your enlightening me. I understand now what Clay was referring to.” He braced the wooden arms of the upholstered chair, started to rise, then settled into it again. “What a mess. My father and brother dead. Jasmine in ruins. And now a child that no one seems to want, except an old black woman, who more than anyone else has the right to wash her hands of him. The world’s gone crazy.”
“If I can help in any way, Buck, tell me. Clay was like a brother to me—” he paused, ill-at-ease with the comparison “—my best friend.”