Gee’s account followed the skeleton of Mrs. Parens’ story, without including any emotion. No mention of her husband’s recent death. Factual account of the oil boom in O’Hara Hill. Leasing a room to Leah Pedroke as a business arrangement. Her renter’s failure to return on schedule. The search for the young woman relayed in police report dryness.
Except she never faced us.
Mike shook his head slightly. He was concerned.
His aunt would resist mightily being yanked out of automaton mode and Gisella Decker with her heels dug in would not be budged.
On the other hand, perhaps she could be lured with a carrot to where she could not be driven.
A carrot in the form of professional shop talk.
“Once the sheriff’s department arrived that night, did they conduct the investigation well?”
“With Jimmie Careb as sheriff?” she asked with characteristic — and relieving — tartness. “No. Started off okay with the first officer on scene. He was an old-timer. Hadn’t moved with the times, but he had common sense, experience, and worked hard. Then Jimmie Careb showed up, throwing his weight around when it dawned on him there’d be reporters on hand.”
“What kind of sheriff was he?”
“He set up to talk to reporters right where Leah was killed before they finished searching the area. Didn’t have the science we have now, but a simple search? You want to know what kind of sheriff he was? Taught Robert Widcuff everything he thought he knew.”
“That’s an indictment if I ever heard one.”
“Jimmie Careb should have been indicted. He was the mold, Robert Widcuff merely the knockoff copy.”
“Yet you still chose to sign up as a dispatcher with the sheriff’s department under him. I’d have thought you’d stay as far away from that operation as possible.”
She turned, leaving the knife behind this time. Her hands on her substantial hips proved nearly as intimidating. “When there’s something wrong, you can run the other direction for fear of the spray getting on you, or you can dig in and try to make it right. Like those stables that guy cleaned as one of his miracles.”
I wrestled with that a moment. “The Labors of Hercules? The Augean stables?”
“Did it in a day, right?”
“I think so. He rerouted a couple rivers. He needed to because the livestock was supposed to be divine and thus produce prodigious amounts of, uh, dung.” Now that had stuck in my memory.
She snorted. “Don’t care whether they were divine or not, I’ve seen cattle dung and it’s nothing compared to what was in that sheriff’s department then. Took me — and others, including you and Mike and the others at the end with Widcuff — to clean it out, but it’s cleaned out now. That’s what counts.”
“And now Furman York is dead.” Did someone view that as a punctuation mark on the misjustice of the Leah Pedroke murder verdict?
Someone who’d cared about that young woman and who abhorred misjustice?
Involuntarily, my head jerked up.
But Gee had said she couldn’t…
The thought floated through my mind that if Furman York had been killed by anyone trying to figuratively muck out a particular corner of the Augean Stables, Norman Clay Lukasik’s life might not be worth much, either.
That thought struck a nerve, like banging your elbow. It zinged around as if hugely serious, yet I couldn’t see how.
“About time he left this earth. Sure wasn’t doing any good on it. Not that a murder can be ignored, but if one could be, this would be it. Should have been in prison these past decades, instead of slithering around here like he’s been, doing heaven knows what.”
“Like allegedly rustling?”
She expelled a “Huh” that put allegedly in its place. Of course he was. Sounds just like him. “No good that one. Every way, shape, and form.”
“Had you met him before … before the trial?”
“No. Haven’t met him since, either. Made sure of that. Our paths didn’t come close to crossing often. When they did… Well, I saw him entering the supermarket when I had a cart half-full. I left that cart and prepared to walk out the door. Penny stopped me with one hand and pointed him out the door with the other. He laughed. Nasty, nasty, nasty. But he went.
“I can’t suppose he was barred from there every time, but at least that once, he knew he was not fit to be around decent people.”
“Did you know about his connections to the grazing association?”
“I knew the ranch for which he worked belonged to that grazing association, despite efforts to change that. I did not, after the passing of Leah’s parents, keep an awareness of his activities, with the grazing association or anything else. Wayne Shelton knew my sentiments about having the man in our county. I left it to him to ensure no other young woman became York’s victim. To Wayne’s credit, none has. And now none will.”
She poured the results of her celery chopping into the large bowl and deftly set up four more ribs in a row on the board.
“You said after Leah’s parents passed. When was that, Gee?” I asked.
“Ten years after Leah’s murder. Their two other children had left home by then. Leah’s siblings had moved on. Young people are resilient that way. Her parents did not move on. After Leah’s father died — the second to die — I received only a clipping of a newspaper notice. I wrote back, but never received a response.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“It did, a little. When Leah’s parents stayed with me during the trial, I saw them as a strong, connected family. But—” She briskly whacked through the celery. “—people react differently, move on differently, heal differently.”
I wondered about Gee. The death of her husband left her with questions, followed by a young woman she’d cared for whose murder left the taste of bitter injustice. Gisella Decker certainly moved on. But had she truly healed?
“Leah’s parents stayed with you? During the trial, you mean?” Mike asked.
“Yes.” Whack. Another precise cut across the ribs of celery. Whatever she was making would have plenty of crunch.
“Tell us about the trial.”
“It was like the officer I mentioned as first on the scene and Sheriff Careb. The old, stolid way of doing things unable to stand up to the flashy and underhanded.”
“The county attorney of that time and Norman Clay Lukasik?”
“Precisely. The county attorney set forth a solid case. But he did not know how to contend with Lukasik’s theatrics and misdirection.
“That Lukasik kept harping on Mr. Erwin, who was Leah’s boss. Didn’t matter that the county attorney had brought in those girls who’d seen Mr. Erwin leave and dropped him at the bar. And then the men from the bar who were with him every minute until they all went to where they were living. And Roland Fuller out looking for his dog saw them arrive. Mr. Erwin had an alibi practically minute by minute. But those were mere facts.”
She looked even grimmer. “Which Lukasik tried to make sound mysterious and suspicious, succeeding all too often with the weak-minded. While his client sat there smirking — despite all the evidence of his being out of the bar during the time Leah must have been attacked and killed, and looking like he’d been in a fight when he came back, and that button tying his shirt to the crime scene for heaven’s sakes.”
She sucked in a deep breath, clearly having lost the thread of that sentence. However her grammar had tangled, her point remained straight.
“Did he persuade anyone?” I asked.
“Nobody with half a brain,” Gee said emphatically, picking up the knife again, but not returning to her chopping. “All razzle dazzle and repeating perfectly ordinary words as if they were significant and suspicious. Clear as anything what he was doing. Though the judge didn’t help any, not letting evidence come in about other girls York had tried to mess with here. Probably the reason he kept moving.”
From the corner of my eye, I was aware of Jennifer giving a slight nod.
“Aunt Gee,” Mike asked, “after he was acquitted, did York go back to Texas?”
“He was not acquitted. He received a not-guilty verdict. As for where he went, I don’t know. Didn’t care, either. Wish to high heavens he’d stayed there. Why he ever came back here… Had to know he was hated.”
“Some people crave that,” I murmured.
She belied the negative shake of her head by saying, “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He was bad. Plain bad. If it weren’t for all the trouble to the good people of Cottonwood County and our law enforcement, I’d be just as glad he finally was killed and not worry overmuch about who did it.”
Odd to hear that sentiment from the Grande Dame of Cottonwood County law and order.
Though that attitude would not do for Tamantha. Her goal tolerated no potential lingering doubts.
“What about the rumors that bribery was involved in the verdict?” Mike asked. “Do you believe them?”
Gee sent him a repressive look, but at least she didn’t point the knife.
“Rumors are not what modern, professional, and ethical law enforcement are about.”
“Rumors can be pointers,” he said doggedly.
“If there had been sufficient proof to lay charges against any individuals for circumventing justice in that case, I, personally, would have seen to it. However, even without the legal system, a kind of justice can come about, whether by exile, by not being able to live with the guilt, by finding the hallow of hatred beneath the trappings of worldly success.”
“Who are the first two?” Jennifer asked. “Guessing the last one is Norman Clay Lukasik? I’ve heard his son doesn’t like him—” Not naming her source showed growing tact, since she’d heard it from me. “—and his wife couldn’t stand him.”
Gee’s lips pressed tight. “I have said as much as I intend to until I speak with Wayne Shelton. Some might hold I’ve already said too much. However, you are welcomed to stay for lunch.”
“What are you making?”
I quelled Mike with a look, but Gee didn’t see it and wouldn’t have been quelled regardless. “Chicken salad with spicy-hot almonds.”
“Maybe we can stick around…”
My mouth watered despite my stomach loudly declaring itself full. “No. We have a lot to follow up on.”
Gee gave me a severe look. “Law enforcement is obligated to look into the death of Furman York, which can only be regarded as an improvement in our county. You are not.”
I shook my head. “I am — we are, Aunt Gee. Tamantha’s worried about Tom. Who can blame her after last time?”
“My dad was telling my mom he told off somebody at work who was saying they’d always wondered if Tom got away with it last time and if this was another instance…” Jennifer let it fade away as we all turned to her.
Under his breath, Mike uttered a curse. I mentally seconded it. His aunt didn’t scold him.
Belatedly trying to stem the reaction, Jennifer said, “And Tom’s real worried the sheriff’s department has landed on Hiram Poppinger and won’t let go.”
Gee turned back to her workspace. She covered the bowl, put everything into the refrigerator, except the cutting board and knife, and untied her apron.
“You’ll all need to go now. It’s clearly high time I report to work.”