Chapter Twenty

Jesse made it home in time for supper. Serena had a few things to say about that. “As rare as hen’s teeth” popped up somewhere in her running commentary. Jesse nodded and listened. Love, he knew, came in funny-shaped packages and he wasn’t in a mood to argue about this particular one.

“So what did the Captain and you chat about at lunch and how much did it cost you?”

“He’s a Major now and it didn’t cost me a thin dime, Serena, and Henry Sturgis was the topic of conversation, if you must know.”

“The Captain paid? I mean the Major. He paid? Mercy. What financial miracle will we see next? What about Henry?”

“It was about how he came to get himself shot in the foot. So, how was your day?”

“My day? Well, funny you should ask. It’s not something you ask me about most days.”

“Serena…?”

“Jesse, it’s just lately you been either out looking for a murderer who’s probably dead and gone, that old watch, or everything else except us here at home. And these children are not getting more civilized, like I supposed they would once we got them off the mountain. I swear, they are like Indians on the warpath half the time.”

Serena took a deep breath, sat, and fanned herself with her apron. “Never mind, I’m just in a state. It happens this time ’most every month. So, I went to the library, like I said I would. I got you a book on furniture-building, like you asked, and I got me a book ’bout economics.”

“Eco…whats?”

“Economics. It’s the study of how money is made and used, mostly. It says it’s about goods and services, but, in the end, it’s mostly ’bout money. It’s by some foreigner named Nikolai Bukharin and it’s called Economic Theory of the Leisure Class.”

“The leisure class? Well, that won’t have nothing to say to us. Except for Sunday noontime, there ain’t a whole lot of leisure to be had in this family.”

“For sure. So, I was just browsing in it, you could say, trying to get a feel for the shape of it. I saw in the front index page that there was a whole chapter about ‘Futures’ so I thought that must be about what was going to happen. You know, Lawyer Bradford is so all-falluting crazy about getting rich, and the way them stock shares is going to grow forever. I figured I’d read up on it and find out what was coming.”

“And?”

“It weren’t about that at all. It was about commodity trading. Did you know that some of those big farmers out west sell their crop ’fore they even plant it?”

“What? How in Holy Ned do they manage that? Who’s going to buy something that don’t exist?”

“Traders. See, the farmer sells his crops in what they call a futures market. That way he has cash money to buy seed, machinery, and so on. The buyer is betting he can sell the crop after harvest at a higher price per bushel for...say, corn...than he paid for it in the spring.”

“Now that there is a puzzle, for sure. People really do that?”

“Not just farmers. There’s fruit growers, and all sorts of people who produce things that have prices that can change over time. Just like the stock shares. You buy them at a price and reckon they’ll be worth more later on. Isn’t that what Mister Bradford said?”

“Yeah, well, what if there was a drought and the farmer couldn’t deliver or the price per whatever fell below what the trader paid?”

“I reckon the farmer would have to go out and buy from other folks at the going rate to make up the shortage. In the second case, the trader loses his shirt.”

“Lordy, what a world. Sometime I think we should have stayed up on the mountain. At least most of the time, what folks up there do makes sense. Anyway, I can’t see where this has anything to do with us.”

“Didn’t you buy timber rights at a price with the notion you could sell them on to R.G. for more than you paid?”

“Well, yeah, but, that wasn’t about waiting for a crop to come in. The trees was already there. Not much left hereabouts to speculate on now.”

“You sure? I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, but the timber that was cut forty-eight years ago has pretty much growed back. There’s good pine and cedar. You run the only sawmill around. You might could think about getting back in the building trade business and buying up some timber rights now.”

“Mill pine? I don’t know, Serena. We’re working full-out now with the hardwoods. They’re our bread and butter. I don’t know how we could add soft woods into the mix.”

“All I’m saying is, maybe you should think about it.”

“If I put anymore ‘maybes’ into my brain, I swear, it will explode.”

Sheriff Privette waved Jesse back to his office. Jesse had stopped at the sheriff’s office on the off chance something, anything, might have turned up.

“Back here, Jesse. I might have something for you.”

Jesse worked his way between the clutter of the Sheriff’s Department to the cubbyhole that served as Privette’s desk. The sheriff pointed to a chair and Jesse sat. Privette spent another minute or two shuffling through the papers on his desk and finally looked up. Jesse thought he didn’t look so good, like maybe the sheriffing business was a mite too strenuous for him. Privette coughed and blew his nose.

“Got me a cold. How, I can’t imagine. I was out to the elementary school back a while. I reckon some runny nosed kid did me. Anyway, I got something for you, Jesse. I was poking around the various pawn shops and jewelry stores looking for that watch of yours, like I said I would.”

Jesse was pretty sure he remembered the exact opposite, that Privette had no intention of trying to find it or anything else related to the murder, but held his tongue.

“There is a shop out the main drag that has one of those Jefferson Davis medals for sale. It might be from the chain of your watch. I don’t know. You could check that out. Who knows, it might lead you back to the watch and maybe the killer, too.”

“You’re okay with me poking around a little? I thought you wanted me to leave the policing to you all.”

“I do, but I ain’t got time or men to spare to follow up on every little bitty piece of maybe evidence in a ten-year-old murder.”

“Well, that is mighty fine of you, Sheriff.”

Privette grunted and scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it over the desk. Jesse fumbled for his reading glasses and perched them on his nose. He did not recognize the name or the address.

“Thank you, Sheriff. If this turns up anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“You do that. I ain’t holding my breath, you know.”

“Gotcha.”