48
Inadmissible evidence
The door to the office opened and the Sheriff walked in, followed by Donny, who was in the middle of bragging about how he’d “cuffed” the Snavely boys that morning.
“Emma?” The Sheriff was taken aback. It was hard to take him by surprise, but my being there certainly did.
“You still here, for God’s sake?” Donny said. A look from the Sheriff cut him short. “She’s been here all afternoon. I told her you were over White’s Bridge way.”
“I was just waiting. There’s something important I need to talk to you about,” I said, holding up my gym bag.
The Sheriff turned on Donny. “You left her alone? Now, listen up, Donny: you don’t leave this office when somebody’s in it, and for God’s sake, you don’t leave Emma alone in it.”
I considered. There were two ways of taking what the Sheriff just said: one way was that he was concerned for my safety. I might be here alone when there was a jail break (the jail being on the opposite side of the building) and the escaping prisoners would find me here and hold me hostage. The other way of taking the Sheriff’s order was that he didn’t trust me around the filing cabinets. I guess I’d have to go for the second interpretation, since he was right.
He had by now removed his cap and uniform jacket and had sat down. He motioned me over to the chair beside his desk. “Must be really important if you waited all this time.”
I looked over to see what Donny was doing. He was at his own much smaller desk and was pretending to be busy pulling out drawers and taking files out. What he was really doing was listening. I shifted around so my back was to him and whispered to the Sheriff, “In here”—I unzipped my gym bag—“is evidence.” I pulled out the letter, the photo, the doll.
Frowning, the Sheriff picked up each in turn. “I’ve seen these things before, haven’t I? In that old Calhoun cottage?”
“Brokedown House,” I said, nodding.
Donny just couldn’t resist getting in on things. “You talking about that old falling-down place near Butternut’s?” Now he was out of his chair, moving toward the Sheriff. “Ain’t nobody lived there for years, not since old man Calhoun moved out. You recall him, Sam—”
“Donny. You were supposed to check out that fracas at the Red Barn. And that complaint from Asa Ledbetter about someone messing with his stock. Have you done it?”
“Well, I was just about to when—”
The Sheriff tossed him the keys to the cruiser. “Good. So do it.”
“It’s almost six—”
“We don’t keep regular hours, Donny. You want a nine-to-five, get a job at the Second National.”
It was so much a point for my side, I didn’t even bother gloating.
“I’ll say one thing,” said Donny. “She tells you anything that trans-pired here before I left, you better take it with a grain of salt, hear?”
How stupid of him. He’d just let the Sheriff know, just with that comment, that something had “trans-pired” which would put Donny in a bad light.
“See you later, Donny.”
Donny, unhappy, left.
“Okay. Now what were you doing in that Calhoun house? You aren’t going over there alone?”
“No, of course not. I was with—Mr. Butternut.” Something kept me from saying Dwayne Hayden.
“Same thing. What about these things?”
“The doll is wearing a dress like Mary-Evelyn Devereau’s the night she drowned. I mean—what’s that word the police and papers use when they can’t come right out and accuse someone?”
“‘Allegedly’?”
“That’s right. Allegedly drowned.”
The Sheriff looked surprised. “You’re saying she didn‘t’?” “I’ m saying she didn’t.” I weighted the words.
“A doctor has to sign a death certificate,” said the Sheriff,
“and drowning is pretty easy to identify. Especially when you take the body out of a lake.”
I wasn’t in the mood for his smile (for once). “It shows she drowned, but not where.”
Puzzled, he said, “You’re saying she drowned somewhere else?” He leaned forward, as if getting closer to me might explain me.
“If somebody held your head under water, it could look like you drowned, couldn’t it?”
Leaning back in his swivel chair, he nodded, but his eyes widened.
“When they put her in that boat she was already dead.” Never had I seen the Sheriff appear so astonished. His chair crashed forward. “What? You think the Devereau women killed that little girl?”
Since I had just said it, I sat there.
“Why? Why would they do such a thing?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. I know they hated her, is all. I know from what Ulub said. He used to do odd jobs for them.” From his expression, I could tell the Sheriff might be just as suspicious of Ulub’s brainpower as most other people around here. “Ulub said he was looking through a window one night when he’d been raking leaves and saw Mary-Evelyn playing the piano and crying. The sisters were eating dinner. She wasn’t allowed to eat dinner with them that night. She was being punished. If nothing else, I think playing the piano is a funny way to punish somebody, don’t you?” But I could tell the Sheriff wasn’t putting much stock in what Ulub might say, and that made me angry. But I tried not to let it show. I tried not to get emotional, since emotions weren’t convincing.
“You probably don’t think you can believe what Ulub and Ubub say; but I know them better than you. They’re perfectly sensible and sane. Then there’s Imogene Calhoun.”
The Sheriff sat back. I must be switching topics too fast for him. He said, “You mean the ones who lived in that cottage?”
I nodded. “Imogene lives in Cold Flat Junction. When she was ten or eleven, she’d go with her sister Rebecca to the Devereau house. She told me how they mistreated Mary-Evelyn. Things like they wouldn’t let her feed her kitten. And other things.”
Instead of being shocked, he pondered. “But if this Imogene was only a little girl then, could she have misunderstood—?”
I shot out of my chair. “You don’t know anything about all of this and you’re already arguing against it! Why? It’s not as if you’d given Mary-Evelyn Devereau any thought because you haven’t.” I pointed at the filing cabinets. “There’s old cases in there. I’ll bet, I’ll bet one of them’s Mary-Evelyn’s. You don’t have any history. For you, they were just born yesterday. They came and went in an eye blink. But you’re wrong. They’ll be around forever. You’re wrong about Ben Queen, too. He never killed his daughter Fern.”
As if he’d only been waiting for this topic to arise, the Sheriff said, “What do you know about Ben Queen? What haven’t you told me?”
I was still standing. “You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said. All you want to know is stuff that you think will be more evidence for what you believe. As for my evidence, I’m taking it with me.” I picked up what I’d brought and shoved it back in my gym bag and walked to the door. But before leaving, I said, “You’re wrong about Ben Queen; you’re wrong about him killing Rose. And you’re dead wrong about him murdering Fern Queen. I know who killed her.” I yanked the door open.
The Sheriff had risen when I left his desk. “Who did, then?”
I turned. “Her daughter.” I added, “If you ever read a Greek play, you’d understand. Good-bye.”