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The third time he turned the crank, our old truck bellowed into life. He retarded the spark, gunned the throttle a time or two, then drove away. He was gone for almost an hour, but when he came back, the trucks bed was full of rocks and soil. He drove it to the edge of the well and killed the engine. He had taken off his shirt, and his sweat-shiny torso looked too thin; I could count his ribs. I tried to think when Id last seen him eat a big meal, and at first I couldnt. Then I realized it must have been breakfast on the morning after wed done away with her.

Ill see that he gets a good dinner tonight, I thought. Ill see that we both do. No beef, but theres pork in the icebox Look yonder, he said in his new flat voice, and pointed.

I saw a rooster-tail of dust coming toward us. I looked down into the well. It wasnt good enough, not yet. Half of Elphis was still sticking up. That was all right, of course, but the corner of the bloodstained mattress was also still poking out of the dirt.

Help me, I said.

Do we have enough time, Poppa? He sounded only mildly interested.

I dont know. Maybe. Dont just stand there, help me.

The extra shovel was leaning against the side of the barn beside the splintered remains of the well-cap. Henry grabbed it, and we began shoveling dirt and rocks out of the back of the truck as fast as ever we could.

When the County Sheriffs car with the gold star on the door and the spotlight on the roof pulled up by the chopping block (once more putting George and the chickens to flight), Henry and I were sitting on the porch steps with our shirts off and sharing the last thing Arlette James had ever made: a pitcher of lemonade. Sheriff Jones got out, hitched up his belt, took off his Stetson, brushed back his graying hair, and resettled his hat along the line where the white skin of his brow ended and coppery red took over. He was by his lonesome. I took that as a good sign.

Good day, gents. He took in our bare chests, dirty hands, and sweaty faces. Hard chorin this afternoon, is it?

I spat. My own damn fault.

Is that so?

One of our cows fell in the old livestock well, Henry said.

Jones asked again, Is that so?

It is, I said. Would you want a glass of lemonade, Sheriff? Its Arlettes.

Arlettes, is it? She decided to come back, did she?

No, I said. She took her favorite clothes but left the lemonade. Have some.

I will. But first I need to use your privy. Since I turned fifty-five or so, seems like I have to wee on every bush. Its a God damned inconvenience.

Its around the back of the house. Just follow the path and look for the crescent moon on the door.

He laughed as though this were the funniest joke hed heard all year, and went around the house. Would he pause on his way to look in the windows? He would if he was any good at his job, and Id heard he was. At least in his younger days.

Poppa, Henry said. He spoke in a low voice.

I looked at him.

If he finds out, we cant do anything else. I can lie, but there cant be anymore killing.

All right, I said. That was a short conversation, but one I have pondered often in the eight years since.

Sheriff Jones came back, buttoning his fly.

Go in and get the Sheriff a glass, I told Henry.

Henry went. Jones finished with his fly, took off his hat, brushed back his hair some more, and reset the hat. His badge glittered in the early-afternoon sun. The gun on his hip was a big one, and although Jones was too old to have been in the Great War, the holster looked like AEF property. Maybe it was his sons. His son had died over there.

Sweet-smelling privy, he said. Always nice on a hot day.

Arlette used to put the quicklime to it pretty constantly, I said. Ill try to keep up the practice if she stays away. Come on up to the porch and well sit in the shade.

Shade sounds good, but I believe Ill stand. Need to stretch out my spine.

I sat in my rocker with the PA cushion on it. He stood beside me, looking down. I didnt like being in that position but tried to bear up patiently. Henry came out with a glass. Sheriff Jones poured his own lemonade, tasted, then gulped most of it down at a go and smacked his lips.

Good, isnt it? Not too sour, not too sweet, just right. He laughed. Im like Goldilocks, arent I? He drank the rest, but shook his head when Henry offered to refill his glass. You want me pissing on every fencepost on the way back to Hemingford Home? And then all the way to Hemingford City after that?

Have you moved your office? I asked. I thought you were right there in the Home.

I am, arent I? The day they make me move the Sheriffs Office to the county seat is the day I resign and let Hap Birdwell take over, like he wants to. No, no, its just a court hearing up to the City. Amounts to no more than paperwork, but there it is. And you know how Judge Cripps is or no, I guess you dont, being a law-abiding sort. Hes bad-tempered, and if a fellow isnt on time, his temper gets worse. So even though it comes down to just saying so help me God and then signing my name to a bunch of legal folderol, I have to hurry right along with my business out here, dont I? And hope my God damned Maxie doesnt break down on the way back.

I said nothing to this. He didnt talk like a man who was in a hurry, but perhaps that was just his way.

He took his hat off and brushed his hair back some more, but this time he didnt put the hat back on. He looked at me earnestly, then at Henry, then back at me again. Guess you know Im not out here on my own hook. I believe that doings between a man and his wife are their own business. It has to be that way, doesnt it? Bible says the man is the head of a woman, and that if a woman should learn any thing, it should be taught by her husband at home. Book of Corinthians. If the Bible was my only boss, Id do things the Bibles way and life would be simpler.

Im surprised Mr. Lesters not out here with you, I said.

Oh, he wanted to come, but I put the kye-bosh on that. He also wanted me to get a search warrant, but I told him I didnt need one. I said youd either let me look around or you wouldnt. He shrugged. His face was placid, but the eyes were keen and always in motion: peeking and prying, prying and peeking.

When Henry asked me about the well, Id said, Well watch him and decide how sharp he is. If hes sharp, well show him ourselves. We cant look as if we have anything to hide. If you see me flick my thumb, that means I think we have to take the chance. But we have to agree, Hank. If I dont see you flick yours back, Ill keep my mouth shut.

I raised my glass and drank the last of my lemonade. When I saw Henry looking at me, I flicked my thumb. Just a little. It could have been a muscle twitch.

What does that Lester think? Henry asked, sounding indignant. That weve got her tied up in the cellar? His own hands stayed at his sides, not moving.

Sheriff Jones laughed heartily, his big belly shaking behind his belt. I dont know what hes thinking, do I? I dont care much, either. Lawyers are fleas on the hide of human nature. I can say that, because Ive worked for em-and against em, that too-my whole adult life. But The keen eyes fastened on mine. I wouldnt mind a look, just because you wouldnt let him look. Hes pretty hot under the collar about that.

Henry scratched his arm. His thumb flicked twice as he did it.

I didnt let him in the house because I took against him, I said. Although to be fair, I guess I would have taken against John the Apostle if he came out here batting for Cole Farringtons team.

Sheriff Jones laughed big at that: Haw, haw, haw! But his eyes didnt laugh.

I stood up. It was a relief to be on my feet. Standing, I had three or four inches on Jones. You can look to your hearts content.

I appreciate that. Itll make my life a lot easier, wont it? Ive got Judge Cripps to deal with when I go back, and thats enough. Dont need to listen to one of Farringtons legal beagles yapping at me, not if I can help it.

We went into the house with me leading and Henry bringing up the rear. After a few complimentary remarks about how neat the sitting room was and how tidy the kitchen was, we walked down the hall. Sheriff Jones had a perfunctory peek into Henrys room, and then we arrived at the main attraction. I pushed open the door to our bedroom with a queer sense of certainty: the blood would be back. It would be pooled on the floor, splashed on the walls, and soaking into the new mattress. Sheriff Jones would look. Then he would turn to me, remove the handcuffs that sat on his meaty hip across from his revolver, and say: Im arresting you for the murder of Arlette James, arent I?

There was no blood and no smell of blood, because the room had had days to air out. The bed was made, although not the way Arlette made it; my way was more Army-style, although my feet had kept me out of the war that had taken the Sheriffs son. Cant go kill Krauts if you have flat feet. Men with flat feet can only kill wives.

Lovely room, Sheriff Jones remarked. Gets the early light, doesnt it?

Yes, I said. And stays cool most afternoons, even in summer, because the suns over on the other side. I went to the closet and opened it. That sense of certainty returned, stronger than ever. Wheres the quilt? hed say. The one that belongs there in the middle of the top shelf?

He didnt, of course, but he came forward with alacrity when I invited him to. His sharp eyes-bright green, almost feline-went here, there, and everywhere. Lot o duds, he said.

Yes, I admitted, Arlette liked clothes and she liked the mail-order catalogues. But since she only took the one valise-we have two, and the other ones still there, see it in the back corner?-Id have to say she only took the ones she liked the best. And the ones that were practical, I suppose. She had two pairs of slacks and a pair of blue denims, and those are gone, even though she didnt care for pants.

Pantsre good for traveling in, though, arent they? Man or woman, pants are good for traveling. And a woman might choose them. If she was in a hurry, that is.

I suppose.

She took her good jewelry and her picture of Nana and Pop-Pop, Henry said from behind us. I jumped a little; Id almost forgotten he was there.

Did she, now? Well, I suppose she would.

He took another flick through the clothes, then closed the closet door. Nice room, he said, trudging back toward the hall with his Stetson in his hands. Nice house. Womand have to be crazy to leave a nice room and a nice house like this.

Mama talked about the city a lot, Henry said, and sighed. She had the idea of opening some kind of shop.

Did she? Sheriff Jones regarded him brightly with his green cats eyes. Well! But a thing like that takes money, doesnt it?

Shes got those acres from her father, I said.

Yes, yes. Smiling bashfully, as if hed forgotten those acres. And maybe its for the best. Better to be living in a wasteland than with a bitter-tongued, angry woman. Book of Proverbs. Are you glad shes gone, Son?

No, Henry said, and tears overspilled his eyes. I blessed each one.

Sheriff Jones said, There-there. And after offering that perfunctory comfort, he bent down with his hands braced on his pudgy knees, and looked under the bed. Appears to be a pair of womans shoes under there. Broke in, too. The kind that would be good for walking. Dont suppose she ran away barefooty, do you?

She wore her canvas shoes, I said. Those are the ones that are gone.

They were, too. The faded green ones she used to call her gardening shoes. Id remembered them just before starting to fill in the well.

Ah! he said. Another mystery solved. He pulled a silver-plated watch from his vest pocket and consulted it. Well, Id better get on the roll. Tempus is fugiting right along.

We went back through the house, Henry bringing up the rear, perhaps so he could swipe his eyes dry in privacy. We walked with the Sheriff toward his Maxwell sedan with the star on the door. I was about to ask him if he wanted to see the well-I even knew what I was going to call it-when he stopped and gave my son a look of frightening kindness.

I stopped at the Cotteries, he said.

Oh? Henry said. Did you?

Told you these days I have to water just about every bush, but Ill use a privy anytime theres one handy, always assuming folks keep it clean and I dont have to worry about wasps while Im waiting for my dingus to drip a little water. And the Cotteries are clean folks. Pretty daughter, too. Just about your age, isnt she?

Yes, sir, Henry said, lifting his voice just a tiny bit on the sir.

Kind of sweet on her, I guess? And her on you, from what her mama says.

Did she say that? Henry asked. He sounded surprised, but pleased, too.

Yes. Mrs. Cotterie said you were troubled about your own mama, and that Shannon had told her something you said on that subject. I asked her what it was, and she said it wasnt her place to tell, but I could ask Shannon. So I did.

Henry looked at his feet. I told her to keep it to herself.

You arent going to hold it against her, are you? Sheriff Jones asked. I mean, when a big man like me with a star on his chest asks a little thing like her what she knows, its kind of hard for the little thing to keep mum, isnt it? She just about has to tell, doesnt she?

I dont know, Henry said, still looking down. Probably. He wasnt just acting unhappiness; he was unhappy. Even though it was going just the way we had hoped it would.

Shannon says your ma and your pop here had a big fight about selling those hundred acres, and when you came down on your poppas side, Missus James slapped you up pretty good.

Yes, Henry said colorlessly. Shed had too much to drink.

Sheriff Jones turned to me. Was she drunk or just tiddly?

Somewhere in between, I said. If shed been all the way to drunk, she would have slept all night instead of getting up and packing a grip and creeping away like a thief.