The Hanging of Samuel Ash (31 page)

“I don't normally talk about my business to anyone,” he said. “People can be irrational when it comes to discussing these matters. But, in this case, I may have in fact brought it up.”

“Oh?”

“I'm on the Spirit of Agape Orphanage board, and I mentioned at the board meeting that I had a hanging coming in from Carlsbad by the name of Samuel Ash and wondered if anyone had heard of him. No one there had. I hope I haven't caused a problem, Mr. Runyon.”

Hook walked to the door. “Who is responsible for the burials at the orphanage cemetery?”

“Financially, the orphanage. As for interments, it's theoretically open to any funeral home, but in practice my establishment takes care of almost all the burials. Being on the board has its advantages.”

“Thank you, Juice. I'll get back to you soon as possible.” He paused. “What is the procedure for providing markers for a grave?”

“A brass marker is supplied by us until the standard stone marker is donated by the orphanage. More elaborate monuments would have to be provided by the family. Since it's an orphanage, that's a rare occurrence.”

“I see, and at what point do you provide the brass marker?”

“As soon as possible, a matter of a few days at most,” he said. “You'd be surprised how easily bodies can be misplaced.”

 

34

 

H
OOK DROPPED SKINK
off at the shoe shop before driving Junior down to the crossing.

He eased the road-rail to a stop. “I need you to follow up on that Pampa deal, Junior. They could still be sitting on their hands. Eddie can get unreasonable about such things.”

“Alright,” he said. “You want me to drive this thing back to Pampa?”

“Well, not exactly,” Hook said, getting out. “I'm going to need it for conducting business.”

Junior looked at the line of wheat hoppers that had been emptied and now awaited their trip back to the Avard elevators.

“How am I to get back then, Hook?”

“Same way you got to Kansas City.”

“But I thought you were going to get a pass for me.”

“It's number one on my priority list,” Hook said. “Soon as I get things under control here, I'll see to it. For now, you'll have to hop this short haul back to Avard. There's a westbound at six in the morning and an eastbound at two, seven days a week, regular as clockwork. Got it?”

Junior rubbed at his face. “You'd think the railroad could provide its employees decent transportation.”

“Being a good yard dog's all about making do with what you got, Junior. And remember, this is the Frisco, not the Santa Fe. They might not take kindly to you riding free of charge on their short haul.”

“What would they do to me?”

“I'd rather not say. Call me if anything comes up on that Pampa deal.”

Hook waited until the short haul had pulled out, and he could see Junior scrunched over the wheel truck of the last hopper. Junior gave a weak wave-off as he disappeared down the track.

Hook headed back into town. When he passed the café, he realized he had forgotten to eat.

The waitress, a woman with arm wings and cobalt-frame eyeglasses, took his order. She barked it back to the cook from the table, and within minutes a bowl of boiled cabbage with smoked ham hock and potatoes appeared in front of him. She disappeared and came back with a quarter-loaf of warm homemade sourdough, fresh cow butter, and a glass of cold milk.

When Hook had sopped up the last of his soup, he ordered the rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream and a cup of black coffee.

The waitress topped off his coffee. “You gonna live, honey?” she asked.

Hook pushed his bowl aside and said, “If it's my time to die, I'm ready.”

He watched the waitress bus the tables, and he wondered if Junior Monroe had made it to Avard without falling off or derailing the train. The boy had a knack for trouble, which probably meant he'd either wind up in jail or become governor of the state. He thought about the situation with Bruce Mason and Lucy Barker, and he wondered how she could have just disappeared without a trace.

Maybe Esther hadn't told all she knew. Maybe she'd been hiding something. To date, the only thing he felt certain about was that Lucy Barker, more than anyone else, held the key to the hanging of Samuel Ash.

After leaving a larger tip than he should have, he drove down the street to where the sheriff had just climbed down from his ladder to refill his paint bucket.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Hook said.

The sheriff dropped his brush into a can of turpentine.

“You still in town?”

“Using up Patch's rent,” Hook said. “Wondering if you remember a fellow around here by the name of Bruce Mason?”

Taking off his hat, the sheriff dabbed at the dent in his head with his handkerchief.

“Boy from out to the orphanage,” he said. “He robbed the filling station over in Cherokee, as I recall.”

“That's my understanding.”

“Not in my jurisdiction, you know, but they called for me to keep a lookout. Nothing ever came up. Seems like I remember a girl being involved, too?”

“Lucy Barker?” Hook said.

“Yeah, that's right. Lucy Barker. They had the hots, guess you'd say, and needed money.”

Hook hiked his foot up on the ladder rung. “You never had any trouble out of them before?”

He scrunched up an eye. “The orphanage keeps a pretty tight rein on those kids out there. I've seen them walking that dang circle in the middle of the night.”

“Well, thanks, Sheriff. Good luck with the painting.”

The sheriff picked up his brush. “You find that Samuel what's his name's people yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You know, there
was
that one time,” he said.

“What time's that, Sheriff?”

“That girl Lucy came up missing from school one day. About six or so that evening, I get a call from the highway patrol saying they'd picked her up hitchhiking home.”

“Oh? From where?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Cherokee, they figured. Guess they got it resolved. Never did hear no more about it. Between painting houses and keeping Momma happy, I don't have much time for nosing around.”

*   *   *

Hook sat on the curb with Mixer until school let out. Bet saw him first thing when she came out the door.

“Hello,” she said, sitting down next to Mixer.

“Hello,” Hook said.

“Hello, Mixer,” she said, putting her arm around his neck.

“How did school go?” Hook asked.

She shrugged. “The teacher said orphans get their lunch free.”

“Well, that's good,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You want Mixer to walk you home?”

“Okay,” she said. “Are you going to walk, too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'll walk, too.”

As they walked toward the orphanage, Mixer hung at her side. Bet blew bubbles and skipped down the road. Once, she stopped to tie her shoe.

“You doing okay now, Bet?” Hook asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I get to sleep on the top bunk. I wish Mixer could stay with me, though. But Mr. Eagleman said if he did it for one, he'd have to do it for all.”

Hook said, “How's the food now?”

“Fine,” she said. “We don't eat shepherd pie no more, and Miss Feola is baking peanut butter cookies for all the kids tonight.”

“Your grandma made good food,” Hook said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I can cook, too.”

When they reached the drive, Hook stopped. “Maybe I better go back now.”

“Can't Mixer walk me on home? And I bet Miss Feola would give you a cookie.”

Hook looked down the driveway. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

As they walked by the orphanage, Hook could see Bain Eagleman in his shirtsleeves watching them from his upstairs office window. He slipped on his coat, stood back in the shadows, and then disappeared from sight.

Hook and Bet found Celia in the kitchen with a plate of peanut butter cookies, just as Bet had said.

“Hello,” she said. “Have one? I baked them myself.”

“Believe I will,” Hook said, taking one.

“And here's one for Bet,” she said. “And one for Mixer, too.”

Mixer wolfed his down in one bite and wanted more.

“Well,” Hook said, “Mixer begged to walk Bet home until I gave in. I better be on my way. Thanks for the cookie. Bye, Bet.”

“Bye. Bye, Mixer,” she said, bouncing out of the kitchen.

“Couldn't you stay for coffee?” Celia asked.

“Thanks, but another time. I think I may have worn out my welcome with Mr. Eagleman, and Mixer has a definite attitude about Buck Steele.”

Celia smiled. “Another time then.”

Hook paused. “I asked Skink to take a look at Samuel Ash today. He identified him as Bruce Mason. There's no doubt about it now.”

“I guess you'll be leaving soon, then?”

“There's the matter of Lucy Barker,” he said. “And a few too many unanswered questions about the boy's death.”

“I see.”

Hook looked out at the barn. Buck Steele sat on the corral fence popping his whip over the backs of the milk cows.

“I'm at a dead end here,” he said. “I need to find Lucy. If anyone knows how and why that boy died, it would have to be her.”

Celia set the tray of cookies on the table. “You're asking me to look in her records, aren't you?”

Hook nodded. “Maybe there's something there that could help.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I'll call you later tonight.” She picked up the tray of cookies again. “You sure you don't want another?”

Hook took one. “Thanks, Celia, and be careful.”

*   *   *

Hook sat in the darkness of the shoe-shop office having a Beam and water. He looked at the phone. He didn't like having to place Celia in a situation like this. It could cost her job, maybe worse. He'd gotten a good look at Bain Eagleman's temperament, and he hadn't liked what he saw.

When the phone rang, adrenaline shot through him. Setting his glass aside, he picked up.

“Hook,” he said.

“This is Celia,” she said. “I'm calling from the kitchen. Everyone has gone to bed. I did what you asked.”

“You found her records?”

“Born in Tulsa. Her mother died at birth, and she lived with her father and his sister until the age of six. She turned eighteen about a year ago.”

“Go on,” he said.

“Her father was an alcoholic, a bad one apparently, because they found him dead in the stockyards. Someone had killed him with a knife and taken his clothes.”

“What about the sister?”

“She's the one who brought Lucy to Agape. Said she didn't have the means to take care of her any longer. She didn't leave a forwarding address.”

The streetlight blinked on and lit up the rows of shoes in the front of the store. “Anything else?”

“Just the usual. Her medical is up to date, inoculations, physicals, that sort of thing. She fell off the school swing in the sixth grade and broke her front tooth. Other than that, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary.”

“No problems at school or at the orphanage? Disciplinary actions?”

“She ditched school one day when she was a senior, but who doesn't? The highway patrol picked her up. Apparently, they found her hitchhiking on the highway.”

“Eagleman knew about this?”

“It's in her records.”

“No action taken? No walking the circle, anything like that?”

“No, not that I saw.”

Hook rubbed the black off his prosthesis. He must have gotten into Patch's shoe polish in the darkness.

“I want to go back and talk to Esther again,” he said. “I think she knows more than she's telling.”

“Wait a minute,” Celia said, whispering. When she came back on, she said, “It's okay, just the cook getting something to eat. I told her you were my mother. Now, you want to talk to Esther again? About what?”

“I don't know. It's a feeling.”

“I don't have a car,” she said. “Mr. Eagleman and Buck go to the city every few days to buy supplies.”

“I have the road-rail,” he said. “And Esther might be more comfortable talking with you along.”

“Well,” she said, “I guess I could.”

“Around eight? I'll pick you up.”

“Eight's fine,” she said, pausing. “What's a road-rail, Hook?”

“It's a surprise,” he said. “I'll see you in the morning.”

 

35

 

C
ELIA MET HIM
at the end of the Agape driveway. She wore slacks, white deck shoes, and had her hair up.

“Oh my gosh,” she said. “What is this thing?”

Hook got out and opened the door. “Road-rail,” he said. “It runs on road and rail alike, when it runs at all. There are more comfortable rides,” he said. “Worse, too, if you've ever hopped a freight train.”

Celia settled in and looked back at the orphanage as they pulled away.

“Not many freight trains,” she said. “I did ride a horse one time.”

“Close to the same thing,” Hook said.

Celia found a place for her purse among the tools. “I feel a little guilty taking off this way,” she said. “I've left a lot of work behind.”

Hook lit a cigarette, striking the match with his prosthesis. He looked up to find Celia watching him.

“I forget sometimes that I even have this hook,” he said.

Celia covered her mouth. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…”

“Don't apologize,” he said. “It's a curiosity, I admit. Would you care to know what happened?”

“No,” she said. “Not my business.”

“It's a part of me, Celia. Without this hook, I'd be someone else and not necessarily for the better. I lost my arm in a car wreck. My girlfriend was at the wheel. After I lost my arm, I hit the skids and wound up bumming the rails. That's how I came about being a yard dog. I'd probably have been in a jail cell or dead by now at the rate I traveled before the accident, so I figure all and all I came out ahead on the deal.”