Smoke and Mirrors

have stayed until you were. Roy Bishop told me you took off without telling him where you were going.”

“If it’s any of your business, I went to talk to Winter Massey here who agreed to come out and offer his expertise. He’s a highly respected ex-law enforcement officer with a great deal of experience with the type of individuals who would do this sort of thing.”

“Well, maybe Mr. Massey ought to be our sheriff. A potted plant could see you’re no good at it.” She turned her glare on Winter. “So, Mr. Murder Expert, who killed Sherry?”

“That’s totally uncalled for,” Brad said. “I understand you’re upset, but this attitude is counterproductive. He just got here, and we’re just starting to gather information to figure this out. If you’ll calm down, we can get started.”

“Brad Barnett, you’re about as useful as a milk bucket under a bull,” she said. “Well, quit standing around wasting time. Y’all come on in out of the cold.”

8

Winter and Brad followed Leigh Gardner inside through a mudroom, where he could see down a wide hallway all the way to the front doors at the far end of the house. They turned right adjacent to a utility room, entering into an expansive kitchen with high ceilings. The floor was well-worn wide oak boards. An island was topped with a thick, ancient butcher’s block. There were two gas ranges standing side by side and a built-in refrigerator that looked like it had come from a florist shop-its contents on steel wire shelves visible through the glass doors.

At the dining table a young boy with large blue eyes and thick auburn hair sat behind a plate of bacon, grits, and eggs. He wore a black cape with a red lining over his pajamas and he looked up and blinked owlishly when the men walked in. A matronly ebony-skinned woman in a bright white uniform stood at the sink washing dishes. A ceiling fan turned lazily to redistribute the warm air issuing loudly from vents.

A girl with long light-brown hair nodded at the men, tugged back the sleeves of her sweatshirt, and placed the blood-sugar monitor she had just used on the green Formica-topped counter. Her sweatshirt advertised a place called Junior’s House of Blues. Her tattered jeans stopped above her bare feet, the toes of which were painted a shade of tangerine.

“Winter Massey, meet Hampton and Cynthia, Leigh’s children, and Estelle Johnson, their maid.”

“Estelle is our housekeeper,” Leigh corrected.

The children merely stared at Winter, but Estelle turned and smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Massey,” she said.

“Without her the house does not function. Estelle, the sheriff is not pleased that you washed off the walk,” Leigh said, crossing her arms.

“Good Lord, Sheriff Brad,” Estelle said. “I couldn’t leave that for Miss Leigh and Cyn to see. After your people left it was a terrible mess out there. They got most everything up, but…” Her lip trembled. “Anyhow, I rolled that plastic line up on a stick and left it in the garage for you.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe that baby’s dead. Sherry was a bright, churchgoing child. I’ve known her since she was born.”

“And I know you were upset when I first asked, but since then have you thought of anybody who would want to hurt her?” Brad asked.

“No, sir. Everybody loved her,” Estelle said. “She was an angel. Pure angel. She was going to be a nurse. Got herself a scholarship to Fisk. Only reason she didn’t start college was because her mama was down again with the breast cancer.”

Estelle turned back to the dishes in the sink.

“Sherry worked for us since she was Hamp’s age,” Leigh interjected. “She was a serious, sweet girl and the idea that anyone would purposefully kill her is absurd. Some hunter must have shot at a deer and the bullet went astray. A high-powered rifle bullet can travel a couple of miles.”

“No,” Brad said. “Whoever did it shot from the tree line straight behind the house.”

“From way out there?” Leigh asked, pointing out the kitchen window at the trees that were amazingly small in the distance. “Preposterous.” She continued, “I’ve shot rifles myself and those woods are too far away for it to have been done on purpose. There must have been a deer in the field. He missed it and hit Sherry.”

“I found the place he fired from,” Brad told her. “And he sat there and waited for her to come out of the house.”

“A sniper?” Leigh asked, frowning.

Brad nodded.

“There’s only one sniper around here that I know of,” Leigh said, putting her hand to her mouth in a gesture of surprise, then turning her eyes away. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I’m not myself.”

“Mama!” Cyn said.

“There’s this one man,” Hampton said in a low voice. “Sherry said he wanted to talk to her. He got mad and grabbed her when she told him to leave her alone.”

“Talk about what?” Brad asked.

“Talk doesn’t mean talk,” Cyn said, smiling coyly. “That talk means he wanted to-you know.”

Hamp continued, “He bugged her. He’d sit in his hoopty and watch her house sometimes. She said he followed her around a lot.”

“He ever sit and watch this house?” Brad asked.

Hamp’s brow creased in contemplation. “I don’t think so. If he did, I never saw him.”

“Did you see him last night, Hamp?” Brad asked.

“I saw him last night at the Shell station when we were going to the video store. He waved at Sherry and she told me not to look at him.”

“Do you know his name?”

Hamp nodded. “Alfoons.”

“Alphonse,” Cyn said. “Sherry told me all about him. He totally grossed her out.”

“He got thrown out of the Army,” Hamp said.

“Why?” Brad asked.

“He told Sherry he punched a white general for disrespecting him. Sherry said he gambles away all of his money and he owes people he doesn’t pay back. Sherry said even if he was kind of handsome and dressed up fancy, he was no good.”

“Handsome?” Cynthia blurted. “He looks like a bowlegged monkey in a pimp suit. He has creepy eyes and freckles.”

“Cyn!” Leigh snapped. “You know better than to say such a thing. If that is what they teach you at LSU, young lady, maybe you’d be better off at the junior college in Senatobia.”

“I didn’t say it because he’s black,” Cyn said. “Girls like bad boys, but not stupid, ugly ones.”

“Jefferson,” Estelle said, without turning around. “That’s his name. Alphonse Jefferson. It isn’t Christian to talk bad about people, but that is one lazy, liquor-boned, good-for-nothing boy that comes from shiftless people.”

“What’s liquor-boned?” Hamp asked.

“On account he’s mean-tempered when he drinks, which is most of the time. He stays at his grandmother’s and hangs out at Bugger’s juke joint with other no-accounts. He does look like a organ grinder’s monkey in those flashy getups, like Miss Cyn said.”

“Don’t encourage her, Estelle.”

Estelle threw up her wet hands.

Brad opened his murder book and made a note. “I know who he is. We’ve had him in the jail for drunk and disorderly a couple of times. I’ll check his Army records to see about his marksmanship ability.”

“Well, there you have it. Pick him up,” Leigh said. “Obviously he did it. Put him where he belongs, doing hard labor on Parchman Farm for the rest of his life. Sherry Adams had a productive life ahead of her. She mattered, and if you don’t remember anything else, remember that.”