House of the Rising Sun (Hackberry Holland 4)

“He was at my house this morning. I was fixing to call you, but he didn’t want me to.”

“Call me for what purpose?”

“I think he was having a mental breakdown. I believe his conscience was weighing heavily upon him.”

“Would he walk his horse into a stall to abuse him? Because his quirt is over there by the broom.”

“No, his livestock was his property. Cod did nothing that would devalue his property.”

“What do you think, Darl?” Dr. Benbow said.

“I think somebody flat put it to him,” the deputy said.

Hackberry and Dr. Benbow looked at him. “What do you base that on?” Dr. Benbow said.

“It’s not for me to say.”

“Yes, it is,” Hackberry said.

“He was a widower,” the deputy said.

“People have it in for widowers?” the coroner said.

“Mr. Bishop had an eye for the ladies. All kinds. Some with a wedding band on their finger.”

“So he was fooling around with the wrong man’s wife and got himself beaten to death?” Dr. Benbow said.

“I ain’t sure who stomped him. But that horse didn’t,” Darl said.

“Talking to you is like the Chinese water torture, son. Would you get to it?” Dr. Benbow said.

“The loose shoe on the gelding out yonder is on the back foot,” Darl said. “It looks like Mr. Bishop was hit several times. A horse pawing in the air might be able to do that. But most times a horse only gets you once when he kicks with his back feet, unless you’re boxed in the stall with him. That didn’t happen.”

“Tell your boss to give you a pay raise,” Dr. Benbow said.

“What for?” Darl said.

“You see beyond appearances. It’s a valuable asset,” the doctor said. “Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Holland?”

Hackberry gazed across the river at the bushes that shielded the opening of the cave in the bluffs. He wondered how soon Beckman’s men would be there.

ONE HOUR LATER, Andre pulled up in the bright blue REO owned by Beatrice DeMolay, and got out and knocked on Hackberry’s front door. He removed his hat when Hackberry unlatched the screen.

“Come in,” Hackberry said.

“Miss Beatrice said I’m to bring you directly to her apartment, if you have no objection.”

“I want to talk to you first. Come in and sit down.”

“Where?”

“On a chair, where do you think?”

“I prefer to stand.”

“That’s fine. The last time you were here, I told you to go in the kitchen and he’p yourself to the icebox. I also told you where your supper ware was at. You and Miss Beatrice thought I was telling you to use only the dishes and forks and knives and such reserved for the he’p, namely Mexicans and people of color. That was not the case. My mother died in childbirth when I was a little boy, and her china has remained unused in the cabinet ever since. I don’t eat off it, and I don’t let anybody else eat off it, either.”

Andre’s face was impassive, his cobalt-blue eyes never leaving Hackberry’s, his skin so black it glowed with the clean radiance of freshly mined coal.