Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (28 page)

Thomas ignored him and
kept a pleasant expression on his face. When they were nearly through the
gauntlet, a white man standing apart stepped forward. Cabel immediately put
himself in front of Thomas, Reynard closing in on his right.

The white man had white
hair and very red skin. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and intense. "This
isn’t over, nigger," he hissed.

Cabel stood his ground,
blocking the florid-faced man while Reynard ushered Thomas around him.

"Forget it," Reynard
said in his ear.

"It’s all right, Reynard.
I’m fine."

Bertrand Chamard, along
with Albany Johnston, dined at Whiteaker’s house talking over the election results.
The sun lacked a hand’s span of sinking below the treetops when Chamard said
goodnight and started home. He’d come up the river road on the way to dinner,
but on a whim, he decided to thread through the cane fields to see how
Alistair’s crop was coming along and took the back road home.

He was past the Dietrich
place when he saw half a dozen ugly buzzards hopping around on the edge of the
road ahead of him. As he got closer, the stink had him pulling out his
handkerchief and pressing it to his nose. In this heat -- . His horse side-stepped,
objecting to the odor.

Chamard reined her in and
settled her with his hand on her neck. Naturally, he expected the carrion to be
a dead possum or coon. But then he spied boots behind the curtain of buzzards.

"Shoo! Scat!"
He slid off his horse and ran at the nasty birds, waving his arms.

It was a man, lying face
down. The boots of course made him think of Jacques Valmar. Good leather, high
heels. The right size and build. He did not want to turn the body over to verify
it was him. Even with the handkerchief over his nose, he had to fight his gag
reflex.

He pulled his rifle from
the scabbard on his horse and fired it into the air three times, again three
times, then again, three times. And waited for somebody to come.

Dietrich’s plantation was
all but abandoned, and the next one over, the Kaufmann’s was too, so the four
men who responded to the distress signal came from Alistair’s place. They were
wary, one of them carrying a shotgun, one with a pitchfork.

When they realized it was
just one man standing by his horse, his rifle in its scabbard, they came on.

"You got trouble,
mister?" The man who spoke already had his hand up to his nose.

Chamard gestured to the
body lying just off the road. "Would one of you please fetch Major
Whiteaker? We’re going to need a tarp or two to wrap the body in. And a wagon."

"Yes, sir. We see to
it."

They left him with the
noxious remains, the buzzards impatient to get back to their repast. He stamped
his foot at the bolder ones inching closer and they scattered.

Deserved what he got, if
it was Valmar, murderer, rapist, and a general all around evil creature. Still,
it was grisly having red-headed buzzards pecking at a man’s remains.

The tree tops began to
hide the sun, the mosquitoes’ favorite time of day. Some of the flies and
mosquitoes wanted to sip from Chamard’s skin after they’d sampled the corpse,
and that made Chamard finally give up and vomit into the weeds.

He was very glad to see
Alistair and the other men arrive. Alistair, made of sterner stuff than
Chamard, approached the body without a handkerchief to blunt the smell. He
stood with his hands on his hips and contemplated the boots, the man’s build,
death, violence. Alistair was a man who contemplated pretty much all the time, Chamard
had observed.

"I guess we’ll turn
him over and see if it’s him."

He turned to the men
standing nearby. "Moses, let me have that pitchfork, if you please."
It was the big one they used for haying. Alistair slid it under the corpse the
best he could without tearing the flesh and flipped the body over.

The side of his face that
had been pressed to the ground had escaped the buzzards’ attention. It was
Valmar.

"Christ Almighty,"
Chamard murmured. The chest was torn open by a shotgun, looked like. The blood
had soaked into the ground under the body and there were a multitude of beetles
feasting on the red protein in the soil, one of them busily burrowing into the
flesh.

"How long you think
it’s been here?" Alistair asked.

"You’ve seen a lot
more dead bodies than I have. What do you think?"

Alistair wrinkled his
nose and grimaced. "I’d hoped never to smell a dead body again."

"You ready for us to
wrap this poor soul in the tarp?" Moses asked.

"Go ahead."

"So, how long? Two
days, half a day?"

"I come by this way
this morning. It wadn’t here then," Moses said.

Alistair nodded. "Hardly
even swelled up yet. Just a few hours, I’d think."

"So he was killed in
broad daylight?"

"Looks like it."

The men used the pitch
fork to roll the body into a tarp. When they bent over to pick the whole grisly
burden up, Moses dropped his end and jumped back with a yell. "There’s
another body down there."

"Oh Good Lord,"
Chamard said.

Long stringy yellow hair,
worn clothes. "Shipton, I suppose," Alistair said.

"Yeah, that’s him,"
Moses said. "He comes round here selling crawfish and trout once in a
while."

"I go get another
tarp," one of the men said. Another strode across the road and tossed up
his supper.

By the time they’d heaved
both bodies into the back of the wagon, it was dark.

"You taking him into
the sheriff tonight, Major Whiteaker?" Moses asked.

"We could leave them
in the barn overnight," Chamard said, "but then the barn would stink
and the horses would complain."

Alistair shook his head. "I
don’t want them in my barn. Moses, you and Jim get a couple of lanterns for us."

"You want some of us
to ride along with you, Major?"

He looked at Moses. "It
won’t be pleasant. It’ll be late before we get back."

"Me and Jim come
along." Moses looked at the other two men. "Charlie, you and Cat go
on back. Tell the women where we be." Moses and Jim went after lanterns.

"Cat, send me my
horse, will you?" Alistair called.

"Yes, sir."

Chamard was glad it was a
bright night. A man his age, he needed all the light he could get. Alistair didn’t
seem bothered whether he rode near the lanterns or not. Used to be, Chamard
could see in the dark, too, but not anymore.

When they finally pulled
up at the sheriff’s office, Donaldsonville had gone to bed. The sheriff’s
office was always open though. Chamard stepped in first and spoke to the
deputy. "Got two dead bodies in the wagon, Jean Paul. I believe we’ll need
the sheriff."

Paget showed up in his
shirt sleeves and without his tie. "What now?" he said irritably.

"Brought you a
present," Chamard said pleasantly.

They took Paget to the
wagon and unwrapped the bodies.

"God!" Paget
said as the smell hit him. He made himself step closer. "Hold that lantern
over here, will you?"

The sheriff looked at the
ruined face and the shredded chest. "Well, that one’s Valmar all right.
You can wrap him back up and take him on to the funeral parlor. Tell them not
to do anything till Doc Millingham sees him. Now who’s this fellow?"

"Moses here
identifies him as Shipton."

"Well. That’s
downright convenient," the sheriff said.

Chamard grinned at him. "It
is rather, isn’t it?"

"Come on in,
gentlemen. Let’s get this written up," Paget said. "

When everyone had
described how the bodies were found, the sheriff said, "Major Whiteaker,
you had some dealings with Mr. Valmar in the past. Can you tell me what you did
all day today?"

Alistair smiled. "I
can. I rode the fields this morning with my steward. We had lunch together,
then I spent time alone in my office. After that, I had water brought up for a
bath. Got dressed. By then, Mr. Chamard and Mr. Johnston arrived. We visited,
had supper, smoked cigars and drank. Mr. Johnston left first. Then Mr. Chamard
said goodnight so he’d be home before dark and discovered the body."

"I suppose the
servants in the house can verify all that? For instance, that you actually were
in your office by yourself?"

"Yes."

The sheriff rubbed his
hand through his graying hair. "And I suppose every one of them would
swear to whatever you wanted them to."

"Most of them likely
would. But they won’t have to lie."

"Fine," Paget
said. "I reckon we know who killed them anyway. Probably that third guy,
Fisher. The Yankee from up North somewhere.’

"A double-cross,"
Chamard said.

"Seems likely to me."

"Can’t disagree,"
Chamard said.

Alistair gave Paget a
shrewd look. "You expect you’ll catch up to him?"

Paget snorted. "What
do you think? I expect your Fanny Brown is as avenged as she’s going to get.
The man would be a fool to hang around here. But I promised her I’d look for
all of them, and I will. If Fisher shows his face in these parts, I’ll hear
about it, and I’ll get him."

"That’s all we can
ask," Chamard said. "Good night to you, Sheriff, what’s left of it."

Chamard and Alistair
stepped out onto the board walk and looked at the stars filling the sky.

"I hate riding in
the dark," Chamard said.

"You don’t have to
see. Your horse will do that for you."

"Well, let’s go
home."

Peep brought the news about
Valmar and Shipton during breakfast, having heard it from Valentine who heard
it from Chamard. Fanny set her coffee down, pale-faced, and Lily closed her
hand over Fanny’s for comfort. The young woman had become cheerful again, was
interested in the political campaign, was teaching. Word of Valmar of course
brought all her fears back. And anger. Lily was certain there was anger as
well.

Fanny sat back in her
chair and stared at her plate. She seemed disappointed.

"Fanny?" Lily
said.

Fanny looked Lily in the
eye. "I wanted to kill him myself."

"Who could blame
you, Fanny."

Fanny shook her head. "I
didn’t just want it. I thought about it, where, and when, and how. I had it all
but planned, just waiting for him to come back to the area." She put her
fingers to her forehead. "Foolishness, I suppose."

Lily patted her hand. "Not
foolish, not to think about it anyway. Now, if you’d actually killed the man,
then I’d tell you it was foolish."

Fanny looked at Uncle
Garvey. "Who do they think did it?"

"Sheriff isn’t
saying, yet."

"They’ll suspect
Thomas."

Rachel turned from the
stove, her hands on her hips. "Thomas didn’t kill nobody."

"They may suspect
him, but Valmar had plenty of enemies," Uncle Garvey said.

"When did it happen?"
Lily asked.

"Probably mid-day
yesterday," Peep told her.

"Thomas was probably
with lots of people. He always is, even now the election is over," Fanny
said. "He can prove it wasn’t him."

"I’m sure of it,"
Uncle Garvey said. "And you were at the schoolhouse with all those kids.
Alistair was with people, too."

Lily let out a breath.
Her first thought had been to wonder if Alistair was involved. He was sick of
killing, she knew he was. But he was a man who took action when he saw the
need. He didn’t wait for things to just happen.

"Chamard, I don’t
know about yet. But he’s too well thought of for Paget to bother him without
knowing flat-out it was him."

"Do you think it was
him?" Lily asked, shocked.

"Nah, I’m just
thinking about alibis, that’s all."

"Peep, did they find
any signs where the body was found?"

"No’m. It would have
been mighty convenient if somebody had left something, maybe dropped his pocket
watch or spelled his name out in blood, but there wadn’t nothing, that’s what Moses
say."

Fanny pushed her plate of
eggs and bacon away. "Excuse me," she said and strode from the room.

Lily looked at Rachel. "I’ll
go," Rachel said. "You finish your breakfast."

"Only trouble I see
is if people think Thomas did it," Uncle Garvey said.

Rachel hadn’t left the
room yet and turned at the door. "Well, he didn’t, and that’s that."

"Uncle Garvey, what
about the third man who attacked Fanny?"

"Well, she said
herself, he didn’t do nothing but watch. Likely Sheriff Paget won’t look real
hard to find him, now."

"And you?" Lily
said. "Will you be suspected?"

"Might be. But the
sheriff can suspect all he wants. He won’t find any evidence to show I did it
because I didn’t do it. Same for Peep." He turned to the man he’d worked
alongside for the last twenty-five years. "Unless you did it," he
said, grinning.

"Nah, sir. I didn’t
get around to it yet."

"Well, I got work to
do," Uncle Garvey said. "Worse ways to start the day than hearing
vermin like Valmar gone to their just rewards. You coming, Peep?"

"Yeah, I’m ready."

Lily had too much to do
to sit and mope. She worked in the garden before the heat kicked in about nine
in the morning. She helped out in the kitchen, shelling peas, baking biscuits,
stirring the blackberries to make jam.

If Maddie missed her
father, she didn’t show it. She was loud and boisterous again, as she had been
before Frederick appeared .

Yet Lily still found time
to brood. She’d be cutting okra, or mending a hem, or kneading dough, and her
hands would fall still. Her chest would ache. Her throat would swell. Then she
would shake her head to rid herself of images of Frederick’s sagging shoulders
shaking as he wept. Of Alistair’s eyes, full of grief when he brought her the
papers and she was so cold to him.

Her hands would attack
her task again and she’d tell herself she was a fool. Why feel sorry for
Frederick Palmer? He was gone, and she was glad of it. She was free! She and
Maddie had a home now. They were safe. And she owed that to Alistair Whiteaker.

But how could she accept
him with the taint of $5,000 between them? It was shameful, what they’d done.
She couldn’t turn around and marry him as if it weren’t.

The nights were too hot to
sleep even after she’d worked as hard as she could all day. She lay in her
chemise, feeling the heat rise up from the mattress and hover in the still air,
the only coolness the tears that tracked over her face. She grieved as if she’d
suffered the death of a loved one, and it was much as if she had. She had just
begun, the same week that Frederick arrived, to hope that she might have a
future. And now she didn’t.