The Devil's Cold Dish (35 page)

After several seconds of study, Rees crept through the brush until he was as near the house as he could be. Charlie had done his best with the fields. There were two of corn and at least one of winter rye. Someone, probably Charlie, had made some effort with the kitchen garden as well. It looked as though he'd replanted the squash and put in second plantings of cabbage and beets.

Rees made his way into the cornfield and around to the back of the house, where he knelt among the stalks and waited. Finally, Phoebe came down the back steps with an egg basket over her arm.
Collecting eggs from
my
chickens,
Rees thought sourly. Although he saw no one else, he scuttled forward at a crouch. Phoebe went first into the chicken house. When she returned outside, she began searching the yard, looking under a wagon as well as in the wagon bed, and moving closer and closer to Rees with each pass.

“Phoebe,” he hissed, when she came within earshot. She jumped, stifling a little scream. Rees rose so she could see his face and then crouched down once again.

“What in heaven's name are you doing here, Will?” she whispered, crossing to stand by the wall of green. “If Caro sees you she might shoot at you again.”

“This is important,” Rees replied. “Can you get Caroline to the Winthrop cottage tonight? About six?”

“Winthrop?” She looked at him, her brows drawn together in puzzlement.

“Yes. You remember, he owned the farm next to us. Had the big orchard.”

“Oh yes. I thought he'd died.”

“He did. He's been dead a few years at least. But that's not important. Tell Caro I sleep there. Tell her anything you want, but get her there. This is really important, Phoebe.”

“Why? Why is it so important?”

“Do you think I'm guilty of murder?” Rees asked. His sister did not respond. “If you had to say which of us, either me or Caro, was a murderer, which would you pick?”

He watched guilt sweep across her face. “Caro,” she whispered.

“I want Caroline to hear me tell her the truth. Then I'll leave Dugard, probably forever.”

Phoebe shifted the egg basket from one arm to another. “If you're going to risk your life, why don't you just walk inside and tell her what you want her to know?”

“Because I want it on my terms. And somewhere I can control the meeting. I'd like to increase my chances of living beyond today, if at all possible,” Rees said. “Please, Feeb.”

She sighed. “All my life I've been put between the two of you. All my life. And I'm tired of it.” Rees couldn't think of anything to say so he said nothing. “All right, Will. I'll have her there at about six.” Sudden tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You better not be accusing Caro of the murders. And I don't want to see either of you end up dead. I'd never forgive you, Will.”

“Don't forget. And don't change your mind,” Rees said sternly. He backed away, still at a crouch, and moved farther into the shelter of the corn. As he retreated he heard Caroline's voice.

“Who were you talking to, Phoebe?”

“No one.”

“I thought I heard a man.”

“No.” Her voice took on a snap. “Let me finish collecting these eggs or you and the girls won't have any breakfast.”

*   *   *

By four-thirty Rees was in position. He knew he was too early, that no one would arrive before chores were done, while it was still daylight. But he didn't want to be caught unawares either. He burrowed farther back inside the screen of shrubs and bracken and a long stick jabbed him. He carefully pushed it aside and nestled his back against the tree trunk. His butt rested upon a variety of stones, but most were flattish and some were even softened by a mixture of dirt and vegetation.

He thought he was too nervous to relax, but he settled in so completely that he fell into a doze, awakening only at the sound of someone moving furtively through the overgrown clearing. Rees came to alertness, jerking into position so abruptly he knocked into a branch. To Rees's ears, it sounded as loud as a gunshot. The whisper of movement halted and Rees tensed. He couldn't see his visitor, who was out of sight behind the shack. After a moment the discreet passage resumed. Rees might not have noticed it if he had not been listening for it.

The back step creaked. Rees hoped the scene he'd set so artfully was appreciated. The coffeepot, left in the middle of the table, with a cup and wooden plate in front of it as though he might return at any minute.

Rees's heart began to pound. He saw movement through the glass window at the front but the form was not identifiable. The murderer would walk out of the cabin any second. Any second. He held his breath. But no one appeared. What had happened? Rees was so impatient he almost jumped to his feet and ran to the cabin. He took a few steps forward, his feet crackling over the dried leaves.

Charlie stepped out onto the front porch.

Although Rees had expected it, he involuntarily closed his eyes in a spasm of regret. He'd realized that the boy had as much reason to hate him as Caroline and Sam. And Charlie, with his unlimited access to his uncle's farm and none of the disadvantages of either parent, could have most easily accomplished all three murders. Rees had kept hoping he was wrong. Now he couldn't deny it anymore. Charlie was here, and he held his father's pistol casually in his hand. Rees had planned for the pistol. All pistols contained only one shot, and he would dive for the ground as soon as Charlie cocked the gun. Rees prayed he was fast enough.

Rees hoped David was in position. The boy must be reeling with shock. Rees had known the possibility and he was still incredulous.

He went to his knees and slowly backed deeper into the woods. Through the screen of leaves and branches Rees saw Charlie disappear into the shack. Rees did not stand up until he was well hidden inside the shelter of the trees.

He began moving forward, running from trunk to trunk. Every now and then he would stop and peer cautiously around the trees as though he did not know Charlie was inside. Rees paused on the very edge of the clearing and waited. He realized he had not thought this step through sufficiently. What if Charlie did not act until his uncle stepped out of the trees? Yet if Rees did not exit the forest, wouldn't Charlie suspect this was a trap? Caught by indecision, Rees hesitated.

Charlie stepped out onto the cabin porch. “Come out, Uncle Will,” he said, his right hand held behind his back. “It's only me.”

Heart pounding, Rees looked around the tree trunk. “What are you doing here?” He tried to speak in an innocent and unsuspecting voice, but to his own ears he sounded false. “How did you know I was staying in the cabin? Did David tell you?”

“Yes. I thought I would come and see if you needed anything.” Charlie sounded completely natural, and if Rees had not already seen the pistol he would have trusted his nephew without hesitation. Trembling, he stepped away from the tree.

“I asked David to tell no one,” he lied.

“David and I tell each other everything,” Charlie said. “Why don't we go inside?”

Rees pretended to consider it. He took one step forward. As he suspected and hoped, Charlie couldn't wait. The pistol came out of hiding, the metal barrel gleaming in the long brassy rays of the western sun. “Charlie,” he gasped.

“You were cleverer than I thought you would be,” Charlie said.

Rees heard a quickly muffled scream and wondered if Phoebe had managed to bring Caroline here as promised.

“Before you shoot me,” Rees said, “tell me why. You owe me that much.”

“How can you even ask?” Charlie shouted.

“Was it for the farm?”

“Your farm? No. That's what my mother wants. I don't care about this farm. It belongs to David and I have my own farm.”

“Then why? Was this for your father? I don't understand.”

“You are so stupid,” Charlie said.

“Did you kill Zadoc Ward and Thomas McIntyre? And Sam, your own father?” Rees's voice broke. “Why kill them if it's me you wanted?”

Charlie laughed, a hoarse, ragged sound that shivered down Rees's spine. “You really don't understand? My father always said you were a fool.”

“So, explain it to me.” Rees had tried to ensure Caroline's presence, but he no longer cared about that. He wanted to understand Charlie. “Did you kill Zadoc Ward?” Then, as he looked at the boy standing twenty feet from him and smiling, Rees's thoughts leaped to understanding. “No. You didn't. You aren't a sharpshooter. Your father killed Ward.”

Charlie nodded. “This was all my father's plan. He got tired of Ward's bullying and arranged to meet him on Little Knob. Told him some story. Ward never suspected a thing.”

The ice in Rees's stomach spread out to fill his body with cold. He could understand murder committed in the heat of anger—understand although not condone. But this cold-blooded taking of another's life—that Rees could not comprehend. “So you helped him murder Tom McIntyre?”

“No. Mr. McIntyre was already dead when I arrived.” The pistol in Charlie's hands began shaking. “Mr. McIntyre was good to us but my father thought his death would inflame public opinion against you and your wife. And it did.” Rees, his gaze fixed on the trembling weapon, made as if to approach, but Charlie brought the gun up.

“Stop. I will shoot you.”

Rees froze but continued talking in a soft voice. “When Elijah McIntyre let Sam off at your farm, he walked back to the mill by way of Duck Swamp?”

Charlie nodded. “I followed as soon as I finished my chores. By the time I arrived Mr. McIntyre was lying on the floor.” His voice began to tremble and he stopped.

“You helped your father tie the miller to the post?”

Charlie nodded. “And I spread around Miss Lydia's candles…” His words trailed off. Rees stared into the ashen face, the horror of that experience visible in the pinching around the boy's eyes. “It was terrible. But my father said…”

“It was necessary.” Rees supplied the rest of the sentence. Charlie nodded.

“Then you shot your father?”

Tears fell from Charlie's eyes. He wiped his sleeve across his face. “I had to. We knew you suspected him. Anyway, what kind of life would he have? You saw him. The only thing he had left was his hatred of you.”

“You planned this elaborate charade to set me up for murder and my wife for witchcraft,” Rees said. He was struggling to keep his tone calm.

“My father thought of it in the beginning. He had his lucid moments, although they were becoming fewer and fewer. But I helped, and I picked up where he left off.” Was that pride Rees heard in the boy's voice?

“I daresay you were the one who set fire to my wife's beehives and opened the door to the dairy? Did you break my loom?” Rees could not prevent his anger from leaking into his questions.

Charlie nodded. “That part was fun. All of you running around scared.”

Rees recalled his wife's grief at the destruction of the hives and felt like leaping across the yard and punching the boy. He controlled himself with an effort.

“My father wanted to destroy you. And I wanted to help; you stole my father from me. My mother gave me the idea for accusing Miss Lydia of witchcraft. A lot of people were willing to believe it because of that strange faith she belonged to. And your arrogance and the number of people who already dislike you made it easy to persuade them you were guilty of murder.”

“You almost succeeded,” Rees said. His voice was thin with hurt. He could not understand this betrayal. He had tried to help Caroline and her children. Tried to be a good brother and a good man. What had he done that was so terrible his sister and her family hated him?

“I did succeed,” Charlie said, raising the pistol and sighting along the barrel. “I'll tell that idiot Farley I found you and shot you. The magistrate is offering a reward. Did you know that? So, not only will I finish my father's work, but I will earn the reward at the same time.”

Rees tensed, preparing to throw himself down to the ground. If Rees timed his dive correctly, Charlie would miss. He heard the sharp click as the pistol was cocked.

“Charlie. Don't.” Caroline hurled herself through the shrubbery, wrenching her arm free of Phoebe's grasp. “Please.”

Charlie jerked. “What are you doing here?” he cried.

At the same moment a rifle shot cracked, Charlie spun around and dropped to the ground with blood pouring from his shoulder. David stood up, his face so contorted with sobbing he was almost unrecognizable.

Caroline shrieked and ran for her son. She flung herself to the ground beside him. “Oh, Charlie.”

Rees turned to David and held out an arm. He didn't think he could run, not even for David. Rees's legs were trembling so, he wasn't sure they would hold him up. David staggered to his father's side and clung to him.

Then Farley said from behind Rees, “I'll have to take the boy in.”

“What are you doing here?” Rees asked, turning to look at the constable and the two men behind him. Rees couldn't muster the energy to be shocked.

“I heard a rumor.” Farley glanced at Rees and then quickly away. “You know how it is in Dugard. All you have to do to hear everything is lean into the wind.”

“My sister told you, didn't she?” Rees said. He looked over at Caroline, kneeling beside Charlie. Although the boy's face was white with pain, he was awake. Caroline turned a look of hatred upon Rees.

“This is your fault,” she said.

“I wouldn't have believed this if I didn't see it with my own eyes,” Farley said. “He'll hang, I don't doubt.” Farley regarded Rees for several seconds. “And you, you're so sharp you're gonna cut yourself one day. I just hope I'm there to see it.”

“Magistrate Hanson won't be pleased,” said one of Farley's companions. Rees recognized the voice from their visit to Winthrop's shack.