“I still think we should have talked to Evan Johnson.”

“Evan Johnson wouldn’t have touched this job with a ten-foot pole,” Ron Poole said with conviction. “He’s not hurtin’ for money, as you probably know. He’s not going to risk his life for fifty a month.”

“All right.” Ira Brady slapped the table with his palm to bring order. “Let’s get back on track. Anybody else have anything to say about Appleby before we take a vote?”

“I think we’re being hasty.” This from Amos Wood.

“I think the man would give us his best.” Ron Poole glared at the banker.

Herman Maddock spoke. “I move that we hire him.”

“So moved,” Ira said without hesitation.

“Seconded,” said Frank Adler.

“All in favor, say aye.”

There was a collective aye from everybody but Amos Wood.

“All opposed?”

“Nay,” said the banker. “I think you are giving too much authority to a man we don’t know.”

“The motion is passed.” Ira slammed his hand down on the table again. “Someone move we adjourn.”

“I so move.”

“Seconded.”

“All in favor?”

“Aye.”

“Go out and welcome the new policeman to our town.”

“I hope to hell he can do something about Walter Johnson before he kills someone,” Herman Maddock said.

“The marshal didn’t do anything about him.” Amos slammed his hat on his head. “Don’t expect this bird to do anything, either. He’ll collect his fifty a month, strut around with a star on his chest and get free meals at the restaurant. That’s as much as he’ll amount to.”

When Corbin was told that he was hired, he shook hands with each of the council members. Then, not wanting to stay and chat, he crossed the street to the hotel to sit on the porch and watch as each of them came out of the furniture store. He didn’t have long to wait.

Mayor Ira Brady, who had told him the swearing-in ceremony would take place at nine the next morning, was a man in his late forties with thinning dark hair. He was small, neat, and would probably be overlooked in a crowd, yet he projected an aura of competence and trustworthiness.

Corbin watched him pass the banker without speaking and walk on down the street. Amos Wood, Corbin suspected, had a low self-image. The only way he could make himself feel important was to be against things the other members were for. His short legs supported an overweight body. There appeared to be no neck at all between his head and his shoulders. His jowls hung heavily and the brows above black-button eyes grew together over his nose. He was not a likable fellow.

Ronald Poole, the youngest council member, seemed the most pleasant of the five. He impressed Corbin as being intelligent, efficient and capable. His face, unremarkable though handsome, was framed by a mop of unruly blond hair. His clear green eyes were warm and friendly. His shoulders were broad, his arms heavily muscled. He was a man who could take care of himself.

The druggist, Frank Adler, had drooping eyelids and pale skin. He was nearly six feet tall, gaunt, a man in his late thirties and not as easily led, Corbin suspected, as he allowed others to believe.

Herman Maddock, undertaker/furniture store owner, reminded Corbin of a hound dog. His face was long and thin. Even the corners of his sad eyes drooped like those of a hound. His shoulders were narrow, his ears were large and his head jutted forward when he moved his tall, stooped body. Strands of dark hair were carefully combed over his near bald pate. Corbin could see him operating as an undertaker but could not imagine buying a sofa or a bed from him.

The council was as mixed a group as Marshal Sanford had described them. The mayor, Ira Brady, was the brains and Ronald Poole the brawn. Wood was the pain in the butt and the others went along with the majority.

It was a good assessment.

Now, Corbin thought,
let’s see what happens next. Someone in this town is a goddamn murderer. When I find him, I’ll prove it. If I can’t, I’ll kill him
.

Chapter 6

Y
OU’RE NOT GOING TO THE REVIVAL MEETING
?” Jill put the leftover biscuits in the warming oven.

“Joy and I will stay here.”

“Jack isn’t going.”

“Jack’s old enough to know what he wants to do.”

“He wanted to go to town with Joe.”

“Joe will be home pretty soon and they can go. You and Jason go with Papa.”

“Why don’t you want to come with us?”

“I don’t want to, and that’s that.”

“You don’t have to be mad about it.”

“I’m not mad, Jill. I’m tired. I don’t feel like sitting for three hours on a hard bench at a revival meeting. I’m not going to do something I don’t want to do just to please you and Papa.”

“Well, all right. Papa won’t like it. He thinks you’re going.”

Julie didn’t bother to answer. She tilted the pan of water into the tin sink and watched the water flow down through the hole. Joe had run the pipe from the sink down the wall and outside. It had saved her many steps, as had the red iron hand pump on the side of the sink.

Joe could do about anything he set his mind to. He was handier with tools than her father and no doubt was delighted to have the car to tinker with.

“You’d better get Joy cleaned up, Sis. We’ll be leaving in a little bit.”

Jethro had come into the kitchen from his room across the hall. He wore his good black pants, a white shirt and a perky bow tie. He went past her to the mirror over the wash bench, dipped his comb in the water in the basin and carefully parted his hair.

“Joy and I are not going.”

Jethro turned to frown at her. “You said the other night you were. The Humphreys were going to stop by for you.”

“No, I didn’t. They offered to stop by
if
I was going. Joy and I will stay here, take a bath and wash our hair. We’ll go to church tomorrow.”

“I wish you’d go,” he said slowly.

“Why?” Julie asked, then silently answered her own question.
You want to use me as an excuse to be with Birdie Stuart and …you want to show off the car
.

“Well, I told Mrs. Humphrey that you were and that we’d come by and give them a ride.”

“Without Joy and me, there’ll be more room in the car.”

Her father put the comb in the tin box that hung by the mirror and went out onto the back porch.
He’ll sulk for a while
, Julie thought,
but I can’t help that. I need time to get used to the idea that he wants to court a woman, possibly marry her and bring her here. It’s his right to do that, but I hope and pray that he’ll not rush into it
.

Julie tried to imagine her father as another woman would see him. He was a nice-looking man. Hard work had made him lean and muscular. His hair was dark and curly. He had a wide mouth and his teeth were nice and white, not tobacco-stained as some men’s were. He was a gentle man and …he loved his children. His farm was almost paid for, proving that he was a good provider.

On the downside, he had a grown daughter to contend with, and his three younger children would be at home for a long time. Julie decided, even with that burden, some unattached females would consider her father a good catch.

Papa, be careful …be careful. There’s something about that woman that bothers me
.

As soon as the car disappeared down the road, Jack took a teakettle of hot water and went down to the barn to bathe while Julie soaped and scrubbed Joy in the tub in the kitchen. By the time she had washed the child’s hair and rubbed it almost dry with the towel, Joy was yawning and ready for bed. Julie took her upstairs and tucked her into the bed they shared.

“Good night, honey. I’ll be up soon.”

“Night.” Joy tucked her hand under her cheek and was almost instantly asleep.

Julie looked down at the child, who was so precious to her, and remembered the day she was born: so tiny, so helpless. The baby had been crying lustily when she placed her on the bed beside her mother.

“Oh, you darlin’ little thing. You’re just a kickin’ and a rearin’, ain’t ya? You’re a joy, is what you are,” Julie’s mother had crooned to the child and she had become quiet. “Let’s call her Joy, Julie. That’s what she is, a joy to behold.”

Julie closed the door now and hurried back down to take her bath before Jack came up from the barn. Times were rare when she was alone in the quiet house. She had put her clothes back on and was rinsing her hair over the tin sink when her brother came in.

“Smells like vinegar in here.”

“I’m rinsing my hair in it, nut-head,” Julie said from beneath the swirl of dark blond hair. “Hand me my towel.”

“Nut-head? You called your sweet little brother a nut-head?” Grinning, Jack put the wet cloth she used to wash the dishes in her outstretched hand.

“Ja-ck—” she sputtered and dropped it. “Hand me the towel. If I drip water all over the floor, I’ll box your ears.”

“Say please.”

“Please, please, pretty please with sugar on it.”

“That’s more like it. Here you are.”

Julie grabbed the towel. “Just wait until I get my hands on you!” she threatened as she wound the towel around her head.

When she straightened, Jack was giving her a taunting grin from the other side of the table.

“Bet you can’t catch me.”

“I’m not even going to try. There are other ways of getting even.”

“Like what? You’ll pee in the tea?”

“Jack Jones!” Julie stared at her brother. “What in the world caused you to say such a nasty thing?”

“I’m a poet and don’t know it.” He dodged behind a chair. “Rhymes, doesn’t it?”

Jack wasn’t as tall as Joe, but he was heavier. He had an engaging smile and was the prankster of the family. Furiously protective of his brothers and sisters, he was ready to fight at the drop of a hat for any of them, including Jill, whom he teased almost constantly.

“I’ll empty your bathwater if you’ll make a batch of fudge.”

“It uses up too much sugar.”

“Please, pretty please.”

“I don’t know why I should do anything for you …you imp…but we all deserve a treat.”

“Whoopee!”

“Fire up the cookstove while I change out of this wet dress and dry my hair.”

By the time the fudge, bubbling on the stove, had tested ready by forming a firm ball when dropped into a cup of cold water, night had begun to fall.

“Light the lamp, Jack.” Julie lifted the heavy skillet off the stove and onto a wooden breadboard. “You beat the fudge and I’ll butter the platter.”

Julie seldom had a chance to be alone with one of her brothers and she was enjoying Jack’s company. He had a cheerful disposition. He was always happy, especially if there was a chance to play baseball. He had loved the game since catching his first ball at the age of two or three.

“Darn, that handle’s hot.” Jack wrapped the dish towel around the handle on the iron skillet so that he could tilt it. “Sis, do you think Pop likes that Stuart woman over at the Humphreys’?”

Julie’s heart stilled for a second or two. Her eyes went quickly to her brother. His young face was serious. She put the lid back on the butter crock before she answered.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He went out of his way to be nice to her at the ball game. Even This and That noticed it. I had the feeling that he drove up to the Humphreys’ today to show off the car.”

“Would you object to him remarrying?”

“Maybe. I’ve heard too much about wicked stepmothers.” His endearing grin was back when he looked across the table at her. “It’ll not matter so much to me. I’m almost grown. In a couple years I’ll be gone from here.”