Flannery didn’t say a word and clasped her trembling hands behind her back.
Mama held out her hand. “Come on up and have a seat, Trooper.”
Flannery moved the newspaper off the rocking chair and remembered. Remembered where she knew the trooper from. She’d seen him in the Glass Ferry Gazette’s newspaper a few years ago, read about him right here on Mama’s porch. The trooper had gotten into a bit of trouble about tickets he’d turned in at the end of his shift.
Yes, that was it. A sort of depression had taken hold of the young lawman, the paper reported. Law officials found out no one had showed up for court, or paid fees on the tickets Trooper Green handed out for almost a year after his mother died.
His mama’s car had been struck while crossing a train track. Unable to bear any more misery, cause anyone more suffering or sadness, they said that during the young trooper’s shift he began visiting the cemetery where his mama was buried.
A year passed before a court clerk discovered the indiscretion after one of Trooper Green’s tickets landed on his desk. The clerk had been surprised to see it was written to his grandmother, who’d died ten years ago, and every single citation from the trooper had been issued to dead folks, the names plucked from their gravestones.
Nothing came of it, Flannery recalled, just some light-duty desk work for a short spell, meetings with the police chaplain, until the incident was good and hushed.
Flannery snatched a glimpse of the trooper. She supposed everyone had a bit of blue book in them, or at the very least, was just a blink away from getting themselves on that list.
Now, Trooper’s shoulders seemed to relax, and there was warmth on his strong face when he looked at her mama, a softening inside him.
“Ma’am, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Trooper Green gave her a smile. “You’re sure looking fit today.”
“Thank you, Trooper Green. I do feel better now that we got Patsy back and had her a proper burial. Do have a seat,” Mama patted the chair, perking.
“God rest her,” he murmured, and sat down. “Ma’am, my captain wanted me to wrap up this case. Before I close it, I’d like to make sure I have everything right. Mind?”
“Of course not. Will you have a glass of tea?” Mama asked.
“No, ma’am. Thanks. I need to ask a few more things about your daughter. Sorry for prying, but it’s important. Did Patsy have a temper?”
“Heavens no,” Mama piped. “Patsy was more like me, where Flannery”—she smiled kindly at her daughter—“is a lot like her daddy.”
Flannery felt her face warm, but stayed put and rested her back against the porch beam.
“I know it’s been a long time, but did Patsy have any reason to want to harm Danny? Did he do anything to make her upset that you might recall?” Trooper pressed.
“Lord a’mercy!” Mama startled. “I raised my girls as good Christians, sweet girls. My Patsy wouldn’t do harm to anyone. I know that as well as my name.” She fluffed her frumpled duster, tugged at the collar. “Better than anyone.”
Flannery wanted to scream, to shout out that it had been Hollis Henry. It was all Hollis Henry. Instead she crossed her arms and said, “That’s just old gossip, Trooper. Instead of accusing my sister, you need to find the person who pulled a gun on them, maybe. Maybe somebody forced them off the road like that after shooting at them and hitting Danny.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Trooper said, turning to Flannery. “I don’t mean to disrespect. We’re just trying to find out as much as we can.” He tapped the clipboard with his pen. “Now, about the guns you have in the house—”
“I told you, Trooper.” Flannery walked up behind her mama. “There’s just my daddy’s old shotgun in the closet and the outlaw’s pistol.” She rested her hands on Mama’s shoulders.
Mama opened her mouth to say something.
“Nothing but those. Right, Mama?” Flannery lightly squeezed Mama’s shoulders and patted. Confused, Mama nodded and folded her hands in her lap.
“Mind showing me that shotgun?” the trooper asked. “I’d like to be sure that I record it on paper.”
“Sure, Trooper. We’ll be right back, Mama.” Flannery walked over to the screen door and held it open. Inside the foyer, Flannery opened the closet for him. “In there.” She stepped aside, looking once over her shoulder to the parlor at Honey Bee’s old secretary.
The trooper reached inside, lifted the shotgun, and inspected, then leaned it back against the wall, poking his eye to the top, bottom, and sides of the tiny coat closet. “Thanks, Mrs. Hamilton.” He wrote something down on his clipboard.
Relieved, Flannery shut the door. And then, to cast suspicion away from her, from Patsy, everything, she wrung her hands, thinking how she could cinch it all.
“Anything else, Mrs. Hamilton?” The trooper looked at her busy hands.
“You know, Trooper”—she herded him closer to the door—“back then those Henry boys were always trouble.”
Trooper straightened. “How so?”
“Seems everyone knew, talked about those two brothers snuggling too close to the batwing.” Flannery patted her backside pocket where guys kept their bourbon flasks.
The trooper lifted a brow.
“Well”—Flannery licked her lips—“those boys were always drinking, and I suspect it wasn’t any different prom night, maybe a bit extra to celebrate.”
“Hollis said no one was drinking.”
“Patsy wasn’t drinking. Never drank a drop. But Hollis now, that’s another story.”
The trooper scratched his chin with the clipboard.
“Especially Hollis. Lit. Now that I think back, Trooper, I’m pretty sure I’d smelled the whiskey on him . . . lots of other times, too. But on that night, I’m sure I did.” She wrinkled her brow in thought. “Yes, I did, though I’m sure I didn’t want to get Patsy in trouble with Mama.”
Trooper frowned. Flannery waited for him to write it all down, but he didn’t.
“My classmates said Hollis never went anywhere without his ol’ batwing,” Flannery said. “Did ya’ll find his flask in the wreck?”
Trooper Green looked lost in thought. Like he was thinking hard, maybe wishing someone else would do it for him.
Holding his gaze, she could almost see his thoughts there. The young trooper wouldn’t disgrace a fellow lawman. Above all, he would protect Hollis’s memory and the brotherhood they shared. As thick as kin. “All lawmen are related, and those relations are thicker than blood,” Honey Bee had once remarked to Uncle Mary while discussing the business side of whiskey.
“Just in case something comes up, I better file this with the other open cases. If you can think of anything, no matter how small—” Trooper said.
“I’ll call.”
Trooper turned to leave. Flannery touched his arm and said quietly, “I know you got to take it all down, but please don’t tell Mama. She’s been through so much. It would break her heart.”
A small relief seemed to wash over his face, and Trooper Green quickly gave an understanding nod.
Flannery followed him back out to the porch.
Mama jumped up from the rocker and asked, “Trooper, are you finished here?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve finished for now.” Trooper shot Flannery a concerned look and laid a gentle hand on Mama’s arm. “You take care.”
When he left, Mama said, “Does he think Patsy would shoot someone? Why would he have that notion?”
“Don’t worry, Mama. The gun they’re looking for was smaller. We only had the shotgun and the James gun when Patsy went missing. Remember?”
“Yeah, Honey Bee’s old hunting gun,” Mama said as if relieved. “I don’t know what he did with his old snub nose he was so fond of.”
“Don’t you fret none about that. Not a bit about anything. I’ll worry for both of us.” Mama folded herself back into the rocker. Flannery rubbed Mama’s back, a chill scuttling a choke collar around her neck.
CHAPTER 30