Frail Blood (12 page)

"I'll see that you have something more."

The intense look on Malachi's face disquieted Emma. He bore
an expression of great compassion as he rubbed the poor woman's chapped hands
and looked deep into her eyes. Uncomfortable, Emma squirmed. She didn't belong
in this intimate moment.

"Am I goin' to die, Mr. Rivers?" Alma asked
quietly.

The question shocked both of them for Emma saw the stunned
look on his face. She stared at him as he gazed back at her for several long
moments.

If found guilty, Alma Bentley would be hanged for her crime.
Was she doomed to such an ignominious end to her young life?

"Not if I have any say in the matter," Malachi
answered, his voice firm and certain. "Don't fear, Alma. We'll beat this
thing yet."

The woman rose and walked to the crude heavy door. "I'm
not afraid to die," she murmured. Her back to them, she looked through the
bars of the tiny window although Emma knew she could see nothing but the brick
wall of the courthouse. "But I should like to be a mite older."

Malachi sat beside Emma on the cot and shook his head when
she would've spoken. "Of course," he said to Alma. "You're a
brave young woman."

Her smile was hapless at best. "Don't feel so much like
bravery to me." She frowned and rubbed her hands down the sides of her
sallow face. "I can't get over one thing though."

"What's that, Alma?"

"Honest to God, Mr. Rivers." She turned toward them,
her face twisted again in that peculiar expression she had, as if the words
were painful traveling from her brain to her tongue.

"I just shot that pistol one time. I remember 'cause it
were so loud, you see. Bang!" She clapped her hands together to
demonstrate. "Like a giant thunderclap, it were."

Emma stared at Malachi as he rose. What did Alma mean? The
sheriff had testified that he found two bullets in Joseph Machado's dead body.

Malachi put his hands on the woman's shoulders. "Are
you sure, Alma? You were frightened and confused."

"It scared me so bad I dropped the gun and just run. Run
like the very devil was on my heels." Alma looked vulnerable, her eyes
wide with fear and wet with unshed tears as she twisted out of Malachi's grasp
and sunk to the floor. "So when did I shoot again? How'd I do that, Mr.
Rivers when I was running away?"

Emma understood immediately what Alma's allegation meant to
the woman's defense.

Malachi squatted down beside Alma, put a hand on her
shoulder, and peered into her face, his voice low and urgent. "Are you
positive you shot Mr. Machado only once?"

She hesitated but a moment before nodding slowly.

"And where did you shoot him, Alma?" Malachi
asked, flashing a meaningful look at Emma who shrugged and shook her head. "Think
hard. This may be important."

Alma scrunched up her plain face as if trying to visualize
the scene.

"In the chest?" he pressed her.

 She lifted her left arm, re-enacting the sequence of events.
"Not exactly," she answered finally and demonstrated on Malachi. "Joe
grabbed his left shoulder and I seen blood running between his fingers."

"His shoulder then? And you are left-handed?"

"Yessir, is that important?"

Malachi and Emma exchanged another look and this time, she
understood. If Alma had not fired twice at her lover, who had fired the second
shot? If she'd shot Joseph once in the arm, she hadn't killed him because a
bullet directly through Joseph Machado's heart was the death shot.

Malachi banged loudly to draw the guard's attention and
motioned Emma to follow. "Don't worry about anything, Alma," he said
as they hurried into the gloaming. "My task is to ponder and worry. Yours is
simply to stay well."

"Did I say somethin' important, Mr. Rivers?"

Malachi grinned at the two women with the excitement of a
little boy who'd just discovered a new toy. "I hope so, Alma." He
laughed. "By God, I hope so."

With one final glance around the dark cell, Emma shuddered,
imagining Alma spending the night in the dank, cold dungeon. She could hardly
believe one would survive in such a place, let alone remain well.

Chapter 12

"A hit, a very palpable hit." –
Hamlet

"How can Alma be all right in such a stifling place?"
she complained as they traversed the downward sloping walk to
The Gazette
office. "With little light and air?"

Malachi shrugged as if it didn't matter. "It is
preferable to being housed with the male prisoners." Emma sensed the tension
in his shoulders and heard the sarcasm in his voice. "Society does not
expect a woman to behave in so violent a manner as to require incarceration."

"The county wasn't prepared for this," she agreed
sadly.

Malachi nodded. "There's never been an Alma Bentley
before. She is a new creature to our proper men and women of the community and
defies all preconceived notions about the capacity of a woman to behave so
cold-bloodedly."

He paused in the middle of the wooden sidewalk to gaze
intently at her. Passersby jostled them as they blocked the way.

Malachi seemed intent on making her understand. "I must
give the jury an answer to the question: why did this mild-mannered woman murder
a man she claimed to love? Do you understand that, Emma?"

He reached for her then and she believed had they not been
in public view, he would have embraced her. But he did not.

Right before touching her upper arms, he changed movement
and lightly cupped her face. "You understand why I must defend her like
this?"

She nodded, hearing his words, but thinking only of the
touch of his ungloved hands on her face. The clatter of a child running down
the board sidewalk roused her from her reverie and she pulled away.

Malachi stepped back from her as an awkward silence
descended between them. All of their shared experiences flashed through her
mind like a heady montage she'd seen in one of those film devices just
beginning to be popular.

He continued toward the office. "We have much to do if
we are to defend our client."

Our client.

Emma liked the ring of those words.

#

By the time they reached Emma's house, the sun had set and
the stars were barely visible through the cloudy night. After prolonged
persuasion Emma convinced Sarah to prepare Mr. Rivers and her a light supper of
fruits, cheeses, and cold chicken, along with her famous cucumber sandwiches. They
took their meal at the long formal table in the dining room.

Malachi spread his legal papers across the top of the table
and chewed thoughtfully on a sandwich. Emma sat opposite him, nibbling at a
late-season strawberry.

He clearly considered this a work affair, for he'd hardly
spoken to Emma except about the case. For nearly twenty minutes while he ate,
he concentrated in silence over court records, hand-written notes, and a thick
sheaf of other documents she could only presume were important to the case.

Emma sighed and drank deeply of her wine, drawing Malachi's
eyes for the first time in long, tedious minutes. He lifted his brows and
stared at her across the table.

Now that she had his attention, she set her wine glass down
and claimed another piece of cheese before speaking. "How will you proceed
now that Alma contends she shot Joseph only the single time?"

"The better question is why has Alma changed her story
so drastically?" He looked as if it were her fault that his client now
expressed doubts about her own guilt.

"She
did
shoot Joseph," she pointed out. "Of
that alone she is guilty."

He scowled, as if ready to do battle with her.

"And that single shot might have killed him if no one
had come to his rescue," she continued, nibbling on the piece of cheese.

Malachi shoved aside his papers and pushed away from the
table to stand behind his chair, gripping the back. "The bullet was high
in the shoulder, missing an artery or vital organ. He would not have died from
that single bullet."

Emma merely shrugged.

He'd shorn himself of his morning coat and removed his neck
cloth and waistcoat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing
the dark hairs on his forearms. Emma's concentration faltered momentarily.

"Why would she lie now about a fact like this?"
Malachi mused. "So late in the game?"

"In the initial shock of seeing Joseph dead at her
feet, realizing what she'd done, she simply forgot?" Emma suggested.

"Possibly," he agreed thoughtfully. "She is
not a clever enough woman to deliberately obscure the details."

Malachi paced, bouncing the tips of his fingers together as
he re-examined the facts. "Let's re-enact the murder scenario."

He gestured for Emma to join him. "Pretend you are
Alma, and I Joseph." He positioned her in front of him and then stepped
back several yards. "From the coroner's report, we can presume this
distance between them at the moment Joseph was shot."

Emma quickly got into the drama. "Alma goes to the
Machado household, taking the murder weapon with her."

"Since she is left-handed, the pistol is strapped to
her left ankle."

Emma raised her skirt and pretended to touch an imaginary
weapon. She noticed that Malachi's eyes followed her hand and lingered there as
she touched her ankle above her boot. A quick allegro beat in the range of her
heart.

He raised his eyes to lock with hers, faltered a moment, and
then continued slowly. "She's furious with Joseph because he's broken off
relations with her, or so she's heard."

Emma couldn't help interrupting the scene. "Is that
what Alma told you?"

He shook his head. "Conjecture based on the facts,
according to Sheriff Butler. After Alma shot Joseph, she dropped the murder
weapon and fled into the woods. That's where the sheriff found her hours later."

"Let's presume her current story is accurate." Emma
paused a moment to gather her thoughts before going on. "She's angry,
feeling hurt and abandoned, her reputation ruined, her self-esteem in tatters."

She plunged excitedly into the drama of Alma's pitiful tale.
"She confronts her lover in the – where?"

"The body was discovered in the kitchen."

" – in the kitchen. They argue. She reaches for the
pistol." Emma jerked the pretend Deringer from her ankle, raised it
awkwardly with her left hand, and mimicked firing.

Malachi reached across his body to grab his left shoulder,
spun around, and collapsed to the floor, landing on his left side.

They both froze for a moment, evaluating the accuracy of
their scenario.

"Something's wrong," Emma said at last.

"Yes." Malachi jumped up from the floor and
returned to his seat, shuffling through the documents until he pulled out the
diagram his friend, Sheriff Nathan Butler, had drawn of the victim's body when
he arrived at the Machado household the night of the murder.

Emma stared at the sketch, peering over Malachi's arm. "Joseph
is lying on his back in the sketch of the crime scene. If Alma's claims are
true, shouldn't he ... "

"Precisely." He turned to face her, his lake-blue
eyes dark with sudden knowledge.

She nodded slowly and concentrated on her next words. "Joe
ought to be lying on his side."

"According to the report, the body was discovered by
Mrs. Machado early the next morning when she went downstairs for a cup of hot
milk. She claimed she couldn't sleep."

Emma sank back into her chair. "Could she have moved
the body in her grief?"

"There were no blood stains on her clothing and she
insists she didn't touch her son. I believe her. She was so horrified that she
screamed for her husband and waited in another room until he'd returned with
Nathan Butler."

The questions bounced out of Emma's mouth without pause. "If
Alma truly fired only one shot in the manner she indicated, then what happened?
Who killed Joseph if she didn't? What did she tell you?"

Malachi flung himself into the chair beside her and riffled
his fingers through his hair. The muscles of his shoulder bunched as he propped
himself on his elbows. "She's told me precious little. She keeps repeating
that she did it, that she's guilty, but won't be specific."

"Perhaps she doesn't remember the sequence of her
actions."

"Shock?"

Emma nodded and shifted in her seat. "Or perhaps she's
ashamed," she added.

"Ashamed? Why?"

She glanced sharply at him, gauging his reaction. "She
carried on an illicit relationship with a man. It wasn't right, but was
forgivable as long as he married her. But when he jilted her ... " Emma
spread her hands, palms upward. "Now the entire community knows of her
indiscretion."

He turned to face her. "Would you talk to her?"

"Me? Why?"

"If you approached her as a woman, she might tell you
what really happened."

"Malachi, I don't think Alma knows or remembers what
happened."

"You could help her remember," he urged.

She frowned dubiously. "I suppose."

"She hasn't a single friend in town," he argued. "Everyone
who might've supported her has abandoned her instead."

"I'll try." She reached across the table for her
glass, and in doing so, her breast brushed against his bare arm. She jumped
back as though burned. When she looked at him, however, he appeared unaware of
the contact which had run through her body like electricity.

She quickly changed the subject. "I spoke to Thomas the
other day. Did you know that Joseph, Sr., has two sons?"

"I thought Joe, Jr., was his only heir."

She shook her head slowly. "No. Apparently this other
son, fifteen years Joe's senior, had a falling out with the family and moved to
Bakersfield some years ago."

"Good God, I've lived here five years and never heard
of another son." He discovered his water glass empty and went to the
sideboard to pour more from a pewter carafe.

Emma smiled with satisfaction. She didn't often get ahead of
him. "Thomas knows everything about Placer Hills, every family relationship,
every birth and death. All the secrets hiding in proper families' closets."

"Where is this other son now?"

"Presumably still in Bakersfield. His name is Aaron and
he works for The People's Railroad."

"Ah, I see." He leaned against the sideboard and
took a sip of water. "Very good work, Emma."

The praise brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks
although she didn't see the significance of another son, nor of his working for
the railroad. "Why?"

Malachi smiled and walked to her, clasping his hand firmly
on her shoulder. A tiny fluttering set up in her chest and wormed its way down
to her belly.

"Because now there's another person in this murder
scenario. One who may have had a motive to do away with Joseph Machado."

He sat down with a look of satisfaction on his face. "And
if he works for the railroad, a convenient mode of transportation."

Emma frowned. "But you cannot presume ill will between
the two brothers."

He sat and picked up his note pad. "Ah ha, there is
always a bad history between siblings. Don't you know that?"

"No, and you cannot either."

"Yes, sometimes I forget that you are an only child."
He smiled and looked up from his paper. "You are accustomed to getting
whatever material possessions or affection you ask for."

His words rekindled the adversarial tenor of their previous
conversations and lighted a different kind of fire in Emma's breast. She rose
with such passion that her chair clattered backwards.

Malachi looked up, apparently startled, at the effect of his
words. "I meant no unkindness. I simply pointed out a fact."

Because he appeared genuinely sorry, she decided not to take
further offense. "You should check your facts before speaking so bluntly."
As she sat down, she detected a wry smile flit across his lips, the mere
lifting of one side of his mouth that quickly passed.

"Perhaps this Aaron Machado had reason to harm Joseph,"
she conceded. "I can ask Thomas for the complete story behind the
disaffection between the elder son and his parents."

"Good idea. And I'll check among the attorneys I know
to see if I can discover the terms of the senior Machado's will." He
jotted a note on his pad.

"Will? But he – the senior Machado is not dead."

He glanced up, a sly gleam in his eye. "True, but it
would be interesting to discover whom he's made his heir, don't you think?"

"Oh, I see. Aaron or Joseph."

"And when you speak with Thomas, also find out whatever
you can about ..." He perused his notes. "Patricia Wells, the woman
for whom Joseph allegedly was leaving Alma."

Emma smiled smugly. "I already have."

Malachi pushed back in his chair and eyed her with no small
measure of astonishment and, she believed, respect. He gestured for her to
continue. "Go on."

"Patricia Wells – Patsy – works for the Halverson
family as a cook, apparently not a very good one for rumor indicates the family
is prepared to let her go." Emma remembered how she'd waggled the
information from Sarah. Cooks were notoriously competitive and Sarah was eager
to gossip.

"Actually my cook advised me about Patsy Wells." She
looked over at the closed door, wondering if Sarah were above listening at
doors. She rather thought not.

"Not only is Patsy a poor cook, but she has a
proclivity for ... " She felt the heat of embarrassment creep into her
cheeks. "She becomes too well-acquainted with the master of the house."

"Ah, Patsy is a woman of loose morals. I wonder why she
believed Joseph meant to leave Alma for her." Malachi narrowed his eyes
for a moment. "Have you any idea?"

Emma felt uncomfortable with the prurient stories about
Patsy's character, but believed the information was germane to the case. She
rose, strode to the door, and swung it open.

No one lurked on the other side. She shouldn't like to be
overheard telling scandalous tales even in the name of justice and the law.