AUNT THEODORA AND DAPHNE
AUNT THEODORA AND DAPHNE
In the Lancer household, there were three wildly divergent opinions regarding the current whereabouts and general condition of Aunt Theodora.
Murdoch Lancer optimistically believed she had boarded a train bound for her home in Boston and arrived safely, where she was at that very moment settled into her normal routine, driving her house staff crazy with her demands and general looniness, and entertaining any number of noteworthy Boston names. At least in her mind.
Scott Lancer, somewhat less optimistically, fretted over the fact that there was no way to verify his aunt’s whereabouts and that therefore she was most likely wandering all alone on the streets of San Francisco, or somewhere in the very Wild West. Or Zanzibar.
Johnny Lancer, perhaps least optimistically of all, was sure she’d been shanghai’ed and there was therefore no point in discussing it further because there was nothing anyone could do.
“Don’t talk about my aunt like that, Johnny,” said Scott. “She worries me. She’s been missing for over a month now, no one has any idea where she is, she hasn’t contacted my grandfather . . . “
“Scott, she’s a survivor. She gets herself into messes and comes out on top every time. Don’t worry about her. Let’s ride over and check out MacInerny’s new mare. Murdoch says it’s . . . “
“No thank you. I don’t want to check out any horse. I’d rather stay home and see if Aunt Theodora manages to contact us.”
“How about MacInerny’s Angus bull? We’ve been meaning to get over there to see that, too. Murdoch says it’s not the best he’s ever seen, but it’s . . . “
“No bull, Johnny! Don’t you get it? I’m concerned about my aunt! Besides, I know you only want to ride over to Tom MacInerny’s so you can see his daughter Bo.”
“Oh? Does Tom have a daughter?” Innocence personified.
Scott smiled and pushed his brother toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. Go take the lovely Bo MacInerny on a picnic or something. I’ll stay here and do the worrying for both of us.”
- - - - -
Scott Lancer wasn’t normally a worrier, but where his Aunt Theodora was involved, he made an exception. She had often caused him worry throughout his life and he had honed his aunt-worrying to a fine point. The other facets of his life were predictable and manageable, but his aunt was . . . well, she was . . . well, as his French professor used to say, an objet de preoccupation.
Pauvre garcon.
But on this warm afternoon, Scott’s worry finally came to an abrupt and unexpected end in the Lancer front yard, along with the ranch’s wagon.
Said wagon, directed by Jelly, came to that abrupt halt only because the horses pulling it reacted to the driver’s command.
Scott felt someone come up behind him on the porch. “My God,” he heard Murdoch Lancer whisper. Scott quietly echoed the same sentiment.
“Look who I found in town,” Jelly called to them, not enthusiastically.
Scott and Murdoch were transfixed. Aunt Theodora was sitting on the seat next to Jelly. But there wasn’t just one Aunt Theodora. There were two Aunt Theodoras!
Two Aunt Theodoras!
And each had feathers and silks and satins and huge hats with little fake birds and all of the aforementioned were still looking for a place to light after the sudden halt. Aunt Theodora #1 straightened her bosom and whacked Jelly unceremoniously across his arm with her pink parasol. “When will you learn to drive?”
“As soon as you learn to stop hitting me with that damn bumbershoot,” Jelly replied, also unceremoniously. “Ma’am,” he added (without the proper respect such a title usually implied) as he disembarked from the wagon. “They’re all yours and good luck,” Jelly yelled over his shoulder to Scott.
“Incompetent operator!” Aunt Theodora #2 yelled after Jelly, just before a little green bird landed on her nose. “Although perhaps we should thank him for the ride,” she said to Aunt Theodora #1.
Aunt Theodora #1 looked at her as if she was crazy. “Certainly not! For a ride like that? Why, we had to hang on for dear life the entire time. You have a green bird on your nose. Help me down, Scotty, and give your great-aunt a hug.”
“Aunt Theodora, we were so worried about you.” Scott hugged his aunt down from the wagon. “I’m certainly glad to see you’re all right. Where have you been all this time? It’s been several weeks.”
“Dear Scotty! San Francisco certainly allows one many opportunities to sample much of what this exciting but undisciplined city has to offer. I met a fine man, several in fact . . . “
“And several not-so-fine,” Aunt Theodora #2 gaily reminded her from the wagon.
“Mrs. Gaffney!” Scott said as he helped her down. “How wonderful it is to see you again! We never would have expected to see you here at Lancer.”
“Little Scotty,” she gushed. “Since you have now grown so tall, you may call me Daphne.”
“Yes, Scotty,” said Aunt Theodora, “you do seem to have grown taller since I’ve seen you last.”
“No, I haven’t actually . . . “
“And I think it would be appropriate for you to introduce my dear friend to your Western relative.”
“Of course; I’m forgetting my manners. Daphne Dupont Gaffney, my Aunt Theodora’s long-time friend, may I introduce my father Murdoch Lancer.”
Murdoch took her hand and held it in his own. “Daphne, I expect you don’t remember, but we met long ago. Just before I whisked Scott’s mother from Boston to begin our new life out here.”
“Oh? Oh, yes, of course,” said Daphne. “Such a dashing young man you were! And how you’ve turned into such a good-looking, and, I may add, well-developed man over these years.” Daphne took her time looking Murdoch up and down and up and down again. Murdoch actually came close to blushing, but, being Murdoch Lancer, just didn’t do such things. He quickly dropped her hand.
- - - - -
“Daphne, you absolutely must try this wonderful new concoction they’ve invented in California. Tequila, I think they call it,” Aunt Theodora said. Daphne did not seem at all averse to the idea, so Murdoch poured some into a glass for her.
“Aunt Theodora, tequila is as foreign to California as I am,” Scott informed the ladies. “It’s actually from . . .”
“Why, it’s wonderful!” Daphne exclaimed. “It doesn’t have much taste but it tastes wonderful! Why, I shall be dancing on that table soon! Might I have more?”
Murdoch quickly pushed the tequila behind some books. “I’m sorry, ladies, but that was the last of the tequila.”
Daphne giggled. “Really? I thought I saw more in the bottle. Why, I must be drunk already.”
“Daphne!” scolded Aunt Theodora. “Don’t use such crude language. Remember you are a Boston Dupont. And remember you are with me!” The most important thing, of course.
“Oh, pooh, Theo,” Daphne scolded right back. “I saw you do a few things in San Francisco that . . . “
“Uh . . . Theodora,” Murdoch interrupted, “we’ve been worried about you. Why didn’t you let Scott know where you were?”
“Oh?” Aunt Theodora seemed genuinely surprised. “Scotty, you didn’t know I was in San Francisco?”
“No, Aunt Theodora. You didn’t wire us. How could we have known?”
“You’re just being silly, Scotty.”
“How on earth am I being silly?”
“Think about it. Where was the last place you saw me?”
“Well, in the train station.”
“And where was the train station?”
“San Francisco.”
“Exactly! So you see - you already knew I was there. For a young man, you’re getting very forgetful, Scotty.”
“Uh . . . “
- - - - -
Judging by how low the fire was, it was fairly late when Johnny returned. He saw Scott sitting by the fireplace, alone and staring at the meager flames. Johnny came over to his brother but Scott didn’t acknowledge him.
Finally Johnny said, “She’s back, isn’t she?”
Scott just shook his head. “How’d you know?”
Johnny took the chair across from his brother. “Wild guess.”
“Hmmm.”
Johnny waited for more, then said, “Why the long face, brother? Now you don’t have to worry anymore.”
“She’s back, but she didn’t come back alone.”
“So?”
“She brought that friend of hers with her. Daphne. She’s crazier than my aunt.”
“That’s not possible,” Johnny said with a smile, but Scott ignored him.
“Aunt Theodora had had such a good time with us in San Francisco that she wired Daphne and told her to cancel the European trip they had planned. She told her to come to California instead and they’d have a wild time together in San Francisco.”
Johnny poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. What little wine was left in it. “Figures. I guess she didn’t care that we were stuck on the train instead of her.”
“I doubt if she even noticed. She was off on some adventure or other and that’s why she wasn’t there by the time we managed to get back.”
“So Daphne dropped everything and got on the first train out here.”
“She sure as hell did.”
Johnny smiled and raised his glass in an imaginary toast. “And the two old ladies from Boston kicked up their heels in San Francisco!”
“They sure as hell did.”
“Until they had done everything there was to do, or maybe because the mayor kicked them out. Hey, wait a minute! They’re both here, you said? Now? They’re not staying here at Lancer, are they?”
“They sure as hell are.”
“Oh, Dios,” Johnny said, downing the wine in one swallow.
“And they asked where Jonathan was,” Scott said.
“Gone. I’m riding out right now. I’ll go back to MacInerny’s and hide out.”
“Nope. Murdoch told them you’d be at the breakfast table.”
“Murdoch?””
“And what Murdoch says, goes. Aunt Theodora and Daphne are going to get up extra early to make sure they see you there.”
“Oh, Dios!”
“You’re sure as hell right.”
- - - - -
It was inevitable that the breakfast conversation was illogical with Aunt Theodora in attendance, but the presence of her friend Daphne added a certain je ne sais quois (Scott’s French teacher again) to the mix.
Aunt Theodora started in on Johnny right away. “Now, Jonathan, tell me. Have you managed to make anything of yourself in my absence?”
“Make anything?”
“Yes. Have you managed to better your position at this establishment?”
“What establishment?”
Scott chuckled. “My aunt wants to know if you’ve merited a promotion lately at Lancer. The answer is no, Aunt Theodora, but I have to say that Johnny has been working hard lately on bettering his position with Bo MacInerny!” Both he and Johnny laughed.
“And where would that be?” Aunt Theodora asked.
“MacInerny’s ranch, mostly,” Johnny said honestly. Still laughing.
“Well, that’s something anyhow. But I don’t really see how you can hold positions with two ranches at the same time and do a respectable job for either.”
“What?” Johnny lost his smile. “Well, so far it’s been respectable anyhow. Hope that changes soon.” Scott hid a smirk behind his hand.
Murdoch gave his sons a stern look. “Theodora, Scott and Johnny work only for Lancer, and they are both very hard workers. Johnny has been spending time lately at Tom MacInerny’s ranch, but for an entirely personal reason. I don’t want you to be misled by this conversation.”
“Well, I for one find this conversation perfectly delightful.” Daphne gestured with her hand and her recently blueberry-jammed toast threw off a blueberry or two. “How lucky Theo and I are to have all these wonderful strong good-looking men around us! And apparently there’s even more at that other ranch. Theo and I must go visit them and see for ourselves.” She took a big bite of her toast and her lips turned blue.
“It’s not what you think,” Murdoch corrected. “That ranch is considerably smaller than Lancer. Just Tom MacInerny and Tom’s daughter Bo. I doubt if he has hired men. Tom recently bought that spread from neighbors who moved east. He’s been trying to make a go of it, but hasn’t really managed to get much of a stronghold yet. A small herd, not enough help. I’ve offered to help but he’s stubborn, wants to do things his own way.”
“Oh, just them then,” Daphne said with her mouth full. “Sufficient, I suppose.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Theodora thoughtfully. “I suppose that will do.”
- - - - -
After breakfast, Scott pulled Johnny aside to speak with him. “I’ve been worried about my aunt, but I’ve been meaning to ask. How does Tom feel about you courting his daughter?”
“He seems all right with it,” Johnny said.
“I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem like a very easygoing man. Has quite a temper, I hear.”
Johnny grinned. “Well, if it comes to that, I think I can out-draw him, Scott.”
“Just be careful, Johnny. I know how you operate.”
“Well, it’s different this time. I’m seeing her, but I’m also seeing other women. She’s seeing me, but she’s also interested in Whit Claremont and Denny Stubing. And, Scott, our relationship has been like friends so far.”
“So far.”
“So far. By the way, what was that comment from your aunt ‘that will do’ all about anyway?”
“Johnny, I just don’t ask anymore.”
- - - - -
With Aunt Theodora and Daphne (both!) in residence, ranch work would apparently have to wait. The Lancer men found this intolerable, so they begged the pardon of their Boston visitors with the solemn promise that they would all get together again at dinnertime. The ladies graciously accepted the apology which made the Lancer men suspicious which was probably the right thing to be because it turned out that their suspicions were confirmed when they were each called to handle one Bostonian emergency or other throughout the day.
First, Aunt Theodora and Daphne both decided that they would make lunch. This seemed like a fine idea for any two other (read: normal) women, but these two, although friends, often acted more like enemies. Poor Scott, who was trying to manage the paperwork by himself in the next room, found himself running from his desk to the kitchen to act as peacekeeper. He heard:
“No, no, Theo. The frypan goes on the fire.”
“I told you, Daphne, this is called a spider! And it goes on the tabletop, not the fire!” Aunt Theodora yelled at her friend.
Daphne grabbed the frypan from her hands. “It’s called a frypan! It can’t be called a spider because then I would be afraid of it! And it goes on the fire. That’s how food gets cooked! Salads, everything!””
“Ladies . . .” said Scott.
Aunt Theodora grabbed the spider back from her friend. “It goes on the tabletop and food is served in it. By the cooks on Thursday – no doubt the maid’s day off.”
Daphne grabbed the cast-iron pan back. “Oh pooh, Theo! You don’t know! You’ve never cooked a meal in your life!”
“Ladies . . .” Scott tried unsuccessfully to reach for the frypan.
Aunt Theodora grabbed the pan again but Daphne didn’t let go. “Maybe not, but I know how to eat, and that’s the next best thing. It goes on the tabletop!”
“Fire!”
“Table!”
“Ladies!” Scott yelled, much louder than he had intended. Surprised, they both turned to look at him, and the spider/frypan dropped to the floor. The tile it landed on cracked end to end.
“Oh no,” moaned Scott. He dropped to his knees to retrieve the frypan. He was investigating the damage when Murdoch walked in and saw him.
“Now, Murdoch,” said Daphne gaily, “don’t go blaming Scotty. These things happen. I’m sure Scotty is contrite and will fix it.”
Aunt Theodora grabbed Daphne’s hand and the two of them cheerfully skipped out of the room, supposedly once again the best of friends. Although subsequently a couple of “it’s your fault”s and “oh, pooh, Theo”s were heard in the other room.
- - - - -
Then after lunch (which Scott and Murdoch made), Aunt Theodora and Daphne decided that an afternoon walk might be some nice exercise. They walked from the house to the corral, a distance of approximately fifty yards, when they decided that was certainly enough exercise. One of the factors affecting their joint decision was the fact that Murdoch was replacing a rotted board on the corral fence and that he most certainly would need their verbal assistance for the proper completion of his task.
Murdoch saw them coming. They had told him they were going to go for a walk after lunch, but he had truly hoped they would walk in another direction. There were so many other directions to choose from; why did they have to pick this one? He considered fleeing but didn’t formulate a plan in time and Aunt Theodora and Daphne were quickly approaching off the port bow.
“Oh, Murdoch,” Daphne called cheerfully. “What luck to encounter you on our constitution.”
“I thought you ladies were going to go for a long walk.”
“Oh, we did,” giggled Daphne. “Our constitution is completed. After all, as ladies, we must not work up a sweat, you know.”
“Daphne!” her friend scolded. “Please watch your language in the presence of a gentleman!”
“I thought it was the other way around – gentlemen were supposed to watch their language around ladies.” Murdoch turned back to his work.
“We’re here to help,” Aunt Theodora announced.
“Oh no you don’t! Best thing you ladies can do is stay out of the way. When I pull this board off, shi-. . .splinters might go flying.”
And Murdoch did in fact pull that board off, and shi-. . .splinters did indeed go flying. Aunt Theodora sidestepped the small pieces of rotted timber that flew her way, but Daphne, who was a bit – shall we perhaps say – rounder than her friend, managed to accidentally snag with her hands a one-foot piece of wood as it headed directly for her.
“Oof!” Daphne said at first. Then she realized she alone had been chosen to receive a prize. She held it aloft and proclaimed, “A piece of Murdoch’s ranch chose me and I shall always treasure it.”
Murdoch put his hands on his hips. “Ladies, you could have been killed.”
“Nonsense, Murdoch,” said Aunt Theodora. “We are clearly lithe.”
“Well, whatever you are, I want you to leave this area while I’m working. I mean it! Theodora, why don’t you and Daphne continue that constitution you started?”
Aunt Theodora was going to object but out of the corner of her eye she spotted Johnny on the other side of the barn. “Splendid idea,” she said.
- - - - -
Johnny was concentrating so hard on the rope he was twirling, that even though he was a top-notch eagle-eyed gunfighter, he managed to completely miss seeing Aunt Theodora and Daphne until they were upon him. He dropped the rope.
“Oh, I know what that is!” Daphne happily cried. “That’s called a larry . . . laurie . . . no, wait . . .”
“Jonathan, why are you continually roping that fence post?” Aunt Theodora asked. “Wouldn’t the first capture have been sufficient?”
Johnny picked up the rope and prepared it to be twirled again. “I’m just practicing.”
“Practicing?”
“Yeah. I’m still new to ranching. Some things I haven’t done much of yet. Want to get it right.” He twirled the rope into a midsized loop and then hurled it at the fence post. It sailed nicely over the top and settled down.
“It’s a chariot!” said Daphne. “No, that’s not right either . . . “
“I reiterate, Jonathan,” said Aunt Theodora. “Since you’ve already roped it, perhaps it is a waste of your time to continue to do so.”
"Lariat!" proclaimed Daphne.
Johnny retrieved his rope. “Well, believe it or not, Theodora, I’m not really all that good at this. That’s why I’m practicin.’ On the range, working with cattle, you don’t get a chance to miss.” He began twirling the rope again. Daphne watched with new interest.
Aunt Theodora cleared her throat. “I see,” she said. “Come, Daphne, let’s leave Jonathan alone so he may continue to practice capturing fence posts out on the range.” The ladies turned to leave but Daphne apparently got just a little too close to the rope and when Johnny threw it, her foot somehow got entangled in it, and Johnny, in a subconscious attempt to avoid ensnaring her, also got tangled in it, and then the two of them both crashed to the ground and they managed to knock into Aunt Theodora’s pink parasol, which went flying from her hand and hit the hard ground with one of its rib tips, which caused it to bounce back right at Johnny and hit him in the eye.
- - - - -
Aunt Theodora and Daphne then decided they wanted to spend the remainder of the afternoon enjoying the countryside and Scott, Murdoch and Johnny all agreed that was a splendid idea, and so did Jelly, who set a new speed record for harnessing a horse to a buggy and giving Daphne quick rudimentary lessons in buggy-driving.
- - - - -
By the time late afternoon had rolled around and the ladies returned to Lancer, Scott and Johnny had already left for town to enjoy a Saturday night off and supper was just about ready to be served.
“It smells delicious,” Aunt Theodora remarked to Murdoch, who was pouring wine into their glasses. “I believe that is pheasant under glass.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Daphne said. “But, no, Theo - this is certainly the aroma of squab! Murdoch, you take such good care of us that I believe we should extend our stay.”
Murdoch poured himself a particularly large glass and contemplated downing it in one swallow. “Uh . . . it’s not . . . I’m afraid it’s just . . . uh . . . Thank you, Maria,” he said as the ranch cook set the entrée on the table.
“Es pollo, Senor Lancer,” Maria proclaimed proudly.
“Exactly what I thought – pheasant,” said Aunt Theodora.
“Oh, pooh, Theo! I was right – it’s squab, and it smells wonderful.”
“Ladies . . . “ said Murdoch.
Maria looked to Murdoch. “Es pollo,” she repeated.
“There – you see, Daphne? This Spanish woman has cooked the meal and she should know. In her native tongue, she has just proclaimed this entrée to be pheasant.”
“Don’t be so smug, Theo! I know Italian when I hear it. She said squab!”
“Ladies . . . ” said Murdoch.
“Soy Mexicana,” said Maria.
“And furthermore,” said Aunt Theodora, “she has cooked this pheasant in the traditional way of her countrymen – using soy sauce.”
“That’s just silly. They don’t even have soy sauce in Italy. Do they?” Daphne cautiously asked Maria.
“No soy italiana. Soy Mexicana,” Maria said.
“Ladies . . . “ said Murdoch.
“Oh, isn’t that interesting, Theo? They are out of imported soy sauce, so they are using Mexican soy sauce instead!”
“Why, yes. Such ingenuity out here in the wilderness! I would like to suggest a toast to Murdoch and his creative Spanish cook!” said Aunt Theodora, and she held her glass up high.
“Here, here,” said Daphne.
“Unfortunately,” murmured Murdoch, and downed his wine in one gulp.
“Es pollo,” grumbled Maria as she returned to the kitchen.
- - - - -
Meanwhile, Scott and Johnny were having a fine time at the cantina in town. Johnny was engrossed in a medium-stakes poker game that didn’t interest Scott, who saw a golden opportunity to milk the Johnny’s-black-eye mystery cow for all it was worth. Scott took bets from various patrons as to the origins of said black eye. He gave enticing odds and even sweetened the pot by promising a win to anyone who could even come close in their guess. Occasionally Johnny looked up and wondered what the men on the other side of the saloon were laughing about with his brother, but apparently his game was important enough to demand his entire attention and he did not budge from the table. He overheard occasional epitaphs such as “had to be a mountain lion” and “a fight, one of them new hands you hired” and “you’re all wrong, just a stupid hay bale,” but Johnny was losing money and refused to leave his game. After a while, he heard a good-natured “Damn you, Scott Lancer; that’s my last twenty dollar gold piece!” This piqued his interest enough to get him to rise from the table, which coincidentally happened at the same time that he himself had lost his last twenty dollars, and he ambled on over to his brother’s group. His appearance was met with gales of laughter.
Johnny chuckled too and took a swig of his beer. “What are you yahoos cackling about over here? Someone put on a dress or something?”
“Oh, no, Johnny! Better than that!” This came from the ‘last twenty dollar gold piece’ yahoo, who was hooting just as loudly as everyone else.
“Oh yeah?” Johnny took another swig of his beer. He couldn’t help laughing along. “Don’t tell me Erling here finally did an honest day’s work!” He slapped one of the men on the back. Erling and everyone else seemed unable to talk due to their laughter.
Johnny ventured a glance at his brother, who was keeping a straight face, although Johnny could see he was having trouble doing so. “All right, come on now, fellas. What’s so funny?”
One of the men made a valiant attempt to talk. “Joh . . . Johnny,” he managed to say between guffaws. “That’s quite a . . . a shiner you’ve got there!”
Johnny had forgotten about his black eye. “Oh, yeah.” He stopped laughing. “Yeah, it’s a beaut, all right.” He took another gulp of his beer and wondered how he could change the subject.
“How’d you get that, Johnny?” someone else asked, and several other men in the crowd all said something to the same effect. Johnny couldn’t understand how a simple black eye could be so funny or so interesting when no doubt they’d all had much worse themselves.
“Accident,” he said.
“What kind of accident?” they persisted.
Johnny looked helplessly to his brother. Scott shrugged his shoulders. “Might as well tell them, brother. They’d probably enjoy hearing the story.”
Well, maybe they would at that. They all certainly seemed in a jovial mood. Johnny smiled, now seeing the situation in a new light. “I got poked by a pink parasol.”
Suddenly you could hear a pin drop. No one talked, no one laughed, no one even breathed. Then someone sincerely asked, “What’s that, Johnny? Some kind of bear or something?”
“No, you greenhorn. It’s a pink umbrella.”
The silence persisted for another couple of seconds. Then . . .
The room exploded with laughter! All of a sudden every man in that saloon and maybe even in the whole state of California was laughing his head off. Some of them were holding on to the bar to keep from falling on the floor, and some of them were pounding the table with each guffaw. And furthermore, there seemed to be lots of money changing hands, greenbacks floating around everywhere. And when Johnny looked closely, most of those bills were heading in the direction of his brother, who was laughing quite happily himself.
Johnny stopped laughing.
- - - - -
Johnny wasn’t the only one who returned to Lancer with a black eye that night.
- - - - -
It was Sunday morning, after all, so Murdoch Lancer wasn’t too concerned about his sons’ non-appearance at the breakfast table. The Boston ladies were no doubt also sleeping late, since they always no doubt slept late. Murdoch savored the silence. He took his coffee into the great room and settled into his favorite chair to relax and enjoy the view of his ranch through the large picture window.
“Aaaah.” How blissful the quiet could be. He’d almost forgotten. It seemed that since the Boston women arrived, every moment had been punctuated with their inane comments or questions. When they weren’t arguing with each other, they were finding something to re-arrange or destroy. They were like naughty kittens, always active and always finding some kind of trouble to get into. High-society kittens. The image made him chuckle, even though he realized that his ranch and family were the depositories of their unpredictable and often even insulting behavior. In the short time since they’d arrived, so much had been upended. They certainly livened things up!
But Murdoch had heard them allude to Boston several times. He smiled. Murdoch was certain they missed their home town and the luxurious lives they must have back east; no doubt they would cut short their visit to return to the familiar lives they knew so well – the comfortable homes filled with servants ready to do their bidding, the delicious meals prepared for them, the adventures that awaited them . . .
Nuts! They had all that right here. Why should they ever leave? Murdoch lost his smile.
As he pondered a future filled with the same kind of looniness he was suffering through now, Murdoch became aware that he was absently looking at a man through the window. He focused more carefully and realized he was seeing one of his hands – Mike? no, Mitch – running from the barn to the house. Murdoch could tell there was something wrong. He hurried to the front door to admit the man.
“Mr. Lancer! Mr. Lancer, he’s dead!”
“What? Who’s dead?”
“Lew Hoffman. He’s been shot. Shot dead.”
High-society kittens and everything else forgotten, Murdoch hurried with Mitch back to the barn. Sure enough, a man was lying on his stomach on the barn floor just inside the big door. It appeared he had been shot in the back.
“When I came to open the door this morning, Mr. Lancer, I saw him.” Mitch seemed agitated. Murdoch made a mental note of that.
Murdoch knelt down to feel for a pulse. He looked at the man’s eyes. “Lew,” he said gently. “He was new here. I didn’t know him well, but he was a good worker. Never got in trouble.” He bowed his head for a moment and then stood. “Is there a weapon anywhere?” he asked absently.
“Oh! I didn’t think to look.” They both searched the immediate area but found no gun.
“Should I ride into town for the sheriff?” Mitch asked.
“No! No, just go wake one of the other hands and have him do it.” Murdoch watched Mitch as he ran to the bunkhouse. In a moment, Johnny came running from the house, carrying his gunbelt.
“What’s up, Murdoch?”
“There’s been a murder, Johnny, of one of our new men. Lew Hoffman.”
Johnny knelt down to look more closely. He whistled. “Not much blood. He must’ve died instantly. Someone knew what he was doing.”
“Yes,” said Murdoch. “Someone who knows what he’s doing and isn’t afraid to shoot someone in the back.”
Johnny stood up. “You don’t need to be brave to shoot someone when they don’t know you’re going to do it, Murdoch.”
“No one deserves to die that way. Johnny, can you . . .?”
“Yeah, I’ll saddle Barranca. But from the looks of the wound, this guy has a few hours’ head start on me.”
“I’m sending someone into town to get the sheriff, but that will take a while. I appreciate you doing this. But, Johnny . . . “ He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Be careful. Like you said, someone knows what he’s doing.”
- - - - -
Aunt Theodora and Daphne, rather than being appalled by the fact that someone had been murdered during their vacation which might of course have been their expected reaction, were actually thrilled that another adventure had befallen them. In reality, they were appalled too, but in terms of weight, the scales were tipped quite a bit to the thrilled side.
As usual, they arose late and by the time they had finished their breakfast, the sheriff had come and gone, the body had been removed, and things had returned as close as possible to Sunday normal on the ranch. With Johnny off looking for the perpetrator before a proper posse could get organized, Murdoch had decided that donating one son to perpetrator-location duty was sufficient and assigned Scott to the chore of aunt-sitting. When Scott found them at their breakfast, he told them the news and instantly regretted doing so.
Daphne clapped her hands. “Oh, how wonderful! And right here on this ranch!”
Aunt Theodora rose from the table. “Come, Daphne, we must immediately investigate the crime scene before it goes . . . well, before it goes.”
“No, ladies, there’s no need for that,” Scott said, and blocked the doorway with both arms as they tried to exit the dining room.
“Nonsense, Scotty. We are indeed needed.” Aunt Theodora ducked under one of Scott’s arms and Daphne ducked under the other. Scott quickly pivoted and grabbed each of them around the waist.
“Like I said . . . “
“As I said,” Aunt Theodora corrected her nephew.
“As I said,” Scott continued, “there is no need for you to get involved. Johnny is out right now looking for the murderer, and the sheriff himself took most of our men and is riding back to town to get more men to form a posse. There’s only a couple men left in the bunkhouse and I think you would just be safer in the house.”
“Where did the murder occur?” Aunt Theodora interrupted.
“I’m not going to tell you,” Scott said. “I don’t want you ladies getting involved in something like this. I don’t want to have to worry about you. Besides, there’s nothing to see anymore.” He cautiously released them as they seemed to have stopped attempting to move.
“Why is there nothing to see?”
“There was no discarded gun. And I already cleaned up the blood on the floor with hay.”
“Hay! The barn!” both Aunt Theodora and Daphne said at the same time, and they hastened to the barn, leaving poor Scott in their wake, wondering what it was about the two of them that could possibly have caused him to let that slip. Any number of things, he decided, and rushed after them to the barn.
Instinctively, the ladies immediately found the spot where the body had lain. Aunt Theodora was looking around the area – for what, Scott didn’t know. Daphne was on her hands and knees pushing aside the hay to study the floorboards.
“There’s no weapon anywhere,” Aunt Theodora harumphed.
“I already told you that,” Scott said.
“Don’t be impudent, Scotty,” his aunt scolded him. “I am thinking out loud. You mustn’t interrupt.”
“There isn’t much blood,” Daphne complained.
“You sound disappointed,” Scott ventured a little sarcastically. “As I told you ladies – the sheriff has the matter under control. He’s out right now looking for enough men to form a posse . . .”
“When he should be looking for the murderer,” Aunt Theodora pointed out.
“Well,” said Scott, “that’s the whole point! A body of men is needed to . . . “
“Yes,” said Daphne from the floor, “I like bodies of men quite a bit myself, but in this case I think it would make more sense to concentrate on finding the perpetrator of this crime.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Aunt Theodora said.
With a hand from her friend, Daphne stood. “Scotty, what did the sheriff have to say about this crime? Was he able to discern any clues?”
Scott sighed. He made a mental note to exchange bedrooms with Johnny so that the next time there was a murder in the barn, he would be closer to the front of the house and more likely to hear the activity and awaken when Mitch would come yelling from the barn and then he would be the one to ride out after the murderer and Johnny would be the one to have to stay behind aunt-sitting. “Not much. Nobody here heard any gunshot. Due to that and the small amount of blood, he decided the murder happened somewhere else and the body was brought here."
“Oh, horsefeathers!” said Daphne. “What possible reason could there be for that?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Aunt Theodora repeated.
“And does he know who did it?” Daphne asked.
“Of course not,” said Scott. “Not yet. That’s why he’s gathering a . . .”
“Did he question all the people on the ranch?”
“Most of the men aren’t here; they’re still in town after their Saturday night, but of course he questioned everyone here.”
“No, he didn’t,” Aunt Theodora said haughtily.
“Who did he leave out?”
“He didn’t question Daphne or me.”
Scott sighed again. “Well, did you do it?”
“Murder someone? Don’t be absurd, Scotty! Of course we didn’t murder anyone!”
“Well, then, maybe that’s why he didn’t question you.”
“Not true, Scotty,” Daphne said. “He didn’t question us because we were asleep.”
“Uh . . .” Scott hated being outwitted by the illogical logic of these two women, which, he knew from experience, was capable of reaching voluminous levels. “Have at it,” he said in defeat. “I’ll be at the house.”
Once Scott had left, Aunt Theodora and Daphne discussed the crime.
“The man was murdered right here,” said Daphne.
“I see that,” Aunt Theodora agreed.
“And this is why I know for sure.” Daphne held up a very small object she had rescued from the hay.
“I saw that as well. I have perfect vision.”
“Oh, yes, Theo, you have always had perfect vision.”
“And you as well, Daphne. For a couple of ‘old ladies,’ we certainly are well put-together, aren’t we?”
“We certainly are. Old money, good looks, intelligence, engaging personalities, Hug ‘Em Madam corsets, and perfect vision. We have it all.”
And now that I know how to drive the buggy, we must ride immediately over to MacInerny’s ranch and meet Tom.”
“That’s a splendid idea! A wonderful use of our time,” Aunt Theodora said and the two of them giggled.
- - - - -
At the ladies’ insistence, Jelly rigged the horse to the buggy for them. “But the more I think about it, the more I’m thinkin’ Scott might just be wanting you two to stick around here today, murderer on the loose an’ all.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Daphne. “I know how to drive this buggy and Theo assures me she is an expert with a firearm, so we will be perfectly safe.”
When Jelly didn’t seem inclined to help the women into the buggy, Daphne clumsily made her way to the seat and then pulled Aunt Theodora up.
“So you’re a gun expert now, huh?” said Jelly. “I’m not so sure I’m believin’ that one. Don’t matter much, though, since you don’t even have one with you.”
“As Mrs. Gaffney has stated, we shall be perfectly safe,” said Aunt Theodora. “This is merely a social call to meet Tom MacInerny and see their ranch. Now release your hands from the horse and we shall be on our way.”
Jelly still held on to the rigging. “Well, I just don’t know . . .”
- SNAP! – Aunt Theodora’s pink parasol smacked down on Jelly’s hand and the horse and buggy suddenly lurched forward. Daphne wasn’t prepared and had to hold on tight to the reins to keep control of the horse. This time, though, their hats were secured with ribbon, and no feathers, silks, satins or little fake birds flew off their heads.
Actually, someone’s little yellow bird did wiggle itself loose but managed to hang on by one tiny foot.
Jelly watched the buggy scurrying away with mixed emotions.
- - - - -
Murdoch and even Scott admitted secretly to themselves that the quiet of the afternoon was enjoyable and too precious to want to squander. It was Sunday, after all – the day of rest. It was a day to put troubles away, to enjoy the peace the Good Lord had provided, to relax and . . .
Oh, hell!
“They should have been back by now,” Scott blurted out, disturbing Murdoch’s enjoyment of his favorite Shakespearean plays.
“Oh?” Murdoch said. “Perhaps Tom or his daughter are showing them around the Bar M.”
“Even so, Murdoch. You know they should have been back by now. I know you’re as concerned as I am.”
Murdoch closed his book. “I hate to admit it,” he said softly, “but it does seem a little quiet around here without women’s voices.”
“I think I’ll . . .” But Scott’s thought was cut off by Johnny’s abrupt entrance through the front door.
Johnny hung up his hat but kept on his gunbelt. “Well, I give up,” he said.
“You didn’t see anyone?” Murdoch asked.
Johnny plopped into a chair near his family. “Nope. But it’s strange. I got out there before the posse, so I figured there’d be some prints somewhere. Something, anyhow. Thought someone might have taken off through fields; I checked all around the ranch, but the only horseshoes were on the road and no footprints. Nothing new after the rain, anyhow.”
“Did you find anything at all?” Scott asked eagerly.
“Yeah, lots of prints between here and MacInerny’s, but they were mostly Barranca’s,” Johnny grinned. Scott smiled gently.
“If that’s true,” Murdoch said, “it would stand to reason the killer is right here.”
“Or at MacInerny’s. Hard to say.” Johnny reached for an apple on the table.
The implication of that statement was not lost on Scott, who stood suddenly. “Johnny, my aunt and her friend are on their way over there alone.”
“I didn’t run across them.”
“You should have. They left after breakfast in the buggy to visit MacInerny’s. Jelly foolishly let them go without telling me. They’re not back yet.” Scott headed for the front door. “We can’t leave them out there alone. They might be in trouble. Come and help me, Johnny, will you? We’ve got to go look for them!” Scott buckled on his gunbelt. He turned back to see Johnny hadn’t moved. “Come on! What are you waiting for?”
“I’m thinking about your question.”
“What question?”
“Will I come help look for them. I’m leanin’ toward no.”
- - - - -
Aunt Theodora and Daphne arrived at MacInerny’s ranch in excellent time, considering they had to stop twice, once because Aunt Theodora’s hat flew off and once because they were arguing about which one of them would get Tom and which one of them would have to settle for one of the other men and they couldn’t argue and ride at the same time so they stopped.
“Me,” said Aunt Theodora.
“And just why is it you who gets to be with the ranch owner?” asked Daphne.
“Don’t be petty, Daphne. Because I told you about this ranch and because I’m older.”
“What does being older have to do with anything?”
“It implies I know more about men than you do. After all, I’ve been married several times.”
“We’ve both been married several times. Besides, I’m probably more suited to Tom than you are because . . . because I know how to drive a buggy and that’s a very ranchy thing.”
“Harumph,” Aunt Theodora harumphed. “This may all come to nothing because we both know that Tom is the murderer.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
Daphne clucked the horse back into action. They continued their argument for another few minutes, each extolling Tom MacInerny’s virtues even though neither of them had yet met the man and both fancying he could be the murderer which somehow made him even more exciting, until another more compelling subject came up: the latest dress fashion they had seen in San Francisco. All discussion of Tom MacInerny was forgotten in favor of this all-important topic, and they were once again the best of friends.
- - - - -
Scott kept his eyes to the ground in search of clues, and his ears closed to his brother’s gripes. Johnny, already tired from his fruitless ride in search of the murderer’s escape route, more than once reminded Scott that there just weren’t any prints that left the regular road, and that if the murderer had kept to the road, that the sheriff or the Lancer hands would likely have encountered him on his way back to town unless he pulled off the path to hide when he heard the men approaching, in which case there would be prints that left the regular road, and back to the first part, and etc.
“Come on, Scott, I’ve been all over this. I went all the way to MacInerny’s twice and circled north and south each time home. There’s nothing.”
“Right now I don’t care about the murderer, Johnny. I’m worried about my aunt. She and her friend are out here alone. That horse and buggy are no protection against a killer. She’s helpless.”
“Helpless? Theodora? Ha! Not as long as she’s got that damn pink parasol.” Johnny rubbed his eye.
“Stop it, Johnny, and help me keep looking . . . Wait! What’s this?” Scott spotted something small on the road and dismounted to pick it up. Even Johnny seemed interested. Scott held it out for his brother to see. “There! I told you – they’re on their way to the Bar M, just like Jelly said.”
Johnny was disappointed. “It’s just a bird from one of their hats. So what? I’d like it better if it was a note from the killer that says ‘I went that way.’”
Scott put the little yellow bird in his pocket and re-mounted. “At least now we know for sure they’re headed to MacInerny’s. I wonder why you didn’t encounter them on the road on one of your trips there.”
“They must’ve come through when I was on my way back one of the times. Like I said, I went north once and south the other time. They probably kept to the road. Stop worrying, Scott. If they’re at MacInerny’s, they’re safe. Tom and I checked the place out. No one’s hiding there.”
“All right. I feel a little better, I guess.” Scott kicked into a canter.
“Sure. Tom’s a big guy. He could take care of any trouble.”
- - - - -
Tom MacInerny was indeed a big guy, tall, like Murdoch. And it did not escape Aunt Theodora’s and Daphne’s attention that he was also very good-looking like Murdoch as well. But of course both ladies were too refined to mention their admiration in front of him.
Tom assisted them from the buggy and invited them into his parlor for coffee and cookies after they explained that they had driven over to his ranch so they could meet him and introduce themselves. Before Aunt Theodora sat down, she stole a quick look into Tom’s bedroom, the door of which was enticingly open. The bed was unmade; Aunt Theodora smiled to herself.
“It is wonderful to meet the two of you,” he said with a handsome smile. “I apologize that my daughter Bo has gone to town for the afternoon to visit a friend.”
“And shall we be presented with the opportunity of meeting the other two men?” Daphne asked slyly.
Tom was confused. “Other two men?”
“Mac and Ernie,” Daphne explained.
Tom’s confusion deepened. “Mac and Ernie?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Theodora. “Mac and Ernie. The two ‘hands’ on your staff.”
“Mac and . . .” Tom mulled it over for a moment. “Oh!” he said, finally understanding (not a small feat with Aunt Theodora and Daphne’s logic).
“You mean MacInerny! That’s my name – Tom MacInerny. It’s not ‘Tom, Mac and Ernie.’ There aren’t two other men working for me.”
Aunt Theodora and Daphne gasped and looked at each other. “MacInerny,” Daphne whispered. “That explains it,” Aunt Theodora whispered back.
“So those other two men don’t even exist,” Daphne said, supremely disappointed.
“Such a shame,” said Aunt Theodora. “Now I suppose we are limited to merely one reason for this visit – to capture a murderer.”
“Oh, and I had been so looking forward to a delightful time.”
Although they had been whispering, Tom had caught the general gist of their conversation and found it amusing. But when he heard the word “murderer,” his mood changed.
“What’s this about a murderer?” he asked.
“Why did you kill that man at Lancer, Tom?” Aunt Theodora asked.
“What?!” Tom spilled his coffee.
Daphne looked angrily at Aunt Theodora. “Oh, pooh, Theo. I thought we were going to approach the subject with more finesse.”
“Finesse? Murder? What are you two talking about?!”
“This man is too good-looking to beat around the bush, Daphne. We must not waste any more of his time than necessary. Besides, I understand the Lancer chef will be serving veal francaise for dinner and we don’t want to be late for that.”
“Certainly not. Dare I hope with honey carrots?”
“Honey carrots? What the hell are you two going on about?!”
“Yes, Daphne, with honey carrots. Tom, that was rude of you to interrupt. But since you have, allow me to clarify for you. We are here to bring you back to Lancer . . . “
“For dinner?” Tom asked lamely.
“It does sound good, doesn’t it?” Aunt Theodora said. “But there you go, interrupting again. No, we will be bringing you back because Lancer has a jail room in one of their buildings and we intend to see that you are safely ensconced in it because you are a murderer. But Murdoch Lancer is a generous, if not actually refined, soul, and I am certain that he will see that you are served veal francaise and honey carrots in your cell, so you mustn’t fret.”
Tom MacInerny stood and held his aching head for a moment. “Now let me get this straight. You think I am a murderer?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re here to . . .arrest me?”
“Right again,” Daphne chirped.
“What on earth makes you think I’m a murderer?”
Daphne looked at him in wonder. “Why, because you are, of course. We certainly wouldn’t think you were a murderer if you weren’t actually a murderer.”
“Of course,” Aunt Theodora said. “After all, what do you take us for?”
Tom shook his head. “Right now I’m not too sure. But I am sure of one thing. I want the two of you to leave now. I want you off my ranch.”
Undaunted, Aunt Theodora said, “Then you’ll be following us in your own contrivance, Tom? Although, even though our buggy is small, I’m sure Daphne and I could find room for you to squeeze between us.” Daphne giggled and agreed.
Tom looked at the two of them with actual murder in his eyes. They were no longer amusing and they were clearly not as loony as they appeared. He took a moment to study them. Then he said very steadily, “No, ladies, I will not be squeezing between you, nor will I be following in any contrivance. And I’ve changed my mind about wanting you to leave. In fact, I think the two of you might just be here so long you will miss that fine dinner you were looking forward to. And a few more, too.”
His attitude had changed once he realized they knew he was the murderer. He pulled his gun.
- - - - -
“I have to admit that when Aunt Theodora and Daphne get together, they do not always seem to make a lot of sense,” Scott said.
“I think I may have noticed that,” Johnny said.
“But there’s usually more to it than that. They’re both very intelligent . . . “
“I haven’t noticed that.”
“They are, Johnny. But their conversation is sometimes . . . playful. Yes, I suppose that’s a good word for it – playful. To others it doesn’t always seem that they’re making sense, but to each other they are.”
MacInerny’s ranch seemed to be the most logical destination to Scott, so they were moving at a much faster pace. By now they were close. Johnny would have loved the opportunity to see Bo MacInerny again, but since she had told him she would be visiting friends that afternoon, did not relish the idea of interrupting Tom for a third time that day. The man had a temper. Scott, on the other hand, hoped that he would find his aunt and her friend there, perhaps sipping tea in the parlor or perhaps starting a cattle stampede with Aunt Theodora’s pink umbrella. Either was all right with him as long as they were unhurt.
They were closing in the distance to Tom MacInerny’s ranch.
- - - - -
In an unmannered manner, Tom MacInerny told Aunt Theodora and Daphne to sit on the fireplace hearth while he decided what to do with them. They considered doing what he asked since he was holding a gun on them. “I think he’s holding that gun backward,” Aunt Theodora whispered to her friend. “No, I think he is holding it correctly,” Daphne whispered back. “I believe he intends to shoot us.”
“Sit!” barked Tom MacInerny.
Aunt Theodora looked at the stone hearth and spied the soot that made it quite dirty and of course she did not want to sit on something that was dirty without someone cleaning it first and she was about to say something but she glanced at Tom and he was pointing the pointy end of the gun right at her and then she looked at Daphne who was nodding for her to sit next to her. So she sat.
Once he saw that the two of them were sitting helplessly on the fireplace hearth and behaving, Tom seemed to relax a little. He started pacing and talking out loud, partly to them and partly to himself. “I don’t know how you two old rips found out . . . No one could have known . . . How did you . . . no, don’t talk . . . You’re so loony . . . What can I do with you? How do I get rid of you? . . . There has to be an easy way . . .”
But Tom didn’t realize that nothing was easy where Aunt Theodora and Daphne were concerned. As he mused over the situation, he was walking back and forth in front of them. He was deep in thought, but so were they.
Daphne looked to her side and spied a heavy-duty popcorn pan leaning against the fireplace. She did some quick mental calculations. Aunt Theodora looked to her side and saw some fireplace logs, and she did some quick mental calculations as well. Then she and Daphne looked at each, came to a wordless agreement, and nodded.
As Tom turned away from Aunt Theodora, headed back in Daphne’s direction, Aunt Theodora quickly grabbed one of the split logs and threw it toward the front door. Tom never saw it but whirled instantly and fired his gun when the log made a noise as it hit the floor and cracked a tile. Before he could react further, Daphne grabbed the popcorn pan and whacked him in his groin area. Tom doubled over in pain, dropping the gun. Aunt Theodora grabbed another log and hit him on the back of the neck, sending him sprawling to the floor. Then Daphne quickly grabbed the coiled rope that was hanging above the fireplace for show. She handed one end of it to Aunt Theodora and together they managed to secure the rope around his body. Aunt Theodora then removed one of her scarves and tied his hands together behind his back. Tom was uttering some rather offensive words, so Daphne removed one of her scarves and tied it around his head, ending with a lovely bow in his mouth.
“There,” she said cheerily. “Now we don’t have to worry about Mr. Tom Mac-and-Ernie shooting us anymore.”
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Theodora. “Wasn’t that awful? Imagine pretending to be three people when you are only one. I’m glad we have disabled him from further subterfuge.”
But Tom Mac-and-Ernie still seemed to have a lot to say, although muffled, and they suspected it was not really anything fit for their ears. Aunt Theodora delivered a blow with her pink parasol and threatened more, so Tom became quiet except for a few groans.
“There! That should do it. Now we do have to consider how we will get him into the buggy to deliver him to Lancer. He doesn’t look as if he is going to be of much assistance in this task.”
As if on cue, both Scott and Johnny burst in through the front door.
“Oh, good, the Cavalry has arrived,” said Daphne.
“Yes, Daphne, he really was.”
“Oh, I know that, Theo. And aren’t we to be admired as well? For two ‘old ladies,’ we’re really quite lithe, aren’t we? Perhaps we should become Cavalry women.”
“Ladies . . .” said Scott.
- - - - -
Aunt Theodora and Daphne absolutely refused to tell their story twice because taking the time to do so might cause them to miss the veal francaise and honey carrots and no doubt a delicious dessert as well, so Scott and Johnny had to be content with delivering an injured Tom MacInerny back to Lancer before knowing what had happened. Daphne and Aunt Theodora got their wish when Johnny placed Tom in the buggy and the ladies sat on either side of him. Scott and Johnny flanked the buggy on the way back to make sure there was no trouble, but Tom didn’t seem to want to be a nuisance at all. Once at Lancer, he was allowed to lie on the couch as he was questioned and the ladies told their story to the Lancer men. Aunt Theodora sat next to him, within reach and wielding her umbrella in case he lied.
“So you did murder Lew Hoffman then?” Murdoch asked.
“Hell, yes, I killed him. Give me the chance, I’ll do it again.”
“I think I’d like to know why you killed one of my hands.” Murdoch was not in a good mood. Perhaps he did not know about the veal francaise and honey carrots.
“He made advances to my daughter. Unwelcome advances. She fought him off, but she told me about it. I always take matters into my own hands.”
“But, Tom,” Aunt Theodora said daintily, “don’t you think murder might be just a bit . . . excessive?”
“I told you – I always take matters into my own hands. I finish what others start. And by the way, how did you two biddies know I did it?” He said that last part so ferociously that Scott walked over and stood next to his aunt.
“A woman would never be capable of murder,” said Aunt Theodora as if that explained everything.
Daphne shook her head in agreement. “Yes, that’s true. At least I hope not.”
“Um, Theodora,” said Murdoch, “I’m afraid you’ve lost us. Could you explain a little further?” The ladies were being met with blank looks all around. Obviously this crowd did not have their faculties for logic, so they decided to try again.
“Tom is the only man at that ranch,” Aunt Theodora said slowly. “And that is the closest ranch. And it had to be someone – a man – from a close ranch who came here to do this heinous deed and flee to a close place of refuge before anyone noticed him.”
“Why couldn’t it have been one of our hands?” Johnny asked.
“Because of the fresh footprints that led away from the body. To the outside corral where he no doubt secured his ride. Not to the bunkhouse, where the men slept. Besides, you said the sheriff had questioned the men and he was apparently satisfied with their answers.”
“And that’s another thing,” Scott said. “How did you know the murder was committed here? The sheriff said the crime happened somewhere else and the body dumped – brought – here.”
“The sheriff was wrong,” Daphne said, and then she and Aunt Theodora both said together “Nobody’s perfect” and giggled.
“We’re waiting,” Scott said patiently.
“Because of what I found in the barn. I found something by the body that apparently nobody thought important but me.”
“And me,” said Aunt Theodora.
“Yes, of course, Theo. By ‘me’ I meant ‘we.’ It was a chicken feather! And I’m sure you know what that means.”
Once again, there were blank looks all around. Except for Tom MacInerny, who looked like he wanted to kill someone.
Daphne sighed. “The victim was killed with a single gunshot. He was killed where he stood because he had probably just come back from somewhere – we know now it was a visit to Tom’s daughter – and was putting his horse away. I smelled alcohol on his breath so he was probably unable to struggle and Tom surprised him and knocked him out. Then Tom used something he had brought with him – a pillow – to stifle the noise of the gunshot. If anyone had indeed heard the noise, it would have been soft and they would have fallen back asleep.”
“Nope,” said Johnny. “There would have been feathers everywhere.”
“Don’t be impudent, Jonathan,” said Aunt Theodora. “Daphne is quite right. I noticed it right away myself. There was very little blood when there should have been more. Tom brought with him a bedspread which had been removed from his bedroom. He lay the unconscious man on the bedspread. That way he could gather up the feathers very neatly. And much of the blood as well, which is why the sheriff thought the murder occurred elsewhere.”
“As it turns out,” said Daphne, “it occurred right here, but by someone who was from elsewhere.”
Murdoch walked over to Tom. He towered over the murderer. “Is this how it happened?” he asked sternly. He was obviously angry.
“Yeah, that’s how it happened.” Tom shook his head. “Those two biddies . . . I just don’t get it.”
Aunt Theodora brandished her umbrella, and when Tom flinched, just smiled and tapped him lightly with it. “Tom, you must learn never to underestimate a woman. And you must never, ever underestimate two women!”
“That is correct,” said Daphne. “Especially two women with such engaging personalities and good vision as ourselves!”
- - - - -
After Tom had been safely ensconced in the jail room (and his “wounds” tended to) and someone sent to town to inform the sheriff, the entire Lancer family finally was able to relax before dinner.
“Ladies,” Johnny said. “I’ve got to hand it to you. You do know how to take care of yourselves. But I’ve been wondering. Scott and I were nearby when we heard a gunshot from the house, but when we got inside, you already had Tom all bound and gagged. How’d you do it?”
“Oh, it’s a bit embarrassing really,” said Daphne. “We had gotten into a bit of a fracas at Lancer . . .”
“We may have caused a small amount of inconvenience . . .” added Aunt Theodora.
“But we learned,” Daphne concluded.
“Learned what?” Scott asked.
“Of some of the industrious things one can do with a frypan, a log and a rope.”
Just then, Maria, the Lancer cook, entered the room and announced dinner was ready.
“Is it veal francaise and honey carrots?” Daphne asked.
“Si,” Maria said, and then, spying Aunt Theodora, she added sternly, “Soy Mexicana.”
Aunt Theodora sighed. “I suppose she uses soy sauce in everything,” she whispered to Daphne.
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