"You said a minute ago she wasn't. What are youtrying to pull, doc?"

"What are you trying to pull? Mrs. Kincaid is nota fugitive. She's here because she's ill."

"I wonder what made her ill. Can't she stand thesight of blood?"

Godwin's lips curled outward. He lookedready to spit in the other man's face. I couldn't see the Sheriff from where Isat, and I made no attempt to. I thought it was best for me to stay out ofsight.

"It isn't just the weather that makesit a lousy day, doe. We had a lousy murder in town last night. I guess you knowthat, too. Probably Mrs. Kincaid told you all about it."

"Are you accusing her?" Godwin said.

"I wouldn't say that. Not yet, anyway."

"Then beat it."

"You can't talk like that to me."

Codwin held himself motionless but hisbreath shook him as though he had a racing engine inside of him. "Youaccused me in the presence of witnesses of harboring a fugitive from justice. Icould sue you for slander and by God I will if you don't stop harassing me andmy patients."

"I didn't mean it that way."Crane's voice was much less confident. "Anyway, I got a right to questiona witness."

"At some later time perhaps you have.At the present time Mrs. Kincaid is under heavy sedation. I can't permit her tobe questioned for at least a week."

"A week?"

"It may be longer. I strongly adviseyou not to press the point. I'm prepared to go before a judge and certify thatpolice questioning at the present time would endanger her health and perhapsher life."

"I don't believe it."

"I don't care what you believe."

Godwin slammed the door and leaned on it,breathing like a runner. A couple of white-uniformed nurses who had beenpeeking through the inner door tried to look as if they had business there. Hewaved them away.

I said with unfeigned admiration:"You really went to bat for her."

"They did enough damage to her whenshe was a child. They're not going to compound it if I can help it."

"How did they know she washere?"

"I have no idea. I can usually trustthe staff to keep their mouths shut." He gave me a probing look. "Didyou tell anyone?"

"Nobody connected with the law. Alexdid mention to Alice Jenks that Dolly was here."

"Perhaps he shouldn't have. MissJenks has worked for the county a long time, and Crane and she are oldacquaintances."

"She wouldn't tattle on her ownniece, would she?"

"I don't know what she'd do."Godwin tore off his smock and threw it at the chair where I had been sitting."Well, shall I let you out?"

He shook his keys like a jailer.

chapter12

About halfway up the pass road I came outinto sunlight. The fog below was like a sea of white water surging into theinlets of the mountains. From the summit of the pass, where I paused for amoment, further mountains were visible on the inland horizon.

The wide valley between was full of light.Cattle grazed among the live oaks on the hillsides. A covey of quail marchedacross the road in front of my car like small plumed tipsy soldiers. I couldsmell newrnown hay, and had the feeling that I had dropped down into a pastoralscene where nothing much had changed in a hundred years.

The town of Indian Springs didn't entirelydispel the feeling, though it had its service stations and its drive-insoffering hamburgers and tacos. It had a bit of old-time Western atmosphere, andmore than a bit of the old-time sun-baked poverty of the West. Prematurelyaging women watched over their brown children in the dooryards of crumblingadobes. Most of the loiterers in the main street had Indian faces under theirbroadbrimmed hats. Banners advertising Old Rodeo Days hung limply over theirheads.

Alice Jenks lived in one of the besthouses on what appeared to be the best street. It was a two-storied white framehouse, with deep porches upstairs and down, standing far back from the streetbehind a smooth green lawn. I stepped onto the grass and leaned on a peppertree, fanning myself with my hat. I was five minutes early.

A rather imposing woman in a blue dresscame out on the veranda. She looked me over as if I might possibly be a burglarcleverly creeping up on her house at eleven o'clock in the morning. She camedown the steps and along the walk toward me. The sun flashed on her glasses andlent her searchlight eyes.

Close up, she wasn't so alarming. Thebrown eyes behind the glasses were strained and anxious. Her hair was streakedwith gray. Her mouth was unexpectedly generous and even soft, but it wastweezered like a live thing between the harsh lines that thrust down from thebase of her nose. The stiff blue dress that curved like armor plate over hermonolithic bosom was old-fashioned in cut, and gave her a dowdy look. Thevalley sun had parched and roughened her skin.

"Are you Mr. Archer?"

"Yes. How are you, Miss Jenks?"

"I'll survive." Her handshake was like aman's. "Come up on the porch, we can talk there."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009