Who killed Uncle Bill? Alafair Tucker is desperate to find out. One August evening in 1914, a bushwhacker ended a pleasant outing by blowing a hole in Bill McBride, kidnapping and ravaging Bill's fiancée, and wounding Alafair's daughter Mary. Does Mary know who did the low-down deed? If she does, the bullet that grazed her knocked that information right out of her head. All she remembers is that it has something to do with the Fourth of July.
Several malicious acts testify to the fact that Bill's killer is still around and attempting to cover his tracks. The question is, can Mary remember before the murderer manages to eliminate everyone who could identify him?
The law is hot on the bushwhacker's trail. There is little Alafair can do to help the sheriff, but that will never stop her from trying. If there's a chance she can protect Mary from further harm or help her remember, she'll do anything she can. Even confront a vicious killer.
About the Author
Donis Casey is the author of ten Alafair Tucker Mysteries: The Old Buzzard Had It Coming, Hornswoggled, The Drop Edge of Yonder, The Sky Took Him, Crying Blood, The Wrong Hill to Die On, Hell With the Lid Blown Off, All Men Fear Me, The Return of the Raven Mocker, and Forty Dead Men. This award-winning series, featuring the sleuthing mother of ten children, is set in Oklahoma during the booming 1910s. Donis has twice won the Arizona Book Award for her series, and been a finalist for the Willa Award and a seven-time finalist for the Oklahoma Book Award. Her first novel, The Old Buzzard Had It Coming, was named an Oklahoma Centennial Book in 2008. Donis is a former teacher, academic librarian, and entrepreneur. She lives in Tempe, Arizona.
Read an Excerpt
The Drop Edge of YonderAn Alafair Tucker Mystery
By Donis Casey
Poisoned Pen PressCopyright © 2007 Donis A. Casey
All right reserved.
Chapter OneWhen I think about that day, Mama, here's what sticks in my mind. I remember waking up on my back in the middle of the field. All I could see was the sky through the leaves of the oak tree, and grass all around me. At first, I didn't know where I was, or what had happened to me. But I had a thought. I don't remember what it was. It was gone just about the minute I woke up.
Yet it was a mighty important thought, and if I could just call it to memory, I'd know who did this awful thing. All I know about this thought is that it had something to do with the Fourth of July.
* * *
It had been a hard couple of years for Calvin Ross, what with his wife dying, his girls growing up before his eyes, and his sister coming to live with them. The town of Boynton was growing so fast that his dairy business could hardly keep up with the demand, and the work was brutal. Calvin was glad of that, though, since it kept his mind off of what the future held for himself and his three pretty daughters. Since their mother died, Calvin was generally chary of any fellow who came around his daughters. But when Laura, his eldest, had told him that she was in love with the McBride boy, he had been pleased.
For red-haired, dark-eyed Bill McBride was not just a respectful and promising young man who had asked for Laura's hand in the proper fashion, he was the youngest son of that worthy gentleman, Peter McBride, patriarch of one of the more influential clans in Muskogee County, Oklahoma. Bill's substantial family loved Laura, as well, and it did Calvin's heart good to see his daughter happy again after the long, sad year that followed her mother's death.
Therefore, Calvin was not worried when Bill showed up at his farm that hot, windy August evening in 1914, on a fine-looking little roan mare, and asked if Laura could come out for a ride. Bill was accompanied by his twenty-one-year-old niece, Mary Tucker, and Mary's fifteen-year-old sister Ruth, since it would never do for the betrothed couple to ride out alone. Both of the Tucker girls were on their own horses. The plump and good-natured Mary seemed amused at acting the chaperone for her young uncle, who was only three years her elder. Ruth, looking fresh-faced, her wild auburn curls tucked up under a big straw hat, was as champing-at-the-bit to be off as her steed.
Calvin was glad to give his permission for Laura to go. Her chores were done and Iva, Calvin's widowed sister and housekeeper, wouldn't be making supper for at least an hour. Laura would be well chaperoned and well protected, and she was a good rider. The usual riding paths around the area were well used and safe. There was no reason for Calvin Ross to feel the slightest trepidation when his daughter rode off into the evening with her beloved and his nieces. She turned in the saddle as they rode away and waved a cheery good-bye to her father.
* * *
Ruth and Mary Tucker rode ahead of the affianced pair most of the way, though Ruth often headed her blaze-faced gelding off into the woods or trotted up the road and back if it struck her fancy. Mary was content to trot along ten yards or so in front of the couple and think her own happy thoughts, her full calico skirt hitched up over her stockinged knees, her younger brother Gee Dub's outgrown boots on her feet and his beat-up cowboy hat on her head, admiring the dusky evening and contemplating supper. Time to oneself was rare for the second of ten children. Bill and Laura contentedly rode along behind, knee to knee, and made their plans for the future, only vaguely aware of what the Tucker girls were up to, until Ruth slowed her pace enough to drop back alongside her uncle.
Bill and Laura fell silent and looked over at the girl, curious.
"I see a lot of bees, Uncle Bill," Ruth observed.
"It's getting evening, Ruthie. They're heading home."
"I know it. I see a lot of bees heading home to that particular big old oak up ahead to the right."
Laura sat up straight in the saddle. "Ruth has sharp eyes, Bill! I see them, too, swarming yonder. I expect there's a hive in that tree."
Mary cantered back toward them just in time to hear Laura's comment. The prospect of an adventure elicited her ready grin. "Want to rob a beehive, Uncle Bill?"
Bill laughed. "Well, let's see what's what, first. Maybe there's a hive worth bothering with up there, and maybe there ain't."
The four young people rode up to the big oak, which was situated just off the side of the road in an open area. The dense shade of the old tree discouraged growth under its canopy, so there was plenty of room for all of them to mill around on horseback underneath and peer up into the branches, looking for a beehive.
"I saw several bees going off up into this area." Laura pointed to a large branch that joined the trunk fairly high up on the tree. "I don't think we're going to see anything for sure from down here. Somebody's going to have to climb up there."
"Reckon that's me." Bill sidled his horse up next to the trunk and reached up to grasp a limb with both hands. He released his booted feet from the stirrups and nimbly pulled himself up into the foliage. In the effort, his hat was scraped off his head by an errant branch, and Ruth stepped down out of her saddle to retrieve it. Mary reached over her horse's neck and took his mare's reins.
Laura lost sight of him for a minute, but could follow his progress by the rustling as he climbed higher into the leaves. Finally, she caught sight of a flash of red hair halfway out a major limb.
"There's a hive up here, all right," Bill called. "A big one, too! Do you think your daddy would like some honey, Laura?"
"Hey, we want some honey, too," Ruth protested.
"Don't worry, Ruthie-girl," Bill's voice soothed. "This looks like it's got enough honey for everybody. You think you can make me a smudge and get it up here?"
"You think you can rob that hive without burning the tree down?" Mary countered.
Bill's head popped into view as he pushed branches aside with his hand. "Why, I'm wounded by your lack of faith in my abilities, Mary. I've smoked out many a beehive in my time and never started a conflagration once."
Mary was already on the ground with Ruth, hunting for materials of the proper length, texture, and moisture content to make a smoky smudge for calming the bees before stealing their honey. "This tall grass here isn't green enough ..." Mary called out, but before she could finish her thought, a loud crack and a zing cut her off. The horses started.
There was an instant's silence before Laura said, "What was that?" But all knew very well that it was rifle fire.
"That was close!" Mary exclaimed. "Where did it come from?"
No one had time to speculate before a second shot rang out and hit high up in the oak tree.
Bill yelped in surprise, and Laura called his name, alarmed, while trying to calm her skittish horse. Bill dropped to the ground, tried to stand, but stumbled and went to his knees.
"That coyote is shooting at us." He sounded calm and deliberate. "Y'all girls get on your horses and ride like the devil. Laura, you too."
"You're hit!" Laura wailed, and started to dismount.
"Laura!" Bill's tone was severe enough to startle her. "Do as I say. I ain't hit bad, just grazed the calf ..."
The third shot hit Laura's horse in the withers. He bucked and reared, and Laura, unprepared, went flying and hit the ground hard. A fourth shot pinged into the ground close to Bill's feet.
"Ride, you girls, ride!" Bill yelled. "Get help!"
Ruth was in the saddle and racing back up the road as Bill's last word hung in the air. Mary ran toward her uncle, but he waved her off. "No, Mary, get to Laura. Get her out of here. I'm okay, I can stand."
Mary paused and took in the situation in a flash. Bill was hit in the leg and struggling to get up. Laura was down in the grass, conscious or not, Mary couldn't tell, and her horse was skipping and bucking across the meadow with a gunshot wound in its withers. Mary looked off toward the woods, from where she thought the shots had come.
"Can you get to your horse, Bill?" Mary called, as she moved toward Laura.
She never heard the answer. She heard a crack and a hot pain exploded over her left ear, and everything went dark.
* * *
Mary's mother, Alafair Tucker, stepped out onto the back porch from her kitchen, fanning herself with a dishtowel. The August evening was sweltering, and Alafair had suddenly found herself so uncomfortable in the hot kitchen that she had had to come outside to try and catch a breeze. The sun was just westering, and the family would be clamoring for supper before long.
Her two-year-old, Grace, had followed her into the yard, and was making a beeline for the path to the barn. The children's house pet, an elderly yellow shepherd named Charlie-dog, was close on her heels. Alafair puffed, distracted by the child's break for freedom. Ever since one of the barn cats had had kittens, it was nearly impossible to keep Grace away from them.
"Grace ..." she called, but just as the child stepped out of the gate, the big red rooster, master of the family flock, rose up from nowhere, a miniature demon out of the ground, squawking, spurs at the ready and wings ablur, and jumped at Grace. The dog yipped and beat a hasty retreat.
Alafair started as Grace shrieked and made an about-face back toward the house, narrowly escaping a flogging. Alafair lengthened her stride and scooped the child up into her arms and banged the back gate shut in the rooster's face. She hadn't seen him among the other chickens scratching in the dirt close to the yard.
Grace let out a wail, but Alafair could tell she was startled rather than injured, and she patted the toddler's leg. "It's all right," she soothed. "That old rooster didn't hurt you. He was just trying to protect his family."
Grace sniffled, her eyes round as dollars, but she was comforted by her mother's assurance that she wasn't hurt. "Bad rooster," she pronounced.
Or at least that was what her mother understood, given that she was as yet unable to articulate the letter "r."
"Yes, that woostoo is bad." Alafair glanced down at the dog, who was cowering at her feet. "You're a fine protector." Her voice was heavy with irony, and the dog slunk off to nurse his shame in solitude. She wondered absently why the usually placid old rooster had suddenly taken to flogging anyone who crossed his path, but the thought didn't engage her for long. She adjusted Grace on her hip and let her gaze wander into the distance.
She had no reason to think so, but Alafair knew something was wrong. She had been stirring the soup pot when she felt it, the disturbance in the rightness of things. She was anxious now, for no good reason, she knew. Even so, she began to tick off her family members in her mind, placing the whereabouts of each child, and her children's father. She knew exactly where each was supposed to be, and what he or she was supposed to be doing. She didn't worry about Mary and Ruth any more than the others. They were with their Uncle Bill, who knew how to take care of anything that might arise.
She was just turning to go back into the kitchen when she heard a sound on the wind that caused her to pause. It sounded like a woman moaning. She blinked and listened for a minute, not sure of what she was hearing. It was the wind sighing through the elms around the house, but it was something else, as well. A woman crying, she was sure. Her heart leaped. She turned to go back into the house to send her youngest son, Charlie-boy, to fetch his father, when she heard the horse galloping up the drive from the road.
* * *
My head was aching something powerful, and though I didn't have any idea about what had happened to me, I knew I was hurt. I wondered if maybe my horse had thrown me on my head. It came to me that I had been out riding with somebody. I was getting little pictures in my mind that didn't line up. I saw Ruth tearing out at a gallop like Beelzebub himself was after her. That's what came to me, Mama, that the Devil was loose. Laura was there. I got a flash of her dun gelding rearing up and her going a-flying. I remembered Bill, then, up in the tree. Something about craving honey. Robbing a beehive.
* * *
Mary swam up from unconsciousness with an effort. The first thing she was clearly aware of was the loud whir of cicadas, and at first she was comforted by the familiar sound. The burning feeling over her ear sharpened her senses, and she raised her hand to her head and opened her eyes at the same time. She found herself lying on her back in a cradle of grass, staring at the darkening sky through a fan of oak leaves. Her honey blond hair had mostly escaped from its long braid, and her head was spinning, and ached like blazes. The fingers that had touched the sore spot on her temple were bloody. She peered at them, perplexed, unable to remember for a moment where she was or what had happened.
She raised her head just enough to peer over the grass. Bill's filly and Laura's gelding were grazing quietly under the oak tree. Mary could see a trickle of blood running down the gelding's withers. He was favoring that rear leg, but from what Mary could tell, the horse was only creased. Everything else in the small meadow was quiet. Neither Laura nor Bill was anywhere to be seen.
Mary stretched up on her knees, then slowly got to her feet. The late summer grass rustled in the desultory breeze. The cicadas were deafening, which made her head ache more than it already did. She took a tentative step, then another. The mare lifted her head to look at the young woman, then resumed grazing.
Mary didn't walk very far before she saw the red hair in the grass, under the oak tree on the opposite side of the trunk. She forgot caution and her pounding head and ran to the prone form under the branches. She fell to her knees beside her uncle and put her hand on his back. He was lying with his face turned toward the tree and both arms flung out over his head, very close to where she had seen him last. It was late in the evening, now, and the light was fading fast, but Mary could see well enough to know that he was dead. The dark, matted, sticky place in his coppery hair showed plain enough that the bullet had caught him in the back of the head and laid him out instantly.
Mary was so dumbfounded that it took her a few minutes to realize that the whimpering, sobbing noises she was hearing were coming from her. She sat back on her heels and looked around. The sun was down and the light was nearly gone. The heavy August air had stilled and the dry grass and leaves had quieted. The only sounds were the relentless cicadas and the intermittent movement of the horses. She stood up and dried her eyes on her skirt tail before she began a methodical examination of the meadow. She fully expected to find Laura lying dead in the tall grass, but she did not. She could tell by the way the grass and undergrowth was crushed and broken that there had been a lot of activity in the clearing since the four of them had ridden up to rob a beehive. There was a wide trail going off into the woods to the west that had not been there when Ruth had ridden off.
Mary considered following the path of disturbed grass into the woods to look for Laura, but hesitated when she heard the scuffle of some small animal off to her right. She stood still for several minutes, listening to the night critters come alive. She turned around and caught sight of Bill, just a dark shape on the ground now, and choked back a fresh spate of tears.
She couldn't leave him, now, not with the scavengers coming out and him lying there all dead and stretched out under the oak. She settled herself on the ground next to her uncle's body, to keep him safe until help came.
* * *
Mary sat by herself in the dark for what seemed to her a long time before she heard a horse galloping up the road toward the clearing. The moon had not yet risen, so she could not tell whether the man who guided his horse off the road toward her was coming to help her or not. She hunkered down in the tall grass a yard or two from Bill's cold form, unwilling to reveal herself, until the rider halted in the middle of the clearing and called, "Laura!"
Mary stood up. "Mr. Ross. Over here."
"Laura?" Calvin Ross repeated. Mary could just see his head turn toward the sound of her voice.
Excerpted from The Drop Edge of Yonder by Donis Casey Copyright © 2007 by Donis A. Casey. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
First Line: When I think about that day, Mama, here's what sticks in my mind.One hot but pleasant evening in August 1914, a gunman ended a group's outing by killing Bill McBride, wounding Alafair Tucker's daughter, Mary, and kidnapping Bill's fiancee, Laura. Although the authorities are searching high and low for the bushwhacker, they can't seem to find him. As Mary recovers, a pall of sadness seems to hang over her, and her mother Alafair would do anything to put a smile on her daughter's face and to hear Mary's laughter.Mary can't get rid of the idea that she has information that would help find her Uncle Bill's killer-- if only she could remember it-- but her head wound is slow to heal. She begins trying to find quiet spots away from everyone else, which drives her mother crazy. After all, the killer is still in the area.Much of author Donis Casey's series (and her recipes) is based upon her own family history during the early days of Oklahoma. Life on a farm at the turn of the twentieth century is so wonderfully depicted that it reminds me of Sharyn McCrumb's Ballad novels set in Appalachia. The mother of twelve children, Alafair Tucker knows that the only reason why she's able to find the time to play detective is because the elder of her children are old enough to take care of their younger brothers and sisters as well as the house and the chores around the farm. Alafair is also lucky that the sheriff in Boynton has a relaxed and practical attitude towards her clue gathering: "I don't know if it's just an accident or luck or what, but in the last couple of years, she's managed to find out things I couldn't that helped bring a couple of murderers to justice. I expect folks will tell her things they won't tell me, since she can't throw them in jail. But however she does it, I'm not too proud to stand back and see what she comes up with."The mystery is a strong and interesting one in The Drop Edge of Yonder, especially since Alafair's daughter is in danger. Each chapter begins with an excerpt from Mary's diary in which she writes everyday in an attempt to remember anything that may lead to the identity of her uncle's killer.What impressed me the most in this book was the character of Alafair herself. While interacting with her daughter, Mary, and her youngest child, Grace, Alafair's behavior epitomizes the best in motherhood and can easily bring smiles or tears to a reader's face.This series is one of my favorites, not only because of the plotting and characterization, but because the language and the setting reminds me of my own farming roots. If you're in the mood for an historical mystery series that sets you smack dab on farm wife/sleuth Alafair Tucker's porch for a chat and a glass of iced tea, look no further than Donis Casey's excellent books.
I don't even like mysteries, as a general rule, but I loved this book. The Oklahoma background is superb, the characters likable, and the writing excellent. Now I have to read the other two because I've found a new favorite author. Lee
The Drop Edge of Yonder -- the third in the series -- is just as wonderful as the first two books. The author depicts the time period so realistically, you're actually experiencing all the good and bad times with Alafair Tucker and her family. This is one author who can write a book-a-month and I'll read every one of them. Don't miss this one.
In 1914 Oklahoma Alafair Tucker thinks the summer so far has been quiet, dry and hot on the farm as she and her spouse Shaw raise their horde of offspring. Life can be hard as she knows having two children of the twelve she birthed die on her, but right now Alafair kicks off her shoes having a child under one year old after a seven year gap. --- However, the idyll of the summer of 14 ends when someone kills her half-brother-in-law Bill McBride and rapes his fiancée Laura Ross. With them riding at the time were Alafair¿s daughters, twenty-one years old Mary whose head was grazed by a bullet and fifteen years old Ruth. Mary suffers from partial amnesia. The killer-rapist tries to murder Laura. Sheriff Scott Tucker officially leads the investigation, but knows his cousin by marriage Alafair will solve the case as she has done before (see HORNSWOGGLED and THE OLD BUZZARD HAD IT COMING) he needs to stay near her and keep her safe. --- As with the previous Tucker tales, the atmosphere is incredible so much so that the audience will believe they are spending the summer of 1914 on the Tucker farm. The whodunit is cleverly devised as Alafair knows Mary has the truth if she can only remember. Fans of historical mysteries will appreciate this superb Sooner story as it is Oklahoma just before WW I that makes Donis Casey¿s saga an excellent read. --- Harriet Klausner