It's spring 1913, and love is in bloom for Alice Tucker. Walter Kelley is handsome, popular, and wealthy. But Alice's mother, Alafair, sees that Walter has a weakness for the ladies - and they for him. Only a few months earlier, Walter's late wife Louise had been stabbed in the heart and her body disposed of in Cane Creek. The murderer was never caught.
The sheriff cleared Walter of the deed - he had an alibi - but Alafair is not so sure that he wasn't involved in some way. Something literally doesn't smell right.
With the help of her feisty mother-in-law, Sally McBride, Alafair sets out to prove to the headstrong Alice that Walter is not the paragon she thinks he is. Alafair soon uncovers such a tangle of lies, misdirection, and deceit that she begins to think that the whole town has been downright hornswoggled!
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
HornswoggledAn Alafair Tucker Mystery
By Donis Casey
Poisoned Pen PressCopyright © 2006 Donis A. Casey
All right reserved.
Chapter OneSomething bad was bound to happen. It was just that kind of hot, humid, Oklahoma July day, with a gritty wind that blew everything awry. Fifteen-year-old George Washington Tucker, known as Gee Dub, hunkered on the grassy, overgrown banks of Cane Creek, grimly hanging on to his fishing pole, trying to ignore the sweltering heat and the clouds of gnats, mosquitos, and various other disgusting critters who were trying to fly up his nose and into his eyes and drink the salt off of his sweat-slick skin. The hot wind was maddening, the way it blew first out of the north, then out of the southwest, then died and dropped his damp, black curls into his eyes. At least when it picked up again, it blew the gnats away for a few seconds. And it wasn't even quite noon, that was the sad thing.
Normally Gee Dub loved fishing, since he was a contemplative boy. He loved thinking about what his mother was going to do with the little perch or crappie, or occasional catfish, that he would catch. Oh, how good they would taste, rolled in cornmeal and fried quickly in bacon grease until the tender white flesh was encased in a golden crust. Having to eat the fish slowly, so slowly, and chew so carefully to avoid swallowing one of the hundreds of tiny bones only enhanced the dining experience.
But today, the joy of fishing was ruined not just by the worrisome weather, but by Gee Dub's eleven-year-old brother, Charlie, and Charlie's ever-present canine companion, Charlie-dog. Charlie-boy had insisted on going swimming. Gee Dub had sent him and his dog as far downstream as he could and still keep an eye on them, but it was no good. All his splashing and jumping and hollering had spooked the fish, and there would be no fried fish for dinner. Gee Dub was bereft.
He could hear Charlie yelling at him, "Look at me, Gee, look at me!" But Gee Dub didn't look. He didn't want to encourage the boy. Charlie was climbing up into a young cottonwood, crawling out onto a wayward branch that hung over the creek, and dropping himself off into the middle of the water with a whoop. He must have done it ten times, with the dog running up and down, barking the whole time, and Gee Dub had just about had enough. The weather was getting hotter, the fishing was bad, and Charlie was driving him right 'round the bend. He pulled in his line.
Suddenly there was a crack of noise as loud as a rifle shot, and a splash, and Gee Dub leaped where he sat. He looked downstream, wide eyed. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. The yellow shepherd was leaping and barking frantically on the bank. Gee Dub jumped to his feet and scanned the creek bank anxiously. No skinny, naked little boy. Just a fairly large cottonwood branch floating away from him in the middle of the water. Gee Dub's heart fell into his stomach, and he started running toward the broken tree, hollering for Charlie.
He was already barefoot, so he didn't have to worry about taking off his shoes when he dove headlong into the murky water near the last place he had seen his brother. The water wasn't very deep, but it was impossible to see anything, so he groped along the slimy bottom with his hands, until he couldn't stay under anymore and exploded to the surface with a gasp. He flung his dark hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head and scanned the bank again. No boy, but the dog had joined him in the water and was dog paddling around in a circle close to a tangle of cottonwood roots. Gee Dub struck out toward the dog.
"Charlie!" he yelled.
Out from under the cottonwood roots, next to the bank, a boy's voice responded, "Here, Gee Dub."
Gee Dub's arm paused in mid-stroke, and he grew faint with relief right there in the water. Just as he reached the undercut bank, Charlie's blond head popped up from under the root tangle, practically in Gee Dub's face. Gee Dub was so glad that the child was alive that, for a second, he forgot to be angry and reached out to hug him. When his hands touched Charlie's bare shoulders, he shook him instead.
"What in the turkey feet do you think you're doing ..."
"Gee Dub," Charlie gasped, "there's somebody dead down there."
"You're lucky it ain't you, you punkin-head," Gee Dub spat, too angry to listen. He climbed onto the bank and tried to heave the boy up after him, but Charlie resisted.
"No, no," Charlie sputtered, as he crawled out of the water on his own. "Listen to me. I'm telling you there's a drowneded woman stuck up there under them branches. I was on the tree and the limb broke and I fell down there and I felt her long hair and her face!"
Gee Dub hesitated. By this time Charlie was out of the creek and dancing with excitement on the grass. Gee Dub, sitting on the ground with his feet still in the water, wiped his hair out of his face. "You're just imagining things."
"I ain't, I ain't, I ain't," Charlie exclaimed hysterically. "Go down and see! I swear it's true. Go down and see for yourself, Gee."
Charlie's manic certainty gave Gee Dub pause, and he grabbed the boy's arm to settle him down. "All right," he soothed. "I'll dive under there just to hush you up, even though it's probably just a old dead goat and I'll get the pox or something and it'll be all your fault."
"Gee Dub!" Charlie wailed.
"All right! Mercy! You stay right here and don't twitch a toe. I mean it, now." He looked back over his shoulder at the shepherd. "Dog," he ordered imperiously, "you watch this here boy."
Gee Dub slipped back into the water, took a deep breath, and ducked under the roof of cottonwood roots. He could see nothing, of course. The water was a grey-green swirl of dappled light and shade, cooler under the branches. The slimy mud squished between his bare toes. It was just the kind of sheltered place in which a big old catfish would love to lurk, or a nest of water moccasins, and Gee Dub shuddered in spite of himself. He swung his arms tentatively through the water a couple of times, hitting a branch or two and the muddy bank. Then his fingers passed through what he at first thought was floating vegetation. Fine floating weeds. He swung his hand back, and his fingers tangled. Hair. He resisted an urge to gasp, just releasing a couple of bubbles. He brought his fingers to his face, close enough to confirm that they were entangled in what looked like long, dark hair. Please, Jesus, let it be some old mule tail, he prayed, even though he knew it wasn't. Nervously, he let his hand follow the hair through the dark water, until it lighted on a smooth, cool dome. His heart was thumping so hard that it hurt. He felt a forehead, eyebrows, ears, a nose.
Gee Dub backed himself out from under the roots as fast as he could move and flung himself up to the surface. He took a couple of gulps of air to calm himself. "Charlie," he said evenly, "run home as fast as you can and get Daddy."
"I was right," Charlie declared. He was breathless with excitement.
"I think so," Gee Dub admitted. "Now, run! Run!"
But Charlie was already ten yards across the field, with the dog at his heels.
* * *
An hour later, Gee Dub was standing in the creek up to his chest beside the cottonwood roots, waiting for his father and the sheriff to come to the surface and either confirm or deny his find. On the bank, Gee Dub could see Charlie, wrapped in such a big blanket that he was nothing but a tousled head and dirty splayed feet, watching eagerly. Standing close behind Charlie was their mother, Alafair. Gee Dub couldn't see her face well, since it was shaded by a blue poke bonnet, but she was standing stiffly with one hand on Charlie's shoulder and one hand on her hip. The front of her calico apron was bulging with Gee Dub's latest sibling.
The three watchers stirred when ShawTucker surfaced calmly, followed by his cousin, Sheriff ScottTucker. Shaw wiped his hair back with both hands and used two fingers to flick the water out of his drooping black mustache. He turned toward the bank.
"Charlie, Martha is coming up the path now with a couple of mules. You run to meet her and ride back to the house and bring me a length of rope."
"Is it a body, Daddy?" Charlie said.
"Looks like it."
Charlie turned to run, but Alafair caught his arm. "Put your britches on first," she instructed. "I don't think the neighbor ladies would appreciate seeing the same naked little jay bird that come running up to the house just lately."
Charlie sputtered, then laughed a little with embarrassment and rushed off into the bushes to retrieve his overalls.
"Ain't Martha bringing rope?" Gee Dub asked his father.
"She is." Shaw kept his voice low. "But I want him away when we bring up the body."
"Is it bad?" Gee Dub wondered with dread.
"Don't know, Gee," the sheriff told him. "Bad enough."
After Charlie was off and Gee Dub's oldest sister, twenty-year-old Martha, had arrived riding on the extra mule with the equipment, the two men struggled for several minutes to free the tightly wedged body from its prison of roots. Finally, after hacking away some of the growth with an ax, the men managed to pull the poor soul free and manhandle her sodden form up onto the bank. Alafair, unwilling to expose her coming baby to a shock, turned her back and refused to look.
"Is it bad, like Gee Dub wondered?" she asked Martha, who was standing next to her mother and watching with an expression that was a mixture of interest and repulsion.
"Like Scott said, it's bad enough, Ma. Her hands ... Well, it looks like the fish were beginning to nibble on her fingers a little bit, but her face is all of a piece, still. She's puffy-faced, real white skin, purple marks on her face. I can't tell if she's bruised or if the purpling is from the water. She's a big woman. Hard to say how old she is. She does have lots of long brown hair all loose around her shoulders. She's dressed kind of nice, in a blue shirtwaist with a dark pattern on the front, and some kind of big white button."
"Can you tell who she is?"
There was a moment's silence while Martha studied the bloated face. Then Alafair felt her straighten. "Why, Ma," Martha exclaimed, "it's Miz Kelley!"
In spite of herself, Alafair glanced back over her shoulder. "Miz Kelley? The barber's wife? Miz Kelley has drowned in Cane Creek?"
Scott and Shaw were bending over the body in a cursory examination, and Scott sat back on his heels when he overheard Alafair's question. "This woman didn't drown, Alafair," he observed. "This dark pattern Martha mentioned is a bloodstain, and the white button is a knife with a carved bone handle, sticking right out of her chest. Looks like she's been stabbed in the heart."
Chapter TwoMr. Ulises Bellows, pastor of the Christian Church of Boynton, Oklahoma, stepped up to the graveside, and the mourners fell silent. "Brothers and Sisters," Mr. Bellows began, "we're here today, the ninth day of July, in the year of the Lord, 1912, to mourn the passing of our sister in Christ, Louise, wife of Walter Kelley. Sister Louise's short life came to a sad end, but we cannot judge her heart. Only God can do that. We may question why our sister was taken from us in such a way, but we rest assured that even this is part of God's plan, and on the day of Glory, all things shall be revealed."
Alafair Tucker stood in the back of the small group with two of her daughters and surveyed the congregation while Mr. Bellows spoke of death and the hope of resurrection for Louise Kelley. Alafair hadn't known Mrs. Kelley all that well, but since the poor woman's body was found on their property, she felt honor bound to attend the funeral. Shaw and the boys, who had actually done the finding, were standing closer to the front, nearer Louise's family.
On the near side of the grave, Alafair could see the back of the widower's head. When he turned to look at a well-wisher and Alafair could see his face, she thought he looked stunned. It must have been quite a shock for him to be called home from a trip to Kansas City because of the brutal murder of his wife. The Kelleys had been in Boynton for about five years. All Alafair knew of them was that they had moved to the area from Kansas City because Louise's sister lived on a farm west of town, and Louise had wanted to be near her.
On the far side of the grave, this very sister, Nellie Tolland, stood almost collapsed with grief, weeping profusely on her husband's shoulder. The husband had been weeping, too, judging from his eyes. He gazed morosely into the grave where Louise's coffin lay.
Alafair recognized a number of the people who had attended the funeral; there was Mrs. Bellows, and two or three people that Alafair knew to be neighbors of the Kelleys, besides many of Mr. Kelley's barbershop regulars. Standing far in the back was Sheriff Scott Tucker, eyeing the crowd, looking for a murderer, Alafair expected. After the short graveside service was over, and the mourners were filing slowly forward to have a word with the bereaved, Alafair turned to walk back to the Masonic Hall where their wagon was parked.
"I'll be along directly, Mama," her daughter Alice said to her. "I want to offer my condolences to Mr. Kelley."
Mildly surprised, Alafair paused and looked up at the tall eighteen-year-old from under the brim of her best hat with the cherries on the band. She understood why Martha had come to the funeral with her, but Alice hadn't known the Kelleys at all. None of Alafair's other daughters had shown any interest in coming. "Go ahead, then," she said to Alice. "Try to round up your daddy and the boys directly. I'm getting tired of standing. Martha and me will be back at the Hall."
"Yes, Mama," Alice said, and hurried off as Alafair and Martha turned to leave the cemetery. As they passed out of the gate, they walked by a young woman standing close by the fence. She was engrossed in the proceedings going on inside the cemetery, and paid Alafair and Martha little mind as they walked by her. Alafair, however, eyed the girl closely, from her mess of nondescript colored hair to her bare brown feet. She was sure she had never seen this young woman before and considered speaking to her, but before she could approach, the girl slid her a shy glance and moved around behind a slim elm, obviously in no mood for conversation. Alafair suddenly changed her mind about leaving the funeral. Something about the sight of that girl who didn't want to be spoken to set Alafair's senses to quivering. "Let's go back in," she said to Martha.
Martha paused when her mother did and gave her a quizzical look. "I thought you were tired."
Alafair walked back inside the cemetery grounds with Martha at her heels. "I'll just sit here a spell," she said, parking herself on a little bench which was situated beside the path just inside the gate. "You can go on back to the church hall if you've a mind."
Martha sat down beside her, intrigued but not surprised by her mother's reversal. "No, I'll stay here with you."
Alafair patted Martha's knee and turned her attention back to the service, which was finally breaking up. Walter Kelley was now standing off to one side, surrounded by well-wishers. He was a popular man in town, the busiest barber, the owner of two or three town buildings, as well as the proud owner of one of the town's growing number of automobiles—a shiny black Ford touring car. He also had electric lights and indoor plumbing in his white house on Elm Street, and a telephone in his barber shop that he would let anyone use, free for local calls, though the town was small enough that it was probably easier to holler out the window. For long distance calls, most people paid the barber a nickel. He was a young man to be so well-off, Alafair thought. Late twenties or early thirties, tall and good-looking. But he worked hard, Alafair admitted to herself, even if he was too glib and a bit "hail-fellow-well-met" for her taste. He looked ill-at-ease and at odds with himself now, though, with all the people crowding around him, like he'd rather be anywhere in the world but here.
Excerpted from Hornswoggled by Donis Casey Copyright © 2006 by Donis A. Casey. Excerpted by permission of Poisoned Pen Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Imagine yourself the mother of a headstrong girl who knows what she wants and whom she wants to marry, letting nothing or no one get in her way. Now imagine you believe that the man she has her eye on is possibly involved in the murder of his first wife. What would you do? If you were Alafair Tucker, you would set out to prove or disprove his guilt. And even if it is proved that he is innocent of the crime, he is still considered to be a flirt and a cheat and a liar. But Alafair¿s daughter is bound and determined to be his bride, even if that means alienating herself from her family. In trying to uncover the truth, Alafair finds herself pulled in all directions, as more and more people seem to be involved in the death and cover-up. When she goes one step too far and endangers herself and her family, Alafair realizes that the truth does not necessarily set you free. In this intriguing tale of love and murder, of family and trust, what seems to be true may not be true at all as the facts keep changing. This well performed audio version just adds to the home-spun delight of the tale. Set in Oklahoma nearly 100 years ago, much of the story¿s charm comes from the mores and customs of that era.
Alafair Tucker is the full time mother of 11 children who solves a mystery or two on the side. Her oldest daughter, Alice, has her sight set on marrying the recently widowed and very charismatic barber, Walter. Alafair doesn't trust Walter as far as she can throw him and is determined to discoverd the truth behind his wife's death. I wish I had known this was a sequel. I would have read the first one.
This title wasn't as enjoyable as the first Alafair Tucker mystery I read, The Old Buzzard Had It Coming. It was difficult for me to stay focused on what was happening and to care about it. Having said that, if this is your first Alafair Tucker book HANG IN THERE. Read The Old Buzzard Had It Coming. I promise I'll try some other books in this series in the hopes that they'll be as much fun as Buzzard!
This is the second Alafair Tucker mystery, set in 1913, Oklahoma. Though it sparkles in historical atmosphere, language, and family life, it doesn't quit live up to the first book in this series. That said, I definitely enjoyed Alastair's detecting to protect her large family. Alice, one of Alastair and Seth Tucker's eldest daughters is bound and determined to marry the widowed barber, Walter. Alafair is just as determined to protect her daughter from someone with a reputation for chasing women, even when he was married. AND, his first wife was murdered just a few months ago. No one has been charged with her murder , and Alafair is not at all convinced that Walter is completely innocent of any wrongdoing. This is more than an historical mystery. The family, and community life, is quit compelling in and of itself. There are some yummy recipes at the end of each of Casey's books also. Suggest for all cozy, history, and women's fiction readers.
If you've read and loved 'The Old Buzzard Had It Coming' you absolutely must read 'Hornswoggled.' This book is the second in the series with that great female sleuth, Alafair Tucker. As with the first book, you are literally transported into the early 20th century and will again meet Alafair and Shaw Tucker and their large and engaging family. The twists and turns in the plot has the reader guessing with each page. If you haven't yet read the first book in this series, by all means, place it on your 'to read' list. You definitely won't be disappointed in either story. Donis Casey is definitely an up-and-coming author with a unique way of telling a story.
In 1913 Boynton, Oklahoma mother of eleven Alafair Tucker finds she is very concerned about Alice, one of her adult children. Alice wants barber widower Walter Kelley, a handsome man whom the woman adore. Alafair mistrusts the man because she believes he would not remain faithful to one woman as he seems to enjoy the female adulation.----------- However Alice refuses to change her mind insisting that the love of a good woman, her, will keep Walter from straying. To keep her mind off of Alice¿s obsession, Alafair investigates the cold case homicide of Walter¿s wife, Louise. Her body was found floating in a creek near the Tucker farm eight months ago.----------- HORNSWOGGLED is a fabulous early twentieth century Okalahoma historical amateur sleuth story that grips the audience from the start with its insight into time and place. The dialect used by the Tucker brood and their neighbors augments the strength of the plot by adding depth to the cast and the feel for the era. The whodunit investigation is fun, but the tale is more a period piece than a mystery as the investigation augments the period and locale. Fans will appreciate going down home to an Oklahoma less than a decade as a state escorted by delightful tour guide Alafair Tucker.-------------- Harriet Klausner