Page 98 of Death on Gallows Path

“Fine. I’m fine . . . Oh, goodness. My ribs hurt. No wonder . . .” The name switch explained the power Zoley had exerted with the mention of needing to spell Swindell after Pammy poked at her about . . . like Zoey with an ‘L’.

“From old journals and diaries of the time, there was a good deal of laughter at the judge’s expense when he declared the name change.”

“It was the judge who made the change?”

He nodded. “Immediately after that trial and the hanging of William Alsup’s ancestor.”

Not inclined to laugh now, I said, “I can understand why the Alsup family didn’t care for the Swindles-slash-Swindells.”

The question remained whether that historic familial injustice contributed to the recent murder.

* * * *

Clara was as amused by the original name as I was when I filled her in as soon as she arrived at my house.

“Do we feel sorry for Damon?” Clara asked after I’d shared all Urban said while we enjoyed tea, cheese, and oranges.

“For the name?” I took a bite from a slice of Monterey Jack.

“For the parent situation.”

“Don’t think we need to go that far, do you?”

“No. He was crooked. His trying to cheat William Alsup and his family makes him a strong suspect.”

“Oscar, too. And Willow.”

She frowned at my additions, but said, “We also know Damon wasn’t good to his dog.”

“Um, I don’t think Lucifer’s a suspect, do you?”

“Of course not.” She sounded incensed that the dog could be suspected by anyone of anything. Then her tone switched. “You’re going to tell Teague about this, aren’t you?”

“Clara—”

“Oh, I get it. The sheriff’s department has a lot more resources than we do and there could be a whole lot more people than William—” Nope, she didn’t include Oscar or Willow. “—that Damon cheated in business and who might want him dead. It makes sense. I’m not arguing.”

“But?”

She sighed. “It’s frustrating. We find out something that leads to more somethings and then we have to turn it over to Teague and the sheriff’s department. Okay, okay,” she said as if I’d argued. “I know the goal is to figure out who the murderer is and it’s not a contest.”

“True.”

“So, what do we look into next?”

If I’d had a response, it would have been lost in the rush of the dogs passing us en route to the back door, which opened from the garage.

Teague.

I was smiling as we bridged over Murphy and Gracie to kiss.

He kept a hand on my arm as he dropped his bag to rub first Murphy’s ears, then Gracie’s.

“Welcome home. I’ll just—”

As he straightened and looked past me, he said, “No, no, don’t go, Clara. I’m only here for a short time.” He sent me a look that combined an apology and a kind of fatalistic shrug at the detective’s lot. “And I hoped to hear from both of you.”

Ding, ding, ding.