4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4 by Frederick Ramsay Page B

licked his thumb and ran it carefully across the cutting edge of his axe. He was particular about that. Lydell supplied him with axe and wedges, but Henry brought his own to work. People like Lydell rarely kept their tools in good shape and hadn’t a clue how to hone a workable edge. He set the next piece on end and split it in half. This one was big enough to take down to eighths.
    “Henry? Is that you?”
    Lydell had managed to slip up on him without his notice. He did that a lot.
    “Sir?”
    “When you’re done with that, I’d like a moment with you inside, if you please. What happened to your head?”
    “Gave it a mowing, goatee too, Mr. Lydell. Plan to change my persona.”
    “Your what?”
    “How I look.”
    “I know what persona means, Henry. I’m just surprised you do.”
    “Oh, well, I read a bit…” you old jerk, do you think us ordinary folk are morons or something? “…newspapers, comic books, historical documents and such.”
    Lydell’s face fell into worry. “Do you indeed? Inside when you’re done, then.” He turned and reentered the house.
    Now what’s up with that, Henry wondered, and split the second length.
    ***
    Strange young man, Lydell mused. His persona for God’s sake. What’s he up to? One day he’s the local freak show, the next he’s normal looking, well except for the tattoos, but they don’t show with a long sleeved shirt. Is he working for the sheriff, and if so, why? He sauntered back to his desk and studied his file case. The last book would never be written with those papers out. Someone could always dig up the facts before he could get them down the right way, and then…
    “You wanted to see me?”
    Henry stood at the door. He did look remarkably different without his coxcomb. Almost presentable.
    “Yes, come in. Oh, wipe your feet first. No, maybe you should remove those boots.”
    Henry did as he was told. Lydell noted the unmatched socks, one with a hole in the toe. He did not ask Henry to sit.
    “I am missing some papers, Henry, and I wondered if you had any idea where they might be.”
    “Well, I can’t be sure. What kind of papers would they be?”
    “You mentioned a moment ago that you read historical documents. Those kinds of papers.”
    “Oh, well, I was talking general, sort of. I read the crime reports that come into the house with Billy and sometimes old newspapers. Like, yesterday I dug up the old Staunton Spectator story about the murder in your stranger room back in the big war. ’Course, you know all about that, I reckon.”
    “Are you playing with me, Henry?”
    “Sir?”
    “I think you are working with someone in the sheriff’s office on that murder, and I don’t like it.”
    “Well, actually, I am, but it ain’t formal or anything, you know, just me and Billy trying to see who can figure it out first, is all.”
    “You and Billy. That would be your brother, William?”
    “He ain’t a William, just Billy. Yep…that is, yes sir.”
    “Not working with that Schwartz fellow?”
    “Ike? No, he ain’t dealing with me at the moment.”
    “I see.” Lydell didn’t see but he let it pass. Clearly, more discreet inquiries were in order. “About the documents. Again, have you seen anything like them…like these?” He pulled a few sheets from the file case and waved them in Henry’s direction.
    “I might have, now you mention it.”
    “Where?” Lydell could not hide the excitement in his voice.
    “Maybe…I can’t be sure, but I saw Miss Martha Marie reading something that looked like them the other day. Out by the log pile you have out there for making the slave cabins.”
    “My daughter?”
    “Maybe. But it could have been some letters she had. She’s back there a lot with her old letters. I think they must be love letters or the like. Sometimes she cries. But that could be because she’s…you know.”
    “Yes, yes. Well, thank you, Henry. That will be all.”
    Henry gathered his boots and left. Lydell saw the small