Cottonwood Whispers by Jennifer Erin Valent Page B

weren’t drivin’ that day.”
    “Are we in America, Sheriff, or ain’t we?” Miss Cletaasked. “Seems to me what you need is proof that he did it, not that he didn’t do it.”
    “I already got proof that he did it, Miss Cleta. I got that automobile, and that’s evidence enough.”
    “But he said he wasn’t drivin’ it.”
    “But his word ain’t enough.”
    The two stood there, squared off, staring each other down while Mr. Poe stood in that cell rocking back and forth.
    I went over to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’ll be okay, Mr. Poe. Miss Cleta and I will help you. I’ll tell my daddy about it, and he’ll help too.”
    “That little girl,” Mr. Poe said to me, “she okay?”
    Truth was, I hadn’t heard any report since they’d taken Callie to the hospital, but I smiled wanly. “She’ll be fine, Mr. Poe. Don’t you worry none about that.”
    “She’s a nice little girl.”
    “Yes’r. She is. And she’ll be fine; don’t you worry none.”
    The three of us left Mr. Poe after Miss Cleta gave him one more bit of assurance that he’d soon be free.
    Once we were out in the front office, Miss Cleta lit into the sheriff again. “You know you got the wrong man, Charlie Clancy. Why ain’t you just doin’ what you know is right? You need to let that boy go.”
    Sheriff Clancy took off his hat and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Miss Cleta, I got me a job to do. I gotta go on evidence, not on my gut.”
    “Well, you sure got enough gut to go on,” she scoffed. “That ought to be plenty of evidence.”
    “Givin’ me grief ain’t gonna change nothin’ for the better.”
    “You know, Elmer’s poor daddy will be spinnin’ in his grave. Judge Poe was a fine man of the law for some forty years before he passed, God rest his soul.”
    “I can’t release a suspect just because his daddy was a respected judge back in the day.”
    Miss Cleta started toward the door, and I followed. But she stopped stock-still before she reached it and turned to face the sheriff. “If any harm comes to that boy because of this,” she said with a shake in her voice, “it’ll be on your head, Charlie Clancy.”
    I followed her out of the jail with a heavy heart. It certainly seemed as though the deck was stacked against Mr. Poe, and I was terrified at what they would do to him if evidence to prove him innocent was never found.
    Miss Cleta and I went over to the pharmacy, where she mumbled under her breath the entire time she waited for Mr. Poppleberry to fill her order. She was as mad as a hornet.
    It would have been wise, then, if Mrs. Myra Tucker had realized that Miss Cleta was mad as a hornet because she would likely have avoided saying what she said when she spotted us in the pharmacy.
    The moment Mrs. Tucker called our names in her loud, nasally voice, Miss Cleta rolled her eyes and sighed. “Great balls of fire, what does that woman want now?”
    “Always knew that Poe boy would come to no good,” Mrs. Tucker fairly shouted to us even though she was only a few feet away. “He was always so strange, talkin’ to himselfand whatnot. I’m not surprised to hear of him sittin’ in a jail cell.”
    “I do declare, Myra Tucker, if you ain’t just got the mouth of the devil,” Miss Cleta spat out angrily. “Anyone with a lick of sense ought to wash your mouth out with soap. Tellin’ tales about that poor boy and screamin’ it across the store so the whole world hears you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” She looked around at the handful of patrons and slapped her money down onto the counter. “You all ought to be ashamed!”
    I picked up her package and followed her out the door, struggling to keep up with her spry seventy-nine-year-old footsteps.
    My stomach began to whirl as it always did when trouble was at hand. There was no good to come of this. Like Mr. Poe would say, I could feel it in my bones.

Chapter 6
    “Ain’t this town learned enough about makin’ hasty