Page 97 of Death on Gallows Path

On the other hand, I didn’t want to ask too narrow a question and miss a potentially telling detail.

“Within your vast knowledge of the situation, are there elements that might pertain to the murder of Damon Swindell? Or could be useful for Clara and me to know as we look into that case?”

He nodded in apparent judicious appreciation of my questions.

Then he said, “No.”

“No? But Alsup’s family was wronged by Damon Swindell’s family. You said so.”

“Nearly a hundred years ago. I must say, if every member of a family that did a member of another North Bend County family wrong in the past century or two was knocked off for that reason, there wouldn’t be any old families left. And the more recent arrivals would be dwindling fast.”

“But you said—” I cut off my words, remembering Clara saying, They’d have to be awfully patient to wait until now to act on that grudge.

“Okay, that might not have been the inciting incident or an entire motive, but it could have contributed.”

He damned my stance with the faintest of praise. “I can’t definitively say it could not have contributed.”

I pushed a bit more. “In fact, it makes sense that it did contribute, because Pammy Swindell got bent out of shape when a comment was made about her husband’s family.”

“Ah. The question is if those two things go together — the murder of Damon Swindell and his widow getting heated about the family.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, irked enough to say the truth.

“Urban, we were friends — I thought we were friends. Then you kept important things from me and damaged my trust. I haven’t known if we could get back to where we were. But I know we absolutely can’t if you’re going to mess around with me like this.”

He looked back at me for several beats, then streamed out a breath.

“At last, you’re talking about it. That’s a start.”

“I don’t know—”

He cut me off. Just as well. Wasn’t sure which thing I didn’t know would have been the first out of my mouth.

“I can’t tell you anything about the murder of Damon Swindell, but I can tell you background to possibly explain why Pammy became heated.”

I held my tongue through a brief pause.

“At the time Damon’s ancestor, the judge, presided over the trial I told you about, sending Alsup’s ancestor to the gallows while — to all appearances — being bribed to let off the other man found guilty of the crime, the family name was not Swindell.”

My forehead muscles squeezed. Not Swindell . . .?

“The family name then was spelled S-w-i-n-d-l-e.”

It took a second for that to sink in. “Swindle. Swindle? As in . . . swindle?”

“Yes.”

“As in cheat or defraud.” I was no longer asking. I was having a hard time not laughing.

“Yes.”

“As in a swindler, a—”

“Cheater, defrauder. Yes.”

My laughter jostled my words. “And they changed it to Swindell, with the accent on the last syllable.”

“Yes. Are you quite all right?”