Free The Ballad of Frankie Silver by Sharyn McCrumb Page B

way she heard it. It wasn’t her fault that—that—”
    “It was piffle.”
    “I think so. Most of it.”
    The doctor squinted at him. “What do you want to know about this for, anyhow? Long time ago, not your jurisdiction. You writing a book?”
    “No. I’m not planning to. I guess it’s just something to keep my mind occupied while I’m home.” Spencer tried to make his interest seem desultory. “It’s an old story, and I always wondered about it. Heard it from Nelse Miller.”
    “I hope he had more sense than to tell you that this story inspired the song ‘Frankie and Johnny.’”
    “He didn’t say that. No.”
    “You don’t believe it, either, do you?”
    Spencer shook his head. “Stranger things have happened, I guess, but it doesn’t seem likely. ‘Frankie and Johnny’ is an urban song. The woman goes to a bar, finds out that her lover is unfaithful to her, and kills him with a pistol, which she fires through the door of an apartment or a hotel room. Except for the name ‘Frankie,’ I see no similarities between the two incidents.”
    “It’s like confusing Barbara Bush with Barbara Mandrell,” Banner grunted. “A mere coincidence of names. I hear nothing of our mountains in either the tune or the story of ‘Frankie and Johnny.’”
    “No. I wonder if there is a song about Frankie Silver.”
    “Bound to be, if anybody remembers it. So, tell me, as a lawman, how do you see the rest of it?” The doctor smiled. “In your professional opinion?”
    “I don’t have enough information yet. Just offhand, though, I’d say that all that business about her sneaking up on him three times and backing away again is the embellishment of a storyteller.”
    Alton Banner hummed a snatch of an old tune. “ Three times he kissed her lily-white hands … three times he kissed her cheek .”
    “Yes, exactly,” said Spencer. “It sounds like a ballad-in-the-making. And I don’t think her father was there, either.”
    “Why not?”
    The sheriff shrugged. “Just a hunch—and a lot of experience with rural justice. If there was a man around, they sure as hell would have put him on trial for the crime. Charging a little eighteen-year-old girl with an ax murder had to be a last resort for the sheriff of Burke County.”
    “Well, I’ll leave you to it, son,” said the old doctor. “I’ll check back on you toward the end of the week. See how you and Frankie are getting along.”
    The sheriff smiled. “You do that. One more thing, though. Can I drive yet?”
    “To Nashville in six weeks? You still thinking about that?”
    “No. I meant around the county here—soon.”
    Alton Banner shook his head. “Ask me next time.”
    *   *   *
    In the sheriff’s office Jeff McCullough, editor of the county’s weekly newspaper, the Hamelin Record , sat in the straight chair beside Joe LeDonne’s desk, scanning the prepared statement that he had been given.
    “So I can use everything in here without compromising the investigation?”
    “Of course,” said the deputy. “We don’t have the forensic evidence back from the lab anyhow. I hope we have an arrest by then.”
    “You were the investigating officer?”
    “I took the call when the bodies were found. Martha came out shortly thereafter to help with the crime scene.”
    McCullough tilted his glasses to the end of his nose and looked again at the press release. “It’s eerie, isn’t it?” he said. “I just finished doing a story about Fate Harkryder’s upcoming execution, so I had to go back and read the old stories on the Trail Murders. I could just about run them again for this new case with no rewrite.”
    “There are some similarities,” LeDonne conceded.
    “Well, we know it isn’t Fate Harkryder this time,” said McCullough. “Do you have any suspects?”
    “Nothing to speak of.”
    Jeff McCullough smiled. “You wouldn’t speak of it, anyhow, would you? But that’s okay. I don’t want to hinder the investigation. I think