Free The Charity by Connie Johnson Hambley

away.
    The building itself was perched on top of a small hill with two dirt driveways leading up to it from different directions. The drives were hardly more than two worn tire tracks with weeds sprouting up the middle. The lack of customers made her think it was closed, but lights glowed softly inside.
    The place was more run down than she remembered and today it disgusted her. Jessica was accustomed to the nooks and dells of the North Shore. They seemed to offer countless stories and discoveries and this tavern was one of them. She and Anna would run away to this place because they felt no one would recognize them and make them go home. Well, home was always back to the farm for Jessica. Anna really did not have a place to return to. The memories of them there made her smile, but the tavern itself had run down to the point where it had become the kind of place her aunt told her never to go into alone, or at all if she could help it. She made a mental note not to come here again.
    Jessica sat herself at a booth and gave her order to a man she recognized from years past. He was obviously the owner/waiter/cook. The tavern must never have gotten busy enough for him to hire anyone else to work there. Jessica was glad for the lack of people. She still felt the eyes of the patrons from the Black Swan on her back and welcomed a moment of privacy. Her hamburger and fries were delivered to her after a long while and Jessica ate them slowly, not wanting a reason to leave.
    She was gazing out the dirty window and was amazed when Coogan sat down opposite her.
    She did not know how to react. “What are you doing here?”
    “You’re easy enough to find,” Coogan responded as he looked around. He raised his chin at the owner and held up one finger then pointed down to the table in front of him. His coffee arrived in a smudged mug. He seemed relaxed, almost eager. He looked around at the empty establishment and began to ask his questions.
    “Did you think of anything more about last night that you want to tell me about, Miss Wyeth?” The tone of his voice was gentle, coaxing her to talk.
    “No. Nothing more. I just don’t remember anything more than what I told you and Officer Shea this afternoon.” Jessica’s voice was a monotone. Detective Coogan made her skin crawl.
    She tried to remember, but her mind was too clever for that. All she could think about was that she needed to put fresh flowers at the cemetery for her aunt, mother, father, and sister. She couldn’t decide what kind of flowers would be best. Daffodils? She liked the sunny yellow blooms of spring but then remembered that it was too late to find them growing wild. Ah! Mountain Laurel. Her mother and Bridget loved the Mountain Laurel sprinkled among the hillsides of their home. She resolved to go out and pick an armload of the flowers in the morning.
    “Why didn’t you tell us that Gus Adams was trying to take the farm away from you and prevent you from working on it?” There was an edgier quality to his voice and Jessica thought he looked excited.
    “What? Oh. No. No. No,” Jessica sighed, “Gus loved working with me on the farm. He loved my family and we trusted him. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Miss Wyeth, I want you to consider carefully what you’re saying here. Was Gus Adams preventing you from taking control of your own farm?” Coogan leaned across the table on his forearms. His thick eyebrows slanted down toward the bridge of his nose, brown eyes looking directly at Jessica.
    “No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, eyes downcast.
    “Look. I think you should know that we have statements from patrons of the Black Swan who state that you were seen having a heated argument with Gus Adams. Certain witnesses quote you as saying that he shouldn’t stand in your way or he could be sorry.”
    “Seriously. Don’t be ridiculous. Gus loved me working on the farm with him. He just wants, um, wanted me to have more of a