Crying Blood

By Donis Casey

"Casey depicts family ties that uplift and support and family ties broken by anger in a poignant, lyrical, authentic novel of early day Oklahoma." —CAROLYN HART, New York Times bestselling author

In the autumn of 1915, Shaw Tucker, his brother James, and their sons go hunting. Instead of a quail, Shaw's dog, Buttercup, flushes an old boot...containing the bones of a foot. Buttercup then leads the men to a shallow grave and a skeleton with a bullet hole in the skull. That night, Shaw awakens to see a pair of moccasin-clad legs brushing by his tent flap. He chases the intruder, but he has disappeared. His concern is justified when he realizes that someone—or something—has followed him home.

Dread turns to relief when he captures a young Creek Indian boy called Crying Blood. Shaw ties the boy up in the barn, but during the few minutes he is left alone, someone thrusts a spear through Crying Blood's heart. The local law is on the killer's trail, but Shaw Tucker has a hunch...

Only Shaw's wife Alafair might be able to forestall his dangerous plan. So Shaw sends her on a wild goose chase so he can confront the killer...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781615952489

Donis Casey

Donis Casey is an award-winning author whose first novel The Old Buzzard Had It Coming was named an Oklahoma Centennial Book in 2008. She has twice won the Arizona Book Award and has been a finalist for the Willa Award. A former teacher, academic librarian, and entrepreneur, she currently resides in Tempe, Arizona.

Book preview

Contents

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Map

The Main Characters

Indian Territory

Oklahoma

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Indian Territory

Producing, Preserving, and Cooking Meat

Alafair’s Recipes

Historical Notes

Oklahoma Creek Place Name Pronunciations

More from this Author

Contact Us

Dedication

This is a book dedicated to all the men I love:

my husband, my brother,

my brothers-in-law and nephews, uncles and cousins.

But especially for my father.

For good or ill, our fathers are the first

to teach us what it is to be a man.

Acknowledgments

I owe a debt of gratitude to my editor, Barbara Peters, who held my hand through this book and basically showed me that I can still tell a story. Many thanks also to Jere Harris and Nancy Calhoun of the Local History and Genealogoy Department at the Muskogee Public Library for helping me to find Sheriff John Barger.

Map

OK_Map.jpg

The Main Characters

The Family

Shaw Tucker, farmer and breeder of horses and mules

Alafair Tucker, his wife

Their children:

Martha, age 24, engaged to Streeter McCoy

Mary, age 22, engaged to Kurt Lukenbach

Alice Kelley, age 21, married to Walter Kelley

Phoebe Day, age 21 (Alice’s twin), married to John Lee Day

Zeltha Day, age 1, their daughter

G.W. (Gee Dub), age 19

Ruth, age 16

Charlie, age 14

Blanche, age 10

Sophronia (Fronie), age 9

Grace, age 3

Sally Tucker McBride, Shaw’s mother

Jim Tucker (d.), Sally’s first husband

Six children, including

Josie (m. Jack Cecil)

Shaw (m. Alafair)

James

Jerry & Jimmy, James’ sons

Leroy—one of Sally’s bunch of grandkids

***

The Creeks

Crying Blood, an enigma

Odell Skimmingmoon, tracker of fugitives

Lucretia Goingback Hawkins, who owns land

and is the mother of two Goingback children

and two Hawkins children

Goingback, Lucretia’s first husband

The Old Pony Soldiers

Peter McBride, Sally’s second husband

Roane Hawkins, Lucretia’s second husband

Doolan, who won’t take no for an answer

The Law

Scott Tucker, Town Sheriff of Boynton, Oklahoma. Shaw’s cousin

John Barger, Sheriff of Muskogee County, Oklahoma

Trent Calder, Scott’s Deputy

The Clergy

The Reverend Edmond, Methodist minister in Eufaula, Oklahoma

The Critters

Charlie Dog, The Tuckers’ family dog

Buttercup and Crook, Shaw’s hunting dogs

Happy, James Tucker’s bird dog

Penny, Gee Dub’s horse

Hannah, Shaw’s horse

Red Allen, Peter’s amorous Tennessee Walker stallion

An alluring mare

Two apologetic bloodhounds

Several mysterious snakes

Two unfortunate hogs

Indian Territory

1905

There was no place left to hide. It was sheer luck that he had managed to elude his pursuer for most of the day, anyway. He didn’t know the country as well as his hunter did. Even if he had, there was no one within a hundred miles who would be inclined to help him.

He thought he had been going in circles, through woods, up and down hills and through gullies, across open spaces, crawling through brush and grass that moved like silk but cut like razors, behind rocks, following weedy creek banks, slogging through mud. Now he was trapped, boxed in at the end of a dry wash. The walls of the gully were severely undercut, forming a ledge that loomed out about fifteen feet over his head. The bare dirt was full of roots and for an instant the man held a dim hope that he could use them to climb the awkward angle. But every root he grabbed pulled free and every toehold crumbled under his weight. He only made it up three or four feet before the sandy clay gave completely away and he landed on his back with a thud, knocking the wind out of himself. From his new perspective, his eye fell on a small cave-like indent in the bank under the overhang that was partially hidden by a small stand of young chokecherry bushes.

He scrambled onto his knees and crawled behind the bushes that pushed up from the dry creek bed. The opening was maybe three feet high and a little less wide, barely deep enough that he could be able wedge himself into it. Perhaps it had been washed out by an eddy the last time water ran in the wash, but he thought it more likely that some critter had dug it for a night’s shelter.

It was a desperate last effort, but he was grateful for the chance. He could already hear his pursuer moving toward him through the brush. He struggled to catch his breath, to regain some semblance of control over himself. He had never been so terrified in his life, even when he was fighting the Apaches in Arizona. At least he hadn’t been alone, then. He was drenched in flop sweat. His eyes stung with it. Even if his pursuer hadn’t been such a competent tracker, he could probably smell the reek of fear. The man’s jacket and pants legs were covered with stickers, mud, stained with who knew what. The gnats and nosee’ums were eating him alive.

He sighed at the rueful realization that it was his own fault that he had come to this pass. He never could leave well enough alone. If he had never come to the Indian Territory he wouldn’t be in this mess. If he’d never left the Army. If he’d never left Ireland…

Hindsight wasn’t going to help him now. He drew his revolver and waited.

His pursuer broke through the brush and stopped dead. He was holding an axe in his right hand.

***

The hunter’s eyes were aflame with hatred as he looked directly at his enemy hunkered down behind the shrub. The man in the hold twitched. A movement in the brush drew his eye. He realized with shock that the boy had followed them. Cruel.

The man leaped to his feet and his pursuer sent the axe flying through the air, end over end. Jaysus! he shrieked, just as the axe took off his ear and embedded itself in the cliff wall. His pursuer let out a whoop of triumph and drew the six-gun from the holster strapped to his hip.

Trapped like a rat. But he’d be damned if he was going to die cowering in a hole. The man was shaking so much that it was a miracle he was able to stand. He closed his eyes, leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.

Oklahoma

1915

Chapter One

Six men spread in a line across the field, wary and still, shotguns at the ready. The sun had barely sunk below the tree line, but the few moments of the peach and pink of evening had faded, leaving the sky clear, cloudless, and the color of new cream. In the woods behind him, Shaw Tucker could hear the discordant gabble of birds gathering in the trees, settling down for night and making their plans for the following day. Grackles, sounded like. It was late in the season and any birds who were going to fly south for the winter were gone.

Shaw flexed the fingers of his free hand, trying to ease the stiffness out of them. It was getting cold. He had to resist the temptation to stamp his feet. A sigh of a breeze briefly ruffled the tall grass, making a shushing sound that faded quickly back into stillness. Nothing moved.

They were in there, he knew it. It was a test of nerves, now.

To his left, Shaw could just see his brother James and James’ two teenaged sons out of the corner of his eye, arrayed across the clearing at twenty yard intervals. He turned his head to the right to look at his own two sons. Gee Dub and Charlie were standing tensely, watching the brushy field, unmoving as stone, only the fog of their breath in the sharp November air betraying the fact that they were alive.

It had taken the six of them a quarter of an hour to ease themselves out of the woods and into the clearing far enough to be able to get a clean shot, but Shaw figured that any further would be pushing their luck. Two black, tan, and white hounds were sitting close to his feet, one on either side, obedient but quivering with excitement. He could tell by their riveted attention that they had marked their quarry.

A speckled bird dog was working the field, back and forth in a zig-zag pattern, his nose to the ground. As the dog moved further into the field, only his back and feathery tail protruded above the tall, dried grasses.

The dog slowed and took a tentative step or two before his head popped into sight and his tail dropped, creating a straight line from nose to tail-tip as he froze on point.

Shaw emitted a tiny whistle between his teeth and his dogs shot forward into the grass like a couple of bullets, one to the left and one to the right, approaching the pointer in a wide circle. As they neared, James signaled the pointer with a piercing whistle of his own and the dog leaped forward. Faced with a three-sided assault and no escape route, the entire covey of quail flushed.

Shaw was peripherally aware that his companions raised their shotguns at the same time he did, aiming into the air above the dogs’ trajectory. He barely had time to seat the stock on his shoulder before the half-dozen quail took to the air in a panic. He chose his prey and sighted it along the barrel of his gun as it rose above the treetops. A shot rang out to his right and one of the birds nosedived, but Shaw didn’t allow himself to be distracted. He pulled the trigger and his target spun in the air, flapped a couple of times, then managed a crazy, zig-zag landing at the far edge of the field.

Shaw barely heard the blasts of the guns on either side of him. He had more than likely only winged his quarry. He huffed, torn between feeling disappointed that he hadn’t killed the creature outright and pleased that he had hit it at all.

The dogs were still crashing around through the tall grass, each heading for dead or wounded birds to retrieve. Shaw had never seen his brother’s bird dog hunt before. He was impressed. He had only had the opportunity to see Happy at family gatherings and hadn’t thought much of the pup’s brainpower. He was aptly named, though, as goofy and good-natured as a creature could be.

Shaw had owned his two hounds for years. He had trained them himself and he had to admit that Crook and Buttercup were two of the best hunters he had ever run. They were ’coon hounds, natural stalkers, and unusually smart. They seemed to know automatically what kind of game their master was after and exactly which skills were required of them on each hunt. They could tree raccoons, trail foxes, keep a bear at bay, flush birds, and were good retrievers on land or water. Their only defect was that they were both terrible watchdogs since they were friends with everyone they met. But Shaw couldn’t fault them for it. They loved children, and for a man with ten of his own, that was a good trait for a dog to have.

James and the boys all descended on him, laughing and excited and talking at once.

I didn’t hit nothing, Uncle Shaw, but I think Daddy did.

I don’t know, Jerry, I think mine got away, too.

Gee Dub sure got his, Daddy. Blowed his head clean off!

I saw two more go down, Dad. One looked to be still alive.

Shaw put his arm around his oldest son’s shoulders. That was mine, Gee Dub. I just nicked him, looked like. When the dog fetches him back, I’ll have to wring his neck, I reckon.

As he said the words, Crook emerged from the grass with a headless quail in his mouth. Shaw praised the dog before he took the bird by the feet and held it up with a laugh. Well, I’ll be switched! I guess Gee did blow his head clean off! Go on, Crook, bring me another one.

Crook disappeared and Shaw handed the bird to Gee Dub, who put it in the satchel slung over his shoulder.

James nodded toward a wave of moving grass. Here comes Buttercup yonder with another bird.

The hound trotted out of the field with something in her mouth, her head high and her tail awag, obviously pleased with herself, and sat down at Shaw’s feet.

Charlie leaned over to inspect her treasure. What do you got, girl? This ain’t no bird. Why, it’s an old boot!

Thanks, Buttercup. Shaw sounded more amused than unhappy about it. I believe I’ve got plenty of footwear.

Shaw’s nephew Jimmy moved up to take a better look. That old thing has sure seen better days! Looks like it’s been lying out in the woods for a spell. There’s something inside it.

Probably a dead critter or some such, Gee Dub said. I bet that’s what interested her.

Amid the sounds of disgust at this suggestion, Charlie turned the boot upside down and gave it a shake. Dirt and leaf litter fell out onto the ground with a plop. The boy stirred it around with his toe before peering back down the boot top. There’s something still in here. Looks like a couple of sticks. He shook it again, but his only reward was a rattling noise.

Shaw was suddenly struck by foreboding. He extended his hand. Let me have that, son.

A glimpse of two jagged, grey protrusions confirmed his fear.

What is it, Uncle Shaw?

Nothing, Jerry. Some furry little thing built a nest in an old boot, is all. You children check the field for more downed birds. Charlie, you find Crook.

The boys scattered but James didn’t move. Shaw?

It’s bones, James. Seems we got us a boot complete with its own leg and foot.

An expression of dread passed over James’ face. Old?

Yes, right old, no worry about that. Stick with the boys a spell and I’ll see what Buttercup has dug up. Shaw knelt down in front of the dog and held the boot under her nose. Where’d you get this, gal? Show me!

He gave a short warbling whistle and Buttercup took off through the grass, heading toward the curve of woods bordering the clearing to the north with Shaw hot on her heels.

***

The dog put her head down and sniffed around in a little circle right at the edge of the woods. Because of the grass, Shaw was practically on top of her before he could see what had momentarily distracted her. Another small piece of grey bone with a finger-thick vine wrapped around it was lying on top of a flat rock that was half embedded in the dirt.

Shaw’s first thought was that this shard of bone had fallen out of the boot when Buttercup was carrying it. He reached for it, but jerked his hand back when the vine moved.

A small, greenish brown snake lifted its head and regarded him. Shaw backed up a step. What on earth was a snake doing out at this time of year? The earlier part of the day had been mild and obviously the snake was soaking up whatever warmth remained in the rock. But still…

It was November and the evening was frosty! That critter should have been curled up in a hole with his kinfolks for the past month.

Yet there it was. A snake wrapped around a bone, giving him the eye. Shaw fought off a flood of superstitious dread.

Buttercup reappeared from the woods and emitted a wuff. Are you coming? Shaw looked at her, then back at the rock. The bone was still there but the snake had gone.

Shaw blinked. Had he actually seen what he thought he saw, or had it been a trick of the shadows? He shook himself.

Come on, Buttercup. Let’s see what you’ve found.

Chapter Two

Shaw stood next to his brother James and pondered the grinning visage that looked back at them from the ground. It was getting colder and a damp mist was forming close to the ground. There would be a frost before morning. Shaw’s mustache felt stiff. He wondered if his breath was freezing into icicles above his lip.

Buttercup had led him several yards into the woods to a small, open area where a large tree had probably stood once, but was now overgrown with tall chokecherry bushes interspersed with fiery red sumac. After he had seen the leg bones protruding from the small mound under the bushes, he had walked back to the clearing and waved at James to join him. After a brief consultation the men sent the boys back to their campsite with the dogs and the day’s kill, leaving the two of them to excavate the body. It had taken them nearly an hour to remove the rocks, dirt, and weeds from the makeshift grave, by which time dusk was pressing in on them and the woods were so gloomy that they were no longer able to make out much detail.

Looks like he’s been here a good long time, Shaw observed. Five, ten years, at least, maybe longer.

James cocked an eyebrow. Being as he’s good and well reduced to bones I would reckon so. He glanced toward the clearing, barely visible through the thicket of scrub oak and sassafras trees.

Shaw bit his lip. This looks like an old Indian burial. See how it was once piled over with rocks? Not deep, though. I’m guessing that the flooding we had back in January and February washed it out enough to finally expose that foot. He was more’n likely buried good enough to thwart any critters who might have been interested in him, until lately. These bones would have been dug up and scattered all over creation before long. He squatted down to get a better look. The body was stretched out on its back. The left foot, shod in a tall leather boot, protruded below. The similarly booted right foot was now standing sentinel at the side of its previous owner.

Dirt clogged the empty eye sockets and the lower jaw had been crushed and fallen over at an odd angle. Shaw dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He was probably a Creek.

His brother’s eyebrows peaked. You expect so?

Well, look, James. He’s been here a long time and this is Muscogee Creek country.

Those look like army boots to me, James pointed out.

Shaw stood up. "That don’t mean anything. Plenty of Creeks fought in the War between the States, on both sides. Can’t tell by looking, though. He might just as well have been yu-ne-ga. He used their Cherokee mother’s word for White man."

What do you figure happened to him, Shaw?

Who knows? Not a well-done burial. Maybe it was done in haste. Shaw removed his bandanna from his back pocket and knelt back down. He leaned over the body and carefully began to brush dirt away from the skull. A long crack across the forehead began to reveal itself, growing wider as Shaw worked his way across the brow. A dark clot of dirt fell away from a perfectly round hole at the point above the nose cavity.

Shaw’s mouth quirked up on one side and he looked up at James, who was leaning over his shoulder. Right between the eyes.

I’ll be switched! James exclaimed. Done to death! Now what do we do?

Shaw stood, shook his head. It’s too late to make it into town before dark. Let’s cover him up with one of them old blankets we have back at the camp and put some of these rocks back on top of him for the night. In the morning I can ride into Oktaha and see if I can rustle up a telephone, call the sheriff in Muskogee. Somebody around here may know all about this poor fellow. Let’s see what the sheriff wants us to do. You and the boys stay and keep an eye on Slim, here, until I get back. Y’all can pack up the campsite.

James gave him a dry smile. You expect our hunting trip is over?

I fear so, James.

James walked back to the clearing to send one of the boys for a blanket, leaving Shaw squatted down beside the grave.

Who were you, he wondered, without hope of an answer. His gaze wandered over the open hole, looking for a clue as to the identity of its occupant. There wasn’t much to see; brownish-grey bones with shreds of degraded clothing still clinging here and there. A boot. The shallowness of the grave had at first led Shaw to think this was a hasty burial, but the bony hands had been arranged over the place the heart had once been. Perhaps the dead man had simply been interred by someone who didn’t know how deep to make a grave.

He spotted something at the skeleton’s side, something of a slightly different color than the

Reviews for Crying Blood

[romonko · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is the fifth book in the Alafair Tucker series which is set in the early 20th century in Arkansas. This one begins in the fall of 1915. Shaw, his brother and two of their sons are hunting at an old abandoned homestead owned by Shaw's stepfather. They stumble across some strange things in the old derelict house, and Shaw is certain he is visited by a white-haired "haint".on one of their nights there when they were camping out. This experience leaves Shaw troubled and unsettled. Then when he is back home with Alafair and his family, some freshly butchered pork goes missing off the carcass. Shaw is on a mission to find out what happened at the old farm and who seems to be following him around. I love this series for its authenticity and for the down-home feeling I get when I read it. I love Shaw and Alafair and their solid marriage and their close family of 10 children. I just love everything about it, but this book fell a bit short for me as the mystery that occurs wan't much of a mystery. There wasn't that same sense of urgency that I have always gotten while reading one of Donis Casey's books. The story seemed to get lost a bit in the folklore and in the supernatural atmosphere. Don't get me wrong, this is a wonderful series and these characters are some of my very favourites. I will continue to read this series, as it gets closer in time to the beginning of WWI. Ms. Casey portrays her historical time so realistically that I feel that I have actually stepped back in time as I read.

[bookswoman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Alafair and family get involved in another murder, this one at least 10 years old. Most of the books have been about Alafair and her husband Shaw and their children.

This one is a little different. It is mostly about Shaw, his early life, his mother, father and step-father and how the relationships created the honorable man that is Shaw Tucker. Alafair and the kids are there but the narrative revolves around Shaw.

When a hunting trip turns up a dead body, one that is at least 10 years old. That leads to a young Creek Indian stalking Shaw because he thinks Shaw will lead him to "the white haired man" who killed his older brother. The time lines aren't right for the body to be the brother so more than one murder is involved here.

I do love this series. There are not many books written in the earl 1900's and this series set in the Oklahoma Territory and then the state of Oklahoma are even more rare. I also like the cooking and lifestyle tidbits added to the end of the books.

Looking forward to more in this series.

[cathyskye · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

First Line: There was no place left to hide.It's the autumn of 1915 in rural Oklahoma. Taking advantage of a lull before it's hog butchering time, Shaw Tucker, his brother James, and their sons go on a hunting trip. Deciding that a derelict farm their stepfather bought years ago should be a prime location to find game, they're shocked when one of the dogs retrieves an old boot-- with the human foot bones still inside. The dog then leads the men to a shallow grave that contains a skeleton with a bullet hole in its skull.Knowing they've got to go get the sheriff in the morning, men and boys go back to camp and bed down for the night. Sometime later, Shaw wakes up to see a pair of moccasin-clad feet walking past his tent. Giving chase, Shaw loses track of the visitor so completely he wonders if he dreamed the whole thing... including the part where he could swear a ghostly voice called him by name. Dream or no dream, once Shaw's home, he just can't shake the experience.They're back on the Tucker farm hardly any time at all when Shaw realizes someone followed him home. It's a young Creek Indian boy who says his name is Crying Blood. Crying Blood insists that he followed the Tuckers home so he could find the white-haired man who killed his brother. Shaw ties the boy up in the barn and leaves for a couple of minutes. When he returns, he discovers that someone has thrust a lance through Crying Blood's heart. The law is on the killer's trail, but Shaw has a hunch that he knows the identity of the white-haired man. The only thing he has to do is avoid the eagle eye of his wife Alafair in order to confront the killer on his own terms.I was in a quandary with this book. It's part of one of my favorite series, a series that I tend to savor-- reading one only when the next in the series has been published. (I always keep a few books that I know I'm going to love in reserve.) However, when I managed to obtain a galley of the next book being published in November, I knew I had to read Crying Blood. There is no way I'm going to read this series out of order!Why, you ask? Because Donis Casey has created one of the deepest, richest cast of characters in fiction. Alafair Tucker and her husband Shaw have ten children, ranging in age from mid-twenties to three. The children all have their own personalities, and as they grow, they change... just like real people. The twelve Tuckers aren't the only cast members either. There are Alafair's and Shaw's parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, in-laws and almost in-laws. With a cast this large, you'd think you would need a score card, but you don't.This large cast is a very real part of the world they live in: Oklahoma farm country at the turn of the twentieth century. It allows the author to shift the focus of her stories from one part of the family to another, as she has done here in Crying Blood. In earlier books in the series, Alafair has been at the heart of the story. Here she takes a backseat to her husband, Shaw, but she still makes her presence felt-- especially when she accompanies the sheriff on a journey in Ford Model T.By shifting the focus of the story from Alafair to Shaw, we get to see the very real-- and very strong-- bond between the two, and the night that a sleepless Alafair wanders the farmhouse in the wee hours of the morning, knowing that her husband is in harm's way, will bring a lump to any loving partner's throat.Donis Casey writes an excellent historical mystery series. She immediately whisks the reader into the world of turn-of-the-century Oklahoma farmers, and she creates strong, believable mysteries for her characters to solve. She's also adept at adding a bit of humor in the right places. All that, and she supplies period recipes at the back of the book. In each of her books, Casey provides food for the body, food for the mind, and food for the soul. If that sounds like a winning recipe to you, pull a chair up to the Tuckers' table. There's always room for more.

[tarenn_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

CRYING BLOOD by Donis Casey is an interesting,exciting historical mystery set in 1815 Oklahoma territory. It is the fifth in the "An Alafair Tucker Mystery" series,but can be read as a stand alone. Others in An Alafair Tucker Mystery series:The Old Buzzard Had It Coming,Hornswoggled,The Drop Edge of Yonder,and The Sky Took Him.All published by Poisoned Pen Press.This is a fast paced,action packed mystery with a little supernatural. Shaw Tucker and some of his family members are out quail hunting when one of their dogs come across buried bones and a snake necklace. They take the bones back to Shaw's place,while waiting for the sheriff.Shaw keeps the snake necklace and is plagued by seeing snakes and a strong feeling. The bones and the murder of a young Creek boy leads Shaw on a mission that finds one woman's deception. A woman whose first husband dies,her second husband abandons her and her sons.Two of her son's are scattered in foster care,to save them,she sells her homestead to Shaw's step father,who was friends with her second husband,and she remarry's. Shaw's quest for justice and to find answers leads him to a "haunt",a young boy's murder,and his and one of his son's confrontation with the "haunt". The true story will finally come out of the abandoned husband and the death of two boys and a husband.This story will appear to not only historical mystery readers for also to history buffs and suspense readers. You will find in the back of this intriguing story a section of information on hog butchering in the early days, favorite old time recipes, the history of Indian territory and land allotment as well as a guide to Creek pronunications. This is a fast paced,well written story with attention to details and history. A must read. This book was received for the purpose of review from Net Galley and the publisher and details can be found at Poisoned Pen Press and My Book Addiction Reviews.

[bethanne79 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Not my usual read, but I liked the book. The author did a wonder job at describing the Tucker's world of 1915. Part ghost story, part historical, part mystery...