“No, he ain’t,” she answered defiantly. “What you wanting him for anyhow?”
“Oh, just to ask a few questions. Where is your husband, Mrs. Davis?”
“He went to town early and ain’t been back. What you aimin’ to lay onto him, Sheriff?”
“If your husband hasn’t been here since early evening, who has ridden this horse?” the sheriff demanded, ignoring the question.
Mrs. Davis’ gaze roved to the stall where the black mare noisily crunched an ear of corn.
“Why Sal has been rid!” she exclaimed as if genuinely surprised. “But not by Clem. He went to town in the flivver, and he ain’t been back.”
“Sorry, but I’ll have to take a look in the house.”
“Search it from cellar to attic!” the woman said angrily. “You won’t find Clem! What’s he wanted for anyway?”
“The Preston barn was set afire tonight, and your husband is a suspect.”
“Clem never did it! Why, the Prestons are good friends of ours! Somebody’s just tryin’ to make a peck o’ trouble for us.”