The Murder of Mrs. Smith

“Did ya hear about what happened at the Smith’s house last night?”

The man sat on the side of the road; he was the town beggar, with a tin can in his hand. He sat in the same spot every day, so the gossiping women of town forget he sits there and gossip away. It was the only type of entertainment the man would get through the long days.

“No, ah didn’t hear anythin’, but ah didn’t see Mr. Smith out mowin’ his lawn this mornin’ an' he always mows on Thursdays.”

“Well,” the first woman leaned forward, tongue wagging like a dog’s tail at the smell of fresh gossip. “Ah heard some crook broke their front room window, smashed right through it with a rock from the road.”

The second woman gasped softly, robberies were rare in this small town, it wasn’t a travel through town, which means almost no visitors or strangers. If there was a robbery, then most people in town would know the culprit. Both women knew this, and so their voices grew softer, their glances more suspicious, as the first woman continues, animatedly narrating the story. 

“Then the burglar took Mrs. Smith’s blood-red ruby necklace, the one that ‘er ma left ‘er in ‘er will. He took it right off ‘er vanity. He jus’ snatched it up! It’s a devilish thing to do a little old woman don’t ya think?” She said this in her usual dramatic way. The man always thought that if she lived in the city, she might have been an actress.

The sudden animosity in her mother’s voice made the little girl twiddling her fingers next to the first woman look up. She tugged her skirt and said, “Mama, what’d ya say ‘bout Mrs. Sm-?”

“Hush now, Mama’s talkin’. Why don’t ya go play with the other kids.”

“But-”

“Now.”

The little girl started off, before turning around, interrupting her mother again.

“Can ah have a penny?”

The woman sighed, and dug a penny out of her purse, “Her ya go, get yourself a sweet.”

The girl skipped off with a smile on her face, and the women moved on.

The girl skipped right up to two boys playing marbles in front of the general store. The girl said something with a proud and expectant look on her face, the boys laughed in disbelief, but then the girl said something else, which got their attention. They abandoned their game to question her as another two girls walked up, each with a sweet in their mouths. Their identical curls marked them as the twins. The first girl told the twins what she said to the boys, and the girls immediately gasped and started questioning the other girl with wide frightened eyes. 

After a few minutes of this, the twins’ parents walked by, and wrenched the girls form their enraptured conversation. The family strolled towards where the man sat, into his earshot.

“Mama! Daddy! Did ya-”

“Celia said that her mama said that-”

“Hold on”, their father cut in, “speak one at a time girls”

The twins looked at each other and seemed to mentally decide who would talk first,

“Well, Celia just told us that she overheard her mama and Mrs. Baker talkin’ ‘bout Mrs. Smith-

“She said that some burglar broke into her front window then went up by Mrs. Smith’s vanity-”

“Oh Mama! It’s awful-”

“She said that her mama said that the burglar took something and then made her bloody-red all ‘round the neck.” 

“What!” The twins’ mother exclaimed, she turned her worried eyes to her husband’s, where her horrified expression was mirrored.

The mother grabbed her daughters’ hands and the family scurried off and out of sight.

It wasn’t until an hour or so later that the man heard word on Mrs. Smith again, and when he did, the hysteria was just starting to grow into a chaotic frenzy. 

“Sally!” a man called out from across the road. The first woman, the mother of Celia, turned from her shopping and greeted her husband with a questioning look.

“Sally, did ya hear what happened to Mrs. Smith?”

“Of course ah did dear, who do ya think ah am? Ah always know more about this town than you.”

“Then why aren’t you worried?”

“A petty burglar ain't much to worry about dear, but if you want me to lock up my pearls-”

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout? There ain't no thievery, Mrs. Smith was murdered! Slit right across the throat in ‘er own home. No one’s seen Mr. Smith all day either an’ ah hear folks talkin’ ‘bout lockin’ him up in jail if he ain't found dead too.”

“What! Mr. Smith a murderer? Ya really think Mr. Smith would kill his own wife? Ah always thought they were such a lovely couple.”

“Ah don’t know what tuh think darlin’. Ah never knew Mr. Smith that well, but he always seemed a kind man.”

“Ah thought so too. What has the sheriff got tuh say? Has he figured out if it was Mr. Smith? Or… was it some insane stranger? Or a robbery gone wrong?” 

“Ah don’t think so, sheriff has locked his doors, folks are linin’ up outside to question ‘im, but he won’t take none uh it, not even answerin’ the door. Ah reckon he’s just as confused as the rest of us. Ah just hope there ain't no murderer in town pickin’ us off.”

“Oh George! Do ya think there might be? Just imagine it, a murderer in town. Do ya think he’ll come after us too?”

“Ah really don-”

The woman, Sally, gasped dramatically, snatching her husband’s arm, swinging herself around and swiveling her head desperately. Her mouth bobbed open and closed for a few moments with eyes bugging out of their sockets searching for something that wasn’t there before she screamed,

“CELIA! Where is Celia? CELIA!”

Her husband tried to steady her, begging her to calm down and have some sense to actually look for her or ask if anyone has seen her, but it was no use. The woman was screaming bloody murder for her daughter who was nowhere to be found, and people were starting to notice.

A few folks ran up, asking about what was going on

“My daughter, my Celia is missin’! She was with me just an hour ago, an’ now she’s gone, CELIA!” She tore out of her husband’s arms and raced down the road, bangin’ into stores, screaming for her daughter.

“You murderer betta keep your grubby hands off my daughter, ya hear? Ah said do ya hear me? Celia, where are you?!”

At this, other townsfolk spun around nearby searching for their own children, some sighing in relief as they were found quickly playing marbles or skipping rope; but others were growing into a panic like Sally as their children could not be seen. Nervous whispers flitted through the air, countless conversations creating a hot and sticky monotone buzz of fear.

“Is there really a murderer in town?”

“How’d she know the murderer is goin’ after ‘er kids?”

“The murderer is goin’ after our children? Darling, hang on to Tommy, ah’ve gotta find Lucy an’ make sure she’s safe”

“Should we start a search party?”

“No! Mr. Baker you shouldn’t go out alone, were safer if we stay close. Let’s just get a search par-”

“I need tuh find my Lucy, y’all can sit on yer britches ‘ere if ya want, but ah’m gonna get my daughter.”

“Stop, everyone lets just think this through-”

“Easy for you tuh say, you haven’t got any kids!”

“Ah’ve only been married for uh month, at least ah wasn’t knocked up before my weddin’ like your wife. Ah did the math-”

“How dare ya say that ‘bout my wife!”

“TOMMY! Don’t ya dare wander off! Get back ‘ere”

“Anna there’s no need tuh yell, he’s only two, ah don’t think he can understand what's goin’ on.”

“All he needs tuh do is listen tuh me for once!”

“Everyone, lets just calm down a bit, its normal for the children to run off and have adventures. We should go check by the river, y’all know how they love playin’ by the water.”

“But what if they’re murdered somewhere? How can we go for a stroll through the countryside when a murderer might have ’em in someone’s barn or home?”

“Well, we ‘ave tuh do somethin’! Sittin’ ‘round ‘ere ain't gonna do nobody no good!”

“Look! It’s the sheriff!”

“Have ya got the murderer?”

“Are my kids safe? Where are my kids?”

The constant shouts doubled in volume as word of the sheriff riding his horse down the main road spread to everyone gathered. The crowd rushed to the sheriff like lost souls seeking a messiah, crying out for salvation.

The sheriff held up his hands, palms outward to stop the panicked crowd. He stood still for a few moments, waiting for the noise to die down before dismounting and addressing everyone.

“Now,” he said once he could be heard, “Ah wasn’t in the office today, because ah went to check up on Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

Murmurs started to grow before the sheriff held up his hands again.

“Ah went over there before all this murderin’ nonsense got around.”

This time, the sheriff prematurely halted the crowd, who had interruptions on their lips.

“While there, a group of some uh y’alls children ran up, askin’ tuh see the body, and if there were a lot uh blood, an’ other nonsense that children should know nuthin’ ‘bout.” 

The woman who was running door to door looking for her daughter earlier shoved forward now and demanded to know if her daughter was among those children. Other mothers and fathers quickly chimed in, resulting in another wave of worried interrogation.

“Now, now, settle down. Ah assure you, after seein’ a few kids in the crowd here, all the children in this town have been accounted for.”

Relief flew through the crowd, some sighed visibly and audibly. Though the traces of unease never left their frames.

“Ah must say, ah’ve no idea where these wild notions of murder came from, but ah know for uh fact they ain't true.” He paused, expecting some kind of interruption, but continued when only breathless silence greeted him.

“Early this mornin’ Mr. Smith showed up askin’ for help lookin’ for some necklace his wife lost, and was afraid might’ve been stolen. So ah went over there and-”

A wagon suddenly pulled around the corner behind the sheriff. It was Mr. and Mrs. Smith, with a few kids sitting in the back of it, where the hay that Mr. Smith carts usually sits. 

A few of the women cried out and ran to the cart, dragging their children out to be enveloped by their parents. Still others cried out at the sight of Mrs. Smith, alive and well, neck perfectly intact. The old man and woman sitting at the front of the wagon look around quizzically at all the emotional commotion.

The sheriff waited for the parents to reassure themselves of their children’s safety before continuing. 

“As you can see, Mrs. Smith is as healthy as a horse.” He turned to the wagon as Mr. Smith helped his wife off of the wagon,  “Dear Mrs. Smith, would you care to tell these folks what really happened last night?”

The old lady looked around at the confused, defensive, and crying faces; and with a surprisingly loud voice told her story, one without the embellishment of gossip, “Last night ah lost my ruby necklace my Mama gave me. But ah lost the necklace, it weren’t stolen. Ah was lookin’ ‘round in the dark ‘cause ah had just realized it were missin’. But my eyes ain't as good as they used tuh be, and ah knocked over a glass an’ cut my finger. This mornin’ ah asked Charles tuh go get the sheriff with his new eyes tuh help me look for it.” she glanced back at her husband, “We finally found it just an hour ago, fallen behind our dresser.”

Finally, silence did settle over the crowd as shock began to replace their confusion. 

The sheriff spoke up softly, “there was no murder of Mrs. Smith last night, y’all just got yourselves into a frenzy for nuthin’.”

The beggar man stood up, stretching out his sore and stiff muscles. He sighed, shaking his head at the gullibility of this town, and started walking down the road.