The Ballad of Frankie Silver - By Sharyn McCrumb Page 0,23

be heard and not dissected, but this is a true story, which is why I’m interested in it. You see, I have the mind of a policeman, even when I’m not on duty, and so I’m going to ask you some questions about what you told me, just as if I were the investigating officer.”

Mrs. Honeycutt looked wary. “Well, I can’t promise I’ll know the answers, but you can try.”

“All right. First of all, where did your grandmother hear this story? Was she kin to any of the principals in the case?” “Well, everybody’s kin to everybody in Mitchell County if you go back far enough, but I don’t think we

were more than distant cousins by marriage to anybody. I don’t know where Nana got the story, though. A lot of people tell it.” Spencer made a note. “Were there any witnesses to the crime?” “Some say that Frankie’s father was there. I told that part, didn’t I?” “Yes, but how do they know?”

Helen Honeycutt looked puzzled. “It’s what people say,” she told him, as if that settled it. “Yes, ma’am, but how do we knowthat Frankie Silver’s father was present at the time of the murder? You said there were no witnesses. Was he charged as an accessory?”

“No. I believe the mother was, though.” “The motherwas charged?” “I think so.” “Not the father?” “No.” With a weary sigh, Spencer sat back and began scribbling in the margins of his notes. “Why?” “Why wasn’t he charged? I don’t know, Sheriff, but it didn’t matter anyway. Nobody was tried for the

murder except Frankie Silvers herself.” Alton Banner cleared his throat. “About that name, ma’am. I’m acquainted with some of the Silvers from over there in Mitchell. I don’t believe they have a final son their name. I believe it’s Silver. Singular.”

“I always heard it Silvers.” Mrs. Honeycutt’s face had taken on a sullen expression, and no doubt she was regretting her impulse to do good deeds for invalids. “That can be checked fairly easily,” said Spencer, unwilling to quibble about minor points. “Let’s go

back to the story of the murder itself. Did Frankie Silver leave a written confession?” “Not that I ever heard of. The books don’t mention one.” “I’d be astonished to hear that she could write,” muttered Dr. Banner. “Consider the time and place.” Spencer nodded. “I was just wondering how we knew the circumstances of Charlie’s death so exactly.

Where he was lying when the attack came. How many times she attempted to kill him. Especially his last

words. God bless the child.It sounds like something out of a play.” Alton Banner chuckled. “ Porgy and Bess,to be exact.” Mrs. Honeycutt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the way I heard the story, Sheriff.” “Speaking of songs, ma’am,” the doctor continued. “I noticed you quoted from another one in your

recounting of the story. You said, ‘He was her man, and he was doing her wrong,’ which is from ‘Frankie and Johnny.’ ”

“Oh, yes. That’s where that old song came from. It was inspired by this murder case.” Spencer shot a quick glance at Alton Banner. Later,his look said. “This is extremely helpful,” he said to Mrs. Honeycutt. “Now, tell me, was the murder weapon ever found?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.” “Then how do they know it was thrown in the river?” Spencer consulted his notes. “You said, maybe

the father—who was not definitely there— threw it into the river on his way home.Witnesses?” “No. It’s what people said.” She glanced at her watch and then at Martha. “Okay,” said Spencer. “Then she was arrested. . . .” “I really have to be going,” said Mrs. Honeycutt with a plaster smile. “Good luck with your research,

Sheriff.” Martha stood up, too, gave him a look, and said, “I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Spencer saw the visitors to the door with fulsome thanks and offers of coffee, but his peace overtures

were coldly received. When he saw the taillights on Martha’s car disappear around the curve of the

driveway, he sank back on the couch with a weary sigh. “I don’t blame you,” said Alton Banner. “That much pleasant hypocrisy would wear out even a well man.”

“No, it was kind of her to come and tell me the story,” said Spencer. “I really did appreciate it. She probably told it just the 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