Death on the High Lonesome (11 page)

Marian Thompson was all angles, lean and ramrod straight. Her hair had a peculiar streak of white that ran left of center until it disappeared in the auburn lock that reached her shoulders. She had clear, blue eyes along with a smile that showed a row of even white teeth. She would have stood out in any crowd.

“I'm guessing you're Sheriff Virgil Dalton.”

“Guilty as charged, ma'am.”

“Don't ma'am me, Virgil. I'm Marian. Marian Davies, formerly Thompson. Don't know that we're that many years apart, but I can't say that I ever remember meeting you.”

“Same here, Marian, but if I ever met you, I'd remember.”

“Well, that's a lot better than ma'am, Virgil. Almost makes me feel desirable. A smart man knows that it's important to make a woman feel that way and I judge you to be a smart man.”

“I try,” Virgil said. “Sometimes I come up short.”

“Oh, my. Smart, modest, and easy to look at. That's a lethal combination.”

“Real sorry about your mom, Marian.”

“I appreciate that, Virgil. I loved my mom. It's tough to let go. Just wasn't expecting it.”

“I understand. Guess you're wondering why I'm here and why I brought Jack.”

“Just a little bit. That's a lot of horse you put in the corral. I was watching from the porch. Big gelding.”

“He is big, but if you were a little closer than the porch, you would have seen that he's intact.”

She stepped to the side to get a better look at Jack, who was still stretching his legs.

“My, my, so he is. Bet the girls are eager to make his acquaintance. Stunning.”

“Tomorrow morning, at first light, I'm going up on that tableland to see if I can find your father.”

“You think something's happened to him?”

“Well, I believe tomorrow's the fifth day he's been gone. Aren't you concerned?”

“I wish he was here, because of what happened to Mom. It's going to be tough on him, but as far as being concerned, well . . . You have to understand, my dad has always been the toughest man I've ever known. He's gone up on that plateau hundreds of times, most of the time branding, riding herd on some of the meanest critters God ever saw fit to cover with cowhide. He's been gored, kicked, and stomped on, been down more times than I can count, but he's never been out. So no, I haven't been concerned. Do you have a reason to be, besides how long he's been gone? Because he's been gone many times longer than this.”

For the next few minutes, Virgil told Marian about the
recent events that ended with him bringing Jack up to High Lonesome ranch. When he finished, Marian reached out and ran her hand along one of the rails of the corral, then looked toward the unbroken stretch of land that ended at the far horizon. She didn't say anything right away. Her teeth were clenched so that the skin on her face was so tight her cheekbones became even more prominent.

“Damn barbiturates,” she said. “You'd have to just about hog-tie her to get her to take an aspirin. So, what you're saying here is, Mom didn't go naturally.”

“That seems to be the case, but Ark, I mean Dr. Kincaid, is still looking.”

“But this makes no sense. Why would someone do this? To a seventy-five-year-old woman who never did harm to anyone?”

“That's the question I'm trying to answer. Maybe if I find Charlie that will give me a piece of the puzzle that I'm missing.”

V
irgil stood alone in the huge, empty barn. It was an eerie feeling. He set his saddle on the top rail of the closest stall. He had already hung Jack's bridle on the hook of a corner post. Now he started down the center walkway, which ran the length of the barn. Every stall was empty. When he had walked into his newly built barns the day they were completed, he had felt the loss of past remembrance. Here the feeling was more of abandonment. Perfectly good buildings that no longer had a purpose. It seemed like such a waste. An orange cat came out from one of the empty stalls. She came over to him, brushing up against his leg. He bent down, stroked her, then picked her up.

“Got the whole place to yourself. Probably even the rats have left.”

She purred contentedly. He set her back down, then walked back out to his truck. He grabbed a bale of hay from the bed of the pickup, brought it back into the barn, then set it down outside the stall. He put his knee into the center, pushing it into a
V shape so he could pop the hay cords. Then he took three flakes, opened the stall door, and dropped them into the hay rack. All of the wood had the rich, dark patina of age and use. He rubbed his hand over the edge of the top trim of the hay rack. From the decades of animals rubbing their necks on it as they reached in for hay, it showed no wood grain and was as smooth as marble.

Virgil went back outside and unhitched the horse trailer. Jack was still in the corral. Finally, he walked down toward the house. Marian Davies was outside in the flower garden. When she saw him coming, she stood up. He saw a profusion of flowers lying in neat piles at her feet.

“Mom loved her gardens and her flowers. Some of them have already been nipped by the frost. I figured I'd gather up what I could. The mums look okay. The white and yellow will look good with a mix of the blue asters. See if I can keep them fresh enough to bring to Simpson's when we can get Mom there for a last good-bye.”

“That's a real nice idea,” Virgil said. “Rosita . . . Rosie, who found your mom, loves her gardens.”

“I don't remember her, but Dave Brand, her husband, was in school with me. Really nice guy.”

“Still is,” Virgil said. “He's one of my deputies. Actually, he's in charge of the annex down in Redbud.”

“Redbud? Why down there? Nothing but cactus and armadillos.”

“Guess it's been a while for you. Since the interstate interchange was completed, there's a motel, a Quik and Easy, and the headquarters of Hayward Trucking.”

“Micah Hayward running the operation down there? Heard about Audrey. She was a piece of work.”

Virgil couldn't stifle a smile at the reference. “I guess you could say Audrey was one of a kind. As far as your question, Caleb, Micah's son, handles most of the operation down in Redbud while Micah, now that Audrey's gone, oversees everything at Crow's Nest.”

“Guess when you're out of the loop, the wheels keep turning. People die, children grow up.”

“Yes. The past is the past.” Virgil glanced back at the empty corrals and barns.

Marian followed his gaze. “So, what can I do for you, Virgil?”

“Was wondering if I could ask a favor. I've decided to go visit my grandfather. Then I'll either stay there tonight or head back to my place. If you could ask my foreman, Cesar, before he's leaving with his last load of hay to put Jack in that first stall in the large barn, I'd appreciate it. He'll see it's set up for him. This way I won't have to stop back, but I'll be here to get an early start in the morning.”

“No problem, Virgil. But if you don't know that country up there, how do you figure you're going to be able to find Dad?”

“Well, I'm hoping to get lucky.”

*   *   *

It was a little after noon when he started up to the mesa. His stomach was growling. He'd worked hard to keep the plane crash in the Superstitions on the back burner, but it hadn't been easy. Real-time images of him and Ruby together or her alone kept randomly popping into his mind. There was some comfort in going to see a man who had been an anchor point in his life. He had buried two wives and all of his children, none of whom had made it past forty. Now he was presiding over third and fourth generations. He gunned the engine at the last rise, then
pulled his truck next to his grandfather's double-wide. When he got out, he saw no signs of life, so he went inside. He had just sat down at the kitchen table with a sandwich and a soda when the door opened and his grandfather came in carrying some packages. Virgil got up and took them from him.

“There's more outside, Virgil.” He went outside and saw Mrs. Hoya struggling with a case of soda she was trying to get out of the back of the pickup.

“Here. You go inside. I'll take care of the rest of this.”

“Thank you, Virgil.” She insisted on carrying one of the bags. By the time he finished his last trip, they had already put away most of the groceries.

“Seems like you got enough here to last a month.”

“Oh, most of this is for tomorrow,” Mrs. Hoya said.

Virgil sat down to eat the sandwich he had made.

“We didn't expect you today,” his grandfather said.

Virgil spent the next few minutes explaining why he would not be able to make his customary Thanksgiving visit.

“Well, we will miss you,” his grandfather said. “I understand, but I am concerned. That's rugged country. You will be alone.”

Virgil sat quietly, listening to yet another person telling him to be careful, but this was his grandfather, who knew well the dangers of the world. He spent a couple of hours visiting with both his grandfather and Mrs. Hoya. They brought him up to speed on all the reservation gossip. A couple of times as she was speaking, he saw his grandfather roll his eyes. Finally, he stood to leave.

“You are welcome to spend the night.”

“I know, but I thought maybe I'd get home before Cesar and the boys finish their last hay run. I'll be there to help them and I can take care of the barn chores tonight. Cesar still thinks he's a young man.”

“Only in his head,” Grandfather said. “When he gets out of bed tomorrow, his body will tell him otherwise and tomorrow you will be a pilgrim.”

“A pilgrim?”

“Yes, you know the story of the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving. One time, long ago, I looked that word up in the dictionary. I think it was after an argument with my brother. He didn't want to celebrate Thanksgiving. I think he said it should be a day of mourning for all Indians.”

Virgil sat back down. “You didn't agree, Grandfather?”

“Well, I wasn't sure. But my brother was so adamant, he got me angry. He did that a lot. You know what people today say: pissed off. He used to piss me off a lot. So I looked up that word, ‘pilgrim.' A pilgrim is a seeker, someone who is looking for something. It didn't say what they were looking for, but I think a pilgrim is looking for answers because he doesn't know. You are looking for answers, too. That's why tomorrow you will be a pilgrim.”

“Did your brother change his mind?”

“No. He was hardheaded. He was one of those people who think they know everything.”

“How do you feel about Thanksgiving now? Billy Three Hats calls it the white man's feast.”

The old man looked about the trailer and at Mrs. Hoya before he responded. “I think it was a good thing for those people. They had come through some hard times and survived. Everybody goes through hard times in their life. My brother said that they killed Indians and the others that came after them did the same. He was right, but they weren't the first to do that. Indians had been killing one another, long before those
people came. I think it is a good thing to be thankful, especially after you've lived through difficulties. Anyhow, I am thankful.”

He reached across the table, covering Virgil's hand with his. When he withdrew it, he covered Mrs. Hoya's hand in the same way. She was beaming.

“Grandfather, I hope someday to be as wise as you.”

“When I first saw you today, Virgil, there was sadness in your eyes. I don't know why. You don't have to tell me. But you are a seeker. Someone who seeks answers is already wise.”

Virgil carried the conversation with him when he left.

*   *   *

He had just passed through Hayward, a couple of miles to go before the turnoff to the ranch. As he rounded a curve, he came upon a pickup off on the shoulder. He slowed, then pulled up in back of the vehicle. He got out and walked around the passenger's side of the truck to the front. He saw a young woman was talking on a cell phone. When she saw him, she quickly ended her call. Virgil thought she looked familiar.

“What's the problem?” Virgil asked.

“I ran out of gas. Meant to get some before I left town, but with shopping for tomorrow, I forgot. I was hoping, when I realized I was almost out, that I could make it home, but . . .” She raised both hands in dismay.

“Well, we've all done it. Don't worry, I've got gas in the truck. Give me a minute and you'll be on your way.”

Virgil got his five-gallon gas can from the bed of his pickup, then poured it into the empty tank.

“You're all set,” he said.

“Aren't you the sheriff?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I didn't recognize you at first, out of the uniform. I'm Hayley, the nurse from the hospital. I remember when you came looking for Jimmy Tillman.”

“Oh, yes. I knew you looked familiar, but you're also out of uniform.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we've both got to pass for civilians once in a while. Otherwise, we just become vaguely familiar faces. Sheriff, wait till I get my wallet. For the gas.”

Virgil waved no, shaking his head. “Gas is on me. Better get home with your groceries. Glad I could help. I'll wait to make sure she starts right up.”

Hayley climbed into the cab. The first time she turned the key, the engine came alive.

“Thanks, Sheriff. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Virgil watched as she pulled off the shoulder onto the hard surface. A small dust cloud stirred up as the back tires dug into the shoulder before catching the hard surface.

“Damn. Damn, that's it.” He pulled out his cell, then speed-dialed Art Kincaid's number.

“Ark.”

“What's up, Virgil?”

“That girl, Ark. That poor girl who hit Jimmy's cruiser. Remember, I said she looked familiar. Coupla months back, she had a blowout. I came upon her alongside the road. I stopped and changed the tire for her. I knew I had seen her before. She was wearing a kind of uniform with a logo on the pocket. You know the kind of outfit, work clothes, same color, maybe olive green, khaki. The pickup had a logo on the door also.”

“What was it, Virgil?”

There was a long pause.

“I can't remember,” Virgil said. “I'm trying to picture it, but I'm drawing a blank.”

“Well, without it, your recall doesn't give us that much more.”

“Yeah, I know. At least I know I'm not cracking up. I mean, I've been looking at that woman's face a lot of nights when I was trying to get to sleep. Now at least I know where I met her.”

“True, but like we talked about when you were in the office . . . now you've only got more questions. What was she doing? Where was she going or coming from? What company did she work for? Maybe if you get answers to some of those questions, then we can figure out who she is.”

Virgil sat in his pickup after the conversation ended. He put his cell phone in the console, looking out at the empty, winding road. He was no closer to identifying the unnamed woman lying under a sheet in the basement of Hayward Memorial. He didn't know how, but he was going to find out her name, why she was in Hayward, and how she came to flying out of the night to land on Jimmy's cruiser.