Death on the High Lonesome (2 page)

H
e felt like a stranger in his own world. Clouds of dust obscured the last of the trucks as he stood watching in the driveway. They would not be back. Virgil looked on till they reached the hard road, then stood even longer while the dust settled. When he moved at last, he turned to the two newly built barns that stood in the footprints of their predecessors. Bigger, gleaming, evidence of the latest in structural technology, they did nothing for him but confirm his displacement.

Almost reluctantly, he walked toward them. When he got close he could smell the sawn wood siding. He reached a side door, but before entering, he ran his fingers over the splintered roughness that butted the doorframe. Cesar had asked him the afternoon before, as one of the workers was putting the finishing touches on some trim, if he had thought of a color or if he just wanted to seal the wood, keeping it natural. Virgil's lack of response caused him to repeat his question.

“Whatever we're going to do to the outside, we maybe want
to get done before winter. On the other hand, maybe we should just let the wood season till next year. What do you think?”

Virgil looked at Cesar like he was speaking in tongues. “I don't know. Let me think on it.”

Cesar got up from his usual seat on the front porch. As he passed by Virgil's chair, he reached out and lightly touched his shoulder.

“No rush,” he said. “It'll keep.”

Virgil knew that if there was one person in the world who had a clue as to how he felt, it was Cesar. Now as he stood with his hand on the brand-new doorknob, he felt that when he pushed it open, a chunk of his past would disappear. The scab had to fall from the wound, in the process of healing. In the deepest part of his brain there was the realization that he had to move forward. He clenched his teeth and pushed. The door swung open so easily it surprised him. He could recall the hundreds of times when the wood in the old barns would swell and resist entry until a foot or shoulder was brought into play.

The barns were pretty much mirror images of each other in terms of their exterior dimensions. This one however had a separate tack room along with two rooms that were set aside for Cesar's living quarters. Virgil had made sure they were a significant upgrade from Cesar's previous room. He was pleased when he checked out the two finished rooms and saw that Cesar had already left his imprint. A few colorful scenes hung on one wall in the bedroom, framed with a gaucho's bolo. In the adjoining room, which served as a kitchen and living room area, there were terra-cotta plates sitting on a tablecloth with a Southwestern motif of mixed desert flowers, along with all-new appliances, which reminded him how dated the kitchen was in the main house. He did not miss the half-filled bottle of tequila sitting on the counter
next to the refrigerator. When he left the living area after checking out the modern bathroom, his mood had lightened.

By the time he got to the second barn, it was again becoming a struggle to not look for the pleasant ghosts of his past. They had been so alive to him in the old barns that had been reduced to ashes. There was not the full-throated laughter of his father in response to the gentle teasing of his mother. He did not hear her singing as she curried Star. He did not see himself as a boy unsuccessfully trying to lasso one of the chickens as it pecked aimlessly along the dirt corridor between the stalls, or see his father easily do the exact same thing.

By the time he got to the second hayloft upstairs, a huge empty space, he was feeling just as empty. He came down the stairs, an improvement over the ladders in the old barns, as Cesar had readily pointed out. When he reached the bottom, he gripped the handrail tight, then sunk slowly to the second step, sinking in a sea of remembrance. There was nothing of his past in this place. He lowered his head. His hat fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up to dust it off.

“Not even dust here,” he said to the empty space.

He looked down the length of the barn to the opened double doors that led into the corral. The wide expanse of light was divided in two by an unrecognizable figure. Doubting the evidence of his own senses, he rubbed his eyes before he looked again. The figure started moving down the passageway toward him. He saw the golden red hair catching the last of the sun outside. The figure stopped less than twenty feet from him and his heart skipped a beat. A name jumped from his past into his mouth.

“Rusty.”

“No, Virginia,” she answered. “I thought maybe we should talk.”

“Let's go up to the house.” He nodded in that direction, then stepped ahead of her.

Virginia followed him wordlessly back down the walkway between the vacant stalls out into the corral. Before he could open the gate for her, she slipped effortlessly through the rails. He did the same. When he stood up on the other side, she was facing him. She was taller than he'd realized.

The house, sitting on a knoll on the opposite side of the driveway, was catching the late-afternoon sun. The glare of reflected light on the facing windows made it seem larger than it was. The cottonwood, to the left of the kitchen entrance, defied the light, shading about a third of the porch that ran across the front of the house. Virgil instinctively stopped at the bootjack outside the door and slipped off his boots.

“You were well trained.” She then bent down to untie her sneakers. Virgil put out his hand.

“No, no,” he said. “That's not necessary. It's just force of habit for me. My boots aren't even dirty. The barns are brand-new, just been built.”

She stood up. “That's not a bad habit.”

“I should have brought you in the main door. I just hardly ever use it.”

“Do you often talk to yourself?”

“Oh, I guess I do sometimes. Some of my best conversations, but I get kinda concerned when I start arguing with myself, especially when I lose the argument.” He half smiled.

“You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. It looks good on you.”

He held open the door and she stepped inside.

“Nice. Comfortable.” She looked about the kitchen.

Virgil saw only the dirty dishes piled in the sink. “I didn't get to the dishes yet. I wasn't expecting . . .” He didn't finish. “Would you like something? A drink maybe? A glass of iced tea?”

“Iced tea would be great.” With her own half smile. “But if you don't have any made a beer would be great, too.”

Virgil took off his hat and put it on the counter, then he got two glasses and put them alongside. He reached into the fridge and brought out a nearly full pitcher of iced tea. He set it next to the glasses.

“The real deal,” she said when she saw actual lemons floating in the pitcher.

“Yeah, sometimes the old-fashioned way is best.” Virgil filled two glasses and handed one to Virginia. “Maybe you'd like to sit in the living room.”

Before she could respond, he left the kitchen. She followed, glancing to her left at the stairs that led to the second floor. They crossed through the hall to the dining room, then through the arched opening that led from the dining room to the living room, which ran across the entire back of the house. A huge picture window centered on the rear wall looked out on a broad, grassy area. Clusters of wildflowers broke up the green. To the right, she could see the ever-running creek that twisted in back of the barns, making its way toward the road. It emptied into a substantial pond, alongside of which stood a white summerhouse with a trellised-rose entryway. The living room itself was sparsely furnished. A couple of leather chairs faced a stone fireplace. In front of the picture window was a long sofa covered in a fabric of light earth tones. On either side of the sofa were rustic end tables while on the floor was a vivid hooked rug. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a trestle desk and chair on the half wall to the right of the entryway. Western prints hung on all the walls.

“This is really nice,” she said as she sat down in the sofa opposite the picture window. “It feels like a real home.”

Virgil sat at the other end. “Not quite as imposing as Crow's Nest.”

“True, but also not as pretentious. I think Crow's Nest was built to make a statement. This house was built to be lived in.”

Virgil nodded.

“It's so green.” She gestured toward the expanse on the other side of the picture window.

“Bottomland.”

“Bottomland?”

“When my great-grandfather came to this country he knew how important water was and he let that inform his choice of where to homestead. Turns out he probably got the best parcel of land in this part of the country. We're green when in the dry a lot of other people are eating dust. We do irrigate some, but that's mostly BLM lease land, not part of the deeded property.”

“Interesting.”

They sipped from their glasses. They each started to speak, then stopped. They smiled while the awkward moment passed.

“I thought maybe you might stop by Hilltop, but then I thought the house, Crow's Nest, wasn't the place for this conversation. I actually stopped by here last week. I met your foreman, Cesar. He was very nice.”

“I'm sorry I missed you, but I'm glad you met Cesar. He's much more to me than a foreman.”

“I know. I could tell by the last thing he said to me.” She took another sip from her glass, then set it on the wood table next to her.

“What was that last thing that Cesar said to you?”

Virginia angled her body so she was looking directly at Virgil.
“He said it was good for me to come and talk to my father now that he is feeling alone.”

Virgil said nothing as the silence in the room became almost painful. Finally, he stood up and walked to the window. The shadow of the house crept up toward the meadow in back as the sun started its journey toward evening. The demarcation line between light and dark was very clear. There was no gray, only the light and the dark. Virgil turned and looked at the girl. She sat on the edge of the sofa while he tried to understand the look in her eyes. Unexpected emotions battered him. He took a step toward her. He reached out his hand. Her fingers tentatively touched his.

“I guess we don't have to worry about the elephant in the room anymore. Cesar took care of that.” His smile broadened when he saw the relief come into her eyes. “When did you find out?”

“My grandmother Audrey. She left me a letter when she died. How did you find out?”

“From Audrey. The day she died. There's a woman who pretty much runs my office. Rosita. Rosie. You'd probably like her. Everybody does. Anyway, she made a comment after Audrey's funeral about her seeming to go out with a whimper. A surprise to anyone who knew her, considering she wore the name of the town. Well, I guess as far as you and I are concerned, Rosie for once was wrong. I'd say she went out with a bang, wouldn't you?”

Virginia could only nod her agreement. Her eyes were glistening. Her fingers tightened in Virgil's hand. He gently tugged and she rose to her feet. They stood as close to each other as they ever had. In a voice barely above a whisper, Virgil was the first to speak. “Would you mind if I gave you a hug?”

“No,” she answered. “I think I'd like that.”

Virgil wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. They stood like that a long time.

T
he phone was ringing when he stepped back into the kitchen after she had gone. He had been planning on driving into Hayward, figuring he'd stop by the office by way of routine. The idea of routine ended when he picked up the phone and heard Rosie's voice.

“Virgil, Jimmy's been in an accident. He was coming off the saddleback last night. Something went bad. He's been at the bottom of a crevasse for the last eight or ten hours pinned in his car. The ambulance is on its way with Toby Sweets's wrecker. Doesn't look too good.”

Virgil's ranch was closest so he got to the scene before the ambulance or the tow truck. He came up toward the saddleback from the south. When he saw the interstate overhead he pulled off onto the right shoulder. He knew that if Jimmy had been on his way down, he would have lost it somewhere on the other side of the road. He also knew there was very little shoulder on that side before the drop-off. He crossed the road, looking for some
indication of where the cruiser had left the road. The only evidence was some spread gravel on the hard surface. When he first glanced down the embankment he saw nothing. The sides were sheer and it was a long way to the bottom. He realized that the car must have gone airborne, so he immediately started down the slope. It was at least thirty feet of treacherous slip sliding, holding on to saplings or anything else he could grab before he hit level ground. Then he saw the first sign. Tops of woody brush had been flattened or ripped off. He followed the trajectory they offered. It was another forty to fifty feet of bushwhacking before he saw the rear end of the car. He heard sirens up above. Help had come. Whatever he was about to find, he would not have to deal with it alone. Instead of yelling, he drew his sidearm and fired off two rounds. The roar echoed along the crevasse. When he looked up, he saw two or three EMTs at the top of the ridge.

“Down here! Down here!” He waved his Stetson till he got a wave back. In moments he was at Jimmy's cruiser. There was no way he was getting in on the driver's side so he climbed over the trunk to get to the other side. The passenger's door had actually popped open on impact. He saw Jimmy's body, but the view of his head was obscured by a tree limb that had smashed through the windshield. Virgil climbed onto the car's hood. Reaching through the broken windshield, he grabbed the limb and started pulling it back. The muscles in his back tightened as the tree resisted his efforts. Two EMTs reached the car. One of them, seeing what he was attempting, jumped up onto the hood. Together they strained until the branch started to come toward them. When they felt it starting to give, they redoubled their efforts. Suddenly, it snapped as it came free. Both men reeled back with the release till they fell off either side of the car.

Virgil was lying on his back in a tangle of undergrowth when he heard the other EMT.

“He's alive, Roscoe. Get over here. We've got to get a line into him before we get him out of the car. He's lost a lot of blood.”

Virgil started to get up by rolling over to the passenger's side of the hood. Through the shattered windshield, he came face-to-face with a girl who looked oddly familiar, but who was now clearly dead.

*   *   *

Later, slouched in a chair in a waiting room at the hospital, Virgil reflected on the suddenness of life. It was not new to him. His mother and father had left the ranch on a routine errand one day, only to drive out of his life forever. Since that day, rolling with the punches had been one of his strengths, but this day had him reaching for the ropes. He was exhausted and it must have showed.

“Don't get up, Virgil. I'll join you. You look like you've had a rough day.”

Virgil looked at the doctor, who was also his friend. “You could say that, Sam. Guess you're going to tell me whether it's about to get rougher.”

“Breathe easy, Virgil. I know you're heavily invested in that boy. He's going to be fine. Got two things working for him. He's young and he's got the constitution of a bull rider. Left arm is broke. So is his nose. But by and large his good looks are intact. Girls will still give him a second look. He's probably going to have a permanent part in his hair where that tree tried to scalp him. On top of that, a three-day headache to go along with that cut. What beats me is there is no evidence of a skull fracture or
even a hint of a concussion. When they talk about hardheaded, they must be talking about that boy. Couple of ribs are cracked. That will only hurt him when he breathes, but that's a habit he ought to try to keep up. We got him pretty doped up, but if you want to see him before you leave, don't expect him to make too much sense.”

Sam stood up, taking off his surgical cap as he did. “Now I'm going to get my supper. I'll look in on him later before I leave the hospital. By the way, he won't be much use to you for a couple of weeks.”

Virgil rose from his seat. “Did you speak with Jimmy's mom and sister?”

“No. I thought maybe it'd be better coming from you. Some folks get faint seeing a doctor walking toward them in scrubs. Might be a little less upsetting seeing you walk through the door.”

Virgil spent the better part of a half hour with Abby and Jimmy's mother. He was glad to give them good news, see the relief in their faces. Then he looked in on Jimmy, who would never know he had been there. He reached out and touched the side of Jimmy's cheek before he stepped away from the bed. A deep breath escaped him. It had been a close call. Anyone passing by might not have noticed the slight sag to Virgil's shoulders.

When he stepped outside into the night, he felt a slight chill in the air. It felt good. Before he got into his car, he looked up at a sky that couldn't hold another star. It was good to see they were all where they belonged.

It was past nine. He wasn't surprised when he pulled into the parking lot in back of his office to see a few extra cars there. Bob Jamison's red SUV he recognized. “Ears,” as he was well known, always kept a high profile. Pretty near everyone within the town
limits of Hayward knew the mayor's car. The other cars he did not recognize, with the exception of Dif Taylor's pickup, which on any ordinary night would have been the only car there. Virgil had a hunch that this night was not quite over for him. Before he turned the doorknob to his office, he took in a slightly deeper breath.

He was tired. It had been a long day. He could have done without this final chapter but he knew if he didn't give an accounting tonight, it would only be facing him in the morning.

There were four of them beside Dif and the mayor, all members of the town council. The only missing member was Harriet Kleman. Harriet and her husband, Karl, ran a florist business. Karl liked seeing the Kleman's Florist truck parked prominently in front of city hall. Harriet's absence tonight, Virgil knew, was not for a lack of concern, but due to the fact that she was getting ready to give birth. Karl was nearly forty-seven and Harriet was forty-five. They'd been married for twenty-five years and were childless. They pretty much figured that ship had left the dock for them after years of trying and thousands spent on fertility treatments. They'd even toyed with the idea of adoption or using a surrogate, but had finally resigned themselves to the notion that it just wasn't meant to be. That's when Harriet decided to run for a seat on the city council. Shortly after winning, a couple of severe bouts of indigestion and some missed periods along with a kind of bloated feeling sent her to a doctor. They were expecting a diagnosis of gallstones and menopause onset. Instead, it was a set of twins. Karl had been practically catatonic ever since. The joke around town was that these would be the first gallstones enrolled in preschool. Dif was the first one to get to Virgil when he stepped inside the door.

“How is he, Virgil?”

“He's good, Dif. I just left him. Doc says he'll be down awhile, but that he'll be good as new.” Bob Jamison had joined Virgil and Dif.

“I'm so glad to hear that, Virgil. I know how much you like that boy.”

Virgil heard similar positive comments coming from the table where three of the council members were sitting.

“Yeah, well I'm not so glad,” Lester Smoot said as he stood by Virgil's desk. “We got a cruiser lying in Toby Sweets's junkyard, smashed to bits and only good for parts. I hear that kid you like so much had a girl with him in the cruiser. Trailer park trash, that's all he is, and Bob, you talked us into giving that loser use of the car, twenty-four/seven.”

Dif moved so quickly even Virgil was taken off guard. His fist hit Lester Smoot's nose dead center. The crack of bone sounded like a rifle shot. Blood shot out like lava from a volcano. Lester went down. Dif stood over him as he started to moan.

“You sorry son of a bitch. That boy is worth ten of you. Before you get up off that floor, you better think twice about what you're going to say next or by God you'll be sleeping in the hospital bed next to him tonight.”

Virgil came alongside Dif. “Take it easy, old-timer. I think you made your point.”

Dif stepped back. Lester managed to get to his feet holding on to the desk.

“You . . . you broke my nose. He broke my nose. You all seen it. That old bastard. He broke my nose.”

Dif took a step forward. Lester scrambled to the far side of the desk, slipping in a blood puddle.

“You all seen it.”

Bob Jamison stepped forward. “Well, I must have got
distracted, Lester. But if you say so, it must be true. Because I know you wouldn't lie about such a thing. I don't know if any of the others here saw anything, but I'm sure they'd all pretty much agree, you wouldn't want us talking about something like this in public if it weren't true.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Here, Lester.” One of the council members had left the table and brought a towel to Lester, who was dripping blood like a leaky faucet.

“Well, Lester,” Bob Jamison continued, “you wouldn't want the story told around town that Dif here, a seventy-five-year-old, had busted you, a thirty-something-year-old man, in the nose and had come away from the incident without a scratch. You being held in such high regard and all. No, we know you wouldn't want a story like that being spread around in places like Margie's or the Branding Iron, a place I know you like to frequent. No . . . no, you wouldn't want that told unless it was absolutely true. So, that's just the way we'll make sure to tell it. Old Dif here just got the better of you. Now, since I'm mayor and Virgil here is sheriff, we'd be more than happy to follow up on your complaint if you want to make one. That is, unless you think you're mistaken and just got a little light-headed and maybe walked into a door or some other protrusion you just didn't see, because you were so happy to hear how one of our deputies who was seriously injured in the performance of his duty is going to be all right.”

A loud silence followed Bob “Ears” Jamison's narrative. Dif Taylor sat down in a nearby chair and appeared to be breathing heavily.

“Jesus H. Christ. Jesus H. Christ.” Lester Smoot held the towel soaked in blood to his nose and walked unsteadily to the door.

“Marvin, maybe you could drive Lester over to the hospital
and get his injury looked at. Tell them it happened while he was doing town business and the town insurance will take care of any bills.”

Marvin Lewis, the man who had brought Lester the towel, stood by the table where he had been sitting. “C'mon, Lester, let's get you fixed up so the girls will still smile at you.”

The two of them stepped out into the night. After a brief silence, Virgil turned to Dif Taylor.

“Man, I hope you never get pissed off at me, Dif.”

*   *   *

Virgil stayed till the last of the council members left. It was just him and Bob Jamison. Dif was going outside to clear his head, he told Virgil.

“I haven't popped anyone in twenty years,” Dif said as he stepped through the door. “I thought those days were behind me. Lester jist hit a nerve.”