Death on the High Lonesome (3 page)

“That was a close one. I'm glad Lester's ego is more fragile than his nose,” Bob said.

“Got to give it to you, Bob. You handled that like a politician.”

“Yeah, well, I'll feel a lot better when Jimmy wakes up and can tell us something about what happened and where that girl came from.”

All the way back to the ranch, Virgil thought about what Bob “Ears” Jamison had said. What kept him awake, though, was her face and the nagging thought that he had seen that face before.

V
irgil stepped onto the porch with his second cup of coffee in his hand. The steam swirled above the rim in the cool morning air, a reminder of the change that was coming. He sucked in a deep breath. The chilled air told him all he needed to know about the new season. He was ready for it. The previous spring, along with the summer that followed, had been gut-wrenching. Three bodies, a grim enough statistic, but their lives were much more than that. His own vulnerability exposed and the shocking revelation that he had a daughter. It was that last revelation that had him now trying to regain his footing. He put the still-steaming cup to his lips and looked at the newly built barns through different eyes. Moving forward, in the words of his newly discovered daughter . . . Starting over. Starting fresh. He was ready for the new day, whatever it would bring.

“Feels good, doesn't it?”

The words jolted him. “Jesus!” He almost spilled his coffee.

“No, that was my father. I'm still Cesar and we pronounce it ‘He-sus.'” Virgil watched the man who had been in his life longer than any other step over the side rail of the porch.

“Where are you coming from?”

“The holding pens. Wanted to check what shape they were in before we bring any of the cattle down. The loading ramps need a little work. Thought I'd put Pete and Joe on it today, so we're ready. Weather's changing.”

Virgil nodded. “There's some coffee in the pot. Get a cup and we'll talk.”

“I'll get the coffee, but there's not that much to talk about. All we have to do is come up with a number. Bottom line is we're heading toward winter without feed.”

He left Virgil with that thought. The slap of the screen door sounded like an exclamation mark. When he returned, he sat in one of the porch chairs. Virgil pulled a chair from the other side of the door so he could sit next to him.

“I'm not trying to ignore reality, but I don't want to decimate the herd if we can avoid it. We'll spend years trying to build it back up.”

“
Comprende
,” Cesar said. “But we lost most all our hay when the barns burned down. Maybe got fifteen, sixteen hundred bales in that old place across the road, but that'll be just enough to take care of the horses. Virgil, most of this part of the country is dealing with drought. A lot of beef's going to market for the same reason this fall.”

“That's what I'm thinking. If we send them to market now, we'll take a big hit.”

“Can't argue with that, but whatever we keep, we've got to feed. At least we've still got graze—many other places don't. Your granddaddy chose well when he came here. The cattle are
still doing well on the grass. No weight loss. But fall grass isn't spring grass and it doesn't grow back near as quick.”

Virgil got to his feet. “Let me think on it a bit. We've still got some time. Maybe something will come up. Anyhow, I'm outta here. Got to check on Jimmy.” He didn't go into detail about the incident. Past experience told him Cesar probably knew the whole story.

“Hope he's okay. He's young, he'll bounce back,
muy pronto
. Too bad about the girl.”

*   *   *

Instead of going directly to the hospital, Virgil stopped by the office. The door was open. He had to jump out of the way to avoid the dust storm that blew out of the opening. Following it was Rosie on the end of a broom.

“Did you have the whole town in here last night? You know, I'm going to be looking for something extra in my paycheck, to cover these janitorial duties.”

“Guess it don't hurt to look.” He slipped past as the last of the sweepings ended up in the parking lot from which they had come.

“Guess you'll want me to get you a cup of coffee now.”

“No. I had two cups before I left home. It is nice to know that you can multitask, however. Should include that on your résumé, along with those janitorial skills. I'll bet that fast-food place over in Redbud would hire you in a minute. Then you and Dave could commute together and share daily fast-food lunches. It'll be just like when you were teenagers and couldn't get enough of each other.”

For once, Rosie had no comeback. Then the phones on both desks started ringing simultaneously.

“It isn't even eight thirty,” Rosita said as she reached for the phone on her desk. Virgil walked to his, following her lead. Each spoke for a couple of minutes, then hung up. They looked at each other. Rosie spoke first.

“That was Velma Thompson. Seems Charlie's gone missing. She said he went to check on some strays up in that high country that they might have missed in the last roundup. I said you'd get out there as soon as you could. Your turn.”

“That was a trucker named Wilbur Anderson. He wants to come by in an hour or so. He says he thinks maybe he killed somebody.”

Rosie looked up at the wall clock that had been marking time for the last forty-some years. “Guess we won't be collecting moss today,” she said.

“Don't look like it. Guess I'd better get to the hospital before Mr. Anderson shows up. If I'm a little late, give him a cup of coffee.”

“Maybe I should run around the corner and buy him some doughnuts. After all, while I'm sitting here alone with a possible murderer, I should probably try to keep him happy.”

“That's not such a bad idea, but if I think I'm going to get hung up, I'll call Dif. He's still feisty enough to give you some protection. He busted Lester Smoot pretty good last night.”

“I figured something like that happened after mopping up the blood this morning. Guess old Dif's still got some gas in the tank. Knowing Lester, he probably got no more than he deserved. Send Dif on over.”

By the time Virgil pulled into the hospital parking lot, he had already called Dif. He explained the situation.

“Don't worry, Virgil, I'll head right over. Woke up feeling a
lot better than Lester. Called him and apologized for being a little quick on the trigger.”

“Good move, Dif. How did he take your apology?”

“Real good. Said to forget about it, but did ask me not to mention it around town. Said he didn't want people to get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, I suppose he didn't want that little incident exaggerated in the retelling and have the locals thinking their elected officials are not acting in a professional manner. Just let it go, Dif.”

“Okay, Virgil. Edna says I should start acting my age. I said I was.”

It was a little after nine when Virgil walked into Hayward Memorial. He was thinking he'd spent more time there in the last six months than he had in all the other years since its construction almost fifty years before. He knew exactly where to go, somewhat of an accomplishment since it had gone from a small local hospital to a very large regional one. When he got off the elevator on the fourth floor, he bumped into Chet Harris, the intern, finishing up his time as the coroner's assistant.

“Hey, Sheriff.”

“Chet, good to see you in the world of the living.”

“Well, I've got to get out of the basement once in a while. Too quiet down there.”

“Yeah, but some people are dying to get in there.”

“Sorry, Sheriff, that joke is so old it's got legs. Now, if you really want to hear some good ones, go out for a beer some night with Dr. Kincaid.”

“You're kidding me. Ark has a sense of humor?”

“Oh, yes. That weak offering of yours, he wouldn't waste on a five-year-old.”

“Wow. So all those years drinking formaldehyde haven't made him stiff. Unless a good-looking woman walks by.”

“Now, that's better. He'd have a good comeback for that.” A nurse pushing a cart full of meds passed by. She smiled at Chet.

“Hello, Karen,” Virgil said.

“Oh, hi, Sheriff. I didn't realize it was you.”

“Yeah, wearing a uniform with a loaded hogleg strapped to my hip I'm practically invisible.”

She kept on walking.

“I'm beginning to understand why you came out of the basement. Karen's a good reason. How long have you been a twosome?”

“Sheriff, you are a detective in uniform. I'm impressed.”

“Like a lot of suspects, you didn't answer the question.”

“Six months.” Chet smiled.

“Does that mean you're likely to stay around after your internship is up?”

“Well, let's say for right now, it's more of a possibility.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Virgil said. “By the way, how's the new eye?”

“I thought you'd never ask. So far so good. No irritation.”

“Which one is it?”

“That's funny. You're about the tenth person to ask that question.”

Chet pointed to his right eye. Virgil took a step closer.

“Perfect match. Guess it's time to sell the parrot.”

Chet laughed. “No, I'll keep the patch and the parrot. Halloween's just around the corner and everyone loves a pirate. Worked for Johnny Depp.”

“Listen, I've got to go check on my deputy. Do me a favor and tell Ark I'll be downstairs in about half an hour.”

“Will do. Good talking to you, Sheriff.”

“We're past that, Chet. My name is Virgil.”

Chet nodded, then stepped into the elevator.

Virgil walked down the hall toward Jimmy's room. Sam Harris was talking with Jimmy's mom in the hallway.

“Hello, Mrs. Tillman. How's he doing, Sam?”

“Like I said last night. He's strong and young. He'll heal quick, but he's going to need some PT for that arm. Probably be here for the better part of a week. We'll start the physical therapy before he leaves, then he'll just come in as an outpatient. I was just going over everything with Mrs. Tillman. You can go on in, Virgil.”

Virgil said his good-byes to both of them and stepped into Jimmy's room. Jimmy was sitting up in bed watching the television. As soon as he saw Virgil, he clicked it off.

“Hey, Sheriff.”

“Hope I didn't come in the middle of a good show.”

“No. I was just trying to get some baseball scores.”

“Oh, yeah. It's getting toward crunch time. Do you think the Rangers are going to be in it this year?”

“Outside chance, but the Cardinals, Dodgers, and Tigers are looking real good.”

“No East Coast teams?”

“Boston for sure, maybe Tampa, but the Yankees and Orioles at this point are real long shots.”

Virgil pulled up a chair. “You're looking real good, Jimmy. A lot better than last night.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I don't remember too much about that.”

“You up to trying to replay the tape for me? I'd like to get what happened straight from you.”

“It's all kinda jumbled. I tried thinking about it last night,
but they insisted on giving me something to make me sleep. From then on it was all bits and pieces.”

“Well, do the best you can. Let's see if we can put some of those pieces together.” Virgil listened while Jimmy walked him through his tour the night before.

“I remember how dark it was. Thinking how up on the ridge I couldn't see a light. Then I did.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I was coming down, heading toward the underpass, then I saw some lights on the interstate. I remember thinking, seeing them made me feel good. You know it was so dark, it was kind of like I wasn't alone. Guess it sounds kind of weird.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Then I went into the underpass. It was even darker. After that everything is mixed up in my head. As I was coming out there was some kind of explosion. The windshield . . . the glass . . . something hit it hard. I remember trying to hold on to the steering wheel. The car was out of my control. I yanked on the wheel. I think the tires were off the road, on the shoulder. I think I remember tires screeching on the hard surface. Then I felt like I was flying. That's the last thing I remember.”

“Anything else, Jimmy? Anything at all? Do you remember what hit you? What crashed into the car?”