Mourning Gloria (6 page)

This was an entirely fictional portrayal, of course. Pecan Springs is picturesque and pretty, but on a per capita basis, there’s just as much insatiable greed, unbridled passion, and downright bad temper in this town as there is in any other small community on the outskirts of a modern big city. And since the town is halfway between San Antonio on the south and Austin on the north and crime tends to flow in both directions along I-35, we get the spillover from both cities. We also get some of the bad stuff that seeps north from the border counties, which are engaged in an escalating war with the drug cartels in Mexico and the coyotes who haul illegals across the border. Peek under our cozy cover, and you’ll get a glimpse of our darker side.

Under Hark’s editorial direction, the
Enterprise
shines some light into this darkness. He tries to avoid the merely sensational, but he prints the stories that matter—and tell the truth about who we are. The recent corruption case on the city council, for instance, and the meth labs that Blackie closed down in the outlying county, and the chemical spill in the Pecan River. Naturally, this does not please those folks, like the Chamber of Commerce, who would prefer to portray Pecan Springs as a town so clean it squeaks. They’d like to see the Fire Department’s Taco Breakfast Fundraiser above the fold on page one, or the annual First Baptist Charity Rummage Sale. But Hark is stubborn, journalistically speaking. He tells it like it is.

“No, you’ve never missed a deadline,” Hark said, patting the chair next to him. “Come sit beside me, China.”

I sat. Hark is a Garrison Keillor kind of guy—rumpled dark hair, heavy build, sloping shoulders, soft speech, shambling gait. You wouldn’t exactly call him exciting: he goes to work at the
Enterprise
every day, shows up at softball games, and covers the Elks Club picnic and the Fourth of July parade. His only vice is an occasional game of pool, so far as I know, anyway. But while an electric personality may have a certain appeal in the short run, it seems to me that reliability, trustworthiness, and comfort count for more in the long haul. And where intellect is concerned, Hark is one of the sharpest guys I know, and definitely the most curious.

Hark and Ruby have been dating since before last Christmas. She’s finally begun to pull herself out of the spiral that sucked her down after Colin died, and for that, Hark deserves some of the credit. For all of her adult life, in every relationship I’ve known anything about, Ruby has loved the guy more than he has loved her. With Hark, it’s the other way around. He cares more than she does. Unfortunately, Ruby has gotten into the habit of thinking that unrequited love is the only kind of love there is, and I’m not sure she’ll settle down with somebody who seriously loves her. But for now, she seems content to hang out with Hark, he seems happy, and I’m glad.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Anything exciting on the journalistic horizon?” Hark has two staff writers who handle the local news, plus one or two interns from CTSU and the usual gaggle of unpaid “correspondents” from various clubs and organizations. But as he often says, reporters can’t make the news—all they can do is report it.

“Exciting?” Hark chuckled wryly. “This town is as dull as a bachelor bull with no cows in sight. Just to show you how bad it is, the Farmers’ Market is gonna be the headline in the next issue.” He eyed me. “Unless you can come up with a thriller of some sort. Got any good ideas?”

“How about a prepublication review of the Laughtons’ new book on the importance of small farms?” I offered helpfully. “Stu is speaking at tomorrow night’s meeting of the Local Food Society. Margie is making the pizza sauce. I could do a write-up.”

“Whoopee,” Hark said. “A real thriller. Anyway, it’s already assigned. Jessica is covering the meeting. Writing the review, too.”

Jessica Nelson is a grad student in the CTSU agricultural journalism program and a summer intern at the
Enterprise
. I met her at Mistletoe Creek Farm last summer, where she was getting some hands-on experience in the operation of a market farm. I liked her because she has a lively enthusiasm for her work, and over the following few months, she began to hang around the shop. She also helps Donna with the Farmers’ Market and volunteers with the Local Food Society. From Hark, she is learning how a small-town newspaper operates, with the hope that one or two rural newspapers will still be hiring when she finishes her master’s degree. I hope so, too. Jessica is smart and nosy and stubborn, three traits that make for a good reporter. She’s the kind of writer we need these days. At the rate newspapers are going under, though, she may have to look for another line of work.

“Jessica will be here a little later,” Amy told us, on her way to the table with a plate of shortcakes. “She’s bringing strawberries.” To Hark she added, “I met her when she was writing that story on that awful puppy mill over in New Braunfels.” Amy, an animal lover, is a veterinary assistant at the Hill Country Animal Clinic.

“Jessica is a hard worker,” Hark allowed. “She has a tough time staying objective, but that’s something you learn over time. And once she sinks her teeth into a story, she’s ruthless.” He shrugged. “Of course, there haven’t been a helluva lot of stories worth the effort lately. Not so good for a competitive reporter who wants to make her mark in the world of journalism. I tell her it’s not too late to move her internship to San Antonio or Houston, where things are happening.”

I grinned. “How about turning her loose with a romantic scoop? ‘Local Police Chief and Adams County Sheriff Plan September Wedding.’”

“Again?” Hark pulled his dark eyebrows together. “I’ll believe it when I see folks tossing rice after the ceremony.”

“They don’t toss rice anymore, Hark. It’s not environmentally friendly. They toss birdseed. Or grass seed.”

“Whatever.” He paused. “Do you really think they’ll do it? Sheila and Blackie, I mean.”

“Dunno,” I said thoughtfully. “They certainly seemed happy enough this morning. She was showing off her diamond, which is big enough to choke a horse. He was looking smug.”

“Breaks my heart, you know,” Hark said with an exaggerated sigh.

I patted his hand. “Poor Hark. Love lost, and all that.”

“Tell Ruby she needs to help me take my mind off Sheila’s defection.”

“You tell her.”

He made a wry face. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

“She doesn’t listen to me, either.” I pointed to where Ruby was holding a yellow buttercup under Baby Grace’s chin in the age-old childhood game, to see if she liked butter. The little girl, her hair as red and curly as her grandmother’s, was giggling and snatching at the flower. “There’s our competition. Ruby is totally besotted with that child. You and I might as well be on the moon.”

“Well, it could be worse,” Hark said in a resigned tone. “It could be another guy. Where Ruby’s concerned, I’ll take what I can get.”

We sat there for a few companionable minutes, indulging in our feelings of mutual neglect. Then Ruby brought Grace over and put her on Hark’s lap, and Caitlin came over and asked me if she could stay overnight.

“Have Amy and Kate invited you,” I asked in my sternest momtone, “or have you invited yourself?”

Amy was using a pair of tongs to turn foil-wrapped ears of sweet corn on the grill. Over her shoulder, she said, “We invited her. Say yes, China. You know how Caitie loves to read stories to Grace. They’re working on
The Velveteen Rabbit.
”

Amy is a younger edition of her mother, tall, slender, freckled. When I first met her, she looked and dressed like a punk rocker, but now that she’s a mom, the wild child seems to be settling down.

“Say yes, China,” Kate commanded, putting a platter of hamburgers and hot dogs on the table. “We love to have her.”

Kate Rodriguez owns an accounting service and does the taxes for many local firms, including Ruby’s and mine. She is tall and sturdily built, with a quiet dark-haired beauty passed down to her by generations of Mexican ancestors. She and Amy make a striking couple.

“Pretty please, Aunt China?” Caitie wheedled, leaning on the arm of my chair. “Kate says they’ll bring me home in the morning.”

“Okay,” I said. “But no solo babysitting until she’s at least thirteen,” I reminded Kate, in case they were planning to go out later. Caitlin may think she’s old and wise enough to cope with baby emergencies, but I don’t.

“Boo-hoo,” Caitie pouted.

“Your mom makes the rules,” Amy said to Caitlin. “But when you’re thirteen, you’re hired.” She took Grace from the long-suffering Hark. “Come on, cutie. Time for a change.”

“You said it,” Hark muttered, peering down at his lap.

A light, cheerful voice interrupted my response. “Hi, everybody! Sorry I’m late. I stayed at the farm to help Donna feed the livestock—and pick a few strawberries.”

I turned to see Jessica Nelson, the summer intern at the
Enterprise
. She’s in her early twenties, a lively young woman with boy-cut blond hair and freckles across an upturned nose. Cute and sassy, she has an easygoing manner and a soft Southern voice that’s at odds with the watchful, intent expression in her brown eyes. On the surface, she’s just another young journalism student learning a profession, but I have the feeling that there’s a great deal more to her than that. Maybe it’s because I sometimes see myself in her—myself when I was her age, unwilling to take no for an answer and eager to get on with the pressing business of becoming the best and brightest lawyer the world had ever seen.

“Hey, Jessica,” Amy said. “You brought the strawberries for the shortcake?”

“Ta-da!” Jessica said, pulling the cover off a plastic container and holding it out. “Fresh out of the field. And I’ve brought real whipped cream! None of that squirt-out-of-a-can stuff.”

“Milked the cow, too, did you?” Hark inquired dryly, and Jessica stuck her tongue out at him.

He grinned. “Just checking. Some folks carry this locavore business to extremes, y’know. Figured maybe you were one of those.”

Kate picked up a fork and rapped a glass. “Time to fill plates, everybody. Food’s getting cold.”

Caitlin came over and took my hand excitedly, tugging me out of my chair. “Come on, Aunt China, I’m starving. Let’s eat!”

We gathered around the picnic table, helped ourselves to good food, ate and talked, and talked and ate some more. The corn (picked the day before, bought at this morning’s market) was delicious, slathered with herbed butter, wrapped in foil, and grilled. The hamburgers and hot dogs and toasted buns were summertime perfect. The potato salad was just the way your grandmother always made it, and Jessica’s fresh-picked strawberries, heaped on homemade shortcakes and topped with real whipped cream, tasted as good as they looked. After that, none of us could eat another bite.

Hark and I took over at that point, and the two of us and Caitlin managed the kitchen cleanup—only fair, since the others had done the cooking. When we finished, we all sat around for a while, talking idly, until Ruby announced that she and Hark were going dancing at the Long Shot Saloon (which was why she was wearing her twirly dance skirt and cowgirl boots). I looked at my watch and discovered that it was after nine. I gave Caitie a hug, said my thanks and good-byes, and followed Hark and Ruby to our cars.

Ruby paused beside Hark’s old green Subaru. “Want to go out to the Long Shot with us?” She grinned. “I’m sure you can find a cowboy or two to dance with.”

“No cowboys for me,” I said, without regret. “I’m a married woman, remember? Anyway, I was up before dawn and out in the garden, not to mention working the market all morning and the shop the rest of the day. I’m heading for home, a bath, and bed. Have to feed the dog, too.” Caitie and I had gone straight to Amy’s after we stopped at the bank. Howard Cosell’s supper was going to be several hours late. I hoped he wouldn’t mind.

“Don’t say we didn’t ask,” Ruby replied. “What time are you picking me up tomorrow evening?”

“Is six okay?” I asked. “The meeting starts at six thirty.”

“Sure. See you at six.” She waved good-bye and I got into my Toyota, turned the key in the ignition, and started for home, thinking that Howard was going to get his late dinner in less than twenty minutes.

As things turned out, however, he was going to have to wait a couple of hours longer.

Jessica stayed for a half hour after China and Ruby and Mr. Hibler left, drinking another glass of wine and enjoying the pleasant company of Amy and Kate. Then she said good night and drove home through the warm, starlit evening. Since January, she had been living in an older house on Santa Fe, a residential street in the hilly area north of campus, not far from the river. She’d be alone tonight, because Amanda, her current roommate, had gone camping with her boyfriend, which was just fine with Jessie. In fact, she had been looking forward to going home to an empty house, happily aware that it was hers for the entire week and that she could do whatever she pleased—invite people over, have a party, whatever. She probably wouldn’t, though. She had a few friends, but she was basically a loner. When she had time to spend at home, she’d rather be by herself.