Plains Crazy (18 page)

“Sure,” he agreed, pleased by her preference. He started the Cooper and guided it around the far side of the park, away from the lunch crowd. People waved and called to them. Mad Dog just beeped the Cooper's horn and waved back and kept right on going. He had to hurry when he got down to Main to beat the parade headed their way. Mad Dog was hard pressed to remember the last time he'd seen such a crowd in Buffalo Springs, or spent such an eventful day.

Janie broke their comfortable silence. “You should have told Mrs. Kraus about my…our son.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mad Dog agreed. “I'll let Englishman know, soon as I get a chance. I think the world of Mrs. Kraus, but somehow, everything she learns turns into communal knowledge. No need to expose you to more gossip than our being together today will have already started.”

“I got used to some people thinking I was a tramp while we were dating. It wasn't much worse than just being poor with no father. But really, Mad Dog. You should have given her those pictures so she could make copies for your brother and his deputies. The more people keeping an eye out for him, the safer you'll be.”

Mad Dog downshifted and pulled into the Dillons lot. He patted his pocket. “I looked at the pictures. I didn't recognize him. Most likely, that means he's not been around here long, and, like every stranger, he'll be treated with a healthy dose of suspicion by everyone in the community. Especially after what's been going on today. He won't be hard to find, Janie, though I'm not sure I want him found.”

“I know,” she said. “In spite of everything, he's still my son.”

The parking lot was almost deserted. Everyone was watching the parade or enjoying the picnic. Mad Dog parked in the middle of the empty lot, where no one would pull in next to the Cooper and open a door into it, or bang their shopping cart against its pristine paint.

“What would you like for our picnic?”

“You remember that place on Calf Creek where we used to go swimming?”

Mad Dog remembered. They used to park his '57 Chevy near a bridge and hike through the shallow water around the first bend and out of sight of the road. There had been a beach-like patch of sand along the north bank under a clump of thick cottonwoods that ensured privacy. The water in Calf Creek, unless it was flooding, was never deep enough for swimming, but there'd been a spot where the current had dug out a hole at least three feet deep. In the summer, sitting in that hole had been like sitting in a hot tub. He recalled the gentle caress of the bubbling current, and similar ones exchanged with the girl in the seat beside him. He felt an almost forgotten stirring deep inside and his voice was a little husky when he said, “I remember.”

“I'd like to have our picnic there,” she said. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes very intense.

Mad Dog cleared his throat. “I meant, what would you like to eat?”

Her eyes ran over him and she smiled. It was that wicked, elfin smile that had hung on his memory and made his heart ache for more than a decade after she left. “Anything you like.”

“Uhh, right,” Mad Dog gulped. He felt as clumsy as a teenager and practically tripped on the curb as he aimed for the Dillons entrance. In his head, he was eighteen again and there was a hot seventeen-year-old he loved more than life itself back in his car. This was time travel. It was too good to be true but he didn't care. He patted the back pocket of his jeans to see if he had a condom in there before he remembered he hadn't carried one for just-in-case in a long time.

“You're insane,” he told himself. Himself agreed and wondered how fast he could get from the Dillons parking lot to their old swimming hole on Calf Creek. Not fast enough, a portion of his anatomy answered.

***

“Hi, Mom,” Heather said to her cell phone. She was helping move tubs of ice cream out of the freezer in the Buffalo Springs Non-Denominational Church. The ice cream social would begin when the parade ended at Veterans Memorial Park. Two of Two was out there already, filling balloons with helium and showing kids how to make squeaky voices. Entertaining that hunk who was home from KU for a few days, too, and who was seriously pleased with the outfit Two had chosen that morning. One of Two might have felt left out, except she wasn't so much moving ice cream as supervising its movement. A couple of guys who'd been so far ahead of her in high school that she'd gone unnoticed by them had belatedly discovered her at the potluck. One was a junior at Ft. Hays, the other a senior at K-State. Both were handsome and mature and she was enjoying the way they were competing for her attention.

“Why didn't you come to the potluck?” she asked, while each of the guys tried to carry more tubs than the other.

“Something came up,” her mother said. There was a long pause as if her mom couldn't decide whether to tell her what that something was.

“What's that, Mom?” Heather asked. She had to stifle a giggle because the K-Stater was exaggerating his efforts to keep a gigantic stack of ice cream balanced, like some comedian from a silent movie clip.

“I, uhh…I need the car. Where is it?”

“You want me to bring it to you?”

“It'd probably be quicker if I came and got it.”

“I don't mind,” Heather told her mother. She didn't, really. It would only take a minute, and maybe her helpers, or one of them, might come along.

“Where is it, Heather? I'm late.”

“For what, Mom?”

There was another pause and Heather thought she could feel the steam her mother was generating through the phone's receiver. “The car's just north of Bertha's on Adams, Mom. But you probably should let me get it for you. The parade's coming and that's where they'll end up. You might not have time to get here before they block you in.”

“All right. Just bring the damn car. I've got to catch a plane for Paris.”

“What?” Heather asked, suddenly oblivious to the guys vying for her attention. Her mother didn't answer. The dial tone suddenly hummed in her ear.

***

The Kansas Bureau of Investigation knew the state had a Benteen County, and that its sheriff was named English.

“How's the weather in Buffalo Springs, Sheriff English?” the agent asked as the sheriff dodged the parade on Main Street.

“Probably about as perfect as it is in Topeka.”

“Which means we'll either have a hard freeze next week, or hit a hundred.”

“Uhh, look,” the sheriff said, anxious to get past the niceties. “We got a situation here.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent said, suddenly businesslike.

“We've had some bombings.” The sheriff made a left on Pear so he could slip around the block and enter the Bisonte's parking lot via the alley instead of Main.

“Bombings? Plural, as in more than one?”

“Three so far, with notes that hint at an al Qaeda connection.”

“You shoveling your barnyard on me?” the man in Topeka asked. The sheriff realized how crazy it sounded—al Qaeda in Buffalo Springs, Kansas. “How many killed?”

“Two,” the sheriff said. “Though they didn't die in the bombings, actually. In fact, nobody's been hurt by the bombs, so far.”

“Two dead, but not from your terrorist bombings?”

“That's right. One was shot by a Cheyenne arrow and the other lost control of a motorcycle. I think that one was the archer from the first death.”

The sheriff paused to catch his breath and make another turn. The man in Topeka paused too. The sheriff could practically hear the silent disbelief halfway across the state. He slid into the alley and bounced to a parking spot beside the bar.

“Look,” he continued. “I know the al Qaeda thing is unlikely, but we're a real small department and we're spread too thin for stuff like this and…”

“What's that noise in the background?” the KBI agent interrupted.

It took the sheriff a minute to realize what the man meant. He must have heard the Buffalo Springs High marching band, in the middle of a cacophony that faintly resembled something by John Philip Sousa.

“It's a band,” the sheriff explained. “There's a parade for our Buffalo Springs Day festival. I tried to get the county supervisors to cancel it but…”

“Harley Beaudean, right? Jeez, Harley, you really had me going for a minute.”

“This is no joke, agent,” the sheriff said. “This is a legitimate crisis. A bizarre one I'll grant…”

“Harley, I got too much caseload to listen to any more BS just now. I'll meet you for a beer after work and you can tell me where you found that awful music.”

“Don't you have caller ID or something?”

“Good one, Harley. Really good. You can scoop me more of this over at the Bullfrog about five-thirty.” Then the man hung up.

The sheriff thought about hitting redial and trying to convince the KBI he wasn't a practical joker named Harley. Then he considered what might happen if he wasted time on the phone while a fourth device went off in the middle of that parade or during the festivities in Veterans Memorial Park. He had no time to argue, especially not if the source of their bombs lay behind the door to the adjacent bar.

The sheriff holstered Wynn's cell phone and drew his .38 Police Special, opened the cylinder. Five bullets, the hammer over an empty chamber, just the way he wanted it.

“Whatcha doin'?” Wynn asked. The sheriff wondered when Wynn had last seen him draw his gun.

“Lock and load,” the sheriff said. The phrase surprised him as much as it probably did his deputy. Embarrassed him a little too, as he realized how much adrenaline had to be flowing for him to say something so Hollywood macho. “Let's see if Osama has moved al Qaeda headquarters right here to the heart of Kansas.”

***

“So that's what the luggage was for. Do you know anything about this trip to Paris?” Two asked her sister as the girls made their way across the park to where they'd left the station wagon. Three decreasingly enthusiastic upperclassmen, volunteers for ice cream and balloon duty, watched from where the Heathers had left them with a half-hearted promise to be right back.

“Mom always wanted to go.” Heather English dug keys out of her purse as they edged around a grove of evergreens. Little of the park's two square blocks was ever mowed or weeded because of the county's strained budget. They stayed on a path to avoid stickers and brambles. “You've heard her talk about it. Dad's always got some excuse to put it off. What's hard for me, though, is they made these plans without telling us.”

“No way Englishman will go today.” Two said. “I mean, Judy's going to have to wrestle him onto a plane even when he's ready to take time off. He won't leave while a mad bomber's running around.”

“There were two sets of luggage, and Dad's passport. But Mom just said
she
had to catch a plane to Paris. She didn't mention Dad. You think Mom would go by herself?”

“Hey, you're the one who's known her all your life,” Two said. “What do you think?”

“Paris,” One said. “Jeez. If she's really mad at him, she might go alone.”

The girls scrambled into the elderly Taurus as the Buffalo Springs High Band rounded the corner down on Main and headed their way. The Ford started without complaint and backed onto Jefferson, irritating a small group of citizens who had to make way by getting out of the middle of the street, thus giving up the prime locations they'd chosen to watch the parade approach.

“Mom sounded weird,” Heather said, turning right on Cherry. Their house was at the end of the fourth block east of the park, just northwest of the Buffalo Springs Schools. “I mean, it was like she was trying to get the car and slip out of town, and when she had to tell me where she was going she hung up so she wouldn't have to explain.”

“That's not like Judy,” the second Heather said.

They pulled up at the stop sign at Adams. Not a rolling stop. The full thing, and checked carefully in both directions before proceeding. After all, their father was sheriff.

“Like I said,” the original Heather explained, “if she's totally ticked at Dad, there's no telling what she might do. She didn't want me to bring the car. She wanted to come get it herself until I told her she might get blocked by the parade. That was the first she mentioned Paris.”

“I don't get it,” the second Heather said. “This is like too weird.”

And it was.

They stopped in front of the house and parked under the shade of a pair of elms that flanked their walk. The Heathers were out of the car and going through the front gate, side by side, when the door opened and a stranger came out carrying a pair of suitcases.

“Help me with these, will you girls?” the stranger said with a familiar voice.

“Mom?” Heather said.

“Judy?” Heather echoed.

Then in chorus, the girls demanded, “What have you done to your hair?”

***

“Finfrock in?” The sheriff asked the bartender. The man slouched in the Bisonte's front door, sucking a toothpick and watching a series of convertibles pass. The cars were filled with pretty girls waving to the sparse crowd. Normally, those girls would have been flanking each of the Benteen County Commissioners and the sheriff would have been out front, in the county black and white, leading the procession with his light bar blazing.

“Aw, damn,” the man said, straightening and displaying enough muscle inside his tight tee shirt to cause Deputy Wynn to back-pedal a couple of steps and put his hand on the butt of his gun. It didn't matter. The sheriff had disabled the deputy's service revolver years ago, after it became clear that an armed Wynn was a threat to public safety. The sheriff made him turn it in at the end of every shift and kept it locked in a drawer in his desk so his deputy couldn't take it out for target practice and discover it had been rendered merely ornamental. The sheriff had worried about leaving Wynn defenseless in case of a real emergency, but there had been no more than a couple of those in Benteen County since he'd become sheriff many terms ago. Besides, he only had to recall the time Wynn Some drew down on a crowd of senior citizens because he thought one of them had hit him with a snowball. One had, but the sheriff never let Wynn carry a gun with a firing pin again.