Ransom Canyon (7 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Yancy

Y
ANCY
G
REY
HAD
worked ten days straight at the Evening Shadows Retirement Community and loved every minute. The first few evenings he’d cleaned out an old office that stood apart from the rest of the bungalows. The front of the building was lined with dirty windows with a long counter separating the lobby area from the back storage and living quarters. A tiny, windowless bedroom and bath ran across part of the back. The living quarters were barely wide enough to fit a full bed, but it was bigger than his cell had been.

Originally, in the ’50s, this place had been a motel, boasting that every cabin had a kitchen, bath and sun porch. Eventually, the sun porches had been enclosed to make living rooms, and the bungalows had been rented by the month. Oil field workers and seasonal farmhands had taken over the place, but the owner had never bothered repairing any of the buildings. Finally, he’d let them sell to pay his back taxes.

Cap had told him the school board bought them in the ’90s, planning to offer discount housing to new teachers for the first two years in the county school system. That had only lasted a short time before retiring teachers asked to buy them.

Yancy hadn’t figured out why only teachers wanted to live in the place, but he didn’t really care. All he knew was he had a great find. All eight of the residents, except maybe Miss Bees who lived in the first unit, seemed to like him. Old lady Bees didn’t like anyone. She sometimes came out to sit with the group, but, if she talked, she only complained. She went to church on Sunday and played bingo over in Westland on Wednesday nights, but she didn’t talk to Yancy.

Mr. Halls told him that she thought every stranger was probably a criminal. Yancy figured she might have a few more marbles than the others. He’d be smart to stay out of her way. He had Cap ask her what color she wanted her door and wasn’t surprised she chose white. Only interesting thing about Miss Bees seemed to be her nickname, Bunny.

Yancy, with the advice of everyone except Miss Bees, had painted his one-room-and-bath behind the office. He’d used leftover paint from the porches, so every wall was a different color, but he didn’t care. He’d spent too many years without color. He’d bought a used mattress and frame from the secondhand store a block away and a desk he could also use as his one table. The owner agreed to let him pay the furniture out at twenty-five dollars a week.

He’d turned what had been the front office into a sunny sitting room. That way, on cold days the old folks could sit in the long row of sunshine and watch their former students go by. The men would drink coffee while the women knitted or worked puzzles. Then, just for fun they’d argue politics. Cap, Leo and Mrs. Kirkland kept up with what was going on, but Mr. Halls only heard half of any news, and Mrs. Butterfield kept forgetting who was president.

About three in the afternoon they’d all wander back to their little cottages for naps.

Yancy started lists on the office wall. The first was things that needed fixing fast, like Miss Bee’s roof and Mr. Halls’s porch. The second list was for repairs that he could get to when he had time, like Mrs. Ollie’s sink that had been dripping for six months and Mrs. Kirkland’s broken window in the back. She’d covered it up with colored paper so her grandson wouldn’t notice.

“If he sees it, Staten will only ask questions, and I’m not in the mood to tell him the truth,” she’d said one morning.

As soon as she’d left, all the men stayed behind, trying to guess what she’d been doing to break a window higher than her head. Leo had explained that during World War II, he’d seen a female member of the French underground who could kick higher than six feet and knock a man out cold. Mr. Halls had pointed out that, since Leo was seventy-four, he would have been fourteen when the war ended.

Yancy went back to his lists, angry that he’d bought into Leo’s story completely before Mr. Halls did the math.

The last list he kept on the wall was a wish list. Everyone had something to add to that list.

Miss Abernathy wanted bookshelves in the living room. Miss Ollie needed a railing for her hand-painted plates running high around her dining area. She explained to him that they were very valuable, but Yancy figured they’d be the last thing he’d steal if he robbed her place.

Leo wanted his TV hooked up high almost to the ceiling so he could watch sports in bed all night. He grinned and said that if he lost the remote control he could always get Mrs. Kirkland to come in and kick it off and on.

Yancy had worried at first that he wouldn’t know how to do any of the repairs well enough to please them, but, to his surprise, Cap Fuller was a wealth of information. His hand wasn’t steady, but his mind was sharp. By the end of the first week, Yancy had learned enough about plumbing, woodworking, painting and bricklaying to feel like he could hire himself out as a repairman.

Lying in his little room behind what everyone called the office, Yancy thought about all he had accomplished so far: Working in the sun without anyone yelling at him. Learning. Laughing. Talking to folks he’d never thought he would ever talk to about everything. For the first time in his life he was living a regular life.

Of course, the main topic of conversation was always their health, but he didn’t mind. All he had to say was “how you feeling today” and they’d be off talking for half an hour. But, they knew so much more than him, things he’d never even heard about. The minute he acted interested, they showed up with a book or an article he should read. They worried if he was warm at night or if he ate proper meals.

No one had ever worried about him, and now he was into overload.

As each day passed he thought less and less about robbing them and more about how for the first time in his life he felt as if he had something to contribute.

The whole group had even gotten together and decided to up the dues of their home owner’s association a hundred dollars each and pay him eight hundred a month, plus a free place to stay.

Cap had slapped Yancy on the back and said that should beat any offer he’d get in Flagstaff, so he might as well stay here. “A for-sure job here has got to be better than a maybe job there.”

Yancy hadn’t argued.

In truth, Yancy felt rich. If he could winter here, he could save enough money to buy a car and drive wherever he wanted. Even if he ate at the café three times a week and bought something new to wear once a month, he’d still have plenty of money to save.

On the nights one of them didn’t bring him food, he’d heat up a can of soup over a hot plate in his room and swear, right out of the can, it was better than anything he’d had to eat in prison. The kitchen workers used to say they served miracle meals because it was a miracle if you kept it down.

On the eleventh day of work, Yancy was curled up in one of the office chairs reading a book Cap had given him on bricklaying when the glass door banged open.

He felt the cold air rush ahead of a young woman as if to get out of her way as she stormed into the room wearing a navy cape and a frown.

Yancy stood up, wondering if she was lost, or maybe she thought this place was a motel. With the roof fixed and a few of the bungalows painted, it
was
starting to look better.

But when he finally faced her nose to nose, he knew she wasn’t lost. He saw anger firing in her gaze, and it all seemed to be aimed directly at him.

“You are not,” she started as she slammed a case on the counter and raised her hand like a pointed weapon, “going to take advantage of these dear people.”

“All right,” he answered carefully, thinking it might not be too healthy to object. She still held a huge purse in one hand and was close enough to reach the case. Either was big enough to pack a gun. Plus, at almost his height and thirty pounds heavier, she’d have the advantage in a fight. The leather bag could prove a weapon if she knew how to use it, and this no-makeup, flat-shoed warrior looked as though she probably could.

Her tight mouth relaxed, but she didn’t smile. “I care about these people, and I want you to know that I come by twice a month to check on them. So don’t even think about trying anything.”

Out of curiosity more than any need to continue the conversation, he asked, “Exactly what is it you think I’m going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a criminal.”

“Neither am I,” he lied, shoving all his thoughts of robbing the old folks blind under the carpet in his mind. “They just offered me a job, lady, so I took it.”

“Why is that?”

She set her purse down next to the case and crossed her arms over what he noticed was an ample chest beneath her navy blue cape.

He studied her short hair and unpainted fingernails. “You any kin to Miss Bees?”

“No. Answer the question. Why did they offer you a job?”

“I guess because I needed one, and they needed work done around the place. Seems all their kids say they’ll drop by and help with fixing stuff, but Mrs. Kirkland’s grandson is the only one who even makes an effort.”

She cocked her head. “Jerry at the hardware store said you’ve charged several hundred dollars to this place.”

“I have.” He didn’t like her tone. “Who are you, lady?”

He swore he saw fire flash in her green eyes for a second. “I’m Miss Ellie, the nurse who checks on them. I make sure they have their medicines and get to their doctors’ appointments.”

“You don’t look old enough to be a nurse.” Most of the women he had seen over the past five years were either on TV or models in magazines. This woman didn’t look like any of them. She was athletic, solidly built and pretty, even without the makeup.

He saw the lie on her face before she spoke to correct it. “Well, I will have my degree, in a year. I work for the doctor over in Bailee, and she travels here two days a week, then sends me the other three days to keep the office open. If there’s an emergency or someone needs something more than a refill, I call her in by phone.”

Yancy straightened. “Well, I care about these folks, too, and I’m telling you right now you’re not going to drop in every other week and take advantage of them.”

Finally, she smiled. “Fair enough. I’ll watch you and you watch me. Now I have to get back to work. I make the rounds to every house to check their blood sugar and blood pressure.”

She picked up her bags and marched back out of the office with her cape whirling in the wind.

And Yancy started doing just what she’d told him to do...watching her.

CHAPTER NINE

Lauren

L
AUREN
SAT
IN
the Ransom Canyon High School auditorium while the volunteer fire department chief gave Reid Collins the Hero-of-the-Month award. It looked like an Olympic medal. Everyone yelled while the cheerleaders bounced around shouting, “Reid, Reid, he’s our man. Reid, Reid, ain’t he grand.”

The fact that no one had ever won a Hero-of-the-Month award didn’t seem to matter. Neither did the truth about what happened that night at the Gypsy House. When Tim finally got off the painkillers, he told a different story about how he’d been hurt, but no one paid any attention. After all, he’d been on drugs, and Tim tended to tell stories anyway.

Lauren and Lucas, as they’d agreed, said nothing. They let the story Reid told run. And, as Lucas had predicted, his part that night was completely cut from the script.

Reid hobbled up to the podium on his crutches to give a speech that sounded like he’d copied it from Teddy Roosevelt. Everyone cheered, and his parents hugged him.

Lauren had the feeling that when he could drive, if he ever recovered from his sprained ankle, he’d have all the dates he wanted. Only, he’d never have her, even as a friend, again. The sad thing about it was that he would never know how she felt, and if he did suspect or remember that they’d been friends, he probably wouldn’t even care what had happened to make things change.

Winter would age into spring in a few months, but Lauren had grown up a little already. Maybe one of the ghosts
had
whispered to her in the blackness of that old house, because now she knew that people were not always what they seemed. No matter how many awards they gave Reid Collins, the truth hadn’t changed. He was no hero.

She watched him pose for the camera and wondered if he was starting to believe his own press.

She walked out as everyone was shaking hands on the stage like they’d bred a wonder in their midst.

Her father’s cruiser was in the parking lot. Without much thought, she walked over to it and climbed on the fender to wait for him.

Her pop, the always bossy sheriff, had also changed in the past week, or maybe she finally saw something she’d been too young to notice before. He watched over her like a hawk, but not out of anger or for punishment. That Saturday night had frightened him, she realized it sometime during the fourth or fifth lecture. He was afraid. If he lost her, he’d be alone. Big and strong as he was, she wasn’t sure Sheriff Dan Brigman wanted to be alone. That might present a problem when she went away to college.

Lauren considered getting her father to start dating. There weren’t many single women around his age that he hadn’t given a ticket to or booked into jail. Plus, they might come with children, and she wouldn’t wish her father on any child. There was the possibility that her mother might come back; after all, she’d only been gone ten years for her six-month internship.

Margaret Brigman said she still loved him, but she couldn’t live with the man. Maybe if Lauren could scrub him up a bit. Have him wear something besides his uniform. Let his hair grow out. Maybe add a mustache. Maybe change his diet. He only ate from the “B” group of foods: bread, butter, beef and banana nut ice cream. She’d started cooking for herself after she’d spent two weeks one summer with her mother and tried vegetables.

Lauren laughed. She’d begun worrying about her parents—she must be growing up. Funny how wisdom came in big hunks and not little bites. She could almost see the argument she’d have with her pop one day about how it was time for him to move into the home.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Her father’s voice always made her jump.

“Shouldn’t you be at work, Pop?”

“It’s hero day,” he answered.

“Exactly. Looks like we’re both free.” As free as I ever am, she thought. “How about we go grocery shopping in Lubbock?”

“We have a good food store here in town. Small, but it has all we need. Why would you want to drive all the way to Lubbock? Traffic. Crowds.”

Lauren decided it was worth arguing. “The chicken and the vegetables are both the same color brown here.”

While everything else was up for debate, he usually gave in on food matters. “Oh, all right.” He tossed his hat in the back of the cruiser. “But we go home and switch cars. I want you driving the back roads every chance we get. Before you apply for your license next summer, we will have logged a thousand miles with me by your side.”

Lecturing all the way, she thought, but decided it would be safer to just nod.

Reid and his parents walked by. Mr. Collins called out for the sheriff and Lauren to come over for steaks tonight. “We’re having a party for our boy,” he added. “Not every day we realize we gave birth to a hero.”

Her father looked at her, and Lauren shook her head slightly. He turned back to Davis Collins. “I’ll be glad to come, but I have to take Lauren home first. She has to study tonight.”

She nodded, backing up her father. They both knew that the men would talk, and she’d spend the evening sitting in a corner with a book. “Maybe next time, Mr. Collins,” she answered.

They climbed into the cruiser. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, honey. The whole town may think Reid is a hero for saving you and Tim, but if he had any sense he would have suggested you stay out of that old death trap in the first place.”

“I agree.” She patted his arm.

Her father covered his big hand over both hers. “He’s also a year older than you. He should have known better. I expect you to show more sense after your birthday. Being fifteen and trying something like that is one thing, but at sixteen you’ll be almost a woman.”

Lauren closed her eyes, praying he didn’t start that
growing into a woman in body and mind
talk again. It echoed too many of Mrs. Patterson’s words for her father to have thought it up himself.

They were almost home when he spoke again. “Your mother called me this morning. She’s coming in next week. She’s worried about you, and she’s mad at me. That’s a hard problem to solve long distance.”

“Can she stay with us, Dad? I’ll clean the extra bedroom.”

He was turning into the long drive down toward the lake when he finally answered, “I guess so, if she will agree to it. She can yell at both of us in the house as easy as she can in public.”

“And,” Lauren said, grinning, “she won’t have far to drag the body if she murders you.”

“True. I seem to bring out the worst in Margaret. She wasn’t like that when we first married.”

“You mean before me?”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t you, honey. I think, if anything, it was me. I didn’t have enough ambition for her.” He was silent for a minute, then added, “Or maybe she had too much for me. Anyway, once the arguments started, neither of us seemed to find a way to stop.”

He glanced at her and added, “Margaret would never murder me. Who would she have left to pick on?”

Lauren laughed. “You’re right, Pop, you got to outlive her because I’d be the next one she turned on if you disappeared.”

Pop smiled. “So if she stays, we hide the guns and knives, just in case.”

“Deal.” They pulled into the lake house driveway with its wraparound porch and long dock that went all the way to the water.

This was the only home she remembered, and Pop, flaws and all, was the only parent she truly had.