All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One) Page 13

  Jim shrugged. “Always the past.” He pointed an accusing finger at Kim. “Why don’t you tell Thea some of the things you’ve been doing?” And proceeded to tell me himself. “She opened an employment agency in town this summer, the first one ever for Hijax. And last summer she started a senior center that’s the prototype for four counties. There are a hell of a lot of things going on in this town and other places in Wyoming that are more important than all that Wild West stuff.”

  I smiled at Kim. “I am impressed. I thought you spent your summers working in the cafe.”

  “I like to fill in. My aunt and uncle run the place and it gives me a chance to see everybody in town. But if anybody should be tooting their own horn, it’s you Jim. He—”

  Jim interrupted Kim good-naturedly, “I’ll go take your pictures, Thea, and get some food. I’m starving.” He began weaving his way across the hall.

  Kim said, “He’s quite a guy; a tough businessman. A lot of people around here think he’s a hotshot, but he just wants to be where the action is. I admire that. He’ll never be content to sit home playing nurse-maid to a bunch of cows, something his dad will never forgive him for.”

  I offered to share my beer with her and she poured half into an empty paper cup she found on a neighboring chair. I took a long swallow from the bottle.

  “Helby fascinates me,” I said. “He seems so…alone. So different.” Cora had joined the group of old-timers now, and the sheriff had disappeared. She looked flushed, and had Helby off to one side, but he wouldn’t let her monopolize him. He kept sidling back to the group, and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her. Which didn’t bother Cora. I could see her mouth rattling on.

  “Yeah, Helby’s old aristocracy,” Kim said. “Straight out of a tintype. Name counts for a lot around here.”

  “Yes, land and family. Jim said as much, too. It’s rather like the Boston Brahmins; I’m just surprised to find it here in Wyoming.”

  “My family moved here from Nebraska thirty years ago, so we’re not old family, but I did some oral history work awhile back and really enjoyed it. Interviewed Helby, Tessa, and a lot of others. Parson Potts, too. Now there’s an interesting old bird for you. Have you met him?”

  I nodded grimly.

  “He inherited a pile and lost it all to wine, women and song, as they say. Then literally picked himself up from the gutter and reformed. Been an itinerant preacher for years, though I suspect it’s just a mail order degree. He goes to all the little community churches in the boonies, and the folks like him better than the honest-to-God ministers in town.”

  I listened, and at the same time, watched Jim skillfully maneuver his father away from Cora Mae. He put Helby, Potts and several others into a group behind the wheelchair and snapped their picture. By talking and laughing with them, and frequently gesturing back at me, he urged them into different poses. Ignored, Cora stood to one side for a moment, then with a final glare at Jim, wandered back into the crowd.

  Kim emptied her cup. “A few years ago I wanted to do a paper on the same hanging that Minnie’s been asking about. It was one of the last acts of violence between the cattle barons and the nesters, or sheepmen. An interesting piece of history, I thought, one which deserved to be documented. At the time there were three or four men still living who I suspected had an active part in the incident. But I couldn’t get a word out of anybody. They saw the whole affair as a dirty splotch on Hijax’s history. So I dropped it and went on to something else. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if the old-timers won’t talk to local people about dicey events, there’s not much chance they’ll open up to an outsider.” She stood and stretched. “But I’d be glad to go out and visit with Minnie, tell her what I know, which isn’t much.”

  “I think she’d like that. Thanks.”

  Kim grinned, shook her legs, and tugged at the tight denim to ease it down her thighs. I followed her glance and saw Max making his way down the length of the dance floor, juggling two overfull plates of food.

  Kim waved to get his attention. “Now there’s the sexiest thing that’s hit this town in years,” she said. “Come to think of it, if Minnie wants to find out about the hanging, why doesn’t she ask Max?”

  “Max? Why Max?”

  “Well, hell. It was Max’s grandfather who got hung.”

  Ten

  I spent the rest of the evening in a fog of confusion, my mind on nothing but Max. Why hadn’t he told Minnie about his grandfather? Or told me? How did this relate to everything else that was happening: the fences, the wells, the break-in? Did Max know Minnie and I had identified the vigilantes, and did he know that Helby and Potts were included in their number? Was he out for a spot of revenge?

  I didn’t see Max again, though I looked for him, and I suppose my being so distracted was the reason why the camera got misplaced. Jim had kindly spent considerable time taking shots of all the old lions, and every other local character he spotted. I distinctly remember him handing me the camera, and feel quite sure I placed it on one of the chairs while we danced, but when next I looked, it had disappeared. Not much of a surprise for a Chicagoan, but I’d been led to believe such things rarely happened in Hijax, Wyoming.

  We found the camera at the end of the evening when we left the hall.

  It was one of those black, black nights. The high-powered light on a pole by the corner of the building did little to illuminate the jumble of cars and pick-ups parked haphazardly around the lot. We headed around back, peering through the darkness for Jim’s car, and in a puddle of light from a window saw my camera on the ground half-hidden by the bush, smashed into shards of high-tech plastic.

  “What the hell?” Jim said. He picked up the biggest piece and turned it over in his hand. “Thea, I’m sorry. Wait here, I’ll get the sheriff.”

  He was gone before I could stop him. The camera didn’t matter, or even the pictures on it. I could always start over again. But who could have been so angered by Jim taking pictures for me? And why? If Helby or Potts didn’t want their pictures taken, why allow it? Who else could have cared? Max? And what about Cora? What was her concern in all this, if any? I only knew it couldn’t have been Jim. He’d been with me all the time after taking the pictures.

  I gathered up the rest of the pieces and took them over to a trash barrel I could dimly see between two pickups. One of the trucks had nosed in at an angle, so there was more space between the two than usual. I dropped the camera pieces in the barrel with a clatter. As I turned away, something by the far front tire of the angled truck caught my eye. I leaned across the barrel to get a better look and saw the pale glimmer of a hand resting on the ground. I raced around the rear of the truck and nearly stumbled over the body in the darkness.

  “Jim!” I yelled, and dropped to my knees by the still form. Heart attack? Passed out? This close I could smell the liquor. And see the dark skirt with the flower border. Cora.

  “Jim,” I called again. She was lying on her stomach, legs sprawled. I ran my hand up her back. There was no movement.

  “Thea? Where are you?”

  I jumped up and waved my arms, yelling, “Here. Come quick.”

  The sheriff was with him and had a flashlight. He ran the beam over Cora and knelt quickly beside her. The beam skewed away, arcing across the dark sky, when he placed the flashlight on the ground in order to turn her over. Jim and I hovered. I craned around, trying to see, but the sheriff’s bulky shoulders hid her from our view.

  “I know CPR,” I said, prepared to help.

  “No need,” the sheriff said, swinging the beam of light on us. “She’s dead.”

  Lamar was found in the hall’s basement playing gin, and all the warm qualities of a close-knit community came into play for him.

  The sheriff began the initial process of examining the body and taking notes. I stood numbly, taking it all in, not knowing what else to do. Max pushed through the crowd and stood next to me. He asked what happened, and I told him the little I knew. Jim st
ayed close to the sheriff, helping as needed until the ambulance, coroner, and sheriff’s deputies finally arrived and the official procedures began in earnest.

  Everyone was questioned, and the crowd buzzed with each new piece of information gleaned from whatever source. Practically everyone had seen Cora in the hall, but apparently no one saw her leave, or saw her in the parking area.

  Max came by again to check on me, then left to take Kim home. People began to slowly drift away. The sheriff came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry this happened, Thea. Did they get your statement?”

  I nodded. “What happened to her, Hank?”

  “Can’t tell for sure. They’ll have to do an autopsy. There’s a laceration on the right temple area, and some blood. Looks like she stumbled into the wing mirror on the truck. Didn’t appear bad enough to me to kill her.” He shrugged again. “It could have been the liquor, or her heart; we’ll know in a couple of days.”

  Jim turned away from the men he had been talking to. “Do you need us for anything more, Hank?”

  “No. You can take her home.” He ran his hands across his face and through his hair. “Oh, by the way. Do you want to tell me about that camera?”

  I had forgotten all about the camera. “No. It’s not important.”

  I did tell Minnie about the camera the next morning. And about Max’s grandfather, although not until Max left for work. At breakfast we had both filled her in on the awful events of the night before. Poor Cora.

  “What an odd way to die. I guess the town will miss her. Who do you suppose will be in charge of all the history stuff she did? But, destroying the camera sounds like vandalism to me,” Minnie said. “No one would care about the actual pictures you took. It was another message that they want me to keep my nose out of their business, and that I’m not wanted around here.”

  Her chin took on a determined hardness. “I’ll have the manuscript finished by noon, Thea, and you can take it with you.”

  She was strangely silent about Max’s grandfather.

  “Minnie, why don’t you come to Rapid City with me? My Uncle Charlie would love to meet you, and he’d see that you got back to Hijax whenever you wanted.” The more I thought about it, the better the coupling sounded. The two could spend days talking delightedly about the past. And Cora’s death had me spooked.

  “Thank you, Thea, but no. Not this time. I’m not going to run.”

  I could tell by the look on her face that arguing would be useless. But it was a good idea, and I planned to tell Charlie to look her up.

  My own determination solidified along the lines of withdrawal. Particularly concerning Max. I didn’t want to think about Max any more, or his grandfather, or Helby, poor dead Cora, or any of the others. My first instincts about noninvolvement were correct, and with that I’d be on my way with a clear conscience.

  Minnie was already at the typewriter. I went upstairs, packed, tidied my lovely room, and tried to deny the regret I felt at having to leave. And the niggling worry.

  I wandered outside, checked the dog’s dish for food, and whistled for him. I wanted a last look at the bleak, beautiful countryside. I needed to see if the piercing blue sky could burn away the image of Cora’s dead body from my mind.

  I began to think the dog had given up on this less-than-receptive household, when he appeared from out of the barn, his front half crawling in humble obeisance, while the back half danced with joy. Such a ridiculous animal. And how was he going to fare without me? I’d have to give Minnie a crash course on pet ownership.

  I followed the track that led to the fields behind the house. The dog bounded after me with his great tongue lolling and his nose leading him off on sniffing detours. To my right rose a chalk hill; its steep but gentle contours offered a challenge within my grasp. I left the trail to investigate, and picked my way through clumps of prickly pear and tattered-looking yucca.

  “Come on, dog, I’ll race you to the top.”

  It was more difficult than I thought. The soil was loose and sandy, and crumbled out from under my feet. The dog, of course, raced right up with no difficulty and stood, king of the mountain. Then I too reached the top.

  From here the bulk of Halfway Halt was reduced to insignificance. I turned my back on it. I wanted to see the incredible stretch of earth and sky meld into a barely distinguishable horizon. Only scattered windmills and lazy trails of fence snaked through the uncompromising terrain. Three days ago the sight would have filled me with anxiety. Today it gave me solace.

  Ahead I could see a small glen filled with a strange mix of hardy pines and dead trees thrusting up their naked, gray branches in tortured whorls. Sun pierced through the tangled mass and bounced back in flashes of reflection as if the ground were littered with jewels.

  The glen was farther away than I thought, but worth the hike. The dog bounded ahead and flushed a rabbit which took him off on another detour. I reached the dense stand of trees and walked among them. The ground was soft with sand and needles and, indeed, sprinkled with flashing crystals. Delighted, I picked one up and held it up to the sun. The crystals were big, flat diamond shapes, like those on a pack of cards, as richly layered as mica, but clear with rainbows caught inside.

  I had no idea what they were, but it didn’t matter. I soon gathered more than I could carry, and sat on a crumbly log with the hoard cradled in my lap. I grinned sheepishly at my impulsive greed.

  The quiet was immense, made even more still by being filled with the soft sounds of squabbling birds, dog snuffles, and the buzz and whirl of tiny flying things. The solitude reached deep within me and filled me with a rich contentment I’d never known before.

  Scattered back in the sun, the jewels’ glassy look changed once more to brilliance. Oh, to live in a place like this, I thought. A cottage, or better yet, a hollow tree.

  I tucked a crystal under my watchband, and propped a fat one in my bra at the vee of my blouse. All I needed was a crown, but the best I could manage was to balance a large crystal on my head. Stepping into a stream of sunlight, I twirled carefully, around and around, and wished I knew some Druidic song to chant.

  A sound, or sense of presence, stopped me mid-turn, eyes searching. Nothing. Another half-turn and I saw Max, leaning against a tree-trunk, enjoying himself immensely.

  Wildly embarrassed, I snapped, “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here, remember?”

  “Then why aren’t you working instead of sneaking around spying on people?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.” He pushed away from the tree and came toward me. “I heard the dog and wanted to see who was around.”

  “You could have made more noise.” I hated him catching me in that childish spectacle.

  He took the crystal from my shirt, studied it a moment, then looked around the sun-dappled glen.

  A sage-scented breeze brushed across my skin, but didn’t erase the warmth from his fingers where they had lingered against my breast.

  “I didn’t find you foolish, you know,” he said gently.

  “I’ll bet. Careening around like the Hag of May with garbage in my hair.”

  He laughed and helped disentangle the crystal from my hair.

  “I understand how you feel, though. I’ve done it myself.”

  “Now that I’d like to see.”

  “Well, maybe not your bit out there, but when I was a kid…I always wanted to be a horse.” He spoke hesitantly, as if recalling something pleasant he hadn’t thought about for a long, long time.

  “Some days when the weather was just right, and the wind ripped through me, and the earth smelled like…Well, I don’t know, but the urge would hit, and I’d leap off the porch and gallop away whinnying and throwing my head. I was always getting the hell beat out of me for being frivolous.”

  Certainly nothing frivolous remained, I thought, pleased to have been allowed a glimpse behind his somb
er surface.

  “Somehow,” I said, “I can’t see you as a little boy.”

  His eyes caught and held mine. “Somehow, I don’t think you want to see anything but a cardboard cowboy.”

  His look was a challenge, one I wanted to accept, but didn’t know if I dared. How much emotional energy was I willing to risk if I planned to leave this afternoon?

  I dropped my eyes, fiddled with my watchband, and removed the last of my jewels. Avoiding the issue, I said, “What is this stuff, anyway?”

  He answered easily, but didn’t move away. “Selenite.”

  “Oh?”

  “A crystal form of gypsum. It’s all through this country.”

  My gaze met his again, and through no volition of my own, the question popped out. “Why didn’t you tell me, or Minnie, that it was your grandfather the vigilantes hung?”

  He turned away. “You didn’t ask.” He jerked some long wisps of weeds from the ground and began weaving them together as he leaned back against the tree.

  “It’s no secret,” he said. “Everyone around here knows. I’m surprised Minnie hasn’t found out.” He gave me a hard look and went on rather defensively. “If she’d ever asked me, I’d have told her what I know. Which, believe me, isn’t much. I’d just as soon forget about it. My mother was a baby when my grandfather was killed, and grandma never talked much about it. It was just one of those things I had to live with through school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kids.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Woolie, they called me. Kept threatening to string me up.”

  “Woolie?”

  “My grandfather was an itinerant sheepherder. Those were still fightin’ words in his day.”

  “And in your day?”

  “No, of course not. But the taint lingers. Hijax has always been cattle country.”

  “And how about your father? Was he a…a sheepman too?”

  He sat on the ground now, his hands still plucking and plaiting. I sat on the rotten log.