All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One) Page 9

  “Yeah, but not until after my grandfather died. Lil didn’t have anything against Dad; still, she wouldn’t sell the place to him either.”

  “Did that bother him?”

  “He always said not, but I never believed him. He’s as much of a land baron as Grandpa was.”

  “And what about now?” I asked, curiosity leading me recklessly on. “How does he feel—how do you feel—about losing the lease after all these years? Won’t it hurt your business?” I couldn’t help thinking about all those broken fences.

  “Hurt us?” His faced crinkled with laughter and he squeezed my hand with genuine amusement. “Hardly. The Darrow section is just a drop in the bucket compared to what we have. And I’m not bragging, because I didn’t do it. Dad and his dad before him are the ones who put it all together.”

  “But what if Minnie sells to someone else?”

  “The Darrow place is too small to be of any use by itself, not big enough to run more than a handful of cows.”

  “Why would Max want it?”

  “Holman? Is that why he’s hanging around Minnie’s?”

  I nodded, uneasily aware that perhaps I was talking out of school. Had Max expected me to keep his dealings with Minnie confidential? Well, it was too late now.

  “Holman doesn’t know any more about ranching than Minnie does,” Jim said.

  “But he grew up here.”

  “That doesn’t make him a rancher.” He gave me an indulgent smile. “And he hasn’t lived around here since high school.”

  “He hasn’t?”

  “No.” He seemed surprised I didn’t know that. “He used to spend all his time right here in the Stirrup. His mother eked out a living hashing while Holman was in school. Smart enough kid, I guess, but it takes more than knowing how to ride a horse and being able to buy a section of land to set yourself up in business these days.”

  He pushed his empty plate away. I could tell he was getting bored with the subject, but I was bursting with questions. He reached out and ran a finger along my cheekbone. “If Minnie’s as shrewd as her sister, she’ll never sell to Holman; she’ll sell where she can get the most money.”

  “She has an agreement with him.”

  “Verbal, I bet.”

  I nodded, not caring now what I revealed.

  “Holman’s dumber than I thought if he expects her to stick by that.”

  “What? I’m shocked. You mean a handshake deal is no longer hallowed in your glorious west?”

  He released my hand reluctantly when Kim came to pick up our plates. If I’d expected to lighten the conversation I was mistaken.

  He gave me a somber look and said, “Too bad it isn’t, because I’d hate to see the results if Minnie dares to cross Max.”

  Seven

  I rushed down the street. Time had gotten away from me. I could see Max leaning against the front of the drugstore, one foot braced against the wall, smoking and talking to a heavy-set man who leaned, just as casually, against the fender of a parked car. When Max saw me, he nodded to the man and strolled my way.

  He pushed his hat off his forehead and glanced pointedly at his watch. “You must have got along all right.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said, catching my breath. “But I was asked to lunch, and—”

  “Fast work.”

  “I met him yesterday at Minnie’s.”

  “Him?” His eyebrows climbed.

  “Jim Enright,” I said, exasperated. “It’s none of your business, you know.”

  “Enright.” His face hardened and the gentle teasing changed to sarcasm. “My, you’re really uptown, aren’t you? Come on. The pickup’s over here.”

  We had to walk past the heavy-set man who still lingered on the sidewalk. “That Minnie’s girl, Max?” he called out. He scratched his gross belly and gave me a lewd wink. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

  “Ease off, Krocker.” Max’s tone and look was enough to send the man scuttling off. None too gently, he grabbed my arm and guided me across the street.

  “Thanks,” I said, “but you don’t have to defend my honor. I’ve taken care of it.” Half running to keep up with his stride, I told him about the scene I’d created in the cafe.

  “I wanted to quiet the talk and speculation. I told them what Minnie’s book is about, and that she has Jersey Roo’s diaries.”

  He jerked to a stop. “You told them what?”

  “I told them there was nothing to worry about.”

  “You think that’s all it takes?”

  “Look, do you mind?” I shook my arm from his grip. “You weren’t there. I’m not a complete imbecile. It’s time someone met all this ugliness head-on instead of letting it fester.” If he thought my comment pointed, I didn’t care. “My experience has shown that fear is countered best through honesty and openness. Or do you have a better method?”

  He gave me one of those fathomless looks. “Throwing kerosene on open flames is never my first choice.”

  His reaction—overreaction, to my mind—was puzzling. I mean, I didn’t want to believe that Max was fueling the rumors about Minnie, but why else would he be so disturbed by my trying to smooth things over? Or did he really think there was that much danger in what Minnie was writing? I vowed again to keep my nose out of the whole stupid mess. But I couldn’t help wondering if I had inadvertently been the one to cross Max. And if Jim were right, that the results wouldn’t bare contemplation.

  We rode to the grocery store in silence. Max tore Minnie’s list in half and we each took a cart and made short work of the shopping. Then it was back to that awful road and the long ride home.

  I eyed the dark clouds gathering in the sky and made a half hearted attempt at conversation. “It looks like rain.” I sounded ridiculously like all the other Hijaxians with their incessant weather-speak.

  Max shrugged. “We need a soaker, but it can cloud and clear for months without giving up a drop.” He glared at the sky in turn. “Just like a politician. All promises, no delivery.”

  If he meant that for a jibe, I ignored it. A while later I came up with, “Why don’t they do something about this road? Aren’t the rocks hard on your tires?”

  “It’s better than no gravel at all. That’s a lot of mud to plow to get to town.”

  Another lengthy pause.

  “Ever driven in gumbo?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t even know what it is.”

  “The soil’s loaded with bentonite around here, absorbs an amazing amount of water, swells with it and makes the ground slicker than—well, let’s just say it makes driving damn difficult when it’s good and wet. If you’re caught in a rain storm you’ll be glad for the rocks. The stretch of dirt from the main road to Minnie’s house is a real bitch.”

  That exhausted our repertoire. By the time we reached Halfway Halt his earlier prediction proved true. It wasn’t going to rain. The clouds had blown away, leaving the sky clear.

  A car I hadn’t seen before was parked in front of the house when we got there.

  I voiced my curiosity. “I wonder who that is?”

  “Don’t recognize the car.” We drove around in back and I carried the groceries in while Max took care of the other supplies.

  Voices were coming from the office, so I looked in. To my surprise, Cora Mae Croderman was perched on a chair pulled up to the oak table. Wow, fast work. She must have dumped off Lamar and headed right out here after she left the cafe.

  “Hello there,” I said.

  Minnie looked up from the stack of old newspapers and magazines she was riffling through. “You’re back. Thea, this is Cora Croderman,” she said with a shy smile.

  “Yes. I met Cora in town. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Her family has lived in the area for over a hundred years. She’s interested in my work.”

  “I certainly am,” Cora said. “I just can’t keep up with all of these magazines, but I’d like to read the articles Minnie’s written.”

  Evident
ly, Cora hadn’t told Minnie I had encouraged her to visit, and I was just as glad. She might not have welcomed my interference, and she seemed quite pleased to have company. She pulled some old copies of Western True Adventures from the pile and handed them to Cora.

  “Here, you can take them home with you, if you like.”

  “I’d love to. Of course, I’m most fascinated with the work you’re doing now. Imagine! A history of Halfway Halt. It must be fascinating.”

  She turned to me and said, “Minnie gave me a tour. Don’t you think this is the most fascinating old place you’ve ever seen? You know, Minnie, I have a lot of pictures I’m sure you’d like to see. Are you using many in your book?”

  “We’re using some. Thea’s going to make the final pick.”

  “I’d love to see what you have.”

  Minnie handed her the cigar box. “Helby Enright brought these over. I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet. I have a bunch more and some clippings you might be interested in.” She went over to her desk and began to pull things from the drawers.

  I stood behind Cora and peered over her shoulder as she removed the pictures from the box and began to shuffle through them.

  “My, aren’t these wonderful. I encourage everyone to donate their old photographs to the Historical Society. I’ve been in charge of the photo archives for years. Such rewarding work.”

  She kept up a running line of chatter, which I soon tuned out. I was more interested in how speedily she was going through the pile, as if she were looking for something in particular. Her fingers worked with the efficiency of a Las Vegas card dealer, quickly winnowing out the pictures relevant to Halfway Halt, and of those, only a few got more than the briefest glance. I saw several duplicates of things Minnie had in her scrapbook, and many others I’d take a closer look at later. Cora seemed most interested in interior shots of Halfway Halt, particularly if people were in them. The one she lingered over the longest showed several women clustered around Halfway’s bar, mugging for the camera.

  She came to the end of the pile. “Aren’t these fun. Naughty me, I really like the ones that have the girls and their customers in them,” she said and picked up a duplicate of the studio portrait of Lil with Minnie in her lap. This copy still had the gray cardboard frame around it, and the same inscription, “Minnie and Me,” scrawled across the bottom. “And here’s Lil,” she said. “Isn’t it sweet, but—”

  “I have one like that in my scrapbook,” Minnie interrupted. She plopped more pictures on the corner of the table, and pulled out her scrapbook.

  “Scrapbook?” Cora said, immediately interested. “I’d love to see your scrapbook. Do you have some older pictures? Any of Jersey Roo?” She had lost interest in Helby’s contributions. I gathered them up, put them back in the box.

  Minnie opened her scrapbook and the two were soon engrossed. I left them to it and went back to the kitchen to finish putting away the groceries. I was getting tired of Cora Mae’s rapaciousness, and wondered what her secret agenda was. It appeared obvious that she had one.

  Thankfully, Cora refused an invitation to stay for dinner. We ate late, as no one wanted to give up the idea of stuffed pork chops, and lingered over coffee. I listened to Minnie and Max talking about the old days and people I didn’t know, but my mind was never far from the manuscript.

  “How did your work go this morning?” I asked her. “I’ll be ready to help you out tomorrow in any way you like.”

  “Good. I got a lot done.” She chuckled. “Helby told me a wonderful story about Parson Potts when he was here the other day. Max, did you ever hear about the time he got bit in the rear by a rattlesnake?”

  “Sure.” Max smiled. “But tell Thea. She’ll appreciate it.”

  “Potts was a young man helping with the spring round-up. Evidently he squatted behind the wrong bush and got bit right on the cheek. He went running back to the camp with his pants flapping around his knees, cussing and yelling for somebody to help him. The rest of the men started laughing and arguing and laying bets as to the best way to put a tourniquet on his butt.”

  Minnie’s face sparkled with animation and her voice deepened, taking on a change of cadence and syntax that weren’t her own. The shade of Lil Darrow, I guessed.

  “Potts was just a boilin’ and finally grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a bull whip and took off for town on a horse. Time he got there he was roarin’ drunk and stalked through town shaking his whip, screaming he’d lay low anybody who dared laugh at him. ‘Course the folks didn’t know what there was to laugh about, so they crowded around old Doc Jones’ place to find out. All the Doc did was give him more whiskey, and when Potts came out and saw all them people standing around, he just went mad. Started lashin’ the whip and chasin’ folks down the street hollerin’, ‘So you think a bite in the ass is funny, do you?’”

  Minnie rubbed her temple and gave a small laugh. “He still turns purple at the mention of a rattlesnake. I asked him about it last night.”

  “Ha!” I crowed. “I love it. Are you going to put it in your book?”

  “I might.”

  Max looked up, sharply. “You’re putting that story in your book? I thought you were using old stuff. That didn’t happen in Jersey Roo’s time.”

  Or in Lil’s either, I guessed, but it was fun.

  Minnie’s voice was bland, but determined. “The book’s a history of Halfway Halt. I’m including some of Lil’s background and the events of her day.”

  Max glared at me and rose. “I’m going to turn in. Goodnight.” He walked out.

  “Goodnight,” Minnie answered, unaware of—or unconcerned by—his abruptness.

  I sighed. Naturally, Max thought I’d lied to him about the book’s contents, which in a way, I suppose I had. But how could I keep up with his thought processes? In town he was upset because I told people the book was about the old days and Jersey Roo’s diaries. Now he was upset because more recent things would be included.

  I helped Minnie clear the table, and then went into the office, prepared to sort through the pictures in Helby Enright’s cigar box. I dumped them out on the table. I’d seen a duplicate of an exterior shot of Halfway Halt that was in better shape than Minnie’s copy. I found it and set it aside for possible use.

  I also liked the picture that had interested Cora the most. Minnie was in it, too. She sat on the brass footrail of the bar nearly hidden among the legs of the women. Older now than in the formal portrait, she had her chin in her hands and an impish grin on her face. Cigarettes dangled from the women’s mouths; their shapeless, short-skirted dresses made them look hard and unlovely, at least to my eyes. But Minnie didn’t seem to mind. She probably got a lot of attention. Strange surroundings for a little girl, but it didn’t appear to have damaged her much.

  I looked at the portrait again and examined the woman, Lil, closely, looking for…What? A trace of degeneracy, dissolution? Some stamp of her profession? But there was nothing. She looked like any ordinary young woman, just this side of homely. And the child on her lap looked like any other child. I dropped it back in the box along with some other discards.

  “There you are,” Minnie said, coming in from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked over my shoulder.

  “Here’s one of you.” I handed her the one of the women at the bar, and another of her climbing on a chair to join a group of men seated around the flagstone fireplace.

  She chuckled. “Yes, there’s one of those in the scrapbook.” She yawned. “I’m sorry, Thea. You’re not having a very exciting time of it, for a vacation.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Minnie. I’m enjoying myself. And that reminds me. I met Jim Enright in town this afternoon and he wants to take me to a dance tomorrow night. Said it would be a real “experience” for me. What do you think?”

  “Wonderful, that’s what you need. Takes me off the hook as far as entertainment goes. Well, I’m going to bed. Don’t know why I’ve been feeling so tired, and I’ve got a lot
of work to do tomorrow. Stay up as long as you like.”

  I was about ready for bed myself, and sifted quickly through the remaining pictures, miscellaneous shots of cattle, barns and unidentified people. One was stuck to the back of another and I picked them apart. A small portion of the image tore away, but not enough to destroy the snapshot. It showed a motley group of men clustered around an open vintage car. All the men wore scarves tied over their faces banditti fashion. Behind them, a man’s body dangled from the gnarled branch of a cottonwood, hung by the neck. Could this have been the hanging Minnie was asking about? The car placed it in the right time period, and surely there couldn’t have been that many hangings in those days. My eyes slid from the gruesome angle of the man’s head to a young cowboy braced cockily against the car’s long hood, his hat knocked back on his forehead and his legs covered with shaggy chaps. The others were straight out of central casting as well, one in a long hide coat, another with a floppy-brimmed hat.

  The picture was definitely a keeper. I could hardly wait to show Minnie. I put it with the others I’d set aside and tossed the rest back in the cigar box with my special pile on top.

  When I finally got to bed, I slept restlessly, my dreams filled with masked men, pork chops and never-ending spaces in which I continually lost my way.

  I jerked awake with a stiffened alertness that wasn’t part of the dreams. Listening for the sound that had roused me, I heard a definite scratching and the dog’s tiny whine. There was no mistake this time. I’d forgotten him again. The dog was probably starving, and had been waiting all day for me to seek him out.

  When I opened my door and faced the dark hall I paused a moment, remembering last night’s folly. But that had only been Max. And, as it turned out, I was the prowling stranger, not him. Besides, I could flip on the light if I wanted. But by the time I reached the stairs and the switch, my brief hesitation was forgotten and I made my way quickly to the kitchen served perfectly well by night vision.

  The light in the fridge showed a portion of leftover chops and enough milk to spare the dog a bowl. I reached for the cupboard for a dish of some kind, then stopped, suddenly alert. Before I could lower my arm there was a rush of movement and the excruciating pain of a blow on my head. I felt myself falling, but could do nothing about it, not even prevent my forehead from banging the edge of the counter.