Stripped Bare (7 page)

Louise wore her disaster face. “For Pete's sake. You don't have any groceries. Carly needs nutrition to grow right.”

How nice of all my siblings to worry over Carly's nutritional well-being. Opting for a fresh pair of jeans and clean flannel shirt, I continued dressing.

“Thank the good Lord I stopped at Dutch's before I came out. I managed something yummy from what I brought.”

Of course. For Louise, Dutch's Grocery was like a pharmacy.

“How did Carly take the news?” Louise asked.

I looked for a hair elastic on the dresser top. I mumbled syllables into the mirror, in a useless attempt to avoid the inevitable.

Louise wasn't fooled. “You didn't tell her, did you?”

“She knows.” I opened a dresser drawer, then closed it.

“Where is she?” Louise's voice rose.

I pretended great concentration on my hair, smoothing it back despite having no ponytail holder.

She gasped. “You don't know where she is.”

I left the mirror and eased out the doorway into the hall. I shouldn't have let Carly go. I'd need to hog-tie her soon and drag her to see Milo. “She's with friends.”

Louise slapped the dresser. In a falsetto voice, she said, “Let Kate be her guardian. She understands her best.”

I did, actually. Understand Carly best. But that didn't mean much.

Louise chased me from the bedroom. “You don't know the first thing about raising kids. You go after it like Mom and Dad. Letting kids do what they want, never giving them boundaries and discipline.”

Campaign posters for Ted's reelection had been knocked helter-skelter from the dining room table. I picked them up and stacked them.

VOTE FOR TED CONNER

GRAND COUNTY SHERIFF

TRUSTED AND EXPERIENCED

I'd meant to plant those posters in Hodgekiss and the four other little towns in sprawling across Grand County. The primary election was only two weeks away. As incumbent, Ted ought to win, especially with the weight of the Fox clan behind him. Of course, that was before Milo planned to charge Ted with murder. Dahlia had spent a fortune on the signs, and she insisted I place them, since I was related to a high percentage of people with yards and storefronts.

Louise hounded me to the kitchen. Her lecture gained steam. “It's like in kindergarten, when the other kids were making fun of her about that stupid stuffed toucan.”

I'd given it to Carly when she was born and she'd loved it immediately. She'd carried it with her everywhere, talked to it, fed and cleaned it. Carly called it Birdy Bird.

As far as I knew, Birdy Bird lived on Carly's bed, upstairs in the attic.

Louise's lecture was like little hammers in my brain. But, as a gossip hound, she might be useful. Fortunately for me, Louise didn't hoard her information. “Who do you suppose might want Eldon dead?” I asked.

She switched gears without a hitch. “I heard Milo Ferguson is investigating what happened.” Louise picked up a plate of cookies from the counter and set it on the table. She'd left cookies at Mom and Dad's, which Milo had munched, and now she supplied them here. They were like turds of love that she dropped wherever she went.

The cookies had all the appeal of day-old roadkill. Emotional upheaval as a diet aid might be effective, but it couldn't be healthy.

Louise helped herself to a cookie. Melted chocolate dabbed her upper lip like an edible beauty mark. She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper. “Who do you think did it?”

Not Ted. Not Carly, either. I brushed my hair from my face and searched my pocket for a ponytail holder. “A thief, maybe.”

She waved one hand and reached for another cookie with the other. “Eldon didn't have anything to steal.”

Glenda told me Eldon kept a boatload of cash on the ranch someplace. He's not the only old-timer who didn't fully trust banks. “What else could it be?”

Louise predictably warmed to the gossip. “They say murder is always committed for love or money. So if it wasn't money, what about love? I've always thought May Keller had a thing for Eldon.”

“May Keller?” The woman was six days older than dirt and a widow for most of that time.

Wrinkles lined Louise's forehead. “Or maybe Eldon was carrying on with Aileen Carson and Jack found out. That's one creepy guy. He could have shot Eldon without a thought.”

“Jack's not creepy. He's just quiet.” I rummaged in the kitchen junk drawer and found a ponytail holder. “Besides, why do you think Aileen and Eldon had an affair?”

Louise leaned in. “It's the way they look at each other.”

Oh, brother. I smoothed my wild waves and flipped them through the elastic. “I've got to check the cows.” And go find Carly, drive to the hospital and see Ted, find out who killed Eldon so Milo would stand down, and in the meantime, keep Frog Creek running during the busiest time of year.

No hill for a climber, as Dad would say.

 

6

One of my best cows stood alone in the northwest corner of the lot, her tail kinked. That was a sure sign she'd started labor. I stared at her for a long while and finally decided she'd be okay on her own. This would be her sixth calf and I'd never had problems with her before. It rankled, leaving her now, when so much could go wrong.

While I debated abandoning her, Louise had climbed into her Suburban and headed out. My innards tied and twisted and roped together. Just yesterday I'd mentally complained about calving season dragging on and had wished that this busy time of year would come to an end. If I'd known what was in store, I'd have clung to the fatigue of regular overwork.

First things first. I climbed into Elvis and pointed him after Louise. I had to check on Carly and somehow get her to talk to Milo.

Twenty minutes later, Elvis buzzed through Hodgekiss, now bustling with morning activity. Okay, maybe “bustling” was generous, but there were several outfits in front of the Long Branch, and most parking spots on Main Street were full.

I was surprised to see Rope Hayward's pickup heading into town as I coasted out the west side. Rope didn't venture off the Bar J often, and coming to town today would expose him to packs of gossip hounds. Maybe he had business relating to Eldon's death.

Grand County Consolidated High School squatted on several acres to the west of town. Since the school couldn't afford to bus students who lived an hour or more from town, most kids drove themselves. Old beaters filled the lot, and Elvis fit right in.

I parked and bounded to the school and into the carpeted lobby. Louise's class was the first to graduate from this building, so compared to the courthouse or most businesses downtown, it felt new. They didn't serve cooked spinach every day, so why did the school always smell like it? Even though the wonderful aroma of the bread the cafeteria ladies prepared almost daily hovered over the top of everything, my stomach rolled over.

Mary Ellen Butterbaugh rose from her desk when she saw me approach the office window. Easily the smartest and most cultured person in town, she'd been school secretary since the dawn of time. “You didn't need to come all the way in. I know why Carly isn't here.”

Drat. I hadn't really expected her to be in class, but it would have been nice not to have to track her.

“Thanks,” I said. Then, without hope, I asked, “Danny Hayward's not here today, is he?”

Mary Ellen twitched an eyebrow in interest. “Oh, dear.” Mary Ellen was a good egg. She knew all and kept her own counsel. Insightful enough to know Carly shouldn't be with Danny, she wisely never tried to change a teen's mind.

“Is anyone else out today?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Just the two of them.”

I didn't like that.

I zipped my coat as I crossed the parking lot toward Elvis. The sun shone bright but acted stingy with the heat. Typical April, full of tricks and contradictions.

I drove back into town, thinking about Rope Hayward. As Eldon's ranch foreman, he'd know who came and went and who might have it out for Eldon. And as Danny's guardian, he might know where the kids went. I turned onto Main Street and found a parking spot next to the Bar J pickup, in front of the post office. Rope strode out with a fistful of mail, face lined with shadowed crevices, all scowls and squints. Faded Wranglers draped from his bony hips and he wore no coat over his plaid Western shirt.

It looked like he walked slowly, but those long legs ate up the ground, so I had to scurry from Elvis to intercept him. He'd already climbed inside the pickup and had the engine rumbling when I tapped on his window.

His deepening frown created a series of Grand Canyons along his chin and cheeks. He rolled down the window but didn't say anything.

“How's it going?” I hadn't meant to start with meaningless small talk, but the darkness of his eyes unnerved me.

He wasn't going to play the inane game with me. “What do you need?”

Social skills weren't Rope's strong suit, so I took the direct route. “Do you know where Danny is?”

He growled in the back of his throat, not a full-on rabid dog sound, but maybe that of an annoyed cat. “I guessed he's at school. If he's not, I can't say.”

And people accused me of detached parenting. “How about Nat? Would she know?”

He stared straight ahead, and his fingers squeezed the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles whitened. “Can't say.”

I tried again. “I didn't get a chance to talk to Carly about Eldon, and I think she's with Danny. I really need to see her.”

His lips barely moved. “I don't see as that's my business.”

Eldon's murder would naturally be hard on Rope, but my sympathy only ran so deep. “Danny was out at Frog Creek this morning, and he looked pretty broken up. I thought maybe they'd need some help processing Eldon's passing.”

His head pivoted slowly toward me. “I gotta get back to the ranch.”

“I understand. I'll give Nat a call.”

His jaw flinched and the growl came out as rough words. “Just give 'em a bit and they'll be fine.” He shoved the gearshift into Drive.

I reached in through the window and laid a hand on his arm. “I really need to get in touch with Carly. Milo Ferguson wants to ask her about Eldon.”

He closed his eyes. “He thinks she shot Eldon?”

“No! Of course not. He just wants to talk to her.” I nosed into the topic. “Can you think of anyone with a grudge against Eldon?”

He reopened his eyes and locked them with mine. “I can.” He planted his boot on the accelerator and jerked backward.

“Wait!” My protest was lost in the squeal of tires. I could call Milo and try to get him to talk to Rope, but my guess was that it'd do little good. Maybe I couldn't get more out of Rope, but I might get Nat to talk to me.

Rope gunned the engine and turned onto the highway. I followed, walking down the sidewalk to the Long Branch. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. I needed to get to Broken Butte and see Ted. Priorities warred inside me. I could help Ted more by finding Eldon's killer than by staring at his sleeping face.

Rope's comment about others wanting Eldon dead piqued my curiosity. Aunt Twyla might have something interesting to add.

I pushed through the glass door, into the vestibule of the Long Branch. About the size of two old-time phone booths, the vestibule separated the restaurant from the bar area, though that didn't make much difference. Anyone, including minors, could eat and drink on either side. I barreled into the restaurant.

The place smelled like deep-fry grease and stale beer, enough to make me pause and swallow down nausea. Not much put me off my feed but, apparently, having a husband shot and accused of murder introduced me to new territory. Maybe the nausea would subside when I found Eldon's real killer. Thank you, Psych 101.

The building was divided roughly in half. The bar side of the Long Branch occupied twice the space of the restaurant because the kitchen and restaurant shared the other side. A dozen red molded-plastic booths flanked the long, narrow dining room, along the windows that looked out onto the highway. The opening into the kitchen, the silverware station, the drinks dispenser, and the rest of the serving equipment took up the opposite wall, allowing for a walkway, about six feet wide, from the door to the end of the room.

Most of the booths were empty, because it was nearing two o'clock and dinner in the Sandhills arrived at noon. Always. Supper could run anywhere from five to seven in the evening. Breakfast ended by the super-late hour of seven. That left afternoons and mornings reserved for the coffee klatch. Today, two groups of gray hairs occupied separate booths.

Aunt Twyla stood in the kitchen. She looked up through the servers' window and waved. She yelled, her voice gravelly, “How're you doing, honey?”

I leaned toward the window so I wouldn't be shouting in the restaurant. “Do you have a minute?”

She came around a shelf to talk in a normal level. “I wish I did. The danged dishwasher busted and I've got Bud repairing it. If I don't stand by for him to cuss at, he might start growling at the new waitress and she'll quit and I'll be stuck waiting tables until we hire some other fool.”

Some things never changed.

“Kate,” a voice surpassing Twyla's on the cigarette-scratch scale called out. May Keller, a hardened little woman who looked like wet rope left to dry in the sun sat at one of the booths facing me. “What have you heard about Eldon?”

I wandered to her table. May Keller's ranch neighbored the Bar J. She was old enough to have swapped nursery school stories with Methuselah. “How're you doing, May?”

May cackled, following it up with a gurgling kind of cigarette cough. “I been better, hon. At my age, you'd think I'd get used to friends dying. But I gotta tell you, Eldon's passing has hit me hard. Couldn't stand to be out on the ranch by myself, so I come to town for groceries and one of Twyla's finest.” She pushed a plate with sticky frosting and cinnamon stuck to it.