House at Road's End

by Peggy Staggs

“He wants to remain anonymous.”

  “I don’t like that.”

  “Yeah, well, neither do I, but there are debts you can’t—” He stopped. “Please, keep it to yourself.”

  “Thank you. I will.” I smiled, took the file and got up to leave. “Where’s a good place to eat?”

  “The restaurant district is on the corner of the old highway and 1st Street. Three blocks west and two north.” He pointed the direction.

  The door whooshed shut behind me. The sidewalk didn’t get any smoother as I walked the three blocks west. The small town sounds outside were soothing. An occasional car or pickup, a barking dog, an upset cat, an equally upset bird, the rustle of a chilly breeze through dying leaves. I tugged my sweater around me wishing I’d worn a blazer.

  My stomach rumbled. “I need dinner,” I said to no one. I wasn’t used to having someone to talk to. The past week had made me realize how lonely my life was. I had Sophie and her family. I smiled. I missed them all. There were other friends back in Langley. They were the kind who aren’t close. You get together for dinner, drinks and laughs. As soon as the night’s over, so is the relationship until the next time. Sophie was different.

  Then, there was Don. For reasons I still didn’t quite understand, we mostly went to parties, and then only those related to his work. They tended to be very formal as were the people we mingled with. When we went to dinner, movies, and plays, and always alone.

  Then one night at a party I’d overheard conversation that had made me question why I was with him at all. He’d referred to me as arm candy. I began taking a good look at our relationship. It had left me feeling more like an accessory than part of his life.

  It came as a total shock when he asked me to marry him. I’d been stunned. It wasn’t the first time a man had asked me to marry him. The time in med school the breakup had been just as devastating. Logically and emotionally, I knew I was so much better off without Don. The night I’d given his ring back and told him it was over. I stopped at the corner and shut my eyes against the memory. It hurt to think of what he’d done.

  The muscles in my neck ached, my head hurt, and I had the urge to hit something. When those three things come together, I know I’m either stressed or my blood sugar is low. It’s part medical training and part left over from my childhood. Mom cooked when she was stressed. As a result, I’ve got a whopper of a mac and cheese addiction. And of course, you can’t have mac and cheese without sausage...Polish sausage. She did balance it out with salad. Unfortunately, it was drenched in Italian dressing. All very hard on the waistline, which is directly related to my running three or four times a week. Fortunately, I’m blessed with great genes and so far, my arteries are clog-free. I still have time. And there’s so much cheese left out there to eat.

  I made my way to the Spirit Spring’s restaurant district. I smiled as I saw the town’s two eateries facing-off across the road. “At least it’s convenient,” I said as a group of ducks waddle from one side of the street to the other, then plopped into an irrigation ditch.

  Jack said the restaurants were about equal. So, which one?

  The number of cars parked at each of them were about the same. So was it the one that, no doubt, used to be someone’s garage or the one that looked like Abe Lincoln ate there?

  I decided to dive in headfirst and go to the Hot Springs Bar and Grill—Abe’s place. I turned up a grass-lined walk. A glass of Chardonnay sounded great. Maybe two, but that was my max. I had the town meeting to go to, so one glass it was.

  The rustic log exterior held the promise of the Old West. Inside, I found the place filled with neon beer signs, silent flat screens turned to sports channels, pool tables, men in cowboy hats, country music, and a set of massive antlers over the immense stone fireplace. Here, the city had encroached on the country. Cowboys and flat screen TV’s. I guess when you live out west a western-themed restaurant is redundant.

  A perky redhead stood behind the bar talking to one of the cowboys. “Hello,” she called as the door closed behind me. “Take a menu and sit wherever you like. Jody will be right out. Want anything to drink?”

  “Chardonnay, please,” I called back as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.

  “House or a bottle?”

  “House is fine.” I took a menu from the counter and settled into a booth in the restaurant section. At least, there wasn’t a pool table over here. I laid the file on the table. I’d read it while I ate. It was either the file or my Kindle. This was my second Kindle. The other one had died of a massive wine overdose.

  A short guy who looked fresh from algebra class, came through swinging doors followed by the smell of grilled meat. “Evening, ma’am. The special tonight is a rib eye, fries and salad. Want a minute or are you ready?” he asked as he wiped his hands on an apron tied around his waist.

  “What would you have?” In my travels, I’ve found getting the waiter’s opinion means better food and service. Of course, occasionally, you get someone who likes the weirdest thing on the menu.

  “That’s easy.” He smiled, showing me one gold tooth. “I’d go for the special. The steaks came in today. I’d substitute the garlic mashed potatoes for the fries. They’re.” He leaned in. “Kind of old. That’s why they’re on the special. The garlic spuds I peeled and cooked this evening.”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  When Jody left, I took the opportunity to observe the people at the bar. I like people watching. It stimulates my imagination and I’m a little nosy. People are fascinating. You can tell a lot from body language, and interpersonal interactions. It was another hold-over from my growing up days. I’d learned early that if you hang back, take in the people, then get acquainted, you’re far better off. It didn’t always work. You’d think with all that practice I’d be better with my personal relationships. The only two men I’d been with... They’d both ended in their own devastating way. I shook off the memories ad turned my attention to the patrons of the bar.

  Most of the men at the bar were congregated around the redhead. Their faces, the one’s I could see, were weary either from working or life or both. Some of them were hard and lean. A couple were rounder. Two groups sat away from the main crowd assembled around the redhead. They all had what I call bar posture. They leaned forward on their stools, shoulders hunched, gripping their drinks as if they’d run away.

  One of the outlying groups began laughing. Their cheerful tone swept through the bar. At another table, men sat contemplating their drinks, their faces vacant, as if they were bored with life. How sad. Didn’t they know everything could end with alarming suddenness? The gut wrenching reality of my dad’s death had brought that inevitability home with desperate finality.

  I’d be making some major changes when I got to my new home.

  Maybe Denver. High up in the Rockies. Clean mountain air and spectacular views.

  My attention fell on the man at the end of the bar. His clothes were all new. He was engaging the man beside him in conversation. The all-new-clothes-man bent in closer to the guy next to him. The man turned toward New-clothes, a tan line striped his forehead where his hat came down on his face. Sheet-white above, copper below.

  The redheaded bartender walked over to my table and set a glass down, blocking my view. The smell of her perfume tainted the air. As an afterthought, she tossed a napkin out for a coaster. “You passing through?”

  “No. I’m taking over the B&B” For now.

  “Oh, that’s you huh?” She shifted her weight to one hip as she eyed me. “Sorry about Ralph. He was a nice old guy. I hope they find out who did it.” She tapped the edge of the table with a long scarlet fingernail, her eyes fixed on me. “You going to get the place running?”

  “Thank you.” I think. “Right now, I’m more interested in finding the killers.” Killers didn’t set any better on my mind than murders had.

  “I heard you’re the new town doc. Kind of a come down isn’t it? I mean after the big city and all.”

&nbs
p; Wow. Really? “No, I’m not.” I could cross this place off my list of restaurants to visit.

  She gave a whatever shrug. “Since you’re going to be living here, I should introduce myself. I’m Lacey Harris. My dad’s the mayor.”

  I needlessly introduced myself.

  “Lacey, honey,” a man in a gray cowboy hat called. “There’re lonely, thirsty men over here.”

  “Hold on, Joe.” She turned back, her smiled fading as she said, “It was real nice meeting you.” With that, she left to join the group at the bar.

  Her real nice had turned her fake smile to a sneer. Fine, I didn’t like her much either.

  I sat alone sipping my wine—hoping Lacey hadn’t spit in it—and looking at the closed folder.

  Cole had drummed into me the importance of safety. We’d sit in a coffee shop and he’d quiz me about being safe in a big city. I’d learned a lot from him. The two things vying for first place were to be aware of my surroundings, and find the second exit. It was the reason I sat in the end booth with a view of both doors.

  I’d also gotten pretty good at scanning a room inconspicuously. At first glance, the other patrons all appeared straight off the ranch.

  Except Mr. New-clothes. I wasn’t sure if cowboys went out and bought all new stuff or not. Judging by the others it wasn’t the norm.

  The door opened, allowing the last of the day’s light to sneak into the darkened bar. With it came the Sheriff. He paused as he took in the room. He walked straight over to me.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please.” I motioned to the empty side of the booth. I was glad for the company. I’d eaten so many meals alone in the past few years I found I was as hungry for company as I was for food. And who wouldn’t want to share a meal with this good-looking guy?

  He took a second look at the men clustered at the bar. “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “The guy at the end.”

  “Mr. New-clothes?”

  “Exactly.” His tone and the fact that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the man gave me a clue New-clothes was out of place.

  “Maybe today was payday and he wanted to impress someone. Maybe Lacey. That’s what I’d do if I worked around cows all day.”

  “It happens on an Air Force base, or in the city, but not on a ranch. Cowboys buy new boots or jeans when they have to, never everything all at once. I’m impressed you noticed.” He stopped as my salad arrived.

  “The usual, Sheriff?” Jody asked.

  “I’ll have what the Doc’s having.”

  When Jody left, Jack finished, “The all-new guy is trying to fit in.”

  “Maybe he’s from the city and doesn’t want to stick out.” Like me. I definitely stuck out in my Ann Taylor dress and Christian Louboutin heels.

  “He isn’t doing a very good job. It was different when the resort was setting up. But they were construction workers with about the same attitude toward clothes ranchers have. We don’t get a lot of tourists, you have to know we’re here.” He turned his attention to me.

  I picked at my lettuce, not wanting to begin eating when he hadn’t been served. “I’ve got a steep learning curve.”

  “People are pretty much the same everywhere. You picked him out, didn’t you?” He motioned toward my salad. “Go ahead. Jody will be right back.” A grin fluttered at his lips. “You can handle us. The real question is, can we hicks handle you?”

  “Hicks? I don’t think so.” Whatever this guy was, he was no hick. There was a world-weariness about him. As if he’d seen too much. Done too much.

  Now that I had him alone, this was a great opportunity. Maybe some small talk. “Why did the resort close down?”

  “Hi, there, Jack.” Lacey’s voice had turned low and seductive. She ran one of her absurdly long red fingernails across the table. “How was your day?”

  Jack drew back. “Hello, Lacey. It was fine. Can I get a Bud Lite?”

  “Oh, sure. I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you.” She shot me a lethal glance.

  Jody came out of the kitchen with Jack’s salad. Lacey didn’t move, forcing Jody to reach around her. The awkward motion sent a few bits of salad tumbling to the table. Lacey glared at Jody as if he’d interrupted their moment.

  Jack picked up his fork and pushed the lettuce around in his bowl.

  “I’ll catch up with you later, then.” She reached out and traced her nail down his arm.

  “Right.” He concentrated on his salad.

  I knew her exaggerated sway as she walk back to the bar wasn’t for me.

  Jack ignored the show.

  Obviously, there was a history between them. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with my problem. Finally, Jack pointed to the file folder I’d laid on the table. “You should keep that out of sight.”

  “I’m sorry. I was going to read it over dinner.” I felt fatigue settle around me. Between the long drive, the trauma, the lack of sleep and all the crying, I had nothing left.

  I picked up the folder and laid it on the seat as Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. “Now what?” He pushed ignore and laid it on the table.

  Instantly, it vibrated again. He shook his head and answered it this time. “Don, this better be—No. I’m having dinner with a beautiful woman. Go away.” He laid his fork down. “Listen, March, I’m not now, nor have I ever been, one of your—yes, I’m well aware you saved my life, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche to—fine. I’ll see what I can do.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

  I sat stunned. Don March. It couldn’t be. Please. There had to be more than one Don March in the world. There just had to be. My stomach knotted. I pushed my half-eaten salad aside. If I didn’t ask, I wouldn’t know. I could pretend it was someone else. I intended to take a sip of wine and ended up gulping it down. Did I want to know? I had to ask. I had to know. And what if it was? The wine hit my stomach with force. If it was, I knew I couldn’t trust Jack. No matter what Dad had said. Jack had to be the good guy. All broad shoulders and hazel eyes. I...he had to be the good guy.

  Jack eyes were trained on me.

  I took a deep breath. “Does Don March live around here?”

  “No, thank God. He’s enough of a pain in the—” He stopped. “But you know that.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and slumped against the back of the booth. What were the odds? Numbers rushed in and out of my brain. There were no coincidences. “Please. Don’t let it be true.” The words came out so softly I didn’t think Jack heard them.

  “I’m sorry. I know you were....involved.” He faltered over what to say next. Finally, he said, “Think of it this way, he’s looking out for you in his own abnormal way. It’s hard for him to be nice. Hell, it’s hard for him to be human.”

  I knew that for sure. Still, I hadn’t known him the way the Jack had. He hadn’t saved my life. He’d ruined it.

  How could I trust him if he’d had dealings with the scum of the world, Don March? He’d even done him a favor. Granted, it was a payback situation, somehow it kind of made it worse. Don’t you have a special bond with someone who saves your life?

  Jody came out with our steaks. I looked at my food as if it were filled with maggots. Foolishly, I’d thought Don would be out of my life. His call earlier—the one I’d hung up on in the Sheriff’s office—forced me to admit I knew better. He wasn’t the kind of man to let go.

  Jack cut the steak on his plate. I wondered if I’d ever know the story between the two men. I knew I wasn’t going to volunteer the one between Don and me. I decided to redirect the conversation.

  I wanted to ask how he knew about Don and me. Instead I asked, “How long have you lived in Spirit Springs?”

  “Three years.”

  “You made Sheriff quickly. That was a few months after my dad moved here.”

  “Listen, I know about March. I don’t want you to think I—” he searched for a word. “I.” He motioned for Lacey to bring us another round. He put his fork
down and said, “I’m going to be honest with you.”

  I know when someone says that, what’s going to follow is probably not going to be great.

  “I was never with The Agency. I’m not one of March’s fans. I owe him. I make good on my debts. Dealing with March on any level is never wise. You found that out.”

  The hard way. Don had been decent to me, until—wait. “How do you know about Don and me?” Oh, God. No. He couldn’t have. I felt my heart race.

  “I heard from someone I know in DC.” He turned his attention back to his steak.

  “You must have some contacts. He only asked me to marry him a week before I left. When he thought things weren’t going to end his way, he turned ruthless.” I shivered. How had Jack found out? “Did Don tell you?”

  “No.” He reached for my hand again. “You have to know how powerful he is.”

  I knew I should pull away.

  Lacey grabbed Jack’s empty beer bottle and put a full one down. She set my glass down so hard I was surprised the stem didn’t break. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. I drew my hand back. I did not want to get in the middle of whatever this was.

  “Lacey,” Jack’s voice held a warning.

  She walked away.

  Neither of us had a chance to say anything before the commotion began. Our attention turned to the end of the bar, near the exit sign. The cowboy with the striped forehead and Mr. New-clothes were arguing. The cowboy stood, knocking over a bar stool and planted his finger right in the middle of Mr. New-clothes’ chest. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he bellowed.

  Jack slid from the booth. “Cid, do we have a problem?”

  “Sheriff. No trouble here. Just someone sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be.” Cid righted his stool and sat back down. Mr. New-clothes slipped out the backdoor.

  Jack slipped back in the booth and said to me, “Now. What else can we talk about?”

  Whatever it was, I hoped it wouldn’t be Don March.

  We talked about the town.

  “What do you know about Jane Smith?” I asked as we ate.

  He smiled. “Aunt Jane? She’s a little crusty, but you won’t find anyone better. She has a big heart.”