Seasons of Death
Page 19
“I appreciate that. Did you see Reub? Is he all right?”
“Yes, I saw him, and he seems to be fine; he’s not too communicative. Newbolt is sure a judge will go easy on him when he comes to trial.”
“I hope so. Dex is getting a lawyer for him. Oh, you know, that’s something I still can’t believe. Reub is such a gentle man; never killed anything except to eat. I can’t believe he could kill Amanda like that.”
“Delia, he was protecting Clare. If Amanda had gotten at that briefcase and opened it with Newbolt right there—”
“I know, Conan, and…well, I’m grateful the truth about Clare didn’t come out. Tom will have to bear the burden of guilt still, and I know he wouldn’t mind.” For a moment, pent tears glistened in her eyes. Finally, she said, “Clare didn’t even recognize me when I left her at the hospital last night. I mean, this morning. That could change. At least, that’s what the doctors told me. But I doubt it; she doesn’t have any fight left. Never did have much, really. The only time she ever stood up on her hind legs was that once with Lee, and what a price she paid.” Delia’s eyes sought Conan’s and she smiled musingly. “You knew she killed Lee when you told me you were quitting the case.”
“Yes.” He frowned and raised his glass; the droning of insects was like a veil on the windless air. “I suppose I should have told you then.”
“Maybe, or Dex should’ve told me when I decided to look for a private detective. Might’ve saved a lot of trouble. But maybe not. Amanda would’ve come to Silver either way.” Then she shrugged. “Dex meant well, and what more can you ask of somebody than to do what they think is the right thing? Nobody can see into the future.”
“Perhaps that’s just as well.”
“Probably. What would life be without a few surprises along the way? Lord, I’m beginning to sound like a preacher I once knew, with all this philosophizing.”
Conan shook his head in amazement. “If that preacher could still philosophize after going through what you have, he has my utmost admiration. As you do.”
She hesitated, studying him with a faint smile that didn’t find its way to her eyes; they were shadowed with memories. “Well, Conan, maybe philosophy comes with age. You have to have something to make up for the aches and pains and just in general not being up to what you used to be.”
“Delia, what are you going to do now? But I suppose it’s a little early for you to make any long-range plans.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve had more time to think last night and this morning than you might suppose. Traveling time, waiting time at the hospital. And I had a long talk with Kathleen a little while ago.” She pointed toward a small cottage nearly hidden behind a screen of spirea and cottonwoods. “See that house over there? That’s where Pete and Marian live, but they’re building a new house down the road a ways. Kathy says I can have this house when they move.”
Conan busied himself with lighting a cigarette, hoping his reservations weren’t apparent, but they didn’t escape Delia. “Yes, I know, Conan, I always said they’d have to take me out of Silver feet first; that’s the only way I’d go. Never say never. That’s another good piece of philosophy. I always said I’d never put Clare in a nursing home, too, but I’m afraid that’s where she’s headed. Dex says he knows a couple of good places in Boise. Anyway, if it does work out that way, I’ll be closer to her here. I guess…remember, once I said something about everything having its seasons? Well, I’ve come to the end of one season, but it’s not the end of me. That came as sort of a surprise. I’m so lucky, Conan, I’ve still got my mind, and my body’s holding up pretty well, and I have enough money so I don’t have to worry about that. And I have children who want me. Kathy and Jim have pestered me for years to come live with them.”
Conan said noncommittally, “You are lucky, Delia.”
She nodded, waiting until he looked around at her. “You probably think I’m just trying to make the best of things, and I am, but it’s not as hard as it might seem. That’s something else that comes with age. You get a lot of experience in grief, and you learn that when you lose somebody or something important to you, you will get over it sooner or later. I’ve lost Silver. I won’t go back there, not with the house gone. I lived there for sixty years, from the day I married Tom. We raised our kids there, and that’s where he died. I’ll miss that old house, and I’ll miss…” She looked south, as if she could see through the trees, through the hundred miles of distance beyond. “Lord, I’ll miss those mountains. They’re so beautiful. I never saw a day in all these years when they looked exactly the same. There was always something happening; sunshine and storms, flowers blooming, aspen turning gold, snow falling…”
For a moment as she spoke, Conan seemed to catch the scent of high mountain air, that subtle fragrance that could be duplicated or bested nowhere else. He remained silent because he could find no words adequate.
Delia reached out and briefly pressed his hand. “Well, I’ll always know they’re still there, and I’m sure Kathy and Jim would take me up to Silver for a visit, if I get too homesick. Truth is, those mountains are hard. They never give an inch or care one bit about the people living on them. I’m not really sure I want to go through another winter in Silver. You have to be young for that.”
Conan laughed. “You mean under eighty?”
“For me, yes. Besides, a person has to keep a stake in the future. That’s the trouble with Silver, you know. Its only stake is in the past, and that’s important. The present and the future don’t exist without the past. But I’ve spent enough of my life looking backward. I’d like to spend what years are left to me looking forward, and I just realized that this morning watching little Hugh. I think there’s a lot I can teach him.”
Conan studied her, wondering if he would have the courage—the grace—to accept so resolutely the cruel and immutable facts of age when he came face to face with them.
“Delia, I hope Hugh is a receptive student. He’s a fortunate child to have such a remarkable tutor.”
“Oh, dear, that must be the Irish coming out in you.”
“Irish, or not, it’s true.” Then he looked at his watch and rose. “Well, I’d better be on my way. I have nearly four hundred miles ahead of me.”
She frowned as she, too, rose. “You’re driving all the way today? You could stay here and get an early start in the morning.”
“Thank you, but I…well, I just want to get home.”
She nodded. “Then it’s time you started. But before you go, I want to settle your fee with you.”
“There’s no fee to settle.”
“What do you mean? Conan, I hired you to do a job of work, and—”
“Yes, to clear your husband’s name—which I did not accomplish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re feeling sorry for an old woman just because she happens to be out of a house—”
“No, Delia.” He laughed at the thought. “I can’t imagine feeling sorry for you under any circumstance. You know I don’t depend on private investigation for my livelihood. That means my time is worth exactly what I choose to ask for it, and in this case I’ve been amply compensated.”
She still wasn’t satisfied. “Compensated how?”
He made an ironic bow and said, “By the pleasure of making your acquaintance, ma’am. I couldn’t ask for, nor will I accept anything more.” Then he added, “And that’s final.”
“Your aunt Dolly told me you had a stubborn streak.” Then she smiled and took his arm. “The pleasure’s been mutual, you know. Come on, I’ll walk you out to your car.” When they reached the XK-E, he paused before getting in. “Delia, I have a guest room and a marvelous view of the ocean at home. You’re welcome to take advantage of both anytime.”
She pursed her lips, considering that. “I never have seen the ocean. Maybe I should.” But her gaze turned southward toward the Owyhees she couldn’t see, and Conan doubted she’d ever take him up on his offer. Cordelia Starbuck was as far from her real
home as she would ever want to be. “Good-bye, Delia.”
“Good-bye, Conan. Keep your stakes in the future.”
He nodded. “But don’t forget the past.”
“You can’t. It’s always with you.”
He drove slowly down the driveway to the highway, stopping there for a last look back. Delia had already gone into the house and with that it seemed she had irrevocably become a part of his past.
He smiled faintly as he turned onto the highway.
It’s always with you.
About the Author
M. K. Wren, a widely acclaimed writer and painter, was born in Texas, the daughter of a geologist and a special education teacher. Twenty-five years ago, she found her soul home in the Pacific Northwest, where she wrote Curiosity Didn’t Kill the Cat; A Multitude of Sins; Oh, Bury Me Not; Nothing’s Certain but Death; Seasons of Death; Wake Up, Darlin’ Corey; and the science-fiction trilogy, The Phoenix Legacy. As an artist, Ms. Wren has worked primarily in oils and transparent watercolors and has exhibited in numerous galleries and juried shows in Texas, Oklahoma, and the Northwest.