by Frank Hayes
Charlie reached over to where Marian was sitting, then brushed away the tear that was rolling down her cheek. “You don’t need to say it. I know. Only one thing could keep your mother away. I figure I’ve lost more than a few days here. But you’re next to me. That makes me feel good. Can’t recollect all that’s happened. Guess you are going to have to connect some of the dots for me. Want you to take your time.”
An aide came into the room to collect his breakfast tray. “You did real good, Mr. Thompson. Ate everything but the tray. The nurse called your doctor, told him how much better you were. He’ll be along later this morning.” She smiled, then left.
Over the course of the next half hour, Marian told the story of the previous week. Charlie took in every word. He drew in a deep breath when she told him about Velma, gripping the bed rail until his knuckles showed white. He pressed her for additional details only once or twice. After the news about Velma his head sunk a little deeper into his pillow. Marian poured him a glass of water, then held it to his lips. He drank deeply, emptying the glass. She filled it again, placing it on the night table next to his bed.
“You drink it,” he said.
She nodded, then did as she was told.
“Too bad there isn’t something a bit stronger here. Guess that’ll have to wait. A lot to think about, take in,” he said.
Marian didn’t respond, but sat in silence.
“There’s something more, isn’t there?”
She nodded in affirmation.
“Let’s have it. Let’s have it all.”
Marian sat up in her chair. “It’s Vernon. He was killed last night in a car accident out on River Road. Virgil Dalton had to tell me while I was with Mom.”
Charlie glanced about the room, then out the window at the cold sunlight before he spoke. “Guess when it rains, it pours. Poor Vernon. He was lost a long time ago. Hadn’t hardly spent any time with your mother in years. Now he’s gonna get to spend a lot of time with her.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence grew while the light from the window stretched farther into the room. Hospital sounds, the intercom, people walking down the hall, became background noise they hardly heard. At last the spell was broken when Charlie’s doctor came into the room.
“Looks like you’ve made a sharp right turn, Mr. Thompson. Let me have a listen.”
He took the stethoscope, adjusted it on his ears, then placed it first on Charlie’s chest then on his back. “Take a deep breath.”
Charlie did, wincing a little.
“Boy, you old cowboys don’t give up easy. I know you’re still hurting and you will be because of those ribs for quite a while, so even after you leave here continue to take the pain medication as needed. Couple of days, we’ll be ready to chase you out of here.”
“Got a different timeline, Doc. Want to say good-bye to my wife and boy. Leaving here today.”
“No, Dad, no.”
“Marian, I’ve been hurt worse than this when I didn’t make go-round money. Then I signed up for another event. I plan to see your mother one more time, see her buried next to the little one we lost young, while she waits for Vernon to join her.”
Marian knew there was no point to arguing.
Charlie’s doctor spoke up. “Mr. Thompson, how about this. I know what you want to do and I understand. I’ll go along if you promise to come back here after the funeral. Give us another day or two just to be on the safe side.”
Charlie, who was never hardheaded for the sake of being hardheaded, agreed.
Virgil Dalton walked into Simpson’s funeral home two hours later to be stunned like all the other mourners at the sight of Charlie Thompson standing alongside his wife’s casket. Rosita said it best.
“When they were handing out grit that old cowboy got a double helping.”
31
In a place like Hayward, if you live there long enough, your passing doesn’t go unnoticed. Virgil looked down on the good-sized crowd of people who had come to say good-bye to Velma. He was standing apart up on a knoll at some distance where his own mother and father lay. He didn’t hold much with wakes, or funerals, for that matter. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the courage of his convictions. He just didn’t have a lot of convictions. The notion that it all didn’t end with a hole in the ground was something he wished he could sign on to, but like he had said to Jimmy the night before, standing out in the dark on River Road, life was just too random. Maybe his attitude was fallout from spending most of his life as a governmental representative of the concept of justice. It was an irony that was not lost on him. In any event, he had long since accepted that he was doomed to go through life always wrestling with the eternal question.
Looking down now on the collection of people starting to move slowly away from the grave site he thought of something his father said when Virgil first posed the dilemma of him as sheriff reconciling the concept of justice with the injustices in the world, which more often than not seemed to go unchecked and unpunished.
Sam hesitated for a moment. They had pulled up their horses. Sam looked out over the prairie on the bluff where they had paused. Then he turned to answer Virgil. “‘Sheriff’ is just a label. I don’t think of myself as meting out justice. In the old days they called someone like me a peace officer. Yep, that’s what I’m doing. Just trying to keep the peace in our little corner of the world.”
Virgil thought of that whenever, like now, he found himself getting caught up in those thoughts for which he knew he would never have an answer.
“Guess cemeteries are not the places to come to for answers.” He tipped his hat to the marker on which his mother’s and father’s names were chiseled, then walked down the hill to his car.
* * *
“How were things at the cemetery?”
“Pretty quiet, Jimmy, but then they usually are there. What about here?”
“About the same, quiet. There was something I meant to tell you last night.”
Virgil could almost hear the wheels turning.
“Sorry, Virgil, I lost it.”
“Well, maybe it’ll pop up later. I’m heading over to the hospital, then I’ll stop back. Maybe it will come to you while I’m gone. That’s the way it usually works.”
Virgil gave a short wave, then left Jimmy scratching his head.
* * *
“Figured I’d be seeing you sometime today.” Dr. Arthur R. Kincaid, the coroner, made the comment as Virgil stepped through his office door.
“Yep, we sure have been seeing a lot of one another lately.”
“Well, don’t be getting your hopes up. We’re not buying furniture together. I’m already spoken for.”
“Never crossed my mind, Ark. Don’t take this too personal, but you ain’t exactly my type. But that’s a discussion for another day. What have you got for me on Vernon Thompson?”
“Let’s take a little walk, Virgil. Been cooped up in here all morning. Need some fresh air.”
A couple of minutes later, Virgil found himself back out in the parking lot where he had just parked his cruiser.
“Looks like we’re moving into a new season,” Ark said. “Cold air feels good for a change. Terry and I plan on getting the kids into the snow for a week or so up in one of those ski resorts north of Santa Fe. Never get much of it down here. When we do it doesn’t last long. I was thinking I might even do some skiing again.”
“Again?”
“Virgil, you forget. I’m not a native. Grew up in Vermont. I was put on skis about the same time you were put on your first horse.”
“You’re right. Did forget. Feels like I’ve known you forever.”
Virgil looked at Ark like he was seeing him for the first time. He was on the north side of fifty, but could have passed for much younger. Had hardly any gray hair and all his teeth. Not everyone in his age grouping who Virgil
knew could say that.
“You probably feel that way because of Terry. You guys have known each other practically your whole life.”
Virgil nodded. He and Terry had lost track of each other. Virgil had left Hayward for school. When he returned, she had gone. She didn’t return until Hayward had opened up a regional hospital. She had become a nurse. A couple of years later, she hung up her nurse’s uniform when she married Ark, who many thought would never jump the broom. Terry and Rusty had been in school together. She was Rusty’s best friend. Virgil remembered how hard she had taken Rusty’s loss. Ark had gotten a late start on the marital state, but jumped in with both feet. He and Terry now had three children under ten, the last born on his fiftieth birthday.
“Before we talk about Vernon, Ark, I wanted to tell you something. Something I want you to share with Terry.”
“You got my attention, Virgil. Shoot.”
“Virginia Hayward is my daughter. Mine and Rusty’s. Before it gets out there in the general public, I wanted you to know. She’s Rusty’s and mine, but I never knew until a few months ago. Tell Terry. She’s taken to calling herself Virginia Dalton even though I don’t think she’s made it legal yet.”
Ark didn’t say anything right away. A few dead leaves got caught by the wind, eddying around the parking lot in a kind of frenzied dance. An exiting car drove right through them.
“Wow, Virgil. That is news. Not what I was expecting. Never knew Rusty, but felt like I did because Terry talks about her often. Wait until she hears this. Matter of fact, I’m going to make a special trip home for lunch. Terry is going to be thrilled to hear this. She actually said on more than one occasion how she thought it would have been great if you and Rusty had the chance to have a baby. Boy, life sure does take some unexpected turns, doesn’t it?”
“Yep, sometimes takes your breath away. Now, what have you got for me on Vernon?”
Ten minutes later, at the tail end of their exchange, Dr. Art Kincaid walked Virgil over to his vehicle.
“I’ll have a more definitive analysis when I get those lab reports back, Virgil. Call you when I do, but I don’t think they are going to contradict what I just told you. Feel bad for the Thompsons. Seems like they have gotten more than their share lately.” Virgil got in the car and rolled down the window.
“Thanks, Ark.”
“By the way, Virgil, you know Terry is going to want you to bring Virginia over.”
“I figured as much,” Virgil said. “I think she would probably enjoy it. Terry could tell her things about Rusty that I didn’t know. They were pretty much joined at the hip.”
“We’ll arrange it. Virgil, you know I’ve always thought of you as a friend. You know that. Now, well, I just want to say that I’m glad for you, that you have her in your life.”
“Thanks, Ark. We’ll talk about Vernon.”
“Again, feel bad for the Thompsons.”
“Yeah. Just wonder if it’s over,” Virgil said as he rolled up the window and turned the key in the ignition.
* * *
“Rosie, what are you doing here? Didn’t expect you to come in—Jimmy’s here, holding down the fort.” Virgil had just come out of the office bathroom.
“Guess I wasn’t in the mood for socializing. Dave headed right back down to Redbud after the service. I didn’t feel like going to the reception by myself. You didn’t go.”
“Got too much on my plate. Wanted to see Ark about Vernon. Did Charlie get back to the hospital?”
“That was how I was able to skip the reception. Marian was going to bring him back, but I volunteered. He was pretty beat. I think he was actually happy to get back in that hospital bed. They gave him a shot for pain. Got him settled in the bed. He was asleep in five minutes.”
“Good. Would have thought his son would have wanted to do that.”
“He’s a strange one, that Calvin,” Rosita said. “I mean, he hardly said a word to me at the wake or the funeral. Figured he might want to ask me something, you know, about finding Velma or even something about Vernon’s accident since I work for the sheriff. Never said a word. Dave said he never liked him. When they were in school he said he used to trash-talk his father and he was always with a tough crowd. Velma hardly ever talked about him. She’d refer to Vernon once in a while. She agonized over his drug use, but she knew he was way beyond her reach by then. I do remember her saying Calvin had more sway over him than anyone. Ever since they were kids. Guess Vernon idolized him. When Calvin took off after college, Vernon did the same. Marian told me she hadn’t seen either of them in years.”
“Well, I gave our guests lunch.” Jimmy had come through the door to the holding area. “Always makes me hungry seeing other people eat.”
“C’mon, Jimmy,” Rosie said. “You get hungry looking at roadkill.”
“There you go. You’re always at me ’cause you’re going to those meetings all the time.”
Rosita winced. “They’re about healthy eating. You can’t just eat anything you want.”
Virgil smiled at the ongoing give-and-take. “You can if you’re twenty-five, six feet tall, and dress out at a hundred and sixty pounds. Don’t think Jimmy has to go to any Weight Watchers meetings for a long time, Rosie.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Virgil. All this talk about food, now I’m hungry.”
“Tell you what. I’ll amble over to Margie’s, get us some lunch. Jimmy, I’ll get you and me a couple of shakes, a mess of fries, and some cheeseburgers. Rosie, I’ll get you some greens with a light dressing and a bottle of H2O.”
Rosie picked up a paperback she’d been reading off and on and chucked it across the room at Virgil. Virgil caught it in midair right over his desk.
“The Lock Artist,” Virgil said. “Reading those bondage books again. You and Dave getting kinky with the handcuffs?”
“You ought to try reading, Virgil. Good book for you to start with. Give you some insight into life beyond Hayward.”
Virgil stood up, walked over, dropped the book on Rosie’s desk, then started for the door. “Enough going on in Hayward right now to take up my free time, keep me busy. Anyhow, be back in a little while with some grub.”
“Bring me one of Margie’s burgers and one of those shakes, too,” Rosie said. “I’ll graze on the greens tonight at home since I’m eating alone.”
“You got it. A Margie’s special coming up.”
“That’s it.”
Virgil and Rosie both turned and looked at Jimmy.
“I remember what it was I wanted to tell you. Virginia and I were eating at Margie’s. Margie told us about that lady that got killed on the interstate who is over at Dr. Kincaid’s. Said she came in a couple of times a while back. Margie said she was driving a vehicle that said ‘Coastal’ on the side. It had a picture of a wave underneath the name.”
“Coastal,” Rosie said. “That name rings a bell.” She looked at Jimmy and Virgil. “Coastal.” She said the name again. “Velma mentioned a while back one of the boys had some kind of a connection there. Coastal, yes, that was the name. I’m sure of it. By the way, Virgil, what did Doc Kincaid say to you about Vernon?”
“Well, for one thing, he said he never should have been behind the wheel. He said the tox screen will be more definitive, but he said his alcohol content was off the charts and if drugs were factored in, well, he said he probably didn’t even know he was driving. Which kind of explains what I found or should say didn’t find.”
“What was that, Sheriff?” Jimmy asked.
“Well, after you left, I went up and down that piece of road with my flashlight a half a dozen times or so until Toby Sweets showed up with his tow truck. There wasn’t so much as a hint of a skid mark. Nothing. Don’t think Vernon ever hit the brake, not even once. I think that car was on autopilot when it headed for the river.”
“What are you saying, Virgil?
You thinking suicide?”
All this time Virgil was standing by the door. He opened it, looking outside into the bright sunlight, mulling over Rosita’s question.
“I don’t know,” Virgil said. “Maybe Vernon had some demons he let out of the jar and he just couldn’t put them back in. Maybe he just couldn’t deal with them anymore. In any event, think I’m going to have to look into the possibility. Listen, while I’m over at Margie’s, see what you can dig up on Coastal. Pretty sure they most likely have a website—everybody does these days.”
“Will do, Sheriff,” Jimmy said.
“Virgil, when you’re looking into that possibility you mentioned, I’m guessing it’s going to involve Marian and that old cowboy. Be easy on them. They’ve been through a lot this last week.”
Virgil nodded. “I know they have, Rosie. I also know we all got our demons, but I think it’s key that I find out what Vernon’s were because they likely were bad enough to get him killed.”
32
Virgil was right. There was a website. Coastal, according to what Jimmy and Rosie had learned while he was gone, was a Texas-based company down on the Gulf principally involved in oil and natural gas exploration. Beyond the site description there wasn’t much other than the address of the corporate headquarters and some contact numbers. After lunch Virgil decided to put in a call. It was an exercise in frustration until he finally got connected with someone in human resources. Virgil explained the reason for his call, immediately getting what he figured was a typical response to anyone calling in regards to personal information about any company employee.
“I’m very sorry,” the somewhat detached voice said. “There are privacy concerns here which I can’t possibly abrogate.”
Virgil knew immediately this was going to be an uphill battle.
“I fully understand your privacy concerns, but I’m not really looking for personal information. I just really want to find out whether this particular person is one of your employees.”
