by Frank Hayes
“Virgil, what a nice surprise,” his grandfather said.
“Not like the one I got this morning when I called Billy’s office. What happened to you and why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry. It was just a little fall.”
“Not so little. He tore a bunch of ligaments in his ankle when he fell climbing down off the tableland driving the sheep. He’s lucky he didn’t break it.”
As Billy spoke, the old man glared at him.
“Just for the record, recall what you told me last summer, when I had the aneurysm. Well, that’s a two-way street. It’s my job to worry about you just as it’s yours to worry about me.”
“You’re right, Virgil. I’m sorry, but I’m getting along fine now. Billy or one of his sons has been stopping by. Mrs. Hoya will be back from visiting her sister tomorrow. She will take care of me.”
“Isn’t it about time for you to stop calling her Mrs. Hoya?”
Grandfather gave a little wink. “I call her other names, but not when my relatives are around.”
“Okay, I’m not going there,” Virgil said.
“Sit, have some coffee. It is fresh. Billy made it right before you came.”
Virgil went over to the cabinet above the sink, got a mug out, then filled it. “I’m sorry I haven’t been up here sooner.”
“We know you’ve been busy. Heard about Charlie and his wife,” Billy said.
Virgil shook his head, then took a drink and set the mug down on the table. “Yeah, ain’t had a lot of free time lately. Remember, Billy, when we used to watch late-night Saturdays, years ago? If it ain’t one thing, it’s another, like Roseannadanna said.”
Billy laughed out loud at the reference. “Truer words were never spoken,” he said while Virgil took another drink from his mug.
“By the way, long as I’m here I wanted to ask you something. Have you had any energy companies approach you about oil or gas exploration on the reservation?”
“Actually, we had a couple in recent months. They’d like to send teams of geologists in to assess the potential. There’s one or two proposals that are being considered that are before the tribal council now. They haven’t been put up for public debate yet. That ought to be interesting when it happens.”
“Grandfather, how do you feel about that idea?” Virgil asked.
Chato sat back in his chair, looking into his empty cup before responding. “You know, back when they brought the Cherokee into Oklahoma, they kept pushing them off the good land until they figured the land they finally got them on was about the poorest. Only then was the government happy. But one day some poor Cherokee farmer who didn’t give up on that land went out to dig a furrow to plant a crop. Instead, what he got was a puddle of oil. That poor land became the most valuable in the state. The Cherokees got rich. I call that payback. So, if this land wants to offer us something to make our lives a little easier, I sure don’t object.” Billy and Virgil exchanged glances.
“Grandpa, I don’t know how true that story was but, Billy, when they hold that public forum, I think you ought to bring him there to tell it.”
Billy shook his head.
* * *
“Where are you going in your new uniform?” Rosie asked Virgil.
“Well, I didn’t want to wear it the first time on an ordinary day. So I figured I’d put it on going over to Simpson’s. They’re having a brief service for Vernon, then the burial. It was either going to be street clothes or the new uniform. I reckoned the uniform makes people take a little more notice.”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m kind of looking forward to meeting Calvin Thompson. He’s been pretty hard to come by and I have a few questions.”
“That reminds me, that woman from that oil and gas company called. She said to tell you that Calvin and Vernon had worked for Coastal. Vernon in a fairly minor capacity, but Calvin worked in contracts. She said he more than likely worked with Linda Murchison on more than one occasion. She also left next-of-kin information on Linda Murchison. I wrote it all up. It’s on your desk.”
Virgil picked up the paper Rosie referred to, then let out a sigh.
“Guess there’s no putting it off.”
He picked up the phone and punched in the number listed on the paper for Linda Murchison’s next of kin. The phone rang three or four times. Virgil was almost hoping that no one would pick up, but he knew if that happened, he was just postponing the inevitable. Finally, when he was expecting voice mail to pick up, a feminine voice obviously out of breath answered.
“Mrs. Taylor?” Virgil asked.
“Yes, sorry about that. Just came in from chasing the kids in the backyard. Out of breath.”
It was more than Virgil wanted to hear. He was picturing now in his head a young housewife and mother, probably Linda Murchison’s sister, who had no idea he was about to ruin her day. By the time he got off the phone about twenty minutes later, his own emotions were on knife edge. Rosita heard most of the conversation, noted the change in Virgil’s face. When he set the phone down, she brought a glass of ice water to him.
“Here, Virgil. Take a couple of minutes. Drink this.” He took the offering, then put it to his lips. “For what it’s worth, after what I heard, if I ever had to get a phone call like that, I’d want it to come from someone like you. Virgil, you definitely raise the bar for members of your sex.”
“You keep saying those kinds of things, I’m going to have to put you in for a raise.”
He stood up, took his hat off the desk. “Well, now I’m really in the mood for a visit to a funeral home.”
* * *
He wasn’t expecting many people when he stepped inside Simpson’s. There wasn’t even the greeter at the door. For Velma, there had been the sound of conversation as soon as he and Cesar had stepped through, along with some muted laughter during the exchange of reminiscences between folks who had shared in Velma’s life. For Vernon, just the sound of silence. He had been too long out of reach. A couple of people near enough Vernon’s age that they might have been in school with him or played on a team with him. Other than that, there were Marian and Charlie sitting together across from the coffin, which was closed. A few other people mostly sitting, looking as though in some cases they might have been related. Virgil knew Charlie had a younger sister and brother. Velma grew up an only child after losing her brother. He scanned the room, looking for someone who might be Calvin, but came up empty. So he walked over to Marian and Charlie. Marian stood when she saw him approaching, then took a few steps toward him. Charlie, head bent, remained in his chair.
“Thanks for stopping, Virgil. I know you’re busy.”
“Not that busy, Marian, that I can’t take a little time out for something like this. Like Rosie said, you’ve had more than your share lately.”
“Guess life comes in bunches sometimes.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. How’s your dad doing?”
“Believe it or not, I think some of the starch has finally been taken out of him. But I know he’ll bounce back. The doctor told me I could take him home after the cemetery. He just needs some rest and quiet time. I think the ranch is best for that. I think he gets a lot of his strength just being there, if you know what I mean.”
Virgil, thinking of his last twenty-four hours, nodded.
“Needs to recharge his batteries. We all do from time to time. I was wondering if your brother was going to be here.” Virgil saw an immediate reaction to his inquiry. “Is there something wrong, Marian?”
She hesitated. “Wrong. No, not wrong. Odd. Strange, maybe.”
“Anything you want to tell me?”
She sat down in the nearest chair after seeing that a couple had sat next to Charlie. “You are about the only one I can talk to about this. On some level I feel guilty about some of the things I told you, u
p on the mesa. I mean, you heard me saying things about my brothers, particularly Calvin, which now seem terrible. Maybe I was all wrong. I mean, oh, I don’t know. I’m just confused.”
“What’s changed?” Virgil asked.
For the next few minutes she told Virgil about how Calvin went to the hospital, trying to talk Charlie into selling him the ranch.
“I was shocked when Dad told me. I mean, Calvin couldn’t get away from High Lonesome quick enough. Now he wants it? It made no sense. Dad of course at first thought maybe it meant his wildest dream of operating the place with a son was going to come true. But Calvin as much as told him there would be no place for him there. Dad was completely deflated when I came in. Guess he didn’t see any other option. That’s when I told him what I planned to do. Virgil, he lit up like a Christmas tree. Even the doctor saw it when he came in to check on him. Said whatever I told him was the best medicine he could have gotten. Today, when Calvin came in, I took him into another room. Then I told him what I had planned. How Dad was behind it one hundred percent. How there was no way he was going to get his hands on High Lonesome.”
“Well, what happened? How did he take it?”
Again, Virgil saw her immediate reaction.
“That’s what has me second-guessing about what I’ve thought all these years about him and Vernon. When I first told him, I thought he’d fly into a rage. Instead, he became real quiet. Didn’t say anything at first. It was almost like he was contemplative. But there was no outburst. When he finally spoke, it was like it was coming from a different person, someone I didn’t know. He even actually smiled. Then he said something odd. ‘Guess we always have to plan for an alternative ending.’ That was it. Then he said he had to leave for a little while, but he’d be back for the final act. Then he left. I don’t know—it wasn’t at all what I expected from him. Have I been wrong? Misjudging him all these years? Has he changed into someone I never knew?”
“Marian, I think you have pretty good instincts. There might be more at play here than you know. People don’t all of a sudden go one-eighty. The person Calvin was all those years is still there. He’s just decided to put on a different mask.”
36
Rosie had come back from lunch when Virgil returned from the cemetery. Dif had been holding down the fort while she was gone. Virgil had hoped to meet Calvin in more than passing, but it wasn’t going to happen in that scenario, he soon realized.
“How did everything go this morning?” Dif asked.
“About like you’d expect,” Virgil said.
“How’s Charlie holding up?”
“Considering everything, he’s doing okay. They were heading back to High Lonesome. He needs to get back to the familiar routine.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed. Charlie will snap back. Hell, I bet he’ll be throwing a rope before Christmas.”
Dif made the comment as Rosie came through the door from the holding cells.
“Boy, Dif, I gotta say Edna trained you well.” She was carrying the large rectangular rubber basin holding the lunch dishes from the cells. “You washed and stacked everything real nice.”
“Here, let me take that, Rosie.”
Virgil took the rubber container and set it by the door.
“Think I’ll put that comment on my résumé if ever I start looking for a new wife.”
“Don’t waste your time. You got lucky once. Better hold on to Edna as long as she’ll have you. Don’t think there’ll be a line of takers if ever you become available.”
“Well, I got other talents besides washing and stacking that keeps that smile on Edna’s face.”
“Here we go, another fish story. All you men are the same—it gets bigger and bigger with every telling.”
“Are we talking about fish here, Rosie?” Virgil asked.
“Might as well be. Don Juan over here actually thinks his amorous attempts with Edna are the reason for her smile. At your age, it’s a wonder you can even raise the flag.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dif said.
“No, Edna would be,” Rosie said. “Just keep doing the washing and stacking if you want to keep Edna smiling.”
“I hate to get off the topic. No telling where this conversation is going to end up, but is there anything I should know regarding the affairs of this office?”
“It was quiet,” Dif said.
Rosita nodded in agreement. “Oh, there was one thing, Virgil. First thing this morning, Kyle Harrison stopped by. He left this for you. Said he heard you were wondering why they hadn’t brought in those helicopters from Sky High to help in the search for that plane in the Superstition Mountains.”
“That’s all he said.”
“Well, Virgil, you know those federal guys aren’t big on small talk, but he did say one other thing. Let me see . . . Oh, yeah, he said to tell you to remember what he said to you that night in the parking lot of the Black Bull.”
Rosita handed Virgil the envelope she had been holding. Virgil laid it on his desk.
“Well, are you going to open it?”
“Okay.”
He picked it up, then ripped open the end of the envelope. A set of keys fell out onto the desk. Virgil picked them up, turning them over in his hand. Then he sat down heavily in his chair.
“Well?” Rosie said. “Keys? Keys to what?”
“Keys to the Black Bull,” Virgil said.
“I don’t understand. Why did he give you keys to the Black Bull? Where did he get them? What did he say to you that night in the parking lot?”
Virgil suddenly jumped out of his chair.
“What the hell?” Dif said as Virgil started heading for the door.
“Virgil? Virgil? What did he say? Where are you going?”
Virgil stopped at the door, then looked at each of them waiting for an answer. “I’m going to High Lonesome. Tell Jimmy to get out there pronto. I could be wrong but . . .”
He didn’t finish.
“But what did Kyle Harrison say that’s got you going out there?”
“He said, ‘Things are not always what they seem.’”
37
Virgil was thinking about what he had said to Mayor Bob “Ears” Jamison at Velma’s wake. Up until now truly everything had been like a puzzle to him, so many bits and pieces. He’d spent the last weeks since Linda Murchison got hit by the semi and thrown over the overpass trying to connect the dots, but he couldn’t find a common thread. Where did she come from? Why was she on the highway in the middle of the night? Was she running from or to? How did she connect to Velma or Charlie or High Lonesome? Then when at last he thought he made a connection, it was not with either of them, but with their sons. Now with the death of Vernon, a man with more than his share of demons, that connection had become frayed.
It had taken the recollection of what Kyle Harrison had said to him that night outside the Black Bull, coming on the heels of his conversation with Marian only a little over an hour earlier, to know that the plane that was supposed to have crashed in the Superstition Mountains and the son who had calmly accepted that his sister and father were going to try to rebuild High Lonesome had something in common. Neither was what it seemed to be.
The day had never cleared. No sun had broken through. The world was gray. Now, in midafternoon, a surprising light snow had started to fall. The temperature readout on the dashboard was thirty-three degrees, cold for the end of the first week in December. Not unheard of, but very unusual. By tomorrow, the temperature would probably bounce back to sixty, and if the sun was shining this would be forgotten, an anomaly. As the cruiser climbed toward higher ground, he saw a couple of places where a hint of snow had collected. Virgil thought of when he had stepped out of the cabin he shared with Marian up on the mesa. How the nighttime snow for a moment had transformed the landscape. Another example of when things
were not what they seemed. He came to the turnoff for the ranch road, never slowed, but gunned the engine to new speed. The tires spun on the hardscrabble, digging in, scattering stone and loose gravel in the car’s wake. The brief snow flurry seemed to be losing its battle. Large raindrops instead began to splatter the windshield. Virgil turned on the wipers. Dirt that had flown up mixed with the rain streaking across his vision till he was forced to turn on the washer. The barns, corrals, and last the house came into view. Nothing seemed amiss or other than as it should be. He saw two cars parked by the house. He slowed his vehicle, then rolled to a stop alongside one of them. When he stepped out of the car, there was a moment of self-doubt. It was strictly instinct that had brought him here, nothing but an intuitive sense. That innate voice of premonition that he had learned long ago to heed, not to ignore.
He could see lights on in the house as he headed down the walkway, past the gardens that would show no color for months to come. He stopped at the front door. It was the one moment when he hoped his instincts would prove wrong. He knocked loudly, then after a moment passed, he knocked again. The door opened. Marian stood in the perimeter of an overhead light.
“Oh, Virgil,” was all she said as he stepped through. Then he felt another presence to his side, a sudden explosion in his head. The light and Marian faded from his view.
* * *
It could have been five minutes or five hours. All he knew was the pounding in his head was unrelenting. In a reflex move he put his hand to his head. He didn’t need to look to know the sticky ooze was his blood.
“Oh, Virgil.” They were the last words he had heard. Now they were the first. He opened his eyes wide, trying to follow the sound of her voice. Finally, Marian’s face came into view. He realized at the same time he saw her above him that he was lying on the floor.
