“Any time,” he replied, looking once more at the bed where Madeline still sat, wide-eyed and waiting. “Have fun,” he whispered.
“I don’t think it’s that kind of deal, Ollie.”
He smiled a knowing smile, and the last thing I heard as he swung the door shut was his hard, skeptical little laugh echoing down the hallway. By the time I had the door secured once again, Madeline was out of bed and busy with the whiskey and ice.
“I need another drink,” she said. “How about you?”
“Sure.”
She splashed bourbon into both glasses, then handed me mine and swung back onto the bed. “What now?” she asked.
“We go to the ranch.”
“When?”
“Tonight. In a little while. But that won’t solve your problem for good. I hope you realize that this business isn’t over.”
She nodded sadly. “What happens after we get there?” she asked.
“I intend to make a few phone calls, and you need to think about talking to somebody on the state level.”
“You sure were rough with Nolan,” she said, changing the subject.
I shrugged. “So what? You didn’t really mind seeing him get a taste of his own medicine, did you?
“I guess not,” she said.
“Guess not, hell. You enjoyed it, and you know it. Am I right?”
“You shouldn’t say things like that, you know,” she said, her voice husky. “It’s rude.”
I stared impassively down at her and sipped my drink without replying. Our eyes stayed locked until finally she dropped her gaze and asked, “Are we leaving now or…” She let the word hang in the air a few seconds. “… later?” Her voice was a bare whisper.
“I suppose that’s up to you.”
She watched me as I drained my drink. She quickly finished hers, and we put our glasses on the nightstand at the same time. I continued to gaze at her silently while her hand crept up to her throat and slowly unfastened the top button of her blouse. She said nothing, but she raised her eyebrows minutely, and there was an unspoken question in her expression.
“Go ahead if that’s what you want,” I said softly. “But if you do, I’m not going to button it back for you this time.”
She nodded faintly and began to undo the buttons, and this time her hands didn’t tremble a bit.
CHAPTER THREE
World War II was three months into its fourth year. Back in the spring the Battle of Midway had turned the tide in the Pacific, though few realized it at the time except the Japanese high command. According to the newspapers, the Germans and the Russians were locked in a titanic struggle around a city called Stalingrad in southwestern Russia that commentators were saying would determine the outcome of the war in Europe. Men in uniform were everywhere on the streets, and it seemed like half the homes you passed had service stars in their windows. Gasoline rationing was in effect, but as a detective for a powerful organization, I had an unlimited ration card. We stopped and I filled the tank before we left San Gabriel a little after eleven that evening. My car was a 1940 Ford convertible, dark blue with gray upholstery. It was a fast, agile machine, and I’m a fast driver by habit. Even so, the trip took six hours. The girl slept fitfully most of the way to San Antonio. She finally awoke when I had to stop at a little all-night café for a coffee and doughnuts. I suffer from low blood sugar, and I’d skipped supper.
“Which way from here?” she asked as soon as we were back in the car.
“Straight southwest.”
“And that’s where your ranch is?”
I nodded in the darkness. “In Matador County, right down on the Rio Grande.”
“Is it a big place?”
I shook my head. “Just medium-sized for this part of the country. Sixty-seven thousand acres. It’s been in my family for almost two hundred years.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was originally a land grant from the king of Spain to the Veramendis. My great-grandfather Isaiah Tucker got it as his wife’s dowry. Her name was Rosa, and he named the ranch after her. She was tall and slim and gorgeous, but she was facing spinsterhood because she’d scared off all her suitors.”
“How?”
I looked at her and grinned. “Her father was a man of the world, and he’d educated her and encouraged her to read widely. As a consequence, she was very opinionated and outspoken, which was considered unbecoming in a young Mexican girl of that era. My grandfather was their only son. Their only surviving child, actually. Their other two kids were both girls, and they died of typhoid when they were little.”
“Aww … that’s terrible,” she said.
I shrugged. “The Texas frontier was a rough place.”
“What happened to Rosa?”
“Isaiah died in 1905, but she lived until 1925. She was past ninety when she passed away.”
“That long?” she asked with surprise. “Why, you must have known her.”
“Sure I knew her.”
“What was she like?”
“Still as outspoken as she was when she was a girl. Loved fun, loved family gatherings, loved to read. Kept up with world affairs. She was a grand old lady.”
“That’s a wonderful story,” she said. “Who runs the place now?”
“My aunt Carmen. She’s my dad’s sister.”
“And your parents are dead?”
“Yeah, and Carmen’s husband died the same year as my dad. He owned almost twenty thousand acres adjoining La Rosa. When he and Carmen married, the families merged the operations.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
I shook my head. “Just one cousin. She’s Aunt Carmen’s daughter.”
“Where’s she?”
I sighed in resignation. “I may as well tell you the story because you don’t want to make the mistake of mentioning her to my aunt. She went off to the University of Texas and married a hotshot Dallas surgeon right after she graduated. The truth is that she’s ashamed of her Mexican blood and ashamed of her family. She only comes home when she has to. Aunt Carmen is thoroughly disgusted with her. She’s got two kids that we barely know.”
“But your ancestors were pioneers. She should be proud of them. And the Veramendis were aristocrats.”
“None of that makes any difference to her. She’s a blue-eyed blonde, and when she hears the word ‘Mexican’ she thinks greaser. She’s also a social-climbing half-wit.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” Madeline said. “Maybe she’ll grow up some day and—”
“The hell with her,” I said firmly. “I don’t care if she does or not.”
We didn’t speak for several minutes. Finally she asked, “Does your aunt manage the ranch all alone?”
“At the present, yes.”
“But why don’t you move back home and help her?”
I gave her a rueful grin in the darkness of the car. “I get enough of that from her, so I don’t need to hear it from you too.”
CHAPTER FOUR
We fell silent once again. An hour later the sky in the east was growing gray with light when we turned off the highway through an unpretentious gateway onto a graveled road. “This is it,” I announced. “La Rosa.”
“How far does it go?”
“It’s roughly eight by thirteen miles. Our property extends right on down to the Rio Grande.”
She gazed out the window into a landscape that was flat, relieved only by occasional low hills, and covered with chest-high undergrowth.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“What?”
“All that stuff growing out there.”
I laughed. “Blackthorn. Mesquite, desert yaupon, cactus. This part of Texas is called the Brush Country. Anything out there that doesn’t stick you will bite you or sting you.”
“How can cattle live on that?”
“There’s grass. You just don’t see it. But it does take an average of twelve to fourteen acres to graze a beef cow in this part of the state, a
nd that’s in a year with good rainfall.”
The road opened into a large clearing in the brush. There on a low knoll sat the main house, surrounded by a pair of tall palm trees and a half dozen live oaks. A hundred yards or so behind it loomed a large barn, and off in the distance could be seen several smaller dwellings made of concrete blocks.
I pulled around behind the house. Light shown through the kitchen windows, yellowish light that I knew came from kerosene lamps. I smiled to myself. Two years earlier, at great expense, electricity had been run out to the ranch from town, but Tía Carmen still preferred the soft, gentle glow of kerosene in the morning.
I honked the horn, and by the time we’d climbed from the car my aunt had opened the back door and stood framed in the doorway. She was a small woman with short, iron gray hair and dark, hard eyes. Stepping aside so we could enter, she ushered us into the big kitchen.
Nothing had changed in the months of my absence. It was all just as it had been my whole life—the great round oak table, the twelve-burner butane stove, the gas refrigerator. Here, surrounded by the familiar odors of burning kerosene and frying bacon and fresh coffee, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, just as it always did when I entered this room.
My aunt raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“This is Madeline Kimbell, Tía Carmen,” I said. “She’s in a spot of trouble.”
My aunt stared at the girl for a few moments, her face stern and implacable. Then her expression softened and she held out her hand. “Welcome to La Rosa, dear.”
Madeline shook her hand with hesitation. “I hope this isn’t an imposition,” she said diffidently.
“Not at all,” Aunt Carmen replied. “Sit down and have some breakfast.”
My aunt put three coffee cups on the table, then filled them from the great enamel percolator that had been bubbling at the back of the stove. A few seconds later she set three places, then pulled a pan of biscuits from the oven. A plateful of homemade sausage from the stove followed, and we began to eat, buttering the biscuits from a bowl of fresh-churned butter that already sat in the center of the table.
“Where are you from, young lady?” Tía Carmen asked.
“Beaumont.”
“And how did you manage to meet this malingering nephew of mine?”
I interjected, “Jim Rutherford called me a few days ago and asked me to help her.”
My aunt smiled. As I’d told Madeline, Rutherford was a retired border patrolman who had been a friend of our family for many years. Indeed, after Tía Carmen was widowed, there had been some chance that she and Rutherford would marry. Unfortunately, geography defeated them; Rutherford was committed to a daughter in Beaumont, and La Rosa was my aunt’s life. Still, I knew she held considerable affection for the man, which was precisely why I’d told her about Rutherford’s request. It could only put a strange situation in a better light.
“So you’re acquainted with Jim?” Carmen asked.
Madeline nodded. “He and my dad grew up together.”
“How is he?”
“Fine,” Madeline said. “Except that he has bad days on account of his arthritis.”
We fell silent and ate. After a few minutes Aunt Carmen noticed that Madeline’s cup was untouched. “You don’t drink coffee?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. It’s just that I’m afraid it will keep me awake. I’d hoped you would let me sleep a little while, if you don’t mind.”
“She’s been on the run for several days,” I said. “She’s pretty worn out.”
“I dozed in the car coming down here,” Madeline said. “But I’m so nervous I’m afraid I’ll have trouble getting to sleep even if I don’t drink any coffee.”
Aunt Carmen picked up the girl’s cup. “I’ve got the remedy for that.” Going to the cabinet she emptied the cup into the sink, then filled it about a third full from a bottle of bourbon that sat on the countertop. Then she reached into the cabinet and pulled out a small pill bottle. She shook out a pill into her hand. “Take this,” she told the girl as she returned to the table. “And drink this whiskey.”
“What is it?”
“Half a sleeping pill. I get insomnia sometimes. Go ahead, take it and drink the whiskey. You’ll be out like a light in twenty minutes.”
Madeline dutifully swallowed the pill and drained the cup. Aunt Carmen went to the hall door and called out in Spanish. A few seconds later a tall, stone-faced Mexican woman of late middle age entered the kitchen. Seeing me, she broke into a radiant smile. “Buenos días, Señor Virgil.”
I got to my feet and hugged her warmly. “Buenos días, Helena,” I said. “How are you?”
“Bien, bien. You have come home to stay, I hope?” she asked in heavily accented English.
“Maybe…,” I replied noncommittally.
Aunt Carmen gave Helena instructions. “Go with her, dear. She’ll show you your room. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Take a hot bath and then get into bed.”
“I hate to be such a bother—” Madeline began.
“Nonsense. Go now, and get some rest. I’ll wake you up around noon so you won’t have trouble sleeping tonight.”
As the pair left the room I got up and poured myself another cup of coffee, then came back and took my place at the table. My aunt stood staring coldly at me for a few moments, saying nothing. “What?” I finally asked.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she slapped me hard. Twice. I made no move to stop her. I gave her a lopsided grin and said, “If you’re going to do that again, let me take my glasses off. They’re expensive.”
“Bah!” she said with disgust. “What foolishness…”
I sighed and shook my head. “I’ll take her somewhere else, if you want.”
“I’m not talking about your friend. Besides, when have we ever refused hospitality to a decent person in need? Eh?”
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked in Spanish. Both bilingual from childhood, we conversed in a mixture of the two languages, and would have been hard-pressed for an answer if asked which language we thought in.
“This ranch,” she snapped at me. “La Rosa. That’s what’s wrong.”
My unwillingness to come home and help her with the management of the place had been a bone of contention between the two of us for years. After I graduated from the university in Austin, I joined the navy and spent three years in uniform despite the family’s belief that as the only male in my generation I’d return to La Rosa and assume what they saw as my obligations. After my discharge I secured an appointment as a deputy U.S. Marshal, and the issue became even more sensitive. Then with the deaths of my father and uncle, Carmen thought that at long last I would come home. Indeed, she’d used her position in the South Texas Democratic political machine to ease me out of the Marshals’ service. When she learned that I’d foiled her by taking a job as a detective with the Cattle Raisers Association, her rage had been volcanic.
“What about it?” I asked, well knowing what she meant.
“You go off chasing thieves and leave me here alone with all these wild Mexicans and this place to run!”
I couldn’t help laughing, even at the risk of getting pounded again. “Please … can’t a woman of your intelligence come up with something better than that? In the first place you’re a quarter Mexican yourself. And secondly, there’s not a vaquero on this place who wouldn’t cheerfully slit the governor’s throat for you. Hell, you’re probably safer than President Roosevelt.”
“And then there’s the politics,” she countered. “It would be better if a man—”
“If a man did what?” I asked. “Fronted for you, you mean? Why bother? Everybody knows that you’ve been the boss of this county since long before Uncle John and Dad died. They weren’t interested and you were. Why, I bet the superintendent of schools still sends the young teachers out here to get your approval before he hires them.”
She gave me a tight little smile and reached to grab a big hank of my hair. Shaking my head roughly
, she said, “Virgil, sometimes I almost hate you.”
“Ahhhh…” I said with a laugh. “You’re crazy about me and you know it.”
“All the philosophers say that love and hate are very close together,” she said. “Or haven’t you ever heard that?”
When I didn’t reply she poured a shot of whiskey into each of our cups and asked, “When are you going to quit this silly detective business and come home?” Her dark eyes were fierce now, pinning me to my chair as if were a bug on a board. “I can’t live forever, you know. Do you want to see this place fall apart?”
“No.”
“Then when?”
I sighed tiredly and ran my fingers through my hair. “I was going to surprise you in about a month by just showing up one day, but I might as well go ahead and tell you now. I haven’t officially resigned, but I’ve farmed out all my pending cases to a couple of the other association detectives.”
“Well, well … this is news. I hadn’t really dared to hope.”
I shrugged. “What else could I do? There’s the matter of this girl that I have to tend to, and I can hardly do that working full-time. Plus all your pressure, all the letters you keep sending me…” I smiled at her with affection. “You’re a relentless old bat, you know. It’s finally gotten to the point that to get any peace I’ve either got to give in and come home, or else shoot myself. Even before this thing with Madeline cropped up, I’d planned to make the move sometime this coming spring.”
“What happened with the navy?” she asked.
I shook my head. “When I tried to reactivate my commission I was told they really didn’t need officers with substandard vision whose training was a decade out of date. They also said I could do the war effort more good by catching rustlers. They mentioned something about the troops not being able to fight on empty stomachs.”
“Good,” she said firmly. “Stay here and take care of your own world.”
“I suppose that’s what I’ll have to do, but I want you to understand that I intend to have a real say in the management of the ranch. I’m not going to be just a rubber stamp.”
“Done. I promise.”
The Devil's Odds Page 3
