Timber City Masks

by Kieran York

  Royce laughed. “Good thing Molly did leave. It’s getting a little too descriptive for her. Plenty amazing.”

  “Hell’s bells, Roycie, your mother cuts loose pretty good at times. Just not in front of her little girl. Anyway, look at old Faye leaning over the table. Boobs falling right out of her blouse.”

  “I thought you liked boobs.” Royce twisted around to watch Faye as she poured beer for her patrons. Royce took another sip from her own beer. “Well, don’t you?”

  “I don’t go in for tons of tits. Spilling all over. Look at her. She thinks she’s an ingénue. With those boobs, that raucous laugh and frizzy red hair, she’ll never spend an innocent night on a stage. Hell, just getting off a bar stool she throws those legs higher than a damned Clydesdale, and her kid is off trying to imitate her.”

  “Do you think Jade is Yancy’s child?”

  “Probably. If frequency is anything to go by. Faye and Yancy were inseparable. And Jade sure looks Sumner. But who the hell knows. Faye hasn’t even got a short list, I’m sure.”

  “I thought it was nice that she invited you. Mending fences would be in order. A gentlewoman gesture.”

  “Royce, you’re in grave danger of becoming a sugar princess. You’ve been holding court with the honey queen too long. Queen Valeria and her sparkling syrup.”

  “That isn’t how she is,” Royce quickly disputed. Royce was glad Faye had gone behind the bar and was twisting open another bottle of beer. “Thanks Faye. And thanks for playing Patsy Cline records for me.”

  “Another schooner of beer for the birthday girl. I put enough old Cline on to start a marathon.” She glanced at Gwen as she filled her glass. “Glad you brought a guest. The old fart from across the street.”

  “We were just making reference to your chest,” Gwen scoffed. “Wondered if it was all real or you stuffed tissue in your bra.”

  “It’s me,” she reported. “And I don’t know how you can stand to do any typing with those sharp claws.” Cackling, Faye was surprised when Royce and Gwen added to her laughter. “You stick those nails in a pencil sharpener?” Although Gwen’s nails were short, Faye had always referred to Gwen as having claws and fangs. “You could give Nadine a free hysterectomy.”

  Royce and Gwen both sputtered in unison. Gwen then tapped Faye’s freckled arm. “Just call me when you need some free cosmetic surgery. Which should be soon,” Gwen hooted and her eyebrows bobbed.

  “Someone musta taken the lock offa your cage tonight.” Faye snickered with good humor. She then took her bar rag and rushed to the other end of the bar when someone had upset a beer.

  “Glad she left. One more remark and I’d pour this free beer down her plunging front and those boobs would have had to swim for dear life.”

  “Speaking of swimming,” Royce said as she stood. “I’ll be swimming if I don’t get rid of some beer. I’ll be back in a few.” Royce walked to the women’s restroom and splashed water on her face. As she gazed into the mirror, she considered how bittersweet this birthday was. Being surrounded by loved ones in celebration was wonderful. But it was a time for reflection too. Valeria was missing from this portion of her life. She thought about waking with Valeria. About wanting to cleanse Valeria of her guilt; of her hurt.

  Royce peered into her own blue eyes. She felt haggard. She was tired of Valeria’s drinking. She was weary of struggling with an investigation that seemed to be going nowhere. The ritual of waiting for things to improve was wearing very thin. She seethed a message into the mirror. “Royce Madison, prove yourself. Get something accomplished.” She listened to the muffled Patsy Cline recording. Those lyrics touched her pain.

  When Royce returned to the bar, she saw Gwen talking with Hertha. Gwen greeted her. “Royce, I moved your beer over so this lovely lady can sit between us.”

  Hertha’s smile was refreshing. “I just wanted to give you your birthday gifts. Whenever you’re ready to leave, can you come over?”

  “I’m ready now.” Royce confessed, “I’ve had more than enough to drink.”

  “I don’t want to take you away from the party.”

  “It’s time. Hope you don’t mind that I’m sort of loaded.”

  “Fix her a cup of strong coffee,” Gwen suggested to Hertha. “You two run along. And don’t forget the birthday kiss.”

  Blushing, Royce glanced the other way as they made their exit. “Thanks for getting me out of there before tomorrow becomes a hangover.”

  “My pleasure.” Hertha unlocked the door of her cottage and they entered. A tranquil glow from her fireplace filled the room. “Have a seat and I’ll fix some coffee.”

  Royce plunged into the softness of the couch. She saw neatly wrapped gifts on the coffee table. “How many people are having birthdays?”

  “They’re all yours. Nothing large. My budget won’t allow for the gifts I’d like to purchase.” Hertha sat beside Royce, “Here, open this one first.”

  Royce clumsily unwrapped the gift. It was a silver bracelet with a large pear-shaped chunk of turquoise in the center. Mounted around the turquoise were droplets of coral stones. The band was twisted silver. “This is lovely,” Royce murmured as she slipped the silver around her wrist. Hertha assisted by softly squeezing the encircling silver.

  “I made it. And these.” She handed Royce two more gifts. Royce unwrapped a sand painting and then a kachina doll. “They are symbolic,” Hertha explained. “The kachina wards off evil, and the painting is a ceremonious gift of good fortune. It’s about the Ghost Dance. That’s the most religious Ute ceremony. The bracelet also has special significance. I wore it whenever there was an event of great importance. Either a time of joy or of difficulty.” She flushed. “The first time I operated, I nearly fainted.”

  “I nearly passed out the first time I was called on an accident,” Royce confided. “But won’t you be needing this?”

  “No. Even though times are perilous for Ray, I somehow believe that you need it more. Besides, you’re there on his behalf.”

  “Is it that apparent that I’m troubled?”

  “Yes.” Hertha handed Royce the last gift. “Maybe you can make use of this to help with your stress.”

  “Suspenders for my chest waders,” Royce exclaimed. “You’re very observant. I guess my old pair has been sewn and tied for the final time.”

  “I hope we can go fishing again soon.”

  “We’ll go soon.”

  “Two things, first is your coffee. Second is Gwen’s suggestion. A birthday kiss. If we don’t, she’ll insist on witnessing,” she teased. Royce arched her upper body toward Hertha. Their lips met, pressing so gently that it seemed to be only a brush. Royce felt a tremor when Hertha moved away. Their eyes roped together, and Royce felt her throat constricting. She was glad when Hertha went into the kitchen for their coffee. Royce watched the hypnotic flames lapping in the fireplace.

  They sipped coffee silently. As Royce departed, another quick kiss accompanied their embrace. Royce didn’t want to consider that feeling as anything other than friendship. She belonged to Valeria. Was captivated by Valeria. She knew that she could never walk away from the beautiful schoolteacher.

  Royce decided that she was still too tipsy to try driving back to the cabin. She ambled toward Molly’s. Her mother would prefer that Royce wake her than try to drive home. Royce needed the luxury of self-prescribed solace. The bedroom she grew up in could comfort her, but it couldn’t clear the confusion. That would be asking too much, Royce thought as she heard the door latch click.

  ***

  “I was mighty glad that you came on by last night,” Molly said as she punched bread dough. “Those snaky roads out there are treacherous enough as it is without a night of celebrating.”

  “I was zapped. You know how Faye is about birthdays. I went over to Hertha’s for coffee. It helped, but I was so sleepy.”

  “She said she was going by the Bell Ringer. I got myself right out of there when Faye and Gwen started up. Thought they would never give
it a rest.”

  Royce took a bite of a freshly baked cinnamon roll. “I’m just glad they’re talking.”

  “Gwen’s goin’ through such a bad patch right now. They’ve always had to scratch out a living. I don’t know what we would do around these parts without a paper.”

  “The Times is an institution. I just hope they can hold on.”

  “I been thinking, Royce.” Molly twisted the bread and then folded it again. She threw a towel over it and turned back to face Royce. “I was thinking about those questions you’ve been asking.”

  Royce reeled forward on her chair. “You thought of something?”

  “I’m just not sure it’s important. Well, the night your daddy was murdered, he gets a phone call. When he hangs up, he made me promise never, ever to tell anyone. He knew it was something dangerous and didn’t want me involved. I did as he said until now. He told me that this voice asks if he would like to make lotsa money. As I recall, he said someone wanted him in on a drug ring. Well, he said he’d go early and try to get the edge on 'em. I’m telling you this cause you seem bent on continuing after it. I’m afraid for your safety. It’s time to stop. To let go.”

  Their eyes collided. “And that was what dad was doing out there in the middle of the night?”

  “Yes. Most folks thought he was just checking on the old shed or that he might have suspected they were doing drug transactions. But he wanted to get on the inside so he could arrest them.”

  “Why didn’t he request backup?”

  “Maybe the man told him to come alone.” Molly’s face was anguished. “I don’t like all this. Royce, you were our infant the Lord spared. I don’t want to lose you.” Her eyes seemed vacant for several moments. “I pray you get outta enforcement. And that you settle down.”

  “I’m not going to marry.”

  “That isn’t what I said. Settling down is more than just marrying. I know that. Gwen and Nadine are settled down. Royce, if you ever want to talk with me about anything ...” she scurried for words. “Anything?”

  “When my life is less muddled. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Yes. You have yourself a little think about this.” Molly wiped her floured hands. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “Yes, we’ll talk when the time is right.”

  “And when the person is right, Royce?”

  “Yes,” Royce echoed, “when the person is right.”

  Chapter 19

  The full moon was an explosion of brightness. Tonight, Royce decided, the moon was shimmering brass. The light of the moon changed the color of the mountain ridges. They now appeared misty mauve, and her tan uniform jacket took on a royal blue hue. That kind of sky and skyline prompted contemplation. Royce had been glum for several days. It wasn’t brooding, but rather a cross between introspection and speculation. She scanned the main street and was glad that Timber City had shut down for the night.

  Squinting, she saw Laramie. He was crouched over the checkers table outside Laird’s. The checkerboard was set, awaiting a new day’s contest.

  Royce sat opposite Laramie. “Tell me what you know.” Her voice was insistent.

  “Naw.”

  “Let’s play a game for the information. If I lose, I’ll go away and never bother you again. Never ask you another question. If I win, you tell me what I need to know.”

  Laramie’s eyes were dark triangles beneath a hat that mashed over his head. “I’ll play. So’s you don’t pester me no more.”

  Carefully Royce made her first move. Her father and grandfather had tutored her in checkers. With mechanical precision, Royce jumped twice, capturing two discs. Laramie grumbled and then retaliated. The game was fierce and grueling. Royce was tense. She blinked repeatedly throughout the game. When it was finished, she finally spoke, “You’ll answer my questions now?”

  “Yep.” Laramie crossed his arms and leaned back as if avoiding a punch. “Said I would.”

  “Who steals the bell?”

  “I been stealin’ it for years. Gonna keep stealin’ it.”

  “Are the murders all connected? Grady Madison. Trish Chandler-Sumner. Dave Osborn. All connected or no?”

  “All connected.”

  “Who killed my father?”

  Laramie reached in his coat pocket and pulled out three bullet shell casings. He carefully placed them on top of the game board. “Them come from the gun that killed Grady. Grady was goin’ in. Puttin’ on his mask and goin’ in.”

  Royce touched the casings. Her heart pounded. She held them in her clamped hand for many moments. Then she continued questioning. “How did you get these?”

  “They was throwed in the trash. I was pickin’ through the trash. Found 'em. Hung onto 'em. With all your questions, I figured you’d be comin’ for answers.”

  “Why didn’t you turn them in?”

  “Didn’t know who was wearin’ the mask.”

  “Why did you keep these casings for ten years?”

  “Just kept 'em.” He watched the deputy frown. “Them come from the gun that killed your daddy.”

  “Plenty amazing.” Royce’s stare zeroed in on the old man. “These mean nothing unless I know who threw them away. They haven’t got prints on them after ten years. No gun was ever found. Talk to me.”

  “I seen 'em bein’ pitched in the trash and I got 'em.”

  “Who threw them away, and why are you sure they were from the gun that killed my father?”

  “They was throwed away the morning after your daddy was killed.”

  “You saw who it was?” Royce was impatient, but didn’t want to press too hard. He had headed for cover on her before. “Laramie, I need to know.”

  “I’m a fella who keeps outta the way. You get to nosin’ in business that ain’t yours and it’s trouble.”

  “You said you’d answer my questions. Who threw these away?”

  “I answer that and I’m a goner.”

  Royce thought about the drifter. “Okay. Don’t answer.”

  “You want me killed? You got cow dung for brains. I already told you to watch for the mask.” His bulbous nose sniffed and he wiped it with his arm. “Ain’t you gonna ask me my last name?”

  “And spoil my guessing game?” Royce asked with the hint of a smile, “No.” She stood with deliberation. “What I’m going to do is find the murderer. You may not have answered all my questions, but you’ve at least given me a starting point.”

  “Don’t be showin’ them casings. Or you’ll get yourself killed too.”

  “I won’t show anyone.”

  “You gonna find the killer?”

  “Sooner or later there will be a slip up. And I’ll be there.” Her steely glance penetrated with a muzzled anger.

  “Might could get killed.” His warning was as monotone as was his burial ground information.

  “And might could kill.” She tucked the casings into her pocket and walked away. She repeated into the stillness of the night, “And might could kill.” Clandestine hints were the best she would get.

  Rage accompanied her until she reached Main Street. She looked back up at the moon. It was now carved gold. Rotating back, Royce suddenly wanted to continue interrogating Laramie. There were too many unanswered questions. She saw Laramie’s lyre-framed legs tottering toward the boarding house. She wondered if she could have pressed harder for more answers without endangering Laramie. But she had come away with some answers. And in her pocket were the casings from the bullets that killed her father. She understood Laramie’s reticence. Osborn had been killed. Silence is often attached to survival.

  It had not been a wasted checkers match.

  ***

  With the morning barely started, Royce was surprised to see Molly and Hertha strolling down the courthouse hallway. Molly had been to deliver pastry to Ray, and Hertha was visiting before opening the clinic.

  “How is his mood?” Royce questioned.

  “Better after the goodies from Molly’s Pantry,” Hertha answered. “I think it he
lps him to have visitors.”

  “I’ll look in on him later,” Royce promised. “Do you two have time to come in and sit a few minutes?”

  “Nadine’s watching the shop, so I better get back,” Molly said.

  “I’ll be over later, Mom,” Royce said and then she invited Hertha for a cup of coffee.

  “I need a little caffeine lift.” Hertha followed Royce into the office. “I appreciate her kindness to Ray.”

  “We all appreciate your saving Smoky.”

  “Your mother calls Smoky a mean little tackle.”

  Royce laughed. “She’s got Smoky’s number. Have a seat,” said Royce pointing to the chair near her desk.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask how things are going with you and Valeria?”

  Royce couldn’t veil her eyes from Hertha. “She likes wealthy aristocrats. That’s hardly me.”

  “She’s very foolish not to recognize what she could have.”

  “Maybe I could hire you to enlighten her.”

  “I’m not sure she’d listen. She is beautiful.”

  “And Gwen would say that I am submissive.”

  “Would you walk away if you could?”

  “I. . .” Royce stammered, “I can’t.” Her glance coasted to the floor.

  “Molly and I had a nice chat. She’s worried about you.”

  “She considers my line of work a hazardous occupation. I can’t blame her. Maybe that’s why Valeria pushes me away. I never considered it before, but it could be.”

  “I’m not sure we can control love any more than we can control destiny. You’re a perfect example.”

  “Have you ever loved someone who had the power to break your heart?”

  “The professor had the power. And she broke my heart.”

  “Permanently?”

  “It was a growth experience. Next time I fall in love it will be with different objectives.”

  Royce kept her voice congenial, her inquiry conversational. “You’re not going to stop there. What objectives?”