Timber City Masks

by Kieran York

  “Hertha mends broken wings in the animal kingdom. And I doubt that I’d be good company,” Royce refuted.

  “Look, she’s down about her brother. You’re down about Valeria. It’s time for the both of you to get away. So why not?”

  “I have the porch to finish and she’s got her clinic.”

  “Nadine and I can watch the clinic. If there’s an emergency, we can be out at the lake in half an hour. And when you get back we can all work on the porch. After all, you’ve helped us around here with painting, roofing, and floor sanding.”

  “I don’t feel tension when I’m with Hertha,” Royce reasoned, “which makes it the correct formula for forgetting. It might do us both some good. Now that it’s warmer out, a night at the lake would be great.”

  “A night with Hertha wouldn’t be bad,” Gwen teased. She ruffled her forehead and gave a comedic bob of her eyebrows. “Well?” she delved.

  “We’re friends.”

  “That’s the best start a romance can have. You’ve been so busy with your Barbie doll that you haven’t noticed how lovely Hertha is.”

  “I’ve noticed. But I don’t want to use her to minister to my broken heart. And besides, she might think I’m rebounding.”

  “She thinks you got caught up in something and it didn’t work. That’s what she thinks,” Gwen growled. “Ask her about the trip. And if romance figures in, remember, I did mention it was possible.”

  “Thanks, Gwen.” Royce stood and sauntered toward the door. “And please don’t mention any of this to Mom. She’s going through enough worrying about me and this case.”

  “She knows, Royce.”

  “That I’m lesbian?”

  “Of course she does.”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “Didn’t need to tell me. We’ve been best friends forever. A couple of weeks ago she said something about wishing that you would see more of Hertha and less of Valeria. She commented that the teacher was a nice enough person, but not for you.”

  “She said it in those words?” Royce’s face was sheet white.

  “I think she’s known for a long time. Maybe she’s just now coming to terms with it. Parents want the lineage to continue. She’s gotten to know Hertha, and she’s very fond of her.”

  “You and Mom talked about Hertha?”

  “Yes. That was what I was getting at about children. Hertha mentioned that she would like to adopt a couple of children. She told Molly that there were always orphaned children on reservations. Well, when Molly relayed the story to me, it was as if she was making the best of it. If her daughter was lesbian, the least she could hope for is that her daughter have a happy life. That entails finding a decent person, settling down, and sharing a family life.”

  “Hertha never mentioned children to me.”

  “Maybe you were too busy telling her about Valeria. I know better, but maybe Hertha figures you’re a shallow bitch. After all,” Gwen teased, “you did give your heart to a vamp.”

  Royce’s shoulders sagged. “Maybe that evaluation is correct.”

  “If I thought that evaluation were correct I wouldn’t be wasting my time,” Gwen chuckled. “To say nothing of sharing the definition of my very own word.”

  “Is la session curable?”

  “Once diagnosed, it takes only the right antidote.”

  “Let me guess,” Royce queried with a grin. “That cure might be found in a clinic across the street?”

  “Ask her to give you the Ute remedy. Let her put her head against your heart.”

  Chapter 21

  She had had no contact with Valeria for nearly three weeks. Royce had put in overtime, and her reward would be a two-day retreat. She admitted to Hertha that her love affair with Valeria was no match made in Lesbos. It had been a difficult admission. It was not seeped in self-pity, and Hertha had treated her with compassion. Hertha offered friendship and understanding, but there was no hint of a romantic interest. Royce wondered whether Gwen had read more into her analysis than was there. Gwen was pleased that Royce and Hertha would be getting away together on an overnight camping trip.

  Royce drove up to the gasoline pump in front of Laird’s. She got out of her Blazer and restrained the whining Smoky. “Just need some petrol, girl. Then we’ll go on by and pick up Hertha. And it’s up to the lake for two days of fun.” She felt that she had neglected Smoky by concentrating on the case. The hours of inquiry into past crimes around the country in hopes of finding some similarities had proved fruitless. But Smoky had stayed patiently at Royce’s side while the deputy scoured piles of fax and wire messages. The camping trip would be a nice respite for both of them.

  As soon as she had pumped the gasoline, she glanced over her shoulder to see Yancy pulling up on his cycle. “Gettin’ ready for some good fishin'?” he called to her.

  “Ought to be great.” She listened to the sputtering throb of the cycle’s engine. “Getting your cycle ready. You must have the morning off.”

  “Traded a couple days with Nicky. He wanted some evenings off. Stud servicin’ the ladies,” Yancy roared. “So you goin’ up to your favorite fishin’ hole or are you venturing out?”

  “Same spot as always.”

  They could hear Orson Laird’s belly laugh as he approached. “You both takin’ the day off, eh?”

  “Royce here is goin’ fishin'. Me, I’m takin’ this bike out for a spin.”

  “Got that fuel line business fixed, did ya?” Orson inquired.

  “Yeah. Now I just need to borrow some tools and give 'er a few adjustments.”

  “Help yourself.” Orson then howled. With his tattling tone, he related, “Yanc and me have a bet every year that he’ll get his bike out too early. Did this year. Won my bet. That last snow got you, eh?”

  Royce frowned at the sheriff. “Yanc, I thought you said you didn’t get your bike out until after the last snow?”

  Orson butted in, answering for Yancy, “He had it out before then. Otherwise the line wouldn’t have frozen up on 'im. So what you need beside a fill?”

  Royce glanced back at Yancy’s face. She wondered why he had made a point of lying to her. Maybe, she thought, he had miscalculated the timing or wanted to save face on his bet with Orson. “I need some bait,” Royce finally answered. Her eyes left the sheriff’s probing inspection. “Better get a couple containers.”

  “You ain’t goin’ alone?” Orson quizzed.

  “Hertha White is going too.”

  “The vet.” Orson took the money from Royce’s outstretched hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

  “Mighty palsy-walsy with her,” Yancy charged.

  “We both like fishing,” Royce answered. When Orson returned, he handed her the change and a sack with the containers of bait. “Thanks, Orson.”

  “You be careful,” Yancy warned. “Up there with her all alone. She’s got her brother in jail. Never can tell what she’ll do if you rile her.”

  Royce wasn’t certain if she should chuckle or debate. She opted for a center mark. “Yancy, we’re going fishing. I assure you that I’m safe in her company. Ray’s too for that matter.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Your last comment proves you can be taken in,” he yelled as she got into her Blazer.

  With a loop U-turn, Royce directed the Blazer down Main Street. She parked in front of the clinic and went in. Gwen was behind the counter. “Hertha went back to the cottage for something. She’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Smoky is sure ready. She was so excited while I loaded up the tent I thought I’d better have Hertha bring a sedative. We’ll be at the spot in the clearing. I’ll drive to the little parking area; then we’ll pack in a quarter mile. If you need us.”

  “I know your favorite spot. Anyway, things are quiet here. Got a recovering neutered cat and a certifiable poodle.”

  “You should do dandy with the poodle,” Royce teased.

  “So what’s the update on the doc and you?”

  “Friends.”


  “You’ve been over to her place for dinner numerous times. I figured you’d have some report to give my waiting ears. I wish I could intervene and get you on the right track. I’ll bet she has a delicious kiss. You’re probably too busy singing your songs of woe. Talking Valeria talk. Empty your soul out to me about that.”

  “I told you, I’m not using Hertha as a stand-in. Or a sounding board.”

  “Royce, I saw something in your eyes the first time you told me about Hertha helping Smoky. There was respect; admiration. All I can say is that if the Valeria spell hasn’t worn off, it should have. If Valeria-the-vixen still has a hold on you, then you aren’t good enough for Hertha.”

  Their glance corded. “I know how Valeria appears to the outside world. But we had some very tender times. I’ll never stop believing that she is just frightened of love. Maybe I was mesmerized. And certainly there was unacceptable behavior. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that it was my fault for allowing it to happen. And maybe I’m not good enough for Hertha.”

  Gwen’s scowl was meant to shame Royce. “I’d like to do a little investigative reporting. Why do you feel the need to lose? Is it because you survived and your twin didn’t? Is it the fact that you’re a woman? Is it because you haven’t solved your father’s murder? Is it because you’re lesbian? How about this. Is it because you were duped by a dolly? Maybe all of the above. Maybe we could have the entire town put their ideas into a suggestion box. Why Royce Madison isn’t good enough ...”

  “Stop! Why are you doing this?”

  “Maybe to make you confront whatever it is inside you that’s allowing you to be less than you could be. Have less than you deserve.” Gwen was surveying Royce’s twitching jaw band. “If you’d risk a portion of believing in yourself that you risked on loving that tramp. ...”

  “She isn’t a tramp,” Royce seethed. “You have no right to call her that. She’s got problems. She’s in trouble with booze. She was always honest with me. More than I was with myself. She is not a tramp.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used that word,” Gwen apologized. “Forgive me?”

  “Yes.” Royce looked away a moment. “It isn’t that I’m in love with Val. Maybe I even find her pathetic now. But there was something in her that I found to love, and I won’t have that degraded.”

  “I truly am sorry.” It was as though Gwen realized for the first time that Royce was not a willing victim. And perhaps was not a victim at all. She truly saw something in Valeria that perhaps the schoolteacher hid away from all others. “I should have left it alone,” Gwen spoke. “And I shouldn’t have used the word tramp for anyone other than Faye. I don’t want to hurt Faye’s feelings,” Gwen joked.

  Royce couldn’t help smiling. “Faye never objects to the term.”

  “Object, hell’s bells, she thinks I’m her public relations gal.”

  Royce was glad when Hertha appeared. Her arms were loaded with sleeping gear. Royce took the sleeping bag and backpack. “I have another load,” Hertha said.

  “I’ll get these out in the Blazer and meet you there.” Hertha made her way back to the cottage and Royce gave Gwen a quick hug.

  “You two have a good time. Oh hell, I almost forgot. Old Laramie is looking for you.”

  “Tell Hertha I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Royce, you know I only said those things because I love you and want, expect, the best for you.”

  “I know.” Royce fanned the door open. She rushed out onto the street. After tossing the gear into the Blazer, she spotted Laramie on the corner.

  “Took your sweet ole time,” he grumbled.

  “Glad I found you.” She was out of breath from the run. His steady stare continued until Royce grilled, “Well?”

  “'Member me sayin’ that you might could get killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ya better be takin’ heed. Them bodies ain’t so buried as they was.”

  “What are you telling me?”

  “Jus’ what I says. Ya better watch it. Better try and save your bacon. Back off.”

  “I’m not backing off anything.” Royce leaned against the wall and their eyes scowled at one another. “What else can you tell me?”

  “I ain’t been stealin’ the bell so much lately.”

  “And?”

  “Buckley.”

  “What?”

  “My last name is Buckley. Thomas R. Buckley. From Laramie, Wyoming.”

  ***

  Royce felt relief that Hertha had not seemed to mind her silence. Smoky was the major contributor of narration. Hertha sensed Royce’s quiet mood. Royce wondered if Hertha believed that it was due to the words she had with Gwen. The drive was quiet, as was the jaunt to their fishing spot.

  Royce felt jittery. This warning was different from Laramie’s past admonishments. It was also different in the fact that he was the seeker. He searched her out. She hadn’t cornered him. Yes, he was a crazy old coot. But something in this meeting assured Royce that there was a hazard. The threat was second-hand, but it was as menacing as Luther’s warning had been.

  The women arrived at Royce’s favorite spot. Repeatedly Hertha commented about how lovely the area was. That pleased Royce. With an aspen grove to one side and a flowery pasture to the other, it was a camper’s paradise. They decided to get their fishing in early and set up camp later.

  Hertha kidded that puppies will be puppies when Smoky tried to attack a springy evergreen bough. The dog returned to the lake’s cuticle only to end up falling in when Hertha was netting a fish. Even though Smoky’s antics probably frightened off some fish, the women caught several. Royce was convinced that their catch was more attributable to the fact that the lake was well-stocked, since it was the beginning of the season, than to their fishing skills.

  By mid-afternoon, they left the bank to set up their dome tent. As they placed the orbing tent poles, Royce noted that there was an unspoken cooperation. They shared a smile when the tent lifted. Royce placed the sleeping bags and other camping equipment inside and then paused to consider the fact that she was finally beginning to relax.

  After the tent was erected, they walked through the meadow and admired the bright golden floral clusters of snow buttercup. They inhaled the sweet smell of white alpine flowers. As they trekked, the women shared stories of wilderness. They found their way through a corridor of trees and then back to the small stream that flushed into the lake. They crossed the stony creek and hiked back to their camp. They decided to return to the creek in the morning for some fly fishing.

  After a quick lunch, they went back to their lake fishing. Royce caught herself staring at the vet. She watched the splashes of light against Hertha’s face. Royce smiled at the way Hertha’s fishing hat was tipped back on her head. The twisted grass safari hat had a bright lemon yellow puggaree band that ribboned down along Hertha’s back braid.

  Thinking about Smoky, Royce glanced up to see the pup exploring their tackle box.

  “Well-coached schnauzer. She worked her paws to the bone scaring fish all afternoon,” Royce grumbled.

  “Just a mental error or two. Actually, she’s been wonderful. She was only trying to help us net that last fish. You’ve got to admit, she’s a diver.”

  Royce pointed up toward the sky. The outstretched wings of an eagle thrilled them. Royce looked down at the bird’s majestic shadow trailing across a bald patch of land. Glancing up again, she noted that the replicated form shared the same color of topaz as was underneath the eagle. “Absolute glory,” she commented.

  “The eagle is very symbolic to the Ute. We believe that we’re born with wings. The wings of humans are attached to our spirits. That’s why our spirits can fly off to places were our bodies can never be.”

  With a long cast of her limber fishing rod, Royce leaned back. “I’m glad I’m getting to know more about the Ute tradition. It’s so much a part of this land. And I’ve always loved the wilderness too. Not that I’d want to run into a mountai
n lion or grizzly.”

  “Mamaqui Mowats...the bear dance,” Hertha commented. “Another tidbit is that years ago there were many bisexuals in the Ute nation. It was accepted. I come by my lesbianism honestly,” she said with a robust laugh.

  Royce’s rod bowed suddenly. Striking hard was a trout. Its tail seemed to dance across the water like sparkling silver. The fish fought valiantly as Royce finessed it.

  “Hooked a beauty,” Hertha praised. She waded in mid-shin. When the fish was near, she netted it.

  Smoky was at the water’s edge whining to get the flopping fish as it lurched. “Looks like we’ve got a batch of fish to clean.” Glancing down at her grimy denims and shirt, she whistled. “Whew. I’m filthy. So I might as well clean the fish now. I don’t know if all these layers of dirt will ever come off.”

  “A moonlight swim should loosen the dirt,” Hertha suggested. Royce’s startled glance up into Hertha’s flickering eyes confirmed that she was serious. “Skinny-dipping in this weather?

  “Skinny-dipping under the stars. It will be cool, but it should do wonders for our circulation.”

  “Freeze it. It will end up iced plasma.”

  “Come on, paleface. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  “Plunging into cool water is adventure?”

  “Of course. We’ll build a huge fire, take a dip and then warm up near blazing warmth.”

  Royce’s eyes ovaled. “Nude?”

  “Unless you brought your bathing suit.”

  Chapter 22

  The moon was a luminous blaze and stars above flickered like a trillion sparklers. Royce’s heart raced even before the two glistening bodies plunged into chilling waters. From the moment Hertha pulled the tie from around her braid and her hair fell loosely to her shoulder, Royce was enchanted. When they disrobed, Royce felt desire pulsating within, but she hadn’t seen the same reaction in Hertha’s sepia eyes.