“What is it?” Diane asked, her words muzzy. “Manny said you’re—” She looked at him closely for the first time, and all signs of sleepiness vanished. “What is it?” she repeated shortly. “Tell us.”
Lee handed the tablet sheets to them as the two separate documents they were. “Read this,” he said.
His friends frowned at each other as they cautiously took the papers. Moments later, Diane’s head snapped up. “Is this true?” she demanded.
Manny, with the longer account, whistled at the end.
“Exchange them,” Lee directed.
Once they had finished, Manny sank onto the bed at his wife’s side and Diane stared blankly at Lee.
“Did Mae bring this to you?” she asked sharply.
“Shannon did,” Lee replied.
“And you didn’t tell us right away?”
“I wanted to think about it. There’s a lot to consider.”
“You believe it?” she demanded.
“I believe he believed it.”
Manny pointed to the signature. “Who’s this Byron Parker? A relative of yours?”
Lee smiled tightly. “Oh, yes. He’s a son of Virgil Parker, one of the two brothers who started the Parker Ranch. Everything checks out about him. His age, the dates.”
“These were written in the early twenties,” Manny pointed out
“His recollections.”
“‘Nate Barlow was captured and taken to Del Norte,”’ Diane read aloud. “So who’s the person out in the cemetery?”
“That’s a good question.”
“It could be Nate Barlow.” She supplied her own answer. “These might be fakes.”
Manny elbowed his wife to remind her that she was disparaging a Parker to a Parker.
“Could be,” Lee said quietly. “That’s what we have to find out before we do anything with them.”
“Do anything?” Diane echoed, then she quickly realized the potential of his proposal. “Oh my God, Lee! We can’t do that! I know we talked about it. But these people—”
Lee explained as clearly as he could. “If everything here is based on a lie, isn’t it our obligation to show that lie for what it is?”
“And in the process ruin all the townspeople’s lives?” Diane was shaking her head before she finished speaking. “Uh-uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“It sure would put the special over the top,” Manny said quietly.
Diane looked at him as if he were a striking cobra. “Oh, Manny, not you, too.”
“I like these people,” Lee said. “I don’t wish them harm or the movie studio harm. But what do we do about this?” He retrieved the accounts from on top the bedcover and wagged them in the air.
“We burn them!” Diane retorted.
“What about Byron Parker?” Manny asked his wife. “Should Nate Barlow get the credit for what he did? Isn’t there something essentially wrong about that? People all over the world think Nate’s a hero—”
“That happened a lot in the Old West!” Diane maintained. “Truly rotten people were turned into heroes by the storytellers. They kept order by shooting people in the back or when they slept. And now we have this inflated opinion of—” She realized she was overturning her own argument and shut up. Finally, with an irritated sigh, she admitted. “All right. I concede your point. But I don’t have to like it.”
Lee smiled slightly, approving of her spirit. “I think what we need is to check this out more. See if we can find anything to confirm it. You weren’t looking at old trial records before. Unless they were burned in the fire, there should be some kind of notation or something.”
“Do you mind if I hope I don’t find anything?” Diane asked.
“Not at all. I hope you don’t, either. But either way, we still have to deal with the significance of these papers.”
“It would really make a big splash for the show,” Manny maintained.
All three of them nodded, none enthusiastically.
KAREN SPENT a good portion of the night at her window, thinking about everything that had happened since she’d returned to Twilight. What she’d learned about herself, about others. The fallacy of the assumptions she’d been harboring for the past seven years. Seven years! Had she wasted that much time. blaming the Parkers as a whole, when in fact she should have been blaming only one of them—Alex? And maybe herself for having allowed her parents such great influence on her? And why should she blame anyone? It had happened. She should’ve gotten over it. Gone on with her life... not buried everything and pretended to have gone on with it.
She thought about her existence in Kerrville. It seemed as far away as the moon right now. Her work for Mr. Griffin in his antique shop, her almost engagement to Martin. Only her friendship with Rachel provided a slender thread of connection.
She didn’t know what she wanted, but she was certainly beginning to get an idea of what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to settle...not for anything, not for anyone. The Karen she became when existing freely in Twilight was the true Karen and always had been. It was the person she felt most comfortable with. The person with the clearest vision. And it was to this Karen that she should listen.
This Karen actually had liked Mae Parker. She hadn’t wanted to, but she had. This Karen was ready to slough off the past, to head in new directions. This Karen wasn’t even averse to being with Lee Parker.
She was comfortable in Twilight...maybe she would stay here! But she wasn’t going to rush herself. When the time came, she would make a decision. A considered, reflective decision about what she truly wanted.
In the midst of everything she was finally gaining an inkling as to why her aunt Augusta had stayed in Twilight when she could have gone anywhere else. Maybe Augusta had liked the person she was when she was here, too. Or maybe, more likely, Augusta had always known who she was but had found a kindred spirit within the soul of this town.
KAREN SOUGHT OUT BETTE the next morning instead of the other way around. She was ready to begin again. Only instead of Bette, she found Lee in the kitchen, scrambling eggs.
“Oh! I thought—” She stopped in the doorway. The saloon apartment’s door had been ajar, and when she’d tapped on it and called Bette’s name, the response she’d received was cooking noises from this quarter.
“They’re all out,” Lee said. “Bette went to the hotel with John. Diane’s doing some research, and Manny...Manny’s doing what Manny does best, taking pictures. So you’ll have to make do with me if you’re looking for company, unless you find the idea too repulsive.” He lifted the skillet. “Want some?”
The other Karen would have declined immediately. “Sure,” she said. “Would you like me to butter the toast?”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “What did Mae say or do to you? Did she give you a concussion that wiped away your memory?”
“I don’t have to butter the toast,” she reminded him.
He shrugged his acquiescence.
Moments later they were sharing the tiny table for two in the kitchen that Bette and John used for most of their meals when they were alone.
“Why are you still here when the others aren’t?” she asked.
“I couldn’t face the thought of food earlier.”
“Why not?”
He gave a half smile that she found extremely sexy. “Is this some kind of trap?”
“It’s no trap.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain before I believe you.”
Karen set aside her fork. She’d known this moment was inevitable—that matters couldn’t stand as they were between them. She’d been mistaken about so many things and needed to acknowledge it.
“I’ve learned something,” she announced quietly, and noticed that he stiffened. As she continued, though, he slowly relaxed. “For years I thought Mae—all the Parkers, really—hadn’t wanted me in the family. My strongest proof was something I heard Mae say. To you, actually, but also to anyone who’d listen.”
He f
rowned. “To me?”
Karen nodded. “She said Alex marrying me was a travesty. I remember it perfectly. It’s been a part of my life for all these years.”
“I don’t remember her saying that,” Lee said.
“That’s because she didn’t. Oh, she used the phrase, but it wasn’t directed at me. She was talking about Alex. She didn’t think he was responsible enough to marry anyone!”
“A fact he’s proven repeatedly.”
Karen spread her hands, smiling.
“So you can smile,” he murmured.
“Of course.”
“You’ve never smiled at me before.”
“Oh, I must have! When we first met, surely? Right before the wedding?”
“No, I’d have remembered.”
“Well, if I didn’t, it was because I didn’t think you liked me, either.” She leaned forward to look into his eyes. “I need to explain something about that, too. Actually, about my parents. Everything seemed to change for them after I became engaged to Alex. Particularly for my mother. It was as if she saw the wedding as a contest Everything was meant to impress your family—your mother. ‘The Parkers’ this. ’The Parkers’ that. She said it so many times I wanted to scream. The Parker name. meant nothing to me. It still—”
“Doesn’t,” he cut in, smiling.
She shrugged. “Well, obviously not as much as it does to all of you.”
“My mother would have a heart attack.”
“My mother thought your mother was slighting me...us.”
“I told you my mother’s a snob.”
“Now I know my mother is, too. In her own special way, as you so kindly pointed out.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know that. So I’ve decided to do what you said before. I won’t hold your family against you if you won’t hold mine against me.”
“It’s a deal,” Lee agreed, and they shook hands over the table.
A spark of awareness caused Karen to draw back. She wasn’t ready for more at this moment. A declaration of peace was a huge step. Later on...
She stood up. “I have to go. Thanks for breakfast.”
He glanced at her plate. “You didn’t eat much of it.”
“It’s the sentiment that counts, isn’t it?”
Again, he smiled. Which did amazing things to Karen’s heart rate.
“I won’t complain,” he returned softly.
Karen had to get herself out of there. Either that or surprise him even more by pouncing.
LEE STOPPED by the music hall to see what the studio workers were doing and was amazed to find that in just two short days they’d stripped off the near psychedelic finish someone had applied to the floor in the sixties, almost completely redone the wiring, removed the huge velvet curtain that had been in tatters and were now busily repainting every walled surface. The large room was going to be beautiful when they finished. It was something like watching a battalion of army ants attack an objective and overcome it. And Manny was recording each event as it unfolded. Lee could see the scene played out in quick time for the special—the music hall’s reconstruction from beginning to end in the space of a minute.
He then dropped by the hotel to check the progress there. Some of the men had moved upstairs to begin on the three bedrooms they hoped to have open for business after Twilight’s big night, while others did finishing work downstairs.
Bette, applying wallpaper in the lobby, asked him what he thought.
“It looks great!” he said, meaning it.
“It sure does,” Pepper, her assistant, agreed with a grin. “I just might wanna come spend a night or two here myself when we’re done!”
Lee left by the back door, going through the kitchen, which also was nearing completion. Once outside, he nodded to Benny, who paused long enough from stacking used lumber to smile hugely and wave.
Rather than turn toward the saloon to complete his circuit, Lee swung onto the path that led to the cemetery—his foremost destination all along. He wanted another look at Nate Barlow’s grave. But he hadn’t wanted his interest to be obvious.
Along the way he saw Pete sitting under a scraggly tree in what passed as his yard. The old man was peering into a hand mirror, grooming his beard.
The sight was enough to draw Lee off course.
“Mornin’, Pete,” he murmured, slipping into his comfortable cowboy drawl. How many times had he seen scenes like this, with grizzled old cowboys performing their ablutions after a long week’s work wrangling cattle? “You decide to comb the stickers out?”
Pete leveled his bright eyes on him. “Is there a law agin’ it?”
Lee laughed. “Not that I know of.”
“Then that’s what I’m doin’.” Pete snipped at an occasional stray hair with a tiny pair of scissors.
As far as Lee could see, he wasn’t accomplishing all that much. His beard, like his hair, was still a flyaway snowstorm. Only it had been washed and combed.
Pete snipped another hair or two, then, satisfied with the result, stood up and crammed the same dirty old hat on his head. Which matched the same ragged old clothes.
When Lee saw him start to hobble off, he remembered the sad state of the man’s feet. “Hey, Pete,” he called. “I’ve got a proposition for you. How about you get those feet checked out and ’Western Rambles’ will take care of the bill?”
Pete turned to look at him. “I told you. I don’t like doctors.”
“You said you’ve never been to one before,” Lee countered. “But what if a doctor could make your feet feel better? Let you walk easier.”
Pete screwed up his face. “‘Western Rambles,’ you say? That’s that show of yours, right?” When Lee nodded, Pete continued, “That’s what I thought. I don’t take charity. But thanks for offerin’.”
“It’s not charity, Pete. It’s...a a payment for your service.”
“I know exactly how the cow ate the cabbage, son. It’s charity.” Then, before Lee could say anything more, Pete called for his dog.
The dog, who’d been asleep near the chair, instantly responded. But after getting up and shaking himself, he looked curiously at Lee, who immediately squatted down and extended his hand. Moving cautiously, the dog came nearer, and after a sniff, he let Lee pet him on the head and neck. His tail wagged slowly.
“What’s his name?” Lee asked, smiling.
“Tex,” Pete said gruffly. “Come on, boy,” he called, and seconds later both the dog and the old man disappeared inside the shack.
Lee returned to his appointed task. As Diane said, if Nate Barlow had been tried and hung in Del Norte, just who was taking up space in the Twilight cemetery? It didn’t make sense for the outlaw’s body to have been transported back to the little town, not in the early 1890s, and not when there didn’t seem to be any connection other than the fact that he’d been caught in bed here with the saloon keeper’s daughter.
He hunkered down for a closer look at the headstone. Nate Barlow, the rather primitive carving read, as it had before, with Valued Friend underneath. After a quick check for witnesses, Lee took out the tiny flashlight he’d brought along with him and shone it on the carving. That was when he saw it. The B and the W in Barlow had been altered, much the way rustlers modified brands on stolen cattle. A new mark here, the obliteration of another mark there.
Lee pulled back. What did it mean? The lettering was so crudely done, could it have been a mistake from the onset? The Nate looked proper, so did the middle letters on the last name. Could the original carver have misspelled the outlaw’s last name and needed to correct it?
He took another close look. There definitely was something wrong with the B and the W.
Just for the heck of it he strolled through the rest of the cemetery, moving from row to row, looking at other plaques, crosses and headstones. In the middle row a family name caught his eye—Harlon. A wife, a child—both with that name. And, next to them, an unmarked grave. It would take only a little effort
to change Harlon to Barlow by adjusting the H and the N. Then, presto...change-o, Nate Barlow had himself a headstone.
As a prank it might be amusing. But in a serious investigation it lent credence to Byron Parker’s account that Nate Barlow had not been buried in this cemetery. Someone was playing a little game, moving headstones, altering letters.
Lee knew he should be excited by the discovery. Instead, he was disheartened. He wanted everything to be aboveboard for the people of Twilight. He wanted the good things they hoped for to become reality. He wanted Karen not to think ill of him again.
She’d been so very different this morning. Whatever Mae said had acted as a release for her. She was no longer a prisoner of the past. She’d been friendly to him, even smiled! He didn’t want her to hate him again—this time by his own action, because he’d used Parker family records to debunk Twilight’s outlaw legend.
He searched for additional explanations. Possibly the stonecutter had used Mr. Harlon’s headstone himself, saving the time and effort of making a new one. The men’s first names being the same, the adjustments to the last were easy. And if the Harlon family had no living relations in Twilight to protest, and if the few remaining townspeople were in a hurry to honor the outlaw for saving the child, the stonecutter might have taken a shortcut. A shortcut no one had noticed until now.
Lee shook his head as he started back up the pathway into the town proper. Possibly...if...if.... Not very likely.
He wished he’d never seen Byron Parker’s accounts. He wished he’d never asked Shannon to check the family history. Why was he trying to complicate everything? The team had come to Twilight to do a simple little story of a town’s response to a reawakening of interest in its history. Where did it say he needed to investigate that history? To be sure that every i was dotted and every t crossed? Wasn’t that the reason he’d left TV news? His revulsion at the value of sensation over humanity?
As he crossed through the antique shop’s backyard, he wanted to stop to see Karen. Not to tell her what he’d learned. Just...to be with her. But he decided against it. He didn’t want to tarnish the memory of that morning. It might be something he’d have to hold on to for a long, long time.
Twilight, Texas Page 17
