“Mr. Findlay?” I said when the man sitting on the bench didn’t look up right away.
He brought his head up slowly and then squinted in my direction. It was difficult to distinguish his features, but he had a pleasant face, though it didn’t seem happy to see me.
“Help you?” he said.
“Well . . .” I began.
He sat up straighter and squinted harder. “Who are you, young lady? You’re wearing more men’s clothes than women’s. Why is that?”
“Do you know where you are, Mr. Findlay?”
“Of course. I’m at the Broken Rope, Missouri, train depot.” He looked around and his eyebrows came together.
“You are,” I said with a smile. “Sort of.”
“You’re not making sense,” he said, but I heard the doubt in his tone. He suspected something was wonky.
I recalled my spiel with Grace. Though it wasn’t easy to tell someone they were dead, my limited experience had taught me that the ghosts never fought the truth too much. Once they were told they were dead, they seemed to move quickly past that one unchangeable hitch in their bizarre existence. When I told him that he’d died a long time ago he didn’t seem to want to argue the point.
“I’m part of what would be your time’s future. My name is Betts Winston. My grandmother, Missouri Anna Winston, and I are able to talk to ghosts from Broken Rope’s past. Do you know my grandmother? She’s known as Miz.”
“I don’t believe I do,” he muttered.
“Other than this trip, can you recall ever coming back to Broken Rope after you died?”
“No. It doesn’t seem possible,” he said.
“Seems to be possible around here. Broken Rope’s wild and crazy past must have made quite the impression on time. I look at it as if something got stuck or hung up—pardon the bad pun—somewhere.”
“I see.” He blinked, looked around again and then back at me. “Young lady, if when I was alive I had seen someone who was dead, a ghost, I would be concerned and scared. You seem fine with the whole idea.”
“You’re not my first ghost. I’ve met a few, but I was most definitely concerned and scared when I met the very first one.”
“I imagine so. I guess I wonder what am I doing here. Why am I here? And what are you doing here in your pants and unladylike shirt?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I suspect it has something to do with Grace,” I said.
“How do you know about Grace?” He stood. “Is she here?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said.
He stepped forward and then to his right and his left, stopping at the doorway of the station.
“Do you see anyone else?” I asked, because I saw no ghost other than Robert.
“No,” he said as he remained in the doorway. An instant later, he turned and looked at me. “I suppose me being dead has something to do with that.”
“Maybe. There aren’t a lot of clear rules to this stuff. And when they become a little clear, they change. But for now, all I see is you and me. And . . . well, last night I saw Grace.”
“You did? Here?”
“Not here, exactly, but at another station, though that station was here in the same spot as this station.” I sighed. “I’m sure that doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. Tell me about Grace. How was she?”
“She was sad,” I said. “She hoped to make her way to you, but I was under the impression that never happened.”
“No, I don’t think it did,” Robert said. “I . . . I waited. I came back day after day for a very long time, but Grace never joined me in Broken Rope. That was our plan, you know. She was going to meet me here and we were going to run away together.”
“She told me.”
“I don’t know what happened to her.”
“I have a little more news,” I said, “but you won’t like it.”
Robert frowned and then squinted again. I hadn’t noticed that he’d been holding a hat, but he started to rub his finger over the brim as he inspected me this time. “How could it possibly matter that I won’t like it? I’m dead. I’m assuming Grace is, too.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Grace said she was killed, that she was trying to get to you, but she was killed—not accidently, but murdered.”
As transparent as Robert was, it was a surprise to see his face become paler. He returned to the bench and sat. “Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Someone must have realized what she was doing, coming to me, a white man. Of course you know how difficult it is for people of different skin colors to be in love.”
“Things have changed a little over time, Robert, but not completely yet. Prejudice still exists, but there are many biracial couples now living happy lives together without the need to run away or hide.”
He looked up and blinked at me. “How wonderful. How incredible.” He moved his eyes back to the platform. “We were born in the wrong time, I suppose, Grace and I.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No matter.” The set of his jaw was now straightened with determination. “I guess the only thing that matters now is Grace. I would like to know who murdered her. I realize it’s too late to truly acquire justice, but isn’t knowing the truth always a good thing, and somehow its own form of justice? And, perhaps there’s a hope that she and I might be together now. Oh, wouldn’t that be the most amazing thing?”
“I think it would be,” I said.
“What shall we do, Betts Winston? How shall we proceed?”
“I’m not sure, yet, Robert, but I promise I’ll try to figure it out.”
Chapter 3
“Anyone else having starter problems?” Roy asked.
Everyone except April and Todd shook their heads.
“Good,” Roy said. “April, Todd, I’ll get that taken care of before your next shifts. What are you two—Tuesday and Friday?”
“I’m Tuesday,” April said.
“I’m Friday,” Todd added.
“Not a problem. It will be done,” Roy said.
We were sitting around one of the large center butcher blocks in the cooking school. Gram had come in early to make us breakfast, effectively turning the meeting into one of the more delicious get-togethers we’d had. It was unlike Gram to spend much time in the school, other than the night classes, during the month of June. This was usually her time off. I’d been surprised to find her Volvo out front and then her inside along with the scents and sounds of cooking bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy.
“Making some grub for the Trigger crew, Betts. After the meeting, I need to talk to you, okay?” she’d said.
I’d said that would be no problem but I became immediately concerned regarding the subject matter of our conversation. Gram was acting strangely. Though she loved any form of cooking and baking, there was something forced in her breakfast preparation, in her voice. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to ask her any more questions because the rest of the Trigger drivers started arriving, and it was obvious that Gram didn’t want our conversation overheard by anyone else. She disappeared toward the back of the school the second she had the food dished onto serving platters.
Roy Acres led the meetings. They were about his Triggers, after all. After we ate and chatted about some of our adventures with the tourists, Roy got to the business at hand and wanted to know if we were having any problems, questions, or concerns. In the few weeks we’d been driving the vehicles, the problems had been few and far between and never anything serious.
The Triggers were stored in an old, big barn right behind Bunny’s Restaurant on the edge of town. As far as I could tell, Roy never slept or ate, but drank lots of coffee and was always tinkering with the machines. We all joked with him that he’d upgrade and improve them so much by the end of the s
ummer that there would probably be flames painted down their sides and they’d hover instead of move with wheels.
Roy was in his mid-fifties, and along with a constant cup of coffee in his reach, he always wore plain white T-shirts, except on him they rarely remained plain or white for very long. Grease and dirt spots decorated the shirts and I frequently tried to interpret the resulting shapes. Just the other day, I saw a monkey hanging from a tire swing. Even though it was early, there were already a couple spots showing, though I couldn’t make them into pictures yet.
Roy also always wore tan work pants, the type you’d see on construction workers in the winter. I never understood why he wore the thick, heavy pants, particularly during our hot and humid summers.
He kept his dark hair short and I was certain that behind his thick glasses were pretty blue eyes, but he was so far-sighted that the lenses enlarged his eyes to buglike, alarming proportions.
He was a true gentleman and a sweetheart, and I’d always been sad that he had never married, never even really dated anyone. When he told us about his interest in cooking classes because of a potential new romance, I’d been thrilled, almost to the point of pitching him some wardrobe ideas, but I hadn’t wanted to offend him.
“I just thought of something, Roy,” Lynn said. “There’s a tear on the back seat cushion on Trigger Two. Did you notice that, Derek?”
“No, but I don’t think I checked back there last time I drove her,” Derek said.
The group of Trigger drivers/nighters was eclectic. Lynn and Derek Rowlett, the drivers of Trigger Two that operated on Thursdays and Saturdays, were family. Derek and Roy knew each other from way back. Derek was also in his mid-fifties. He was a handyman by trade and he’d been married a number of times, though I’d lost track of how many exactly. Derek was not an attractive man; in fact, Gram had said more than once, “that poor man sure got a lot of bad cards dealt to him.” Looks are easily forgotten, though, if someone is pleasant to be around, but adding to his unattractiveness, he also wasn’t all that pleasant—he was rude and petty like his mother. He could also be quiet and sullen and usually seemed to blend into the background. His wives, the Mrs. Rowletts, must have seen something in him that Gram and I didn’t because they’d all apparently become smitten enough to answer his proposal in the affirmative. I didn’t think any of the marriages had lasted long, but I’d never spent much time looking into the matter. Since he’d started taking the class, I’d shallowly wondered a time or two if the attraction had something to do with money he might have inherited from a rich relative, but Gram was certain he wasn’t rich.
And the mere idea of his mother, Lynn, as your mother-in-law was not appealing. Lynn Rowlett was known far and wide as one of the most bothersome women in all of Missouri. Well, maybe her reputation was only cemented in Broken Rope, but everyone in town knew about it. Her modus operandi consisted mainly of filing complaints. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she would find something to complain about. She’d put her complaints in writing and send a letter to the editor of our local newspaper, the Noose, or she’d share her complaints with anyone who would listen. Fortunately, no one really listened to her very much anymore. Gram and I, and Roy for that matter, had yet to fall victim to one of her tirades, but we all suspected one was forthcoming. Gram and I had paid extra attention to the Letters to the Editor section of the paper since the night vegetable class had begun.
At the moment, I inspected her as she told Roy about the tear in the seat. Was this the beginning of a new rant?
“I’ll look at that today, too,” Roy said.
Lynn pursed her lips and nodded in a manner that was so agreeable I had to stifle a gasp of disbelief.
As I looked away from her, I caught a conspiratorial wink from my Trigger driving partner, Paul Stadler. It seemed Gram and I weren’t the only ones watching and waiting for Lynn’s next outburst.
Normally, I would smile and perhaps wink back in response to the friendly gesture, but this time I just smiled at Paul and looked back at Roy.
Paul Stadler had been a friend for a long time. In high school he’d been an acquaintance, but after high school and during the following decade or so, he’d worked with Jake on some Broken Rope historical books. As a result, Paul and Jake had become even better friends, thus, Paul and I had also become better friends.
Lately, I’d had a sense that he hoped for something more than friendship, which was both odd and uncomfortable. He knew Cliff and I were together, and that nothing was going to sever that relationship again. Unless it was a long-dead cowboy ghost, of course, but he didn’t know that.
Typically, I would think I was jumping to an incorrect conclusion, that I was being overly sensitive or even egotistical, but Jake had noticed it, too; so much so that he’d thought he should talk to Paul, tell him he was behaving inappropriately. I’d asked him not to, but I suspected there was an uncomfortable conversation in Paul’s and my future. I wasn’t looking forward to that moment and I’d started doing little things like not winking back playfully with the hope that I could avoid any awkward talks.
Paul had never been married, but he’d always had a girlfriend. He’d always been attracted to girls with some sort of troubled background. Drugs, alcohol, abuse; there had been some ugly moments between Paul and his girlfriends as he tried to reform and “fix” them.
I thought I wasn’t the type of woman he’d be romantically interested in, but Jake thought maybe he was trying to change his ways, even if he wasn’t quite on the right track yet.
I hoped the friendship wouldn’t have to end, but time would tell.
And, anyway, all romantic notions in our little group should have been spent on April and Todd. April was an early-twenties-something blonde with big green eyes and the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. Her family had moved to town a couple months earlier. She’d just finished her freshman year at Mizzou and was spending the summer in Broken Rope. Having no idea what to do with all her time, she visited one of Jake’s poetry readings and asked him if there was anything she could to do to get more involved with the town. He’d sent her to Gram’s classes, which had introduced her to Roy. She now shared her Trigger Three driving duties with Todd.
Todd was mid-twenties, back in town for the summer from dental school in Nebraska. He’d run into Gram at the post office and they’d talked a little about the recent passing of his grandmother, who had also been a good friend of Gram’s. She mentioned the classes and told him they’d be much easier than dental school. Little had Todd known he would meet April and fall head over heels for the pretty girl from Chicago. We all hoped he would work up the courage to ask her out, but he wasn’t there yet. Poor guy was so tongue-tied and clumsy around her that everyone else had to frequently bite the insides of their cheeks to keep from smiling sympathetically at his self-conscious behavior. I wasn’t sure if she noticed or just thought the tall, good-looking guy with the crooked smile was simply unable to control his long limbs and didn’t quite have a grasp on the English language.
“Oh!” April said. “I almost forgot. I think one of the spokes in the front right wagon wheel might be cracked. I’m not sure if that’s important, but I saw it last week and just now remembered to mention it.”
“Good to know, April. I will check that out for sure,” Roy said.
Todd nodded as though he agreed with April’s assessment. He sat up a little straighter and opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but then must have thought he might not be able to handle the task. He closed his mouth as his shoulders fell.
“Todd?” Roy said. “You notice anything else?”
Todd shook his head. I was afraid he’d become so embarrassed about his speaking ability around April that he might never talk again.
“Okay, then, well, it looks like it’s Monday again, Betts. You ready to get out there and drive?” Roy asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. A
fter I talk to Gram for a minute.
I would make sure I wasn’t late for my shift, but I might cut it a little close.
“Good. If anyone needs anything today, I’ll be at the barn. Stop by if you need to,” Roy said.
Everyone scooted their stools back from the butcher-block table.
“Thanks to Miz for the breakfast spread,” Roy said. “Is she still around? I’d like to chat with her for a minute.”
“Yes, she’s in the back,” I said. “I can give her the message. I need to talk to her for a minute, too.”
“No, I’d like to tell her myself,” Roy said as took off toward the part of the building that housed our infrequently used sit-down classroom and my and Gram’s offices. Lynn and Derek walked toward the front swinging doors of the kitchen. I saw Todd steel himself as April walked by him. I suspected he was telling himself that he was going to talk to her. Now. Unfortunately, as he scooted the stool back a little farther, it went down, and so did he.
Paul, April, Lynn, Derek, and I hurried to his fallen body.
He was already trying to get up, his face as red as a ripe tomato.
“You okay, Todd?” April was the first to crouch down beside him.
“Fine, fine,” he said, though he sounded exasperated, irritated, and annoyed. Almost anything but fine.
“Here,” Paul said as he extended his hand.
“I’m fine,” Todd said adamantly as he ignored the friendly gesture and propelled himself to his feet.
We’d gathered around him quickly, and then tried to step back casually, all of us feeling his pain and discomfort, with the possible exception of April. She hadn’t known Todd before joining the cooking class and the Trigger driving crew so she hadn’t seen what a genuinely sweet guy he was. He was also smart and clever, but those traits had gone into hibernation, too, perhaps waiting for him back at dental school.
If Onions Could Spring Leeks Page 3
