All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One)

by Carol Caverly

  Minnie wasn’t the only one who liked to needle people. I, of course, rose to the bait.

  “You want a reaction to ‘typical’, or to ‘old maid’?”

  “On second thought,” he said, eyeing me appreciatively, “I guess you’re not typical. How about old maid?”

  “If you mean unmarried, yes, I’m an old maid. If you mean do I hate men—only selectively.”

  “Ouch. No attachments? I’d find that hard to believe.”

  “Not at the moment,” I answered, promptly sinking into my own miserable thoughts. I hadn’t heard the term ‘old maid’ in years, but suddenly now, it seemed depressingly apt. I’d shown no more talent for picking men than I had in choosing a career. To be fair, none of the men at college stood a chance of competing with my zeal to become the most amazing teacher in recorded history. And my last, most serious attachment, an engagement, really, with a fellow teacher had disintegrated in pace with my disenchantment for teaching poetry to sixth grade boys. Whatever I was looking for, I’d not found it yet.

  I gazed out the window, moodily watching dusty, sage-strewn fields give way to wired-in lots scattered with rusting junk and weathered signs that advertised the approaching delights of Hijax, Wyoming. Max slowed as we passed the shabby Tastee-Freeze and its accompanying swarm of teenagers that heralded the outskirts of town.

  “I was married once, a long time ago,” he said, and pulled to a stop in front of the small drugstore. “I don’t recommend it. You’ve got an hour and a half to explore our thriving metropolis while I pick up supplies. I’ll meet you here, then we’ll get the groceries and head out.”

  Before I knew it I was standing on the curb squinting into the sun watching the truck disappear around a corner.

  How like Max to throw out bits of information, then not give me time to reply. Why did he want me to know he’d been married before? And why was I so certain he had a reason beyond the obvious one?

  Well, I’m not going to worry about it now, I thought, glad to be out of the truck. I wanted to find a telephone and a camera. And now that I knew something about Minnie’s background the prospect of investigating the town seemed more interesting.

  Whirlwinds of dust danced up the street, swirling debris onto the sidewalks and against the already grimy clapboard buildings. I didn’t see a phone booth on the street, so I decided to begin my exploration with the drugstore.

  The store was small, but bright and cheery with an old-fashioned soda fountain along the back wall that sent a sugary scent of nostalgia drifting through the narrow aisles. A hot fudge sundae would be nice, I thought. I’d not eaten much of Minnie’s lunch. But business first.

  Magazines filled a rack under the front window, and a pay phone hung on the wall beyond a pile of newspapers. I headed towards it, smiling at two middle-aged women who occupied stools at the counter. Not much privacy. The women made no attempt to conceal their interest in my every move. I called Mother first for a trial run, testing how far my voice would carry and how far curiosity would push the two women.

  As usual, Mother was delighted to hear from me, and relieved to hear that no, the West wasn’t all that wild anymore, and no, I hadn’t seen any Indians yet, and yes, I thought I’d met a cowboy.

  Indulgent smiles from the soda fountain informed me that the ladies’ committee had taken it in as well. I’d decided to find a different phone for my call to Roger when a group of teenagers filed through the door, providing a perfect screen with their loud voices and laughing demands for service. I turned my back and quickly dialed Roger’s number.

  Roger was delighted to hear from me, too, glad I’d arrived without any mishap for which he’d be sued.

  I tried to push through his barrage of questions and commands, saying finally, “Be still, Roger. I’ve got an idea and need your advice.” Me asking for help stunned him into silence.

  “This is a public phone, so I can’t go into details, but I’ve got a great idea for publicity that…” I glanced over my shoulder to check on the two women, and nearly dropped the phone. Jim Enright stood not two feet from me, leaning casually against the wall with a welcoming smile on his face.

  “Don’t hurry,” he mouthed. “I’ll wait.”

  I grimaced self-consciously, wondering how he’d read the confused mixture of guilt, pleasure and alarm washing over my face. Thank goodness I’d looked around before blurting out anything more.

  “So anyway, Roger,” I said, with forced brightness, “I’ll be in touch soon,” and hung up before anyone could hear his annoyed sputtering.

  “Hi.” I turned to Jim. “I thought you were going to Cheyenne.”

  He was better looking than I remembered, and less formidable dressed in the local uniform: well-worn jeans and a plaid shirt with snap buttons and rolled up sleeves. His cornflower blue eyes were startling against the golden tan of his skin, and I couldn’t detect a trace of Enright arrogance anywhere. Only pleasure.

  “My meeting got called off,” he said. “I was on my way to get some lunch when I saw you through the window. Will you join me?”

  “Oh, you can probably talk me into a piece of pie or something.” Little did he know.

  “Come on then.” He grabbed my hand. “I’ll give you another tour. It doesn’t take long in Hijax.”

  “Okay, but can you wait a minute? I want to buy a camera. I forgot to bring mine, and my…my parents will be disappointed if I don’t bring back pictures.” I sounded like a ten year old. He didn’t seem to notice.

  I chose a bright orange camera, the only color available, but it was inexpensive, had an automatic flash and looked easy to operate. It also had a carrying case with a long strap. I put it all together, slung it over my shoulder and hoped I looked like any casual tourist. Jim ushered me out and we sauntered along the cracked and crumbling sidewalk.

  “Hi there, Jesse,” he called into a small office as we passed, banging the screen door without slowing our pace.

  “Yo Jim,” came a disembodied voice.

  We stopped at the corner and waited for a dust-covered Cadillac to sweep past. The car’s grizzled driver raised his hand in salute and Jim waved back.

  “Come on,” he led me around the corner. “You can take a picture of the new high school. Not everything is old and shabby around here. Over there, next to the park, is the new courthouse, finished last year.”

  “Courthouse? You mean Hijax is a county seat?”

  He grinned, tickled by my astonishment. “Yes. It’s the only incorporated town in the county. The courthouse used to be in that old house on the corner. Took a lot of finagling to get the bond issue passed for a new one, but we did it.”

  “We? Sounds like you had a hand in the action.”

  “Yeah.” His smile was rather sheepish, but pride shone through. “City Council. Hijax has been a sleepy cow town for over a hundred years, but we finally got some of the old duffers out of office, and were starting to bring in our share of energy dollars when the bottom fell out of the oil and coal market. There’s a lot of potential in this town, though it probably doesn’t look like much to you. When the next boom comes—and it will come—Hijax will be ready to grow. Hell, when that happens Wyoming’s going back to the top. This state will put the U.S. in the driver’s seat as far as energy control goes.”

  I laughed. He sounded like my dad. I couldn’t resist teasing him.

  “I think you’re still campaigning,” I said. “You and my father would make a good pair. He loves small town politics and is always running for something. What’s next for you, Jim? Governor?”

  He smiled noncommittally. “I guess soapboxes are second-nature to me. Granddad was one of the town founders and pretty much ran things to suit himself in the old days. Dad was about the same, though you’d never know it the way he acts now.”

  “He doesn’t approve of politics?”

  “He’s old guard, as well as old and crotchety. The ranch is his baby, but the future doesn’t lie in ranching. In the land, yes. Land will
always be king, but not used as it is now, raising a handful of cattle on hundreds of acres. I don’t want to hurt dad, or make light of the years he’s put into the ranch, but times have changed and I have other interests, as well. He doesn’t want to hear that.”

  “You’re gone a lot then?”

  “Yes, off and on. I’ve had to establish a broader base for my real estate business, as well as politics. I’ve got offices and residences in Cheyenne, Gillette, and Casper, as well as here.”

  My guess at governor didn’t seem far off.

  “But I’m here in Hijax a fair amount.” He gave a rueful laugh. “And whenever I am, Dad fires any hired help we have, hoping to force me to stay. But enough of me,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat, and I want to hear how you like Wyoming so far.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Let me get a picture of you in front of the courthouse.” He posed with a show of impatience and a practiced smile.

  “Hurry up. I’m starving,” he said and walked out of focus before I could get a third shot.

  He tucked my elbow closely to his side and led us back to Main Street and a tacky little restaurant whose dangling sign proclaimed Stirrup Cafe. Curls of peeling white paint gave the exterior an odd, tactile look of warmth, pleasantly reinforced by the aroma of apples and cinnamon that surrounded us when Jim opened the door.

  As we entered, the soft clatter of silverware and conversation ceased. Then the nods and the “Hi, Jim’s” and the “How’re the roads out your way’s” began, but all eyes were coldly fixed on me. I nodded and smiled at the dark-haired woman whom I recognized from the hotel. She sat with a man who could have been her husband. Jim and I slid across the ripped plastic seats of the next booth.

  “Believe me, “Jim said, and reached across the table for my hand, “the food’s great here.”

  I must have winced when he squeezed my fingers. He turned my hand over, gave a low whistle, and asked, “What have you been doing?”

  “Fixing fence, believe it or not.” I laughed, rather proud of my battle scars.

  “I thought that was Holman’s job.”

  “Yes, but he got stuck showing me around. I ended up helping with some repairs.”

  Menus flopped down in front of us and I glanced up at the most beautiful girl I think I’ve ever seen.

  “Coffee?” she asked, holding out the pot. Her blond hair looked natural and was caught up in a delightfully frowzy knot on top of her head. Skin-tight jeans and a crimson tank top revealed a figure any fool would reveal if they were lucky enough to possess one like it.

  I sighed, feeling as if my twenty-eight years had doubled. “No coffee. Something cold, please.”

  She gave me a wide sympathetic grin, “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s hotter than fresh cow shit out there, isn’t it? How about a half and half?”

  She took my startled look for ignorance, which was all right with me.

  “Half iced tea and half lemonade. It’s got a nice bite to it.” She poured coffee for Jim without asking.

  “Great,” I said. I liked her brash style. There was appreciation in Jim’s eyes, too, as they followed her tantalizing behind until it disappeared through the kitchen door. He wasn’t the only one. A spindly cowboy on his way to the cash register stopped dead in his tracks to do the same, then turned to us.

  “Whoeee,” he said with a silly grin on his face. “How ya doing, Jim?” He touched the brim of his hat to me, but didn’t remove it. His words were aimed at Jim, but his eyes kept sliding my way.

  “Get any rain out your place?” he asked.

  “Not yet, Buck. How’s it going out south?”

  “Drouthy as hell.” He turned a toothy leer on me and said, “Hey, I bet this here is Minnie’s girl.”

  “Yep,” Jim answered, matching his grin.

  I was getting real tired of this.

  “Thea, this is Buck Sanders. And Kim Kavenaugh,” he added as the waitress placed my tall drink on the table.

  The ribald smile on her exquisite face told me she’d heard their remarks.

  She cast me a knowing look and cocked an eyebrow. “How’s tricks?”

  I might have appreciated her sly humor if it weren’t aimed at me, and if I weren’t now the center of attention. A couple in the front booth actually stood to get a better look, and a turkey-necked man with a greasy apron tied around his middle opened the swinging door from the kitchen to gawk.

  “Look,” I said with what I hoped was an air of nonchalance, “why don’t we set the record straight.” I addressed the two standing by the booth, Buck and Kim, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not some hen Minnie’s imported for a chicken ranch. Minnie Darrow has no intentions of opening Halfway Halt for business; it’s not her line and never has been.”

  Buck ducked his head, reddening with embarrassment. A spark of appreciation lit Kim’s eyes before she threw back her head and let loose a raucous laugh, but I went right on. If any real trouble were brewing I meant to stop it.

  “Believe it or not, Minnie wasn’t aware of her sister’s past until she began doing research on Halfway Halt. I’m Ms. Darrow’s editor and I think you’re all going to be proud of the book she’s writing.”

  The silence was palpable, and the sea of hard, resentful eyes nearly stopped me. Even the cook had stopped to stare, leaning on the kitchen pass-through. The hotel lady half rose from her seat and craned her neck around to see me. Her mouth hung open and her eyebrows drew together in an intense frown.

  I stuck my nose in the air and said, “I understand there’s a lot of speculation about Minnie’s book. I can tell you it’s simply a history of the early days of Halfway Halt when Jersey Roo was the madam. It’s a fun book, a light-hearted look at the old days. Minnie does have Jersey’s diaries but there’s nothing in them that you people wouldn’t know about anyway. Minnie has no intention of dragging Hijax, or anyone in Hijax, through the mud.”

  I felt a slight twinge of guilt, but it seemed more important to ease the obstinate anger smoldering around me.

  “In fact, if anyone’s really interested, I suggest they talk to Minnie herself.” Stubbornly, I met the eyes of each one. “She’d like to get acquainted with more people and enjoys talking about her work.”

  One by one the stony faces turned away. Still looking embarrassed, Buck slunk off. But if everything I’d heard about small towns were true, the news would be out in a flash.

  I hadn’t glanced at Jim during my little spiel, but did so now. What I’d said was meant for his ears as well as for the others.

  His words, “Go for it, Tiger,” were comforting, and I relaxed a bit. Kim took our order with a bland look and left.

  The dark-haired woman from the hotel quickly slid from her booth and approached ours. She was followed more slowly by her companion, who stood and fished change from his pocket.

  “I’m so glad you spoke up,” she said to me. “Please don’t think everyone here in Hijax is rude and crude.”

  “Hi, Cora,” Jim said. “Thea, this is Cora Mae Croderman and her husband Lamar. They own the hotel.”

  “Well, I think it’s so exciting that Minnie’s writing a book. I’d heard rumors of course, but, you know, one doesn’t pay attention to every piece of gossip that crosses their ears. I had no idea she actually had Jersey Roo’s diaries. Where on earth do you suppose she found them? I’d love to get a look at them. I can’t imagine why I haven’t gotten out to see the dear woman yet; I’m so interested in history. Isn’t that true, Lamar?”

  She didn’t want, or wait, for an answer. The words rushed from her in an irrepressible stream. Her eyes flickered nervously between Jim and me and her husband. Lamar wasn’t paying attention. He just stood there, his gaze wandering over the room, diligently probing between his teeth with a toothpick. He was a short man, and looked to be at least ten years older than his wife.

  “I bet I could help Minnie with her research,” she rattled on. “My family
’s lived here forever, haven’t they Jim? Just like yours.” Her hands began to flutter, as if they, too, wanted to stem the flow, but weren’t sure how to go about it. “And I’ve got all kinds of pictures of Hijax in the old days. I keep track of the photo archives for the Historical Society, have for years. Is she using lots of pictures? I’d sure like to see what she has. Do you think she’d mind if I ran out to see her? It’s a shame nobody’s—”

  Kim arrived and plopped plates of food in front of us. “For pete’s sake, Cora, shut up,” she said, and went back to the kitchen.

  Cora’s mouth clamped shut. Lamar Croderman turned and headed for the cash register. Cora’s lips worked as if there were still words in there that wanted to come out. I couldn’t decide whether the strained look on her face came from desperation or embarrassment. I took pity on her.

  “I don’t think Minnie needs any help with her work,” I said, gently, “but I’m sure she’d like a visitor. It’s really kind of you to offer. Minnie needs some friends.”

  A look of relief washed over her. “Yes,” she said. “Minnie needs a friend.” And with that, she hurried off to follow her husband out of the cafe.

  Jim and I grinned at each other. “Don’t mind them,” he said. “Cora likes to think she’s high society. Lamar was actually quite a catch when he came to town and started the bank. He married Cora and bought the hotel from her family.”

  I picked at my food and wished I hadn’t ordered so much. My appetite had disappeared.

  Jim said, “Minnie has quite a defender in you.”

  I answered lightly. “She’s a company asset; I feel protective.” Then added more seriously, “I’m glad you and your father are being kind to her; it means a lot to her.”

  “Dad knew her sister Lil when he was a kid. But it was my Grandpa who went round and round with her. Dad said he used to rave like a madman about having a whorehouse in the middle of his spread. He was a real rip-snorter, tried everything in the world to get that land away from her. I think Dad admired Lil for never giving in to him.”

  “And Lil eventually leased to your father.”