I rode out in the Sac and Fox Nation yesterday. Patches crested a hill and a piece of Eden spread out before me. A clear river cuts through the center of a verdant valley. The soil is a rich red clay, and every kind of tree grows on the river banks. Your peach and apple orchards will thrive. Small game of rabbits and squirrel abound. It is not quite a valley, more of a gulch, really, nestled between two hills.
God willing, the land will be included in the next run.
Your loving fiancé,
Robert Grace
~
Sunday, September 22
Lost a gig? Murder? The idea was so ridiculous that I joined the others in relieved laughter. Trust Audie to know the right thing to say.
“That’s why I like being my own boss.” Maybe I was babbling. I was trying to reassure my younger sister that I understood her feelings. I called Dina “sister” for convenience. I would do anything to protect the dear girl, even if she was now a grown-up nineteen and proud of the fact. But Audie’s comments diverted my attention. He had opened a door to his past—something he rarely did—and I wanted to find out more. “So you’ve lost a lot of gigs?” I waggled my eyebrows at Audie. “Do tell.”
“It’s the nature of acting.” Audie took the last bite of meat and crossed his knife and fork on his plate. “No one has a job for life.”
“He’s being overly modest.” Dina took a biscuit and buttered it. “Mrs. Mallory told us all about him when she introduced him to the cast. Plays, commercials, even some films. You were a pretty much a bigwig in Chicago.” She shook her finger at Audie.
“Well, I had some success.” A blush spread across his pale cheeks.
“I want to hear all about it.” Dad’s voice swung between interested host and a father interrogating a teenage boy on his daughter’s first date. “But first I want a slice of pecan pie.”
Every year we spent hours shelling twenty pounds of nuts from the pecan harvest, which Dina turned into delicious pies and toppings and cakes. She surprised us all by taking home economics and becoming the best baker in the family. I poured cups of coffee—nothing goes better with dessert than hot, black coffee—and we retired to the living room, bringing the coffee pot with us. “Who wants ice cream with the pie?” I asked. Audie and Jenna said yes. Although she bought organic vegetables when possible, Jenna liked her comfort foods.
I wondered how our lived-in parlor looked to a sophisticated man like Audie. Our sleeper sofa, bought for Jenna’s occasional trips home while she attended college, sagged at one end. Before I could warn Audie about the spring he should avoid, our dog and cat jumped into place and curled together. Ralphie the dog slept there every chance he got and his weight had pressed it down over the years as his bulk increased. Jenna plopped down next to the animals. She crooned over them and scratched the pony-sized dog under his chin.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee and rejoined Audie on the loveseat. My scheming sisters made sure the seating turned out that way. I was pleased that Jenna hadn’t claimed the spot.
From her place at the corner of the couch, Dina leaned forward, deep in discussion with Audie. She wanted to know every detail of his time with the Chicago Shakespeare Theater troupe.
“Why Shakespeare?” I asked. “Wasn’t there a company devoted to Oscar Wilde?”
Audie laughed. “Unfortunately, no. Maybe I should have started one. But by the time the CST offered me a position, I’d had enough of waiting tables and doing the odd play every now and then. I appreciated the steady work.”
“Tell us about the films Mrs. Mallory mentioned,” Dina said.
“I was a bit actor in a couple of tragedies. Blink, and you’d miss me.”
“Oh? Which ones?” I asked. I would never admit that the only Shakespeare films I had seen were A Midsummer Night’s Dream with a young Mickey Rooney and the 1960s version of Romeo and Juliet that every high school freshman watched.
“King Lear. Merchant of Venice. That’s the extent of my film career.”
A lot of aspiring actors would love to have even that much.
“So what made you decide to leave fame and fortune for rural Oklahoma?” Dad asked the question that had occupied my mind ever since Audie’s arrival in our town. I had heard his practiced answer—“I felt that it was time for a change”—but it still puzzled me, and I wanted to know more.
“I realized that I was never going to win an Oscar or an Emmy or a Tony, and I didn’t like the person I was becoming in pursuit of fame. I was afraid that I was making theater my god.” Audie stood up and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “I thought about giving up the theater altogether. But I couldn’t seem to let it go. Like Wilde, ‘I love acting. It is so much more real than life.’ ” His face twisted in a smile.
“I’m so glad you stuck with it!” Dina tucked her leg under her. “You’re so good at what you do. It’s a God-given gift.”
Be quiet. I wanted Audie to continue sharing his heart.
He obliged. “I still hadn’t decided when I went on a missions trip with my church’s youth group. I helped them do mimes and puppet shows and stuff like that. Everywhere we went, people gathered. God reminded me that there is a whole world of theater outside of the cities. Like any art form, theater isn’t bad by itself. The question was how God wanted me to use the gifts He had given me.”
Audie’s insight touched me. “Like fashion.” I waved at my outfit for the day. “Fashions come and go. There is nothing wrong in wanting to look your best. But when you spend too much money on it, or worry too much about it. . .” I stopped, embarrassment overtaking my enthusiasm.
“Exactly.” The smile Audie turned in my direction made my worries float away. “I asked God what He wanted me to do with theater—if anything. Large parts of the country are hungry for live theater. I felt God was calling me to do something about it.” He paused and moderated his excited tones. “So I put my name out there. When Magda contacted me about becoming director at the MGM, I jumped at the opportunity.”
Magda Grace Mallory is Grace Gulch’s biggest supporter of the arts. I’d heard rumors of a proposed fine arts complex. For now she supported a music center where kids from nine to ninety-two could study. Today’s pit orchestra resulted from that effort. The benefits trickled down to high school; our marching band won more competitions than the football team they supported.
But theater was Mrs. Mallory’s first love. She managed the community theater for years. After she bought the old Grace Gulch Orpheum and rechristened it the Magda Grace Mallory Theater, she decided to look for a professional replacement. Audie accepted the position on a year’s trial basis. I was holding my breath, hoping he would decide to make Grace Gulch his permanent home.
“And nothing has happened to make me regret my decision.” Audie looked straight at me. “In fact, I think it’s the best choice I’ve ever made.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I looked at the floor to hide the telltale blush. Like a tracker in hunting season, he was pursuing me with persistence and considerable charm. No wonder I found him irresistible. If only he decided to stay—
“Not even death at high noon?” Jenna wiggled her eyebrows in that exaggerated way of hers.
I held my breath. Audie laughed. “Not even that. I confess that I expected Grace Gulch to be crime free.”
Dina snickered. She read the local police blotter with avid interest. Like any other town, Grace Gulch had its share of drunks and petty theft. She told me about a few of her own harmless pranks from her last year in high school. After the fact, of course. Mayor Ron still wondered who had papered the cedar tree in his front yard on New Year’s Eve. But I thought I knew what Audie meant: free of major crimes, not minor misdemeanors.
“Murders were a dime a dozen in Chicago. They didn’t even rate prime time coverage unless someone notable was involved.” Audie’s face sobered. “I never had a front row seat before. I never knew the victim.”
No one seemed to know how to respond.
Dad retired to bed shortly after that, and Audie and I said good-bye to Dina and Jenna. With the energy snapping between them, I knew that they would spend the hours until dawn in an all-night gab fest. I almost wanted to stay. I was as wired as they were, given everything that had happened.
“Good night, you two,” Jenna called after us. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Her laughter followed us out into the hallway.
Audie retrieved my cape from the coat rack near the front door and draped it over my shoulders. He descended the front steps first, then held out his hand to steady my arm. I felt like a lady of a hundred years ago, a rare, precious thing that triggered a man’s desire to protect. He kept up the charade by opening the car door, and then closing it after I settled in the seat. Chariots come in many makes and sizes, and this particular model was quite comfortable.
A few minutes later Audie pulled up in front of my house. The afternoon rain left the sky crystal clear, every star a pinpoint of light in the black box of the sky. I looked at the familiar constellations. “Look at that.” I sighed. “What is it that Job says? Something about bringing out the bear with her cubs?”
“I’d rather look at you.”
I felt his gaze on my face and turned toward him. The pale light suited him, shadows making peaks and valleys of his features. His eyes looked darker. Was it a trick of the light? Then he leaned forward, and I forgot about the stars.
Our lips brushed once, and then again. Light exploded within me, fireworks worthy of the Fourth of July, not a chilly September evening. Then Audie pulled back, and darkness descended. He smiled, a dear half smile, and ran a thumb across my mouth. “You have unexpected fire inside of you, Miss Wilde.”
He walked me to my door and waited until I went inside. I heard his feet traipsing down the front steps. A wave of light-headedness washed over me, and I leaned against the doorjamb, feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush instead of a responsible, twenty-nine going on forever businesswoman. A cool breeze wafted through the screen door and brought me to my senses. Like it or not, it was time for bed. While I undressed, I studied my garments. The blouse shirtwaist needed dry cleaning, but the skirt could go another day once I brushed off the mud from the hem. For tomorrow I planned on wearing a cadet blue velvet walking-dress with a tiered hemline that allowed my legs to move freely, and a hip-hugging jacket adorned with white piping. It always made me feel attractive.
I went through the motions of my nightly routine, although I decided against brushing my hair one hundred strokes. My hair stuck out at odd angles after the rain. The only cure was a deep conditioning after the next shampoo. I grabbed my Bible and read a few verses, and then prayed about everything that had happened. Once again, I asked that I would not be jealous of the relationship between Jenna and Dina. The hands on the clock skipped over midnight, but I couldn’t settle down to sleep. Thoughts of Audie, the suspicions thrown on Cord and Dina, Jenna’s reappearance in our lives, and Cord’s theories about the gunshot fought for priority in my head. For a few minutes I focused on the murder, seeking ways to salvage Dina’s reputation. That was the most important thing, wasn’t it? But my rebellious thoughts wandered back to Audie. How long would a talented and experienced actor remain in little old Grace Gulch? Was I in danger of losing my heart to a man who would move on to greener pastures before long? I remembered his comments on seeking God’s will and tried to leave my worries in the Almighty’s hands. After that, sleep came quickly.
~
The few hours of sleep that I managed refreshed me more than expected. I woke with renewed purpose and with a clear idea of my plans for the day. I wanted to bask in memories of Audie’s kiss, but I needed to find out who was in front of the Gulch at the time of the gunfight. I started coffee brewing and dialed Dina’s cell phone.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey, sis. What’s up?” Energy bounced through her words as if she had been up for hours. Perhaps she had. In fact, she might never have gone to bed. Ah, to have that kind of stamina!
I cleared my throat. “I have a question. You were in the Gulch just before the shooting, right?”
“Yeah. I went outside when Cord and Mr. Hardy galloped by.”
“Do you remember who else was there?” I held my breath. Dina often focused on a single object to the exclusion of everything else. Her interest in the play might have blinded her to anything going on around her.
“Let me think.” I imagined her wrinkling her forehead under her impossibly red hair. “Mitch was there, taking pictures for the Sequoian. Mrs. Hardy was there, bragging about her husband’s part in the play.” Her voice turned sad. “Poor Mrs. Hardy. How awful for her.”
That was another item to add to my to-do list. Visit Penn Hardy’s widow, Gwen.
“And Mayor Ron was there, of course, carrying on like the reenactment was his idea.” She giggled. “At least one good thing came out of the shooting.”
What on earth?
“We were spared the mayor’s speech,” Dina said.
Laughter replaced the reprimand that came to my lips. Mayor Ron Grace spoke at every public gathering, often weaving something about the great legacy of the Grace family into his address. To hear him tell it, his family took credit for every hamlet and city that had the name of Grace in it. Most of the time, I tuned out his braggadocio
“I’m sorry, that’s all I remember,” Dina concluded. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes.”
I looked at the list of names she had given me. Mitch Gaynor, Gwen Hardy, Ron Grace. It was a start. Maybe my customers today would remember more.
Time to get ready for work. I checked my reflection in the mirror and decided I needed to wash my hair. I didn’t relish the prospect; no matter what brand of expensive shampoo I used, or how often I applied conditioner, my hair remained a frizzled, dry mess. Nevertheless, I climbed in the shower, lathered my hair twice, and left on a conditioner that smelled like strawberries and champagne according to the bottle, while I bathed my body. I blow-dried my hair into submission, pulling it into a severe bun. The process took an hour. After that I read my Bible while I had a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. At twenty-five minutes past nine, I left for the store.
I parked in an alley behind the store and walked around to the front of the building. Seeing the words Cici’s Vintage Clothing etched into the glass with Antigua lettering always brought a smile to my face. It represented a dream come true, proof that I could do something besides be a rancher’s wife. I took a handkerchief from my purse and rubbed at a small spot on the glass then unlocked the front door. I didn’t turn the sign to OPEN yet; I wanted to check the displays and open the registers first.
I started coffee brewing and poured tea over a pitcher of ice. Later today I would stop by Gaynor Goodies for fresh cookies; Saturday’s leftovers had become as hard as week-old doughnuts over the weekend. I made a point of providing refreshments. They encouraged clients to spend more time in my store, and the extra sales more than compensated for the occasional spill.
A soft knock reminded me that I hadn’t unlocked the front door yet. I turned the sign to OPEN and greeted a friend from high school.
“Cici!” The now city lawyer and former high school cheerleader rushed into the store with the same enthusiasm she used waving pom-poms. Two ladies followed her in. “I’ve been telling my friends about your wonderful store, and while we were here for Land Run Days, we just had to check it out.”
The day had begun.
Business was brisk for a Monday morning. More people had remained in town past the weekend than I had expected. With each sale I rang up, I gave the customer my business card with my Web site address and asked, “Were you here for the festivities this weekend?” Most people told me how much they enjoyed the weekend, especially the reenactment, until that awful accident on Saturday. I wasted some time answering their questions, but fortunately the out-of-town guests didn’t seem to realize I had rushed to Cord’s side. From there it was ea
sy to ask who else they saw watching the gunfight.
My lawyer friend identified Dina. “That was your sister, wasn’t it, with that Santa red hair? I couldn’t help noticing her. Most of the time I was watching the action as closely as if I were going to be called as a witness at Cord’s trial.” She raised a hand at my shocked look. “Or should I say Bob Grace’s trial? I was thinking of the original feud. I didn’t notice much else.”
Many people, strangers to town, mentioned the girl with the red hair. I wondered if my sister knew how noticeable she was. She probably did and welcomed the attention. You didn’t dye your hair every color of the rainbow if you wanted to stay anonymous.
Visitors who had stopped by the Gulch for refreshments mentioned Suzanne. They described the actress as “that lady with the big hairdo, who looked right at home.” Suzanne Jay could certainly dance the cancan like a professional saloon worker. Apparently she came to the swinging doors and watched the action along with everyone else.
I had better luck when Enid Waldberg came into the store about eleven with a couple of ladies from church. A month ago, Enid had admired my prairie bonnets, commenting how practical they were for protecting your head from the sun. She loved to garden, but had to slather on sun screen; her Scandinavian skin burned easily. She had studied every bonnet I had in stock and then left without buying any.
“Cici!” She gathered me in an obligatory hug. I loved our pastor’s wife. We all did; her sweet nature complemented her husband’s forceful personality perfectly.
“How are you doing?” Enid looked at me as if she knew every feeling I had suffered for the past three days and every doubt that had been cast on my family. Come to think of it, she probably did know the gossip. The rumor mill thrived in Grace Gulch. In another time or place, I would have been glad to talk things over with her. Today, however, I had questions to ask and a store to run.
“I’m doing okay.” I wondered if she came in just to chat or to do some real shopping.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch Page 7
