Alibi Creek (21 page)

46

TUESDAY OCTOBER 30, 2007

H
ARLEY
M
C
K
ENNA STOPPED BY THE
office unexpectedly, asking for a history of New Mexico's shared water rights with Arizona. The girls rolled their eyes.

“Caroline, please get the file,” Lee Ann said.

Harley drawled on. “The state engineer has called a meeting to discuss the Arizona Water Settlement Act, to direct water from the Gila River system as part of an exchange with the Central Arizona Project. Four counties are involved, including…”

“Excuse me, Harley,” Lee Ann said. “An independent inspector will be arriving any day to assess the courthouse books. His name is Gerald Murray.”

Harley panted through parted lips, his chin disappearing into his fat neck, stomach rising and falling like a toad's.

“I've called for an audit,” she said.

The clerks abandoned their computer screens and vanished. Lee Ann gathered her belongings from the bottom desk drawer while Harley used the phone, neck and ears turning bright red as he grumbled the news to Ed Richter, ordering him to call Saul Duran.

The inflated bid for the proposed youth center and the adjusted figures for Women, Infants, and Children remained locked in the top drawer of her desk. She dropped the key in her purse, reached for her jacket, and made it to the stairs just as Harley boomed, “You're fired!”

Once home, she mopped the kitchen and pantry floors and caught up on the laundry, dusted the living room, and baked a macaroni and ham casserole and the boys' favorite dessert—chocolate cream pie. She put the pie in the fridge, took out two boxes of the freshest eggs and drove to Grace's, arriving late in the afternoon.

Grace's sprawling adobe sat on ten acres she'd held onto after her husband died. Tumbleweed, rabbit bush, and sage crowded the road up to the house. The gate was open and blind Rosco, too old to muster the energy to bark a warning, raised his nose in the air as Lee Ann approached. She knocked, then raised her voice over the hum of a sewing machine and called Grace's name.

“Come in, come in,” Grace said, appearing from a bedroom down the hall. “What a nice surprise! My goodness, I hadn't noticed how late it's getting. I'm catching up on unfinished projects.” She led Lee Ann into the kitchen, turned on the light, and reached into the hutch for plates. “Of course, I would trade it all to be sitting quietly beside your mother. I believe we communicated until the end.”

“Grace, please, I didn't come to eat, or for a cup of coffee. Your devotion to Mother meant so much to all of us.” Lee Ann placed the eggs on the table. “I'm here to solicit your help again.”

She spoke slowly, keeping things in order. First, she wanted to make sure someone kept an eye on Edgar, a compassionate eye. He wasn't one to complain, but his right hip was so painful he could barely hobble around. And the house needed to be overseen from a woman's perspective. Scott and Dee wouldn't notice dust balls if they grew big as thistle heads. They'd swish a dish under the tap and call it washed. Lee Ann would arrange with Carlinda to do the
heavy cleaning every other week, but someone needed to check in every few days to organize the boys' clutter—work gloves, catalogs, tools, hats, and jackets. A hot dinner twice a week would be nice, nothing fancy, something Grace could prepare at home and deliver on the days she dropped by.

“You see,” Lee Ann said, “I'll be away for awhile.”

47

WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 31, 2007

S
HE MET
G
ERALD
M
URRAY OUTSIDE
the Alibi Creek Store, and in addition to her desk key, gave him a list of files and contracts to review, offering to be available for any questions. He nodded, more solemn than she, even though it was the day of Mother's funeral.

Celebrating Mother's life rather than mourning its loss called for a bit of color. The dresses, skirts, and blouses in Lee Ann's closet ranged from neutral to neutral, a shade darker or duller than the garment hanging next to it. A pale blue suit bought in a fit of spring fever was inappropriate for the season, but came closest to honoring Mother. She held it up in front of the mirror. It was the right color, but plain.

Danielle had left two boxes of discarded belongings on Mother's front porch, which Lee Ann had labeled
Thrift Store.
She rummaged through them and headed home with a silver and turquoise necklace, a deep red scarf with gold thread running through it, and a sparkly rhinestone pin. She was fiddling with the scarf, adjusting it looser and tighter, when Dee came in with the mail.

“There's something here from Dad.”

The envelope was small, one used to mail checks. This, instead of his presence. This, instead of a phone call. Today, of all days.

“I need to be alone,” she said.

Dear Lee Ann,

Dee has been here and told me the day of Kay's funeral. I don't have to tell you your mother was a remarkable woman. Duties prevent me from attending the service, but I will be with you and the family in thought.

                        
Eu

The handwriting was slightly slanted and neat, as if the sentences had been composed on a lined pad. He always signed his notes
Eu.
She wanted
Love, Eu.
She smelled the paper and the envelope. They smelled like paper and an envelope. Give me more. Give me a clue that you'll be back, that we'll talk, begin again. The boys report you're fine, busy, that you need time. How much?

Brand shut down for Mother's funeral. The crowd overflowed into the street and remained quiet while Pastor Fletcher performed the service. Lee Ann and Walker sat in the first row, Scott beside her, Dee next to Walker, Grace and Edgar directly behind them.

While the pastor spoke, Mother seemed close by, waving a broom at the pesky raven that stole clothespins off the line when she hung the wash, deftly braiding Lee Ann's hair with satin ribbon, straightening the hem of her skirt. There she was, commanding a new pup to stay within the fence line, nodding approval when Lee Ann delivered her first lamb, slicing a thick piece of banana bread and passing it to Walker. Be nice to your brother. Take care of your brother. Watch he doesn't wander down to the highway, ride along with him until he knows how to handle a horse, take care he doesn't trip on the ice, ignore his faults, indulge him,
admire his enthusiasm. Don't call him a liar. Don't say you hate him. There, be friends. Family first, always.

Lee Ann turned her head in his direction. Walker blew his nose into his bandana and wiped his eyes. Cowboy criminal crying over his mother. Fitting.

48

W
ALKER SKIPPED THE COMMUNITY CENTER
potluck after the funeral. He stopped at the Alibi Creek Store, charged a fifth of whiskey and drove to Mother's. Lee Ann couldn't be two places at once. She wasn't
that
spiritual.

Mother had worn jewelry occasionally, a ring or brooch, but he was after something special. He reached for her Bible and thought better of keeping such an item around. Old lady housedresses lined the closet. Her slippers were worn and kind of disgusting. From the nightstand he took her Bulova watch and Dad's old Hamilton and put them in his pocket. If only he could bottle her smell, capture the texture of her skin and hair. He picked up her pillow and hugged the limp down, brought the smooth cotton pillow-case to his face. In the pantry he found black plastic bags and stuffed the pillow in first, then went through his own dresser and closet and cleaned out his clothes. Dee could box up the rest and leave it at the store.

From Mother's porch, Lee Ann's house still shocked the landscape, rude as a white Post-it note. In a couple of hours the white stucco would darken to gray, but never quite dissolve into the night. He raised his hand in a salute and clicking his heels, paid homage to the four directions.

“Patch, Blue. Come here, you ugly mutts. Where's Butch? Out with the cows, no doubt. You tell him I said
good-bye.” He patted the dogs' sides and kneaded their ears, took one more look around, bent an arm over his waist, stretched the other arm wide, and bowed toward Lee Ann's house.

“It's all yours, Lannie.”

He walked his land. Mother and Dad had always said this portion of the ranch was useless, but they looked at things through ranchers' eyes. There were plenty of other ways to earn a living—easier, more profitable ways, and assets beyond good pastureland. He slipped through the fence to the Rossmans' place. The rock house would make perfect hunters' lodging. If the small amount of money Mother left didn't cover the down payment, he'd offer the Rossmans a deal; from August through November he'd run the lodge and split the profits. They could use the house the rest of the time. He scrambled down to the creek. Here, he'd stack hay bales for archery and rifle practice. Over there, in that flat, open area he'd build a corral. He'd sell camo tee shirts with
North of the Border Hunting Lodge
printed in red letters in a little square left of center, over the heart. That might be too many words. Maybe just
N. B. H. L.
Shelly would display brochures. Jo would design a website.

He walked back to the cabin. Let's see, a cot over here, a table there. A car pulled in, and out of nowhere Danielle appeared at the doorway carrying a legal-size folder.

“I've got the divorce papers,” she said.

“Efficient gal.”

“You can't be serious about living here. I can see the entire east mesa between the logs.”

He took the folder and laid two papers on the wood counter.

“Excuse me while I read every word.”

The details seemed fair enough. He asked her for a pen and signed his name as her feet clipped along the floor, walking the perimeter of the room.

“A guy's been looking for you,” she said. “He looks like you. Like a rat.”

He gathered some rocks and built a fire pit by the creek, propped his boots near the flames, and drank his whiskey. Coyotes howled nearby and he howled back. “Ah–ooh. Ah–ooh. Yip, yip, yip.” By midnight, the conversation had become repetitive and he drove to Jo's.

“Gallivanting already,” she said. “You smell like smoke.”

“I've been up to the land. Plotting the beautiful future.”

He dropped his pants and got into bed.

“Pee-ew,” she said.

“I'll sleep on the couch.”

“No. Don't go.” She reached for him. “The potluck was nice. Most everyone loved your mother.”

“Most
everyone?”

“Yeah. Some thought her stuck up.”

“Jesus, Jo, she was the most down to earth woman who ever lived.”

“Don't get upset. Get some sleep.”

Tomorrow (if he remembered) he'd ask just who thought Mother stuck up, straighten them out. Tell them a thing or two. On his list for the week, he'd written a broom, a bed and a chair. And a dish, a fork, a spoon, and a good skillet. Oh yeah, and a fridge and a Coleman stove and a table. That ought to keep him busy for five days. Oh, and a cat. Or a litter of six. They'd get picked off fast up there.

49

MONDAY NOVEMBER 5, 2007

T
HERE
'
D BEEN NO WORD FROM
Gerald Murray. Lee Ann stayed close to the phone, but left the ranch Saturday for groceries. Pulling into the Round Valley Safeway parking lot, she changed her mind and drove on to Show Low where there'd be less chance of bumping into someone from Brand or Alibi Creek. No one from the courthouse had called, including Caroline, or Lyle.

She and the boys tackled items on the To Do list, small tasks put off for ten years that took ten minutes to complete. Scott screwed a new bulb in the porch socket. Dee replaced the screen in the mudroom door and secured the loose rafter in the barn. At Mother's, they emptied the fridge and drained the water lines and closed the house up for the winter.

“Dad must be pretty involved at his new job. He hasn't picked up the phone once to see how we're doing,” Dee said, closing the main shut-off. “Talk about a disappointment.”

“There's life beyond cattle,” Scott said.

“He's just traded running cows for herding people. I don't know how he can stand catering to a bunch of tourists on a dude ranch. It's pathetic.”

“Anything beyond ranching is meaningless to you,” Scott said, handing Dee a case of Ensure.

“Especially researching pansies and caterpillars.”

“You'd perk up if animal scientists bred a small heifer with a bigger uterus and wider birth canal.”

“Now you're talking. Feed her less, make birthing easier.”

“There you go, perked right up.”

Lee Ann asked to be put through to Gerald Murray.

“I've been expecting to hear from you regarding charges against me for abetting illegal activities.”

“Lee Ann, I assumed you understood,” he said. “Those who report fraud are exempt from prosecution.”

He went on to say he'd just begun his investigation, that it would take time and she needn't concern herself with the details. There would likely be calls, and perhaps a few meetings to verify certain information, but she was clear of any criminal charges. He wished her a good day.

The dial tone buzzed until the phone beeped. She replaced the receiver and walked twice around the table. This day! The kitchen seemed large, grand in fact. She opened the cupboards and took stock, reached for a gourmet cookbook Caroline had passed around the office, and searched the index for recipes requiring hours of preparation because there was all the time in the world to try something new, something to please the boys, please herself.

Goodness, everything called for fresh vegetables, fresh ginger, strange herbs, coconut milk, and unheard of spices. Exotic dishes required sour cream or crème fraîche, (what was that?), saffron, and Parmesan cheese, lemons for Hollandaise sauce, basil for pesto. For today, she'd use Dijon mustard, Swiss cheese, and fresh sage from the garden to fix Stuffed Tenderloin with Potatoes Gratin.

Scott said, “Good dinner, Mom.”

Dee took seconds, thirds on potatoes.

Lee Ann said, “I'm going to Albuquerque the day after tomorrow to shop for Thanksgiving. Make a list of anything
you need. Dee, you're welcome to ask Ginny. We'll eat at three.”

“I'll go along,” Scott said.

“We set a wedding date,” Dee said. “June 14th.”

She rose quickly, gathered the silverware, and stacked their dishes. Scott collected the glasses and napkins.

“Wow, you'd think I'd said I caught the swine flu.”

When Lee Ann announced her intentions to marry Wayne, Mother's reaction had been mild, although she must have been distraught. Dee would have problems with this girl, not a doubt about it. Lee Ann sat next to him and touched his arm.

“I want you to be sure,” she said. “I rushed into marrying your father. I can't say it was a complete failure, seeing as you and Scott are the results of that marriage, but you know what I mean. We were not compatible.”

“She's got a great sense of humor,” Dee said. “She's fun.”

Perhaps those qualities kept a couple together,
if
generosity prevailed,
if
respect survived. She was certainly no expert on what kept a marriage intact. Chores and work and caring for Mother had killed any humor she might have possessed. Since the kids were little, she hadn't found many situations or jokes funny, really funny. Hilarity seemed childish, an indication of emotional instability.

Scott had never had a girlfriend and that had caused less concern than Dee's attachment to Ginny. Marriage was a gamble. Life's partner could stay the same, improve with time, or change for the worse. Eugene had stayed the same, or just about. He'd hardened some. Hard work had tightened his muscles; disappointment had lined his face.

Before bed, she inspected her face and neck in the bathroom mirror. Sun, dry air, worries, and work concocted a sure-fire formula for wrinkles—those around her eyes
etched from gardening, the one on her forehead from the day of Mother's stroke, the ones around her mouth from Walker's last prison sentence. She touched the widening silver streak in her widow's peak, the gray sprouting at her temples, the slight change in her jaw line. Tired eyes looked back at her. Tension she'd assumed hidden had left its mark.

She pinched her cheeks, fluffed her hair, lowered her head, and squinted, catlike, lips parted. Eugene, if you come home now, there'll be fun to be had. Teasing and pleasing and laughter, apologies and sweet words of forgiveness. She hooked her finger in the elastic collar of her nightgown and pulled it into a V, exposing the crease between her breasts, let the neckline spring back and cupped her breasts as Eugene would, his working man's hands firm and rough, his stroking and petting gentle.

Propped against her pillow, she took a pad and pencil from her nightstand.

20 lb. Turkey
(Dee liked dark meat, Scott, white.)

Sanchez Brothers' extra hot sausage
(Edgar favored sausage stuffing.)

Celery. Onions. Parsley. Bread crumbs.

Brussels Sprouts
(Eugene's favorite.)

Pumpkin. Evaporated milk.

Whipping cream
(Mother's weakness. She'd cut a small slice of pie and smother it, sneak an extra spoonful when no one was looking.)

Cranberries.

Butternut squash and Granny Smith apples with Maple syrup
(New recipe.)