Death on the High Lonesome (25 page)

V
irgil left the office as soon as Jimmy came in. Simon Levine had stopped by and was talking with Rosie when Virgil had returned from High Lonesome ranch. Simon wanted to know if Virgil had any word about the probability of him becoming a member of law enforcement in Hayward. Since Virgil knew the town council had their weekly meeting the night before, while Simon was sitting in front of him he put in a call to Mayor Bob Jamison.

“Mayor's office.”

“Is he there, Hilda?”

“No, Virgil. You can probably reach him on his cell.”

“I'm sure you can help me out. Everyone knows that secretaries are the real powers behind the throne. No doubt you've already typed up the minutes of last night's meeting. I want to know what happened about my request for a new deputy.”

“Damn you, Virgil. I shouldn't even be talking to you. I am so . . . so pissed.”

“Hilda, that you or has some evil twin taken over your body? Never heard you cuss before.”

“You want to know if you can tell that Simon, Simon Levinson, whether or not he's got a job.”

“Levine, Hilda. Simon Levine.”

“Whatever. I'm so mad, if I could reach through this phone and grab you by the throat, I would in a heartbeat.”

“Hilda, what did I do?”

“I'll tell you. You got your new deputy—Simon, Simon Levine or whatever his name is. You want to know what I got in this trade? I got Lester Smoot's nearsighted nephew as my assistant. Just what I need, some hormonal kid looking down my dress every time I bend over. You know Lester's had a hard-on for you ever since that night when Dif popped him in your office. Don't get me wrong. I think Dif should've got a medal for that. But no, he didn't and I got Elroy. That was the bargain so you could get your new deputy. You owe me big-time, Virgil.”

“Thanks, Hilda, for the info along with keeping one of Lester's kin out of my office. A hard-on, pissed off. I didn't even know you knew about such things, Hilda.” A low laugh followed Virgil's comment.

“I wasn't raised in a bubble, Virgil. Grew up on a farm like most everyone else around here. Remember, you owe me.”

“Point taken. Thank you, Hilda.”

Virgil hung up the phone. “Looks like you're going to be taking up residence in Hayward, Simon. You can tell Chet he's going to get his couch back as soon as you get a place of your own.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I really appreciate the opportunity. Hope I don't disappoint you.”

“Don't worry—if you do I'll just take you out in the desert and shoot you.”

Virgil smiled, then got up from his desk. He walked Simon to the door, then stood there watching him drive off. Virgil walked back into his office, collapsing into his chair.

“That's a good thing you did, Virgil,” Rosie said. “I like him. We had a long talk before you came in. On the other hand, guess Hilda ain't going to be leading a parade down Main Street in your honor anytime soon.”

“No, not likely. Remind me to stop by Kleman's and send some flowers over to Hilda.”

“Forget the flowers, she ain't the type. A bottle of hooch takes the edge off quicker. Hilda likes vodka.”

Virgil nodded, then stood up. “I'm beat. Heading home. Feel like I haven't spent any time there lately. Need a break. Jimmy's coming in now so you'll have company.” Virgil waved as he opened the door for Jimmy, then left.

It was not just an idle comment. Virgil felt like he hadn't spent any time at home lately. During the last couple of weeks, it seemed like just a place to hang his hat, get some shut-eye, and change his clothes. He missed being there. Something about the rhythm of life that recharged his batteries.

Ark had been right. The weather had definitely made a right turn. The sun was setting earlier. Any wind that blew from the north packed more of a punch. He rolled his car window almost all the way up. Glancing at the dashboard, he saw the outside temperature was hovering around fifty. A little cool for the first week of December in this part of the Southwest. Ark was also correct about the snow. If and when they got any, unless it was above four thousand feet, it generally wasn't substantial. Usually it was gone in a couple of hours. Virgil actually liked snow. Maybe because it was a rare occurrence, but he liked how it transformed the world so quickly. All the sharp
edges became blunted, softer. It became an impressionist painting.

He pulled into the driveway. The car rolled to a stop by the corral. He stepped out. Everything was quiet. He held his breath for a moment, joining the conspiracy of silence. No movement. Not a breeze or a leaf that clung stubbornly to a branch stirred. He could see horses in the distance, unmoving dots on the far hills. Time stood still. He breathed deeply, letting the quiet wash over him like a wave. It was what he needed. For a long time he stood there, reluctant to let time move on. At last he turned away. Then started for the house.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back outside in work clothes. He went through the barn methodically doing the daily chores that were saved for the end of the day. He knew Cesar would appreciate his efforts. The barns were still infused with new-wood smell from their recent construction. Mixed with the perfume of horse manure, leather, and hay it was not unpleasant. Only the evidence of age and past memories were missing but Virgil knew that to move forward you had to leave some things behind.

He didn't even realize he had broken a sweat until he got to the end of his work, then stepped outside into the chilled air. On his way to the house, he noticed a wood pile off to one side, which had grown in his absence, so he turned, then went back to the barn. A few minutes later, the rhythmic sound of logs being split broke the silence. Virgil stayed with the task for almost an hour. When at last he drove the ax into the heart of a large log to keep its edge, he stepped back, rewarded with close to a quarter of a cord of wood piled in a heap. He knew that the mound would continue to grow through Cesar's or Pedro's or José's efforts. The rest would fall victim to a
mechanical log splitter. It didn't matter to Virgil. He was rewarded beyond that with an ache between his shoulders, along with sweat running freely from his pores. He felt good.

After he showered and changed he came downstairs, went into the kitchen, and took inventory of the refrigerator. He saw a freshly dismembered chicken, washed, plucked, and sitting on a plate. He did not dwell on the fact that the chicken population in the barn had been reduced by one. By the time Cesar came through the door a half hour later, the hapless fowl was frying in a pan.

“Looks like I'm done for the day. Somebody did my barn chores for me. They even split some wood. Must be that their life has become easier or it's a product of guilt.”

“You're getting a little too profound for me. I guess when you get old, you just can't be thankful, you got to look for some kind of sinister motivation. A good deed can't just be a good deed.”

“Who's getting profound now?” Cesar said.

“Just set the table and get a couple of cold ones.”

“Yes, boss. Anything you say. By the way, if you want me to rub some horse liniment on your shoulders later . . . You know it's been a long time since you swung an ax.”

“Keep it up, old man, and you'll end up like this chicken.”

*   *   *

After dinner, Virgil took a walk outside to check on the horses. Jack whinnied when he stepped off the porch in greeting. Virgil went to him.

“Nice to be recognized,” he said. Virgil ran his hand across Jack's neck, taking note of his thickening coat. “Guess you know winter's definitely coming. Putting on a winter layer already.”

He stayed with Jack while the night shadows stretched
across the land. Cesar waved to him as he went toward his quarters in the adjacent barn. Then Virgil headed toward the well-lit house. A little while later he settled into a chair in front of the television. Before he turned it on, he punched a number into the phone. It rang and rang on the other end until a message prompt came on.

“Hey, Virginia, I've been pretty busy. Just wanted you to know, well, I've been thinking about you. Oh, it's Virgil.”

He hung up the phone with that awkward feeling he had felt before whenever technology got in his way.

*   *   *

There wasn't much on the television that held his interest once he got past the latest global crisis. None of the so-called reality shows held his attention. He tried watching a guy who presented himself as some kind of survivalist making it in the wilderness with bare essentials. Virgil stayed with it until he showed viewers how to build a debris shelter where he was going to spend the night. This stretched the limits of Virgil's belief. He couldn't get past the notion that the entire experience was being filmed in this “wilderness” by a camera crew who were in all likelihood going to bunk down in some three-star motel in the nearest town. Virgil had an even harder time, when they turned off the camera getting ready to leave, accepting the notion that the survivalist wasn't going to crawl out of his superbly constructed shelter and head out with them for the adjoining room, a hot shower, and maybe even some room service.

The chicken had been good enough that after a couple of hours of uninspiring television he was curious enough to go see if there was anything left of it. Cesar had cleaned up after they ate. His disappointment was complete when all he could come
up with was a leg that didn't offer much more than two mouthfuls. He started prowling the cabinets, looking for something to fill that empty space in the pit of his stomach, when he heard a knock at the door. Glancing out the window he saw the headlights of a car blink off. He wasn't in the mood for more policing tonight so he went to the door less than hopeful. His relief was apparent when he opened it and saw Virginia standing there.

“Sorry, if it's too late, but when I got in my car down in Redbud I heard your message. So when I was driving by I thought, why not stop.”

“Glad you did. Come on in. Afraid it was going to be another late-night incident that I'd have to deal with.”

“Do you get a lot of those?” she asked as she came into the kitchen.

“A lot more than I used to. Hayward's changing. I'm sure that's not news to you. Anyone that's been away for any length of time, like you at college, sees it more than anyone who is here every day.”

“You're right. They even put in a traffic light down at that intersection by that motel they built in Redbud.”

“Guess that's progress,” Virgil said. “Anyway, I worked up more than my usual appetite doing a little work around here when I came home. I was trying to scare up a snack. Will you join me?”

“I could eat. Why don't you sit down and I'll see what I can come up with. You can get the beer.”

“You got a deal,” Virgil said. “That's the easy part.”

Ten minutes later they were sitting on either side of a plate filled with crackers topped with cheese, olives, and sprinkled lightly with salt and pepper.

“That's a lot more inviting than anything I'd have come up with. Looks a lot nicer, too.”

“A lot of chefs say the presentation is as important as the food itself.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Virgil said. “Guess I've always started and ended with my appetite. Don't know if looking at something that looks good is going to satisfy me as much as eating it.”

“I can't say I disagree,” she said as she popped a fully loaded cracker into her mouth. “I like to eat.”

Virgil smiled, watching her.

“So did your mother,” he said. “She could eat two-thirds of a pizza after a movie, but it never showed. She was also willing to try anything. I remember her bringing me to this place that had just started serving Hawaiian pizza. I just couldn't wrap my head around the concept of pineapple on pizza, but she dove right in. That's the way she was with everything.” Virgil averted his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall, but not really seeing the time. Virginia reached across the table, covering his hand with her own.