“Her mother!”
“Leona Marie Walters herself.”
“What!”
“So when my aunt got sick,” Leona said, “I came back here to care for her. It was only fair, she raised me after my mother died. Of course I hated to leave California and Marilee,” she added, tears collecting in her eyes, “but she had a good home and I was just not in any shape, financially or emotionally, to look after her. I took care of my aunt until she died seven years ago. She left me this house. It’s quiet here. I don’t have rent, so I make enough at the diner to survive. I’ve just been watching the years go by, and now this. And now, after all this time, you bring me my daughter. The little girl I left. The little girl I gave away!”
Leona slumped forward and began to cry into her hands. Marilee got up from the chair in which she sat and knelt before her mother, wrapping her arms around the woman’s shoulders.
They were sitting in the living room of Leona’s two-story frame and stone house on the outskirts of Manhattan, Kansas, around three hours after she’d gotten off work at six AM. When the place was built it had been a farmhouse. Now overcome by population and city limits, the farmland had been reduced to a narrow acre of scraggly lawn stretching out behind the residence, graced by three or four old oaks and two outbuildings. It was comfortable. It was Kansas. Clete and Crockett walked out onto the large front porch to leave the two women alone.
Clete stared blankly at the puddles in the street in front of the house as morning sunshine broke through holes in the overcast.
“Crockett,” he said, “did we have a choice in all of this?”
Crockett sat in an ancient porch swing and smiled.
“Whatdaya mean?”
“I’ve been a protector of one kind or another all my adult life,” Clete said. “I spent seven years with the guvmint until Ivy picked me up and spirited me off to the private sector. I believe in cause and effect, fast eyes and quick decisions, Glazer safety slugs and stainless steel, and that any of us, no matter how good we are, can be had by some dedicated asshole with an insane cause and a sharpened letter opener.”
Cletus rubbed his face and turned to face Crockett.
“I am a literal man, Crockett. And while I am not the naturally nasty bastard that you are, I am one hell-on-wheels, balls-to-the-wall, sonofabitch. I have been taught to be. I have acquired extensive skills through training and hard work. This ol’ dog can fuckin’ hunt, Son.”
“You’re telling me?”
“Maybe I’m just tryin’ to tell me,” Clete said. “Maybe I’m tryin’ to convince myself that, in the middle of psychics with nightmares, tomcats that kick ass, grandma haints that smell like perfume, and long-lost mammas that crop up outa fuckin’ nowhere, I ain’t losin’ my tiny little mind! That I had some kinda choice in all this bullshit!”
“Of course you had a choice.”
“Did I?”
“Sure you did. I don’t believe in predestination. I don’t accept that the outcome of any situation can possibly be pre-determined. None of us had to do this. I could have said no. So could you.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t.”
“No, but we had a choice. And that choice was totally up to us, Texican.”
“Lord God, I hope you’re right.”
“Me, too,” Crockett said.
They jawed on the porch for another hour or so, until Marilee called them back inside. Her mother had set out coffee and cups, and was lifting some pre-fab cinnamon rolls out of the oven. They sat at the kitchen table.
Marilee patted her mother on the arm. “I’m going to stay here,” she said. “It’s time to break some patterns and we’re going to do it together. Mom has offered me a place to live so I can go back to school.”
“Whacha gonna be when you get big?” Clete said.
Marilee smiled. “I think I’m going take some classes in graphic design. Mom says the college here is good. I think I should stay away from big cities for a while, and I need a good roommate. I’ll register for fall classes and get a part-time job. Gidget goes normal.”
“Keep my truck,” Clete said around a mouthful of pastry. “I’ll call the rental company and clear the deal. After you get settled and pick up your stuff from Ruby’s place, you can turn it in. No rush. Couple of weeks enough?”
“Thanks, Cletus.”
Clete swallowed the last of his roll, and drained his coffee. “Well,” he said. “I’m beat, and I’m younger than Crockett. He’s got to be exhausted. We need to get us on to the house and see to Ruby. I can’t wait to deal with her while she’s helpless.”
Marilee turned to Crockett. “Helpless?”
“Yeah,” Crockett said. “I didn’t tell you before. Ruby’s got a dislocated shoulder and stuff. She’s in a body cast. It’s gonna be a treat.” He grinned and got to his feet. “We need to get on the road and the two of you don’t need us in the way anyhow. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Leona stood. “You are amazing men,” she said. “To do what you’ve done, to help the way you’ve helped. It’s so much more than just wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Clete gave her a brief hug. “By getting to know your daughter, and keeping us posted on how the two of you are doing,” he said.
Crockett kissed her on the cheek. “That mean little kid of yours has our numbers,” he said. “Ruby and I will expect regular reports.”
Leona stayed inside while Marilee went with them to the porch.
“I didn’t tell her everything,” Marilee said. “She doesn’t need to know. But I know, you guys. I know. Nobody in my life has done as much for me as you have. I’m the one who can’t thank you enough.”
“Just be happy,” Clete said. He gave her a hug and walked slowly down the porch steps. Marilee turned to Crockett and put a hand on his face.
“David Crockett,” she said, “you gave me back my life. That’s just one of the reasons I love you.”
She kissed him tenderly and very deliberately on the lips, lingering for just a moment.
“That’s from me and my grandma,” she said.
The hair on Crockett’s arms stood up.
“See ya in a few days, Kiddo,” he rasped, and headed down the stairs.
As Crockett stepped onto the walk that led out to the street and walked toward where Clete leaned on the grill guard of his truck, he caught a whiff of To A Wild Rose. Looking back at the house, Crockett watched Marilee open the door and go inside. Behind her, sitting in the porch swing and dressed in her customary dark blue suit and delicately veiled hat, was LaVonne Goldstein.
Clete, no longer leaning on the truck, looked over Crockett’s shoulder with huge eyes. He stammered.
“Did you just see…uh, I mean…was there…?”
Crockett smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe now she can rest in peace.”
Clete stared at Crockett for a moment, then shook himself like a dog.
“Bunch a bullshit, Crockett,” he growled, turning for the passenger door. “Bunch a goddam bullshit.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Renaissance
Crockett had always thought Ruby LaCost to be an intelligent, perceptive, bright, delightful woman. A marvelously educated, wonderfully experienced, unusually gifted, and amazingly insightful woman. Her sense of humor could nudge like a down pillow or cut like a straight razor. Her personal power was such that she could move through a crowd like an aircraft carrier amid rowboats, and her appearance was so compelling that heads turned when she entered a room. Her very presence stopped conversation and re-started it in other directions. Strikingly attractive, warmly sensual, kind and caring, Crockett treasured her in all ways. The fact that he orbited her brought him great joy.
On the other hand, Ruby LaCost, in a body cast, was a salivating succubus. A seething, gnashing, conglomerate of random coat hanger itches, angry self-pity, salacious sarcasm, demented demands, and condescending apology. The only thing that kept her alive during the seven weeks
she was entombed was Crockett’s fear of reprisal if he didn’t kill her cleanly.
Even hell has an end, he reminded himself, as he sat in the waiting room of Ruby’s doctor’s office. The attractive receptionist smiled at him occasionally as the muted buzzing of a cast saw wafted through the air. It took about thirty minutes. When Ruby came striding into the waiting area, the coat she had worn to the office as a cape was wrapped tightly around her and buttoned from crotch to throat.
Crockett smiled at her. “How ya doin’?”
Ruby didn’t slow down. “I feel like I just crawled out from under a rock. Get me home, Crockett. Quick.”
Crockett wondered how long purgatory might last.
When they got in the truck, Ruby insisted on having the windows rolled down.
“Why?”
“I stink.”
“What?”
“I stink! I’ve been wrapped up in that fucking Iron Maiden for almost two months, Crockett. My skin is brown and yellow and it’s peeling off of me in sheets! I’m so gross I can’t stand myself. It’s awful!”
She stared out the window. The conversation was closed.
When they got home, Ruby went directly to her bath. Crockett gave her a ten-minute head start and went up. Steam rolled out of the shower and he could see her distorted form behind the frosted glass.
“Need some help?” Crockett said.
“Jesus!” Ruby shouted, her voice echoing off the tiles. “Crockett, you damn near scared me to death! Whadaya want?”
“To help. Thought you might need some.”
“I’m fine. Go away.”
“Probably not,” he said.
“Look, Crockett. I know you’re concerned. Everything’s under control.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Stiff.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Stiffer. I start physical therapy in a couple of days.”
“Wrong. You start now,” Crockett said, taking off his shirt.
“Just go away, goddammit!”
“I don’t care what you look like, LaCost. I don’t care if you smell bad. None of that means anything. Close your eyes, Lady. I’m comin’ in.”
Through the door, Crockett scraped and scrubbed as long as Ruby could stand it. Three times he had to clear the drain of leftovers. Ruby never did get completely comfortable with him seeing her in a state of less than her usual perfection, but by the time she shut the shower off, at least she’d stopped calling him names.
The cleansing was followed by another thirty minutes involving the diligent application of a rather sticky cream containing things like lanolin, Mango seed oil, vitamin E, sweet almond oil, and probably hummingbird spit and kangaroo rat placenta. Crockett didn’t know for sure. The label was written in fine print. At the end of it, Ruby was smiling and around five pounds lighter. From face down on the bed her muffled voice reached him.
“What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
“No wonder I’m hungry. Order us some Chinese, will ya? Garlic beef for me, sweet and sour chicken for you.”
“I’m having sweet and sour chicken again, huh?”
Ruby rolled over and looked up at him.
“Oh, yeah,” she whispered. “For the rest of your life, if I’m lucky.”
The food arrived just a couple of minutes before Ruby did. Crockett was setting it up on her coffee table when she, wearing light make-up, a deep green velour robe and matching mules, walked into the room. Ruby grabbed a bottle of rice wine from a kitchen cabinet and sat beside him on the couch.
It was a glorious meal, full of slippery feedings, sloppy kisses, giggles, gropes, and gratitude. When it was over, Ruby leaned back with a glass of wine and studied Crockett for a moment. Eventually an eyebrow lifted.
“What?” Crockett said.
“I have something for you, I think.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ruby said. “I’ll get it.” She winced a bit as she got to her feet.
She disappeared into her storage room for a moment and returned carrying a framed picture of some kind, about twenty by thirty inches.
“I’ve had it for a while,” Ruby said, holding it so Crockett couldn’t see the front. “It was a gift. It’s not something I wanted to hang, but I’ve been thinking that you might.”
Crockett extended his hand. “Lemme see,” he said.
Ruby bit her lip. “I hope you like it,” she said.
It was a portrait of Ruby done in oil. She was nude, her back to the artist, sitting with her right hip on what must have been a tall draped stool, her left leg extended to the floor beside her. The line of her body swept smoothly up her leg and torso all the way to the shoulder. Her face turned to the left, showing her profile framed by dark hair hanging loosely down her back. Her left arm was pulled across her chest revealing just a small portion of the swell of her breast. Warm in tone and heavily shadowed, her body was posed against a dark background that showed just the occasional hint of deep cranberry.
Crockett was stunned. It was gorgeous. A marvelous study in shadow and contrast that caught more than just her line and appearance. There was, of course, a considerable suggestion of sexuality, but the balance of light and dark, of color and content, made the finished product a revelation of sensual substance. A celebration of Ruby’s solidity and vulnerability.
“Oh, my,” he said.
“You like it?” Ruby said.
“Oh, my,” Crockett said again, standing and propping the painting up on the mantel, then moving away to view it from a distance.
“Is that good?” Ruby said.
“Jesus, Ruby. This is lovely. This is absolutely lovely. Of course I’ll hang it. When did you sit for this?”
“Three or four years ago. I didn’t sit for it actually. It was done mostly from a photograph.”
“I don’t understand how anyone could have done something this beautiful and insightful from just a picture.”
Ruby blushed. “Well, uh, she, the artist, was, uh, was very familiar with her subject.”
“Ah,” Crockett said.
She crossed to where he stood and put her good arm around his neck.
“This is another life, Crockett,” Ruby whispered. “Scratch my back.”
Crockett was clearing the coffee table of various containers when Ruby’s doorbell went off. The UPS man inflicted him with a very large reinforced envelope for Ruby LaCost and David Crockett, and accepted his signature. He carried it upstairs and presented it to Ruby.
“What’s this?” she said.
“For us. UPS. I signed for it, you open it.”
Inside the package they found a heavy manila envelope and a note from Ivy.
My Dear Children,
Please accept both my gratitude and congratulations on the events of recent days, as well as my hope that you, Ruby, are recovering from your injuries in a timely and healthful manner. Your medical accounts have been attended to. You need not concern yourself.
A few weeks ago an estate sale in Las Vegas came to my attention and I dispatched Cletus on an errand. A result of that dispatch is contained within the package I have sent to the two of you. Please accept this small token of my appreciation of your work to aid my friend Marta, as well as your selfless persistence in reuniting Marilee and her mother. They are coming to visit me for a few days next month. I look forward to that event and hope that both of you might join in the festivities.
At any rate, the enclosed is in remembrance of the three generations that you have helped find their rest. Enjoy. I celebrate both of you.
Love,
Ivy
Inside the manila envelope was a hinged cardboard folder containing a pencil on paper sketch. Ruby gasped as she looked at it. When she handed it to Crockett, her hand was trembling.
There, posed almost exactly as Ruby was posed in her painting, was Vonda Gold, wearing only a small feathered hat with a short veil. The loveliness of her profile was captured so p
erfectly, that there was no doubt as to the identity of the model. Across the bottom of the paper, the artist had scribbled notes.
V.G. Dec. ‘42 KC
VARGAS
Vonda Gold. December, 1942. Kansas City. Just a sketch of a model, one model among the hundreds he had worked with over the years. A simple drawing by Vargas, one of the most celebrated authors of the feminine form to ever pick up a brush. LaVonne Goldstein, rendered in pencil, by a master.
“Damn,” Crockett breathed. “Isn’t that something?”
“That’s a Vargas, huh?” Ruby asked.
“Looks like it.”
“That’s the Amazing Disappearing Woman, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s her.”
“And our poses are almost exactly alike.”
“Surprised?”
“Now that I’m over the shock, no.”
They were silent for a moment, as Crockett studied the wall between their homes.
“What’s on your mind?” Ruby said.
“Just trying to decide where to hang your portrait. Maybe on my living room wall.”
“That’s no good,” she said.
“It’s not?”
“No. Out of the question.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Our living arrangement is no longer satisfactory. I think it is time that wall came down.”
Crockett sat for a moment, considering the ramifications of Ruby’s statement.
“Zat right?” he said.
Ruby smiled and took his hand. “Yes, it is, David,” she said. “I think it’s time a lot of walls came down.”
Crockett grinned.
“Here we go,” he said.
COMING SOON
the 3rd Crockett Novel
SITUATIONAL FLEXIBILITY
The Girl in the Basement
Copyright 2012
Grave Promise Page 33