by Cindy Brown
Then I made the most important call of all. “Lassie’s home,” I said. “It’s a long story, but he came home, and I want to too. And…well, you feel like home.” I told Matt’s voicemail where I’d be and how to find me, then hung up.
“Ivy!” Nathan came out of his office, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Nearly forgot.” He handed the stack to me. “Found these at Billie’s place. Thought you might like to see ’em, you being a literary type.”
“Thanks.” I waved the papers at him as he shut his office door. Then I read the top paper. And the second one. And the third. And solved the mystery of where Mongo had disappeared to all those times.
Chapter 69
“I drink too much on Saturday nights,” the minister said to the crowd gathered for the funeral.
“And eat like a pig at a trough.
I’m often spoilin’ fer a fight.
And am liable to mouth off.”
“That was Mongo, all right,” said a voice behind me.
“So Mongo was a cowboy poet?” asked Pink. He sat to one side of me on the hard wooden pew, while Chance fidgeted on the other.
“Yeah. That’s where he went all those time when he disappeared—cowboy poetry gatherings. Nathan found a bunch of Mongo’s poems at Billie’s place. I loved this one, and wanted to share it with everyone at the funeral.”
The minister continued: “She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies.
That Old Lord Byron got it right
Like he had seen her deep blue eyes.”
A sigh passed through the crowd.
“I don’t know what she sees in me.
I’m just an old cowhand.
But when she takes me in her arms,
I become a better man.”
“Did Billie know?” whispered Chance. I gave him big brownie points for coming to the funeral. Lots of people didn’t know the whole truth of the situation yet, and he’d received more than a few barbed looks.
“I think so. She said something about figuring out Mongo right before she died.”
“I…I’m glad.”
Josh leaned forward from where he sat in the pew behind us. “Looks like you two made up.”
“What?” I said.
“From when you left Chance in the quicksand. Not the nicest thing to do to your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Chance said.
“I thought you two were close,” Josh said.
“That’s her boyfriend.” Chance pointed at Pink.
“Neither of them are my boyfriend,” I said. Pink drooped a little. “I’m in love with a guy named Matt.”
Mongo and Billie were buried next to each other in the hard dirt of the pioneer cemetery. There was a short graveside ceremony, and after handfuls of earth had been tossed onto the caskets, we all walked toward the saloon for the wake.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. Finally. My heart lifted. “Matt.” I turned and lifted my face to kiss him.
But it was a teenage girl. A clutch of them stood behind me on the dusty road. I bit my lip, dropped my chin, and tried to look like my heart hadn’t broken.
“You’re the one Billie talked about,” said the girl, who was slight with fine brown hair. “We’re really grateful to you for telling her about Annie Oakley.”
“About Annie?”
“Yeah,” said another young woman with deep brown eyes. “We’re the Golden Girls. We loved Billie, but we hated that name.”
“We knew Billie meant that we were worth a lot, like gold, but it made everyone think of that TV show with all the old ladies.”
“Once you told her about Annie Oakley paying for those young women’s education, she changed the name.”
“We’re the Oakley Sisters now,” another one said.
I smiled then. Annie would be proud.
Chapter 70
After the wake, I crawled into my pickup cab, feeling as low as the skunk who’d stunk it up. Matt didn’t come. I told him that I wanted him and where to find me and he didn’t come.
I started up the truck and backed up out of my parking spot, looking over my shoulder as I—ack!
“You’re supposed to look before you back up.” Matt came around to my open window, looking better than anything ever. “Unless you asked me out here so you could dispose of my body in the desert.”
“No. I asked you out here so I could tell you—what?” Matt’s face was scrunched up in disgust. “You look like you just ate poop or something.”
“It’s your car,” he gasped. “How do you stand it?”
“Huh. I guess I got used to it.” I opened the door and slid out of the cab, making sure I landed close to Matt.
“Whoa.” He took a step back. “You smell like skunk too.”
This was not going as planned. “I could take off my clothes.”
Matt grinned. Things were looking up.
“Want to take a ride?” I asked. “In the nice fresh air?”
“A ride?” He glanced at my truck.
“A horse ride.” I’d asked Josh’s permission this time.
“Yeah. Sure. Oh, wait.” Matt went back to his car and emerged with two drinks in sweating cardboard cups. “You wanted these?”
“Thanks.” I took the Frappuccinos, but held out one to Matt. “Want to share one?”
“Okay.” Matt took one of the cups back. We walked down the road into Gold Bug, trading sips of the icy drink. “Sorry I didn’t make the funeral. The new employee they hired for the home didn’t show up. I tried to call you. Did you have your cell turned off?”
“Not exactly.” I gave Matt the short version of last night’s escapades.
“That explains the casual funeral attire.” We stopped at the entrance to the corral. “Though you may start a trend. You are rocking that tracksuit.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” I swung open the corral gate. The best donkey in the world trotted over to me. “Something I need to do before we go.” I held out the Frappuccino. “All yours, Toby.” He slurped it, spraying me in the process.
“Wow, skunk smell plus coffee-scented mule spit,” Matt said. “You really know how to impress a guy.”
“Donkey spit.” I held the cup steady for Toby. “Take whatever horse you want.”
Toby made short work of his treat and I hiked myself onto his back. Matt settled himself on a bay. We rode out of the corral, side by side.
We bumped along the dusty road in silence for a few minutes.
“Katie really wasn’t my fiancée,” Matt said finally. “I never even asked her to marry me. It was all a mix-up.”
“I figured as much.”
“I got the ring back. Well, my mom got it back. I asked Katie to give it back, and then I told my mom about us. Cody too.”
“You told him?”
“He said he already knew. That we looked at each other all mushy.” Matt cleared his throat. “I hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m…” I searched my heart. All I found was a big glowing ball of happiness. “I’m…not. Not telling Cody—not telling anyone—that was my way of protecting myself. Last night when I was in the mine, it hit me. I had just called Uncle Bob and accused him of abandoning me. And then I was in this scary old abandoned mine and I thought about abandonment and…remember how I told you about that Russian orphan I met? Val?”
“Russian orphan? You mean the guy on that cruise ship you worked on?”
“Yeah. And I swear this all ties together. One of the things someone told me about Val was that he wasn’t any good at relationships because he had the whole orphan thing going on. Fear of abandonment. You know, dump them before they dump you?”
Matt looked at me, gray eyes steady behind his glasses. “You were going to dump me?”
“Not on p
urpose.” That might have thrown most guys, but Matt’s face was still open, waiting to hear what I was going to say. “I know I’m not an orphan, but…after Cody’s accident, I might as well have had no parents. You know how my mom and dad behaved. They basically abandoned me. I pushed you away so you wouldn’t do it to me first. And I didn’t want to tell anyone about us, because that would make it worse when you left me, which of course you would.”
“And now?”
“And now I know that even if you do leave me eventually, being with you now is worth the risk.” There, I said it.
But of course I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “In fact, I just turned down a part in Annie Get Your Gun so I could have more time with you.” Arizona Center Stage didn’t want me for Annie, but they did offer me a role in the chorus.
“You turned down a role?”
“I did.”
“But…” A smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s mouth. Dang, he knew me too well.
“But you’re right. I turned down Annie, but I did agree to do Viola in Twelfth Night.” Theresa had offered me the role straight out when I called her.
“And this has nothing to do with your respect for Annie Oakley?”
“Maybe just a titch, but Twelfth Night runs for only half the time and there’s no tour to Tucson. So I get to spend more time with you.”
Matt shook his head, but he was definitely smiling now.
“Thanks for being so patient,” I said. “It’s one of the things I love best about you.”
Oh no.
I said “love.” And I said it before Matt ever said anything, which was exactly what I was trying to avoid. A wave of heat engulfed my face. “Oh. Uh, what I meant was…”
“It’s okay, Ivy.” Matt leaned over and took my hand. “I love you too.”
And we rode off into the sunset.
Reader’s Discussion Guide
As you may have suspected, there’s a little bit of me in Ivy, and maybe a little more than usual in Ivy Get Your Gun. The idea for the plot came from a newspaper clipping (thanks, Mom!) about a real-life shooting during a staged gunfight in Tombstone, Arizona. It was an accident, and no one died, but it got my wheels turning. I’d acted in a melodrama at Pioneer Living History Museum, and so decided to use that as Ivy’s undercover gig. But I also wanted to include a show that would be familiar to readers: Annie Get Your Gun fit perfectly.
That’s where this book and real life merged more than I’d planned: Like Ivy, I had a difficult time getting hold of the script and the video, so I began by researching Annie Oakley. I’d always been a fan, but I had no idea what a truly amazing woman she was. Then I received the script in the mail (and yes, I had to get it on eBay from New Zealand) and was able to get the movie from the library. I was stunned. All I had remembered was the wonderful music and cowboy-type shenanigans. I certainly didn’t know they changed the real-life ending of Annie’s shooting match with Frank Butler. It ticked me off royally, and so I decided to have Ivy tell the real story of Annie Oakley. I hope it inspires you to “aim for the high mark.”
“Aim for the high mark and you will hit it. No, not the first time, not the second time and maybe not the third. But keep on aiming and keep on shooting for only practice will make you perfect. Finally you’ll hit the bull’s-eye of success.” – Annie Oakley
Topics & Questions for Discussion
If you could erect a statue of a hero more people should know about, who would it be?
Have you ever been stopped (by someone else or yourself) from doing something because of your gender?
How do you think women’s roles have changed in the last 100 years? In the last 50, 25, or 10?
Who are some good role models for young girls?
Ivy finds she’s a natural with a rifle. Have you ever found yourself surprisingly good at something right away?
Frank believes the end justifies the means. Do you think this can ever be true? In what circumstances?
Why do you think America’s Old West has such a hold on our imagination?
Did you know there was quicksand in the desert? Any other fun facts you learned?
There are several famous cowboy names parodied throughout the book. Can you find them?
Enhance Your Book Club or Class Discussion
Watch Annie Get Your Gun (great music), and PBS’s The American Experience: Annie Oakley (true history).
Listen to cowboy music! Try songs by Riders in the Sky, Slim Whitman, or Gene Autry.
Read Annie Oakley by Shirl Kasper.
Google “Sonoran desert animals” to see many of the critters mentioned in this book.
Check out cowboy poetry. YouTube has a bunch of options, as does the Facebook page for the Center for Western and Cowboy Poetry and CowboyPoetry.com.
Extra credit: Erect a bat house! Bats consume their weight in insects every night, plus they help spread seeds and pollinate plants—and unfortunately, many of them are endangered. You can learn more at batconservation.org.
Visit www.cindybrownwriter.com to learn more about me, and to sign up for my Slightly Silly Newsletter, an irreverent look at mystery and drama (with a smidgen of book news).
About the Author
Cindy Brown has been a theater geek (musician, actor, director, producer, and playwright) since her first professional gig at age 14. Now a full-time writer, she’s the author of the Agatha Award-nominated Ivy Meadows series, madcap mysteries set in the off, off, OFF Broadway world of theater. Cindy and her husband live in Portland, Oregon, though she made her home in Phoenix, Arizona, for more than 25 years and knows all the good places to hide dead bodies in both cities.
She’d love to connect with readers at cindybrownwriter.com.
The Ivy Meadows Mystery Series
By Cindy Brown
MACDEATH (#1)
THE SOUND OF MURDER (#2)
OLIVER TWISTED (#3)
IVY GET YOUR GUN (#4)
THE PHANTOM OF OZ (#5)
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