by A. Gardner
“Try going for a walk.” Barbara bit the inside of her cheek. “That always helps when I’m feeling stressed out.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t stay here cooped up all day,” Zelda said. “Maybe we ought to plan a trip to Crystal City.”
“You’ll take any chance you get to play those filthy slot machines.” Mabel raised her thin eyebrows and watched the color of Zelda’s cheeks go from pale ivory to rose red.
“Oh, like you’ve never bet on a horse race.” Zelda tilted her head, clenching her jaw to stop herself from saying any more.
“That was a long time ago.” Mable turned her head and pretended to observe the group of tourists, who had spotted the get-together going on in the back of the shop. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Maybe we should discuss our book now,” I said, hoping to steer the topic of conversation in a new direction.
“Best idea I’ve heard all day.” Mabel pulled out her copy and opened to the first page. “I had a few problems with the protagonist.”
Zelda rolled her eyes again.
The rest of meeting flowed smoother than the start. Mrs. Tankle’s customers finally left after one too many death stares from Pumpkin. Mrs. Tankle rushed to flip her sign as soon as the door had closed. Mrs. Tankle only mentioned Teddy once, and the subject of seduction didn’t come up for the rest of the meeting.
“Essie, can I talk to for a minute?” Mrs. Tankle pulled me aside as soon as I waved goodbye to Clementine.
“See you tomorrow, Virginia.” Zelda waved as she strolled outside with Barbara on her arm.
Mabel had been the first to leave, which meant that Mrs. Tankle and I were alone, not including Pumpkin and Teddy, the ghost of Mrs. Tankle’s husband.
“I’m happy to help you with your manuscript, but I know nothing about that stuff,” I replied.
“This isn’t about my book. I wanted to ask you about Patrick. Is he satisfying you?”
My throat went tight, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from going wider than grapefruits. I had a hard time discussing that sort of stuff with my sister, let alone my landlady. Does my apartment have peepholes? My face felt like an oven. I didn’t know what to say, and Mrs. Tankle continued to stare at me like it was a completely normal query.
“Maybe you should clarify that question,” I answered. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Oh, I think you do.” Her childish grin clued me in. My first assumption hadn’t been wrong.
“I don’t feel comfortable—”
“I just don’t want the folks around here to slander your good name,” she explained. “I mean, if you and Patrick aren’t happy then it’s perfectly fine for you two to break up.”
“Why would I do that?”
“And honey, you should have told me you prefer older men,” Mrs. Tankle went on. “I would have set you up years ago with my cousin’s son.”
“Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes. “Still not sure why we’re having this conversation.”
“A man came looking for you.” She sighed, picking up my plate of leftover peanut butter brownies. “Tall. Dark hair. Bushy beard. You weren’t home.”
“Did you happen to catch his name?”
“He wouldn’t give it to me,” Mrs. Tankle said. “I assume discretion is part of your agreement.”
“Mrs. Tankle, I am not having an affair.”
“Honey, it’s not my place to judge,” she responded. “You know how I feel about gossip.”
It makes the world go round?
“That doesn’t matter because I’m not having an affair.”
“He said you two know each other, and he told me to tell you something. Oh, what was it?” Mrs. Tankle skipped over my responses like they were a single snow flurry in the breeze. “Something about an old bomber jacket? Honestly, it was hard to hear him, and he smelled like an ashtray.”
Ralph.
Chapter 12
“So, truffles, huh? Were they any good?” Patrick jogged in place.
“I didn’t try one,” I answered. “Weren’t you listening?”
The two of us stood at the Lake Loxley trailhead waiting for the mayor to arrive. It was early Wednesday morning but already felt like the day had dragged on forever. Maybe I was just dreading my morning jogs with his majesty, or maybe it was the stress. I’d been up all night wondering why Ralph had made the effort to visit me at home. What did he want? Why had the sheriff warned me to stay away from him? My heart had raced at the sound of every creak my apartment had made.
Ralph will be back.
“I can’t believe the sun today.” Patrick looked up at the crisp blue sky. “The news said we’re in for some snow flurries this weekend. I doubt it’ll be enough to board down Pinecliffe Mountain though.”
“Snow in June?” I raised my eyebrows, but it was a possibility. One particular Fourth of July stood out to me. It had snowed during the Canyon Street parade.
“I’ve heard of gnarlier stuff happening.” He chuckled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Thanks for joining me. The mayor can be a tough cookie sometimes, and for some reason, he listens to you.” I ran my fingers through my hair and put it up in a tight bun. I’d thrown on my best jogging shorts and fitted jacket. My shorts were not as short and revealing as the mayor’s. They didn’t have to be. Patrick still seemed to notice them, eyeing my legs when I’d hooked Miso to his leash.
“It’s all politics,” Patrick replied. “He’s trying to reach a younger demographic. Besides, he needs new material for his social media. You know, to make him look interesting.”
“Well, thanks.” I smiled, and Patrick grinned in return.
“You promised me a donut after this.” Patrick playfully poked my shoulder. “Hey, what do you say we get started without him?”
Miso barked and I turned to see Mayor Millbreck jogging over to meet us. His hair was gelled back and his skin shiny like he’d just applied a thick layer of lotion to all of his exposed extremities. Patrick cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh.
The shorts were back.
These were made with a thin silvery material with red, white, and blue stripes on the waistband.
“You made it,” I said. “Let’s get started. We’ll do a mile and see how you feel. Ideally, I would like to go two miles today, but that depends on your stamina.”
“Herald, my man.” Patrick gave the mayor a high-five. “Nice shorts, sir.”
“They were all the rage back in my day.” Mayor Millbreck took a deep breath. “Which wasn’t that long ago.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I started our morning session by walking briskly with Miso at my side. Patrick and the mayor had no problem keeping up. As soon as Lake Loxley came into view, I broke into a light jog. Miso was so excited he could hardly contain himself.
The mountain air was cool and soothing to my lungs. The sun reflected off of the lake, making it look like it was full of precious gemstones. The tall Rocky Mountains provided the perfect shade in a few spots and even more perfect scenery. I loved getting out in the morning, and whether I was walking or jogging, it gave me some time to clear my head. As soon as I did, my thoughts fell to my sister and brother-in-law.
Joy had been swamped in her office, and Wade had been lying low. I hadn’t heard of any kind of arrest being made, which meant that the sheriff hadn’t made a clear-cut decision regarding the shootout case. There was still time to figure out how Wade’s hunting rifle had ended up in a dumpster outside of Oso Cantina.
I had to figure it out.
Before my sister bleached her hair among other things.
“This is easier than it looks,” the mayor commented.
“We’re barely a few minutes in.” The sound of Patrick’s footsteps thudding on the path behind me was comforting to hear.
“I guess some people are just born runners.” The mayor laughed loud enough for anyone on the other side of the lake to hear.
As our jog progressed, I maintained my pace. The mayo
r didn’t. He lagged behind and then forced himself to sprint every time Patrick turned around. After ten minutes of power walking and sprinting, the mayor’s eyes went wide. His posture went rigid and he focused on each step like it was more important than snapping pictures of him and Patrick working out together.
“Do we need to stop for a break?” We stopped, and the mayor pressed his lips together.
“How much longer do you think we’ll be out here?” He paused and eyed a row of aspens in front of us.
“We’re not even halfway,” I responded. “Do you need a restroom?”
The look in his eye was familiar and one that I feared whenever I went out for a long run.
“Um . . .”
“Go in the trees,” Patrick suggested, and when I wrinkled my nose, he added, “What? What else are you supposed to do when nature calls?”
“So, you just pee wherever?” Miso barked as soon as the words left my mouth. “Yes, we know you’re all for it, boy.”
“What if someone sees? I can’t risk that.” The mayor’s eyes practically bulged the more he started to panic.
“Make it snappy.” Patrick snapped his fingers, emphasizing his point. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
“This isn’t a quick sort of trip,” the mayor muttered, glancing up and down the trail. “Oh, wowie.”
“Oh.” Patrick slowly nodded. “Oh, I get what you mean. There’s a word for this, sir. It’s called the runs.”
“No one can know about this, understand?” The mayor took deep breaths and turned around. “I will walk back to the trailhead and use the toilet like a civilized person.”
“Best of luck to you, sir,” Patrick replied. “But if you can’t make it, we can—”
“Patrick my boy, this isn’t Silverwood.” The mayor stayed focused on his course. “I remember when that woman made the news for relieving herself on someone’s lawn. The reporter on TV called it an inconvenient case of the squirts. You expect that sort of thing in Silverwood but not here in Bison Creek.”
“Are you listening to this?” Patrick muttered.
“Unfortunately,” I whispered back.
“This better not happen during the race next week.” The mayor slowed his pace even more, and I continually yanked Miso away from him.
“That’s why we’re practicing,” I assured him. “Sometimes it takes a while for your body to adjust.”
“I’m the mayor. I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Then wear a diaper,” I blurted out. Miso let out a soft bark as Mayor Millbreck turned around, eyes glaring straight at me. I didn’t mean to be so bold. Not with a client.
“Sorry, Herald,” Patrick cut in. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt about it. Some of the world’s finest men wear diapers.”
“But she—”
“Nope, that was me,” he insisted. “I tend to sound more feminine early in the morning.”
* * *
It was before five in the afternoon, but I knew where to find Booney.
The Grizzly.
Bison Creek had started to change since making national news and attracting more vacationers. The Grizzly hadn’t. It was still the local hangout spot where townies stopped on their way home from work. Most of the tables and barstools were filled with regulars rather than out-of-towners, even though it gave off saloon-types vibes. For the tourists.
I was used to hearing laughter and chatter before pushing open the door. But there was no warm glow coming from the front windows, and the familiar noises weren’t there while the sun was still up. I stepped into the bar, admiring the long, wooden counter, a giant framed mirror mounted on the other side, and the rows of colorful liquor bottles that looked like they went for miles. The bar was empty except for one seat. I’d left Miso at home in his kennel in case the bar was too busy. I could have brought him along, and no one would have minded.
I sat down next to Booney, the man who ran the BC Gazette single-handedly. He was also a man who was famous for playing what he called the question game with tourists. Booney clutched a glass of whiskey and hung his head, his missing pinky on full display. He’d lost it in the army but the story of how it happened changed as much as it snowed.
“What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”
Booney lifted his head and flashed a grin. His button nose looked like a cherry on top of two rounded cheeks. He didn’t smell of spearmint like he usually did. He also didn’t bother hiding the fact that the drink in his hand wasn’t his first.
“Essie.” He beamed and held up his hand. “You’ve come to have a drink with me. You’re much better looking than the Collins boys. They’re the only ones dumb enough to do shots before noon.”
“You’ve been here all day?”
Booney held up his drink. “Cheers, little lady.”
Booney hadn’t looked this rough since being rejected by Bison Creek’s current school principal. Word of it spread like wildfire and was followed by an article in the paper about a haunted shed in a certain someone’s backyard. The woman had a hard time warding off curious teenagers and breaking up séances on her property in the middle of the night after that. She’d wasted no time giving Booney a piece of her mind, forcing him to write a retraction.
Booney’s drinking habits weren’t about work. They were personal.
“Maybe you should switch to water.” My suggestion came with the risk that he’d yell at me to leave. I was willing to take that chance.
“I know why you’re here,” Booney replied. “You’re working with the sheriff again, aren’t you? You know, one of these days you ought to sit down with me and give me the lowdown on why he’s such a pain in my behind.”
“He’s misunderstood.”
“Call it whatever you want,” he replied. “I already spoke with the police and my story ain’t changing.”
“I’m not here with the police,” I explained. “I’m just trying to help a friend. You’re upset about the shootout.” I glanced down at his empty glass. “It might help to talk about it.”
“To talk about it is to relive it and I don’t want to think about that day ever again.” Booney hit his glass on the counter, signaling to the bartender that he needed a refill. I cringed as his wish was granted.
“Then just answer a few questions,” I said. “It’s important.”
“The only thing I know about Dalton is that he was a Wyoming boy with a temper,” Booney responded, taking a sip of his drink. “He was a ski bum who just never left. Heck, he wasn’t even supposed to be there. So unlucky.”
“What?” I paused, my heart pounding as I waited for him to explain.
“He was on my list of fill-ins.” Booney wheezed as he coughed and took a deep, throat-clearing breath. “He agreed to do it the night before.”
“So, who was he covering for?”
“The mayor,” Booney answered.
My heart didn’t stop pounding.
“Are you serious?”
“That man is so wishy-washy, I never know what he’s going to say.” Booney shook his head. “He’d been planning on joining the shootout for months. A one-time deal to surprise his fans or some garbage like that. I was all set to run a story about it in the paper. He backed out of the gunfight because he didn’t want to piss off the liberals. Coward.”
“But he still showed up.” I remembered the scene he’d caused in the middle of the street.
“Of course he showed up.” Booney chuckled, swaying a bit in his seat. “I told you, he’s an unstable little waffle, and I don’t know why he’s even mayor.”
“Oh, Booney.” A woman stood in the doorway staring at the drunken man as he hung his head again. “I was hoping I wouldn’t find you here.”
“And here I am.” He held up his arms, almost losing his balance. I instantly leaned toward him in case he fell to the floor. “Disappointing you as usual.”
Every encounter I’d had with Flossie Wicks, Booney’s sister, had ended with a warning. She was an h
erbalist slash freelance psychic, and half the town thought she was crazy. The other half were customers. I felt like she was staring into my soul when she looked at me, and her advice ran through my head like she’d said it to me yesterday.
You will reconnect with someone from your past, but to listen to this person would be unwise. It will be the death of you.
The only person from my past I’d reconnected with was Patrick. Yes, I hadn’t been too lucky since the two of us had gotten together, what with the increase in crime around Canyon Street. But luck could change. I knew that it could firsthand. I’d done a lot of changing myself over the years even though the old me, the chubby one with a bad case of anxiety, tried to pry her way to the surface sometimes. I didn’t let her. The same way I’d swallowed Flossie’s foreboding predication and had hoped for the best.
“Booney, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself,” Flossie said. “Your liver must cry itself to sleep at night.”
“You have no idea what it’s like up here. Okay?” Booney put his hand on his head with too much force. It caused him to lose his balance and slip right off of his barstool. The empty glass in his hand shattered when it hit the ground.
Flossie and I both rushed to his aid. The two of us grabbed his arms and helped him stand. His legs wobbled as he stumbled forward. I flexed my muscles and did what I could to stand firm. Booney stumbled again before regaining his balance. Flossie waved her hand at the bartender for a glass of water.
“I don’t know why you’re still allowed in here,” Flossie muttered. “I would have kicked you out hours ago.”
“I pay their bills, sissy,” he blurted out, his eyelids drooping.
“This shootout nonsense is making you crazy. Actually, you might have finally cracked.” Flossie led her brother toward the exit. “You should have let me wipe your memory. That boy’s face will haunt you forever if you let it.”
“Booney did nothing wrong,” I pointed out.