by Leanna Ellis
A few yards away, the geologists took notes and studied their equipment. One tall, lean man with a crisp western accent talked on his cell phone, while an older woman maneuvered knobs on some high-tech-looking piece of equipment.
The shrill wail of a siren made Drew turn eastward. Flipper had the squad car’s lights flashing like he was on his way to a barn fire. But he drove slowly. The way the car dipped and rose across the uneven desert terrain, the movement resembled nothing more than an armadillo’s waddling gait. He stopped a good twenty feet short of the crack. Drew walked out to meet him.
“In a hurry, Flipper?”
He peered over at the crack, looking like he was ready to jump back in the squad car and peel out at the sign of any trouble. “Any word yet, Sheriff, on how big the earthquake was?”
“No one said it was an earthquake. Be careful who you say that around. We don’t want to start a panic. Or draw too many curiosity seekers.”
“Yes, sir. You’re right. You sure are.” Flipper readjusted his hat, still glancing nervously toward the jagged edge. “’Course, old man Hewitt said his momma felt a quake back in the twenties. Rattled her dishes and everything. Sounds like an earthquake. Just between you and me.” He stretched out his arm, pointing in the direction of the Hewitt family farmhouse that sat just over the ridge. “Lines right up. Maybe there’s one of them fault lines that runs along here.” He took a cautious step backwards. “What do them geologists say?”
“They’re still assessing the situation.”
“Could be aftershocks, don’t ya know.”
Already a stream of cars had come and gone as curious folks had driven out to gawk and speculate. Drew had set up barriers to keep everyone away for a while. He looked back over his shoulder where Josie’s car was still stuck in the opening like a toothpick lodged in an old timer’s mouth. Later, when and if the geologists declared the area safe, he would call in a wrecker to pull the Camaro out.
“You thinkin’ this is what the Bible says is the ‘end times’?” Flipper looked down at his boots.
“What made you think of that?”
“What the preacher said a few Sundays back, ’bout there bein’ more earthqu—” He stopped himself. “Sorry. But there’s been some weird happenings around here, Sheriff.”
“Weird, huh? Like what?”
“Yessiree. Like, uh …” He nudged a rock with the pointed toe of his boot and shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know. Just weird stuff. Supernatural stuff.”
Drew crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you trying to say, Flipper?”
“Nothing, just …” He sniffed, looked away. “I don’t know. Lots of weird happenings. Like that snake. I’ve heard animals sense these things before we do. And you know …” His voice trailed off as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say what he was thinking.
Drew clapped a hand on Flipper’s shoulder, tried to offer support. His deputy was grieving his friend, Archie Davidson. He didn’t dare tell him he thought he saw Archie’s truck at the Old Hockheim Inn this morning. Not till he had something more than false hope to offer.
“Maybe you ought to cut off early today. Go on home and get some rest.”
Flipper’s nose turned red. He sniffed again. Finally he cleared his throat. “I brought some lunch for the geologists. You too. I know it’s early and all, but you’ve been out here a while.”
“Good idea. Thanks.” Drew hadn’t had breakfast, and the one cup of coffee he swiped from the office first thing hadn’t lasted long.
“Well, it was really Helen who thought of it.”
Drew nodded. The weekend dispatcher had been working in the office for thirty years and was more a mother hen than officer. “Any other calls about damage?”
“No, Rodney Hedges called and said he found that missing cow. It got out on the highway. Maybe the earthquake spooked it.”
Drew shot Flipper a look. “We don’t know it’s an earthquake. It could be the drought has dried up fissures in the bedrock. The geologists told me there are lots of fault lines that run through this area. Plus, there is the underwater aquifer.”
“Fault lines,” Flipper repeated. “See, earthquakes. There’s gonna be aftershocks.”
“Rodney’s been known to have cows get out because he doesn’t keep his fences up.”
“Yes, sir. You’re right. I’m sure you’re right. But …”
“But?” He caught a whiff of French fries coming from the squad car’s open window. “What is it?”
Flipper shuffled around but didn’t answer.
Finally Drew pulled the bags of food out of the squad car and had Flipper carry the hamburgers and fries over to the geologists. He gave the crack a wide berth.
“It’s not going to swallow you up, Flipper.”
“Did a pretty good job on that car there.”
Hiding a smile, Drew chomped down on a hamburger from the DQ.
Flipper came back, hands empty, and propped a foot on the front bumper of his squad car. “What do you think happens after someone dies?” he asked.
Lettuce fell out of Drew’s burger and landed on the ground. He chewed slowly, giving himself time to think of the best way to answer his deputy. Swallowing, he finally said, “I’m no preacher, Flipper. What did you learn in church?”
“That folks go to heaven. Or … you know, the other place. Dependin’ on …”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“Well, I figure Archie was a good man. He believed in God and all. So he probably went straight to heaven.”
“I expect.”
“You believe that, right?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“Sure. Sure. The preacher says so. And I’m gonna believe that. He’s got more learnin’ on the matter than I do. That’s for sure.” There was a silent but at the end of his statement.
“But?” Drew voiced the doubt when Flipper couldn’t.
Flipper looked at him, then grabbed Drew’s Coke sitting on the hood of the squad car and took a swig. His eyes widened and he handed the soda back to Drew. “Sorry, Sheriff.”
“It’s okay, Flipper.” He offered him a French fry, which Flipper readily accepted. “So tell me what’s got you so concerned about heaven and hell all of a sudden?”
“I don’t think Archie is where he’s supposed to be.”
Drew schooled his surprise, hiding it behind a professional mask. “What do you mean?”
“I seen this show on TV a while back where when folks die, sometimes when it’s all of a sudden, then they don’t know they’s dead. And they just kinda hang around.”
“Like a ghost?”
“Yeah, uh-huh. Like that.” He looked like he just swallowed a hamburger whole.
Drew took another bite of his burger and chewed it thoughtfully. This was getting too weird. He had heard a lot of things in his time on the force in Austin and now here in Gillespie County. He had seen a lot of crazy things. But usually the crazy things were done by people. Live people, not dead ones. Crazy as some things seem, there’s usually a good explanation behind them. “You know, Flipper, something might be goin’ on here that we don’t quite understand.”
Flipper slapped his thigh. “Exactly! You are exactly right, Sheriff.”
“But don’t worry. I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
“You want me to try to find one of them psychics?”
Drew frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you talking about?”
“Well on that TV show I seen, they brought in this psychic who could see dead people. Yes, sir! I know it’s crazy and all. But I seen it with my own eyes. And that psychic tells that woman who was hanging out in her home after she should’ve been up in heaven, he tells her all kindly like that she’s dead and she should go toward the light. ‘Go toward the light.’”
“I don’t think we need a psychic, Flipper.”
“You don’t?” Disappointment dragged down his features. “But I’m tellin’ you. I seen—”
“I understand.” Drew leaned forward, sniffed Flipper’s breath. Coffee and burrito. He leaned back, clapped his deputy on the back. “You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you go on home, sleep it off. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.”
Flipper jerked at the words. “You think I made all this up? You think I’ve been drinking?”
“I didn’t say that, Flipper, I just meant—”
“Well I ain’t been drinking! I saw him. I saw Archie plain as day!”
Drew stared at his deputy for a full minute. “You did?”
His face darkened to red as if a heat wave had just swept through. Flipper looked down at the ground. “I did. I ain’t gonna lie to you. I saw Archie. Like he was standing not ten feet from me.” Flipper blinked. “I know that sounds crazy. I do. I been thinking it over. It is crazy. But it’s true.” He looked up at Drew, his eyes swimming, pleading with him to believe, to reassure him. “It’s true.”
Drew hadn’t dismissed seeing Archie’s truck. It wasn’t a phantom truck out of one of those Stephen King novels. But telling Flipper wouldn’t be of much help. If Drew had learned one thing through the years, he had learned to keep what he knew to himself and just listen. Interesting facts might be brought to the surface with a little patience.
“Where did you see him, Flipper?”
“Outside the Luckenbach store.”
“Going in or going out?”
Flipper blinked. “I don’t know.”
“What else? Was he doing anything?”
“Doing? Nothing that I know of. Just standing there. Looking around. Like he ain’t seen the town this way, you know? Maybe he was surprised by where he was. Maybe he wasn’t even sure he was dead.”
Okay, Drew didn’t want to head down that slippery slope again. “Did Archie see you?”
“Yeah! Yeah! He did. He said, ‘Hey, Flip,’ just like it was any other Sunday.” Flipper took a breath, his chest going up and down, up and down. “Imagine that. A ghost talking to me.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Uh, yeah, he said, ‘You feeling okay, Flip?’ I must’ve been pale or scared lookin’. You don’t see a ghost every day of the week.”
“Just Sundays, right?” Drew smiled.
“What?”
“Never mind.” He set the rest of his burger on the hood of the cruiser. “What else?”
“Well,” Flipper scuffed the bottom of his boot against the rocks and pebbles. “I said I was doing okay, then I asked how he was doing. Just like we was having a regular conversation.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said he was fine. Just fine. Just like nothing unusual had happened. Not like he’d been dead for two days straight.
Not like he was Lazarus walkin’ right out of the tomb. Which made me think, Hey, he’s been dead. What’s it like? So I asked him.”
Amused, Drew crossed his arms over his chest. “You asked him what it’s like to be dead?”
“Well not in so many words. I didn’t wanna be rude. So I said, ‘Where you been, Arch?’ And he said, ‘’Round.’ So I guess he’s just been hanging ’round town, floatin’ around or whatever ghosts do. I asked, ‘You see all right?’ And he said he could. I don’t know if he meant he could see everything, like what we was all doing or saying about him, or if he just meant he could see me fine. What do you think, Sheriff?”
Drew rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that was about it. Except I told him I’d been over to see Betty Lynne, paid my respects, you might say, and not to worry about her. You know, I just wanted him to know we’d all look in on her from time to time, make sure she was gettin’ by.” Then Flipper raised his chin a notch, his eyes widened, and he looked right at Drew. “He kinda got all weird and said, ‘You stay away from her. Hear? She’ll kill you just as soon as look at you.’” Flipper rubbed his hand along the butt of his revolver. “Now why you think he’d go and say somethin’ like that? About his own wife? You think she’s mad at me for something I done? That I didn’t know I done?”
In the end Drew sent Flipper home. The first thing he was going to do was check with Austin PD about the wreck involving Archie’s truck, then stop by the Old Hockheim Inn’s registration desk. Then he just might have to have a talk with Suzanne. And her mother.
Oh, yes, this day was shaping up just fine.
10
Suzanne
The Old Hockheim Inn, a tavern and hotel on the opposite end of Fredericksburg, is nothing like any place I’ve seen in California. Mike and I need cowboy boots and Stetsons, or maybe black leather, skull rags, and a Harley, instead of our designer jeans and button-downs, which might get us shot for some novelty critter and mounted with our heads on a wall in some good ol’ boy’s den.
Daddy suggested we meet him here. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust from the glaring sun outside to the darkness within. German steins and pictures of young frauleins decorate the wood plank walls, along with curling mounted horns. It’s quiet inside, no traffic noise, no jukebox music of any kind. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air like uncertainty and fear. I don’t know what to expect from this meeting. I don’t know what my father is going to say.
“Mike!”
Sitting in a booth, a foamy mug of root beer in hand, is my father. A half-empty bottle sits in its own puddle of condensation.
“Daddy?” I regret the doubt in my voice.
“Sugar Beet!” He opens his arms, and I squeeze in next to him in the booth. “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought you’d be with your mother.”
“I wanted to see you.” I hug him close, feel his warmth, his solid form. Tears press against my eyes, and I realize I had more doubt about his welfare than I cared to admit. Emotions bombard me from all directions. I’m not sure what to feel, what to say, what to ask.
“Thanks for coming.” Daddy pats me, then reaches out to shake hands with Mike. “I appreciate y’all coming all this way.”
“We’re happy to help any way we can, Daddy.” I keep a hand on his arm.
“Jake,” Daddy waves toward the bartender, “get my daughter and son-in-law here a couple of these.” To me he says, “That’s all he can serve this early.”
“I haven’t had root beer since I was twelve.” Mike slides into the booth opposite Daddy and me.
My father seems thinner than normal. Worry fuses with the other emotions stirring up inside me. He could rival Barney Fife for the Slim Jim award.
“How are you doing, Daddy?” My fingers pluck at his shirt sleeve.
“Been better.”
I put my arm around his narrow shoulders, want to take him home with us, back to California, and protect him from Mother’s wrath.
“Can’t believe you come all the way from California.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss out on all this family drama.” Mike grins.
“Oliver too?”
“He’s back at the house with Mother. He’s supposed to call us if she does anything out of the ordinary.”
Daddy dips his chin downward and looks at me steadily. “Out of the ordinary is her usual.”
My smile feels heavy.
Daddy shakes his head, his eyes solemn. “It’s like a family reunion, and I’m not even there. ’Course, Betty Lynne would kill me if I walked into the house right about now.”
“Something like that.” Mike flattens his hands on the table. “So how can we help?”
Daddy’s cheeks cave inward. Deep lines of regret settle around his eyes. He takes a swig of his root beer, sucks the foam off his top lip. In spite of all that’s happened, he sure looks better than Mother made him out to be. Head attached and all. He’s wearing his old Levis and a faded short-sleeved shirt. “These kinds of things are always hardest on the kids. And I’m sorry about that, Sugar Beet.”
“But Daddy, don’t you think we can fix things, patch things up between you and Mother?”
“Don’t know.” He presses his thumbs together, rolling them f
orward until the short-clipped nails meet. He pours more root beer into his mug and the bubbles swell toward the top. He shifts in his seat, his elbows bumping against the table. “Surprised me when you called this morning. It’s been quiet, like I’m dead or something.”
Mike and I exchange surprised looks. I turn toward Daddy. Doesn’t he know what all Mother has done?
“I didn’t want you kids affected by all this. Don’t want you in the middle of the gun battle.” It’s a little late for that. “I’m sure we can get all this settled. I figure I’ll lose most everything I’ve worked for my whole life. But it can’t be helped. Betty Lynne ain’t the forgivin’ type.”
“Daddy, we’ll do whatever you want us to do. But you should know,” I glance at Mike and he nods his support, “Mother’s taken it a little further than you might realize.”
“Gone ballistic, huh?”
Mike leans forward, his elbows on the table. “You know you’re dead. Right?”
“I thought she’d kill me, for sure, when I told her.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders, but he shows no sign of knowing his obituary will be in the paper tomorrow.
“I made sure my gun weren’t loaded,” he says, “and the knives were out of the way. If I’d stayed, it wouldn’t have surprised me to find arsenic in my soup. But, Sugar Beet …” His eyes soften as he looks at me.
Instantly I remember the hurt welling up in his eyes when Mother would make a cutting remark. I cup my hand over his to offer some comfort.
“I had to do it. There just comes a time when a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”
I’m not sure that’s God’s take on things. After all, there are a lot of recorded incidents in the Bible where God instructed a man to do just the opposite of what the man wanted. In fact, most of the time that’s the case. But my job at the moment is not to preach or lecture.
Jake brings two chilled mugs and two bottles of root beer hooked between his stubby fingers. He pours half a bottle, filling the mug with brown foam that spills over the top and slides down the outside of the glass and onto the table. I reach for the napkin dispenser and start mopping it up.