Death on the High Lonesome

by Frank Hayes

  “Got the whole place to yourself. Probably even the rats have left.”

  She purred contentedly. He set her back down, then walked back out to his truck. He grabbed a bale of hay from the bed of the pickup, brought it back into the barn, then set it down outside the stall. He put his knee into the center, pushing it into a V shape so he could pop the hay cords. Then he took three flakes, opened the stall door, and dropped them into the hay rack. All of the wood had the rich, dark patina of age and use. He rubbed his hand over the edge of the top trim of the hay rack. From the decades of animals rubbing their necks on it as they reached in for hay, it showed no wood grain and was as smooth as marble.

  Virgil went back outside and unhitched the horse trailer. Jack was still in the corral. Finally, he walked down toward the house. Marian Davies was outside in the flower garden. When she saw him coming, she stood up. He saw a profusion of flowers lying in neat piles at her feet.

  “Mom loved her gardens and her flowers. Some of them have already been nipped by the frost. I figured I’d gather up what I could. The mums look okay. The white and yellow will look good with a mix of the blue asters. See if I can keep them fresh enough to bring to Simpson’s when we can get Mom there for a last good-bye.”

  “That’s a real nice idea,” Virgil said. “Rosita . . . Rosie, who found your mom, loves her gardens.”

  “I don’t remember her, but Dave Brand, her husband, was in school with me. Really nice guy.”

  “Still is,” Virgil said. “He’s one of my deputies. Actually, he’s in charge of the annex down in Redbud.”

  “Redbud? Why down there? Nothing but cactus and armadillos.”

  “Guess it’s been a while for you. Since the interstate interchange was completed, there’s a motel, a Quik and Easy, and the headquarters of Hayward Trucking.”

  “Micah Hayward running the operation down there? Heard about Audrey. She was a piece of work.”

  Virgil couldn’t stifle a smile at the reference. “I guess you could say Audrey was one of a kind. As far as your question, Caleb, Micah’s son, handles most of the operation down in Redbud while Micah, now that Audrey’s gone, oversees everything at Crow’s Nest.”

  “Guess when you’re out of the loop, the wheels keep turning. People die, children grow up.”

  “Yes. The past is the past.” Virgil glanced back at the empty corrals and barns.

  Marian followed his gaze. “So, what can I do for you, Virgil?”

  “Was wondering if I could ask a favor. I’ve decided to go visit my grandfather. Then I’ll either stay there tonight or head back to my place. If you could ask my foreman, Cesar, before he’s leaving with his last load of hay to put Jack in that first stall in the large barn, I’d appreciate it. He’ll see it’s set up for him. This way I won’t have to stop back, but I’ll be here to get an early start in the morning.”

  “No problem, Virgil. But if you don’t know that country up there, how do you figure you’re going to be able to find Dad?”

  “Well, I’m hoping to get lucky.”

  * * *

  It was a little after noon when he started up to the mesa. His stomach was growling. He’d worked hard to keep the plane crash in the Superstitions on the back burner, but it hadn’t been easy. Real-time images of him and Ruby together or her alone kept randomly popping into his mind. There was some comfort in going to see a man who had been an anchor point in his life. He had buried two wives and all of his children, none of whom had made it past forty. Now he was presiding over third and fourth generations. He gunned the engine at the last rise, then pulled his truck next to his grandfather’s double-wide. When he got out, he saw no signs of life, so he went inside. He had just sat down at the kitchen table with a sandwich and a soda when the door opened and his grandfather came in carrying some packages. Virgil got up and took them from him.

  “There’s more outside, Virgil.” He went outside and saw Mrs. Hoya struggling with a case of soda she was trying to get out of the back of the pickup.

  “Here. You go inside. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

  “Thank you, Virgil.” She insisted on carrying one of the bags. By the time he finished his last trip, they had already put away most of the groceries.

  “Seems like you got enough here to last a month.”

  “Oh, most of this is for tomorrow,” Mrs. Hoya said.

  Virgil sat down to eat the sandwich he had made.

  “We didn’t expect you today,” his grandfather said.

  Virgil spent the next few minutes explaining why he would not be able to make his customary Thanksgiving visit.

  “Well, we will miss you,” his grandfather said. “I understand, but I am concerned. That’s rugged country. You will be alone.”

  Virgil sat quietly, listening to yet another person telling him to be careful, but this was his grandfather, who knew well the dangers of the world. He spent a couple of hours visiting with both his grandfather and Mrs. Hoya. They brought him up to speed on all the reservation gossip. A couple of times as she was speaking, he saw his grandfather roll his eyes. Finally, he stood to leave.

  “You are welcome to spend the night.”

  “I know, but I thought maybe I’d get home before Cesar and the boys finish their last hay run. I’ll be there to help them and I can take care of the barn chores tonight. Cesar still thinks he’s a young man.”

  “Only in his head,” Grandfather said. “When he gets out of bed tomorrow, his body will tell him otherwise and tomorrow you will be a pilgrim.”

  “A pilgrim?”

  “Yes, you know the story of the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving. One time, long ago, I looked that word up in the dictionary. I think it was after an argument with my brother. He didn’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving. I think he said it should be a day of mourning for all Indians.”

  Virgil sat back down. “You didn’t agree, Grandfather?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure. But my brother was so adamant, he got me angry. He did that a lot. You know what people today say: pissed off. He used to piss me off a lot. So I looked up that word, ‘pilgrim.’ A pilgrim is a seeker, someone who is looking for something. It didn’t say what they were looking for, but I think a pilgrim is looking for answers because he doesn’t know. You are looking for answers, too. That’s why tomorrow you will be a pilgrim.”

  “Did your brother change his mind?”

  “No. He was hardheaded. He was one of those people who think they know everything.”

  “How do you feel about Thanksgiving now? Billy Three Hats calls it the white man’s feast.”

  The old man looked about the trailer and at Mrs. Hoya before he responded. “I think it was a good thing for those people. They had come through some hard times and survived. Everybody goes through hard times in their life. My brother said that they killed Indians and the others that came after them did the same. He was right, but they weren’t the first to do that. Indians had been killing one another, long before those people came. I think it is a good thing to be thankful, especially after you’ve lived through difficulties. Anyhow, I am thankful.”

  He reached across the table, covering Virgil’s hand with his. When he withdrew it, he covered Mrs. Hoya’s hand in the same way. She was beaming.

  “Grandfather, I hope someday to be as wise as you.”

  “When I first saw you today, Virgil, there was sadness in your eyes. I don’t know why. You don’t have to tell me. But you are a seeker. Someone who seeks answers is already wise.”

  Virgil carried the conversation with him when he left.

  * * *

  He had just passed through Hayward, a couple of miles to go before the turnoff to the ranch. As he rounded a curve, he came upon a pickup off on the shoulder. He slowed, then pulled up in back of the vehicle. He got out and walked around the passenger’s side of the truck to the front. He saw
a young woman was talking on a cell phone. When she saw him, she quickly ended her call. Virgil thought she looked familiar.

  “What’s the problem?” Virgil asked.

  “I ran out of gas. Meant to get some before I left town, but with shopping for tomorrow, I forgot. I was hoping, when I realized I was almost out, that I could make it home, but . . .” She raised both hands in dismay.

  “Well, we’ve all done it. Don’t worry, I’ve got gas in the truck. Give me a minute and you’ll be on your way.”

  Virgil got his five-gallon gas can from the bed of his pickup, then poured it into the empty tank.

  “You’re all set,” he said.

  “Aren’t you the sheriff?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I didn’t recognize you at first, out of the uniform. I’m Hayley, the nurse from the hospital. I remember when you came looking for Jimmy Tillman.”

  “Oh, yes. I knew you looked familiar, but you’re also out of uniform.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess we’ve both got to pass for civilians once in a while. Otherwise, we just become vaguely familiar faces. Sheriff, wait till I get my wallet. For the gas.”

  Virgil waved no, shaking his head. “Gas is on me. Better get home with your groceries. Glad I could help. I’ll wait to make sure she starts right up.”

  Hayley climbed into the cab. The first time she turned the key, the engine came alive.

  “Thanks, Sheriff. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Virgil watched as she pulled off the shoulder onto the hard surface. A small dust cloud stirred up as the back tires dug into the shoulder before catching the hard surface.

  “Damn. Damn, that’s it.” He pulled out his cell, then speed-dialed Art Kincaid’s number.

  “Ark.”

  “What’s up, Virgil?”

  “That girl, Ark. That poor girl who hit Jimmy’s cruiser. Remember, I said she looked familiar. Coupla months back, she had a blowout. I came upon her alongside the road. I stopped and changed the tire for her. I knew I had seen her before. She was wearing a kind of uniform with a logo on the pocket. You know the kind of outfit, work clothes, same color, maybe olive green, khaki. The pickup had a logo on the door also.”

  “What was it, Virgil?”

  There was a long pause.

  “I can’t remember,” Virgil said. “I’m trying to picture it, but I’m drawing a blank.”

  “Well, without it, your recall doesn’t give us that much more.”

  “Yeah, I know. At least I know I’m not cracking up. I mean, I’ve been looking at that woman’s face a lot of nights when I was trying to get to sleep. Now at least I know where I met her.”

  “True, but like we talked about when you were in the office . . . now you’ve only got more questions. What was she doing? Where was she going or coming from? What company did she work for? Maybe if you get answers to some of those questions, then we can figure out who she is.”

  Virgil sat in his pickup after the conversation ended. He put his cell phone in the console, looking out at the empty, winding road. He was no closer to identifying the unnamed woman lying under a sheet in the basement of Hayward Memorial. He didn’t know how, but he was going to find out her name, why she was in Hayward, and how she came to flying out of the night to land on Jimmy’s cruiser.

  16

  Virgil had finished the last of the barn chores by the time Cesar, Pedro, and José pulled in with the final load of hay. Each of them was driving a pickup. The beds of each pickup were loaded as were the hay wagons each was pulling. Virgil waited for them as they pulled up.

  “Looks like a parade,” he said as they exited their respective vehicles. “I’d have hated to be driving a car in back of you guys.” They all looked whipped.

  “We should have thinned the herd,” Cesar croaked, shaking his head as he brushed off the chaff from his pants.

  “Hang on a minute,” Virgil said as he turned and ran over to the house. A couple of minutes later he was back with a pitcher filled to the top, along with some plastic cups. Each of the men took a cup, filled and emptied it in one swallow, then filled it again. “That’s a lot of hay. I saw what you already sent up the conveyor. Have you got it all?”

  “As much as we’re gonna get for now. Depending on the weather, this should take us at least to February, I figure,” Cesar said.

  “That being the case, we’re not going to send this all up the conveyor, only the stuff in the beds of the pickups. The hay wagons we’ll line up in the walkways of the barns. Leave the hay in them, feed that first.” José and Pedro each smiled at the suggestion.

  “I don’t know,” Cesar said, wiping the smiles off their faces. “We have to get those hay wagons back along with that third pickup we borrowed.”

  “They won’t need those hay wagons till next year. I’ll square it with Marian Thompson. I mean, Davies. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. I can drive their pickup down there tomorrow. When I come back from my search for Charlie Thompson, I’ll call. You can come down and get me and Jack. You and these boys are done for the day.” Virgil saw the relief come into the eyes of José and Pedro, then almost reluctantly, Cesar. “Fellas, if you could just empty what’s in the bed of your pickup onto the elevator, you can get out of here for your Thanksgiving holiday.” Virgil didn’t have to ask them twice. While they did that, he insisted Cesar go take a shower and get out of his work clothes. By the time Cesar returned, Virgil had backed the hay wagons into the barns, then sent the two pickup loads of hay up the conveyor to join what was already there.

  “Looks like you’re going to need a shower now,” Cesar said. “By the way, I put Jack in that stall before I left. He’ll be waiting for you. Be careful up in that backcountry tomorrow.”

  “I will, don’t worry. See you in a couple of days.” Cesar walked away, shaking his head.

  When Virgil stepped into the kitchen, he could see the message light flashing on the phone. He drank the last of the ice water from the pitcher he had brought out to his men. It felt good going down, but was a reminder to him that he had hardly broken a sweat compared to the physical exertion of Cesar, Pedro, and José. He punched the button on the phone. He heard Kyle Harrison’s voice.

  “Virgil, the search continues. Nothing yet. I’ll call if there’s a change.” The second message kicked right in. He recognized Virginia’s voice.

  “I stopped by your office to find out what you were doing for Thanksgiving. Your deputy Jimmy filled me in. Doesn’t seem like much of a holiday for you. Maybe we can do better at Christmas. By the way, it’s pretty obvious you really have two children. Me, by way of the old-fashioned method. Jimmy, by adoption. You are definitely the father he never had. See you soon.” There was a brief silence. “I hope.” Virgil reached over to erase the second message, but instead of deleting it, played it again. When it ended, he sat for a moment listening to the silence. Then he got up, went upstairs, and took a shower.

  * * *

  There wasn’t even the faintest glow on the horizon when he walked to the borrowed pickup the next morning. The roosters were still fast asleep. The night was reluctant to let go. Even the pickup rebelled until the third try. It was cold. It didn’t feel any warmer, sitting on the cold vinyl, waiting for the engine to catch. When it finally did, it had the raspy sound of an old man coming off a three-day drunk. He got to the end of the driveway before he realized he had left the saddlebags sitting on the kitchen table. By the time he left the house the second time, a rooster was crowing, the faintest glow showed on the horizon, and the engine was humming like a Jimmy Buffett tune.

  Driving down the eight-mile driveway to High Lonesome ranch was an exercise in dodging most of the wildlife that called Hayward County home. At the end, he saw a light, surprisingly coming from the barn. He pulled up close, turned off the engine, then stepped out of the cab. He was caught off guard when he saw the figure of Marian Dav
ies as he stepped inside.

  “Morning, Virgil.”

  “Morning,” he answered. “It wasn’t really necessary for you to come out here this early. Hope it wasn’t just for me.”

  “No. It was because of me,” she answered. “I got to thinking after you left yesterday. You’re giving up your holiday to go look for my dad. I’m sitting here doing what? There’s something wrong with this picture. So, Virgil, you’re not going alone after all. But before you go stereotype on me, you need to know two things. My dad set me on a horse long before I could even stand. So don’t go looking for me over your shoulder because I won’t be back there. The other thing is, I know this country, you don’t. I’ll be better than a GPS and you can yell at me if I make a mistake. By the way, I fed, watered, and saddled your horse for you.”

  “Jack let you saddle him?”

  “He was a little balky at first, but when he figured out I knew what I was doing, he settled right down. I notice you got a snaffle bit on him. He must have a real light mouth.”

  “Yes. He’s got a soft mouth, doesn’t need a curb.” Virgil was a little taken aback by the exchange, discussing bridle restraints with Marian in her barn at six in the morning. It didn’t look like there was going to be any place for his input. “Well, I guess we’d better get this show on the road.” He made the remark without a great deal of conviction. She didn’t seem to notice as she opened the stall next to the one she had just led Jack from after she had placed Jack’s reins in Virgil’s hands.