by Lynne Hinton
Roger shook his head. “They never acted like she was ever any different than the little girl who had learned to ride her bicycle side by side with Raymond or sat next to him on the school bus. They never quit believing the best in her.”
Agent Cochran shifted in his chair.
“So you ask me how I know this boy is innocent? You want to know how I’m so sure?”
The agent studied the sheriff, waiting for the answer.
“Because Raymond Twinhorse is just like his father. He was a good boy, and he is a fine young man. He is kind and loyal, and I believe the best about him because he is deserving of my faith. He earned it a very long time ago.”
Cochran didn’t respond.
“He is not involved in drugs. Believe me, I know those signs all too well. And he would never be involved in dealing them to others. He’s seen the harm that drugs will do. He’s not a thief. If something happened here, if there was some trouble of any kind, it is not about illegal activity, it’s about him being in trouble. And in exactly the same way Frank and Raymond were there for me and my daughter, I intend to be there for them.”
The FBI agent folded his arms and nodded his head. “Your point is well made” was his only comment.
There was a pause between them.
Cochran hesitated, glanced around the bar to see if anyone was listening. Roger watched as the young agent appeared to be making some decision. There was a long silent pause between them.
“I’m going to give you a bit of information, but if you tell anyone you heard it from me, I’ll deny it.” He studied the sheriff. “You got it?” he asked.
Roger nodded.
“If you want to visit Frank Twinhorse, today might be the best day to do that.”
Roger seemed confused.
“I can make that happen, but only today,” Cochran added.
Roger leaned away from the table. “I guess your partner is busy doing other things.”
Cochran nodded. “I suspect he’ll be preoccupied for most of the day. Of course, your friends in Pie Town might not be too thrilled about that.”
Roger stood up. He knew he should take the agent’s offer as soon as it was given. “Good seeing you, Agent Cochran,” he said and turned to walk away and then turned back. “So what made you decide to give me this opportunity, to let me see Frank?” he asked. “You growing a conscience?”
Cochran smiled. “Just a sucker for a good story,” he replied.
Roger grinned, stuck the toothpick in his mouth, reached for his phone to check his messages, and made his way out of the bar.
TWENTY-NINE
Something’s wrong. I can just feel it.” Malene had been trying to reach Trina all morning, and she wasn’t answering her cell phone. Malene had already left five or six messages in the last hour and was thinking about calling the dispatcher to send Danny over to check on her.
Roger had gone to Datil. He had explained before they left that morning to go to work that he was heading over to the Silver Spur to talk again to Gilbert. He was hopeful, he told Malene, that he would find some clue about why the robbery at the bar was of such interest to the FBI. Still, she figured he would check his voice mail. She had left a message for him to call her when he was heading home.
Malene had also left a message with Father George, who had responded to the urgency in her voice by coming straight to Carebridge. He was wearing his collar and carrying his Book of Prayer and his Bible because he only understood that there was an emergency and Malene needed him to come to the nursing center as soon as possible. Assuming that one of the residents was in need of a priest, he hurried from the parking lot to the nurses’ station where he knew Malene was assigned.
She started explaining as he rounded the corner in her direction. “Trina isn’t answering any of her phones, not home or work or her cell. I’ve tried all morning.” She shook her head. “No answer anywhere.”
George was surprised that the emergency wasn’t of a spiritual nature and didn’t have anything to do with the residents at Carebridge, but he clearly saw the worry on his friend’s face.
“Wait a minute,” he said, trying to catch up. “This is about Trina?” He recalled a conversation he’d had with Malene the previous evening about the young woman. “I thought you said last night that you saw a truck in front of her house?”
Malene had called George just after he returned from Albuquerque because Trina hadn’t shown up at her place, as originally planned, and she wanted to see if he knew her whereabouts. When he explained that he had been out of town and didn’t know anything, she had told him that she would go looking for Trina. She then later called again to say that she had driven over to Trina’s house and everything was fine.
“I saw her truck in the driveway, with another vehicle there too, but I never saw her. I thought maybe she had company or something.”
“Did Frieda see her?”
“Frieda told me that she took Alexandria to Gallup yesterday afternoon and stayed longer than she expected. When she didn’t get home until after dark, she left messages on Trina’s phone to let her know that the baby could stay at her house that night. She just thought Trina had gotten the messages and agreed to the plan. But now it’s after eleven o’clock, and Trina still hasn’t called or gone over to Frieda’s.”
“Well, now I understand why you’re concerned,” he said. He thought about that morning and where Trina might be. “Has anybody seen her at the garage?”
Malene shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to anyone else. You were the next person after Roger that I called.”
“Do you think she’s gotten an infection or something?”
“I don’t think so,” Malene replied. “She said she was feeling better.”
George thought about Trina and where she might be. “I’m sure she’s fine, probably just overslept. She’s been so tired lately. And the truck was probably just somebody in the neighborhood checking on her, Francine or Christine maybe.”
He recalled how exhausted Trina seemed the last time he saw her. She was so worried about Frank and Raymond, and she had mentioned to him that the burns kept her from sleeping very well. “But why don’t I go to the house and see if she’s there? If she’s not, I’ll also drive over to the garage.”
Malene appeared relieved. “Thanks, Father George. I would go, but I’m the only nursing assistant on this floor.”
George was getting ready to head back out to his car when he stopped and glanced out the glass door that led to the front parking area. He noticed again the sedan and the man who had been following him since yesterday evening. He had figured out the day before that he was being watched when he pulled into the Holy Family Church parking lot and the car that had been behind him on Highway 60 slowly drove past, went up the road about a hundred yards, turned around, and then stopped, parking on the street across from the church. He had seen the car again in the same place that morning.
“Hey,” he said, turning back to Malene, “do you recognize that car?” He pointed out to the sedan in the front lot.
Malene peered out the front door.
“That would be the FBI agents from Albuquerque,” she replied. “Williams it looks like. His partner is Cochran, younger, nicer. I don’t see him, though.” She kept watching. “I met them when I stopped by the diner yesterday morning trying to find Daddy.” She paused.
“Wonder why they’re here?” she asked. “I don’t expect that one of the residents has anything to report.” She turned to Father George. “Although Mrs. Henderson is pretty sure that we’re an alien agency processing center and that we’re doing testing on the residents. Maybe she called.”
She smiled at the priest, but he wasn’t listening very closely.
George kept staring at the man in the car. He thought about his visit with Frank from the previous day. Remembering that Agent Williams and Agent Cochran had been at the detention center, he suddenly realized that perhaps it was no coincidence that one of them had been following him e
ver since.
“I saw Frank yesterday,” he announced to Malene. She was dialing Roger to see how his meeting in Datil was going.
“In Albuquerque?”
George stuck his hands in his front pockets. He nodded.
“They let you in?” Malene asked, sounding surprised. She knew that Roger had tried all week to visit Frank Twinhorse and had been denied every time he made the attempt. She hung up the receiver.
“Yeah, Agent Cochran was there and gave the permission.” He turned around again to see the man in the car right outside the door.
“How was Frank?”
He faced Malene. “He’s okay,” George replied.
“Did he tell you where Raymond is?”
Father George hesitated. “I think so.” He blew out a breath. “In fact, that’s where I was heading this morning. I was packing the car with some things I thought I would need when you called. I figured I’d be gone most of the day.”
Malene waited. She could tell George had more to say.
“I think Frank told me in code where to find Raymond. He didn’t say hardly anything during the entire visit, and then just before I was leaving he quoted scripture to me.”
“Frank knows the Bible?” Malene asked. “I didn’t think Frank cared for Christianity or its texts.”
“I know,” George agreed. “Me neither.” He eyed the parking lot again. The car was still parked in the same spot. “I think it was a clue about Raymond’s whereabouts. I think Frank was telling me so that I could find him and let him know what’s going on here.”
Malene nodded. “It sounds like that could be what he was doing. I’m sure he doesn’t want Raymond to come into town with no idea about what happened in Datil the night he left.”
George glanced up the hall. He could see Malene’s supervisor coming up the hall. He nodded in her direction, and she waved to him. “I’m pretty sure we were being watched during the visit,” George noted. “And I’m pretty sure they’ve been following me ever since I left Albuquerque.”
“So you think they’re hoping that you’ll lead them to Raymond?”
George nodded. He suddenly had a sinking feeling that he had become part of the FBI’s investigation. It dawned on him that he had been allowed to visit with Frank not because of luck or because of Agent Cochran’s respect for a priest. Now it appeared that the visit had been a setup, and it also occurred to him that whoever had been listening during the visit may have also figured out the clue from Jeremiah, was already in Ramah, and had found Raymond. George shook those thoughts out of his mind, deciding to get back to the matter at hand. He would have to deal with Raymond and Ramah and the FBI later. Right now he needed to make sure Trina was okay.
“Maybe I should just get off work and ride by Trina’s,” Malene suggested, also mindful of the source of her worry. “Maybe you’re already in trouble, and if they see you running over to Raymond’s girlfriend’s house, you’ll just have more agents following you.”
George thought about the implications of what Malene was saying. He thought about his concern for Trina and how things had changed for him in the previous couple of years. He recalled that when he first arrived in Pie Town things were very different for him and his relationship with the young woman.
Because of what Trina had taught him about a generous spirit and because of what his first year in Pie Town had meant to him, Father George Morris was no longer concerned about what caring for others, being there for others, might cost him. Right now he had not given even a second thought to how his actions might look, or what their consequences regarding Trina or anyone else in the community might be. He did not care how it might appear to FBI agents—or anyone else for that matter—that he would drive over and check on the girlfriend of the young man they kept referring to as a fugitive.
“I don’t care if they follow me to her house. I don’t care if they stop and question me about what I know and don’t know. If Trina’s in trouble, then maybe it’ll be a good thing for them to be over there.”
He watched the agent sitting in the car. “Maybe I should just ask him for a ride.” And he winked at Malene and headed out.
THIRTY
Roger checked his messages when he got into his car and saw that Malene had called a couple of times. She was concerned, she said in her voice mail, about Trina. Apparently, there had been a strange truck parked in front of her house the night before, and this morning she wasn’t answering her phones. Malene was worried about her, and even though he knew he should be heading to Albuquerque if he wanted to see Frank, he figured he should check on Trina first.
When he arrived at the house, the truck that his wife had said was seen there the night before was still there. He felt himself get a little anxious. Who was visiting Trina from Texas, and had they been invited? Had they stayed all night?
He was getting out of his car when Father George pulled in right behind him. Roger waited until the priest had gotten out of his station wagon and was standing beside him.
“Guess you got Malene’s messages?” George was wearing his collar, something Roger had not seen him do except on Sundays.
“You have a funeral?” Roger asked.
Father George glanced down at his attire. “I thought it was a pastoral emergency over at Carebridge when Malene called,” he replied.
Roger nodded. He turned to look in the direction of the vehicle parked in the driveway. “You know who drives that truck?” he asked.
George shook his head, but then remembered something. “Wait a minute. I saw that car yesterday, just outside of town, when I was driving back from Albuquerque,” he noted. “You think Trina has company?”
Looking through the front window of the house, they could see that there was movement inside.
“Shall we both go in and check on her?” George asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Roger responded. “We’re both here.”
They walked to the front stoop. George noticed the dark sedan, slowly driving past them on the street, before he faced the door and rang the bell. He watched as the car continued heading west, away from them. He was about to say something to Roger about being followed, but then thought better of it. He was tired of thinking about the surveillance.
There was a short wait, and then the door opened.
“Hey,” Trina called out. Her face was flushed, and she seemed surprised to see her friends.
The two men waited to be invited in, but she remained standing at the door.
Roger tried to peek around her. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Perfect.” She could see the men were concerned. “Just have a surprise guest is all,” she replied, her voice about a pitch higher than usual.
Father George also tried to see around her to figure out who was inside. “Should we make their acquaintance?” he asked. He had never known Trina to be so reticent before, and he wondered who had caused her to act so nervous.
She paused and then pulled open the door, inviting both of them in. She walked in behind them and then passed them in the hallway to move inside and stand near the sofa.
Roger and George walked into the living room and saw a man sitting next to where Trina had stopped. He stood up with a big grin. He was nice-looking, about thirty-five they both guessed.
“Well, a priest and a sheriff,” Trina’s guest noted. “That can’t be good.” He reached over and squeezed Trina on the arm.
Roger introduced himself first. “Roger Benavidez,” he said, holding out his hand.
The man nodded and took the extended hand. “Conroe Jasper,” he responded. Then he turned to Father George. “Conroe Jasper,” he said, offering the same greeting to the priest.
Father George smiled. “George Morris,” he answered, taking the man by the hand.
“Well, my goodness, is everything okay?” the man asked. “Should me and Trina be worried?”
“Everything’s fine,” George replied. “We just wanted to check on Trina.”
&nb
sp; “Well, how about that? Trina never told me she had made friends with such powerful officials in her new town.” He winked at the men.
There was an awkward moment, and Trina motioned for the men to sit down. They all obliged, with Conroe taking his same spot again on the sofa, Roger and George sitting in the chairs situated on both sides of the couch. She remained standing.
“So how do you know Trina?” George asked. He glanced over at their hostess. She was clearly uncomfortable.
“Conroe and I met in Amarillo,” she answered for him.
George nodded.
“It’s been a while,” the stranger added, patting the space next to him for her to join him.
Trina sat down beside him, gingerly, as Roger and George noticed.
“What was the name of that little bar where you worked?” Conroe asked. But before she could answer, he asked another question. “And that bartender, what was his name again?”
“Lester,” Trina replied.
“That’s right,” Conroe noted. “He never did like me,” he added.
Roger cleared his throat. “You visiting Pie Town?”
“Funniest thing.” He laughed. “A couple of days ago I heard that a girl named Trina was living here. When I heard that, I couldn’t believe my luck. So I checked it out, and it was actually my Trina, here in Pie Town. I had a day off, and I just drove up last evening.” He winked at Trina. “I think I gave her a start.”
“Apparently Conroe ate at Fred and Bea’s a few days ago. Heard my name from Oris and came back.” Trina glanced over in George’s direction. “He stopped by last night and then again this morning,” she explained. “He was just returning to his home in Abilene when you got here.”
Roger and George both thought that sounded like a hint for the man to leave, but he didn’t seem to take it. He just smiled and nodded. “I can stay a little bit longer.”