“What?” Love said, voicing what they were all thinking.
For one crazy moment, Rett thought he meant he’d have to call the police on her for stealing Dale’s banjo. Had Mel told him she was hiding it at the feed store?
“I can’t figure it out,” August said, shaking his head.
“Figure out what?” Mel asked, carefully placing her fork across her plate.
“Aliens,” he said. “They’re writing all over the walls of Big Barn.”
TWENTY-ONE
Mel
Everyone was shocked silent. Mel was the first one to speak. “August, are you pulling our legs?” She reached over and gently punched his shoulder. Please, she thought, make it be a joke.
His deeply creviced face remained unsmiling. “Now, why would I be doing that? They’re writing all over the walls of Big Barn, and I’m telling you, I’m sick and tired of it.”
“Who wants pie?” Polly said, standing up. She picked up her half-full plate and started for the kitchen. “I’ve got peach and pecan. Vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. There’s more chicken too.” She bustled through the swinging kitchen door, Ace and Ring trailing behind her.
Mel focused on August’s face, hoping he’d suddenly grin and laugh. August had fooled them before.
“What does it say, August?” Mel asked in her calmest voice, the voice she used when dealing with people wearing tinfoil crowns who claimed there were talking dragons in their vegetable bins.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He took an aggressive bite from his chicken leg. “I don’t know what it says. That’s why we need to call the police. They have people who know these kinds of things, secret codes and whatnot.”
Mel glanced over at Love, whose face looked like a cameo. Not a muscle moved, her lips set in a frozen smile.
“I’m good with codes,” Mel said, keeping her voice casual. “How about after we have dessert, I ride up there and take a look.”
“I’ll saddle up the horses—” he started.
“I’ll ride with her, Pops,” Love said. “I think Polly and Rett could use help hanging the lights.” She glanced over at Rett and raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch.
“We do,” Rett said without hesitation. “I don’t really like ladders, so you have to do the high stuff.”
Quick on the draw, Mel thought. Her opinion of the girl went up a notch.
August smiled at Rett and raised his shaggy eyebrows. “Afraid of heights, are you? Did you know your daddy was too?”
“No, I didn’t,” Rett said, smiling back at him.
August launched into a long story about Tommy getting stuck in an oak tree when he was ten, how it took August and Cy two hours to talk him down. Mel watched, amazed, as August completely forgot about the alien writing on Big Barn and told one story after another about Tommy’s escapades as a boy.
Rocky and Magnolia arrived a few minutes later, while Polly and Love were serving pie and ice cream. Love whispered something to Magnolia, and they went to the kitchen with the excuse that they were fetching more napkins. Mel figured she was probably cluing Magnolia in on the story about the alien writing.
After dessert, Rocky walked with Mel and Love out to the barn, telling the others he just wanted to say hello to the horses, that he’d be back to help them decorate the tree in a few minutes.
“That’s just like a preacher,” August grumbled good-naturedly. “Leave the hard work of untangling the lights to us common folk.”
“August, be nice,” Polly said, patting her husband on his arm. Magnolia was pulling out boxes of ornaments, telling Rett about the time she helped Tommy make a set of clay bells to give to Love for Christmas.
Out in the corral, Mel caught both horses while she listened to Love tell Rocky what August said at lunch.
“I don’t understand how it could be happening so fast,” Love said, a catch in her voice. “He seemed fine a few weeks ago.”
“Dementia patients often change quickly,” Rocky said. “We really need to get him in for a medical workup. Have you talked to Polly about it?”
Love shook her head no, grabbing Daisy’s lead rope from Mel. “I think she’s just trying to ignore it, hoping it’ll go away. I sure understand that.”
Rocky sighed. “Do you want me to talk to them?”
Love led the horse over to the hitching post next to the tack room. “I’d appreciate that so much. Do you think we can wait until after Christmas? I mean, with Rett here and all. I don’t know how long she’ll stay and, well, I’d just like things to be . . . normal. It will likely cause a huge fight. You know how August feels about doctors and change.”
“I do,” Rocky said. “We’ll have to be vigilant on watching him until we can convince him to see the doctor.”
“I can’t ask you and Magnolia to do any more,” Love said, currying and brushing Duke’s dusty back before throwing on a saddle pad. “Especially this time of year and with your own family . . .”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put out the word in the church and see what we can come up with. I think I could talk Zane into coming out here for a few weeks. He told me his mom and great-aunt were closing the clinic for a week and going on a cruise over the holidays. He’s not going because he has a couple of gigs in San Celina over the Christmas holidays. He could stay out here nights. I could cook up a story about him being thrown out of his apartment or something. You know that Polly would let him stay with them if she thought he was homeless.”
Mel walked up leading Duke. “Isn’t it double bad when a preacher lies?” she asked.
Rocky grinned at her. “I think the Lord might forgive this particular bending of the truth.”
“It sounds workable,” Love said, throwing the saddle over Daisy’s back. “We’ll pay Zane, of course. Right now, Mel and I just need to think up something to tell August about Big Barn.”
“Check it out first,” Rocky suggested. “It might all be in his imagination. There’s also a good chance he’s already forgotten about it.”
Love turned her back on Rocky to buckle the cinch and pull it tight. He couldn’t see her face, but Mel, tacking up Duke, could. Bright tears glistened in her friend’s eyes. Mel felt sick, wishing she could do something to help Love.
“I hate this,” Love said. “To quote my granddaughter, it really sucks.”
Rocky walked over and patted her shoulder. “I know it does. Be careful on your ride.”
For the first ten minutes, Mel and Love didn’t speak. They kept the horses at a walk up the narrow cattle path toward Big Barn, about a mile ride from the house. The air was clear and sweet-smelling, the sky a crisp metallic blue. Mel started to relax, and her thoughts of August and Patrick and everything that was going on seemed to melt away with each step Duke took. She knew that this was only a short respite, that these things would need to be faced, but right now, all she wanted to do was inhale this honey air, watch the red-tailed hawks circle overhead and feel the sun on her face. But even the perfect moment she was experiencing right now couldn’t replace the memory of her vandalized garage door. It had only taken her fifteen minutes to paint over it, but the word was burned into her brain like a brand on a calf.
She glanced over at Love. “You okay?”
Love gave a half smile. “As okay as I can be under the circumstances. I knew this was going to be another hard Christmas, but if you’d told me three months ago what we’d be facing, I might have locked myself in my house and not come out until January.”
“How’re things going with Rett?” Mel clicked softly under her breath when Duke slowed down and attempted to sample some grass. “Let’s go, boy. We got miles to go before we sleep.”
“Robert Frost,” Love said, smiling.
Mel’s eyebrows went up. “What?”
“Who you just quoted. Robert Frost. The poet.”
Mel gave a wry smile. “I didn’t really know that. I think I heard it on a TV commercial. For a car.”
Love laughed. “Things are going pr
etty well. But, until she settles this thing with Dale, I’m not sure she can move on.”
Mel picked a burr from Duke’s coarse black mane. “It’s certainly complicated.” Mel thought that, maybe, not having siblings wasn’t so bad.
“To say the least. Patsy’s pregnancy is something we haven’t really discussed in great detail yet. But returning this boy’s banjo and making sure Rett doesn’t end up in jail are first on our agenda right now.” Love shifted in her saddle, the creaking leather a comforting sound to Mel. It occurred to her that it was a sound she’d only become familiar with in the last few years.
From a small rise, they could look down on Big Barn. Next to the tumbledown structure was a wooden, half-rotted corral. In an earlier era, the barn had been used to store extra hay and shelter young heifers. In faded pictures that August once showed Mel, there had been a rustic cabin on the other side of the corral. August told her about nights he’d camped out there with his father when they worked the cattle until long past dark. The only thing left of the cabin was its cracked foundation and a soot-stained stone chimney that looked to Mel like the saddest thing she’d ever seen.
“Let’s tie up the horses here,” Mel said, hopping off Duke. “We should walk in.” It occurred to Mel that August might be seeing some kind of illegal activity. Many of the remote sections of ranches in the county had been used by people setting up portable meth labs and marijuana farmers cultivating their crops. They caused no shortage of headaches for ranchers as well as law enforcement, since cleanup was always on the rancher’s dime. An old barn on the ranch of an elderly couple who didn’t ride around their land much anymore would be the perfect spot for drug activity.
“Stay here,” Mel said, pulling her little .38 pistol from her jacket pocket.
“I didn’t know you were packing heat,” Love said. “And I will not stay behind. I’m coming with you.”
“Packing heat?” Mel said, giving a low laugh. “What is this, Drag-net ? Just keep behind me then.”
“Yes, ma’am. We might need this.” Love held up a small flashlight.
“Good idea,” Mel said. The sun was still out, dusk an hour or so away, but it would likely be hard to see inside the barn.
When they reached a tree near the barn, she took the flashlight from Love. “Stay behind this tree for a minute. Let me check things out first. Really, it’s safer this way. I’m trained for this.”
“Okay,” Love said, moving behind the oak’s thick trunk. “But be careful.”
“Count on it.” Mel crept up to the barn, staying low. When she reached the building, she carefully moved around its perimeter, her gun held low to her side. She peered through gaps in the boards, unable to see much in the murky interior. But there was no sound coming from the barn, and no light likely meant that no one was inside.
After she walked completely around the building, she came back to Love, who stood next to the tree, her cell phone ready.
“Well?” Love asked.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s in there,” Mel said. “Still, we’d better be careful going inside. Pull the door open and keep to the side.”
When Love pulled the rickety barn door open, Mel stood on the other side and shone the flashlight into the barn’s dim interior. It was empty except for a few old pieces of farm equipment. Unseen birds rustled in the rafters. A startled mouse scampered across a moldy hay bale.
“Clear,” she called to Love.
Love was at her side in seconds. “You know, this might not be the smartest thing we’ve ever done. I tried my cell, and the signal came and went. What if someone was actually in here doing something illegal?”
“Too late now.” Mel forced her voice to be nonchalant, though she knew Love was right. They probably should have called the sheriff. But she also knew that something this ambiguous would get low priority. She flashed the light around the walls. Pale December sunshine leaked through the wide boards, zebra-striping the dirt floor. When the flashlight’s beam hit the north wall, she let out a small, surprised oath.
“Oh, my stars,” Love said, gazing up at the wall. It was covered with a long row of markings in blue, green, red and florescent pink. “It does look like some kind of code.” She cocked her head, studying the colorful marks. “I think . . .” She reached up, touched one of the bars and brought her fingers to her nose. “Yep, smells greasy. It’s paint sticks.”
“What?” Mel shone the light directly on the markings. They were about six feet off the ground.
“You know, those sticks we use to mark heifers.”
Mel stared at the colored figures.
After a moment, she slapped the side of her leg and laughed. “That crafty old codger. It’s Morse code!” She only knew that because her dad had tried to teach it to her when she was a little girl. Occasionally he used it to communicate with his assistant during his magic shows. She slipped her pistol into her jacket pocket. “August really did pull one over on us. I bet he’s laughing his socks off right now.”
“Maybe,” Love said, pressing her lips together. She pulled a tiny digital camera out of her Levi’s jacket. “I’ll take some photos, and we’ll see what he has to say.”
“Good idea.” Mel’s voice was casual, but inwardly she was cursing herself again. Why hadn’t she thought of bringing a camera? What if it hadn’t been a joke, and the writing was something important? She was losing her edge, her ability to be prepared for situations. It made her slightly afraid, knowing that Patrick was out there, likely more devious and prepared than she was.
When they arrived back at the ranch house and walked into the warm cinnamon-scented living room, Magnolia was playing “O Tannenbaum” on the old upright piano, and everyone was attempting to sing it in German. The laughter at their silly attempts to pronounce the German words sounded better to Mel’s ears than any famous singer she’d ever heard in Vegas.
“Hello, ladies,” Rocky said, handing Love a box of old, glittery ornaments. “Grab a cup of cider and join the festivities.” He turned to Magnolia and grinned. “Maybe “Feliz Navidad” will be easier for this group.”
Love and Mel waited for August to say something about their ride to Big Barn. But August didn’t even seem to notice they’d been gone. Finally, Mel couldn’t stand it any longer. She got another cup of cider and sat down next to August on the sofa.
“Things are okay at Big Barn,” she said. She elbowed him gently, grinning. “You really got us this time, August.”
August tilted his head. “Do say? When’d you go up there?”
Mel inhaled slowly, feeling her grin fade. “About half an hour ago. Love and I went to check out the writing on the wall.”
August scratched his whiskered chin. “That barn’s needed painting for years, but it won’t really pay to do it. Old place is falling down. We really should doze it.” Mel studied his expression. Not a speck of guile. He had no memory of telling them about the writing.
Mel looked over at Love, not knowing what to do.
Love shook her head: Let it go.
So Mel did, simply because it seemed something too big to face right at this moment. For the next hour, it felt like she’d fallen down Alice’s dark rabbit hole into another world, a world where normal people lived, where Christmas trees were decorated together, not alone because your parents either had gigs or were out drinking, and people sang Christmas carols as if there were some truth to them. Though she had a hard time believing that a little baby who would be the world’s savior was actually born in a manger over two thousand years ago, when Magnolia sang “O Holy Night,” Mel’s chest grew tight, and she wished there was someplace to put this feeling that seemed too ponderous and swollen to live inside her.
It was past five p.m. and dark when they finished decorating the tree and everyone started searching for jackets and scarves, ready to head home. Mel felt a stab of panic in her gut, not wanting to face her little house with its freshly painted garage door. Had Patrick come back and repainted the accusing words?
She couldn’t imagine him trying it in daylight. He’d surely notice that her neighbors were retired folks. He’d know that people like that would call the police without hesitation. Patrick had a rare opportunity last night during the parade. He was smart enough to know that. But who knew what else he might do?
On the drive home she came to the uneasy conclusion that she’d have to have it out with Patrick. How else could she convince him that she truly didn’t have any of Sean’s graft money? She wished that she had someone to talk it over with, someone who could assess the situation with a practical, unemotional eye. She swallowed hard and turned down her street. She wanted to talk to Cy. A tiny sob burst from her throat, surprising her.
“Damn it, Cy.” She felt her chest start to heave. “Why’d you have to go and die on me? Why?” She heard the word reverberate through the truck’s cab. “We needed you. I needed you.” She glanced up at the cab’s ceiling, then back to the road. “Some God you are. You stole the only person . . .” She stopped, feeling ridiculous. Who did she think was listening? And what she was about to voice wasn’t actually true. The only person who loved her. She knew that Love cared about her, as did Magnolia and Rocky, August and Polly and even the Muppet Brothers. The truth was, if she was sitting in some cosmic witness chair, she’d have to admit to whomever was questioning her, for the first time in her life, she belonged. She was a part of a community.
She pulled into her short driveway and cut the engine. Next door, the Biermanns, a German couple who once owned a popular bakery in the San Fernando Valley, were having a party. Their blue and gray salt-box house was lit up like a Macy’s department store window, and people overflowed the little house into their small sailboat-themed front yard.
“Hey, Mel,” Fritz Biermann called. “Come on over and have some Christmas cheer.” He held up a punch cup of red liquid.
“Thanks, Fritz,” she said. “But I think I’ve had enough holiday cheer tonight. Rain check?”
“You bet,” he said. “We’ll be eating leftover spinach dip for two weeks.”
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