Robyn shook her head. “Not tonight. We both have a lot to think about. And you and I both know that if I let you in here, thinking isn’t going to be our top priority.”
Weber reached out his hand to caress her cheek and Robyn pulled away. “Uh uh, not tonight, Jimmy. Go home and take a cold shower.”
He knew it wouldn’t do him any good to try harder and that wasn’t his style. Weber believed that when a woman said no, it meant no. He nodded and walked down the two steps to the yard, then turned back toward the house. Robyn looked at him for a long moment, started to say something, and then seemed to think better of it and shut the door.
Chapter 21
Anthony Wilson died early Thursday morning.
The doctor Weber spoke to, who said his name was Pavlovich, said that Wilson had spiked a temperature the night before and gone into cardiac arrest.
“We did all we could, but it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”
“Was his daughter there?” Weber asked.
“Ahh yes, the daughter,” Doctor Pavlovich said, “No, she hasn’t been here. As I understand it, she suffered a heart attack after her father was shot, so she hasn’t been able to get down here.”
Weber started to tell him that Bridget Harrelson had not had a heart attack, but instead asked, “Why do I think I hear a “Thank God” there?”
The doctor chuckled. “Oh, I’ve had a couple of long telephone conversations with Mrs. Harrelson. And the nurses who were taking care of Mr. Wilson tell me she has been a frequent caller. Apparently she is a bit high strung.”
“You could say that,” Weber agreed.
“When I called her to tell her that we lost her father, the first thing she did was cuss me out, and then she promised to sue me, the hospital, and every nurse and technician who came into contact with her father in any way.”
“Bridget has a certain way about her,” Weber told him. “Sort of a cross between a Gila monster and a rabid dog.”
The doctor chuckled again.
This is going to be really rough on the young deputy who shot him.” Weber said. “He’s already taking it very hard.”
“For what it’s worth, Sheriff, Anthony Wilson was an old man who was grossly overweight and in terrible physical condition. His cholesterol level was through the roof, his arteries were partially clogged, he had diabetes, and he was in the early stages of kidney failure. The death certificate will say that he died of complications from a gunshot wound, but even without that, his life expectancy would probably have been measured in months, not years.
Weber thanked Doctor Pavlovich for his time and hung up, wishing that fate would have visited a heart attack upon Anthony Wilson before Wyatt Trask had to shoot him.
***
When Wyatt Trask opened his apartment door and saw the grim faces of Weber and Chad standing in the apartment hallway, they didn’t have to say anything.
Tears began streaming down the deputy’s face. “Oh my God. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so,” Weber said. “He died at 3:10 this morning.”
Wyatt’s knees buckled and Chad quickly stepped forward to catch him. They helped him to the couch, where he slumped back and cried with deep, wracking sobs. While Chad tried to comfort him, Weber went into the kitchen and drew a glass of water and brought it to Wyatt.
“Here, drink this,” Weber said, but his words didn’t get through to the distraught man.
The sheriff knew from his own experience that there was nothing to say to ease the pain or make the horror go away. All they could do was be there for him.
***
After spending an hour with Wyatt, during which time he had finally cried himself out, Weber left him in Chad’s care and made a round of calls to the Town Council members to inform them of the unexpected development in the wake of the Thriftway shooting.
As expected, Kirby Templeton, Frank Gauger, and Mel Walker were supportive and concerned about Wyatt Trask, while Adam Hirsch, Councilwoman Smith-Abbott, and Mayor Wingate were quick to criticize Weber for allowing the situation to deteriorate to the point where lethal force was required.
“Do you know how this makes Big Lake look to the rest of the world?” the mayor demanded. “I can just see the headlines now, “Come to Big Lake, where we shoot first and ask questions later!””
“Chet, it was a justified shooting. The man was pointing a loaded gun at two people.”
“The sick old man,” the mayor corrected him. “Is that all you and your deputies know how to do, Sheriff, shoot children and the elderly?”
That was a low comment, even for the mayor, and Weber felt his anger building. He wanted to reach through the telephone and strangle the officious buffoon, but managed to control himself long enough to say, “Chet, until you’ve put your ass on the line and been where Deputy Trask or myself have been, you’ve got no right to criticize our actions. If you think either of our shootings were wrong, you can call the State Police and tell them so. They cleared me in the Rafferty shooting, and they will Wyatt, too. So put up or shut up.”
The mayor continued his harangue, but Weber wasn’t in the mood for it and hung up on him. He wanted to hit something, but consoled himself with lighting one of the evil smelling cigars he kept hidden in his desk drawer. Smoking in public places had been illegal in Arizona for years, but at that moment, the sheriff would have greatly welcomed the opportunity to confront anybody who wanted to object.
Chapter 22
The remainder of the week went by quietly. There were a few complaints about the hippies from residents who were more alarmed by their presence than anything they had actually done, and on Sunday when their camping permit expired, they started leaving the meadow, headed in every direction on the compass.
Weber drove out to the meadow just in time to catch Burt and Caroline as they were loading the last of their makeshift first aid station into the huge storage bays of their old bus. Unlike the other buses he had seen at the gathering, which had started life carrying schoolchildren, theirs was an MCI passenger coach that the couple had lovingly converted into a comfortable home on wheels. Caroline gave the sheriff a tour, proudly pointing out the handmade cabinets, environmentally friendly composting toilet, and the solar panels that allowed them to charge their battery bank from the sun.
“How long did it take you to build this?” Weber asked, with admiration at the craftsmanship he saw.
“We’ve been in it over fifteen years now,” Burt said, “and we’re still not done. There’s always something else to tinker with.”
Caroline presented him with a loaf of homemade wheat and oat bread, and hugged the sheriff as Burt started the diesel motor with a roar.
“You’re a good man, Sheriff Weber, and it’s been a pleasure to get to know you. We don’t usually get a good reception from the local gendarmes everywhere we go.”
“I’m just sorry that a few of our other citizens haven’t made you feel welcome,” Weber told her. “I didn’t see Jeremy and Randi. How is he doing?”
“He’s still pretty sore, and will be for a few days, but he’s fine. The bruises will fade. As for the memories, time heals all wounds, they say.”
Thinking about some of his own psychological wounds, Weber wondered if that was really true, but he just nodded and stepped back as Caroline went up the steps into the bus and turned to wave at him before closing the door. Burt put the bus in gear, tooted the horn at him, and they were gone in a puff of black diesel smoke.
***
Sunday afternoon, Pete and Mary had a cookout, and invited everyone from the Sheriff’s office, as well as several other friends. Pete stood at the grill in a cloud of delicious smoke, shooing away anybody who came near to help him cook. Weber was perched on the end of a picnic table, enjoying the day and watching the people around him as they visited.
Dolan and Buz were pitted against each other in a spirited game of horseshoes, teasing each other every time one of them missed the stake, and declaring it beginne
rs’ luck when they did score. Larry Parks, Chad Summers, Paul Lewis, and Carl Weston sat at the same table, playing cards and using wooden matches for chips. Judy Troutman was teaching a crochet stitch to Nan Bigelow from the school board at another table. Wendy Reed and Kathy Carelton were perched in lawn chairs discussing baby names and maternity clothes while MaryAnn Summers was inside helping Mary Caitlin and Abby Weston make potato salad.
“That’s it,” Paul chortled as he won a hand and raked in a small pile of matchsticks, “I’m going to close the paper down and retire to Las Vegas and play poker for a living.”
“Doesn’t one have to actually work before they can retire?” Chad asked as he shuffled the deck and dealt a new hand.
“Hey, I’m not like you,” Paul said as he collected his cards and grimaced, an expression that foretold a poor future for him as a professional gambler. “I don’t suck off the town’s teat to make my living. Every nickel I earn is by the sweat of my brow.”
“Yeah, I lead such a lavish lifestyle,” Chad said. “I’m just wallowing in luxury.”
“What did you do before you retired?” Parks asked Carl as he sipped from a longneck beer bottle and threw away two cards, hoping to draw something better. From the groan he let out, it was obvious he hadn’t. Chad quickly raised the pot four matches, and Parks folded.
“Nothing exciting,” Carl said, as he saw Chad’s bet and called him, laying down a pair of Jacks, backed up by a pair of eights. “I taught history at a small college back east.”
“Darn you!” Chad said as he revealed his own two pair of fours and sixes. “That’s three hands now. Give me a break. I’m gonna have to go pitch horseshoes with those youngsters if you keep this up.”
“Stop your whining, son,” Parks said as he shuffled the cards and began to deal. “You can’t throw horseshoes any better than you can play cards. Where did you teach back east, Carl?”
“Ladycliff College, in New York.”
“History was one of my favorite subjects in school,” Parks said, “I’ve always been a fan of Francis Marion down in South Carolina myself.”
“Every school has something to offer,” Carl said.
“Okay, I’m done,” Chad said, throwing in his hand after one glance at his cards. “I swear you two are conspiring against me.” Parks accused him of being a wimp and Chad said, “You card sharks have hustled the last matchstick you’re getting out of me.”
“Winners never quit and quitters never win,” Parks reminded him. But Chad wasn’t buying any of it.
“Hey, Jimmy, you want in on this friendly game?” Parks asked.
Just then, Weber spied Robyn coming around the corner of the house and said, “I’ll pass. My mother didn’t raise any fools. I saw the way you guys did Chad.”
He pushed himself off the table and walked over to Robyn, while behind him, Parks tried to cajole Chad to come back to the game.
“How are you?” Weber asked. Robyn had avoided him since the night of the Town Council meeting and their brief conversation on her front porch. The one time they had crossed paths was at the office on Friday afternoon, where there had been too many people around to talk privately. Robyn had collected her payroll check and left before Weber could figure out a discreet way to speak to her.
“I’m okay.”
“I came by a couple of times, but you weren’t home.”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy the last couple of days.”
Robyn wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Busy?”
“I just needed some space.”
“Have I been smothering you or something?”
“I don’t want to get into this here, Jimmy.”
“Sooner or later we need to talk.”
“Yes, but not now. I just want to have some fun and relax, okay?
“We can’t just ignore it, Robyn…”
“I’m not ignoring anything,” she said sharply. “All I’ve done is think about it. I’ve thought about it until it feels like my head is going to explode! Can’t I just not think about it for one afternoon. Is that okay, Jimmy?”
Weber held his hands, palm up, in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll back off.”
“Robyn? Get over here and help me, girl,” Marsha Perry called from across the yard. “We’re going to play the guys and show them how real women pitch horseshoes.”
“Look, Jimmy, I know I’m not good at dealing with things like this.” Robyn said as she touched his arm. “When I feel pressured in my personal life, my natural reaction is to withdraw into myself. I need to work through all of this. Just give me some time, please?”
Weber nodded as Marsha called Robyn again.
“Coming!”
She squeezed Weber’s hand quickly and went to join the game.
Later, as everyone was seated at the picnic tables enjoying their meal, Weber found himself sharing a table with Pete and Mary, Carl and Abby, and Parks and Marsha, with Robyn at his side.
“Oh, Pete, you are a true artist at the grill,” Carl said, as he sliced into his steak.
“Yeah, that’s him, an artist,” Mary agreed sarcastically.
“I’m thinking about getting rid of my old Stetson and wearing one of them there berets.” Pete said. “Maybe even get one of those fancy cigarette holders to stick my Camels in.”
“Yeah, well you do that and I’ll let my armpit hair grow out,” Mary told him. “We’ll just become a couple of beatniks.”
“Speaking of beatniks and other alternative lifestyles, have all those hippies left town?” Marsha asked.
“Why? You thinking about joining them?” Parks teased. “Change your name to something like Sesame Sunflower?”
“Hey, if it would give me an excuse not to shave my pits, I might just do it,” Marsha declared.
“I guess we could start calling you Mama Crass,” Weber said, and Marsha stuck her tongue out at him.
“They were headed out this morning,” Weber said. “Gregory Page from the Forest Service asked me to run out to the meadow to check things out, to see if they ruined the place.”
“And did they?” Carl asked.
“No, I didn’t see any trash or anything like that. Some tire tracks and ashes from their fires, but that’s about it. A lot of our weekend campers leave a bigger mess when they head back home.”
“Fess up,” Marsha teased, “You just went out there to see naked boobies, didn’t you?”
“Well, I am a fan of the female anatomy, in all of its various sizes and shapes,” Weber admitted. “But I assure you, this was strictly business.”
“More like monkey business,” Marsha laughed.
Weber felt a slight pressure on his leg as Robyn moved hers against his, and wasn’t sure if it was by accident or on purpose. She held the contact for a long moment and then it was gone as she started to tell Mary and Abby about a book she was reading.
“You know what the definition of a hippie is?” Pete asked, and when nobody replied, he said, “It’s a Jack that looks like a Jill and smells like a john.” The old sheriff cackled at his own joke, and the smiles he got were more at his enjoyment of his own sense of humor than anything else.
“Well, I’ll tell you right now, we don’t need their kind around here,” Carl was saying, as Weber tried to focus back on the conversation he had lost track of. “I didn’t have any patience for that long hair, anti-establishment crap when I was teaching and I still don’t. Take a bath and get a job, make something of yourself. How can someone go coasting through life without a care in the world, always taking and never giving back?”
Weber thought of Butch and Caroline, whose lifestyle may not have fit into the mainstream but who were giving something back, in their own way.
“Well, over all, they were a pretty good bunch, from what I saw,” Pete said. “Nothing like the folks around here were getting all fired up about, making all kinds of wild claims. Hell, I had more trouble with the fishermen and skiers when I was sheriff than Jimmy had with those hipp
ies.”
“That’s true, Pete,” Weber agreed. “Hazel Fuller must have called me half a dozen times. Every time she saw anybody she didn’t recognize walking down the road she knew it was a hippie intent on rape and pillage. And old man Tunrow was convinced that they had spiked the water supply with LSD. To hear people talk, you’d think they were going to be selling pot on Main Street and dancing naked around a pole in the park.”
“Well hell, Jimmy, that ain’t all bad,” Parks said. “I’ve always been in favor of paganism, myself.”
“That’s because you’re a heathen,” Marsha said.
“So you had a rough time with the hippies when you were teaching college?” Parks asked Carl. “But didn’t looking at all those pretty coeds in their miniskirts make up for it, at least a little bit?”
Carl shook his head and said, “Just so many pigs to me, all just passing time and not there to learn a damn thing. College was just an excuse for them to party and avoid the real world. Besides,” he said, patting Abby’s arm affectionately, “When you’ve got a lady like this at home, why would you even want to look at anything else?”
“Ahh, that’s so sweet,” Marsha said. “Someday I want the kind of relationship you two have.”
“Forty-one years,” Carl said. “And I’ll tell you what, I love this lady more every day.”
Weber felt Robyn’s leg against his again, and this time she maintained the contact. He slipped his hand under the table and rested it on her upper thigh, and a moment later Robyn’s hand found his and held it for a moment before she reached to help pass a bowl of mixed vegetables from Mary to Parks.
***
The sun was low in the sky when the party broke up and people started drifting away. Robyn lingered to help Mary and Abby wash dishes, in spite of their hostess’ claims that they weren’t needed and that Pete would be happy to help her with the cleanup chores. And even if he wasn’t all that happy about it, he needed to earn his keep.
Weber, Pete, and Carl sat on the front porch and watched the shadows lengthen in the yard until the women were done and had joined them.
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