Twilight, Texas

by Ginger Chambers

  Melanie uttered a little squeal, something like a kitten caught in a tight space, then hurried down the street, the perfect little heels of her perfect little shoes tattooing against the old wooden sidewalk planks.

  Bette doubled over with laughter and was joined by only a slightly more circumspect Karen.

  “You are truly evil,” Karen said, once she’d recovered enough to speak.

  “She deserved it!” retorted an unrepentant Bette. “Trying to steal my man!”

  Karen blinked. “You think—”

  “I more than think—I know!” Bette said, no longer laughing. “And this time I’m ready for her. She pulls anything and she gets it, whether it causes problems with our movie premiere or not!”

  “But John—”

  “I told you before. John’s not himself when she’s around.”

  “Have you ever thought he might only be excited by the plans?”

  “It’s the plans I’m worried about. I’m just not sure which ones they are.”

  “Surely—”

  “I think I’m going to see how things are progressing down at the hotel,” she interrupted, returning to her devilment. “Wanna come along?”

  Karen shook her head. She didn’t want to get any more involved with Bette’s war on Melanie, and she didn’t want to meet Lee. So far over the past few days, she’d only seen him from a distance. And that had been more than enough. Even though she’d drawn her line and was holding out for the town, she wanted to be with him. She wanted to hear his voice, feel his touch.... She didn’t think placing herself where she’d be close to him would be a good idea.

  She watched as Bette left and wondered if he’d be there.

  KAREN, WAS IN THE STORAGE shed and had just finished filling a box with children’s toys to take upstairs and compare with the ones in the reference books when she saw John walking desultorily across the backyard. He was headed away from the saloon toward the hotel, but there was no spring in his step.

  “John?” she called.

  John turned hurt and confused eyes on her. “Bette just told me to get out of my own place! I don’t understand. All I did was tell her that Melanie said the media was set for sure to arrive on Saturday and she exploded. It’s like she doesn’t want Twilight to become well known. Like she’d just as soon see it wither away. And I can’t understand that, neither!” His lament ended on a spurt of anger.

  Karen motioned for him to follow her upstairs. She saw him in, sat him down and talked to him in a way that she hoped would help. “John, when did you notice Bette behaving like this last?” she asked.

  John scratched his thinning gray head. “You mean her bein’ irritable?”

  “Uh-huh. The last time. It was about the time Melanie Taylor was here to secure the agreement for the preview, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. She got all testy, like she didn’t give a dam. I thought she was mad ‘cause I was so busy.”

  Karen smiled. “John, she’s jealous.”

  “Jealous?” He repeated the word as if it were foreign to him.

  “Of you. Of Melanie. She thinks something’s going on between you. There isn’t, is there?”

  John almost leaped out of the chair. “Me? And Melanie? Gee whillikers, no! She’s just twenty-six or seven, and I’m—” He stopped, stared at Karen, then said incredulously, “Bette really thinks that?”

  “She says that every time Melanie comes around, you’re different.”

  “That I‘m—I like thinkin’ I can do somethin’ to help this place,” he explained. “Make a difference, you know. That makes me feel good. An’ I guess I do get carried away sometimes. Thinkin’ of things. But me and that young girl?”

  “Maybe you should include Bette a little more. She probably feels left out. What do you think?”

  John still seemed stunned. “Yeah. Sure. I guess so. I can try.”

  Karen smiled. “You do that.” Then she thought of something else she’d wanted to talk to John about. “John, do you have another minute?” she asked.

  “Sure. Is there somethin’ else I’m not doin’ right?”

  “Only one thing, but it might be a biggie, too. John? Did you alter a headstone for Nate Barlow? Bette told me you found it and set it up again, but I don’t remember one being there before and neither does Pete.”

  John looked longingly at the door, as if he’d like to rush out of it. His wife had tossed him out in a fit of jealousy, and now Karen had caught him in an act of deception. It seemed more than his poor tired brain could deal with at the moment.

  “Did you, John?” Karen persisted.

  “Well...yeah. But it was only because I thought it would spice up the cemetery. Give people somethin’ to talk about. Hank was in on it, too.”

  “You took a headstone from another grave with a similar name?”

  “year....”

  “Didn’t you think someone might notice?”

  “I did a pretty good job.”

  “What about the Harlons?”

  “The who?”

  “The Harlons. If they have descendants, they might notice. Didn’t it bother you to steal that poor man’s headstone?”

  John shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t really need it anymore. An’ I didn’t think he’d mind if it’d help get Twilight famous. I wouldn’t.”

  Karen gave a long sigh.

  “Are you mad at me, too?” John asked, looking wounded.

  “A little bit,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. He hadn’t meant anything terrible. He didn’t know that by his simple act he’d added to the evidence condemning Twilight, rather than advancing its cause. And she wasn’t about to tell him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE LADY SLIPPER WAS jumping with happy people on Friday night. Most of the hardest work had been completed. The interior of the hotel had only to pass a final inspection by John the next morning, and the setup by the studio workers was well ahead of schedule. Melanie, pleased, had reported their progress to her boss, Raymond Armstrong, who replied that he was looking forward to his visit to Twilight. He would arrive the next day, she told everyone, along with a fleet of small trucks and a flotilla of additional workers who would execute the final preparations for the preview. Probably near the same time as the media guests. Even Pete was in the Lady Slipper. Like many converts, he had become one of the town’s most enthusiastic supporters. He’d created a nice niche for himself as the old sage, thereby ensuring an attentive audience for his stories.

  Lee and Manny sat at the bar while Diane flitted from table to table, enjoying the chance to socialize.

  One after another, singly or in small groups, the townspeople stopped by to clap them on the back or give them warm handshakes and hugs. It was as if they knew instinctively that this short lull would be the last they’d get until after the premiere. And they wanted to be sure the “Western Rambles” crew knew they were appreciated.

  “You folks are like family now!” Pepper Douglas exclaimed. “Gonna make us stars, too!”

  Rhonda Peterson grinned. “Those Hollywood people aren’t going to have a thing on us!”

  Hank pumped Lee’s hand. “You know? When I first heard you was comin’, I thought, ‘They ain’t gonna do us any good. They’ll just get in the way with their cameras and their fancy ways.’ But you’re all great! I’m not sure we’da made it through with our renovations if you hadn’t pitched in to help. Manny, you sling a good hammer. You, too, Lee. I’d be proud to have the both a ya on any reconstructin’ job I do in the future.”

  “Maybe we can convince ’em to come back and help us with the museum,” Joe proposed.

  “What museum?” Manny asked.

  “The one we’re gonna put in the buildin’ next to this. Right over there.” He pointed behind the bar. “On the other side.”

  “What kind of museum?” Lee asked.

  “Oh, this ’n that. Old Twilight stuff. Old ranch stuff.”

/>   “Maybe I can get my family to donate a few things to the cause,” Lee offered, then realized what he’d said and glanced at Manny, who, for the moment, was studiously gazing at the bottom of his glass.

  “Hey, that’d be great!” Joe said.

  When they moved off, Mary came over. “Have you boys gotten your Twilight Texas T-shirts yet?” She handed them each a shirt. “Now, don’t even think about paying for ‘em. Your money’s no good here. These are for you, with our compliments.”

  The player piano stopped suddenly as Benny hurried over. He hugged each man in turn, saying, “My momma’s so happy!” He looked around them, grinning. “Everybody’s happy!” Then he hurried over to Diane and gave her a surprise hug, before settling back at the piano to start working the foot pedals again, his shoulders bobbing and weaving with the effort.

  “He’s really enjoying himself,” Mary said, her smile beaming proudly.

  Minutes later Carmelita and her extended family offered their regards. Juanita was excited about the arrival of the stars, especially Johnny Mehan, Hollywood’s latest bad-boy heartthrob, who’d taken the role of Nate Barlow.

  “Have you ever met him before?” she asked. “He’s my favorite. I read where he and Andrea Wright fell in love when they were making the picture. Do you know if they’re still together? I can’t wait to see them here. Do you think we’ll get to meet them...talk to them?”

  Lee pointed to Melanie. “That’s the lady you need to talk to. I bet she could set it up for you.”

  “Oh ... couldn’t talk to her.” She shook her head shyly. “She’s too—she‘s—she’s busy all the time.”

  Manny pushed off his stool. “C’mon. I’ll bet she’s not too busy now.”

  “Oh!” Juanita cried, and bounced as she kept up with him.

  A half hour later Lee had all the merriment and well wishes he could take. He slipped, unnoticed, out the saloon’s back door and walked into the night. With his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets, he wrestled with his predicament. What was he going to do? How could he let all these people down—turn their dreams to dust—when they considered him a friend? When they trusted him?

  He glanced at the apartment over the antique shop. A light was on in a bedroom, from what he could remember of the floor plan. What he wanted more than anything at that moment was to go up those stairs and forget the weight of responsibility. Lose himself in the warm sweetness of Karen Latham’s arms. Forget that he had to make a decision.

  But the media was coming tomorrow. The media with its prying eyes.

  As he continued to walk, Lee thought about his long-dead relation Byron Parker. Would Byron care that he hadn’t received the credit for rescuing the child? If he’d wanted it, wouldn’t he have done more than write a pair of accounts that, at most, had been seen by the local sheriff, then folded into the pages of a book to be forgotten by time? Mae’s opinion was that it was enough that Byron knew. The Parkers didn’t ask for attention or for gratitude or rewards. They did what needed to be done and never looked back. A code he’d always tried to be faithful to, as well, even if most of his time was spent off the ranch. What would the Parkers who’d come before him advise him to do?

  One thing would be to stop concerning himself with matters that surrounded the problem and just concentrate on the problem itself. Not think about Karen. Not think about the film studio. Not think about either the good or the bad results for “Western Rambles.” Maybe then he could sort it all out.

  When he’d set out walking, Lee had had no clear idea where he was going, but it was no surprise that his subconscious had led him to the cemetery and the headstone that was symbolic of all his trouble.

  He stared at it for a long time, barely able to make out the crude carving. Yet he knew the lettering by heart: Nate Barlow, Valued Friend.

  Lee felt a tingling start in the soles of his boots, then spread throughout his body. Imaginary or real, it compelled him to action, and the next thing he knew he reared back and kicked the holy heck out of the headstone, knocking it flat. Then he grabbed hold of it, hefted its weight and flung it into the weeds.

  Triumphant, he stood there as the reality of what he’d done washed over him. He’d made the decision. Relying not so much on intellect but on instinct to show him the way—and possibly with a little help from some Parkers of old and the unknown spirits of the Harlons—he’d come down on the side of the town.

  The huge weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. The town would live. The people, he hoped, would prosper. At least, if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be because of him.

  The truth of the Twilight legend would remain a secret.

  SOMEONE KNOCKED on Karen’s door the next morning. Not hard, but long—a knock meant to wake her. She stumbled into her robe, remembering the day the trucks had arrived. Pausing to listen, though, she heard nothing—except the rapid knocking.

  “Who is it?” she called through the closed door. She could imagine what she looked like. Hair everywhere in a curly mass, eyes bleary from too little sleep, her face totally devoid of makeup. She had no idea what time it was, but judging by the brightness, she’d overslept.

  “Open the door, Karen. It’s me—Pete!”

  This was a first. Pete never paid house calls. She stepped quickly out of the way and let him inside.

  Pete looked as he always did, only this time, he was more excited than usual. He rushed into speech. “I waited as long as I could, until I couldn’t wait no more! I hafta tell you what I saw last night. Darnedest thing! I heard somebody goin’ by, so I looked outside, and who do you think it was? Lee! Walkin’ along all sorry for himself. Hands in his pockets, head down. Like a whupped dog. Not like him at all. Anyways, I kept watchin’ him, and he goes into the cemetery... just like before. He goes over to that grave that somebody’s callin’ Nate Barlow’s, and he stares at the headstone for a while. Then pow! He kicks the darn thing over, picks it up and flings it out into the desert. Whaddaya think about that?”

  Karen could scarcely follow. Lee had knocked over Nate Barlow’s headstone and tossed it away? Why in the world—

  “And that’s not all,” Pete continued. “About ten minutes later he came back with a wheelbarrow and a shovel, searched around in the grass until he found the headstone, then he put it in the wheelbarrow and took off for parts unknown.”

  “Have you been out there this morning? Are you sure it was Nate Barlow’s headstone? Or at least—” She had been going to say the altered Nate Barlow, when Pete interrupted her.

  “Sure did. First thing. It’s gone. Spots kinda been swept around, too, so’s the ground don’t look like somethin’ was taken away.”

  Karen’s mind worked to play catch-up. Even though she’d gone to bed before ten last night, she hadn’t gotten much sleep. From the noise emanating from the saloon, she decided she was probably the only person trying. Worry about Lee’s decision and its aftermath wouldn’t let her rest. Wouldn’t let her—

  Her thoughts stopped. Lee’s decision! Lee had decided! Last night. He wouldn’t have gotten rid of telltale evidence if he’d planned to use it. Use any of it! His family’s papers, the court records! He had decided to let Twilight live!

  Joy burst in her heart. She had to see him. Had to be sure that her assumption was correct. She looked down at herself, at the long T-shirt and silk robe. First she had to dress, then—

  “Has Lee gone loco or what?” Pete demanded, frowning, and he was starting to look at her as if she were puzzling him a little herself.

  “Oh, no!” she cried, unable to rein in her ecstatic feelings. “No, Pete, he’s not one bit crazy! He’s wonderful. He—”

  “The whole place has gone loco,” Pete pronounced, heading for the door.

  “It’s okay, Pete, really,” she tried to reassure him. But all he did was grumble to himself as he went downstairs to join up with the waiting Tex.

  Karen dressed as fast as she could, applied her makeup and brushed her hair. She was too thrilled
to do more than think about breakfast. She wanted to talk to Lee. She had to talk to Lee.

  She hurried downstairs and into the saloon.

  Bette was behind the bar, finishing the morning cleanup. “If you’re looking for John, he’s down at the hotel,” she said. “If you’re looking for Lee, he’s there t—”

  She didn’t finish. A tall blond man with a pleasant face and a nice smile stepped hesitantly through the saloon’s front doors. “Ah—excuse me. I wonder if I might bother you. I’m looking for Karen Latham. I tried next door at the antique shop, but no one answers.”

  Karen stepped out of what she knew would be the shadows from his perspective, amazed not only that Martin would come to Twilight, but that he’d picked this particular moment to present himself. “Martin?” Her voice echoed her shock.

  His smile grew. “Karen! I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you again. I was worried. You didn’t call.”

  Karen went to greet him under Bette’s watchful eye. She let him hug her, kiss her, keep hold of her. She tried to act glad to see him. “Things have been... a little on the wild side here,” she attempted to explain. “Did you see...on the way into town?”

  His affection for her was clear. “Yes. What’s going on? I thought you said this was a near ghost town. It looks more like a small city.”

  “It’s just temporary,” she said, her voice shaky. She didn’t want to be here talking to him, dealing with him. She wanted—

  Bette came out from behind the bar, drying her hands on her apron. “And who might you be?” she asked, glancing at the flushed Karen.

  “Martin Frederick,” Martin said, offering his hand.

  Karen came alive to her manners. “This is Bette, Martin. Bette Danson, an old friend of mine.”

  The two shook hands. “We’re having a movie premiere, Mr. Frederick. Straight out of Hollywood. For the remake of Justice at Sundown. Have you heard of it?”

  Martin frowned for a second, then said, “Yes, yes I have, as a matter of fact. A customer in my restaurant was talking about it last week. It’s about something that happened around here, isn’t it?”