Stripped Bare

by Shannon Baker

  I approached the pride of Hodgekiss, the Legion hall. It played host to wedding receptions, funeral meals, important meetings, card parties, anniversaries, and any birthday ending with zero. It’s where Dahlia and Sid had arranged an all-county barbecue when Ted and I were married. Dad pulled for a big wedding, but I didn’t want one, and Mom backed me that time. Dahlia insisted on what Dad called a big whoop-de-do. I figured, if she wanted to pay for it, I could dress up and be nice. I did and I was, even though Roxy showed up and got stinking drunk and had to be dragged outside when she erupted in a geyser of tears.

  The locals gave the Legion such high priority that the cash-strapped county paid someone to maintain the lush grass and attached playground. It was the only city park we had. If a crowd was involved and it didn’t have to take place in a church, the Legion was the spot.

  I stepped from the street to the curb and a greeting floated to me from behind a dying elm at the edge of the street. I squinted in the dusk to focus on a tall figure stepping toward me. It took a moment for me to place him. Glenn Baxter. He had several inches on me, and his dark hair showed a bit of salt in the pepper at his temples. He looked younger, with more life in his face, than he appeared on TV. Who knew how old he was? Vast amounts of wealth could buy vats of Grecian Formula, and more than a facial twice a year.

  “You’re Kate Conner.” His voice sounded like corn husks in a breeze. I wasn’t surprised that he knew me. He probably had people who could find my picture or give him a description. But why did I matter to him?

  A stranger lurking in the growing evening shadows unsettled me, even if the guy had more money than God. “I didn’t realize you were in the Sandhills,” I said.

  His too-new jeans and scuff-free cowboy boots didn’t help him blend with the surroundings. “I told you earlier: I’m here working a deal with Eldon.”

  He hadn’t mentioned his location. “Are you going to the debate?”

  He eyed the Legion hall. “The media is on hand. I avoid them when possible. They’ve even chased me away from the Long Branch.”

  I didn’t wish him luck finding lodging. I took a step toward the building. “I’m running late, so I need to get going.”

  He lurched in front of me, blocking my way. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

  Why wasn’t anyone else on the street? Normally, people straggled in, not feeling great urgency to catch every word of a local electoral debate. Not tonight. With Eldon’s murder and Ted’s condition, people must have arrived early to get in on all the latest news.

  Baxter’s pale face loomed in front of me. “What about your niece? Have you discussed her selling the Bar J?”

  I smelled urgency, maybe even desperation. “The last thing she needs to think about right now is selling her land. Please respect that.”

  He spoke with a raspy wheeze, sort of like threatening voices on telephones in the movies. “This buffalo-common issue means a great deal to me. I’m very anxious to speak to your niece.”

  Sinister. That’s the word that popped into my mind. “She doesn’t need to think about this now.”

  He leaned toward me, maybe about to argue his case, but the door of the Legion opened. A bearded hulk in jeans and a faded T-shirt, with a camera hoisted on his shoulder, walked out, followed by a pudgy woman, probably fresh from journalism school, with a microphone clutched in her hand.

  “Who did that guy say he was?” The woman would never make it far in television with that screechy voice.

  The guy dropped the camera from his shoulder, letting it dangle from his hand. “County commissioner.”

  “He can’t chase us out of the debate.” She gave a petulant shake of her head.

  They pounded down the sidewalk toward us. The guy sounded bored. “We’ve got interviews about the rancher’s murder. Nobody cares about politics in this no-place.”

  In a gravelly whisper, Baxter said, “I need to talk to Carly Edwards. As soon as possible.” He swiveled on his boot heel and hurried toward the shadow of the elm.

  His pale, thin weirdness left a ghoulish taste in my mouth. I hadn’t seen the last of him; that seemed plain. But tonight Baxter and his creepiness dropped to the bottom of my mind as I climbed the rest of the way up the front yard.

  With sweating palms, I entered the Legion hall. I squinted in the gloom created by iffy fluorescent lights against the dark fake-wood paneling. Voices boomeranged against each other and the scuffed, probably asbestos-laden tile floor. The panels between the kitchen and the hall were pushed up and Jim Lee, a veteran of the Korean conflict, and Bud Simms, my uncle and owner of the Long Branch, tended bar. That amounted to distributing Coors and Coors Light, and Pepsi products the bottler in Broken Butte sold at a discount, and making sure the coffeepot didn’t run dry.

  The smell of scorched coffee, stale beer, and warm bodies pressed together, topped by a layer of Old Spice and English Leather and the cheap perfume carried by Kmart, greeted me, as it had for every social gathering since I could remember. It didn’t make me feel the acceptance and support it normally did. I wasn’t Kate, one of the Fox kids, cousin, aunt, lifelong friend. Even though I’d been all those things. Tonight I was the buzz of gossip and speculation.

  Folks had probably already decided how they’d vote for commissioner and school board. Until yesterday, voting for Ted was a given for most of them. Even if Eldon hadn’t been murdered, a debate was a good excuse to head to town to have a few drinks and gather the latest news with Grand County’s finest. And some of its less than fine.

  But something big had happened at the Bar J. Like Carly wanting to be around her friends to process her loss, the good citizens of Grand County naturally drew together over this latest tragedy.

  Knots of people filled the hall, and a heavy mood flattened what would normally be boisterous exchanges. Serious faces and low tones told me they were probably discussing Eldon and Ted’s shootings. There would be no end to speculation about who did it. My empty stomach turned a few somersaults at the thought of Carly on that list. I searched the room for Milo but didn’t find his brown uniform among the crowd.

  Dahlia held court with a group of ranch wives that included her two sisters, Rose and Violet. It was the over-fifty version of the cool kids’ cafeteria table. Her radar alerted her to me, and though her lips smiled, her eyes sliced me like razors. She wore jeans with some kind of shiny bling sprinkled down one thigh, as if Tinker Bell had ralphed on her leg.

  Just forty-six hours since Ted and Eldon had been shot. Plenty of time for word to travel around Grand County two and a half times. No telling how jumbled the story was by now. They’d know about Eldon’s death. You couldn’t mask the fact of Ted lying in the hospital. The rest was up for interpretation. Maybe “they” had a theory about Roxy and Ted.

  I might have been paranoid, but it seemed like a hundred and forty-seven eyes drilled into me. Merle Doak accounted for the odd eye, since he’d fallen while running with scissors and had poked the other out. Really. They wanted to know how I was holding up after finding out about Ted and Roxy. Without appearing as panicked as I felt, I scanned the room for allies.

  Sarah and Robert wound through the milling bodies, making their slow progress toward me. Sarah had her usual easy smile, masking whatever she felt. Robert’s eyebrows forced that worried column into his forehead.

  Sarah and I had shared a desk in kindergarten, and pretty much everything else all along, including rooming together in college. I couldn’t say, between Sarah and Robert, who was my best friend. Maybe in family issues Robert took the lead and in the woman department Sarah edged ahead. Either way, they both knew everything there was to know about me. Or as much as anyone. For me, their being married seemed about perfect.

  Sarah closed her warm fingers around my hand. “You look fabulous,” she whispered.

  “A fabulously hot mess,” I said.

  Robert frowned at Dahlia. “I can go out to your house right now and toss Ted’s crap to the road.”

&n
bsp; If I didn’t perform to Dahlia’s expectations, the crap in the road would be mine.

  Clete Rasmussen towered behind me. He had the look of a gnarled cottonwood, exhausted by reaching its roots toward the aquifer. “Good,” he drawled. “We can get started. We’re only fifteen minutes late.”

  I mumbled an apology about calving. Without warning, someone grabbed both my arms, jerked me from the floor, and spirited me toward the door. I tilted my head to see Douglas and Michael, the twins, five years my junior, grinning as they kidnapped me.

  Clete stuttered and Sarah reassured him I’d return in one piece. The door banged shut behind the boys. A brisk wind bit at my cheeks while they whisked me to the side of the building away from the playground and plopped me down in deepening shadows.

  They’d started out identical, but I’d never had any trouble keeping them straight. Michael had all the vinegar of Louise, and Douglas was a sugar bear. They both had the dark, wavy hair and Mom’s blue eyes, but where Douglas had grown wide and welcoming, Michael had hardened into granite. Together they created mischief, if given half a chance.

  Michael shed his grin. “Why are you standing in for that son of a bitch?”

  Douglas threw a thick arm around me and pulled me to him. I appreciated his heat, as well as his affection. I leaned into him and his hold tightened.

  “I talked to Diane,” Michael continued. “She said you weren’t leaving him.”

  Interesting how she came up with that, when I hadn’t decided yet.

  The door of the Legion opened and Louise stormed out. “Everyone is waiting for you.”

  While Douglas hugged tighter, Michael spun around to Louise. He didn’t get a word out before fury in the form of Dahlia billowed from the Legion hall.

  She waved her hands as if swatting flies. “Go on back inside. I’ve got to talk to Kate.”

  Brave Foxes, every one. They stood their ground less than one second before retreating inside. I shivered at the absence of Douglas’s warmth.

  Dahlia hugged her arms against the cold and looked me up and down. “At least you’ve put on a skirt.”

  “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. It’s a debate with Rich Hamner. He runs every four years and never comes close to winning.”

  She pursed her lips. I had to admit, for a woman on the downside of her fifties she’d held up well. Rocklike abs with no middle-age pooch, and skin like cream. Even with the advantage of a couple of decades, I never looked that good. “Did it occur to you that if people sense any weakness in Ted’s position, they might run against him?”

  Didn’t make any difference. “It’s too late to file.”

  Her expression told me how stupid she thought I was. “For the primary, yes. But someone could run a write-in campaign for the general election. You must look committed and loving and make Ted out to be strong and competent to keep anyone from thinking they might have a chance. Even if … if he doesn’t…”

  As if my life hadn’t turned strange enough, Mom wafted out the front door, spotted me, and floated our way. She drew her turquoise cashmere shawl close against the chilly evening. “Dahlia. You look pretty.” Mom never lied.

  Dahlia often did. “How nice to see you out and about, Marge.”

  Mom didn’t cringe at the ugly nickname Dahlia insisted on substituting for “Marguerite,” which she claimed was too formal for people who were practically family.

  “I understand Ted’s injuries might be serious.” Mom’s voice was smooth and sweet as custard, a tone I knew to be wary of.

  Dahlia’s mouth twisted. “Did Kate tell you that? I only ask because she has been so busy she’s hardly been to see him.”

  Her gray waves rustling in the near-dark, Mom smiled like an angel. “And yet, here she is, taking heroic measures to help him.”

  Dahlia opened her mouth, but before words tumbled out, Clete burst from the Legion.

  He bellowed at us from the walk. “I can’t hold off any longer. We need to start this debate now.”

  Dahlia grabbed at my arm to propel me forward, but I shrugged away. She opened the door and disappeared inside. Before I followed, Mom put her arm around me, draping cashmere across my shoulders. She leaned close and murmured in my ear, “Go placidly amid the noise and haste.” The opening line of “Desiderata.”

  Mom’s faint scent of Lily of the Valley calmed me.

  “I would normally avoid Dahlia,” she said, “as she’s a vexation of the spirit if ever there was.” Another “Desiderata” reference. It was Mom’s guide to life. “However, in this case I felt compelled to do a little vexing of my own.”

  If Mom wanted to vex, Dahlia had no clue how lucky she’d been with Clete Rasmussen’s interruption.

  I, on the other hand, understood perfectly that I was heading for destruction.

  12

  I wanted to saddle up and ride to a shady spot on the bank of Frog Creek, lean my back against an old cottonwood that a forgotten homesteader had planted there in hope of a prosperous ranch life, and cry until the pressure in my chest eased. My husband had betrayed me, leaving shreds of bloody flesh lumped where my heart used to beat. And now I had to put myself in front of the community and act as though nothing had changed.

  I stepped into the noisy Legion hall. I might have been projecting my angst, but it seemed to me that even the air had an edge to it. Faces appeared strained, voices tighter than usual. Mom drifted off, taking her soft cashmere shawl and Lily of the Valley with her. Dahlia herded Sid and the rest of her contingent toward the front.

  Clete ushered me in and pointed toward the long cafeteria-style table along the wall. “You can sit next to Rich.”

  Without warning, Clete tilted his head back and bellowed above the noise. “Take your seats. We’ll get started.”

  The glow from one of Hodgekiss’s four streetlamps beckoned from beyond the windows in the door.

  Rich Hamner sat at the table with his hands folded in front of him, a nervous grin plastered on his face. He ran for sheriff because he believed that sheriffing was easier than working as a ranch hand—and paid better, too.

  I couldn’t disagree. Ted spent most of his time cruising around, gossiping with the coffee bunch every morning at the Long Branch, driving the patrol car in the Grand County Fair parade, and occasionally busting an underage drinking party or issuing a speeding ticket. Not much marred the tranquility of Grand County, but when it did, I’d often helped Ted untangle the mystery.

  I smoothed my windblown hair, pulled a barrette from my skirt pocket, and tried to tie down the riotous mop. Several people smiled or nodded at me. Normally I’d have exchanged words with a dozen people before now. They were appraising me, seeing how I held up under the strain of the Roxy/Ted situation. Some people didn’t even venture eye contact, just gave me a side-eye. Or else I was paranoid. I stepped to the front.

  Rich had combed his hair and slicked it with nasty-smelling gel. It was the campaign look he pulled out every four years for the debate. While at the Long Branch or working, he either wore a stained and sagging felt cowboy hat, gray with age, or sported greasy hat-hair.

  I nodded to him and slid onto the cold metal folding chair. With the bare table, I was glad I’d worn the broomstick skirt to drape well below my knees.

  Clete stood to the side of the table. He had the presence of Moses as played by Charlton Heston—before Moses grew the white beard but when he was still a fun-hater. My family took up the first three rows of folding chairs, on my left side.

  Uncle Bud and Aunt Twyla crowded in. Twyla grinned at me from beneath her dark hair. Dad stood next to Jack Carson by the bar, Coors bottle in hand. Jack Carson had a face like a cement wall, if walls had intense eyes. He had about the same sense of humor, too. Jack stared at the chairs halfway down from the speakers’ table. I followed his line of vision to see his wife, Aileen, sandwiched between Bill Hardy and Shorty Cally.

  Bill and Shorty were always on the outs, but Aileen’s wide smile seemed to bring them t
ogether. Aileen was one of those cheerful types, ready with a tease. She freely handed out hugs and pats. Slightly overweight, with unremarkable hair or facial features, she had that attraction that drew friends like flies to a carcass. She was the flip side of dour Jack, but I couldn’t credit Louise’s speculation that she’d been carrying on with Eldon.

  Clete started talking before the stragglers found their seats and the conversations drifted to murmurs. “The primary’s in two weeks, and along with the state ballot, we’ve got some seats to fill here in Grand County. Clerk of the District Court Ethel Bender is running unopposed for her eighth term. So, obviously, we won’t be debating that. One commissioner seat is open, and we have four candidates. Three school board seats are up, and eight folks tossed their hats into that tiger cage.” A few people laughed. “That will be the last debate of the night so we don’t have to round you back up when you spill out the doors for your brawls.” More chuckles. School board fights sometimes caused feuds that lasted for generations.

  “We’re starting the agenda with the race for Grand County sheriff. As you’re all aware, there was a shooting last night at the Bar J. We lost one of our finest citizens, Eldon Edwards, and we all grieve for his family.” He paused for respect. “Sheriff Ted Conner was injured in the incident. So Kate here, his wife”—as if anyone didn’t know—“will be sitting in for him.”

  He waited for a smattering of applause. “Running against Sheriff Conner is Rich Hamner.” More noncommittal clapping. “We’ll begin by having the candidates introduce theirselves and say a little about their qualifications for the job.”

  Rich nattered on about how the county needed fresh blood, a point he made every election. This time he added a new plank about not being related to half the people of the county. I’m sure that was inspired by me sitting next to him. Rich might be an unambitious cowboy with marginal hygiene and one year of junior college but, surprisingly, those experiences did not make him a great speaker. He mumbled and stumbled and sprinkled it all with so many “ums” that if they’d been salt we’d all have died of stroke.