by Frank Hayes
“Gee, thanks for that insight, Mr. Zambrano. I hadn’t really thought of that. It’s just that when my curiosity gets aroused . . . Maybe you are right. I’m in over my head. Maybe I ought to have the FBI look into it. I have one or two connections there.”
“I know you might not be comfortable with this, Sheriff, but coincidences do happen.” He stood up from behind his desk, extending his hand. Virgil stood also, then took his hand.
“Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”
The winter sun was already sliding toward the horizon as Virgil walked to his car. He was mulling over the conversation dynamic. He hoped he hadn’t overplayed the Mayberry role of small-town sheriff.
Mr. James Zambrano obviously was not easily rattled. On the other hand, Virgil didn’t miss the subtlety of his warning. His gut told him that there might be a little more to that than concern for his welfare. Maybe that was also why he felt like there were a pair of eyes boring a hole in his back as he walked to the parking lot.
• • •
Virgil knew it was too late to go looking for Everett Junior by the time he got back to Hayward. Dif was in the office alone.
“How did that work out?” he asked as Virgil settled into his chair.
“Well, I got a vibe, not a particularly good one, but it could be that I’m counting too much on gut reaction.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of think there’s a lot to be said for first impressions or gut reactions. Most of the time in my life, gut reactions to someone or something have served me well. If I don’t have a good feeling, I take a step or two back. Simon and I were talking about that earlier.”
“Simon?” Virgil got up, then sat in Simon’s chair alongside Dif, in back of the yard-sale table. The future desk for Simon and Dif was still a figment of the imagination. “You and Simon sharing these days?”
“Yeah, well, it took a while but he’s been opening up. You know, speaking about first impressions, there wasn’t much to go on initially with him. I mean, I liked how he handled the loss of his hand, but there wasn’t too much below-the-surface kind of talk. Since we were alone in the office for those two days, we kind of got to know each other a little better. Turns out, he is a nice guy who has seen and done a lot of not nice things. You know he told me that when he first returned after his second tour, for the first six months back he felt he could have been classified as certifiable. I could relate. I felt like that when I first got back.”
“Gee, Dif, I forgot you were in Vietnam.”
“Yeah, well, Vietnam, Afghanistan, different place, same experience.”
“You never talked much about it.”
“No. I don’t think many people who go through those kinds of experiences get much out of reliving them. I know I don’t. I do remember one time talking to my dad about his time in the South Pacific. I asked him if he thought he was going to survive. He said he didn’t think about it. It was just about getting through each day. He said when they first came ashore on Leyte, you were surprised that you even made it off the beach in one piece. For the next couple of weeks, when the air raid siren would go off, everyone would run for the bunkers. Then as time went on resignation set in, planes would come in strafing the area, guys would stand outside firing at the planes with their sidearms, ten feet away from the bunkers. He said most by that time had the attitude it wasn’t a question of if, it was a question of when. Simon said that was the way he felt. I did too. When you’ve seen a lot of your friends end up in body bags, you start looking for the one with your name on it.”
“Guess I missed out on that kind of life experience.”
“Don’t think you missed out on anything,” Dif said. “Wished I had missed out. Bet Simon feels the same way. Nobody ever returns from a wartime experience in better shape than when they went in, no matter whether they caught one or not. Oh, you hear all the stuff about the camaraderie, the great closeness. I made some great friends in Nam but I think it was because we shared the reality that each day might be our last. Like the man said, never was a good war or a bad peace. Takes a long time to put it behind you, what you did and saw. In some ways, you never do. Maybe going to some of those reunions helps. I don’t know, never went to one. It wasn’t a past I was anxious to remember. Until the day my father died, he always avoided loud noises. He wouldn’t even go look at the fireworks on the Fourth of July. Time passing helps. That’s what I told Simon, it’ll get better. Rosie is going to find that out also. In the meantime, we got to take it one day at a time.”
“Yeah, well, you did enough today, Dif. Get on home to Edna. I’m good here.”
Dif got up from his chair and stretched.
“Been sitting too long. See you tomorrow, Virgil.”
Virgil stood in the doorway long after Dif had gone. The cold air blowing in his face kind of revived him. It felt good. The snow in the parking lot had been packed down by the vehicles that had come in and out. He could see some bare patches where gravel showed through, along with a couple of places where the snow had compacted into ice, glistening in the glare of the overhead lights that flooded the area. He thought about throwing some salt on those patches but remembered he had heard a forecast of temperatures in the fifties for the next day. There was enough on his plate without doing an unnecessary job. He took one last deep breath then went inside. The next few hours passed uneventfully.
Simon checked in twice before Virgil decided to head home. It was ten thirty when he closed the office door. As he pulled out onto Main Street, he saw no sign of life. All the stores and businesses were in darkness. He thought about turning right, driving down to the Lazy Dog, getting a beer and whatever they could scare up in the way of food, but decided he was too tired, so he made the left instead. He passed by the hospital on the way out of town. It was the only place where there was any activity. An ambulance with red lights flashing pulled out, then went flying by him. He knew somewhere, someone was waiting. The flashing red lights would be a welcome sight. Dif’s comments were still rattling around in his head. One day at a time, he decided. It was the best way.
Chapter 36
The weatherman didn’t lie. It was well above freezing when Virgil stepped out of the house the following morning. There was full sun. The last of the snow was dripping off the eaves. He knew by midafternoon it would be a memory. There was no sign of Cesar. Then he remembered the note he had left on the kitchen table. Cesar said Clara had called, also that he was heading over to the Thompson ranch, High Lonesome, to make sure that they would be able to get enough hay to get them through the rest of the winter if they needed it.
Virgil could see from where he was standing that all the horses were out. He could see them as mere specks, a dark bare profile against the white more than a mile away at the base of the low-lying ridge. They were hardly moving but he knew that each of them was pawing through the snow to get to the grass beneath. No matter how good the hay, it never took the place of grass, even snow-covered, dried-out grass that they had to work hard to get. Probably an evolutionary trait that had to do with depending on yourself for ultimate survival, not counting on a man for your sustenance. A lesson learned over thousands of years, a good one not to forget. He wondered how the cattle had fared in the first snow to amount to anything so far.
He was tempted by the need for some physical exertion so he grabbed the handle of an ax that was sunk into a log. For the next half hour he split some wood, ignoring the log splitter covered by the tarp that was sitting nearby. He was sweating freely almost an hour later when he sunk the ax blade deep into the same log from which he had taken it. There was a slight tightness in his right shoulder. He rubbed it as he stood back admiring his output. He scooped up an armful of the newly split logs and carried them into the house. Before he returned to the kitchen, he had placed most of them over some tinder in the fireplace in readiness for the fire he hoped to sit before that evening. Then he picked up the phone to call Clara.
The phone call changed his p
lans for the day. She told Virgil that Everett had been talking to his son. Everett Junior said Virgil should talk to Mrs. Stark. He said Michael Stark was the key to finding out about why someone wanted him dead.
• • •
Rosie was in the office by herself when Simon came in behind a man in handcuffs.
“Who is our guest?” Rosie asked.
“Near as I can make out, his name is Rosario, but he’s not much of a talker. Caught him after he carved his initials into another guy. Said the other guy stole from him but wouldn’t tell me what he stole. EMTs took his pal to the hospital.” Simon took a glassine bag filled with a white powder from his pocket and dropped it on Rosie’s desk. “I think this is what his friend stole from him. Guess we’ll have to sort that out later.”
Rosie got up from her seat then walked to the door leading to the holding cells. Simon followed, nudging the man in front of him. After they had him settled in one of the cells, they returned to the office. Simon sat down at the table and started filling out an incident report. Before long Rosie had come over, bringing him a cup of coffee.
“You didn’t have to get that.”
“Not a problem, just part of the service we provide to keep all our employees happy.” She sat in Dif’s chair next to him.
“Thank you.” He took a sip from the steaming cup.
“Be careful, it’s hot.”
“I like it hot. I like things that are supposed to be hot, hot. Things that are supposed to be cold, cold.”
“Dave always said that. One time I made gazpacho. He got halfway through it then put it in the microwave. Soup is supposed to be hot, he said.” Simon took another drink from his cup.
“You know, I didn’t know Dave that long, but I’ve yet to hear a bad word about him. Kind of feel sorry that I missed out. Think we would have hit it off.”
“Yeah, Dave was pretty easy to like. I think you two would have gotten along just fine. I know Virgil was going to send you down to Redbud as we got closer to the baby coming. Dave knew about that. He said helping you to settle in down there would give you guys a chance to get to know each other. Too bad . . .” Rosie looked away for a second or two. When she turned back, Simon did not miss the glisten in her eyes. It was his turn to look away. He put the cup to his lips again, drinking until it was empty. A sudden quiet had infiltrated the room. He set the cup down on the table in front of him. Rosie stood, reaching over to pick up the empty cup.
“Listen, I just wanted to say that I know you are going through a bad time right now. I know what that’s like. I mean, I don’t know exactly in your case, but, well, let’s just say I’ve gone through some rough patches. You think you’re never going to come out the other side but somehow you do. The world doesn’t look the same, probably never will, but I just wanted to say if you need anything done, like around the house or anything, I’m pretty handy. When you are on your own as much as I have been, well, let’s say you learn to fix things, cars, appliances, so if you need any kind of help just pick up the phone. I’m just saying. I’m sure you got all kinds of friends, family, but I just wanted to make the offer.” Rosie stood by the table holding the empty cup looking at Simon. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
“Simon, thank you for that. I’m overwhelmed. That just made my day. You know, before you came in with our latest client, I was sitting here feeling real sorry for myself. You just made that all disappear. Oh, I know there are going to be bad days going forward, but to know there’s someone you can count on, well, that makes the future look a lot less fearful.”
When Virgil came in the office a little while later he sensed that something had changed. Simon and Rosie were talking about something totally unrelated to Hayward, its populous or anything local.
“She can’t be sixty-one,” Simon said.
“I’m telling you she is. I saw it in People magazine.”
“Wow, she looks awesome. Billy Joel, eat your heart out.”
Virgil let the conversation play out. Life was starting to look normal again. He picked up the incident report, which was on top of the papers on his desk. While he was reading it the phone rang. He got to it before Rosie.
“Okay, I’ll be over in a few minutes.” He got up from the desk. “I see we’ve got a houseguest.” Virgil held the incident report in his hand. Simon gave him a quick rundown.
“Good work, Simon. I’ll be back within the hour, hang out with Rosita, okay?”
“No problem.”
“Virgil, I thought you were going on a road trip.”
“Plans changed, Rosie. Tell you about it when I come back. Right now, I’m heading over to the high school. Seems one of the entrepreneurial students was caught trying to sell some wacky weed in the cafeteria.”
“Looks as if somebody wanted to add to the menu choices,” Rosie said.
“Charlie Pearson’s kid,” Virgil said.
“Virgil, get over there right away, before Cassie gets there. That boy will be safer in one of those cells in back with the knife wielder than if Cassie gets to him. Otherwise she’ll be in there on an attempted murder charge.”
Virgil grabbed his hat.
“Forgot about her.” He headed for the door.
“Boy, sometimes this town reminds me of the South Bronx,” Simon said as the door closed in back of Virgil.
• • •
Virgil was back in less than an hour with his reluctant hoodlum. The young boy went more than willingly into the cell when he heard his parents were on their way. While waiting for their arrival, Virgil called Mesquite Sand and Gravel to get a telephone number and an address for Mrs. Michael Stark. The receptionist surprisingly passed Virgil’s call right through to James Zambrano. Virgil explained to him that he wanted to speak to Mrs. Stark but didn’t have an address or a phone number.
“Why did you want to speak with her? I mean, I’m just curious.”
“Just part of my investigation. People do things for a reason. I’m trying to get at the reason why someone would kill a man in a fire without making sure he was the right man first. It almost sounds like a hit, a contract killing. Maybe Mrs. Stark might know something that could help me to get at the bottom of this. Probably just spinning my wheels but figure it’s at least worth a trip.” Zambrano switched him back to the receptionist after another caution to Virgil about getting in over his head, telling her to give Virgil the information he was after. Virgil hung up the phone, then told Rosie and Simon about the conversation.
“That was not what I expected.”
“Don’t you think you ought to be more careful in giving out information like that?” Simon asked.
“Well, right now I don’t have a lot more than some suspicions so I figure I’ll throw a little bread on the water, see if I can get a fish to rise.”
“Just make sure, Virgil, you don’t become the bait. That’s a door that swings both ways,” Rosie added.
Before he left the office Virgil put in a call to Mrs. Stark but there was no response. He ended up leaving a message. He had picked up his hat to leave but never made it to the front door. It flew open with such force that Virgil figured there had to be a dent in the wall where the doorknob made contact.
“Where is he, Virgil? Where is he?” Even when she wasn’t angry Cassie Pearson was hard to ignore. She was definitely not the lightweight in the family, literally or figuratively. The Pearsons were one of those incongruous couples that seemed an unlikely result of Match.com. Cassie was at least six foot and then some. In the parlance of some locals, she would dress out at close to three hundred pounds. Charlie, on the other hand, would easily disappear in her shadow.
“Hold on a minute, Cassie.” Virgil threw his hat back down on his desk and let out an audible sigh. “Come over here. Have a seat.”
“I don’t want to sit, Virgil. I want to get my hands on that kid.”
“I understand,” Virgil said. “But you want to do the right thing here. I’ve already talked to your boy. He seems like a pretty g
ood kid who did something dumb and got caught. Why don’t we try to approach this as something other than a capital crime? We’re talking about a young boy who was trying to make some extra money so he could buy a secondhand motorcycle from one of his classmates. He told me that you didn’t want him to get extra hours at his after-school job since he had to babysit the younger kids for a couple of hours, because you have to be to work before Charlie gets home.”
“That’s right, Cassie.” Charlie spoke for the first time.
“Why don’t you just sit down for a minute, honey? Talk to Virgil.” Rosie came over and pulled a chair next to Cassie.
“Just a little bump in the road, Cassie. We all have been there one time or another.”
Cassie looked at Rosie.
“Oh, Rosie, I didn’t expect to see you here so soon after . . .”
“I know. Sit down now. Listen to Virgil. You and Charlie don’t want to make a mistake here. Virgil has a lot of experience. You should listen to him.” Cassie sat in the chair that was offered.
“Okay, Sheriff,” Charlie said. “How we going to keep this aspiring pot dealer from becoming a major criminal?”
Chapter 37
“Well, that went better than I thought it would.” Cassie and Charlie Pearson had just left the office.
“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Thanks to you portraying me as the great and all-knowing Oz.”
“Well, let’s face it, because you know the law as a lawyer and you bring over fifteen years as sheriff to the table, you have a broad perspective to draw on. That’s a plus, Virgil.”