A Nose for Justice (12 page)

“Yes, I did, but there are millions of people who work yet can’t get ahead. Fate. If you work hard and have a bit of intelligence most times you will progress, but there’s always that element of fate. So now that I am the Ancient of Days, I’ve been turning my mind toward how to take care of people who are struggling, who are trying their damndest. How does one give them a hand up? Note that I said hand
up
, not handout. Failure can become a habit. And what about their children? Are we breeding in failure?”

“I don’t know.” And Mags didn’t.

“The only time I have ever seen government programs work in terms of
preparing people for the task at hand was during the war. We were trained and we were
well
trained, too. And a lot of what we learned in the service carried over into civilian life.”

“Aunt Jeep, forgive me, but what does any of this have to do with food?”

“Think I’m getting dotty?”

“No, but you’re on the roundabout.” Mags teased her great-aunt.

“Hard to resist when one has a captive audience. Okay, here is my conclusion: We were fed. We had a mess hall. People who are hungry have difficulty thinking clearly, much less learning new skills. If I can find a way to remove the middleman, to get good food grown locally to Reno markets, we can at least begin right here in Nevada.”

“I never connected food with performance.”

“People who have never gone hungry or seen hunger don’t. We didn’t win the war just because we were right. That sounds great, but you win wars with firepower and food and the will to win. The United States had all in abundance. We still do. I’m no longer sure about our collective will, but I’ll spare you that sermon. I’ll tell you one thing the history books won’t tell you: The German troops were the best army in the world at the time and their air force was incredible, too. But war wore them down, thanks to the enormous sacrifice of the Russians on the eastern front. Toward the last year and a half of the war, Germans didn’t have the nutrition we had. Neither did the Russians, but they were defending their homeland. If we could have fed them, I think the war would have been shortened by at least six months. It was impossible to feed them, I know. At least that’s what one old Army fly girl thinks. Start with nutrition.”

“Buy the land, rent it out?”

“First, I have to irrigate it. If I can’t buy it, maybe I can fashion long-term leases or buy the water rights. As you know, I own a lot of water rights in Red Rock Valley. If I can’t buy land along Dry Valley Creek, I might be able to purchase water rights. The value of land and water will escalate, but a lot of money has to go into pulling the water up, spreading it on the land.”

“The people who own that land, what’s private, probably don’t own the water rights.”

“Some do. Some don’t. Step one: take a thousand acres of my land and irrigate them. Step two: let people see how it works. Step three: hold their feet to the fire.”

“Whose feet?”

“The company or companies that own some water rights along Dry Creek. Whoever owns what I can’t buy. If I can convince them to irrigate those acres, then they’ll look ever so generous and public spirited.”

“Oh, Aunt Jeep, that will be a hard sell.”

“We’ll see.” She put her hands on her hips. “I think this will be my last great fight.”

“I hope not the last.” Mags meant it, too.

“Well, that’s a happy thought, but if it is my last, I’ll be glad I can go down swinging. I’ve gotten a little too comfortable, you know. Then again I always had Dot and Dan beside me. They gave me heart. Both could get me back on course if I veered off. You know, I never realized just how much I depended on them until they died—and within a year of each other. I just sat down in the middle of the road. Took me a good two years to get up again.” Jeep used an expression for grief.

“Two thousand, two thousand one. Seems like yesterday.”

“Does. I had two wonderful partners in my life. A business partner can be as close, sometimes closer to you, than a life partner, you know. I was a lucky, lucky woman.”

Before Mags could reply that she thought Dot and Dan were lucky as well, Jeep hit the start button; the motor roared and she flew down the ridge. Mags had a hard time keeping up with her while dodging the large sagebrush and trying to avoid those rocks still covered in snow.

As they pulled up to the back of the house, inside King barked, followed by Baxter. Mags hurried off the ATV to open the door. Out flew the two dogs.

There was still enough snow down that Baxter had to follow behind King. He longed for the snow to melt so he could run ahead just to see if the larger dog could keep up with him.

“Hurry up, boys,” Mags ordered.

“Maybe I’ll pee on her,”
King suggested.

“She has a temper,”
the dachshund warned.
“And she’s watched
The Dog Whisperer.”

At this, they both cracked up. Then again, why dash human illusions that they trained canines instead of vice versa?

On the back porch, the two women peeled off their layers. When the dogs returned, Mags opened the door and they trotted in, leaving little snowprints.

“Aunt Jeep, you think partners are fate, too?”

“Sure.”

“Any suggestions?”

She ran her eyes up and down Mags’s lovely body. “Two. You have a beautiful figure. Show it off. And don’t look.”

“What do you mean, don’t look?”

“The minute you look for a partner is when you will find Mr. Wrong. Go about your business and fate will send you Mr. Right.”

“I’d settle for Mr. Right Now.”

S
hopping offered as much appeal for Pete Meadows as a rectal exam, but given that his two sisters were arriving very soon with husbands and children to stay with his mom and dad, and it was his day off, it was now or never for getting presents. Bewildered in the middle of the upscale Summit Shopping Center, he plucked the list his mother had made for him: Lucky jeans, an Arizona Cardinals football jersey with “Warner” on the back, and two pony halters for the twins. Rebecca had carefully written sizes and styles; everything he would need.

Pete’s two older sisters, Jamie and Audrey, had married well—in Jamie’s case extremely well. She lived in Greenwich, Connecticut. He’d visited her two years ago, needing a compass to find his way from his bedroom to the kitchen. Her twins had ponies—hence the halters. Audrey had married a careerist in the Defense Department. When the Republicans returned to power, the rumor was that Bryson would be named Undersecretary of Defense as he’d be too young to be the Secretary. They hoped to win the presidency in 2012. Failing that, it would be 2016. Americans grew bored with whoever was in power for eight years. Dress it up in issues, scandals, personality, it really came down to boredom. Time for a change.

Once Pete asked Audrey if the Washington life was tough.

She said, “You have no idea.” Then she brightened, adding, “But I meet the most interesting people.”

His older sisters rarely missed a chance to boss him around, even after he’d developed into the broad-shouldered, heavily muscled, handsome young man he remained. A star athlete in high school, Pete was deemed too small for college ball, but he had played baseball for UNR and was a
standout. He had a chance at the Minor Leagues, but somehow knew he wasn’t cut out for professional sports. Pete loved Nevada. He wanted to stay home and he wanted to do something worthwhile.

To an outsider, Pete might look like the failure in the family. Law enforcement was rarely deemed a suitable or lucrative career. However, his sisters strongly supported his choice. His mother feared for him. His father was quite proud. The family was still close, even though scattered geographically. Traditionally, the Meadows enjoyed their big family meal the evening of December 25. The kids would have opened their presents in the morning. And the night before, all would have gone to Trinity Episcopal together.

His sisters suggested they buy Mom a bracelet inset with every child’s and grandchild’s birthstone. Jamie took charge. Neither Jamie nor Audrey told Pete the true price. His slender means were so overmatched by their own, both sisters agreed to lie, telling him he had to ante up $200 and they’d give Mom her gift when all were together at Christmas dinner.

Audrey, closer to Pete in age, being two years older to Jamie’s four, had asked their mother to take photos of his small cottage. When Pete and his wife divorced two years ago, Lorraine, his ex-wife, took everything. The good news was he didn’t have to pay alimony since his ex had made more money than him. No one in his family suggested he ask for alimony. The Meadows did not think that way.

Everyone knew he was lonely. While he kept himself busy—played ball in the summer, worked out in the winter, read voraciously—he still needed a partner. The human race marches in twos.

No one had particularly disliked Lorraine. They’d met in college, she was in journalism, switched to media studies, and now was on the nightly news. Lorraine, quite pretty, could also be quite self-centered. Pete usually gave way, but what really split them apart was that they’d agreed to have children once established. As her career took off, she decided against this. A woman who doesn’t truly want to be a mother shouldn’t. Pete finally realized Lorraine wouldn’t backtrack. He also came to understand that she would wind up in a much larger market than Reno and he’d be left behind. It was a matter of time.

By late in the afternoon, he’d bought everything his mother had listed. Frazzled, he turned his dark blue Jeep Wrangler toward UNR. As a student, the Getchell Library had served his research needs. With the university’s growth, a new library had been opened in 2009, the Mattheson, IGT Knowledge Center.

Once inside, Pete was as lost as he was at Summit Shopping Center. However, the librarian pointed him to the Nevada history section.

Glad to be in a quiet place—a nearly empty place since Christmas vacation created the usual diaspora—he draped his coat over a chair, pulled a notebook out of the inside pocket and a pen, too. What he wanted were the names of Reno residents from 1887 to 1900 with Russian surnames. With help from another librarian, after an hour, he had fourteen names, including one Romanov who surely had been a crook.

Then, like Mags, he tried to find what he could about the Nicholas Cavalry School. Not much.

Leaning back in the chair, refreshed by not hearing various renditions of “Jingle Bells,” he wondered why it mattered to know about Reed’s Russian, which is how he thought of the skeleton.

Pete had joined the police force to prevent crime, to help people in severe distress. If a crime had been committed, then his job was to find the perpetrator. He had known early in his career that justice rarely followed but, like everyone else in law enforcement, did his best and tried not to despair at the aftermath. If ever found, there could be no justice for whoever killed Reed’s Russian yet some form of peace would follow—for Pete, anyway. And it would make an old woman happy, a woman he admired and one who had helped his family even before he and his sisters were born.

A flash of Mags made him sit up straighter. He pushed the image back. He wasn’t going to think about a beautiful woman who wouldn’t look at him twice.

By seven, he was hungry. He picked up his notebook, slipped his bomber jacket back on, then stopped by the reference desk.

“Ma’am, do you have copies of the Reno newspaper from 1887 to 1900?” He held up his hand. “Don’t want them now. I know it’s late and it’s the holidays. I’ll come back later.”

“We have everything on computer from the
Gazette-Journal’s
morgue. So does the public library downtown if that’s more convenient for you.”

“Thank you.”

As he drove to his place he turned on the radio and “We Three Kings of Orient Are” blared out at him. He listened a moment, then smiled and sang along, suddenly ridiculously happy without knowing why.

R
acing across the frozen sandy loam to the original barn, King called over his shoulder.
“Can’t you keep up? It’s those dwarf legs of yours.”