The Widows of Wichita County (15 page)

Oil field workers often put a six-pack in the water can as they come to work. At quitting time everyone has a cold beer.

Saturday, November 28
Montano Ranch

A
nna slowly unwrapped the gauze Zack had placed around her hands two nights ago. There was no bleeding, but her skin looked raw and covered in long thin scabs.

She trembled, realizing if she had not covered her face when she fell, the scabs might be across her cheeks.

“What's wrong with you?” Carlo asked in Italian from the kitchen doorway. He saw no need to use English when they were alone. Neither did he bother to close the door. He was truly a man more comfortable in barns.

“Nothing.” Anna guessed Carlo must have slept Friday away and finally recovered enough from his holiday drunk to make an appearance. He would not really be interested in anything she said as he rummaged through her cabinets for the bottle of aspirin she kept there.

“I noticed the front door was locked.” He opened the bottle. “Not a bad idea with all the extra men around the place.” He helped himself to coffee as if nothing had happened between them two days ago. “If you do not feel safe, I could move over here into the other bedroom until the drilling is finished.”

“I—I am fine.” Anna fought down panic. “Y-you need to be near the horses.” She and Carlo were from the same blood. They had been taught since birth that horses were more important than people. If he really thought there was any danger on the ranch, he would stay near them, not her.

She had to convince him she was not afraid to be alone. If he saw fear, or weakness, he might start moving in. “I scraped my hands on the fireplace wall when you pushed me Thursday night. I am not worried about the extra men you hired. I am worried about my brother who comes over here drunk to yell at me.”

Carlo looked confused for a moment, and a little guilty. He quickly recovered. “I hardly remember coming over. I wanted to warn you to be careful.” He played his big brother role now, the one she had loved so dearly when she was a child. “You are Davis's widow, Anna. You can not be smiling at the employees. It would not be proper. You are lucky to have me here to guide you.”

No matter how old she got, he would always be ten years older. Ten years wiser in his mind.

She raised her hands seeing the scratches and imperfections in their sibling bond as well as the ones on her flesh. “You call this lucky?”

“You probably fell wandering through the great room in the dark. Do not blame your problems on me.” His eyes told her he did not believe his words, but he continued, “I am working day and night to keep this place making money. I have no time to hear about your scratches.”

Anna found no argument in his last statement. She also knew the discussion was pointless. At best, they would go in circles, at worst he would get angry. She decided the safest choice was to change the subject. She continued in Italian. “Speaking of money, I may need some today.
Helena Whitworth called and asked if I could have lunch with her and go shopping.”

Carlo's mood changed. “Of course. Whatever you need. I will put extra in the box.” He switched to English. “It is good that you become her friend.”

The box was a leather case on Davis's desk in the den. He always left several hundred dollars in it for Anna in case she needed household funds. A checkbook with her name on it rested in the bottom of the box for emergencies.

“I—I may be gone most of the day.”

Carlo nodded. “I will have someone exercise the horse you are training. Do not worry about it.” He seemed almost in a hurry to be rid of her.

Anna watched him go, then collected the money. As she twisted her hair in a long braid and circled it at the back of her neck, she thought that in her country it would have been the proper style for a woman in mourning. She also wore black, but broke with custom by adding a multicolored scarf.

An hour later, she pulled into the garage beneath the bank and the Randell House Restaurant. She was early, but she planned to enjoy a cup of tea before Helena arrived.

As she stepped from her car, she saw Zack Larson walk out of the elevator and start across the shadowy parking lot toward her.

He walked in long strides to his pickup with his head down.

Anna was not sure what to do. If she stood perfectly still, he probably would not even notice her. If she moved, he might speak to her. She was not sure which would be worse.

Words lodged in her throat preventing all possibility
of calling to him. Her hands shook. Her purse fell to the concrete.

Zack looked up and froze. His troubled frown lifted slightly as he held her gaze.

They were both aware of other people rushing from the elevator to their cars.

He took a few long steps and knelt at her side, picking up her purse. “You dropped this, ma'am.”

“Th-thank you.” Her hand brushed his as she took the purse.

He touched his fingers to his Stetson and walked away without another word.

Anna forced herself to turn and walk toward the elevator. She did not breathe until the door closed and she stood alone. By the time she reached the second floor, Anna was once more in complete control. No one who saw their brief exchange would suspect anything.

She sat enjoying her tea, thinking of how once more Zack Lawson had kept his word. When Helena joined her, Anna was a little surprised to see how tired the older woman looked. Helena explained that she had not been sleeping well.

“We have much to do,” she whispered as if she and Anna were planning a great crime and not just having lunch.

Before she could add more, Meredith Allen joined them and a moment later, Crystal Howard.

The widows are assembled, Anna thought. All except Randi. Meredith was dressed in a Christmas sweatshirt that had a Santa Claus head made from yarn sewn on it. She apologized for having only an hour for lunch before she had to be back to work at the clerk's office.

Crystal also looked tired, but there was a grace about her that had not been there months ago when Anna first
met her. Crystal was growing. She looked comfortable in her clothes and at home in this restaurant.

“Now, we're all here.” Helena opened the luncheon as though it were a board meeting. “We have a problem.”

The three younger women leaned closer. If Helena had a problem they were all three there to help.

Helena took a deep breath and got right to it. “Randi got arrested last night.”

“What?” Crystal shouted, shattering her new image. “She was with me until ten when I drove her back to her hotel.” Crystal looked at the others and added, “What with Shelby coming home yesterday and all the nurses moving in, Randi said she would rather stay at a hotel and get a good night's sleep before she headed back this morning. I figured she'd be halfway to Memphis by now. How did she have enough time to get into trouble in the past few hours?”

“What happened?” Meredith directed her question to Helena.

The senior woman among them shrugged and continued her report, “From what I've been able to piece together, she must have driven over to the bar for a nightcap. She took out one of the light poles at Frankie's place when she left. I phoned Sheriff Farrington about it this morning after my daughter notified me. Her husband works for the electric company and was called in early to shut off the electricity going to the pole. I swear, nothing happens in this town that I don't hear about before the newspaper even has time to report on it.

“Anyway, that is beside the point. The sheriff told me Frankie was fighting mad at Randi and wanted to file charges. He claims she did it on purpose. Sheriff Farrington thinks that might be the case since she wasn't legally drunk, and she's spent most of her time this morning
calling Frankie names when he finally woke her up at the motel. He said there is a pole-size dent in her bumper, so there is little chance of her pleading innocent.”

Meredith was not following. “Why would she do such a thing?” In her world, accidents happened, not intentional destruction.

“You don't know Randi.” Crystal sounded suddenly depressed. “She's got a temper and old Frankie loves to push her buttons. Which isn't hard to do when she's been drinking. She never mentioned it to me, but someone told me once that he's always telling her she married the wrong Howard. Giving her a hard time about how she didn't get rich like I did.”

Anna knew the reason did not matter. The problem still needed to be solved. “How can we help her?”

Helena took a long sip of coffee before she answered. “One of us has to see the sheriff about making her bail, and one of us must go into Frankie's place and talk him into dropping the charges. Maybe we could even offer to pay for new lights around the parking lot. Money usually makes this kind of situation seem a little better.”

Everyone at the table nodded in agreement.

Anna spoke first. “I—I will pay for the lights.” Contributing money was far easier than talking to someone she did not know.

“I'll talk to Frankie,” Meredith volunteered.

Helena and Crystal both looked surprised. They had expected her to choose talking with the sheriff. After all, she would be working a few doors down from him all afternoon.

“That leaves me to discuss the matter with the sheriff.” Helena nodded once as if finalizing a deal. “Crystal, you've got your hands full with Shelby right now.”

Crystal frowned for a moment, then brightened. “I
could have one of the mechanics who works for Howard Drilling check on her car. By the time you all get her out of jail, I could have it gassed up and ready to make the trip back to Memphis.”

“That would be a good idea,” Helena agreed. “This place has nothing but bad memories for Randi. Maybe she needs time away.”

Helena did not have to say more. Anna and the others understood. Each dealt with grief in their own way. For Randi, maybe it was drinking. At least in Tennessee, she would not be reminded of her Jimmy every place she turned.

The women talked on of other things. An hour later, when they parted, they were all soldiers with a mission.

Anna had already figured out where she could get the money to buy the new lights for Frankie's bar. She would tell Carlo she wanted to make a donation to a charity Helena Whitworth supported. He would never question it.

Along muddy, tent-lined streets, boomtown joints served a crude alcoholic drink made popular during Prohibition. They were open round-the-clock to accommodate all shifts from the oil fields. Roughnecks who drank cheap liquor sometimes lost workdays because the alcohol produced a paralysis of the feet and legs.

Saturday, November 28
5:00 p.m.

A
s Meredith walked down the courthouse hallway, the bells at the Catholic church chimed for Saturday evening mass. They reminded her that this place had once been her palace and she had danced across the marble floors. She knew every corner of the first two stories as if it were her private playhouse.

Her father had never allowed her to climb the stairs to the third floor, just in case a prisoner was being held in the small two-cell holding unit. Once in a while, a man would be brought in for trial early in the morning and transferred out that night to the main jail six miles out of town. She had seen the small elevator in the sheriff's office that only went to the third floor, but doubted it still worked.

She could not help but glance over near the back door when she stopped at Granger's office and told him goodbye. The elevator was still there but the county clerk said Granger, or one of the deputies, took prisoners straight to the main unit nowadays. They did not have the manpower to assign someone to the third floor as a guard.

Granger looked up from his spotless desk and stared at her as if he had forgotten she was in the building.

She did not give him time to say anything. She wanted to get to Frankie's Bar and complete her mission. She was several feet down the hall when she thought she heard him answer, “Evening.”

Kevin and she had gone to bars a few times during their college days. She guessed it was still the same—no one ever came early to a bar. So, five o'clock would probably be a slow time if Saturday had a slow time. She could talk to the owner, Frankie, get her business done, and be home before dark.

Clifton Creek once boasted thirty saloons, but when the oil boom slowed, the bars eroded into dilapidated buildings, storage garages, and quick-stop gas and grocery stores. Somehow, like the last dinosaur, Frankie's had survived. It had changed owners several times. In the sixties it was a biker bar, a beer and barbecue stand in the seventies, but since the early eighties, Frankie's place was pure country-and-western music and longnecks.

When she pulled into the parking lot, Meredith breathed a long sigh of relief. Only three cars huddled in front of the shack. Since lunch, she had been planning what she would say and now wanted to get it over with before she forgot her speech. She would use logic on Frankie. Even a bar owner would respond to that.

The wind whirled a caliche cloud around her car as she parked. White powder settled on her old Mustang, dirtying the already dull blue to Confederate gray. Clumps of dried weeds fought their way through broken sidewalks to serve as landscaping. Shattered bottles that had been tossed at the building framed the foundation like colorful crystal in the afternoon sun.

Meredith rushed inside, telling herself she did not care
if someone saw her. She was on a mission. But she knew she would rather not have to explain. Thirty years ago a teacher patronizing such an establishment would have been grounds for dismissal. Today, it would probably only be frowned upon. She did not want to find out for sure.

As she walked in a heavyset man, with a beard halfway down his biker shirt, looked up from the bar he was cleaning. Meredith glanced around. A young waitress talked to a cowboy in the corner, but other than that, the place was empty.

She quickly crossed to the man behind the counter. “Mr. Frankie?”

He stared at her as if he was trying to identify a new species never before seen in this environment. “Who wants to know?”

Meredith extended her hand. “I'm Meredith Allen, a friend of Randi Howard.”

He did not take her hand and she could not help wondering if he had caught Granger's disease. “Lady, you may be Meredith Allen, but I'd stake what's left of my hair that you're not a friend of Randi's.”

The barmaid moved closer, suddenly more interested in Meredith than the cowboy. “Where'd you get that sweater, honey?” She raised one eyebrow that looked to have been painted on with a first-grade crayon. “I'd like to have me one of them Santa shirts.”

“A friend made it.” Meredith held up the bottom of the shirt so the Santa shone in the bar lights. “You can buy the sweatshirts at Wal-Mart, then all it takes is a little yarn and a pair of eyes. She glued these on, but you could use buttons.”

Meredith glanced up to see them laughing at her. She fought the urge to run. She was not used to having her
kindness met with sarcasm. She did the only thing she could think of, she continued.

“It has to be washed by hand or the yarn tends to come out.” She held her head high and stared at the barmaid's forehead like she had been taught to do when she first started teaching. “I could leave it here for a few days if you want to use my shirt as your pattern.”

The woman was taken back by Meredith's kindness, but was too jaded to believe. “What planet did you drop from, honey?”

Meredith smiled as if she understood the joke. “I grew up here but went away for a few years during college. Took over Mrs. Helderman's second-grade class when I got my degree.”

The barmaid smiled. “I had Mrs. Helderman. She was so old we all believed she dated Robert E. Lee. She still have that picture of him hanging behind her desk when you got there?”

“Of course. I don't think she ever threw anything away. You should have seen her files. She kept toothless, second-grade pictures of most of the people in this town.” Meredith leaned closer so she could read the name tag. “I don't remember seeing a Barbi, though.”

“It's Barbara. Barbara Coleman. I think I was in the fifth grade when you came. I kind of remember seeing you around.”

“Yes, of course.” Meredith patted Barbi's arm. “You're Molly and Jake's big sister. How are they doing? I heard Molly got into A and M.”

“That's right. Another few years and my baby sister may be an engineer.”

“I'm so proud. She was such a sweet little girl.”

Meredith glanced at Frankie. He looked like he might throw up.

The cowboy sauntered from the other end of the bar, his beer in hand. “I had Mrs. Helderman. She used to turn her ring around and thump us with the stone if we caused trouble. I still got dents in my head to prove it.”

Frankie groaned. “I'm calling the cops. You stay much longer, teacher, and there's bound to be trouble. Who knows, all the customers will probably start getting out their old annuals and we'll sign ‘See you when the summer's over.' We can have a regular grade school reunion.”

Meredith ignored Frankie and looked at the cowboy. “You're Smiley Weathers, aren't you? Mrs. Helderman used to tell stories about you when she'd come up to have lunch in the teachers' lounge.”

“She remembered me?” He seemed touched.

Meredith added, “She showed the newspaper clippings of you making it into the rodeo finals in Las Vegas.”

Smiley took a swig of his beer. “She did, huh? Well, I'll be.”

Frankie had had enough. “You'd best be ordering a drink or stating your business, teacher. I can't stand much more of this.”

Meredith folded her hands and leaned her elbows on the bar. “As I said, I'm a friend of Randi Howard, and I'm here to see if you'd be willing to drop any charges against her if she had the light pole fixed.”

His eyes squinted like he was trying to see a lie. “And how might you be friends with Randi?”

Meredith forced out the words she hated to say. “My husband was killed with hers on the oil rig that caught fire a few months ago.”

Both Barbi and Smiley drew closer.

“Ohhh.” Barbi sighed. “I'm so sorry. It was horrible, wasn't it? They say old Shelby Howard is little more than a
vegetable. Had one of his ears burned completely off, too. No telling what else. Maybe it's lucky your man died.”

Meredith did not answer. She had grown used to such insane statements.

“I've got friends who played ball with your husband.” Smiley made a slight toast with his beer. “They say he was one of the best who ever played in this town.”

Frankie glared at the pair of crybabies. “Now don't get started again. So you're friends with Randi because of some accident. That don't make you her keeper. She got into trouble last night, and this time she's going to pay.”

Smiley and Barbi looked at him like he had thumped a puppy.

Frankie picked up the rag and wiped the bar, trying to ignore their disapproval.

“Randi's not alone,” Meredith added. “Helena Whitworth is posting her bond and Anna Montano as well as Crystal Howard will stand behind her with any money needed to make the repairs.”

Frankie snorted. “Crystal, I believe. She and Randi used to run this place on busy nights. Haven't seen her for a while. Don't know Anna Montano, but everybody's heard of her. Cowboys from the Montano spread who come in here say she's a looker.”

“Look but don't touch,” Smiley added. “I hear tell her brother threatens to cut the nuts off anyone who talks to her.” He glanced at Meredith. “Pardon my language, Mrs. Allen.”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “So Randi's got her some friends. So what? That don't fix my pole.”

Meredith played her ace. “We'd be willing to put up a string of light poles that look like old fashioned street-lamps if you'd drop the charges. We have every intention of squaring up with you.”

“Wouldn't that be swell,” Barbi chimed in. “Think of it, Frankie. This place would finally have some class. Maybe folks could find their cars if we added more than one light pole.”

“More poles would just be more for them to run over.” He wasn't giving in so easily. “Besides, the pole hit the building when it fell. Scratched the paint off the left side.”

“You've got to be kidding.” Smiley laughed. “How could you tell that scratch from the hundred folks made trying to leave the parking lot? Some nights it's like bumper cars at closing time.”

“But if we got a string of new lights, folks would notice the paint job,” Frankie reasoned.

Meredith remembered Helena's words to offer whatever she had to in order to get the charges dropped. “Would you call it even if we had the building painted?”

Frankie slowed his cleaning. “I might. I always liked Randi. If she hadn't killed my pole I'd say we would still be friends.”

“Blue!” Barbi giggled. “The building has to be blue.”

“Blue's not a good color for a bar.” Smiley took another drink. “Black, maybe with a red roof.”

“Both of you shut up. The two of you sound like those interior decorators on TV.” Frankie looked like he needed a drink. “It's a deal, lady. I'll let you know what color. Now get out of here or order, I don't have time to chat.”

Meredith offered her hand again, and this time Frankie took it.

As she turned to hug Barbi goodbye, the door swung open with a pop, letting in a wide slice of late-afternoon sun.

Sheriff Farrington stood with his feet wide apart and
his hand resting easy on his gun belt. Meredith almost laughed. He looked every bit the lawman stepping into a saloon in the badlands.

When he saw Meredith, she didn't miss the way his whole body relaxed. He closed the door and walked in as if finding her in the local dive were an everyday occurrence. “Evenin', Frankie.”

“Evenin', Sheriff. You off duty and drinking tonight, or like half my business lately, just come to talk?”

“Any problem?”

“Not unless you call arguing over what color to paint the place a riot.”

Granger looked at Meredith. “You having car trouble, Mrs. Allen?”

“No,” she said. “I was just leaving.” She hugged Barbi again. “Now, tell Molly hello for me.”

Barbi promised, then added, “I'd really like that pattern from your sweatshirt. They'd make real neat Christmas presents.”

Meredith wiggled out of the sweatshirt and then straightened the white blouse beneath. It was wrinkled and hopelessly covered in tiny red balls. “I'll pick the sweatshirt up in a few days when I come back.”

“You're coming back?” Granger looked away as if there was a possibility she thought someone else had asked the question.

Meredith saw no need to answer. This was none of his business.

“I've got to go. Bye, Barbi. Take care, Smiley.” Meredith moved toward the door. “Bye, Frankie. I'll return with some paint samples.”

“Bye!” Frankie drew the word out as he wiggled his fat fingers.

All three on the other side of the bar glared at him.

Meredith ran to her Mustang, in a hurry to get home.

On the fourth try to start her car she noticed Granger standing beside her driver's side window.

“What?” she snapped, angry that he had followed her again.

“Let me try.”

She got out of the Mustang, shivering. “What makes you think it will respond to a male foot pumping the clutch any better than a female foot?”

He pulled off his uniform jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. “Just let me give it a try.”

The second time he turned the key, the engine kicked to life.

“Luck,” she said as he climbed out.

“Does this thing have a heater?”

“No.” She offered him back his coat. “But I won't freeze in the ten blocks to my house.”

He refused to take the coat. “Keep it. I know how you hate to be cold. You can bring it back tomorrow, if you're working at the courthouse this Sunday.”

“I have to get finished with some reports. How about you? Are you planning to be in your office tomorrow?” Everyone in town knew the sheriff did not work Sundays.

“I'll be there,” he snapped as if they were having an argument and not simply a conversation. “I have some end-of-the-month paperwork to catch up on.”

He walked away without saying another word.

Meredith drove home wrapped in his warm coat, wondering how he knew she hated to be cold.