Oakley

 

They landed just before dawn at Oakley Muni Airport in western Kansas. Griff tied the Cirrus down on the dimly lit ramp. They walked the half-mile to the Sleep Inn motel across the street and checked in with their bags and the box of journals.

Griff set the box down on the table by the window and drew the curtains closed. He threw himself down on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m beat.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Helena said sitting down beside him and poking his ribs. “Where’s this world’s largest prairie dog?”

“I lied. It’s not what you think. Just a huge, eight-foot-tall concrete lawn ornament.”

“And the five-legged goat?”

“Now, that’s real. Preserved for the ages through the miracle of taxidermy.”

“So far, I’m underwhelmed.” Helena looked around the sterile room. “So, who’s shooting at us—and, hey, what’s in the box?”

Griff moaned, thinking of Maura’s relentless curiosity in Pine Hollow and pondering on the cat-like nature of women. He rolled off the bed and went over to the table. He took out the smaller box of her dad’s medals. He handed it to Helena.

She pulled out a jeweler’s box and opened it. “You found them?”

“His Navy Cross.” Griff sat down next to her on the bed. “They found me is more like it.”

Helena gently stroked the blue and white ribbon. She traced the cross of gold. “Thank you.”

“What did he do to get it?”

“I don’t know. He never said. He didn’t talk about it much.”

Griff nodded. “I got his journals, too.”

Helena looked up at Griff.

“All of them. Starting from when he was sixteen.”

She looked at the box.

“Yup. They’re all there.”

“And this is why someone is shooting at me?”

“At us—well, my cattle. What could your dad have been involved in?”

“Money. That’s what he was involved in.”

“Well, money makes people crazy, but I think there’s something else. Something with the government.” Griff rubbed the small of her back. “Come on, let’s get some shuteye.”

Helena got up off the bed and went to the box. She picked up a journal off the top. “Have you read them?”

“Not all of them. Just the last couple.”

“And?”

“Sometimes accidents are just accidents…” Griff laid back down on the bed and covered his eyes. “And sometimes not…”

Helena looked over at Griff. “My dad?”

“There’s a seven-month gap leading up to the crash.”

“Was the last one lost in the crash?”

“Maybe…maybe not. I thought so at first, but, then again, it was the NTSB that investigated the accident—you know, the National Transportation Safety Board.”

“You think the government is trying to kill us?” Helena came back over to the bed and sat down facing Griff. She pulled his arm off his face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously? We’d be dead by now, if that’s what they wanted.” Griff met and held her eyes. “The guy who shot up my herd didn’t miss. Three cows from half a mile away with four trigger pulls ain’t luck. Whoever shot at you didn’t miss either. It was a warning. A brush back. I don’t know who the bad actors are, but there’s definitely a bad DC stink on it.”

“And the reason is my dad’s journals?”

“Evidently. Lead didn’t start flying until they were in my hands.”

Helena rubbed the leather cover of the journal in her hand. “What are we going to do?”

“Right now? Sleep. We don’t need to give them a helping hand by making stupid mistakes from fatigue.”

Helena leaned over and gave Griff a kiss.

He held her hand and squeezed gently, then rolled over. A minute later he was asleep.

Helena sat next to Griff on the bed and began reading her father’s journals.

 

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