Chapter 27
Rounders and Lovers

Her hearing would never be the same. For days after, Sally had ringing in her ears. She went to see an audiologist, who did tests and shook her head. That ballistic event in a closed room, coming not that long after the explosion at the doctor’s office, the gunshot in her bathroom, on top of all those years of playing in loud bar bands, was bound to take a toll.

But at least the blast had distracted everyone from the hideous bloody sight of Alvin Sabble, as the police charged in, as the ambulances took Charlie Preston and Alvin off to Ivinson Memorial, as paramedics checked out the rest of them and let them go. Sally had a nice gunpowder burn on the back of her leather skirt, and one of Beanie’s eyebrows had been singed half off, but amazingly, everyone was okay. That is, if you didn’t start thinking about how the whole experience might have affected Aggie Stark, let alone what kind of recovery Charlie Preston had ahead of her.

Eventually the ringing went away, and Sally reflected that a little hearing loss was a reasonable price to pay for saving Charlie and seeing Beatrice Preston brought to justice. When the police went to question her, Bea professed to know nothing about Alvin Sabble’s holding Charlie prisoner in an abandoned basement. She speculated that the same people who were behind her husband’s death had kidnapped her daughter from the private facility where she’d been receiving treatment. But Bea refused to divulge the name or location of that private facility. And within days, Scotty Atkins had rooted out financial connections between the Shelter Clinic, WWJS Realty, and the Traditional Family Fund, enough that he now had grounds to dig deep into Bea’s own affairs. They were holding her on everything from fraud to child abuse to conspiracy to commit murder.

Bea released one public statement, through her attorney, a high-priced woman who’d once been on O. J. Simpson’s legal team. The whole thing, said the lawyer, was nothing but a case of religious persecution by a sheriff who had a long history of criminal activity and liberal politics. She was confident that Beatrice Preston would be exonerated.

In which case, thought Sally, Bea shouldn’t have betrayed her henchman. Wesley King was opening up like a can of corn. According to King, everything he’d done, he’d done at Mrs. Preston’s orders. Early on the morning of the murder, Bea had called Brad to say they’d found Charlie’s car in the alley, and that he should go to pick it up. When he got there, of course, King was waiting for him with the Nut-Buster lug wrench he’d taken from the Miata. The same wrench he’d used on Charlie herself, before she’d taken off.

By the time King got done talking, they’d have plenty on Bea. And by the time Alvin Sabble recovered enough to move from the hospital to jail, minus a hand, he might be feeling a little less loyal to the woman who’d brought him into the mess, then left him to swing in the breeze.

“I never thought I’d say this,” said Dickie Langham, slugging down Coca-Cola and tugging at his tie, “but thank God for unsafe, unlicensed, shitty little Saturday night specials. Not that I’m not sorry for Alvin the Chipmunk, but all that stood between somebody getting killed and what did happen was that gun being as badly made as it was. It’s a plain damn miracle that your precious Billy Reno didn’t blow himself up before.”

Sally took a sip of some very decent champagne from— where was it? New Mexico? But then, it would be excellent champagne. Burt Langham and John Boy Walton wouldn’t have anything less at what they were calling the “Wyoming Wedding Reception of the Century.” The Yippie I O was festooned with flowers and abuzz with guests dressed to impress. Was that the famous lesbian daughter of one of the most powerful politicians in America, sporting an Armani suit and smooching with her honey?

“You know what, Dick?” Sally said. “I don’t think Billy’d ever fired that gun before. In fact, I wonder if he just went somewhere and bought it the minute he got out of jail.”

“For a criminal,” said Hawk, snagging a bacon-wrapped prawn from a passing server, “he’s pretty bush-league. But the kid’s got a brain. He ought to get out of the crime racket and put his energy where it’ll do him some good.”

“Like where?” asked Dickie.

“From what you’ve told me, he’s a genius at hot-wiring cars. Sounds like he’d be a pretty good auto mechanic,” said Sally.

“Or maybe he could go to the vo-tech school and become a dental hygienist. Then again, anybody who had his hands in their mouth would have to worry about him snatching their fillings,” said Delice, jangling her bracelets and munching a morsel of rare, seared ahi. “Which is why I decided I’d better hire him on as a dishwasher when he came in yesterday, looking for work. There aren’t too many places you can fence coffee cups.”

“Didn’t matter a bit that you had another dishwasher quit on you, did it, Dee?” said Sally.

“Call it fate,” said Delice, gesturing with her glass of Patrón and setting more bracelets clattering. “I told him to let Charlie know she could have her old job back when she’s ready.”

Sally smiled, and sighed. She’d been down to Denver to see Charlie at a world-renowned clinic, where the girl was receiving treatment intended to cut through layers and layers and years and years of trauma. It would be a while before Charlie was back slinging a coffeepot at the Wrangler. But at least, Charlie told Sally, she had moments where she actually felt safe, maybe for the first time in her life.

Burt and John Boy, clad in perfect white linen shirts, black leather jeans, shiny black cowboy boots, and matching custom belt buckles featuring their linked initials, were circulating with gardenias for the ladies and gracious greetings for all. They were both absolutely glowing. She watched them exchange air kisses with Edna McCaffrey, who spotted Sally and Hawk’s group in midair kiss.

Sally had been feeling pretty elegant in her black Donna Karan, but Edna was a showstopper, all sapphire-blue satin and miles of legs. “Well, Dr. Alder,” she said brightly, striding up to them in a way that proved she knew a lot more about walking in spike heels than Sally ever would. “Seems you guilt-tripped Dave Haggerty into a frenzy of check writing. Ivinson Memorial Hospital will soon have a new research and treatment center specifically to work on preventing and dealing with domestic violence. The Haggerty Center, if you catch my drift.” She raised her glass and clinked with Sally, everyone following suit. “Great news for women and kids in this town. The bad news, of course, is that you let that particular fish get away. Come see me Monday morning, and I’ll give you a new list of development prospects.”

Sally’s shoulders sagged a little; Hawk put his hand on her back, leaned over, and whispered in her ear, “Yeah, I know. What have you done for me lately, and blah blah blah. Let me convey my personal delight in the fact that you’re not going to be kissing up to that scumbag Haggerty. Maybe I can even dig up a few rich guys for you. All of them will be seventy-five, fat, balding, and willing to give you money because they adore their granddaughters.”

Sally grinned at Hawk. But she was hardly off the hook. Maude Stark was bearing down on them. Sally hadn’t seen her since before they’d found Charlie. Maude probably wasn’t too happy that Sally and Hawk had let her teenage niece maneuver them into taking her along on that nearly lethal escapade.

She looked around, wondering if there was any way she could escape. No hope. So she decided to go on the offense.

Maude was using her steeliest gaze, one of her best weapons, generally guaranteed to freeze adversaries in their tracks. But Sally countered by walking up to her with a huge smile and giving her a strong hug. Hawk, taking the cue, followed with a hug of his own. “Great to have something to celebrate for a change, huh, Maude?” Sally said.

“As luck would have it,” Maude said, glaring right through and beyond the hug.

“I mean, Burt and John Boy’s wedding. The happiness of the loving couple. That kind of stuff.”

“And the fact that Bea Preston’s sitting in jail, instead of picketing the reception,” Hawk added. “Take a look outside.”

They all looked. One forlorn picket stood on the sidewalk, holding a sign that said, “Queer Marriage Is No Marriage. Get Out of Laramie.”

“Pathetic,” Maude said. “Thank God.”

Sally gave up. “Hey, look. I’m really sorry about the other night. I know we should have made Aggie go home, but we felt like we had to stick with Billy, and I was pretty sure Aggie wouldn’t stay put. We really couldn’t figure out what else to do.”

Maude’s eyes narrowed fractionally. And then she sighed. “I don’t know what the hell else you could have done. One thing about us Starks. We’re so stubborn that when we make up our minds about something, you couldn’t shake us loose with a hydrogen bomb.”

“Aggie,” said Hawk, “appears to be a chip off the old block.”

Maude laughed. “So they tell me. Although as a teenager, I was too much of a goody-goody to get into the kind of trouble that girl managed. If nothing else, this whole thing taught her a lesson she badly needed to learn. I doubt she’ll be sneaking out to wild parties any time soon.”

“Are her parents freaking out?” Sally asked.

“They’re teachers, remember? They’ve seen it all. They were just surprised that Aggie had gotten around as much as she has. They’re dealing with it,” Maude said. “She’s grounded until she’s sixty-five.”

“Are they sure that’s long enough?” Hawk asked.

Just then, the sounds of guitar, bass, and fiddle tuning up wafted over the crowd. Burt and John Boy had taken tables out to clear a small dance floor in a corner, and they’d hired a trio to provide music. John Boy had been pushing for a disco DJ, but Burt had insisted that he was a down-home Wyoming boy, and he was going to dance to down-home music at his own wedding reception.

“I wonder what song they’ve picked for the first dance?” Sally murmured to Hawk.

She’d never have guessed, though the choice was perfect. Burt and John Boy walked out onto the dance floor, smiled into each other’s eyes, took each other by the hand, and showed that they knew pretty much all there was to know about country swing dancing as the band struck up a lively rendition of the Carter Family’s “Hello Stranger.”

For the first time in her life, Sally really understood that song, about two people who could be strangers and rounders and friends and lovers, all at the same time.

Hawk smiled at Sally. She smiled back. They moved onto the dance floor. He pulled her close. She nuzzled his neck.

“Now let’s see,” said Hawk softly in her ear, as more couples began to dance. “About this calm, quiet, normal life we’re going to lead.”

“Maybe later,” said Sally. “ For now, I’ve got some other ideas.”

“Nothing involving guns. No violence of any kind. No lawyers,” said Hawk.

“Oh yeah. I agree. But how about this?” She pulled his head down, put her mouth close to his ear, and began to whisper. Then she drew her head back to watch his reaction.

She’d never seen him blush like that.