(Circa 1975)
Tucker Thomas parked his car behind the church in the only spot of shade still open. He exhaled as he sat back in his seat, rolled down the window, and let the midday heat of Greeley, Texas, wash over him. Sweat dampened his neck and arms as he took his first whiff of Bowdon County air in over six years.
He’d spent four of those years in college and two in the army. Uncle Sam had sent him to Vietnam, and he’d been among the last to get out. Fortunately, he got out whole. And now, here he was back in Greeley.
A hint of wood smoke mingled with the scent of slow-roasted pork from Bo's Barbecue Barn beside the church. The restaurant had installed air conditioning when he’d still been in high school, and ever since, the congregation of the Greeley Free-Will Evangelical Mission had observed their Sunday devotionals with a morning round in the church and a mid-day session at Bo's.
Woodrow Thomas, Tucker's grandfather and the funerary guest of honor, used to lead the charge from sanctuary to salad bar. Timing of the weekly exodus was crucial as barbecue connoisseurs populated the Baptist and Methodist churches, too. One of Woodrow's duties as a church deacon was to alert the preacher if the competition broke early and attempted to usurp the Mission's place at the head of the line. The old man took his church work seriously, and it was a rare day when anyone ate ahead of Greeley's Free-Will Evangelical Missionaries.
Little had changed since Tucker put his high school diploma in his pocket and the wretched little town in his rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Woodrow would be leading his final procession, albeit prone, in an hour or so, after which Tucker planned a speedy return to San Antonio. With any luck, he'd never have to make the trip to Greeley again.
Suit coat in hand, he eased out of his car and walked toward the church. Surviving family members would occupy the front pew, leaving him no way to gracefully avoid joining them.
He stepped through the double doors of the sanctuary and paused. The church looked unchanged. Bright sunlight flooded the stained glass window behind the altar and invested the final moments of Jesus with a cheery glow. Woodrow's open casket filled the space in front of the altar as a handful of people Tucker didn't recognize paid their final respects. He resolved to join them.
The floor squeaked under his feet as he walked, and mourners on either side of the aisle cut their eyes at him as if he had wandered in nude. He ignored them and focused on the body in the box ahead of him.
Try as he might, he couldn't avoid the thought that Woodrow looked like shit. Not that he ever looked good to begin with, but right then he looked even worse than usual. Dead, in fact. A bible sat in the crook of one arm and an under-inflated football rested in the other, the faded signature of legendary University of Texas coach Darrell Royal just barely visible.
Tucker fought off a smile, knowing how many of his relatives longed to have that stupid ball. It didn't seem likely that Woodrow would fumble it anytime soon, not with the ultimate end zone just ahead. Tucker looked down at the old man, his hands artfully crossed to hide his mutilated fingers. How many times had he waved those abbreviated digits in the faces of the young customers at his fireworks stand? Tucker let his smile show through. Maybe it did some good. He wondered who had inherited the business as he turned away from the casket and faced Woodrow's survivors.
Uncle Hunter, the oldest of Woodrow’s three children, anchored the pew, gray head lowered, his hands resting palms up in his broad lap. His twin sons, Denny and Donny, sat beside him like chained pit bulls and glowered at Tucker as he walked by. Woodrow had often remarked that the two couldn't muster a decent IQ if they multiplied one of their scores by the other. Their mother died in childbirth, and he'd heard more than once that it was likely a kindness. Tucker sought pew space beyond Hunter and found it among the numerous Baxleys, offspring of Woodrow's amazingly fecund daughter, Nell.
She eyed him suspiciously but said nothing as he took his seat beside her. Eight of her oldest children, and their children, filled the two pews behind him. Tucker's own mother, Nell's sister, had left him for the family to raise when he was three. She never came back. As a child, Tucker resented her for what she'd done, but the years gave him perspective and more than a little sympathy for her departure.
The service began with a hymn played on the church's Vox Continental, a portable organ donated by a failed rock band. At first, Tucker thought he recognized the tune, then decided he was mistaken since the organist put more faith in mood and intensity than actual notes, a fact he pointed out to Nell. She threatened to make him sit with the twins if he didn't keep his smart-ass comments to himself.
"Sorry," Tucker said.
She sniffed. "You married yet?"
He cast a quick, backward glance at her two rows of progeny and shook his head. Even if he had a romantic interest, he wasn't about to admit it to the family brood mare.
"Woodrow always said you were a great disappointment."
Tucker feigned a sorrowful look, or what he hoped passed for one.
As the music came to a merciful close, Preacher Clackum stepped in front of the casket and nodded a farewell to Tucker's grandfather. The sanctuary fell silent as the silver-haired minister murmured words only the deceased could have heard.
Suddenly, the sanctuary doors burst open and a half dozen men in white robes entered the building. Patches and embroidered insignia decorated the robes with all the panache of factory second bowling shirts and proudly proclaimed the wearers as members of the Imperial Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, Texas Region, (Reconstituted). Tucker didn't recognize any of them, though it took him a moment to register that none wore a hood.
He leaned toward Nell. "What's this all about?"
"Half those guys are on the FBI payroll," she whispered. “That’s the only reason they keep the dumb thing goin’.”
The six men marched up the squeaky aisle and distributed themselves around the coffin. One stepped forward, his robe markedly cleaner than the others, and Tucker wondered if that alone catapulted him to leadership.
The man cleared his throat twice before addressing the pastor and the startled congregation. "Brother Thomas was a senior officer and long-time member of our Klavern. We're here as an honor guard to escort him to his final resting place." He surrendered his post to another of the Klansmen who produced what looked like folded bed linens. He placed them gently in the coffin beside the sacred football then straightened and addressed the minister. "Okay Preacher, you just go on with the service and don't pay us any mind."
The minister managed a shaky Lord's Prayer, but with the help of the congregation eventually went on as if nothing unusual had transpired.
Tucker nudged his aunt Nell and whispered, "Was Woodrow one of the informants or one of the clueless?" Klueless?
She glared at him. "Don't speak ill of the dead."
Tucker observed the robed men standing at parade rest on either side of the coffin. "Right."
His mind threatened to wander aimlessly as Preacher Clackum rattled on about what a good and kind and just man Woodrow Thomas was -- a true humanitarian. And then he asked if anyone in attendance wanted to say something in remembrance of the great man.
Tucker came out of his trance acutely aware of Nell's elbow in his ribs.
"What?" he asked.
"You're the big city genius," she said. "Can't you say something about your own granddaddy?"
Tucker felt his blood pool in his loafers, convinced the Klansmen displayed way too much interest in him. He swallowed and looked to see if anyone else appeared ready to volunteer, but the honor guard seemed to have a similar effect on the congregation at large. He slowly rose to his feet.
The preacher smiled and waved him forward, clearly relieved to yield ground zero to someone else.
Tucker took a few wobbly steps, the vigor matching his confidence level. Surely he could think of something to say that wouldn't rile the Imperial Knights.
The preacher took his hand and shook it with far more enthusiasm than the occasion warranted, then slipped away. Tucker turned to face the mourners and smiled.
Nobody smiled back.
"I'm Tucker Thomas," he said. "Woodrow was my grandfather. He and my grandma took me in when I was three. Gran died six years ago." He looked at the people as if he'd just been struck by the coincidence. "Until today, that was the last time I'd been in Greeley."
No one seemed particularly interested, least of all the Klansmen.
"There’s not much I can tell you about Woodrow that you don't already know." He glanced at the honor guard. "It's funny how some things can remain a secret, isn't it?"
He sweated through a few nervous laughs then plowed ahead. "My grandfather and I didn't have a whole lot in common," he said, hoping he'd be able to think of some belief they did share. "But he always stood by me. Even when I decided to become an Aggie instead of a Longhorn."
His declaration of Texas A&M fealty boosted him a notch with a portion of the crowd, but lowered him a notch with the rest.
"And he taught me a good many things. About life. About, uhm, gettin’ by. About recognizing human needs and wants and working to fulfill them."
A quick glance at the honor guard gave him slightly more confidence. They appeared harmless. Of course, the same could be said of a sleeping rattler. He decided not to say anything about Woodrow's primary source of income -- the manufacture of "genuine" civil war artifacts.
"In more ways than I can describe, Woodrow Thomas helped to make me the man I am today. The things he did, and the people he believed in, shaped my life, and I'm here today to thank him one last time."
At long last, a few smiles appeared in the congregation. Tucker nodded in appreciation, then sat down before he was forced to admit his grandfather was a crook and a con artist and represented everything in life he hoped to avoid. Woodrow was the perfect counter role model, and a new realization suddenly dawned on him. Hell, he ought to thank the old bastard.
The thought made him grin. Wasn't that what he'd just done?
~*~
The majority of mourners pooled near the exit to lend moral, if not physical, support to the Klansmen who bore Woodrow’s casket to the graveyard beside the church. Tucker stood near his car hoping to get away before anyone collared him.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Tucker didn’t recognize the voice and jerked around to face the speaker, a striking blonde in a white sundress that emphasized attributes any cheerleader would envy. Just the sight of such a beauty would normally have been enough to render him speechless, but that she’d been looking for him made his head spin.
“Do I know you?” He finally managed.
“We went to school together,” she said. “For a while, anyway.“
He gave her his best rendition of a dazzling smile. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you if we ever met.”
She returned his smile, with double the wattage. “Miz’ Mabry? Fifth grade?”
His mind spun like a hamster wheel. How could he not know someone so drop dead gorgeous? Could life be more unfair? “I’m not-- I, uh....”
“I’m Holly Coe.”
Instantly, the hamster wheel locked, and he stared at her in stupefying recognition. Holly Coe? Big, fat, Holly Coe? Impossible! “Holy--“
“Please,” she said, palms raised, “don’t say it. You can’t imagine how I hated that nickname.”
They’d called her “Holy Cow” as much for her great size as for the convenient meanness of it. The tag had nothing to do with religion.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just-- I--“
“Forget it,” she said. “I shouldn’t be so touchy.”
“No, no. You’ve every right to be sensitive about it. Kids can be such assholes. My own cousins taunted me, called me an orphan. Like I could do something about it. But, what happened to you?” Still groping for words, he added, “I mean, you just dropped out of sight. There weren’t that many kids in the whole school. It’s not like we didn’t notice.”
“When my granddaddy got elected to Congress, the whole family moved to DC. Both my parents worked for him, and so they put me in a private school up there.”
“You look fantastic.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling again. “I worked at it.”
“I can imagine.”
“No,” she said, simply. “You can’t.”
“I meant--“
“Is there somewhere we can go, out of the heat? We need to talk.”
We do? Yes! He pulled himself together. “I’m sure we can find someplace. Bo’s will be mobbed as soon as the funeral’s over, but--“
“How rude of me,” she said. “The ceremony is about to start. You probably need to go. And, by the way, I was sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
“Thanks,” he said. “And honestly, I hadn’t planned to attend the graveside service. Woodrow and I-- We weren’t that close.”
“I thought you lived with him.”
“I did. A long time ago.” He gave her an appraising look. “You seem to know a lot about me. Do you keep such close tabs on all your granddad’s constituents?”
Laughing, she waved him into her car. He didn’t mind. Who could complain about being driven around town by a beautiful woman in a sports car? Woodrow Thomas may have done many things, but raising an idiot wasn’t one of them.
~*~
They settled into a booth in the Cattlemen’s Castle, an enterprise with roots in the previous century. A faded sign from the original building, the Spread Eagle, hung over a traditional mirror behind the bar.
“This place used to be a brothel, y’know,” Holly said.
Tucker nodded. “So I heard -- a real hot topic when you’re in high school. But then came all the church folk. Greeley’s just not the same ol’ den of sin it used to be.”
“Like back in the pioneer days,” Holly said.
“Woodrow told me some tales. Greeley’s seen some wild times, and not all of it in the 1800’s.”
Holly drummed her fingers on the table. “There’s still some of that goin’ on. But if folks will just relax a bit, and let sleeping dogs lie, much of it will just pass quietly into the past, and Greeley can move forward.”
Tucker eyed her closely. “Are you referring to something specific, or are we still talking in generalities?”
The question caused a bump in her comfort level. “Ah, well. That’s kinda why I’m here, actually.”
“I wondered about that. What’d Woodrow do this time?”
Just then a waitress arrived to take their order. She gave them both long looks before leaving to fetch their drinks.
“Your grandfather sent a letter to the Congressman.”
“The Congressman being your granddad.”
“Right. Turns out they were pals in the old days. And I mean the really old days, like before the first world war.”
Tucker nodded. “Okay, yeah. I think I heard something about that.”
“It also turns out those two were quite the desperados.”
“Woodrow? No. I can see him as a bit of an idiot, sure. He blew some of his own fingers off! But a criminal? A dangerous criminal? No way.”
She dropped her voice so low he had to lean forward to catch her words. “He tried to blackmail the Congressman.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Keep your voice down,” she said. “You can never be sure who’s listening.”
“This is Greeley, not Washington, DC.”
“I’m quite aware of that.”
“Do you have a copy of the letter?” he asked.
“Not with me,” she said. “I came down here to talk with him about it, but before I could arrange an interview, he had a heart attack and died.”
Tucker sat back in the booth. “I ‘spect that puts an end to it then, doesn’t it?”
She fidgeted for a moment, and then their drinks arrived. The waitress set two beers on the table and was about to leave when she stopped and squinted at Tucker. “I know you,” she said. “You’re Woodrow Tucker’s grandson. You were a couple years ahead of me at Greeley High.” She offered her hand. “I’m Sue Mabry.”
“Mabry was our fifth grade teacher’s name,” Holly said.
“She’s my aunt,” Sue said. “She’s retired now. Spends all her time trying to keep the town’s crappy little history museum open.”
“This really is old home week,” Tucker said, smiling. “I’m Tucker, and yes, Woodrow was my granddad. This is Holly Coe. She went to school here, too, but she moved.”
“Seems like I’m the only one who hasn’t found a way out,” the waitress said.
Holly appeared sympathetic. “It’s not such a bad place to live.”
“Try gettin’ a date around here. If you’re lucky enough to find someone to go out with, there’s no place to go!”
“Sorry, kid,” Tucker said.
“I’ll keep your tab open,” the waitress said, then wandered away.
Tucker waited until she was beyond earshot. “You were going to say something about Woodrow’s letter.”
“Right. See, there’s a little problem. Your grandfather claimed to have a note from the Congressman which implicated him in one of their escapades.”
“From when? A hundred years ago?”
“Sixty-five, more or less.”
“Who cares?”
“See? That’s what I mean. If folks could just let this ancient history go, there’d be no problem at all.”
Tucker watched as she head-tossed a mass of blonde hair over her bare shoulder. It looked like the obligatory, post shampoo, here’s-hair-to-die-for shot in a commercial. He had to force himself back to the topic at hand. “So, who’s making a big deal out of it?”
“No one, yet,” she said. “But if there really is an incriminating letter floating around somewhere, I’d sure like to get my hands on it.”
“What, exactly, did the Congressman say in this letter?” he asked.
“Only your grandfather knew. My grandfather doesn’t remember writing to him, but then, it’s been so long....“
Tucker thought for a moment. “Wouldn’t the statute of limitations apply?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
She paused before whispering, “There was a murder involved.”
“Holy--“
“Tucker!”
“--crap!”
They sat in silence for some time before the waitress returned and asked if they needed refills. Neither did.
Tucker handed the waitress his credit card, suddenly inspired. “Can you tell me about this history museum?”
“There’s not much to tell. Aunt Kate runs it, but who’d want to go there? It’s tiny. She’s got a collection of old junk that nobody wanted. I can’t imagine why she cares.”
“Where is it?” he asked.
She gave him directions. He settled the bill and then said to Holly, “I’ll let you get dinner.”
“Oh, really? You paid for what? A whole beer?”
“Two. And one was an import. Hey, you came to me, remember? I’m just tryin’ to help you out. Besides, you’ve got an expense account, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’d like to see some of my tax dollars at work.”
She shook her head in defeat.
“Can I interest you in a museum?” he asked.
~*~
“This used to be the undertaker’s place,” Kate Mabry said after an exchange of greetings with Tucker and Holly when they entered the museum. “Some really bad hombres came through here.” She smiled. “Usually, in the front and out the back.”
“And on to Boot Hill?” Holly asked.
“The town cemetery didn’t really have a name,” Kate said. “They just called it the bone orchard.”
Tucker chuckled.
“Gruesome,” Holly said.
“Cowboy humor, actually. Not uncommon around here.”
“Lots of crime back in the old days?” Tucker asked, pleased by the woman’s enthusiasm and apparent knowledge of local history.
“Like most frontier towns, Greeley had an abundance of hard-livin’ folks. Mostly men, but some interesting women, too.”
Tucker glanced at a framed article from a Lubbock newspaper. He stared hard at the accompanying photo, then at the museum’s proprietor. “Is this story about you?”
“Actually, it’s about an auto race.”
Holly stepped closer to inspect the clipping. “It sure looks like you.”
“I was a lot younger then.”
“You never said anything about this when you taught our class.” Tucker gave her an admiring look.
The intervening years had been good to her, he thought. She still had the dimpled smile she displayed in the photo. The same impish grin, too. He forced himself back to the business at hand.
“Just out of curiosity, did the undertaker leave any records?”
Kate bobbed her head, waving a few errant gray hairs in the process. “They weren’t meticulous,” she said, “but they provide some details that would’ve been lost otherwise. The town didn’t have a newspaper. Probably didn’t have that many people who could read.”
“We’re curious about mysterious deaths in the early 1900’s,” Holly said. “Would the records reflect anything like that?”
“Some,” said Kate. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Uh--“
“Hard to say,” volunteered Tucker.
“There were plenty of unexplained deaths,” Kate said. “Disappearances, too. And no law enforcement. My guess is most of the people who lived here liked it that way.”
“How ‘bout the Texas Rangers?” Tucker asked.
“I’m sure they rode through from time to time. Have you checked to see if they have anything on file?”
“Very little,” Holly said. She smiled at Tucker. “The office checked before I flew down.”
“What office?” Kate asked.
“Congressman Coe’s,” Tucker said. “Holly is the Congressman’s granddaughter.”
Kate seemed too lost in thought to be impressed. “Greeley’s got an awful lot of secrets. Desperate people, desperate times. You get hints and peeks at odd things and colorful characters, but you almost never get the full story about anything.” She walked over to a bookcase and retrieved a well-worn journal. The yellowed pages appeared brittle, and Kate took great care when looking through them for a particular entry.
“I’ve been meaning to copy this,” she said. “But my typing skills aren’t very good. It would take forever.”
“Why not hire someone to transcribe it?” Tucker asked.
“I’m lucky to afford the light bill,” she said. “Anyway, there’s a page or two in here devoted to a couple interesting ladies from the early days. Sisters Etta and Bessie. Etta had a gold nugget that was the talk of the town for years. Supposedly it resembled an armadillo. Or maybe a horned toad. I dunno. Something like that.”
“What happened to it?” Holly asked.
Kate shrugged. “I haven’t got the foggiest. Bessie’s name shows up in the undertaker’s records, but not Etta’s. Which, if you think about it, makes sense.”
“Why?”
“Because Bessie lived in town. Etta lived a couple hours away, by horseback. She’s probably buried pretty close to where she died.”
As the visitors prepared to leave, Kate put a gentle hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “I was sorry to hear about your grandfather. Woodrow was quite a character. Colorful. Not too many like him anymore.”
Tucker muttered a thanks, but something in the way Kate looked at him made him linger.
“You remind me of your mother,” she said. “I always liked her.”
“Thanks,” Tucker said. “I don’t really know much about her.”
Kate smiled. “Drop by some time. Maybe I can fill in a few of the blanks.”
“I’d like that.”
“Time to go,” Holly said.
~*~
They drove back to the church and Holly pulled in beside Tucker’s car. Only one other vehicle shared the gravel lot with them, and Tucker recognized the driver instantly.
“Oh, great,” he said. “It’s my aunt Nell.”
“Go. Talk to her. I’ve got to call the office anyway. I’ll be back to get you in a while. We can do that dinner you talked about.”
“Got a place in mind?” he asked, eyeing Bo’s restaurant. “I’m not really in the mood for barbeque, and we’ve pretty much used up all the other places I’m not afraid of.”
“We’ll think of something,” she said. “Meet you here at six?”
“Sure.”
She drove off in a spray of gravel, and he couldn’t help but wonder where she’d rented the car. Amarillo, maybe. Braniff flew there. So did TWA.
“Hey -- Tucker!”
Nell’s scratchy voice would have gotten his attention even if she hadn’t yelled, but flying under the radar had never been her style. Tucker shuffled toward her car and leaned into the driver’s window. “Hey.”
“Daddy named you in his will, y’know,” she said.
“Good to see you, too,” he responded.
“I didn’t see you at the grave.”
“I figured there was enough family present. Besides, Woodrow and I weren’t on the best of terms.”
“You thought he’d rise up and pick a fight with you?”
“C’mon, Nell. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Don’t I know. Listen, I talked the lawyer into giving me what Daddy left for you. I coulda checked it out myself, but it wouldn’t have been right.”
Tucker had never thought of her as a paragon of virtue, but he had to admit, this was pretty decent of her. “What’d he leave me? An overdue utility bill?”
“He left you this.” She handed him a tiny envelope emblazoned with the logo of the Eureka Savings and Loan.
“That’s it? No letter? No final words?”
“I was hoping for a thank you,” Nell said.
“Of course,” Tucker said. “Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” He checked his watch. “You s’pose the bank’s still open?”
“Maybe,” Nell said, rolling up her window. She drove off much as Holly had, without displacing quite as much gravel.
~*~
The Eureka Savings and Loan hadn’t quite closed when Tucker arrived. The teller looked at him with undisguised loathing as he pushed through the door. Tucker ignored her and went straight to the manager’s office.
After a short inspection of his identity, the chubby, balding man led him to the vault and a bank of safe deposit boxes, none of which appeared big enough to house more than a pair of slippers.
The bank official inserted his key and invited Tucker to do the same, then left.
Tucker extracted a surprisingly long metal box from its resting place. He placed the box on a table and sat down in front of it.
Here goes nothing, he thought. What’ve you got for me, Woodrow? One last kick in the pants?
He opened the box and found an envelope and a rock. He inspected the rock first, convinced -- despite any training in geology -- that it contained a significant amount of gold. He turned it in his hand, trying to see if-- Yes! When held just so, it looked for all the world like an armadillo.
The envelope bore a note scrawled in pencil on unlined paper. He had to hold it close to the desk lamp to decipher the faint handwriting.
Woody,
You remember that gal we always used to talk about? Well, the bitch got pregnant, and now her daddy’s lookin’ for me. I’m done with Greeley, but I need that gold.
You got to help me. Old man Parker will shoot me like a dog if I don’t marry that girl!
Besides, sooner or later, somebody’s going to figure out who killed the old woman. They’ll never suspect you. But me? I can’t risk it.
After I cash in the gold, I’ll send you your share.
Eldron
Tucker read the note several times, scrutinizing every word, especially the names. An idea began to form. The wall clock gave him twenty minutes until he connected with Holly. Time to go. A glance through the vault door confirmed it as the manager and the teller both stood with arms crossed and toes tapping.
He tucked the envelope and the nugget in separate pockets, left the empty box on the table, and exited both vault and bank. With any luck, he could catch Kate Mabry before she left the museum.
~*~
Kate was just locking up when Tucker hailed her from his car. She paused in the museum doorway while he parked.
“I need to ask you about the woman you mentioned,” he said. “The one whose gold everybody used to talk about?”
“Etta Munger,” Kate said. “What about her?”
“Is her house still standing?”
Kate pursed her lips and thought for a bit before answering. “Probably. I don’t think I’d want to go inside, though. The place is liable to cave in, if it hasn’t already.”
“Can you tell me how to find it?”
“Oh, that’s easy. It’s just off the road to Beaker Flats. There’s no turn off, you just head toward New Mexico and keep an eye on the northern horizon. You’ll see the ruins in the distance. I went out there a couple times, years ago. Got a curio cabinet, but it was in sad shape. Didn’t see anything else of value. What’re you looking for?”
“I’m not sure, really,” he said. “Evidence? I think I know who killed that woman, and I’d like to see where it happened.”
Kate looked surprised. “That would’ve been over sixty years ago. D’you think there’d still be any evidence?”
Tucker responded with a shrug. “It can’t hurt to look, can it?”
“But, why the sudden interest, and what makes you think you know anything about Etta Munger?”
He hadn’t planned to show her the letter, especially considering his earlier resolve to leave Greeley -- and his family -- forever. But the letter changed that, and he’d been given the opportunity to right some wrongs.
He handed her the old note and watched while she struggled to read it. She dug a magnifying glass from her purse and made simple work of it.
“This signature,” she said at last. “I take it you already know who Eldron is?”
He nodded.
“Then, you know he’s not someone you want to anger. He’s a powerful man.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“Maybe. You notice he doesn’t actually confess to anything in the letter. Ironic, isn’t it? The perfect politician: gets in trouble, demands money, and admits nothing.” She gave him a sympathetic shake of her head. “Are you sure you want to get involved in this? It’d be easier to just turn it over to the district attorney.” She appeared to give the notion some additional thought. “Although I ‘spect the DA wouldn’t be eager to do anything about it. He and Coe belong to the same party.”
“More irony,” Tucker said.
She squinted at him. “It’s the Parker reference isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“The Parker girl--“
“Was my grandmother.”
~*~
Holly greeted him with a wave when he pulled into the church lot. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” he said.
She shook her head and smiled. “It’s steak night at the Cattleman’s Castle.”
“It’s always steak night at the Cattleman’s Castle.”
“Well, I’m up for it if you are.”
“Absolutely,” he said, “but I’d like to make a little detour first.”
“Oh? Where to?” Her blonde hair and blue eyes had a powerful effect.
He hadn’t intended to tell her he found the letter. Though he originally agreed with her that old transgressions should be put to rest, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He felt more than a twinge of guilt knowing his attitude could be so easily reversed when the issue became personal.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked. The smile had grown wider, more inviting. And the sundress seemed to reveal even more cleavage than before.
Focus, Tucker!
He gave her a nervous laugh. “It’s just-- This is really awkward.”
“What is?”
He pulled out the letter and handed it to her. “I think this is what you came looking for.”
She opened the letter and scanned through it. “Hard to read, isn’t it?”
“No kidding. Who writes a letter with a pencil?”
She grimaced. “According to this signature, my grandfather did.”
He sat quietly while she examined the old note.
“I’d like to see this in better light,” she said. “And maybe with a magnifying glass. Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“And,” she added. “I need to make another phone call.”
Tucker gently pulled the note from her fingers, folded it, and put it back in his pocket. “I understand. But right now, I’m going to drive out and take a look at the place where the old lady lived. You’re welcome to come along, or we can just meet up later.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’d like to go with you. But I really do need to make that call.”
“No problem. There’s a pay phone on the way out of town.”
“Can we take your car?” she asked. “I’m low on gas.”
He agreed, feeling magnanimous and ready to congratulate himself for handling what could have been a disastrously awkward situation.
~*~
“You can’t miss it,” is one of those oft-spoken refrains which almost never comes true. It all but guarantees missing whatever one’s looking for. Based on personal experience, Tucker expected this basic truism to rear its head again. And it did.
No matter how hard they scanned the horizon, nothing showed but empty plains stretching into the vastness of west Texas.
They reached the New Mexico border and turned around, looking over their left shoulders on the way back toward Greeley. Tucker had reached a point on the verge of frustration when Holly spotted something in the distance.
“There!” she cried, as if she’d found the landing site of an alien spaceship. “See?”
He thought -- maybe -- he had. Applying the brakes, he angled into the sand and scrub through which the blacktopped highway ran. Speed was not an issue; keeping all four tires intact, was.
“I see the house,” Holly said. He couldn’t tell if her voice actually sounded breathless, or if it might’ve been his imagination. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d grabbed surreptitious glances at her gloriously drooping neckline. It nearly made him seek out bumps and ridges to drive over.
All too soon they drove into the front “yard” of a dilapidated building. Weather greyed and beaten down by sandstorms and a century of west Texas sunlight, the house still stood. Sort of. The roof had long ago abandoned any pretense of protection from the elements, to say nothing of architectural integrity. The walls leaned nearly as much, and almost nothing of the front porch remained attached to the main structure.
“I’m going in,” Tucker said.
“Why?” Holly asked. “It doesn’t look safe.”
“How bad could it be?” he asked.
“If it doesn’t come crashing down on your head, then I ‘spect you’ll only run the risk of falling through the floor and landing in a pit of vipers. You up for that?”
“Pessimism doesn’t become you,” he said.
“Okay then, lead on.”
He stepped gingerly through the remains of the porch and tested the door. The knob had rusted into a solid blob, but the hinges still worked, albeit noisily. He pushed the front door open, climbed up on the sill, then turned and offered Holly a hand up.
When he turned around, he found himself facing an old man in a blue golf shirt and tan slacks. His carefully coifed, white hair and pleasant demeanor did nothing to soften the threat of the gun he pointed directly at Tucker’s heart.
“You must be the Thomas boy,” the old man said.
Tucker quickly got over his surprise. Holly must’ve tipped him off. “Congressman Coe?”
A head nod. “At your service.”
“I’m sorry,” Holly said, putting her hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “I had to tell him.”
“God knows, we wouldn’t want to take our time with something as sensitive as a sixty-five year old murder.”
“I understand you have a letter of some kind,” Coe said.
Tucker glared at Holly.
“Come, come. It’s not that big a deal. Just hand it over, and we’ll forget this whole regrettable incident.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Tucker said.
“Son, you aren’t the first to try and blackmail me.”
“Woodrow wouldn’t do that.”
“Actually,” said Coe, “he did. But he wasn’t the first either. That would’ve been your mother.”
“What?”
“That was the second body I hid that no one will ever find. Do you think I’m not willing to go for three? Gimme the damned letter!”
A new voice entered the conversation, emanating from ground level at the doorway. “Play along with him, Tucker. You mustn’t raise his blood pressure. We wouldn’t want the old bastard to seize up n’ die before he goes to jail.”
Tucker, Holly, and Coe all looked toward the voice at the same time.
Tucker’s voice reflected his puzzlement. “Aunt Nell?”
“Kate Mabry called me,” Nell said. “Told me you were headed out here, and that no good could come of it. That much appears true. What took you so long?”
“C’mon up here,” Coe said, waving his gun. “Might as well make a party of it.” He pulled back the hammer on the pistol, possibly for dramatic effect--which it clearly accomplished--and gestured for Nell to join them.
“I’m too old to climb anywhere,” she said. “I’ll just stay right here.”
“You’ll do exactly as I say,” growled the congressman.
“She’s fine right where she is,” said still another voice. This time it came from behind Coe.
Tucker stared in shock at his uncle Hunter. The pit bull twins, Denny and Donny, stood at either elbow as if waiting for the command to attack.
The gunman stepped away in an effort to keep everyone in view. He pulled a second gun from his jacket pocket, a more compact automatic, and handed the revolver to Holly. “Keep an eye on them,” he said, gesturing to Nell and Tucker.
“Hell of a time for a family reunion,” Tucker muttered.
Nell grinned. “It’s at times like these when you never have enough family. But the rest will be along soon.” She put her hands on her hips and stared directly into the congressman’s increasingly more nervous face. “I think I hear a couple cars now.”
Holly held the gun at her side, glaring at her grandfather. “You really killed two people?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“And then you wanted me to come down here and ‘charm’ the letter out of Tucker? Did you expect me to sleep with him to get it?”
“You’re not looking at this the right way,” he said, a slight whine coloring his tone.
“Bullshit.” She shot him in the kneecap.
No one moved except Coe, who collapsed like a demolished building. After a moment of odd silence, the politician began to scream, both hands clawing at his ruined knee.
“Nice shot, honey,” Nell said. Then to Tucker, “Gimme a hand up, boy!”
“But you said--“
“Help her up,” Holly said.
He did.
As Hunter and the twins dragged Coe toward the back entrance, more heads popped up in the front door -- Nell’s sons, daughters and grandchildren crowding for a better look.
Tucker called to his uncle, “Hold on a second.”
When he held out his hand, Holly placed the still smoking revolver in it. He scooped up Coe’s gun and stuck both weapons in his waistband, pirate style. Coe remained on the floor in fetal position, and Tucker stood over him, looking down.
“How’d you know Woodrow would leave me the letter?”
“Screw you,” Coe said.
Tucker shuffled his foot just enough to push the toe of his loafer into Coe’s mangled knee. The congressman reacted as if he’d been given a large dose of direct current. When he eventually calmed down, Tucker repeated the question.
“I knew Woody was afraid of incriminating himself, but he was still pissed off about-- Well, about his wife and daughter.”
“My mother and grandmother.”
“Yeah. So, it had to be you. Woody knew you couldn’t resist coming after me.” He glared at Nell and the others. “I didn’t count on all them helpin’ you out.”
“You done?” Hunter asked.
“Yeah.”
“C’mon, Pappy,” Hunter said, then motioned for his sons to continue hauling the politician out to their car. He rubbed his chin and observed, “We may need to put a Band-Aid on that knee.”
“He really yo’ daddy?” Denny asked.
“Naw. Just kiddin’. Woodrow was my Dad. I don’t even know this asshole.”
Tucker suddenly realized where the wayward gene came from that resulted in the twins. Coe’s groans faded as they dragged him away.
“Y’know,” Holly said. “When he snuck out here, he made sure nobody’d be able to follow him. We could just bury him and be done with it.”
“It’s tempting,” Tucker said, “but I’d rather see him tried and convicted.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the gold nugget, then gave it to Nell. “That needs to go in the museum.”
“I agree,” Holly said. She sidled closer, inviting him to put his arm around her.
Tucker dropped his voice. “I’ve still got the note, in case you’d like to try and charm it out of me.”
She leaned close and whispered, “Do I need to take you to bed?”
Nell just smiled.
~End~