Alibi Creek Read online

  Walker’s head poked around the corner.

  Lee Ann’s hand flew to her chest. “You scared us to death!”

  Mother looked straight ahead.

  “Yep, up early, alert as a jack rabbit, ready as a cocked pistol. What a day! I can give her breakfast, Lannie. You let me know. Of course, I can’t do it as good as you, but I might make it a little more interesting, huh?” He pinched Mother’s cheek, jumped in the air and turned a half circle before landing.

  Lee Ann sat down and stirred the oatmeal.

  “You should see the apples weighing down those trees at Plank’s place,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to pick you ladies a couple of bushels today, before the birds get ’em. Apple crisp sounds good, doesn’t it, Mother, with Cool Whip? Or vanilla ice cream?” He reached for the McCall’s cookbook on the shelf above the stove, scanned the index and flipped the pages. “If there’s cinnamon, pecans, flour, and oatmeal in the pantry and butter in the fridge, I’ll bake us a batch this afternoon.”

  “That might be considered trespassing,” Lee Ann said. “Or stealing.”

  It wouldn’t matter. Now that apples had tempted his taste buds, he’d heave a ladder into his pickup and fill as many boxes as he saw fit.

  “Danielle gave me the okay,” he said.

  Lee Ann cleaned Mother’s chin with a damp paper towel, wheeled her into the living room and adjusted the volume on the TV. Judy Garland sang Clang, clang, clang went the trolley…

  “You don’t happen to have a couple of twenties on you…”

  “Like always, there’s cash in the cookie jar,” Lee Ann said. She checked her watch. “I’m leaving. Grace comes between ten and eleven.”

  The pink stucco walls of the new, two-story courthouse were as out of place in Brand as a rose in a cactus patch. Lee Ann entered through glass doors in need of a shot of Windex and hurried across the terrazzo floor under a life-size portrait of Sheriff Woolie (1938–1946), arms folded across his plaid shirt above an elaborate silver belt buckle, cold blue eyes aimed at two men and a woman seated outside the Motor Vehicle Department. She turned left, toward the steps to the commissioners’ office on the second floor, back straight, eyes straight ahead, prepared to offer nothing more than a pleasant “good morning” to anyone she met.

  Harley McKenna, one of three Dax County commissioners, raised his head from the drinking fountain, early for a man who never waddled in before eleven. The girls in the office were right—he looked exactly like a mountain with a tennis ball on top.

  “Lee Ann! Just the gal I was hoping to see.” He snatched her arm and with a lopsided gait, swinging a black Naugahyde briefcase, pulled her into a corner at the foot of the stairs. Too fat to turn his neck, he pivoted a half circle and checked the hallway. A pudgy hand with a finger choked by a wedding ring withdrew a thick file containing fiscal allocations for various departments. He licked his finger, leafed through the papers, and thrust a stapled report titled “Federal Disbursement for Needy Women, Infants, and Children” at her waist.

  “You look just like your mama did at your age,” he said, every pore on his nose distinct as pencil dots. “She always reminded me of Deborah Kerr, and you do, too. Lovely, just lovely.”

  He squeezed her wrist. Words just above a whisper oozed out one side of his mouth.

  “We’ve agreed $62,600.00 is an inappropriate designation for this department.”

  She smelled his breath, disguised with Scope, and turned her head and reached for the wall.

  “We’d like you to re-distribute twenty percent to the County Highway Department.”

  We meant Harley, Ed Richter, and Saul Duran, the county’s commissioners. Agreed meant once again, they’d met in closed session without her. The nerve of these men! Unwitnessed decisions were illegal. County law required that she, as county manager, be present at all meetings.

  This time, confront him! Challenge Harley on altering state and federal funds and hatching corrupt county deals. All highway contracts are awarded to Saul’s brother-in-law; construction projects, despite competitive bids, go to Harley’s son; commissioners’ relatives and friends fill any openings in county government. Lord, assure me I won’t appear arrogant if I speak up. I am Your servant, not a slave to unethical men. Empower me with the courage to demand what’s right. Give me a sign that You will protect my job, my benefits, and retirement.

  Harley tightened his grip on her wrist. “Lee Ann, the papers.”

  “Sorry, Harley… yes, of course.”

  Her desk was situated in front of a window that didn’t open, facing a large room with three workstations. She stowed her purse and sweater in the bottom drawer. The wall clock said 8:26. She put her lunch in the common room fridge, pulled a few files, and reread the minutes of last month’s meeting, irritated with her subordinates who drifted in between 8:45 and 9:00. She lived farther out than any of them and managed to be prompt.

  Her job required managing the courthouse according to the commissioners’ wishes and years ago, after weighing the pros and cons of reprimanding tardiness, she opted in favor of preserving a pleasant atmosphere. In reality, twenty minutes made little difference in conducting county business, the letters “ASAP” about as effective as posting a “No Poaching” sign in the national forest.

  The agenda for Thursday’s meeting called for, a) the commissioners’ written response to the U.S. Forest Service’s refusal to allow the county to dump garbage on federal land without meeting the EPA requirements for the proper liner, b) consideration of Aaron Stark’s request for county funds to run a small timber operation in the abandoned sawmill that had been shut down by the federal government fifteen years ago, and c) an address by the New Mexico State Engineer on water rights.

  The same issues over and over. Although commissioners had come and gone over the years, she might have been dealing with the same three ranchers sitting poker-faced behind big bellies—facts and figures flying over their heads, procrastination their talent, private deals, secret budgets, and resistance to change their pact. Appointed when her uncle had served as commissioner, she’d held onto the position by obeying orders, storing facts, keeping secrets, and remaining impartial. But cutting funds for needy women, infants, and children—my God!

  She opened the filing cabinet and began gathering data for the State Engineer and estimates for operating the sawmill, miffed when the phone rang. Caroline hadn’t arrived to answer it.

  “It’s me,” Eugene said.

  “I thought you were going to Round Valley.”

  “He’s taken my truck.”

  She left the filing cabinet drawer open and walked to the window. Here we go. Nothing has changed. Still a brat. Still impossible. Doesn’t try, doesn’t care, can’t focus, won’t listen, selfish, selfish, selfish!

  “There must be a reason,” she said. Lord, I have begged You.

  “He could have asked. Told me he was borrowing it. I’ve got to pick up that lumber today.”

  “Use Dee’s truck.”

  “That’s not the point,” he said, and hung up.

  8

  WHERE’D YOU GET THAT BIG, white diesel?” Danielle asked. “And what do you mean, I’ve got to move off this property?”

  “I don’t know which question to answer first.”

  “I’m due at the motel in half an hour.”

  “I don’t guess anybody’ll be checking in at nine on a Tuesday morning.”

  “They’re not paying me to guess when folks check in or out. I’ve got to be there in case.”

  “I’ll meet you back here tonight,” Walker said.

  “Owen’s coming by.”

  Lord almighty. He tilted his head back, fluttered his hand over his heart and smirked, a snort bursting through his nostrils.

  “To check the heater,” she said.

  “Right. Here’s the deal. You aren’t going to need a heater because you’re going to be living in town instead of this crappy metal cage. I’ve got to haul it off so’s
I can sell this place.”

  “Does Owen know about this?”

  “No. And if you want a cut, that piece of information will not escape your lips.”

  He kept his eyes on the dirt so he wouldn’t get dizzy while she paced a circle around him, waving her coffee mug.

  “Walker, I’m not giving up my home and moving, or getting mixed up in any deal with you unless you marry me.”

  Marry! Was she crazy? The word gave him the heaves. Why, they could barely exchange a sentence without driving each other’s blood pressure to the point of busting an artery.

  “Now wait a minute,” he said. “We’ll sign a simple contract.”

  “And stick me with hiring a lawyer to chase you around long after you’ve blown the money? I’d be a fool. Community property is the only way to insure I get what I’m owed.”

  “And all my debt, if things go bad.”

  “I’ll take my chances. After I pocket my share, we’ll get a quick, no-contest divorce.”

  She grabbed her jacket and swept past him, the scent of some flower floating off her, confusing the seasons.

  “I’ll think about it,” he called after her, his words lost against her ’96 red Jeep Cherokee rattling down the trail, license plate hanging on by one screw, tail pipe scraping the dirt.

  He plucked a flask from his back pocket and sloshed whiskey between his teeth, licked his lips and wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. Those apples did look just right for picking. Okay, ladder and boxes. Right about here, under that low branch so laden it might snap any minute. He climbed four steps, reached out his arm and admired the rosy fruit in his hand. Might just take a bite. Mmm, mmm. He tossed the rest over his shoulder and shifted the box, making certain it sat firmly, and gently stacked the apples, careful not to bruise them. He paused for another swig, taking in the pasture rolling half a mile to the east fence line and beyond, all the way to the highway where Danielle’s jeep looked about the size of a ladybug. A red-tailed hawk patrolled the field and a slight breeze shifted the leaves, sunlight dancing a light step between the branches. For a stretch, Alibi Creek went underground, but still fed the cottonwoods and boxelder that blazed two yellow streaks along its route. Suppose a man saw the world from up here every day. Suppose the law required everyone walk on stilts. They’d have to raise ceilings and windows. Doors would be taller, way taller. The air’d be cleaner. You couldn’t smell the earth. That might be better, but probably worse. Best take this box down before it gets too heavy. Marry Danielle again! Jesus. That would sure get her off this property, but right into his bed. Maybe they could work that out. Situate her down the hall in Lee Ann’s old bedroom until they dissolved the marriage in a few weeks. He pulled the box toward him and swung it to the side, lowered his left foot to catch the rung and missed. He yelled “whoa!” and toppled sideways, apples pelting his face and arm, and did a quick somersault, landing on his feet as if he’d practiced the fall a hundred times.

  “Christ almighty.” Just thinking about Danielle threw him off balance.

  “Here we are, Mother,” he said, placing the first of the boxes on the kitchen table. “Grace, there’s plenty. I put a box in your car.”

  “Scissors,” Mother said.

  “Why, thank you, Walker,” Grace said. “I’m just getting ready to head home.” She bent toward Mother’s face. “See you tomorrow, Kay.”

  Walker opened the cookbook to the page he’d marked with a toothpick. While the oven pre-heated he got a beer, reached into his wallet, took out a crumpled piece of paper and dialed the number on it.

  “Keith Lampert? My name is Walker Walker. Right, same name first and last… unusual, yes… I’m a friend of Pat Merker. I believe he told you I’d be calling… let’s see, I think he’s got a few more weeks. He said you were looking to invest in some property in southwestern New Mexico. We’re in Alibi Creek…seventeen miles as the crow flies from the Arizona state line, about a two-hour drive through beautiful mountains from Round Valley. I do think it’s about the best land for the best price you can find, an exceptional piece—two sections, 1,280 acres, house and barn. Well, we prefer to deal in cash…you would? Let’s see, I’ll check my calendar…Wednesday will be fine. Give me your email address and I’ll have my wife send directions. All right then, Vera’s Café in Brand at one o’clock.”

  He opened the pantry and took an apron off the hook. Yes indeedy, the future looked promising. There was a little work to be done before Wednesday—a trip to Sierra Vista with a quitclaim deed, a marriage, lining up Dee and Scott to move Danielle’s trailer up the canyon behind Mother’s house. Good thing those boys have strong backs. Those cinder blocks by the barn will work for a foundation, provided that piece of junk can survive the move in one piece.

  “Okay, Mother, here we go,” he said, tying the apron behind his back and rolling up his sleeves. “First, peel, core and slice the apples….”

  9

  LEE ANN FOUND EUGENE AND Dee down by the workshop unloading Dee’s pickup.

  “Excuse us for a moment,” she said to Dee, looping her arm through Eugene’s, guiding him toward the chicken house. Under the ancient, gnarled oak tree ground squirrels scurried about, scrounging acorns from under the leaves. The chickens came running and pecked the ground, expecting scraps.

  “I see you got everything you need,” she said, pointing to the workshop. “Please, don’t make a scene about Walker taking the truck.”

  “Maybe if I wrung his scrawny neck just one time, he’d understand there are other people in the world with business to tend to.”

  “You know it won’t make any difference. He won’t even get angry, just shuffle his feet, slither off, and carry on as usual. You’ll work yourself up for nothing.”

  Eugene stopped walking. “You got to quit defending him.”

  Take heed to yourselves. If thy brother sins, rebuke him; if he repent, forgive him. Luke 17:3. “Please, let’s give him a chance. Let’s see if prison has affected his behavior.”

  “Lee Ann, you’re kidding yourself. You know it. I know it. It didn’t even cross his mind that he might be screwing up my plans. You and I are playing some game where Walker’s concerned and I’m still going along. His disregard for everyone in the family is way out of line, for you, especially.” He spit. “You tell him, if there’s one more incident…”

  She removed her arm. Eugene never spit.

  The sound of the tailgate dropping and boards clapping came from the shop.

  “Dee’ll be needing my help,” he said. “That lumber’s green and heavy.”

  “I’d best get Mother’s dinner,” she said, starting back.

  Normally, his eyes followed her and she’d swing her hips a little, or glance over her shoulder and shoot him a quick smile. Before meeting Eugene, she’d walked purposefully, taking big strides, arms swinging at her sides. But seeing herself from his perspective, she shortened her steps, turned her fingers outward, let them flutter just a bit, and reeled in her elbows, sometimes thrusting a shoulder forward in sync with the movement of her hips, like a movie star. Walking without enticing him would simply be a means of getting from one place to another. Of course, the Lord provided many things to admire when walking alone—grama grass seed heads curled into fuzzy commas, dried yarrow clusters on a plant she now knew, thanks to Scott, healed open wounds, and Solitaire Peak, a symbol of eternity formed eons ago and destined to be here eons from now. She turned to see if Eugene was watching. He carried a board into the shop, his back to her.

  She heated a bowl of stew in the microwave, and whistling “Lara’s Theme” from Dr. Zhivago, carried it to Mother’s. The leaves had been raked from the back door. From the kitchen, the smell of baked apples drifted into the mudroom. By the sink, a colander of cores and peel overflowed onto the floor and a blanket of flour sprinkled with oatmeal covered the counter. A dishcloth and apron lay in a damp heap, rust-stained with cinnamon. Walker, a beer in his left hand, potholder in his right, tiptoed in front
of Mother, whose eyes were fixed on some vague spot above the counter.

  “I tell you, Mother, Plank’s orchard is downright bountiful this year, perfect as the Garden of Eden. And there I was, Adam! I took a bite. From the forbidden fruit! I ate of it!” He clutched his stomach and laughed. “I should have stripped naked and hung a leaf over my privates.” He dangled the potholder over his crotch, scooted around the table, bent over and peered underneath. “Shhhh…looking for the snake,” he whispered.

  “Really, Walker,” Lee Ann said.

  As if jerked by God Himself, he sprang up and twirled around.

  “Ain’t that perty?” he said, pointing to the baking dish. “I’m a darn good cook when I put my mind to it.”

  “How about putting your mind to cleaning up.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s next on my list.”

  “You might have asked before taking Eugene’s pickup.”

  He lowered his head.

  “I will next time, Lannie. I just borrowed it for a couple of hours. Mine’s low on gas.”

  “He needed it this morning. You didn’t think. You never think.”

  “Christ, I know Eugene. Our Leader. Our Main Man.” He patted his lips with his fingers and hooted a war cry. “Big Chief. You think I want to piss him off? No way.”

  “The chief has a limit.” She reached into the drawer for a spoon and parked the wheelchair at the table. “Now, let’s not argue. We don’t want to upset Mother.”

  He made more of a mess cleaning up than he had while cooking, banging the colander and utensils against the porcelain sink. In the midst of splashing water all over the place he tossed the sponge on the counter, excused himself to go to the bathroom and never returned.

  She went for the broom and dustpan. Duped again, stuck with the consequences after he’s had his fun. And in front of Mother! The man has no shame. He needn’t be hunting for the snake. He is one! We’ve been evicted from heaven because of the likes of him.

  And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. Revelation 12:9.