Alibi Creek Read online

  She dropped the other half of the twig into the creek and turned her back on its voyage. Whatever one is, he has been named already, for it is known that he is man; And he cannot contend with Him who is mightier than he. Ecclesiastes 6:10.

  Back at the house, she traded her sweater for a jacket and drove the Blazer to the corral while Patch and Blue, still eager to play, raced alongside. Twisting the hair at the nape of her neck, in a steady voice she told Eugene about the plan to move Danielle’s trailer up the canyon. He’d never met Danielle, but had heard plenty.

  Eugene continued measuring the corral fence, jotting figures down on a legal pad.

  “I’m sure she’s different now,” Lee Ann said. “She’s got a job at the motel. I’ve bumped into her a couple of times in town and she’s been pleasant enough.”

  Eugene tossed the tape measure and pad into the diesel and without a word took off, leaning across the seat, reaching into the glove box. Lee Ann released the curl at her neck and gripped her shoulder. Eugene always said hasty reactions made things worse. He always said, “I’ll think about it,” when Scott sought permission, “Give me a minute,” when Dee asked a question, and “Let’s consider all the options,” before making decisions.

  His truck splashed across the creek, climbed the incline, and stopped.

  She drove back to the house and from the kitchen window, aimed the binoculars toward the highway. Eugene had retrieved a chain and padlock from the glove box and was locking the gate. That gate hadn’t been locked in thirty years. She drove to the turn-around at the bottom of the incline and with a clear view of the road, Eugene, and the gate, eased her hands from the steering wheel and turned off the ignition.

  A half hour later, the one-ton pulling Danielle’s trailer stopped at the gate, Scott’s pickup close behind. Walker jumped out of the one-ton and yanked on the lock. “What the hell…”

  Eugene got out of the diesel. “Take that trailer back where you got it.”

  Walker slapped his hands against his thighs. “We’re moving it up the canyon.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “We been workin’ all day to get it over here.”

  Eugene stepped close enough to be clearly heard, far enough to keep out of trouble.

  “I don’t give a damn how long you’ve been working. It has no place anywhere on this property.”

  “Look, man,” Walker said. “It’s temporary. Just till I sell it.” He jiggled the gate, did a little fast stepping, hands on his hips. “You know me. I can turn anything over in ten minutes flat, if not before. Soon as I hit the bar this item will be sold. Guaranteed.”

  “Then park it in Brand.”

  “I can’t take it to town without you opening this here gate so I can get the blocks to set it on.”

  Eugene called to Scott and Dee. “You ought to know better.”

  “Open up, or I’ll have to leave the damn thing out on the highway,” Walker said.

  “Do what you want, only don’t set it on this property.”

  Walker beat his chest.

  “It’s my property, too.”

  “It’s your mother’s.”

  Lee Ann slammed the door of the Blazer and walked quickly to Eugene’s side.

  “Walker, you’re overstepping the line. Had we discussed this, you’d know we do not want this trailer in the canyon. It’s your business if you want to sell it or trade it, but you can’t do it from here. It doesn’t even belong to you.”

  Walker stuck his hands in his back pockets.

  “Yes, it does,” he said. “It’s my wife’s.”

  12

  AT THE TIME, THAT WAS a lie. Five minutes with Carlos Barela, the municipal magistrate, would make it true. Walker left the trailer blocking the entrance to the ranch, borrowed Scott’s pickup and drove to the Brand New Motel.

  “Sweetheart, it’s time to make our arrangement legal,” he said, leaning over the counter.

  Danielle said, “You got an email.”

  He zipped around the partition and rested his chin on her shoulder. Something about the mixture of body lotion and shampoo made him want to stick his nose in her platinum hair and leave it there for an entire day, maybe the rest of his life. Today, her long fingers had bright red tips and fake gold charms dangled off her wrist.

  Keith would be arriving late. Could Walker book him a room at the motel and meet him the following morning for breakfast at eight o’clock?

  “Sure,” Walker said.

  Danielle sent the reply and stood up.

  “Let’s make this quick,” she said, jotting a note and taping it to the door.

  Seemed he always took the lead, set the pace and dictated the action, except when it came to Danielle, and now he bounded after her across the paved parking lot onto a gravel strip strewn with trash. Catty-corner to the motel, a sign reading MAGISTRATE COURT tilted sideways in the window of a frame house painted red with white trim.

  “We’re here to get married,” Walker said.

  Rhonda looked up from her desk, folded her magazine, and took off her glasses.

  “Fill this out,” she said, reaching into a drawer and fitting a sheet of paper on a clipboard. “I’ll get Carlos. You’re going to need another witness.”

  “Jesus, Walker, I got to get back.”

  “Hold on just a minute. I’ll get Walt.”

  When they all gathered in the office, Walker got the chills. Of all the mysteries on this great earth, attraction between the sexes was the most baffling. Life would be moving along just fine and some woman would cross a guy’s path and drag him into her particular set of problems. And for what? A tussle in the sack. A teensy bit of s-e-x left men full and proud and complete. Stuffing their shirts in their pants, notching their belts, they’d walk around all puffed up, a man having done a man’s job—satisfied a woman. Pffff. Problem was, the female half of the species could never be satisfied, no matter how hard the male half tried. They always wanted something else, something more, something different. Trying to provide that little something wore a man down until the allure that captured his interest in the first place turned him 180 degrees in the opposite direction. Love—men wanted it. When they got it, they could do without it. The best plan was to let women do the wanting. Stick with bourbon to ease the fall when reality sets in. Love = crazy. Love = danger. 1+1 = 2 fools spinning toward self-destruction. Yet, here he was at this very moment excited about the prospects of matrimony with the very woman proven to do him damage.

  Carlos asked, “Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife in sickness and health, until death do you part?” and Walker said, “I do.”

  Carlos asked, “Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband in sickness and health, until death do you part?” and Danielle said, “I guess.”

  Rhonda put on her glasses and applied her signature as witness. Walt wiped his hands on his grocer’s apron and signed as second.

  Carlos said, “Well,” and shook Walker’s hand, kissed Danielle’s cheek.

  Danielle said, “I’m outta here.”

  Rhonda took off her glasses.

  Walt went back to work.

  Walker tripped after Danielle, heart somersaulting like a new penny flipped in a coin toss, landing heads up, you win—the prize, prettiest gal in Dax County, not counting those gorgeous black-haired beauties. Course, comparing blonds to brunettes was as meaningless as analyzing the difference between tequila and bourbon. Hey now, this called for a celebration! He dashed over to the bar and bought a bottle of Jose Cuervo, stopped at Walt’s for limes and continued down the street to Vera’s. He snatched a saltshaker off the nearest table and waved his fist, promising to return it tomorrow. At the motel he spread everything out on the reception desk, flicked open his pocketknife and sliced the limes on the laminated list of daily rates. This was their wedding night. They might get a room.

  “Are you kidding?” she said.

  Walker poured them each a shot in cups from the water dispenser.


  “To marriage,” he said.

  Danielle raised her cup.

  “To the divorce settlement.”

  He rested his elbows on the counter like a customer and tried to get Danielle reminiscing about the old days. Damn, she was knockout gorgeous, silky smooth. The longer he talked, the more his body stretched over the partition, until he was half hanging, toes barely touching the floor, nearly drooling when she occasionally deigned to look at him with half closed eyelids. Hell, darlin’, lighten up, this ain’t all that serious. Might as well lap up the moment as well as the tequila. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her body, or anything else. Actually, she didn’t have anything else. Probably down to her last matching lace bra and pantie set, the pizzazz of the old days buried under a stack of credit card debt. He piled on the compliments and jokes, coaxing the dimple in her left cheek to crease, overlooking her distinct distaste of his antics. Questions about the girls and grandkids softened her some and he kept on, pretending to care about the exact date Billy got potty trained and how many teeth Jessica had (upper and lower) and what they did to celebrate Tamara’s last birthday. In the end, he forgot what kid belonged to which daughter, the ratio of girls to boys, their ages, and where they lived.

  They’d finished over half the bottle when Suzette showed up for the evening shift. Danielle collected her purse and Walker guided her by the elbow to her Jeep.

  “Follow me,” he said, pointing to Scott’s pickup.

  She hiccupped.

  No way to count the times he’d driven home drunk, crooning away with a smiling moon above. Hit an elk only once, a young bull that leapt out of the bar ditch and knocked off the passenger side mirror with his antlers. That was the only time—the best view of the road, and the way to keep a vehicle going sort of straight, was to drive on the centerline.

  After what seemed like no time at all, a white shape glared like a giant TV screen in the headlights. He stopped on the side of the highway in front of the trailer, right where he’d left it, and stumbled to the gate. Still locked.

  He helped Danielle out of the Jeep.

  “Honey, we’ll have to stay out here tonight,” he said. “Look at it this way—a minor inconvenience on the way to your fortune, a sweeper in the river, a worm in the apple, a bruise on the arm, all of it temporary. Tomorrow, I’ll have this baby moved.”

  “I’ll be cold.”

  “We’ll snuggle up together under every blanket, towel, and coat we can find. Besides, you got me to keep you warm. Now, don’t go cryin’. This is only one night out of your whole life, one little discomfort.”

  “You’ve got it wrong,” she said. “It’s the final blow.”

  13

  WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 3, 2007

  LEE ANN SAT QUIETLY WHILE Eugene drove her out to the highway. She pressed against his arm as he unlocked the gate. A wink, pat, or kiss would be nice. Have a good day would be nice. A smile, a bump on the hip. He unlocked the gate. She slipped through and he locked it again.

  “Call me if Lyle can’t bring you home,” he said.

  She straightened her skirt and adjusted her purse over her sweater. Across the road, the sun broke through Red Bull Canyon, splashing yellow on the pines along the south slope, the trees’ roots firmly planted, their limbs bathed in warmth. She shivered in the shade, the Lord standing with her, His glow radiating into her body, filling her up. Unfortunately, He emanated light rather than heat. She should have worn a jacket.

  Danielle’s and Scott’s vehicles were parked on the wrong shoulder, leaning into the ditch, the Cherokee’s door hanging open. She walked away from the trailer where the newlyweds were likely passed out or hung over. The curtains were open, but nothing moved inside. Lord, do not tempt Walker’s imagination with opportunities that will distract him today. Please, provide a home for the trailer. Weaken Eugene’s resolve to keep the gate locked.

  A red-winged blackbird screeched from somewhere nearby and she imitated its call. The bird answered and she scanned the mesa and sky for red and yellow swatches on a black wing, perhaps the last sighting before winter. The bird flew from a cottonwood branch and headed south. To the north, she saw Lyle’s patrol car curve through the valley, long before she heard it.

  The trailer was ugly. No matter how poor, Mother and Dad would never have stooped to living in a trailer, even a doublewide. And Eugene felt the same. The ability to build and maintain a home on a solid foundation set them apart from the riff-raff who hadn’t the energy or skills to afford more than a down payment on a pre-fab home. Danielle fit that category. Worse, she probably rented.

  Walker wouldn’t leave the trailer there in spite, but in thoughtlessness. He understood the difference between borrowing and stealing, honesty and deceit, but the difference didn’t mean anything, nor did the consequences. With a baffled expression, he’d exclaim, “Why, I’m just going about my business. Really, I had no idea I’d inconvenienced you. Sorry you’re upset. Okey-dokey, I’ll get to it right away,” as if apologizing excused the damage, as if the insult hadn’t hurt, as if passing out passed as a good night’s sleep. At least he’d never done drugs. Jesus had always been her best friend, the bottle his. And Jesus, forgiver of all, would not discriminate against, or fault the weak.

  Lyle pulled over and she opened the cruiser door with so much force her arm about left its socket. Yes, chilly morning. The trailer? It belongs to Danielle. Oh, one of the tires blew on the flatbed and it’s temporarily out of commission. Walker has plans to haul it to Los Olmos. Of course, it’ll be moved today. He’s doing fine, helping Eugene and the boys rebuild the corral before roundup, glad to be part of things, a real member of the team. “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him: “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.” Matthew 18:21-22. Yes, it seems prison has calmed him down, and yes, he intends to stay out of trouble this time.

  The meeting convened at eleven, late enough for ranchers to have completed their chores and close enough to lunch for the commissioners’ stomachs to call for closure before noon. Lee Ann placed copies of the agenda on the long Formica tabletop and set out Styrofoam cups, Coffee-mate, sugar, and plastic spoons beside the thirty-cup percolator. More knowledgeable about county law, federal regulations, and the business at hand than any of the commissioners, her presence would be required. They would lean back with expressionless faces and defer to her, and she’d pretend all three had done their homework and act as their spokesperson.

  She scooped coffee into the basket, forgot the count and started again. She hadn’t slept well. Before bed, Eugene had said he and the boys were almost finished rebuilding the corral, changing the shape from rectangular to oval. The work had required tearing down the old fence and chutes, pulling posts, cutting new ones, and repositioning them. The gates had yet to be completed and attached. With roundup a few days away, they could use an extra hand.

  “Damn it,” he said. “He’s worse than useless. Not only does he not help, he undermines our efforts.”

  She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, got into bed. He’d always rehash the day’s events, discuss plans for tomorrow, affirm the wonderful job she was doing with Mother, reassure her that he wouldn’t overwork Edgar, but would assign him the task of overseeing supplies and equipment. Usually he predicted the weather, praised the lasagna, or agreed with her list of their many blessings. He sat on the edge of the mattress, half-turned toward her.

  “He’s got the boys thinking it’s smart to mouth off about anything that bugs them. They got into it today over cutting wood.”

  “They always go together,” she said.

  “Dee blamed Scott for slowing them down, getting distracted by bug patterns in the bark, something like that. Scott shot back that Dee had a three-track mind—cows, cows, and Ginny Alcott. Smart-ass talk they’ve learned from their uncle.”

  She said, “The boys will not succumb to Walker’s ways.” They would not
.

  He lay down with his back exposed. His neck was sun-burnt above the collar line, the rest of his skin smooth and white. Two small moles huddled close to his spine. Her finger touched them, and when he stayed on his side and his back muscles tightened, her eyes filled and overflowed onto her pillow. Throughout the night his leg hadn’t touched hers. She woke early and tiptoed to her private corner of the dining room. Yesterday morning’s coffee mug had been left on the Bible, a dribble having run a straight line from the rim down to the cover. She wet a sponge and scrubbed the spot, which left a discolored streak through the B in Holy Bible.

  With just enough time to deposit last week’s revenue, she returned to the office, removed an envelope from the safe and hurried across the street to the bank. A truck screeched to a halt behind her.

  “Peek-a-boo.” Walker grinned.

  “The trailer,” she said.

  “I’m on it. As we speak.”

  14

  MY DAD DOESN’T WANT ANYTHING to do with you,” Jo said. “He isn’t going to let you dump a trailer out at his place.”

  “Well, I’ll park it behind your house then,” Walker said.

  “No.”

  “Just until I find a buyer.”

  “N. O.”

  “No” seemed to be the word of the day. Walt said no, even though he owned thirty-six square miles of useless range over-run with chamisa and tumbleweed. Conrad, chairman of the County Fair board, said no, even though they needed extra storage space for fold-up tables and signage. At the bar, Art said no, even though the garbage-strewn, vacant lot out back provided a home to nothing but a rusted ’64 Dodge.

  “I don’t see what it would hurt,” Walker said. “Give me another Corona. I’ll have it sold in two days.”

  “It’s a piece of shit,” Art said.