Chapter 17
When Frank awoke he felt as though someone had encased his spine in cement. She had already made up the bed and left. The note on the desk brought a shiver as he thought of Vera leaving him at
He lurched from the chair and shuffled like the Frankenstein monster into the bathroom. In his shaving kit he had a bottle of Tylenol and shook out two capsules. He stepped into the shower and let warm water flow over his sore muscles.
He was way too old to wake up in the middle of the night and rescue a teenager from a police station. And he was way too old to kiss that very same teenager. Especially the daughter of a woman he had loved. Games of the heart were for young men, which Frank had stopped being over ten years ago.
Still, he could not erase the memory of her kiss from his mind. No one had kissed him that way since Vera all those years ago in
His back felt a little better and so he turned around to shower. He had come here for Vera and to find out about her death, not to romance a girl. Today he had to go back to Mrs. McAllister’s house and look through that box of papers. Then he could worry about how to deal with Anna.
He left Vera’s journal on the desk to read later and then left his room. He attached the Do Not Disturb sign to the knob, but decided to go up to the front desk, where JJ watched a talk show and filed his nails. “Frank! You’re not ready to check out, are you?”
“Not yet. Can you make sure no one goes in my room today.”
“You’re not building a bomb in there, are you?”
“No, I just have some sensitive photographic equipment in there I don’t want disturbed.”
“Oh, of course. You don’t look like a terrorist anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to the festival tonight? I have the night off. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“I don’t know if I can make it tonight. I have some work to do.”
“That’s too bad.” Frank nodded to JJ and then went out to his car. Before heading to Mrs. McAllister’s he swung by Anna’s house, but no one was home. He didn’t want to go by Perfect Memories and have another argument with Esther about Vera. That woman had given Anna such a hard time, no wonder she didn’t want to go home last night. Why shouldn’t she run away from someone like that?
He had considered running away from home on plenty of occasions, but he never had anywhere to go. With a new base almost every other year, he never had the chance for anywhere to feel like home. If he had made it to the highway and found a ride away from his father, he couldn’t think of any place to go. Anna should feel lucky to have lived in a community for eighteen years and become part of it instead of living behind a fence and gun-toting security guards.
After waiting a few minutes in case Anna showed up, he decided to go back to Zeke’s Cafeteria for a cup of coffee or three. “You’re looking pretty tuckered-out, Mr. Hemsky,” Zeke said.
“I feel worse than I look. Can I get about a gallon jug of coffee?”
“Well, I could fill up the deep fryer and let you drink out of that if you want.”
“Sounds terrific.”
“Coming right up.” Zeke returned with a full pot and set it next to Frank. “If you need more just holler.”
“I will. Say, have you seen Anna around here today?”
“Nope, but I heard the Suarez twins gossiping about her right here at the counter. Said they saw her walking around in a stranger’s clothes smelling as if she’d just risen from the grave. You have anything to do with that?”
“Those are my clothes.”
“Ain’t you a little too old to go chasing schoolgirls?”
“She asked me for help. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Sounds like you got her in more trouble.”
“If she does stop by, tell her there’s no hurry to give the clothes back.” Zeke nodded and then lumbered down the counter to take another order.
Frank found a newspaper on the stool next to him and read the headlines as he worked on emptying the entire coffeepot into his stomach. An article detailed Anna’s play, describing her as, “a star in the making” and “daughter of Little Mesa’s favorite citizen.” He wondered if he should watch Casa Verde to see if Anna really had any talent.
During the filming of Avery Tabacle’s ill-fated horror movie he had seen glimpses of talent in Vera’s performance. But as much as she enjoyed movies, she didn’t have much interest in appearing in them. “Why pretend when there’s so many exciting things to do in the real world?” she had told him one day before filming.
“Then why are you doing it?” he asked.
“I have trouble sleeping.” She winked at him and then blew a kiss into his camera lens. “I’m ready for my close-up Mr. Hemsky.”
He had never told Avery, but he had made a copy of the movie he kept in his fire safe along with his most favorite prints. Maybe if Anna ever made it to
After finishing the coffee and leaving a sizable tip for Zeke, Frank drove to Mrs. McAllister’s and pressed the intercom button at the gate. The gate swung open and he drove up to the house. He waited for her to answer the door until he worried she might have fallen and broken a hip along the way. “Mr. Hemsky, you’re back so soon.”
“Would it be all right if I go through Vera’s records?”
“No, help yourself. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” He followed her to the ballroom and the stack of boxes containing information about Vera’s life in Little Mesa.
He found one article after another in the Little Mesa Observer documenting her good deeds around the community. After unfolding each article, he laid them in a row along the floor. Through the pictures included he could watch as the young woman he left behind in
This last article detailed an incident at the Ginny Emu Ranch outside town. A Patrick Crenshaw had woke up to find one of his birds missing and the gate open. After an extensive search with the help of sheriff’s deputies, the missing emu had been found in Vera’s care. When asked why she had taken the bird, Vera responded, “I wanted to take him for a walk.” She returned the bird unharmed and Crenshaw did not press charges.
Frank read the article again, but couldn’t understand why Vera would break into an emu pen to take one of the creatures. He had seen wild emus on a trip to
He returned the other articles to the box. Those tidbits on litter control, mentoring programs, and Meals on Wheels showed only that public persona of Little Mesa’s favorite citizen. Her first day at Zeke’s Café, her drag race with Rusty Wheeler, and of course her behavior around Anna painted another picture. A much darker portrait.
He asked Mrs. McAllister for a telephone book and she took him into the conservatory, where he found stacks of them heaped upon a grand piano. Some came from
“Hi, my name is Frank Hemsky. I’m covering the Meteor Days festival for my newspaper and I just wanted to include your ranch for a piece on the local economy. Could I come out today to ask some questions?”
“Oh of course. When would you like to come?”
“As soon as possible. I’ve got a deadline. Could you give me directions?” He had to stop her several times to get her to repeat a phrase marred by her accent. Maybe Mrs. McAllister could give him more clear directions. She had to have a map somewhere around here.
After he hung up the telephone he explained to the old woman that he had to go. “Leaving so soon? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I’m not sure.”
He followed a bumpy dirt road through rusty plains until he spotted a glint of silver in the distance. He half-expected the Ginny Emu Ranch to resemble a cattle ranch from a John Wayne movie. Instead he found a single-story villa with a pair of silver pole barns. He saw the feathery gray lumps of emus behind a simple chain-link fence.
In the car he found a pen in the glove compartment and the menu of a Chinese restaurant in
“Mr. Hemsky, My name is Katherine Crenshaw. Welcome.”
“This is a nice place you have.”
“Thank you, but it is not mine. My husband is feeding the birds. You should talk to him.” She led him over to the fence, where Frank saw a silver-haired man in a gray jacket that camouflaged him among the emus. “Patrick, a reporter is here.”
“Reporter?” Crenshaw looked up, but spread the rest of the feed in his bucket before coming over to the fence. “I take it you’re interested in our little operation of ours.”
“I’m just doing some background on the local economy. So you raise emus?”
“Very perceptive.” Crenshaw spoke with an Australian accent; Frank wondered how the rancher had met his eastern European bride, but he had not come here to find out about them. “We don’t just raise them for show. Almost every part of the emu can be harvested for some commercial purpose. The meat is naturally low in cholesterol, the fat can be made into oil, and the skin tanned to make leather. My wife even paints some of the unused eggshells for decorations.”
“Sounds like a pretty versatile animal.”
“Yes and not so difficult to manage as those lumbering cattle you Yanks are so fond of.”
“Those critters look pretty fast. Aren’t you worried they’ll escape?”
“Emus are normally quite docile. They won’t attempt to escape unless provoked. Would you like me to let you in the pen?”
“No thanks. Are Emus valuable commodities?”
“Oh yes. As I described, they have so many advantages and they are still rare enough to have quite a bit of value.”
“Do you ever have a problem with emu rustlers?”
“I’ve raised emus here for twenty years with only one minor incident.”
“What happened?” Crenshaw recounted Vera’s theft of the emu, but didn’t provide many more details than the newspaper article. “Sounds like these birds really are docile.”
“Spunky was a rather friendly lad. Always came right up to the children and let them pet his feathers. He died about a year ago. Such a pity.” Crenshaw’s face twitched for a moment as though holding back tears. “Is that enough information for your article?”
“Yes, thank you Mr. Crenshaw.”
“Of course. Come back anytime.” Crenshaw turned back to his birds and Frank headed towards his car. As he opened the door he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Hemsky, would you enjoy a cup of tea?”
“Thanks, but I have to get going.”
“Please, it would only take a moment.”
“Sure, a cup of tea would really hit the spot.”
He followed her into the house and she sat him down at a kitchen table decorated with southwestern tiles. “Why did you really come here?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“There is no newspaper, is there?”
“How do you figure that?”
“You did not write anything down on that menu of yours.”
“OK, you caught me. I was a friend of Vera Swinton. I wanted to know more about what happened the night she took Spunky for a walk.”
“That was a memorable night.” Katherine poured a cup of tea for each of them and sat down across from him at the table. She took a sip and then began the story of what she had seen that night.
She woke up to the sound of Patrick shouting and hurried to see what had happened. She found him out in the pen, holding the lock in his hand. “Someone took Spunky,” he said.
“What about the others?”
“The others are fine. Be a dear and let the sheriff know.” She went back inside to telephone the sheriff department while Patrick got in the truck and went out to look. The deputy on the phone asked if Spunky had run away or been stolen. “Stolen. Someone broke the lock,” she said.
Who would do such a thing? Kids maybe or one of those animal rights groups, although she and Patrick treated their emus with nothing but respect. The birds were the children they never had. Katherine wiped away a tear and answered the other questions about Spunky’s disappearance as best she could.
Then she went outside and walked around the pen to search for tracks. Among Patrick’s bootprints she saw much smaller shoes, perhaps some kind of tennis shoe mixed with emu tracks. Most likely teenaged vandals then.
She followed the tracks on foot across the plain and into
Under a gnarled tree she found Spunky nosing the ground in search of food with Vera Swinton watching. “Vera?”
“Hi Katherine.”
“What are you doing?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d take a walk.”
“With Spunky?”
“He looked so lonely in that pen.”
“You could get into very big trouble. The sheriff is on his way here.”
“Of course. I’ll take him back to the others. Can we wait just a few more minutes? He seems so happy out here.” They sat under the tree for a few minutes to watch Spunky eat. Vera smiled the entire time, but Katherine also saw tears in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful.” Katherine put a hand on Vera’s shoulder and nodded in agreement.
Then they took Spunky back to the ranch, where they found a deputy and Patrick studying the pen. “What happened?” Patrick asked.
“Vera took Spunky for a walk. Everything is all right.”
“No one had a problem with that?” Frank asked.
“No. Vera was such a wonderful person. So full of life. She loved everyone, including the animals. I cried so much at her funeral.”
Frank’s tea had gone cold, but he drank the rest of it anyway. “Thank you for the tea Mrs. Caldwell.”
“I hope you have the information you wanted.”
Frank nodded and went out to his car. On the way back to Little Mesa he wondered how everyone in town could overlook such odd behavior. Love does strange things.
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