

Tumbleweed Logic

ZaneDoe
Copyright © 2008 ZaneDoe

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1-4196-6137-X

ISBN-13: 978-141966137
ZaneDoe

Tumbleweed Logic

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 |   
 | The life of this book is dedicated to Joseph, Oliver and Doe with a special thanks to my friend Gayle.

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Tumbleweed Logic

2008

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TUMBLEWEED LOGIC

## Chapter One

# Goodbye Dead People's Stuff

Lena intended to drive straight past—eyes forward, no looking back or glancing to the side. She readied herself in every way possible for this final drive-by. Yet, at the crucial moment, her foot eased off the accelerator and the little car slowed to a near stop. The impatient blare of a horn propelled her to pull out of traffic and into a vacant space by the curb. Against her better judgment, Lena peered through the busy traffic to take one last look before her final goodbye. Pepper was by her side, wagging his tail and adding more zigzag nose prints to the window, but Lena never felt so alone.

She watched, perched on the seat of her car, as a stranger in coveralls moved his heat gun repeatedly across her sign. As he labored to remove the paint, Lena smiled--it was as stubborn as she had been, resisting all efforts to remove it. She fought hard for that sign and imagined her ex-landlord was, at that moment, knocking glasses at a local bar in celebration of its removal. He found the sign offensive. Lena found it appropriate.

####

#### Dead People's Stuff

##### Antiques and Collectibles

(Because you can't take it with you!)

The man placed the heat gun back into the holster, pulled out a metal tool and began scraping at the paint. The chips of paint wafting down onto the sidewalk reminded Lena of colorful tears soon to be swept into obscurity. Such was Lena's own fate so it was sadly fitting. They had a symbiotic relationship--Lena worked hard to give life to Dead People's Stuff and in return the store gave Lena the life she loved. She had a steady stream of customers, a good relationship with other dealers, good neighbors and a group of old folks who came to the store more to reminisce and chat than to shop. They were like family, her extended family, and like with family some were closer to her heart than others but she savored them all and they kept life interesting. She was never bored and that was important in Lena's life. The constant array of anomalous characters, the conversations and the unpredictability, all gave Dead People's Stuff the kind of life that suited Lena perfectly.

Now, the symbol of years of work and a grand part of her life was dissolving before her. She closed her eyes, hoping some reassuring flash of wisdom would make all the pieces fall brightly into place and help her to make sense of it all. She needed to come to peace with her decision and move on as planned. But there was no enlightenment, no flash of wisdom or sense of peace. Changing her life, moving away in particular, had never been so much as a fleeting thought much less an option she would seriously entertain. With the small convertible fully packed and the keys to the cottage returned, Lena was saying goodbye to it all. The deadly consequences of staying gave her no other choice. Lena took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She saw the two women leaving the bakery, as they had every Friday. They held tight to their cups of coffee and chatted continuously while rushing down the sidewalk, just like every other Friday. They never failed to make a brief stop to tap a spirited good morning on the store window. Lena watched as they stopped at the foot of the worker's ladder. The smiles dropped from their faces. Each peered through the unadorned window into the vacant store. The two women, whose names were a mystery to Lena, proceeded to hound the man in coveralls for answers. He was just there to remove the sign and knew nothing else, was his defense to the interrogation. They were persistent with the disinterested sign killer; they wanted answers, he had to know "something!" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders then proceeded to ignore them altogether as he went back to scraping the sign. They walked on, visibly concerned, and repeatedly looked back at the empty store. They touched Lena's heart and further reminded her of all she was losing. A few more scrapes and Dead People's Stuff disappeared; Lena needed to follow suit.

The sudden death of Dead People's Stuff seemed disrespectful. That store deserved a festive farewell, not a solitary salute goodbye.

Lena rolled the window down to let the cool sea air engulf her one last time before she left, not knowing when or if she would be back. She wanted to take in all the signatures of the coastal town--the smells, the distinct sounds: seals called out from the rocky shore, the bell on the bakery door rang its welcome, lively voices poured from the open doors to Leka's Tavern and the seagulls, the natural born party crashers, squawked their arrival. Then a sharp quick cry from Pepper grabbed Lena's attention. Pepper saw Sam. It was a cruel jolt of reality--two were attending Dead People's funeral.

Sam stood alone at the edge of the sidewalk staring up at the decimated symbol of his home away from home. He was a kind-hearted, reliable, well-lived old gentleman and a good friend to Lena. He treated her as if she were his granddaughter not a shopkeeper. Her heart ached at the sight of Sam as did Pepper's and his tail wagged furiously, beating the window like a drum. To see Sam at that moment was both a blessing and a curse. There was no one she would rather have seen during her last moments in Monterey than Sam and no one harder to leave behind.

Sam was wearing his usual attire: semiformal shoes, button down sweater over a high button shirt, baggy pants riding high on his waist and cinched by a thin worn leather belt. Like always, his hands were hidden in the pockets of his baggy trousers to conceal their uncontrollable quivering. Sam was wearing a tie. Sam always said that a gentleman should wear a tie when dining at Oliver's By the Bay. With all the chaos, Lena had forgotten their lunch date. But Sam hadn't.

Lena feared for Sam's safety. He would have insisted on being a hero, otherwise she would have explained everything to him and kept him informed from the beginning. The less he knew the better, at least for now. There he stood, bewildered and due an explanation--something she couldn't give him. Lena prayed that there would be a future where Sam would again be a part of her daily life.

With a silent promise to write Sam a letter of explanation as soon as she settled into her new home, Lena started the car. Sam's presence was challenging her stoic effort at a composed and private farewell; she had planned to reserve the tears and anger for the long drive into her unknown future. The journey awaited and Pepper's low-pitch whining was nearing a full bark for Sam's attention. Lena pulled out onto Pacific Avenue, tilting her rearview mirror so that she would not see Sam, or her soon to be past. Sam watched as the little car disappeared through the tunnel exiting Cannery Row with Pepper hanging half out the window, watching him back.

###### Three years later...

A sudden outburst of hail sends campers running for cover. They shield their faces and run for their metal homes. The cacti and pinon trees provide little protection against the sting of the ice as it hits bare skin. The sound of hail beating the ground and ricocheting off the tops and sides of the metal campers and RVs echoes across the campground like a tribal call. Hailstorms in New Mexico arrive with little warning, discharge a swift beating then move on their way. When it's over, then come the suction sounds of the metal doors opening as campers emerge and collectively check for damage. If there is none, well there's always a story of near disaster or triumph over a water leak in the RVer's past to share with another RVer--these are the stories that further the bond between them. In all, the campground life takes up where it left off before the icy slap from nature.

Lena remained in her camper, not concerned about possible damage done by the ice bullets. She would prefer to settle back next to the shoe box size jalousie window, crank it open and listen to the stories told outside her camper. The stories and the camaraderie among the campers--the same camaraderie that welcomed her like a long-awaited hug-- still impressed and brought Lena comfort, particularly in the way they shared everything from recipes to their lives without hesitation. Lena embraced the lifestyle of quick acquaintances (and many long kept friendships) among diverse individuals who might otherwise never connect. Campers from all parts of the country, all parts of the world, merged to make a small, safe and lively world on a few raw acres. Broken Arrow was an inclusive club one only had to drive under the provincial welcome sign to gain membership. The members in this club run full range in age, profession, experience and temperament with one common thread--they stay longer at Broken Arrow than initially intended. Lena was relieved to be out of Pennsylvania and hungry to get back to California and only intended to stay at Broken Arrow for two days herself.

Lena had stopped for gas in a small New Mexico town. While she filled the famished tank of the old Cadillac, a seemingly bored yet neighborly local struck up conversation with her. He was a walking talking chamber of commerce for the relatively unknown area. The gregarious and chatty man enlightened her on the local sights and the various places of interest with dubious historic significance. After assuming that she would want to stay in the area to see such sights, and after observing Pepper's retracting lips and display of capable teeth, the man suggested that Lena checkout a well-established campground that accepted pets since there were no hotels in the area. He knew the campground owner well, "Lila is quite the character," and guaranteed Lena that she would enjoy her stay.

She finished satiating the behemoth's appetite for gas then thanked the friendly stranger for his generous information. Having decided to tour the Southwest on her way back to Monterey, she had put in many more miles getting back home than she did leaving it. Resting a day or two before taking on the last stretch suddenly sounded like an excellent idea and one she knew Pepper would appreciate. She would take the stranger's advice and head for the campground.

Lena pulled off the highway at the designated marker, followed the road as the friendly stranger instructed and was impressed with his detail, minute detail, right down to the odd shaped rock at the side of the road before the left turn to the campground. The small town appeared from another era. The campground sign followed in order.
Chapter Two

Broken Arrow Campground & RV Park, Pets Welcome

The sign was made of logs and branches with crudely routed wood lettering. Lena immediately envisioned a herd of oversized 1950's automobiles pulling up to the provincial sign, each filled with miniature versions of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans with their little noses pressed up against the window--waiting, eager to be released, parent-free, for a week at camp. The sign brought a feeling of familiarity and a smile but it was the "Pets Welcome" that sold it for Lena.

The small crowd in the office was remarkably friendly. Some chatted with Lena as she registered and offered help with setting up if she needed it. Others chatted among themselves creating a much desired, lively and welcoming atmosphere after her dismal social experiences of the past three years. Lena registered for two nights then went about finding an out-of-the-way space to set up. She located one with a shade tree, perfect except for debris left by the former campers.

Eager to clear the space, set up, walk Pepper, then eat and call it a day, Lena hurried to find a rake. She found a Broken Arrow employee standing with a shovel--a promising prospect for what she needed--and greeted him with a friendly smile and explanation for her need of a rake. He said nothing. His only response was a cold stare. This reception was unlike the one she received in the office but very much like the average person she dealt with during her stay in that little town in Pennsylvania that town she referred to as The Little Town of Horrors. She noticed the white paper label stuck to his shirt that read, in sloppy print, "Jose" with the "s" backward. Though the nametag appeared to be a joke, she couldn't be certain. Lena extended her hand, "Jose?" He didn't flinch; he just continued to stare at her. She proceeded to introduce herself. He stared. Thinking that he possibly didn't speak English, or that there was some other limitation, Lena was ready to mime her need of a rake. She held out her arms with one hand atop the other but before she went into raking motion Jose pointed to a shed and said in perfect unaccented English, "Get a rake out of there."

"Okay, great," Lena responded still upbeat, and grateful. She asked him, in the same cheery voice, if the closed door to the shed was unlocked. He merely stared, stone-faced. She waited. It was obvious he had no intention of answering. "Ooookay, I'll get the rake out of the, hopefully, unlocked shed." Two thousand miles from Pennsylvania, far from that small town she had no regrets leaving behind, Lena confronted a darker skinned version of the rude and rejecting residents she frustratingly dealt with for three years. She tolerated their rudeness in silence but never inured herself to their unfriendly cold dispositions and always wished that she had the security and tenacity to speak her mind during her relatively short life there, if you could call it a life.

With no intention of Jose actually hearing her, Lena mumbled on her way to the shed, "Who stuck the cactus up your ass!" It felt good to say something in response to rudeness for a change. Unbeknown to Lena, Jose did hear her and his stone cold expression turned into a grin.

Lena raked the area clear and with the help of a passerby, she was able to back her camper into the space and level it with ease. She stuck the rake back into the shed as soon as Jose left the area. Lena walked Pepper and fed him early. She made herself a cup of coffee and peeled back the wrapper on a fruit bar. Pepper had already jumped on the bed to claim position. He had a way of positioning himself with his legs fully extended and paws pressed against the wall that would secure and maintain his chosen space.

It wasn't long before Pepper was snoring. The once muffled snore that began as a pup had increased in volume and vibration with age--both amusing and comforting to Lena. She arranged herself around Pepper, stretched out her legs and rested her head against the pillow. And waited. She would not fall asleep but wait for sleep. Her body wanted and needed the sleep but once again her mind wasn't having it. The thoughts had a will of their own: Lauren, Dead People's Stuff, Sam, Monterey, and the descending spiral of loss. She wanted to focus on the future but the past seemed to always take center stage and everything else had only a brief appearance. These thoughts were her haunting, and they preferred the quiet of the night.
Chapter Three

Losing Lauren

Lena locked the door to Dead People's Stuff and headed for her favorite café bakery where she would pick up a coffee and her usual bakery goods, which included day-old bread for the seagulls. She kept the top down on the vintage Karmann Ghia so she could feel the cool sea air against her face and toss pieces of the day-old bread up to the seagulls that formed a squawking canopy over the little car. They followed Lena home to her cottage hence the little black car was perpetually speckled with white seagull droppings. She washed the car; they redecorated it.

Pepper and Lena had their routine down pat: Lena changed her clothes, leashed Pepper, grabbed the mail and off they went to the beach. Lena relaxed on the bench, sipped coffee and read her mail while Pepper ran on the beach searching for every dead thing that washed up or fell from the sky.

The routine started out the same that grievous day. Pepper was doing the excited let's-go-to-the-beach ritual dance which looped from wherever Lena happened to be in the cottage to where his leash hung from the wall. He was never subtle about his wants or needs--never. He would fix a Rasputin stare that was unbreakable on the cookie jar until Lena, or someone else, indulged him. He didn't like large hats or excessive clown-like make-up on women and he let them know. He was born with this bravado; it wasn't something he learned from Lena and she found him and his antics continuously amusing. Lena hit the play button on the answering machine and listened to her messages while changing clothes. There was a message from an overly friendly salesman, three hang ups and two messages to go while she clipped the leash to Pepper's collar. She opened the door and Pepper made a tightrope out of the sagging leash.

"Lena, this is Ted."

Ted? She was pleasantly surprised. His voice was shaky. Ted took an audible breath and continued.

"I'm sorry to tell you this over the phone, particularly on your machine, Lena. I called the store but there was no answer." Again, he paused. "Lauren is dead." Immediately Ted began to sob. "Call me, Lena. I'll be at the shop tonight. Call me there. Jesus..." and Ted's voice trailed off in tears.

Lena stepped back inside the door. It felt as if the blood had drained from her body. She leaned back against the wall to steady her balance then slid down onto the floor. The voice in her head said Get up, call Ted. But she didn't. She turned the thought off as if changing the channel on the radio. Change the channel and you don't have to listen to that horrible song. She didn't respond to Ted's request but instead responded to Pepper's. Lena stood back up to continued their daily pilgrimage to the beach.

As with every other time, Pepper ran off towards the shore and Lena took her place on the bench. Pepper dug in the sand, rolled on dead things and chased waves as Lena sat motionless, trying not to think or feel. She was doing a good job of it. The sun began its decent into the ocean, the fog crept in and soon Pepper was barking a reminder that it was time to go home. He rested his floppy wet jowls on her thigh, emitting little spurts of whining until Lena finally responded. She leaned over to hug him. "Sorry Pepper." The pungent odor from steam rolling seaweed and dead things on the seashore hit her like smelling salts. "Eh, Pepper. My God, you stink!"

Lena preferred not to make the drive alone so Ted and his father, Randolph, drove to Monterey to pick her up and the three would ride together to attend the services for Lauren. They drove off in Randolph's sluggish K car. Not a word was spoken regarding Lauren--odd, but somehow it made the ride more comfortable. Lena was a functioning void, doing only what she needed to do with her mind solely on the task at hand. Few complex or creative thoughts passed through her head; she felt physically and mentally numb.

It was a long drive to the small northern California town where Lauren had lived, and died. They would join Lauren's family and friends at the funeral home. And it was there that Lena would meet the man who reportedly found Lauren and attempted to save her life. Ted was relatively quiet on the ride up and, surprisingly, so was Randolph. Ted's father was a constant debater. He retired from his job as a research scientist, though Randolph never really considered himself retired. He still had voluminous ideas and theories--scientific and otherwise--he felt compelled to share or debate with anyone who would willingly--or not so willingly--lend him an ear. Few had adequate knowledge and even less had interest in his subjects or theories but that never stopped Randolph. Most people initially tolerated the nomadic pedagogue out of respect for his accomplishments and age, but patience wore thin quickly even with the most charitable of listeners. Lena had staying power when it came to Randolph and Randolph took full advantage. Even with her limited knowledge, she managed to participate in extended debates--fodder for a good friendship when it came to Randolph.

Randolph managed to maintain center stage the entire ride. He spent his verbal energy on the light and simple: he commented on the surrounding terrain, named trees, read signs and informed Ted of up-and-coming traffic signals. Even on this somber ride Lena found moments of amusement from Randolph. "Millet, population..." Randolph read the sign as they passed and entered the main street. He read aloud directions to the funeral home that were scribbled on a sheet of paper and Ted gave fragmented responses to Randolph's unsolicited help. They arrived at the designated location where a bland metal building appeared more like a meeting hall than a funeral home.

Lena immediately noticed Lauren's father standing among those gathered at the building entrance. Ben was known for his particular caliber of easygoing strength, where others lost their stability and heads in chaos, he held strong--it was a major reason for his financial success. Ben calmed the waters and made sure everyone was afloat but Ben now looked as if he were drowning. The sight brought Lena closer to the reality of Lauren's death.

Respectfully, and in a soft voice, Lena called his name, "Ben."

He reached for her. His embrace was strong, too strong.

"A mint?" the funeral home director interrupted. "Would you like a mint?"

Surprised and puzzled, Lena's response was curt. "A mint? No. I don't want a mint." She looked him up and down with a subtle shudder. He seriously resembled a corpse, an animated corpse. The man was sickly looking, ashen, with his hair waxed into place. His suit was obviously tailored for somebody else. With a large glass bowl filled with butter mints, he moved on to the others with the same offering. Lena assumed if the funeral director decided to mingle about that he would offer words of sympathy and comfort, not after-dinner mints. All declined his irreverent offer, all but one scraggly man unfamiliar to Lena. He seemed pleased with the offer and dug right in.

Ben and Lena stood silently waiting, watching for people to arrive. So few did.

"Lena?" a voice whispered from behind.

"Diana!" It was Lauren's sister and Lena was delighted. They spontaneously smiled to a laugh. It had been a long time since seeing each other and having shared so many laughs together in the past, with or without Lauren, that regardless of the grim circumstance that facilitated their reunion it was a joyous one. They embraced, stepped back, looked each other up and down, exchanged compliments and embraced again. They excused themselves to find a bathroom since Ben's attention had turned to Ted and Randolph.

The interior of the building only slightly resembled a funeral home and had the strong smell of carnations.

"Let's make this fast, Diana. I hate the smell of carnations."

"You do? Why?"

"Not sure."

"I don't like it either but I'm not sure why either. Funny huh?"

They found the ladies room and hurried into the stalls. Placed on the back of the toilets were brochures on pre-planned funeral arrangements.

"Diana," Lena spoke in a low voice from inside the stall, "are there brochures sitting on the back of your toilet?"

"Let me see," she answered. "Yes! Shit! Can you believe it!"

"I guess we are supposed to pick out a funeral plan and casket while we grace their commode."

"Holy crap, how tacky." Diana snickered. "Lauren would have loved this."

"Yeah, she would have." Lena imagined Lauren in another stall shouting, "Which casket ya want Geezer, Lily White or Forever Mahogany?"

A rather large smiling face met them as they left the bathroom.

"Hello Ladies," said a middle-aged extremely overweight woman. Assuming she was associated with the funeral home, Lena and Diana rushed passed her for fear of a sales pitch for funeral plans and coffins. In unison, they looked back as they exited the doors to see if she had followed.

"Whew!" Diana brushed her forehead. "Close call. Who the hell does that?"

"This place gives me the creeps," Lena commented and shrugged with a symbolic shiver. "The funeral guy looks like a corpse; did you see him?"

Diana smiled. "Yeah, he offered me candy, in a bowl. Mints or something." She looked around, scanning the exterior of the building. "I thought it would be like a church, certainly something different from this."

"So did I; this place looks like it doubles as a bingo parlor or some kind of storage facility."

"It is a storage place, of sorts." Diana skewed her mouth. "Love the warm atmosphere," she added with sarcasm.

Lena did a quick grin. She was right on. The place lacked everything expected for such an occasion, mostly a feeling of warmth and comfort for the bereaved.

Lena inspected the sparse gathering, disappointed by the turnout.

"I certainly expected more people, Diana."

"You would think so. Lauren spent her life being a good friend to so many people."

"To say the least. Maybe, maybe it's because it was so sudden."

"Isn't most death sudden?" Diana's question was rather a statement.

"Not necessarily. There's so few people showing up. It's Lauren, for God's sake: Friend to everyone, enemy to none. Didn't she have friends here in Millet?"

It was all too sudden and too much to take in or believe at this point. Lauren died. She was cremated immediately and they were gathered to take her ashes. Hardly time to assimilate the tragedy and it was about over.

"Well, just wait Lena, more might show up."

"Diana," this was an uncomfortable but necessary question for Lena to ask, "I feel, well, I shouldn't be asking this, but, I have to." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't actually know what killed Lauren. I really don't. It feels weird to even say that, almost disrespectful but I don't know. Was it a seizure?"

Diana turned to make eye contact with Lena and her eyes showed understanding not surprise. She agreed with Lena.

Odd response, Lena thought but waited for her to continue.

"It's the exact same with me, Lena. This all feels like a bad dream and I'm waiting to wake up."

As she paused Lena interjected, "I mean, I really don't know why Lauren died, Diana. I don't mean that philosophically. I don't know what killed her. I truly don't know."

"I understand. I know what you meant. I can tell you what I was told. I was told that Lauren was found by the river by that guy, Greely." Diana pointed to the tall scraggly man and continued, "You see the guy over there with Ted?" The bowl of mints was sitting on a folding chair by the stranger and he was dipping into them as if they were peanuts on the counter of a bar.

"So that's Greely, the man who found her?"

They both turned to face him. Diana answered, "Yes, that's Greely. Dad introduced me to him; he's the one who tried to save her life."

"And he did what? He found her? Was she by herself? I mean, what happened? How did he try and save her life? Mostly, why did she need saving? What happened? Was she swimming and had a seizure? A seizure from what? What the hell happened, Diana?" And Lena continued to ask a multitude of questions while still staring at Greely.

Ted had explained something, whether brief or in extended detail, Lena couldn't remember; she barely possessed the wherewithal to ask questions at the time. She remembered him saying something about a seizure and something about her being by a river. She remembered bits and pieces which now were not piecing together. Lena felt tormented by her ignorance. She stared at the failed hero as he rapidly depleted the bowl of mints and waited for Diana to explain further.

"I guess, I'm assuming, he gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," she answered uncertain, "or he rushed her to the hospital, maybe that's how he tried to save her." Diana responded to the news of Lauren's death in much the same way as Lena. Asking for specifics at the time was as uncharted as Lauren's death. "When dad called, he said that he found her, the guy Greely. I don't know, Lena, I didn't ask many questions. I should have, I know but, I still can't believe all this. I can't bring myself to ask Dad in his state about the details. You saw him. He's like a zombie. I'm sorry; I wish I had more to tell you. I'm just riding this nightmare out, Lena, just riding it out the best I can."

"It was enough to hear Ted say she was dead. I know he said she was found by a river. Fuck, you'd think I would know every detail. I was just numb, in denial I guess, not wanting to believe it. I don't know. He said something about a seizure. I didn't ask what caused the seizure. Hell, I didn't say much of anything. I felt just sick. Numb. Brain dead I guess."

Diana replied apologetically, "I should know myself. How weird is all of this. Dad knows everything but he isn't freely talking about anything right now and, like I said, I can't bring myself to even ask. God, I sound awful don't I?"

"No, no. Definitely not awful. How does anyone know how they'll react to something like this? I always thought I'd be strong, take charge in a tragedy--help others. Instead, I went numb, I didn't even think of others. I got the message and walked Pepper to the beach." Lena looked back at Greely and asked Diana if Lauren and Greely were friends.

"I think Dad said he was a friend of hers but she knew so many people, had so many friends, so I don't know if they were close friends or not. Why don't you ask him?"

"Should I talk to him, ask him now?"

"Actually," Diana corrected herself, "what am I thinking? I'm sorry, not now, wait until later."

Lena nodded in agreement then added, "Lauren didn't live by a river."

"She was living or going to be living in a cabin. Maybe that was by a river."

"No, that was one of Scott's cabins. There's no river by his cabins."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I've been there. But let's just drop this, at least for now. I have too many questions, and I guess, this just isn't the time to get answers."

Diana agreed and put her arm through Lena's. Together they strolled off catching up on each other's current lives.

Ben approached those standing about with the agenda, his voice strained from his efforts to be responsive and in control, "We are all going to regroup at a local restaurant, one that Greely has suggested. He knows the area...."

Lena's heart ached as she listened to Ben. The patriarch's voice quivered as he deferred to the tall hunched stranger who towered over him with a grin on his face.

"You all can fallah mey," Greely said as he observed everyone watching him.

Lena got her first good look at Greely's face. She felt an immediate repulsion instead of gratitude toward the man who tried to save Lauren's life. In quick analysis, she felt that maybe his slovenly appearance at Lauren's memorial is what put her off and provoked her instant negative feeling for the stranger--though she did notice that Randolph was observing Greely with that distinctive expression he displays when analyzing a troublesome factor in an equation. He had been speaking with Greely, she figured he knew something of significance that she didn't.

The man from the funeral home stepped from the building holding a cardboard box. Conversations stopped as he approached Ben. He lightly shook the box before handing it to Ben. Suspecting the bland packing box contained Lauren's ashes, both Diana and Lena paused in appalled surprise--another indecorous gesture of the funeral director. Leaning into Diana, Lena whispered, "Tell me it's not."

"I hope Lauren's not missing this," Diana responded in a hushed voice with a subdued smile that matched Lena's.

Ben and the director exchanged a few words and shook hands.

"A hamster comes in a more attractive box than that," Lena commented, shaking her head while trying to mask her smile, then asked, "Do human ashes normally come in a box like that? Aren't they supposed to come in a vase type thing?"

"I don't know. God, it's like a UPS box or something." Diana knew Lauren would have loved it since she always found such uncontrollable laugh-out-loud joy in the irreverent, unexpected or inappropriate.

"Yeah, 'Don't toss that box, we can use it for Mr. Jones,'" Lena mocked and Diana lowered her head to hide the titter.

Everyone dispersed without much ado to the various vehicles. Ben placed the box on the seat of his car and waited with the others for Greely to lead the way. Greely had difficulty starting his old truck, and where Randolph would typically rush to give advice, he didn't budge-- neither did Ted. Lena thought it odd yet that she felt no desire to assist Greely herself, even if she could. There was an uncomfortable, almost disturbing feel about Greely. No one spoke as they sat in the car waiting, eyes fixed on Greely. After repeated tries to start the rusted multicolored truck with its fair share of dents, Greely got out, lifted the hood and adjusted something in the engine. Whatever he did, it fixed the problem and the truck started right up. He leaned out the window, waved for the others to follow and drove off leaving a trail of gray-blue smoke.

Everyone followed the gray-blue smoke onto the main street of Millet where he pulled up to the front of a small coffee shop that was withered like an old billboard no one had bothered to take down. It was dubious whether it was still functioning as a business. What paint had not yet peeled away was faded to a stain. It took more than a casual glance to read what had once proudly promoted Millet's Fine Coffee Shop.

Everyone continued to take Greely's lead as he grabbed the wobbly doors to the coffee shop and swung them open with more force than necessary. Randolph stopped in his tracks, fully expecting the doors to fall from the tattered hinges but they bounced back still attached. Randolph didn't do what came natural to him--a good chastising to the establishment about the potential dangers of the barely held-together doors, including explicit repair instructions. He seemed focused on Greely as Greely pushed through the second set of rickety doors, ahead of everyone, including Ben, which Lena found disrespectful. He rudely let them swing shut on the next person to follow. The restaurant was empty aside from one cook and one waitress and it was obvious neither was thrilled to see Greely.

Lena looked around, wondering why he chose this run-down coffee shop for such an occasion, particularly when he didn't seem to be welcome by the scant staff. Lena gave a warm and friendly good afternoon to the waitress and smiled at the cook. The cook half smiled back. Ben asked about a table that was large enough for them to all sit together. Lena kept smiling, trying to offset the chilly reception and the uneasy quiet of the vacant coffee shop--the day was strange and difficult enough without adding to it. The waitress pointed to two tables set side by side. She gave the group a once over, avoiding eye contact with Greely, then in a pleasant tone asked if anyone wanted coffee. She informed that if anyone wanted coffee, she would "have to make a pot," that's if anyone wanted any. Visions of stale prepackaged coffee brewed in a rarely used coffeepot with a greenish brown stain ring caused Lena, an avid coffee drinker, to pass though some of the others were up for the risk.

Ben and Ted chose two tables closer to the window so they could take advantage of what light filtered through the dusty opaque glass. They pushed the tables together to make one and when they finished, the waitress, without apology, swatted the tables with a wet--what looked to be once white but now gray and germ laden--towel leaving large streaks and making the weathered surface even less appealing.

The indifferent waitress gave Greely an icy stare as she passed, one that didn't go unnoticed by either Lena or Randolph. With little said, the others arranged the chairs and chose their seats. Lena wanted Randolph to sit next to her so she quickly pulled out and offered the chair to her left; he obliged. She was pleased that Ben chose the chair to her right. With everyone seated, Ben looked at those gathered and expressed his gratitude for their attendance and particularly regarding the long trip. Their support kept him afloat, at least on this day, and from drowning in incapacitating sorrow.

The waitress's smile seemed to be forced as she handed out menus. She gave little response to Greely's try for her attention. No one really looked at the menu other than Greely. He surprised and jolted the others when he blurted out loudly, "Got grilled cheese? I like grilled cheese!" Lena saw the cook shake his head in response to Greely's loud demeanor among the poised relatively silent gathering. Greely turned the menu in his hand, making sure he didn't miss anything, then in the same loud voice looked at Lena and asked with a big sparse-toothed grin, "Whatcha gunna order, Geezer?"

Geezer was a nickname Lauren had given Lena. This led Lena to believe that Greely must have been friends with Lauren to know this tidbit of personal information. Still, his assumed familiarity was chafing for reasons she would have to contemplate at some other time. It took effort to respond but Lena smiled back at the rather scary looking Greely.

"Maybe you should have something to eat, hon," Ben interjected.

"I'll have toast, thanks."

The waitress readied herself to take everyone's order. No one but Greely wanted to eat; coffee would do for the others and only toast for Lena. His appetite was in full gear and he ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with fries, salad if it came with it, and "a beeeg Coke an' don't put too much ice in it, ya know whatta mean," he said looking directly at the waitress. She didn't look back. She turned away and left with the order.

Greely proceeded to give everyone the low-down on how restaurants add too much ice to reduce the soda content in the glass and make more profit off "you peoples." A long period of silence followed. The profit margin on a glass of soda was hardly of concern to anyone at the table at such a time, except Greely. Randolph broke the silence with a bold and unexpected question.

"With the permission of everyone here," he said as he looked around the table at each person, "I would like to ask Greely about the day he found Lauren." Randolph paused in a respectful wait for any possible adverse reaction to his request. He received reserved approval from the group.

"Well, Greely," he began, "would you like to enlighten us on what transpired the day of Lauren's passing? I think we would all like to know just what happened. We all loved her. You were present; if you don't mind." He paused then asked calmly, "Just how were you involved?" Randolph leaned forward to attempt eye contact with Ben and assess his reaction. Ben's eyes were on Greely. From a distance, and out of his view, the waitress was listening as if she too wanted to hear Greely's response.

Greely dove right into the story. Without sensibility or tact, he began at the point where he found Lauren--no homage or sympathetic precursor of friendship, no expression of sadness for her passing, just what he saw and what he did. Greely only stopped when the waitress placed the plate of food before him then he continued between bites of his sandwich, "'fore it gets cold," and gulps of his near ice-less soda. It was repulsive to Lena. The subject did not put the slightest damper on his appetite.

In blunt simple and unceremonious words, he told of how he found Lauren by the river. He didn't explain why he or she would have been by the river. He said that Lauren didn't appear to be breathing. He tried to revive her, "to ressisitate her." His detailed description of how he attempted to resuscitate Lauren was crass and caused most of the quiet listeners to shift in their seats and look away. Greely said he thought she might have been dead but he wasn't sure. He then carried Lauren to his truck and along with his roommate, Billy, drove her to the hospital emergency room where a doctor proclaimed Lauren dead. He and Billy then had to go out and "drink it off." Coarsely and without detectable emotion, he completed his story. Greely managed to, somehow, turn the subject to the troubles he had been having with his truck while the group silently struggled to comprehend the tragedy as told by Greely. Lena looked at Randolph. She knew he was thinking about the same thing she was--this isn't how this story would go. No one brings a dead body into a hospital then just drives away.

Greely finished the food on his plate and pushed it aside. Lena hadn't touched her toast. A few sips of coffee passed through the lips of others. The atmosphere was still. Greely scanned the rather stunned faces at the table. He looked suddenly nervous, uncomfortable, though he was perfectly comfortable while talking of a tragedy that ripped at the hearts of everyone listening including the waitress and cook.

"We was friends but we was more than friends," Greely informed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lena quickly shot back.

"We was gonna be marrud."

"Who was going to be married?" Lena felt immediately angry.

"We was," Greely answered still watching the faces before him.

Lena glanced at Ben, then Randolph. She looked directly at Ted, searching for a response. Lena believed the declaration preposterous and if no one else was going to confront it, then she would. Ben gently patted Lena's knee under the table in a discreet request for her to remain calm. He had his own reasons for not dismissing Greely's claim at the onset. Ben regretted the distance his new corporation and new wife had created with Lauren and was unfamiliar with Lauren's recent social or love life. He was willing to listen to Greely without judgment, not so for Lena. She hadn't been unfamiliar with Lauren's social or love life and she felt Greely's claim was absurd for a gamut of reasons, most of them obvious.

Lauren and Lena had frequent and lengthy telephone conversations. Lena knew the attractive qualities of the bag boy where Lauren shopped, about the handsome man who walked the slobbering hound, the sweet mechanic who offered Lauren free advice and dinner. There was no mention of a man named Greely--the name alone would have been fodder for Lena to tease Lauren. From Lena's observation, Greely possessed neither the personality nor charm to overshadow his chosen and blatantly unattractive exterior. In fact, Greely and Lauren weighed in on opposite ends of the scale. Greely looked unwashed with an ornery face--sallow, pitted and dirty. His dark eyes lacked life or expression. Even his smile held an unnerving sinister quality. He was just plain scary looking. His hair alone, with at least a week worth of sebum and dirt plastering it to his head, would have most women taking a step back, particularly in the romance department. Lauren was Greely's opposite. Lauren's black shiny hair loosely framed a pretty, pixie-like face. Her skin was remarkably fair and smooth, often described a kin to ivory (as a devout elephant lover, Lauren was always quick to respond "vegetable ivory" to this frequent compliment) and possessed a delicately freckled turned up nose. She was the bane of plastic surgeons--there was nothing one would change. Her impish smile was as recognizable and contagious as her laugh. Her eyes were vibrant and welcoming. This tall-disheveled ill-mannered stranger, with a good portion of his teeth missing, was hardly a complement to Lauren. Lena could not accept his claim and could hardly understand the silence of the others to such an outrageous statement.

"When did this happen, Greely?" Ben politely asked while Lena clenched her lips to keep from interrupting.

"It was gunna be a saprize." Greely shifted in his chair. The stare from Lena was making him uncomfortable.

"Did anyone here know Lauren was engaged?" Lena polled the table. "Did you Diana? Hope? Anyone?"

Greely looked at each person as Lena asked.

Only Diana responded; she shook her head to indicate a no.

"So she never said anything to me or Diana, Greely. Was she keeping this a big secret?" Lena's sarcasm was apparent. Again, Ben patted her leg to calm the situation and to keep others from becoming uneasy. Lena didn't much care at that point.

"Lena, I thought Lauren was moving in with someone but I never asked who," Hope spoke up.

"And you think it was Greely?" she asked the pointed question almost daring Hope to say yes. She looked at Randolph and knew she had at least one person at the table on the same page.

"That was Scott, Hope," Ted informed. "Scott was renting her one of his cabins."

"She been datin' mey but," Greely added, "I guess she never talk'd 'bout mey." He looked at Lena. "Huh, Geezer?"

Lena couldn't look at him.

All the while the waitress and the cook were exchanging glances.

"I guess she didn't, Greely," Randolph spoke. To hush Lena he held up his coffee cup for the waitress to see, indicating his desire for a refill. Her presence at the table halted conversation, exactly as Randolph hoped it would. She finished refilling Randolph's cup and the subject of the engagement was also finished, which seemed to be what everyone wanted except Lena. The tension at the table eased, except with Lena, and with a subtle look, Randolph let Lena know he shared her concerns.

Ben took a deep breath and folded his hands together. Greely quickly folded his hands together as if he were going to say a prayer and bowed his head. He thought that Ben was leading the table in a prayer but soon realized he was mistaken and dropped his hands, lifted his head and snickered.

"Well, everyone, ready? Ready to leave?"

Ben pushed away from the table, lifted his hand indicating he would take care of the bill, and left for the register. The waitress looked steadfast into Ben's face as she handed him the tallied bill but Ben didn't take notice, nor did he seem to notice the cook who was also looking directly at him from the narrow hallway. He left a large tip along with a verbal thank you and asked for directions to the men's room. She pointed the way then glanced over to the cook who wore a disappointed expression and shook his head accordingly.

The mood lightened considerably as the group mingled in front of the coffee shop. They chatted while they waited for Ben to join them. When Ben returned to the group, the topic became the fate of Lauren's ashes. Lauren loved the beach and with the ocean not far from Millet, it was a sensible and unanimous decision. They next discussed riding arrangements. With this, Lena saw an opportunity.

"Greely, would you mind if I rode with you?" She used the sweetest voice she could muster.

"Sure, Geezer." Greely stepped closer placing his hand on her shoulder by the back of her neck, an affectionate gesture from a friend if he had been one. His touch made her shudder inside. From what she had observed, he was not an individual she would have chosen to strike up a friendship--nor would have Lauren, in her opinion. She concealed her opposition to his chummy gesture and thanked him.

Since many at the gathering hadn't seen each other for quite some time, and with their final decision regarding Lauren's ashes settled, they took time to catch up on each other's lives. It was a much-needed temporary diversion for Ben and allowed him a brief time of light conversation. Without a word to the others, Lena walked off; she wanted a few minutes alone where Lauren might have spent the last moments of her life. Only Greely paid attention as she walked off, the others were busy in conversation.

The smell of grease, cigarettes and gasoline permeated the cab of his truck. She climbed onto the passenger's seat and immediately thought of what a sorry place this was for one to take their last breath in life. The thought was numbing. She sat, eyes forward, looking on to the main street of Millet, her body rigged, tight from the inside out. She watched strangers cross the street in front of her. They looked back. Lena took deep breaths to calm herself, but in doing so had to suck in the sour air of the truck. She became nauseous and quickly rolled down the window for fresh air. Everything around Lena disgusted her at that moment: the shabby little town, the dirty truck, the expressionless stares of strangers. She felt angry than sad. Ben should have questioned Greely. Everyone at the table should have challenged his absurd claims. She didn't understand why everyone was so accepting of everything, moving along like cattle in a herd and no one was stepping out of line. Lena slumped down against the seat. She was limp, as Lauren must have been while wedged in between Greely and Billy--according to Greely. In that position, the sky and the trees tops filled the windshield. It was a relief to think that maybe Lauren's last view of life was a movie screen of treetops and blue sky.

The truck door opened.

"Whatcha doin?" Greely asked with a raspy laugh.

"I'm not feeling well--but I'll be okay." She sat up. "Is everybody leaving for the beach now?"

Greely climbed in behind the wheel. "Everyone is gunna meet at Lauren's favorite beach."

Under the guise of getting better acquainted with the man Lauren wanted to marry, Lena believed this was her chance to get answers and, hopefully, clarity without interruption. She gathered her thoughts in preparation as Greely drove the truck slowly past Ted and Randolph, allowing them to follow if needed. Randolph suspected Lena's motives for riding with Greely and he nodded a passive good luck as she passed by. She was never so grateful for Randolph's presence as she was on this grievous occasion.

The bluish smoke spewing from Greely's truck was sucked into the cab. Lena rolled the window down as far as the deteriorating handle would allow. Eventually the scent of the redwoods carried on the wind masked the foul smell of the truck--a mixed blessing since the scent stirred memories of so many times spent with Lauren. Lena tapped the flat of her palms against her face to distract her and keep back the tears. This amused Greely.

"Ya okay?" Greely snickered.

"No." She exhaled and pulled the collar of her blouse open so the air could cool her body. "Well, let's talk Greely; keep my mind occupied."

"If ya want. 'Bout what?"

"Lauren. Let's talk about Lauren." She paused briefly then, in a compassionate tone, she continued, "I'm going to miss her beyond words. I can only imagine how much you are going to miss her too." It was hard getting the words out in such a sincere manner.

"Yeah, we was gunna be marrud, Yena." He shook his head as though he found it difficult to believe that Lauren was gone.

"I guess her marriage to you was going to be a surprise to everyone. Her first marriage was sort of a surprise too. I guess that was just her way." She could tell by Greely's expression that he wasn't aware Lauren had been married previously. "By the way, it's Lena with an L; my name is Lena." She politely emphasized the correct pronunciation of her name.

"I'll just call ya Geezer." Greely grinned familiarity.

"That will only make me sad, Greely. You know, because that's what Lauren called me. Just Lena is good, if you don't mind."

"I don't wanna make ya sad or nuthin'."

"Too late for that but I appreciate the thought." It was hard being civil.

"You don't mind if I smoke do ya?"

She did, the cab finally smelled decent, but said, "Go ahead." Greely had an odd smell about him and she couldn't pinpoint what it was but whatever it was it was mixed with cigarette smoke. She leaned closer to the open window. "Where did you plan to get married?"

After taking a heavy first drag off his cigarette, Greely gave several places they thought about getting married, including the beach.

"Mexico?" Lena asked of one the places he said they had considered.

"Mexico or Lake Tahoe or Nahvada or maybe even back in Masurra. It wudda been a good weddin' and you wudda been there, Geezer."

"I sure would have, wouldn't have missed it for the world, Greely." Lena realized, amongst all the emotional confusion, that reminiscing would serve as a good test. "Lauren and I had some great times together. I'm sure she told you about them, or some of them."

"She talked about ya, Yena; you was her best friend."

"It's Lena, with an L."

"Ain't that what I said?"

Lena shook her head no.

"So what did she tell you about me? I mean, we had so many adventures together I'm sure she told you about some of them." Lena faked a smile.

"Oh, I don't know. Lotsa shit, ya know."

"I bet she told you about all those crazy times in Gallup. Crazy times, but those were good times." Lena laughed as if fondly remembering.

"Gallup, yep, she told mey lots a them stories." He took his eyes off the road to look at Lena then made a comment as if he were privy to some saucy secrets from her past. "She told mey about you and her in them bars; you was wild, wild womens. Yep, she had a goooood ole time with ya, Geezer, you and her in Gallup, thems some real crazy times ahright."

Lauren once lived outside of Gallup, New Mexico but Lena had never been to Gallup to visit her. He could be lying or he could be confusing her with another friend of Lauren's, so she pressed on.

Lena smiled again as if in the midst of remembering. "Then she must have told you about the time we got lost in the desert outside of Gallup?" She turned to face him so she could watch his reaction. "When we wandered around in the dark, lost? Unbelievable."

"Maybe, tell more 'bout it."

"It was pretty scary. Thank God for my dog, she found the way out. She got us out of there or we may have been lost for days. Who knows what might have happened. What a night; what an experience."

"What dog was that ya had?"

"Shadow, a German shepherd."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember. You two cudda burned up out there!"

"We were lucky to have Shadow with us on that trip. That was but one of our near misses. But she told you about that one, huh?"

"She told mey. You was drunkin' buddies." Greely smiled. "Yeah, Lauren loved Shadow like she was her own dog. She said that, she said she loved that dog. Hell, that dog saved her life, saved her from bakun in the desert. The three of you wudda been cooked up." He found humor in his comments.

Lauren never met Lena's dog, Shadow, in fact, it was in losing Shadow that brought about their first meeting and their lasting friendship.

As a young girl, Lena came home from school to an open gate and a missing dog. She canvassed the area, running up and down streets and knocking on doors. The neighbors knew Shadow, in fact most were afraid of her, yet no one claimed to have seen her. Lena raced to check the park but no Shadow. She ran to the creek, slid down the bank into the dry creek bed and searched, calling out Shadow's name in vain. She hurried to the local ice cream shop where her friend worked and often gave Shadow doggy-dips (the ice cream that falls between the cartons) but Shadow wasn't there and no one had seen her. Lena ran back to the park for a second look. Again, she stood at the middle of the park desperately yelling Shadow's name, too panicked to cry. This time she got a response, not from Shadow but a welcome response all the same.

"Did you lose your dog?" the girl yelled from the bleachers. Lauren came to the park for the quiet, so she could read undisturbed.

"Yes. She's a German shepherd, black, long legs; did you see her?" Lena shouted back.

"No, but I'll help you look," and Lauren hurried down the bleachers without hesitation. They met in the middle of the baseball diamond, introduced themselves and the two wasted no time in continuing the search. They spent hours--until after dark--searching for Shadow and in the process got to know each other quite well.

Lauren's earnest enthusiasm to find Shadow alone would have endeared a lasting friendship for Lena but their bond was far more reaching. They shared an uncanny likeness that went beyond teenage commonality. During their search, they passed a squirrel lying dead in the road. Without a word, they simultaneously did the sign of the cross then looked at each other with the same smile. They both possessed a deep respect and love for animals and as baptized and catechism-card-carrying Catholics they proudly revered the same saint, St. Francis. They really didn't know what any of the other saints ever did to obtain sainthood but St. Francis was kind to animals and that's all they needed to know to make him a hero. They humorously discovered, at their young age, that they shared the same first love, not a minor issue for teenage girls. They both held prepubescent dreams of a future with the rebellious shaggy-hair boy who later went on to become a rock star. In the future they would cross his path several times together, which not only gave the two a good laugh but great relief that the dream never came true for either of them.

They also shared the all-important comedic view of life's acridity, a sense of humor that uniquely bonded them throughout their friendship. Bad luck and pitfalls brought compassionate words, often tears, but even more so, they were the impetus for jovial digs, puns, jokes and laughter. Time would lay bare a most disturbing connection: an accident that altered both their lives and an event they believed predestined their long and deep friendship.

As a little girl, Lena was restricted to the street where she lived; she was not allowed to wander onto other streets by herself. With a backyard lemon tree that gave in abundance an easy-to-load product, the small entrepreneur filled her wagon and hit the street. She went from door to door attempting to sell her lemons. Since she couldn't leave the street, she merely turned her little wagon around and began tapping on the same doors until all of her lemons were gone. The amused and sometimes annoyed neighbors eventually purchased all her lemons, to the joy of little Lena and her U-No Bar fund.

As she pulled her wobbly wagon up the walkway of the last house at the end of the street, an exploding sound of metal crashing frightened her motionless. She watched the cars spin out of control and come to a mangled stop. In the pandemonium, Lena watched without censorship due a little girl. The innocent eyes that watched "Leave It To Beaver" and "Disney" fixed on the woman exposed and trapped within the twisted metal. Little girls recognize mothers, even when they are not their own. She stood transfixed on the mommy. Assuming she lived at the house where she stood with her wagon half full of lemons, the police brushed by her as they attended to the accident--as did the other adults dealing with the horror of the scene. The fabric used to cover the body acted like a sponge absorbing the blood like spilled ink, accentuating the tragic human figure beneath it. The image imprinted privately and permanently. A few hours and a few miles away, Lauren's family began grieving the loss of Lauren's mother. Unbeknown to Lauren and Lena, their life paths crossed for the first time that day.

"We wuz gonna get us a dog once we wuz marrud."

"She told me she kept a picture of Shadow and me in her guitar case. Did you see it?" Lena asked.

"Yup, I recognized ya, right away when I saw ya cuz of that picture. I knew who ya wuz from that picture, but where's the dog. Ya got yer dog here with ya, at a hotel or somethin'? She said ya take her everywhere with ya."

Good guess she thought to herself. The picture was not a recognizable comparison to Lena's present self. She was only fourteen years old in the picture and stick skinny wearing a cowboy hat that sat tilted on her head covering the majority of her face. Only Shadow was readily recognizable.

"No," she answered and by chance someone might bring up Pepper Lena added, "Shadow died......recently."

"Aaaah, ya lost yer puppy," he wisecracked. He made an exaggerated expression of a crying man that he intended to be silly, yet Greely's contorted face was disturbing, even frightening but not silly.

Lena didn't find the loss of a dog amusing which he gathered right away and quickly added, "I was jus' kiddin' ya Geezer, jus kiddin'!"

Lena changed the subject.

"How long had you been engaged, Greely? Where did you two meet?" Lena suspected specifics would make Greely uneasy, and it did.

"We was in love, Lena. We'd fight, ya know, like couples do, ya know, but we was real happy...." He talked on, never answering her questions. It was very difficult for Lena to listen to Greely pontificate about their love and their mutual passion. To hide the possible show of her mounting disgust, Lena leaned her elbow out the window and rested her head upon her arm. Greely's voice buzzed in the background like a swarm of mosquitoes. The cool wind pushing against her face distracted her, reminded her of being on a sailboat. She watched the trees whirl by, glad for a momentary escape. When Greely began describing a sexual encounter with Lauren, the momentary escape was over and Lena whipped her head back into the cab and cut him off.

"Greely! Come on."

"Sorra, jus talkin' 'bout Lauren like ya wanted, ya asked."

Although his expression didn't indicate a sorry, he stopped all the same. He had an evil though adolescent quality to him where she couldn't discern whether he was clever with a stupid veneer or just plain stupid. Lena turned to face him.

"What did she die from, Greely?"

"I didn't read the ahrtopsy report or nuthin."

"I'm not asking for medical terminology."

After a few minutes of tense silence Greely said, "She was kinda funny color when I found her, ya know."

"No I don't know." Again, she waited for him to answer her question but when he didn't she continued, "Didn't anybody say anything to you, Greely? You were her fiancé. I mean, when she was pronounced dead, they didn't say from what? Didn't you ask?"

"I was upset, ya know. I got myself good 'n drunk, Geezer, shit. I wutn gunna stay in no hospital, I wutn gunna sit—she was dead, ya know, nuthin I could do."

"But they had to say something. Somebody had to say something. This is ridiculous----" she stopped herself. "Well, someone has to know something and I guess I'll find out soon enough," she corrected in a passive voice.

"Her daddy knows," he said.

This surprised Lena, not that Ben knew but that Greely knew Ben knew yet skirted the answer himself.

"But you don't?" She was careful not to show sarcasm.

"You ask her daddy." Greely fixed his eyes back on the road.

Conversation stopped. Both watched the road for the next few miles.

Lena was the first to speak. "You are the only one she knows up here that came to her funeral—" she corrected herself, she wasn't sure which one it was officially, "memorial."

Greely said nothing.

"Why didn't any of her friends show up, not even Scott? I thought they cared about her; they were her friends, right?"

"Maybe they didn't know. Lotta peoples hates funerals, ya know."

"Didn't know? You didn't call them and tell them?"

"They cudda been all freaked out an' all."

"I guess her life up here holds lots of surprises for me. You were the first one. But, anyway Greely, Lauren was so outgoing, friendly, she always had lots of friends, lots of people that loved her. I don't understand them not coming to her funeral. You're going to have to fill me in on her life up here." Lena knew most of what went on in Lauren's life and was truly perplexed as to why her friends in Millet failed to make an appearance at the funeral home and even more perplexed why so many of her friends from out of the area failed to show.

Greely pulled out another cigarette and took considerable time getting it lighted. He dragged on the cigarette then commented on how this was good country to live in--good air, good hunting and so on.

Lauren hated hunting, which was a well-known fact so Lena decided to use it. Lena continued her test

"Did Lauren hunt with you?"

"She was a purdy good shot."

"She hunted with you?" Lena repeated the question.

"Yeah, we did lots a stuff together, huntin', fishin', motorcyle ridin.'"

Motorcycle riding, yes. Fishing, maybe. But hunting was a definite no. He was lying.

"Yeah, Lauren always was good at deer hunting," Lena said with feigned sincerity rolling her eyes out of view. Another period of silence followed. Lena wished that Randolph had been in the truck with her, hearing what she was hearing.

"Where's ya boyfriend, Lena?" Greely asked, breaking the silence.

"Did Lauren talk about Eric to you?" This was another chance to test Greely.

"She mentioned him, was wonderin' why he didn't come to the funeral with ya."

"He's in Spain again," she said as if disappointed, "otherwise, he would have been here. We are sort of on and off, though."

Greely asked what he was doing in Spain and Lena fabricated a story that gave him enough information to spin another tale. He said Lauren had mentioned that Eric traveled. In truth, Eric was a devout recluse--his cat saw more outside miles in a year than he did. Eric was an artist who locked himself away from the world in his studio, which doubled as his home--an extremely private individual who was not fond of socializing. Eric was blessed with an inheritance that allowed him to live comfortably tucked away in Carmel Valley alone with his cat, canvas and privacy. Lena rarely spoke of Eric to anyone, including Lauren and Lauren had never met Eric. With their sequestered relationship, there wasn't much to share with others. It's the way Eric wanted it, the way they both savored it.

By any account, Greely was lying and Lena was beyond curious as to why. She was afraid to come right out and ask him though it seemed the rational thing to do. Something told her to hold back, to continue as she was.

"Datin' anybody?" he asked.

"No, too busy with my store. Let's talk about Lauren, Greely, not me."

"Go ahead, talk. I'm listenin' and I'm talkin' too." He grinned at Lena.

"Tell me about you and Lauren, Greely, where you met. Stuff like that. I just want to hear about Lauren and about her life up here."

"Ya tryin' ta make mey sad now, Geezer?"

"Of course not, I just want to know about the life Lauren was living up here. You had to have been important in her life here and of course I want to know about this, this secret love she had; I can't ask Lauren now." Lena shifted on the hard seat trying to find a comfortable position and waited. His answer was slow coming and consisted of vague generalities like a long-drawn-out eulogy about the deceased given by a stranger.

The Pacific came into glorious view like a breath of fresh air. Greely pulled onto the vista point. The others were not far behind and before long, one by one, they pulled in and parked in accordance with Greely's truck. Once all had arrived, they gathered side by side at the edge of the cliff. The light salty breeze refreshed the weary spirits and the panoramic view of the ocean was mesmerizing. The moment invited silence, a silence Greely wasted no time disrupting. Over the soothing sounds of the ocean, Greely barked out Lauren's favorite spots on the beach--pointing and repeating himself. He added other tidbits of information that Lena construed as his attempt at proving intimacy with Lauren. Ben was gracious; he thanked Greely then chose one of the spots that Greely pointed out for a small ceremony before giving Lauren's ashes to the Pacific. With Greely in the lead, they zigzagged down the cliff on a narrow path. Lena quickened her step and grabbed onto Ben's arm, stopping him as the others moved ahead.

"Ben, I know this is probably not a good time, in fact I know it's not a good time and I'm sorry, I apologize, but before I can do this I need to know something. I need to ask you something."

Ben said nothing.

"What did Lauren die from, Ben?" she asked then said apologetically, "I was in shock. I'm not clear about any of it." Lowering her voice even more, she added, "Greely said to ask you, and I need to know, Ben. Was it a seizure?"

A face of sadness morphed into what looked liked anger to Lena, but she had to know so she stood her ground. Ben wasn't angry about her inquiry, he just wanted to rid from his mind the image of Lauren that he now was about to expose--an image he preferred to let die.

"She choked to death, Lena," he said diverting his eyes.

"She choked how, Ben? From what?"

"She choked to death on her own vomit." He looked down at the others as they continued their way to the beach. "I guess Lauren fell back into her old ways. It's not something I want to think about, not now. You have a right to know, just not right now." He looked directly into Lena's eyes.

The silence, the avoidance, now made sense to Lena.

"Not a pretty picture, Lena, and it's one I will try my best to forget. I just want to think of her sweet face, her smile, you know that smile. Let that smile linger in my mind...stay forever in my mind" he said and almost smiled himself while remembering. He continued, "You know how she, you know the way she laughed---" He stopped mid-sentence. "My little girl; I was proud of her." Then Ben stopped talking. He waited, giving Lena time to assimilate the pitiful scene before he guided her to join the others. Lauren drunk, choking to death on her own vomit was a tragic image, one that belied the spirit of Lauren and Lena sanctioned Ben's silence. It was easier to direct her mind back to Greely and the mystery of his lies since she also wanted to rid her mind of this revelation.

They crossed the sand, stopping a few yards from a jetty of boulder-sized rocks that reached out through the waves. For Lena, the sounds and smells intensified the memory of Lauren. It was a long stretch of isolated beach where Lauren typically found retreat. Maybe Greely was right; maybe this was her favorite beach. It was the kind of place she often wrote her best music, where she played her guitar and sang to, of and with her surroundings. It was the same environment she sought to do battle with the demon that crept in and once took over her life. She was a singer, a musician, a performer and a woman with such sensitivity that life was destined to be a challenge. Alcohol cradled then crashed the distinct spirit of Lauren--the spirit that once soared, fell far and hard. She made it back, through strife and tenacity. Lauren won. She recaptured her trademark zeal for life and her music became a euphonious celebration of sobriety. The pitiful image Ben revealed violated that memory so Lena focused her attention on those around her, including Greely.

They stood side by side in a half circle facing the ocean. Lisa spontaneously shared a softly spoken prayer. Though her words were suffocated by the crashing waves, her sorrow was audible. Hope removed her guitar from its case and quietly began tuning it. No one spoke. Then Hope began to sing. Her voice gently rose above the waves as she sang one of Lauren's songs. It was a tribute to Lauren's work yet its meaning turned somber hearing someone else sing it. Then she sang another one of Lauren's songs. Those who were familiar with the birth of these songs could not hold back the tears. Lauren wrote about the love of someone or something, or some place. She never devoted her time to pen a song about angst, misfortune or disappointment, though there had been many in her life. Hope strummed into Magnificent Hanna, another song written from her heart about her sister--the sister who did not show for the funeral.

The songs inspired open reflection. Individuals spoke of how Lauren touched their lives, the place she occupied in their lives and the void to come. Ben's effort to speak was lost in tears; Lena quickly stepped in to continue the audible memorial to an extraordinary woman. Greely said nothing; he appeared very ill at ease, shifting his footing and looking away. He kept his previous inauspiciously loud mouth closed. Lauren had indeed affected others lives profoundly. Her contribution was uplifting and positive. Lena wondered where all those others were now: the absent family members, those who surrounded her on stage and off, the people she sang for, to, and about. Where were they? Only a handful of people made the journey. Ironically, the same handful of individuals who wished Lauren success as she left to pursue her lofty dreams and endeavors so many years ago, was the same handful standing side by side at the end of Lauren's journey.

Alexandra picked up the plain cardboard box. It was time to say the last goodbye to what remain physically of Lauren. No one stepped forward to join her. The final act was stifling. Alone, Alexandra ceremoniously carried the box of ashes out onto the jetty, out to where the waves crashed against its side and could take the offering swiftly. She stood precariously on the highest rock. Hope began another song of Lauren's as the group focused on Alexandra. She reached into the box and withdrew a handful of ashes, leaned towards the water and tossed them forcefully against the breeze onto the waves. This act immediately caught the attention of the seagulls. To the observing and hungry seagulls, Alexandra possessed a box full of edibles. The unintentionally irreverent seagulls swooped down immediately, squawking and hovering over Alexandra and the box. She did her best to fend off the intruders but with little success and the dive-bombing seagulls pushed the formerly solemn respectful matron-of-the-ashes to shouting obscenities. She held on tight to the box until one hungry daredevil actually landed on her head. Her arms flew up and she fell back onto the rocks with a resounding "FUUUUCK!" echoing across the jetty. The box dropped from her stronghold, bouncing and spilling Lauren across the rocks. The seagulls were frenzied, stepping over and on Alexandra to get to the "breadcrumbs" as she struggled to keep her dress down around her legs. The box knocked from seagull to seagull until Alexandra was able to reach it, using her body to anchor and protect what remained while the wind had opportunity to blow her dress up like a billowing sail. The seagulls backed off, but not far. They stood watching, waiting as Alexandra held her ground. Lena and Diana looked at each other and tried their best not to laugh aloud; though a somber occasion, the visual was still humorous.

Ben scattered the birds as he rushed to her rescue but they still didn't go far.

"Oh God Ben," she laughed, "Lauren would have loved that." Alexandra smiled as he helped pull her to her feet.

"She wouldn't want to see you get hurt, Alexandra." However, Ben knew she was right.

"I'm fine, but the ashes are all over the rocks. I'm so sorry, Ben."

"She won't mind," Ben said with a smile. "The ocean will take them just the same."

Ben and Alexandra returned to the group with the depleted box of ashes and a new plan. Ben suggested that each person should take a portion of what remained and do with them what they deemed appropriate. The box was set on the sand and after an initial hesitation, one by one, each approached the box in private to take their share. Lena waited since suddenly, and unexpectedly, she found the ritual barbaric, truly repugnant, and not something she wanted to take part in. Her best friend had been reduced to ashes, placed in a cardboard box and now people were taking away handfuls of her. It was creepy yet morbidly humorous at the same time. It was a sanctioned ceremony in life--possessing a dead loved-one's ashes--yet it now emerged as weird and uncivilized. She felt the urge to laugh and looked to Diana.

It was Diana's turn. She walked over and took Lena's hand, guiding her to Lauren's ashes. Diana understood the mixed emotions, even understood the urge to laugh. She coaxed Lena to participate. Lena waited for Diana to go first. When Lena placed her hand into the box, among the ashes were what she at first thought were pebbles from the jetty unavoidably swept into the box but they weren't pebbles. They were small pieces of bone; some were sizable pieces of bone. She was expecting only soft ash, yet Lena pulled from the box a small but complete bone--a solid piece of Lauren. It made the ritual even more bizarre yet Lena instinctively tucked the tiny bone into her pocket then filtered through the ashes for more, cupping them into her hand and again slipping them into her pocket. With her coat pocket containing fragments of Lauren, she grabbed a palm full of soft ashes, put them in an old leather coin purse that had carried her migraine medicine then stepped away from the box. Lastly, it was Ben's turn but he kept his position and didn't go near the box.

Before departing, Hope sang another song written by Lauren. Ben turned and alone he walked back out onto the rocks. Lena watched him make his way to the end of the jetty. Standing erect and still, staring out across the water with his hands in the pockets of his long dark coat, he looked like a sea captain, hopeless, at the bow of his sinking ship.

The group stood facing each other though not talking. The silence was uncomfortable. What now? was the general unspoken question. What had happened, and was happening, was unchangeable and hard to accept. Now it was supposedly over. There was nothing to say. They just looked at and around each other. Eventually, Ted spoke up.

"Let's head back to the cars and give Ben privacy."

Lena chose to lag behind and waved Diana onward. She waited until the group was edging near the coastal highway before she started a normal pace. About halfway up the side of the cliff, Lena heard a voice. She stopped, looked around but saw no one, only Ben in the distance still standing at the end of the jetty. She continued until she heard the voice again, or what she thought was a voice. Lena turned to scan the area once more and then saw the enormous raven perched on the rock wall. Its guttural noises sounded much like a muffled voice. The bird was a beautiful glass black and so much bigger than she recalled ever seeing a raven in the past. They were observing each other. The raven's head was slightly cocked and its black crystal eye watched Lena. The raven made a striking figure against the sandstone. She took a few steps closer to the bird.

"You're so pretty," Lena said softly. The raven stood tall, proud and beautiful--so unfairly maligned in prose and life, always a symbol of the dark side in one way or the other. Cautiously, so as not to frighten the raven away, she moved even closer.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you." She wished she had a peanut or something to toss so she could watch the raven spread its iridescent wings yet not fly away. She took another step closer, having never been so close to a raven without it flying off. She thought the bird looked so noble, half panther-half hawk. Lena tilted her head in parallel with the bird. The raven responded with a counter tilt and deep throaty noises that sounded like a string of unintelligible words, not a sound she remembered hearing from a raven before. She and the raven held a steady eye on each other. Two more ravens appeared. She stood motionless, admiring the three stoic dark figures. Their presence lifted her spirits. All at once, in unison, they stretched their magnificent wings and leaped into flight.

"Ya talkun' ta ravens!" hollered Greely.

His intrusion was immediately infuriating. Her fuse was near spent with Greely. Lena's body tensed; she turned and, without a word or glance, hurried past him. She quickened her pace and reached the top of the cliff several yards ahead of him. The others had gathered around Greely's truck and she jogged over to join them.

"You okay?" Diana reached out to embrace Lena.

"Is anyone okay right now, Diana? This is like a bad dream. I did see some beautiful ravens on the cliff until Greely showed up and the birds with their good sense flew away." She realized that displaying an attitude about Greely was contrary to her gaining his trust and getting answers so she said no more. Stirring suspicion in others where they might have the wherewithal to confront him was not a good idea.

Greely stepped up and without warning, as if rehearsed, announced that he had Lauren's car and her belongings at his trailer.

"Why are her things at your place?" Diana asked. "Had she moved in with you?"

"We was gunna get marrud, sister, so kinda natural, ya know."

"But she wasn't living with you, was she?" Lena asked.

"Wasn't she moving into one of Scott's cabins? I thought most of her things were there, but they're not?" Ted questioned.

"Ya, ya. Ya, she was at that cabin too." He shrugged his shoulders. "She had herself two houses but not two men." Greely grinned.

Greely's words and behavior were close to appropriate on the beach but his boorish manners were returning. He responded to a few questions about Lauren's belongings then awkwardly segued into the condition of the engine in Lauren's car; it was "all fuckt up."

"Here comes Ben," Dora announced, gladly interrupting Greely's diatribe about foreign-made vehicles. Ben looked composed and smiled to reassure his waiting family and friends that he was okay.

"Well?" Ben said, opening the door for suggestions.

Randolph informed Ben that Greely claimed to have Lauren's belongings including her car, the car Ben had given her. The information caused Ben to pause. Yet, to Lena's disappointment, he asked no questions.

"I guess we should head over to Greely's house and pick up Lauren's things, wouldn't you say?" Ben directed the question to everyone, looking at each. All agreed. Ben obviously wanted their company while taking on the next task of this near unbearable day.

Greely enthusiastically offered to take everyone to see the place where he found Lauren, as though a bonus feature in making the trip to his trailer.

"Et's right by mey trailer" he added in a cavalier manner.

His audience stood speechless, again waiting for Ben's response. Ben's response was to change the subject and ask about riding arrangements; he wanted to know who was going to make the trip to Greely's with him. Greely began waving his arms around, giving directions to his home. Once again, it was just easier for the group to follow the gray-blue smoke.

"Cum ohn," he said to Lena as everyone was readying to leave.

"I'm going to ride with Ben." She knew it would be difficult to keep up a compassionate or friendly front on this ride. Lena needed to subdue her anger before dealing with Greely one-on-one again. Ben opened his car door and waited.

Lena and Randolph passed each other and shared a steady glance reaffirming that they were still on the same page about Greely. She felt Greely watching her as she walked towards Ben's car and wondered why, from the beginning, he seemed to focus on her. She wondered if he sensed or knew that she was not buying his story.

The loud engine of the truck started up right away and the spewing smoke led the line of vehicles into the mountains.

Ben's newly purchased Jaguar was comfortable and too quiet. They sat as if strangers on a luxury ride to a doomed destination. Lena preferred to talk, to cry, and get angry, anything but sit separately silent. They had been close for many years and uncommonly open with each other, a result of the sixties perhaps. Freedom of expression was a mainstay, even if Ben was the parent. This ride would break the mold. The topic of Greely's authenticity seemed a malapropos subject to broach yet Lena yearned to know if Ben was suspicious of Greely and his story and if the others were suspicious, only, keeping their suspicions to themselves for Ben's sake. Lena pushed the button and watched the window ease into the door. The scent of the mountains blew across her face and with it a vivid and welcome memory to deter her anguish.

"Come on Geezer!" Lauren yelled down in jest. Lena was not fond of the nickname, which is exactly why Lauren kept it constant.

"Yes, oh Mighty Lo Mein," she yelled back.

Lauren sat on a boulder above, waiting for Lena who was infinitely slower in the hiking department. She un-wrapped an egg roll to hurry Lena along. She was the perpetual purveyor of Chinese food and would possess the cuisine at the most unlikely times and places. Lauren munched on and waved the egg roll as Lena huffed and puffed her way up the trail.

"Here!" Lauren laughed. "Have another." She tossed down a pack of unopened cigarettes.

"Larks," Lena read the label exaggerated and loud. "Don't mind if I do." She dropped her backpack onto the ground and plopped her tired derriere atop it. "Throw down an egg roll, and not one you've taken a bite out of."

Lauren promptly bit the end off an egg roll and tossed it down.

"So, Madame Lo Mein, let's talk about your upcoming marriage to a stranger."

Lauren threw her head back and laughed then shouted back at full volume, "He's not a stranger, Geezer."

"I haven't met him so he's a stranger. He hasn't been scrutinized by your best bud and guide in life," Lena chastised.

"Guide! Who's following who here?" she said looking down at Lena.

"It's who's following whom. See! You need my guidance. You wouldn't want to say something like 'to who I do wed' and make a grammatical fool out of yourself at the altar, would you?"

Lauren had fallen in love with a fellow musician while in New Mexico, a Navajo man who resided on the reservation. They eventually married but the marriage came with problems Lauren never anticipated and the union was not long-lived. She eventually left her husband, the reservation and New Mexico and came to stay with Lena in Seattle. By that time, alcohol was directing Lauren's decisions and there were many strained times and misunderstandings. In due time, Lena moved back to California while Lauren moved to a small town outside of Seattle. Lena began marketing her designs while Lauren performed in small clubs throughout the northwest, both getting on with their separate lives. Early one morning, while the sun rose on a perfect California day, Lena awoke to the sound of an acoustic guitar outside her window and a loud screeching voice serenading in Navajo. Lauren was back. Their friendship took back up as if those years apart and difficult times had never occurred.

Lauren yelled at Lena what was akin to she-devil in Navajo, "You daaaa eeee chee!" Lauren drew out the enunciation then added, "Tsxiilgo! Come on Geezer, move it; let's go you lazy air-polluting smoker."

Lena thanked her for the "kind foreign words" knowing it had to be a dig of some kind. She put out her cigarette and stuck the butt into the pocket on her backpack. Lena took a hardy slow and deep breath for Lauren's sake then continued up the trail at her usual inert pace.

It was getting late in the day and Lauren was more attentive of their location than Lena, surveying the best direction for them to head to set up camp. They periodically took off for days and Lauren always guided the way, never failing to find the desirable places to camp. Lena trusted her outdoor savvy as usual and faithfully followed behind, asking question after question about Lauren's new man from New Mexico. She answered between laughs and digs about Lena's boyfriend with the bad hair until she spotted a wide creek with rushing water. The water churned as it flowed, filling the air with a soothing sound. It had fairly still pools and it was perfect. They dashed to the first pool of water and jumped in, leaving their clothes behind and dry. (Lena remembered the day so well that she could almost feel the cold water.) Lena relaxed while Lauren prepare a feast of Chinese food, and as usual, they stayed up late into the night talking, and of course, laughing.

The memory was all so vivid. She remembered Lauren talking about her future that evening. She could hear the words verbatim and feel Lauren's enthusiasm still. Lauren was in love. She planned to marry this Navajo man, to merge their musical talents and begin a life and career together. Lauren had so few doubts about the success of her life back then. She knew what she wanted and knew what she needed to do to get it. At that time, Lena only wanted her Nikon camera fixed and her hair to grow faster so she could braid it, no meritorious dreams or plans for the future.

The joy of remembering collided with sorrow, one she feared would become overwhelming, so Lena put the window up, leaned her head back against the seat and pondered the possible reasons for Greely's lies.

Greely's truck turned down a dirt road lined with older trailers, varying in age and condition but all in need of some repair. He pulled up to one of the shabbiest trailers on the road and onto a makeshift driveway, stopping behind Lauren's car--shiny and looking out of place—a small Fiat just big enough for Lauren and her guitar that rode like a passenger. The others parked in a line in front of what they assumed was Greely's yard.

Greely appeared cheery as he waited for the others, as if he were hosting a party. This annoyed and puzzled Lena, and Randolph.

Passing Lauren's car was difficult; it was like passing an open coffin, looking in at an old friend lying vacant. Each, minus Ben, slowed to a near stop, peering into the little car as if looking for something yet not sure what. The Fiat was clean, too clean in Lena's opinion--not how Lauren kept it: no newspapers, no books, no empty coffee cups or clothing stuffed next to the seats. There was no sign of Lauren.

They followed Greely up the stairs of his porch and into his trailer home. The interior was immaculate--unlike the exterior and Greely but just like Lauren's car. He went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a six-pack of Budweiser in cans, holding them up to offer his guests a drink. Ben and Ted accepted. They popped open their cans and began a conversation with Greely in the kitchen while the others stood about the living room ill at ease. Lena looked for signs of Lauren, observing nothing recognizable as belonging to Lauren. Randolph wasted no time; he marched over to a closed door and opened it without explanation or permission. It was a bedroom and Lauren's leather jacket was on the chair. He stepped into the room. Lena followed his lead.

"Look." Randolph nodded towards the chair. She picked up the jacket and under it was Lauren's black sweatshirt with a picture of a lowland gorilla on the front. On the floor, by the bed, were her favorite cowboy boots, upright and side by side. Lauren's crystal ball held by a brass stand of angels sat on the chest of drawers.

"Thems Lauren's things." Greely was in the doorway. Instead of displeasure that they made their way into the room uninvited, Greely seemed delighted.

Diana ducked under Greely's arm and joined them.

"So she lived here with you?" Lena asked, hoping Greely would talk as he had in the truck so that the others would hear. Maybe they would help Lena with the task of getting answers.

"Sometimes," Greely responded still looking pleased at the gathering.

"I thought she was moving into one of Scott's cabins?" Diana questioned. Lena hoped that Diana's question indicated that she was also suspicious of Greely's story.

"Sometimes she'd live there too."

"So, are her clothes and things here?" Lena asked while she continued looking around the room.

"She didn't keep much clothes here. Didn't need 'em here." The rise of his eyebrow caused Lena to shoot him an icy glare and turn away.

"Then Greely, are most of her belongings at the cabin?" Diana inquired, but Lena cut in before Greely had a chance to answer.

"I don't understand why she never mentioned she was staying here or mentioned you to me, Greely." Others had gravitated to the hallway outside the bedroom and Lena wanted to stir suspicion in those who appeared to turn a blind eye to Greely's claim of premarital bliss.

"Maybe she wanted ta keep mey a secret," he answered. "Ya know how Lauren can be."

Lena knew that he was using information she had given him on their ride to the beach to again feign closeness with Lauren. He wasn't believable, yet she was trying to keep her mind as open as possible so that she could find the pieces to this puzzle and make sense of what happened to Lauren and Greely's part in it.

Randolph opened the closet door to a mess but nothing appeared to belong to Lauren. He excused himself as if he needed to use the bathroom and did a quick and quiet inspection of the trailer, looking for evidence of Lauren. He checked the bathroom to find a hairbrush, make up, the scent of her perfume--something. He found nothing.

Diana grabbed Lauren's jacket and cowboy boots. Lena picked up the sweatshirt. Greely said nothing as he watched until Lena put her hand on the crystal ball.

"I really like that, Geezer. Reminds mey of Lauren," Greely announced.

Ben spoke up, "Go ahead and keep it."

Lena chose not to argue the matter; she would just make sure she left with it. The crystal ball had memories and they weren't Greely's, but Ben didn't know that. She reached down and opened the top drawer, then the next three drawers while the others watched--nothing of Lauren's; everything appeared to be Greely's.

"Is this all that she has here?" Lena asked.

"Ya. Yep, that's about it," he answered sounding quite satisfied.

The reason for his apparent satisfaction was most curious to Lena. She just stared at him trying to piece the scene together: a handful of Lauren's things all neatly placed in one room; her car sat clean and free of typical Lauren-clutter.

"I would like to see where you found Lauren." Ben's sudden request surprised everyone.

Greely gladly obliged.

Lena quickly and adamantly expressed her distaste for the idea to Randolph, who just as quickly and adamantly convinced her to join the others.

"But I think it's morbid," she protested. "What's the point, like slowing down to see blood on the road after a car wreck. It gives me the creeps. What are they hoping to see?"

"If Ben needs to see where she was found, then we support him and we stand by him."

Randolph took her hand and the two followed a short distance behind the others talking just above a whisper.

"Randolph, you know Greely is lying. On the ride to the beach, I tested him; he failed with flying colors. He told me how Lauren talked about our times in Gallup to him---"

Randolph interrupted, "You spent time with her in Gallup?"

"No, that's the point. He was just taking my lead and bullshitting. So why would he bullshit about anything unless he is hiding something, or guilty of something?"

"We can talk more later." Randolph noticed that the group was slowing their pace, likely nearing the destination. The dirt path meandered through the trees and the sounds of the river magnified. Greely stopped at a flat open area at the side of the river, a small dirt beach.

"Good fishin' in this river," Greely shared ill-timed information with the group.

"You found her here?" Ted asked while staring at the damp ground.

"Yeah, she was lying right there." He stretched his arm and pointed at the spot. "Right there."

"What was she doing out here?" Hope asked.

"Maybe takin' a walk, thinkin' or somethin', wantin' to be alone," Greely answered.

"Ben, everyone, I'm sorry, I don't want to be here; I'm going back." Alexandra was visibly upset as she spoke and, at a near jog, was on her way back to Greely's trailer. The others soon followed, except for Lena.

"Ben, I'm going to stay. I'd like some time alone and I think I'd like to put her ashes in the river. This is the kind of place that we would have camped. Reminds me of her—of us." Ben seemed miles away. He held Lena briefly, kissed her cheek and walked off with the others.

The sounds and smells intensified Lena's reflections of Lauren. Their playful excursions, talks under the stars, Lauren's music and the depth of their friendship were so often shared in places such as this. It was a well-represented environment to release Lauren's ashes--the place of her untimely and tragic death aside.

Lena hadn't prepared an eloquent eulogy to her beloved friend or even a sardonic or witty commentary about life and friendship to amuse the spirit of Lauren. She clenched the leather pouch filled with Lauren's ashes in her left hand while her right hand rotated the small bones in her pocket like worry beads. She would keep the bones; Lena wasn't giving them to the river. Only the white roses were missing, the purchase that brought her closer to the reality of Lauren's passing. They were back in Randolph's car.

Lena made great effort to go unnoticed as she gathered the roses, leaving the door to the car ajar and discreetly heading back to the river. Greely watched. He caught her attention when his lanky body moved across the window. She took an alternative route back, a path that wove through the trees a distance from the river so as to avoid Greely if he attempted to join her.

It seemed he had done just that.

She heard the crunching of stale leaves on the ground a distance behind. She stopped. So did the noise. Lena turned to walk back, ready to confront him, and sternly let him know she wanted this time alone. Once at the top of the small hill, Lena had an adequate overlook of the area but there was no one in sight. Greely would be hard to miss and there was little to hide behind. She looked over to where the ground and trees rose to the side of the road. It was a dog--a long-legged black German shepherd standing motionless, as was she. "Oh my God," she said aloud, "I'm losing it." She turned to scan the area again for Greely and when she looked back the dog was gone. Lena took in a long breath of the fragrant mountain air, exhaled, took a few seconds to refocus then continued her trek to the river—bewildered and doubting what she had clearly seen.

The sun illuminated the damp ground and cast over the tree leaves, their shadows pulsated across the suddenly sacred ground like dancing fairies. Lena stepped to the side, not wanting to stand over where Lauren was found. She climbed up onto some rocks cascading from the small dirt beach into the river. With the sounds and scents of nature surrounding her, enhancing and embracing the moment, she watched the water churn below, whisking away everything in its path.

Eventually, Lena opened the leather pouch and sprinkled Lauren's ashes atop the white roses. "Old Blue," the song Lauren often sang to Lena, and one of Lena's favorites, played in her head like a theme song. With a singing voice that should best be kept to oneself, Lena sang it aloud--Lauren was a recollection of smiles, laughs, friendship and that song. She lifted the ash and tear-stained roses, holding them a solemn moment, then tossed them into the river. They swirled and danced with the current, chaotic and beautiful, then disappeared from sight just like Lauren.

A feeling of peace enveloped Lena. Suddenly the air seemed different, a bit warmer; everything felt different for a long few minutes. Just as suddenly, the feeling vanished and a cold breeze off the river changed the ambiance urging Lena to move on. She kept the song going while meandering her way up the path; it felt as though Lauren was by her side and she could hear Lauren's powerful voice singing along.

Once again, the long-legged black dog startled Lena. She watched as it trotted past in the opposite direction. Before disappearing into a cluster of trees the dog stopped, looked back at Lena, as if waiting for Lena to catch up. Lena felt the urge to follow, accepting the perceived invitation. She zigzagged through the trees with the black figure popping in and out of view ahead of her. Not wanting to lose sight of the elusive canine, Lena sped up to a full run.

The dog disappeared behind a rock wall. Lena sprinted into a hasty turn past the rock wall only to confront a dead end. The rock wall cornered with another large rock formation. There was no dog in sight. She could see nowhere that the dog could have escaped. As she leaned back against a tree to catch her breath, Lena noticed light filtering through the foliage covering a good portion of the rock wall. She stepped closer, pushed the massive entangled vines aside and behind the leafy curtain was a window-sized opening. Lena stepped forward, leaned through the opening that led to what looked like a large rock room constructed by nature. It had four walls and a ceiling that consisted of live branches from the surrounding trees, which allowed the sunlight to filter through and brighten the room. Lena followed what she imagined was the dog's route. Once inside, she was awestruck.

The structure was magical, something out of a storybook and she was certain a rousing and colorful history must belong to the hidden stone room. Lena decided to stay, to enjoy this special place. She sat down onto the earthen floor then stretched out on her back. Slivers of blue sky shone brightly through the branches. This was a remarkable place, a hideaway out of a fantasy. The origin of this unusual room, and its possibilities, fired Lena's imagination. The room was captivating and the perfect respite from the day.

She noticed that the other wall had a similar opening that led back out to the woods, which seemed to explain the missing dog. She believed that the dog must be a stray and this was the dog's safe haven. She worried that her presence, her scent, might pose a perceived threat to the stray's sanctuary and therefore left, exiting through the second opening into the woods.

"Old Blue" began running through her head again and she hummed along on as she made her way back to Greely's trailer to join the others. She felt an odd and welcomed sense of peace until, like a crack of thunder, a gunshot rang out. The sound came from the direction of Greely's trailer. Lena changed her leisurely pace into a run. As she approached, she saw Diana and the others standing in the front yard, looking upward. Greely stood on the porch with a rifle poised in his hands. Lena caught her breath and Greely's attention.

"Hey Geezer, wanna turn?" he shouted.

Lena looked at the others then shook her head indicating a strong and alarmed no. Greely pointed the gun upward and pulled the trigger.

Diana was quick to join Lena's side.

"What the hell is this about, Diana? Why is everybody out here and why does he have that rifle?"

"Are you doing okay, Lena?" Diana was concerned; she had been gone a considerable amount of time.

"Why is he shooting a rifle on the porch?" she asked, twisting her mouth from disgust. "Is this the way to end a memorial, with a Greely-gun salute? This is too fucking weird, Diana. This guy is a case."

"I don't know, Lena. He was telling Ted about his rifle and then we ended up out here. This guy is sort of," Diana paused, searching for the word, "hillbilly I guess."

"He's also a damned liar."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later. Now's not a good time." Lena was feeling anxious.

"You doing okay?" Diana prodded.

She gently squeezed Diana's arm. "This whole day. Something, I don't know. Diana things are not adding up but now is not a good time to talk about it."

"It's his new gun or something. I guess he's proud of it."

"I'm not referring to the gun though shooting off guns at a time like this is bizarre enough. I'm talking about Greely and how he hasn't been honest with us, Diana, but I can't say anything of course, not now, not in front of Ben."

Lena sensed that the gun made Diana nervous, and maybe everyone else except for Ted and she shouted out to Greely, "Please quit shooting the rifle. Please, it's unnerving, Greely."

He merely responded with his sinister looking sparse-tooth grin

Diana commented in a dispirited and apologetic voice, "I know something isn't right here, something about this guy. He's not Lauren's type, I guess that's obvious." She stared at Greely. "But I guess she was drinking again."

Lena's response was brash. "Well, I'm glad somebody sees that besides me and Randolph and she could never be that drunk."

Ted was holding the rifle, examining it.

"Look at Ted holding the rifle." Lena shook her head. "He's in denial or something. What's Greely, his new best friend now?"

"Hey there!" Diana bent forward, beckoning the dog to come closer.

The black German shepherd stopped in front of Diana then looked up and wagged her long narrow tail.

"Did Lauren send you?" she asked sweetly, stroking the dog's head. "What a pretty dog."

Lena reached to touch the dog for herself, confirmation of sorts. She looked directly into her near solid black eyes. The dog shared the stare and a rush waved through Lena, the feeling one gets when doing a backward somersault or a quick unexpected spin on an amusement ride.

Bang! Another shot went off. Greely possessed the rifle again.

"Shit, I wish he'd put that thing away! He's going to scare the dog away and give me a heart attack," Diana complained in a low soft voice so as not to frighten the four-legged visitor.

"Greely," Lena called out to Greely again though somewhat subdued for the sake of the dog, "could you please quit shooting that thing?"

"Hey, it's cool, Geezer." Greely was clearly enjoying himself.

The dog basked briefly in their attention then trotted off, sniffing as though she were searching for something in Greely's yard.

"What did you mean he's lying?" Diana asked in a whisper.

"I'm so amazed by this dog, Diana." Lena's eyes followed the image of Shadow.

"She is a pretty dog."

"I lost a dog that looked exactly like this dog. That's how I met Lauren, but I guess you know that."

"No, I didn't know; I thought you met in school." Diana turned to take another look at the black dog searching the yard.

"No, we didn't go to the same school then. I met her when she helped me look for my dog, a black German shepherd, just like this dog."

They stood observing the front yard scene a short while, Lena's attention mostly on the shepherd, when Diana commented, sounding exhausted, "I wish we would get on our way, grab Lauren's things then get out of here."

"As soon as Ted and Greely lighten up on the gun show I'm going to make that suggestion to Ben."

"What did you mean about Greely being a liar?" Diana inquired again.

Lena took her attention off the dog and stepped closer to Diana. In a hushed voice she answered, "Well, I can give you details later but in short, on the ride to the beach I was asking him questions about Lauren. His answers were mostly lies, Diana. I mean, I could lead him to say complete bullshit. He couldn't have been engaged to Lauren; I don't think he even knew her very well. But why is he lying, that's what I can't figure out."

"He lied about Lauren? Like what? What kind of lies?"

"He said things like, Lauren used to go hunting with him and she was a good shot."

"What?" Diana snickered at the absurdity.

"Yeah: Lauren the great white hunter. Bambi killer. I think he suspects I know he's lying though. Have you noticed how he has sort of focused his attention on me?"

Diana jabbed at possibilities. "Maybe he is just nervous, upset, and he's mixing things up. Or maybe he is trying to impress you because you're her best friend."

"No, I don't think so. It's something else but I haven't figured out what. He has to have something to hide or why would he be lying?"

"Hey there, is that a bone you have for me? Do you want me to throw it for you?" Diana reached for the bone protruding from the black dog's mouth. The dog turned its head and dropped the bone at Lena's feet, ignoring Diana. The dog's interest and eyes were on Lena.

"She wants you to throw it, Lena." Diana insisted, "Throw it for her."

Lena's hand was occupied; she had her hand in her pocket rotating a tiny bone of Lauren's between her fingers.

The dog's eyes were locked on Lena. Then she broke the stare and withdrew, heading off past Greely's trailer in a rapid pace and out of their view.

"You didn't throw it. Maybe she's going to go get another," Diana said with a chuckle.

"Oh my God," Lena replied.

"Oh my God what?"

"The dog dropped---" she was interrupted by a sound, more startling than the gunshots, a loud venomous yell shrieked from the porch.

"Geet outta heah! Geet! Geet! Gawd damn dawg!" Greely was in a rage, yelling at the black dog that was crouched at the bottom of the porch steps--either ready to attack or cowering in fear, Lena couldn't tell. With a depraved smirk, Greely turned his rifle and pointed the barrel at the dog. For the first few seconds everyone froze, horrified.

"Greely!" Lena screamed, "Greely don't! Don't you shoot her!"

The dog remained crouched and still.

"No!" Lena bolted across the yard to protect the dog. As she drew closer, she could see that the dog was bearing its teeth. Greely stepped forward with a steady aim on the dog. Lena screamed another protest, which this time caused Greely's attention to veer towards her and his aim moved off target. The black shepherd stood erect, still bearing its teeth. For a brief moment, the dog looked back at Lena, making brief eye contact, and then dashed off disappearing into the woods.

There was a visible sigh of relief among the group and Greely took notice.

"It's jus a God damn dawg, Geezer. Problah a damned stray dawg." Greely saw the fury in her eyes and quickly added, "I wasn't gunna shoot it. Jus havin' a lil fun..." Greely joked on, attempting to make light of the incident. He made claim loudly, "Hey, I'da been doin' the thing a favor if I shot it; it's probably a damned stray a starvin', looked skinny. It was suffrin from not eatin' or sick."

"Then you feed her," Lena scorned, "not shoot her. What'd you do to make the dog bear its teeth at you, Greely?"

"Shooed it away. It's lucky I didn't shoot it. Too many gawdamned strays out here anyway, shudda shot it but you get all upset n' everthing if I shot it, huh?" Greely half laughed.

Revolted and now sure beyond question that this man was not even Lauren's friend, Lena turned away. Ben changed the topic to steer the focus off Greely's unfortunate display. The others remained silent but, like Diana, appeared ready to leave. Randolph's rigid stance didn't go unnoticed by Lena. He looked quite angry, a rare sight, and she walked over to join him.

"Can this day get much worse?" Lena commented.

"Just the kind of guy Lauren would be engaged to." Randolph's sarcasm was more caustic than she had ever heard from the normally calm self-satisfied man. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Lena." He was no longer content to be the observer.

Since Ben and Ted were again engaged in conversation with Greely, Randolph and Lena decided to take a walk out into the woods. They agreed that the black shepherd was more than likely a stray. They would find the dog and take it with them, find the dog a good home. Lena told him about the stone room that she figured was the dog's hideaway. If the shepherd was in there, they could more than likely catch her. As they searched for the stone hideaway, Randolph was sounding more and more like a prospective new dog owner, which pleased Lena to no end. Only, Lena could not locate the stone wall leading to the room. They hiked and wandered until a horn in the distance announced that the others were ready to leave.

"I swear Randolph, the hideaway was right out here, in this area."

"Well, maybe we can come back and find her. Or Lena, maybe she's not a stray and she is on her way home safe and sound, away from Greely." They had to leave.

Lena said a silent prayer for the black shepherd's safety as they returned to the waiting others.

Under the guise of needing to use the bathroom, Lena was able to liberate Lauren's crystal ball and brass angel stand without notice. Unlike the others, Lena and Randolph managed to bypass the hugs, handshakes and sympathetic departing words with Greely. Lena had the crystal ball and stand hidden under her coat and they were in the car ready to leave. The second they heard Ben's car start up they drove off.

Lena assumed Ben would be returning to pick up Lauren's car and made mention of it to Ted as they exited the dirt road from Greely's.

"No, I think he gave it to Greely," Ted informed as they turned onto the main road.

"You're not serious! Why? Why would he give Lauren's car to Greely?" Lena protested.

"Yes, why?" Randolph was also curious why Ben would make such a gift to Greely.

"Greely was telling Ben how much he liked the car, said it needed work that he'd be willing to do for Ben."

"So he's going to fix it and Ben will pick it up then?"

"No, I think Ben just said to keep it." Ted glanced at Lena through the rearview mirror. He knew that look. "I think Ben just doesn't want to deal with it, Lena."

"Fine, I'll deal with it and get it back," Lena huffed. "Lauren never said she was having any problems with her car. This is more bullshit, Ted."

"The bereaved fiancé needed a high-priced memento," Randolph grumbled, shaking his head.

"It's a Fiat, you know, Fix It Again Tony? Maybe it was having problems."

"Yeah, right Ted. It couldn't be that that scum was taking advantage of Ben's vulnerable state, could it?"

"Come on, guys, this is hard on everyone," Ted defended.

"Ted, you of all people, you truly were engaged to her, you should see that something is wrong with this picture!" She leaned forward against the front seat. "You don't find anything odd about this guy, his story? Are you serious?"

Randolph turned in his seat to observe Ted's response.

Ted was exhausted by the day and had little enthusiasm for the possible discord.

"And just what exactly are you referring to?"

Lena flopped onto the back seat in frustration. "Let's see, Ted. Maybe it's his great classy good looks that scream Lauren's-kinda-man. Or could it be his impeccable manners? Or, does the fact that no one has ever heard of him before, that he claimed she lived there part time and no one knew and hardly anything of hers was there raise any flags, Ted? Add to that, he lied the whole ride to the beach. Did you know Lauren went deer hunting with Greely, boy was she a gooooood shot too!"

"And Ted, you witnessed his regard for the dog. That display was a quality that would certainly have won Lauren's heart." Randolph's sarcasm was verging on irritation from Ted's derelict observations of Greely.

"Has everybody gone brain dead!" Lena raised her voice.

"This is going to be a long ride." Ted shook his head and took a deep breath. " I certainly hope---"

"Yes, and," Randolph cut Ted off, "I would rather find a hotel and make the ride in the morning. I'm hungry and I'm tired and it would not hurt to stay the night and take a good look into this Greely character."

"I agree." Lena was adamant.

Ted just rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sure if there is something wrong we will find out about it. I have no desire to stay the night in Millet and where would we go to eat, that place we were at today?" he commented knowing they would have no desire to return to the rundown coffee shop.

"That can't be the only place in Millet," Randolph insisted.

"Yeah, that just happened to be Greely's hangout and it didn't seem that they were all that happy to see him either." Lena leaned forward against the back of the front seat.

"You noticed that too," Randolph added.

"Dad, if you would like to rest for the night I'll find a hotel. We can stay but I'm not going back to the trailer to talk to Greely and I'm not playing detective come morning. I need to get back."

Lena gave Randolph's shoulder a light squeeze; she knew his determination was mounting along with hers.

They found an old motel that had been on the main road since the 1950's. The clerk told them of a seasoned and secluded French restaurant within driving distance. They made the drive and were pleasantly surprised; it was quaint with an exceptional menu and they were certain it would be a Greely-free zone.

The waiter took their order then Ted excused himself from the table, which gave Randolph and Lena the opportunity to discuss some Greely matters in private. They quickly ran down the list of inconsistencies in Greely's story and behavior. They questioned whether to expose the depth of their suspicions to Ben, or anyone else. When Ted returned to the table, much to their surprise, he brought up the subject of Greely without prodding.

"You know, I have a bad feeling about this Greely. I don't like him, you know, as a person but I don't know that he wasn't dating Lauren. If she were drinking again, well that would explain it. Who knows what might have been said while they were drinking, it's obvious this guy puts more than a few down. Maybe in some drunken moment he asked her to marry him and she said yes, because she was drinking and not thinking right and he held onto that where Lauren didn't even remember."

Lena then relayed the lies Greely told while on the drive to the beach, emphasizing how easy it was to lead him along.

"Well, he isn't the brightest light on the Christmas tree, Lena and why would he lie to you anyway? Why do you---" Ted was interrupted by the waiter.

Their meals had arrived and they were duly impressed. For the next twenty minutes, they sampled each other's food letting the less appetizing subject wait.

"Okay back to your question, why would he lie? That is what I'm trying to figure out, Ted." Lena looked at Randolph hinting for him to join in.

"What is your guess, Ted?" Randolph wanted Ted to give the subject more than a passing thought, but he didn't, he again blamed the mix-up in stories on drinking.

"You know, Ted, even when she was having a problem with her drinking she wasn't an oblivious drunk who was weaving tales and getting mixed up. I lived with her when her drinking was a major problem, you remember. Dating scum and accepting marriage proposals was not part of her problems. I know and so do you, Ted, what Lauren was like when she was drinking. It is extremely difficult for me to believe Lauren began drinking again in the first place but regardless, even if she were, and even if she accepted a marriage proposal in a drunken stupor, that doesn't explain his lies. Drunk or not, Lauren was not a hunter, shooting animals in the woods, come on. What about all the other bullshit Greely claimed?"

Lena wanted Ted to open his eyes to the inconsistencies though she was aware his sadness accompanied by his personal guilt put him in a separate place. He left Lauren against her wishes due to her drinking, promising reconciliation when she got the problem under control. But the space between them only grew wider in time and they remained just friends. Ted was feeling guilty, believing that if he had stuck by her maybe she would still be alive.

They theorized and ruminated throughout the remainder of the meal only to find new unanswered questions. The end result was as it had been from the start: Lena and Randolph suspected Greely of some wrongdoing and Ted brushed off the confusion, attributing it to drinking and two overly suspicious grieving friends. Lena and Randolph agreed to obtain a copy of the autopsy and police report. Ted wanted nothing to do with it.

"Hi," Lena said cheerfully, expecting Officer Bradley to be at the other end. She had found his girlfriend a pair of vintage cowboy boots and Officer Bradley was going to pick them up so she could check them out.

"Hi ya Geezer." It was Greely.

"Greely?" she asked, as if she had been punched in the stomach. "Greely from Millet?" She knew it was Greely; his accent distinguished him from any other she knew, but needed a second to ready herself.

"Yeah, it's mey," he said. "I ain't feeling too good. Thought I would call, make mey feel better."

"How'd you get my number?"

"Dead People's Stuff, right. Funny name." He snorted a laugh into the receiver. She didn't recall mentioning the name of her store but that didn't mean someone else hadn't.

"Ya there?"

"Yes, just surprised. So how are you, Greely?" She reminded herself that she needed to keep communication open if she wanted answers. She took on an agreeable pleasant tone and attitude as she listened to him portray himself as the bereaved fiancé who just needed a sympathetic shoulder. He wanted to visit Lena in Monterey; she was Lauren's best friend and who better to understand his loss. Lena stressed that it was a long drive to Monterey from Millet. That fact didn't faze him; he liked to drive, if she would just give him the directions to her house he'd be at her place that weekend. She was grasping for excuses when Greely added that he had something of Lauren's he wanted to give her.

"My boyfriend is back from Spain and I don't think it would be a good idea to meet at my place; he can be funny about that. We could meet downtown. There are a lot places to meet here."

"I thought you wasn't seeing nobody? That's what ya told mey."

"We're an on and off situation, more off than on. I don't want to push it. We could meet at Jumpin' Java, it's a really nice place, good coffee, good food and it's open Sunday."

"Sunday? Why Sunday?"

"I have to work at my store Saturday."

"Then Saturday night."

"I have plans. But if you want to come to talk Sunday, I'll meet you at Jumpin' Java..." and she continued to explain why it was the only way to meet that weekend.

He agreed to meet Lena on Sunday, promising to bring the "something" he had for her. She called Randolph the second they hung up.

"Randolph," she said impatiently.

"Yes, yes. This is Randolph."

"Guess who just called me and wants to meet with me to give me something of Lauren's and talk?"

"My word," Randolph said flatly, "as if we didn't expect this."

"I didn't. You did?"

"Yes, Lena. Goodness. That unsavory fellow thinks you will be his next." Randolph sounded amused by her naiveté.

"Next what?" Lena paused to give the comment some thought. "His next pseudo fiancé? Oh please, Randolph. Now, help me with this. You have to help me, help me orchestrate a plan, my questions, you know, so we can figure out why this guy's been lying. By the way, have you gotten a copy of the autopsy and police report yet?"

"Yes and I have already mailed it to you. In fact, I thought that was the reason for your call. I think you will find it very interesting. You must call me right away, once you have read it." His tone was unmistakable. The keeper of the keys, Randolph had discovered something of great significance.

"Randolph, don't make me wait, tell me," she demanded.

"No, I would like you to read it. You will need to read it anyway to understand, just call me once you have. I mailed it two days ago so you should have it. Did you pick up today's mail yet?"

"No. Now that's all I will have on my mind for the rest of the day. Maybe it's in my mailbox. I'll get back to you once I've read it but you need to help me with this Sunday meeting with Greely. There is so much I need to find out and I'm not sure how to do it without just coming right out and asking and I can't do that."

They talked a short while more about Sunday and also discussed Ted's new project then promised to talk again soon.

The closed sign was up and the doors to Dead People's Stuff locked immediately at five o'clock. Lena skipped her usual stop at the bakery, much to the disappointment of the-seagulls-in-waiting, and rushed to check the mail.

As Randolph predicted, his letter was there. She headed to the beach with Pepper; he ran off onto the sand while Lena took her usual place on the bench. Hastily she ripped open the envelope. Randolph used a yellow highlighting pen to direct her attention to the significant information entailed in the reports:

Blood Ethanol: 0...bruise under mentum... massive swelling on the face... multiple bruises...source of the subcutaneous emphysema...forced bile and stomach contents into passages...

She quickly read the highlighted text on the police report.

"Pepper! Come on Pepper! Pepper!" she shouted out across the beach. He was used to more running time and saw no reason to change his routine; he paused with a quick look Lena's way then continued his exploring. One more very loud and very stern call of his name had him compliant. She jogged back to the cottage with Pepper at the full length of his leash, resisting, behind her.

"Randolph," she said out of breath while clutching the receiver.

"You got the reports." The receiver was balanced between his shoulder and chin so he could finish pouring his freshly made coffee.

"My God, Randolph. She wasn't drinking; there was no alcohol in her system!" Lena stopped to take a breath and calm herself before continuing. "The time. Look at the time line of events. It wasn't possible. What Greely claimed wasn't possible! Why the fuck didn't someone notice this, the police at least!" She caught herself and apologized to Randolph for using the "F" word.

"Oh the fuck word, immutable for my past seventy plus years; no need to apologize." The spiraling cord on the receiver to the kitchen wall phone had to be at least twenty feet long, stretched and drooping and suitable for Randolph. With receiver in hand, he moved to the other room where he could sit at his desk and review the reports along with Lena.

"She had bruises. Damage to her spleen. And the police report, it says rigor mortis had set in by the time she arrived at the hospital. Dying in the truck? She had been dead for hours, Randolph. Hours!" Lena took another deep breath. "Did you read where it says her right arm was rigid and her left wasn't? You know what that is!" Before he could reply, she launched into a hurried explanation. "Cadaveric spasm. You know what that is, don't you? When something happens when dying, something that causes the muscles to tighten so intensely that they stay that way after death--extreme exertion! You know, when someone is using every last bit of their muscle power. Lauren was right handed; it was her right arm. That son of a bitch, that fucking son of a bitch---" again she apologized for her language.

Randolph was on top of every aspect of both reports.

"My God. No way was she out of it, passed out drunk, and choked on her own vomit. There was no way, Randolph, no way. There wouldn't, couldn't be cadaveric spasm if she had." She thumbed through the report. "Blood had settled in her body; she had been dead for some time. It would have been obvious to anyone so what's this shit about he wasn't sure she was dead or not. Why aren't the police doing something? The hospital had to make some kind of report of a suspicious death, right?"

Randolph held back and let her get it out without interruption.

"It states cause of death was due to aspiration of vomitus, but she wasn't drinking, Randolph. So, why would she vomit? More so, why would she vomit and choke to death in the process? She didn't vomit in her sleep! Did she? Why would she choke to death on her own vomit? What's this about seizures with a question mark?" She exhaled, paused, then continued. "Didn't anybody, anybody official, take notice of this autopsy? Look at the police report! No way could this have happened like Greely said. No effing way! Did Ben read this report?"

"Ben has flown to Europe with his new wife."

"Did someone call him about this?"

"No, Lena, I think that is exactly why he flew to Europe. I believe he wants to try to escape this entire incident. Ben is not doing well, let's let him have his time to recover with the new wife."

"If Ben says she died while drunk from choking on her own vomit, that had to be what was told to him, right?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly? Then where did he get that? There was no alcohol in her system?"

"I know."

"So what official would tell him that? This doesn't make any sense."

"Well, Lena, this is part of the mystery isn't it?"

"Did he read the autopsy report?"

"I don't know but I don't believe he did under the circumstances."

"He couldn't have. And what medical person or cop would tell him she was drunk if there was no alcohol in her blood!"

"My guess, Lena, he was told she had a seizure---"

"But she's never had a seizure," Lena interrupted. "She doesn't have seizures. There's a question mark. Oh fuck! Let me calm down a second."

"Of course."

"Millet may be a small town but a doctor is a doctor and they're not the Keystone cops so how can all this be left as is?"

"I don't believe he read the autopsy report. If Greely said she was drunk and the medical report, or what was told to him, was a suspected seizure, well, you can see---"

"No, I can't. Did he read the police report?"

"The time lines may be suspect but that doesn't confirm any medical findings. I don't think Ben read the police report and it wouldn't dispute cause of death. Remember, Lauren had been hospitalized for pancreatitis."

"So what are the symptoms of pancreatitis?"

"Lena, pancreatitis can be a result of the drinking. Seizures are also associated with chronic alcoholism. You can understand Ben's conclusion, though I don't know who told him she had been drinking at the time of her death."

"And the autopsy states that she hadn't been drinking at the time of her death," Lena reiterated in frustration.

"I don't believe Ben read the autopsy. I don't know that he talked with the medical examiner. If he spoke only with the police and Greely, well, who knows."

"Who called him?"

"I believe it was Greely who called him."

"Why Greely? Why wouldn't the police call him?"

"I'm sure they did but I believe Ted said that they called Greely and Greely called Ben first."

"Still, this makes little sense to me."

"I did a little looking into a few things on my own. Did you know that the medical examiner is related to Greely? That they spoke on the phone?"

"What else?"

"Not much else. Millet is a small town. If they're not related, it's like they're related."

"Confuse me more." Lena wasn't sure what Randolph was trying to say.

"Lauren lived in that small town for some time. We know how friendly Lauren is, friend to all if they want to be or not." Randolph let out a small laugh. He found Lauren's gregarious behavior towards strangers often amusing. "Yet no one showed up for the funeral. Does that say anything to you?"

"I asked Greely about that in the truck but his answer was useless."

"I think the town knows something that we don't. I think a lot was said by their absence. I think the waitress at the coffee shop knew that something. Ben was so filled with grief he may have taken someone else's lead without suspicion. Ted said that his new wife, her name is Janet isn't it?"

"Yes, her name's Janet."

"Well, Janet took care of a lot of details for Ben."

"That explains the crappy funeral home," she said without apology.

"He had little reason to be suspicious. They get a call from Greely telling him that Lauren was drunk by the river in terrible condition. He takes her to the hospital where she is pronounced dead. The police take their report from Greely and report it to Ben—same story. The medical examiner, a relative of Greely, states possible seizure. Put it all together in a state of grief then hand it over to Janet to make the final decisions, well, what more can I say to explain this? It's how I see it as of now."

"It still doesn't make any sense to me. Did you show this to Ted?"

"I tried." Randolph took a sip of coffee. "Well, Lena, we now know Lauren did not die as a result of a drinking related incident or accident. She apparently did choke to death but it had nothing to do with alcohol."

"My heart is racing. I feel like a cigarette, the only good reason for a cigarette." Lena didn't have cigarettes. "Hold on a minute." Lena raced out the front door to the neighbor's cottage to borrow a couple of cigarettes. Taken aback by Lena's hurried manner, Helga handed her five cigarettes--unaware Lena smoked--without question and watched as Lena disappeared back into her cottage with Pepper at her heels. Lena set the old habit on fire and paced while she and Randolph poured over the information in the reports.

"She wasn't drinking but she choked to death on her own vomit. Could she have had a flare-up of the pancreatitis and that caused her to be in severe pain, so much pain that it overwhelmed her and she choked while vomiting?" Lena pondered.

"Well, why would Greely say that she was drinking? Why would he feel the need to lie about so many things? Oh, he is not innocent here but we don't know the extent of his guilt."

"If nothing else, he should be shot for telling Ben that Lauren was drinking."

They theorized and talked until Randolph felt Lena had sufficiently calmed down. They made a loosely gathered plan for Sunday.

Dreaded and awaited, Sunday arrived. Lena placed a micro recorder in her purse as Randolph had suggested and left for Jumpin' Java. She practiced her gregarious front on the ride down, smiling and checking the look in her eyes in the rearview mirror to see if she was successfully hiding her true feelings. She did well.

Seeing Lauren's red Fiat in the parking lot brought feelings of anger more than sadness as Lena pulled alongside it. The two cars parked side by side made such a familiar configuration from the past that Lena had to smile, briefly.

Greely sat inside, waiting, looking wholly out of place. His hair again dirty and plastered to his head but with a distinct part this time. He balanced the oak chair on two legs resting his head against the wall. His hand wrapped around a bottle of beer while the glass sat empty on the table. Lena observed then steadied herself, geared up her fake smile and entered Jumpin' Java. Greely plopped the chair back onto four legs when he saw her, waved her to the table and let his eyes roam her body like a mosquito looking for a vein. His shirt was black but the dirt was still evident as it was on his faded black jeans and hunting jacket.

"You lookin' good, Geezer." Greely tipped his head back.

She acknowledged his comment with a side smile as if coyly accepting his compliment. Greely had that same odd smell about him. Lena promptly excused herself to get an espresso. It was a relief to see Chantra, a regular customer of Dead People's Stuff. She was working the counter. They exchanged greetings; it was always a pleasure to see each other. She asked if Lena had come across any old wood dough bowls. Lena told her about a primitive wood bowl at the store that was made by the Tarahumara Indians and offered to put it aside. Chantra's attention was divided between listening to Lena and examining Greely. She leaned forward and asked in a hushed voice, "And where did you come across him?"

Lena whispered back, "Oh God, it's a long story. He looks pretty scary huh?"

"He's really scary looking and he's been staring at me for the past half hour, creeping me out; please take him with you when you go." She pulled back and told Lena at a normal volume that she would be down to the store to check out the bowl.

Greely observed the whispered exchange. He was quick to ask Lena why Chantra was "whispurn to ya."

"Greely, that's private," Lena answered lightheartedly, making light of the inquiry. "Okay, you have my curiosity, what do you have for me that was Lauren's?"

"Hold on, hold on. Can't we talk some? I drove all this way so I could talk with ya."

"Of course, I am just really curious. You can't blame me."

"It's in my car; I'll get it for ya, don't worry, Geezer, I'll give it to ya."

It sickened her to hear him refer to Lauren's car as his own and use Lauren's nickname for her. She wanted to address those issues but gut instinct told her to let it go, focus on the reason for his lies.

"So, how have you been doing?" Lena asked. She hid her repulsion and uneasiness well. She needed a comfortable meeting for Greely to believe she enjoyed his company.

"Well Geezer, I ain't been doing so good. I miss mey girl...."

She listened to him sermonize about the loss of love and the tragedy of being alone after such a love affair. It was nauseating to Lena but she feigned sympathy and concern about his emotional well-being. She could stomach little to contribute and merely presented a compassionate ear. He left the table for another beer and at the same time, Lena departed to use the restroom. Her plan was vague. She had thought hard of how she would segue into questions about the circumstances of Lauren's death. Lena reached into her purse and turned on the micro recorder before returning to the table. Greely was sitting with his head back, neck extended with the beer bottle elongated from his mouth like a coyote howling. She placed her purse between them on the table, steadying it by leaning her arm across the top. To get the ball rolling, and to hide her anxiety, Lena began conversation immediately.

"You know, Greely, you never did tell me how you met Lauren and when." A good place to start.

"Ya wanna know, okay, I'll tell ya if ya wanna know. She was singin'. Mey and mah buddies was having a few beers and she was singin' in that place."

"What place? In Millet?"

"Yep, in Millet, in the coffee shop."

"That coffee shop where we went at her memorial?" That dump, she thought to herself.

"That's the place, ahright."

"That place? It looked so run down. There was no stage or anything. Why would she be singing there?" The scene was hard to imagine. Greely's answer was a bit defensive, exalting the broken down coffee shop to club status. He said that she was singing and playing her guitar at the coffee shop with a full capacity audience. He talked about how friendly and sweet she was, which was typical of Lauren. That is how they met, according to Greely, and their budding romance and engagement stemmed from that evening.

"Was she drinking beer at the coffee shop?" She didn't recall alcohol on the menu.

"Yeah, we was all drinking. B.Y.O.B." He laughed and continued, "Hell Geezer, Saturday night, party. Don't you drink no mohre?"

"Well, that wasn't my point. Lauren quit drinking some time ago. Are you sure she was drinking?"

"She was drinking, not like the rest of us. She didn't drink too much but she would suck a few brew now and then, ya know, not gettin' drunk or nuthin, a few beers. Who are you?" he laughed. "You like that old lady who chopped up bars?"

"Carrie Nation."

"What nation?" he laughed. "No here, that old lady who chopped up bars and shit here, in America. Don't ya know yer histrha?" He laughed but not the kind of laugh that made one want to join in.

Lena continued, "So she was drinking again?"

"Yep, that's right I guess. She was drinkin' again."

"Was she drinking, you know, when she died? Was she drinking down at the river and do you know what she was doing by the river?"

"Why all the questions, Geezer?"

"My best friend is dead, Greely, and I'd like to understand more than I do now. Was she upset with life, is that why she was drinking or did something happen? I mean, why was she by herself by the river drinking?"

"She liked to take walks in the woods. I guess she was doing that. I wasn't home."

"Was your roommate Billy home?"

"No. I got home and saw her car so I went lookin' for her and found her, like I told ya before." His grieving fiancé façade took on a different face.

"Ben told me she had been drinking and was so drunk she choked on her own vomit. Is that how it happened?" She moved closer to Greely, moving her purse closer with her.

"That's what happened," he said with a laissez-faire attitude and irritatingly casual tone.

"How are you sure that's what happened?"

"What is this, Geezer, you the FBI or somethin'?" he joked and took another audible gulp of beer.

"Greely, she was my best friend. I want to know what happened and you were her fiancé so you would have been the closest to her and you were there. You can understand, I love her."

Greely extended his neck and lips and finished the bottle.

"Was there a bottle by her when you found her?" Lena continued.

"I think there was, but hell, I was trying to save her, help her. Wasn't payin' no attention to no bottles n' shit."

"Could you smell alcohol on her, is that what told you she had been drinking or was it the doctors that told you?"

"Oh, I could smell it ahright. I didn't talk much to them doctors at the hospital. I went n' got all fucked up with Billy. I was fuckin' upset, Geezer. My fiancé was dead, fuckin' hell, ya know?"

"Then---"

Greely immediately cut her off. "Let's talk about you, Lena."

"Why?"

"I wanna know about you. I feel like I sorta know ya, she talked about ya but you talk about ya, so I can get ta know ya." Greely leaned back putting his chair back on two legs again in a carefree manner yet his eyes said otherwise. His guard was up. She felt it best not to push the subject of Lauren, albeit that was his pretense for the visit. She displayed a more relaxed posture in her chair and pulled her purse from the table onto her lap.

"Well, what do you want to know about me?" she asked insouciant, adding a light smile.

He asked about her business, about the name--he didn't seem to understand. He wanted to know where she lived and about her boyfriend. She gave minimal answers, said little about her business, lied about the fictitious boyfriend and sidestepped the exact location of her home. It appeared that the last thing Greely wanted to talk about was Lauren.

"I'd love to see what you brought me." Lena looked straight into his eyes and smiled. He raised his eyebrows, pleased; he took it personally. It made him instantly agreeable.

"Come on, let's go to mey car."

Chantra gave Lena the thumbs up as they left for removing Greely from the establishment. Lena walked across the parking lot a comfortable distance from Greely, and his odd smell, though he tried to inch closer. The short walk seemed like a mile by the time they finally reached the Fiat. He leaned down and grabbed something off the seat then held his closed hand up to Lena's face. Slowly he uncurled his fingers revealing a silver necklace bunched in his palm. It was the silver angel that Lauren had worn around her neck--not a cherub-like depiction of an angel or a winged woman but a winged man with muscular definition and handsome. Lena used to tease Lauren that it was a Chippendale dancer with wings. He poured the necklace into Lena's open and very grateful palm.

"Thank you so much, Greely. Really, thanks so much." Her eyes began to tear. She wanted to reach out and punch Greely and at the same time embrace him for the gift he stole from Lauren that he could have well kept or sold.

He moved closer. Lena stepped back and placed her purse on the car to free up her hands.

"Let me help ya," he offered.

"I got it." She locked the necklace in place around her neck to make sure he didn't get it back. "I need to get going, Greely. Thanks much for bringing me Lauren's necklace; it means a lot to me, a lot."

Greely appeared sincerely affected by Lena's emotion. He said nothing, not even goodbye, he only watched, still and silent, as she got in and started her car. As a precaution, Lena drove out of the parking lot in the opposite direction to her cottage.

"Okay, Sherlock, this is Watson. I just got back." She was especially happy he was home.

Randolph asked with a chuckle, "Are you sure it's not the other way around? What did you discover on your date?"

"Date? Very funny, Randolph." She continued, "I got our conversation on the recorder. I hope you're impressed. I put the recorder in my purse and put the purse on the table, like in a B detective movie. It worked; you can hear every word, along with Chantra yelling to people."

"Chantra?" Randolph didn't know where this name came into the picture.

"Oh, she works there, at the counter, nice person. Anyway, oh yeah, by the way she mentioned to me that Greely was watching her before I got there and it gave her the creeps. Even she sensed there was something evil about this guy."

"You mean that charming fellow didn't strike her fancy?"

"Imagine that! But, Randolph, I got him on the recorder stating he smelled the alcohol on Lauren when he found her by the river. You have to hear this tape. And! One other thing, he gave me Lauren's angel necklace, you know that necklace she always wore?"

"Did Greely say how he obtained it?"

"Well, we know she didn't give it to him."

Randolph admonished himself, "I guess that was a ridiculous question,"

"I was just happy to have it. I almost hugged him I was so happy." She winced at the thought. "Maybe the hospital gave it to him thinking he was her fiancé. More than likely he just took it. I am just really happy to have it." Lena placed her fingers on the angel, feeling its form and remembering how it lay against Lauren's fair skin and how many years she wore this gift from a stranger.

"The hospital didn't give him the necklace," Randolph assured.

"At least I got the necklace, but I guess I really didn't get any answers. It feels like a success and a failure."

"Be patient, this will take time. We need to be safe. We can't bring Lauren back but we can find the truth. You did a fine job."

"What next?"

Randolph advised her to put the tape in a safe place and to make sure she had plenty of cassettes because it may have been Greely's first visit but it certainly would not be his last. As usual, Randolph was right. Barely a week had passed when Greely was on the phone to Lena, again asking to visit but this time there was no mention of Lauren, no front of the bereaved fiancé needing a sympathetic ear. Greely wanted a tour of Monterey, a tour of the sights with Lena as his guide. The idea repulsed and somewhat frightened Lena, but it served her purpose to agree.

They once again met at Jumpin' Java on a Sunday. She had the recorder with a fresh cassette hidden in her purse. Lena intended to show Greely the most tourist-filled sites; she even put a six-pack of beer in a brown paper bag to help loosen his defenses. Greely greeted her with a scattered-tooth smile. She was quick to hide her true feelings behind her own wide smile and pleasant hello.

While cruising the coastal highway, they passed a group of bikers gathered at a beach vista. Lena pretended to admire the leather clad group of middle-aged men, elaborating on the appeal of "bad boys." This had the desired effect. Greely began to promote his own bad boy reputation. He spoke of several barroom brawls, of how he didn't "take shit from nobody" and emerged victorious except for when the "pigs" got involved. She hadn't heard that term of slang for police since tie-dye was born.

There was no need to turn on the recorder this trip; it was a necessary casual encounter that Lena tolerated and for Greely, a perceived advancement in winning her favor. The day was long and at the end, Lena declined his invitation to dinner. She dropped him off next to Lauren's car and pulled out of the parking lot, again driving in the opposite direction to her home.

"Randolph," she said weakly. "You have to help me here. I don't know where to go with this at this point. I can't play the new best friend thing for much longer. I'd choke him if I could stand to touch him. He calls me constantly; I am wearing thin of this friendship thing. You have to help me."

Randolph pulled the receiver to the front porch, took a seat and responded in his usual calm manner. "Now don't be hard on yourself. I would feel the same way. Be patient. We're in this together. Alone together."

"Okay, Randolph, then you date him," she said in jest.

"We'll get what we need and you're doing fine. Just keep up the nice front for truth's sake." He added, "Does he talk about Lauren when he calls?"

"No, well not much. He talks about himself. He admitted to me this last visit that he has been in jail for assault, in fact he bragged about it thinking it impressed me. I basically told him I thought tough guys were hot."

Randolph got a quick laugh out of that.

"I wonder if that's how he lost his teeth, fighting?" Lena wondered aloud.

"It is more likely a hygiene problem or lack of proper dental care."

"That's a lovely thought."

"I want you to call me every day, Lena. You do understand that your new friend is interested in you. He was interested in Lauren also, remember. I don't want you to take any chances. I don't want you to be alone with him, always be somewhere with other people around. You hear me?"

"I don't plan on being alone with him nor do I plan to be near him again until I have a definite plan. I appreciate your concern. I'll talk to you later, Randolph." Lena needed to walk Pepper so they agreed to talk later. She never imagined she would or could feel so comfortable and so close with the aged erudite--the old man so many set a mental timer to exit his company.

Lena pretended to welcome Greely's phone calls and claimed to be busy for the next month of weekends. He didn't do much talking during the calls until he had finished several drinks. Once well lubricated, Lena could sit back and listen adding only a word here or there. She purchased an attachment for the receiver that would allow the conversation to be recorded when he got on the topic of Lauren. He never did. He talked about the motorcycle he once owned and how he was going to get it back; he wanted to take Lena riding. She had no intention of participating but pretended to be delighted by the offer. He told adolescent and crude jokes and Lena pretended she found them amusing. He enjoyed talking about himself: his hunting trips, drinking buddies and occasional jobs as a logger. It was when he shared stories of his mother and childhood that Lena believed she was truly gaining his confidence. He had the father from hell and for that Lena couldn't help but feel sympathy for the child Greely and she listened and responded with the compassion of a true friend. Lena was getting to know all about Greely but nothing of the truth about his relationship to Lauren and her death. Greely pushed for another visit with each phone call. Lena needed to wait until she had a well-defined plan before another physical meeting. Greely had other plans.

A little red Fiat drove past the store, more than once, but there were so many little red sports cars in Monterey that she didn't give it much thought. Twenty minutes before closing, she wished that she had. There stood Greely peering through the store window like a horror puppet show. Lena excused herself from a customer and met Greely out front.

"This is a surprise," she said ill at ease, unable to fake a smile.

"It's supposed to be a saprize," he said proudly, like a boyfriend who had flowers and a box of candy behind his back. No flowers or candy, just Greely with the same odd smell lingering about him.

"I have a customer."

"I want to take ya ta dinner."

"I have to go home and let my dog out and some other things, Greely."

"I can go with ya, meet ya dog."

"No, that's not a good idea." The customer was now waiting, and watching. "He's not a friendly dog. But, I have to get back inside; I have a customer."

"Aaaaah, I came all this way. You ain't going to leave mey standing here are ya?" He was smiling and smiling and smiling and making Lena more uncomfortable by the second.

"I suppose we can meet sometime afterwards. We can meet somewhere in town." It appeared this encounter was unavoidable.

"I don't want ta go ta no coffee place; you tell mey where I can wait for ya?"

Greely roaming the town made her uneasy. Ditching the unwanted visitor was not an option. He obviously was determined; he wouldn't have to go too far to find her noticeably spotted car parked in town. She needed to keep Greely in the downtown area so she gave him directions to McFly's, a trendy nightspot on the water a couple of blocks from her store. She made the time earlier than she knew she would show up in hopes that Greely would go straight to McFly's instead of driving around, that he would be waiting and partaking. She locked up at five and inconspicuously checked McFly's. Greeley was standing outside smoking a cigarette.

Pepper's walk was a hurried one. She called Randolph but he wasn't home so she left a message on his answering machine, "Greely showed up. I have a plan...wish me luck." She put the recorder in her purse with a spare cassette and left for McFly's.

"Hey," she shouted over the music, talk and laughter reverberating through the bar.

Greely lifted a dripping mug of cold beer; he was using the glass this time. He seemed surprised that Lena showed up as if he expected to be stood up. He rose to greet her in a gentlemanly fashion.

"What ya drinkin'?" he offered.

Lena sat down, observing the crowd as she did so.

"They have stuff, good stuff ta eat, not peanuts n' popcorn n' shit," he informed.

"Sounds good. I'm fairly hungry." She took off her coat. "I'll be right back." Lena walked at a deliberate leisurely pace to the happy hour bar, checking the patronage and making a point to say or nod a hello to those she was familiar for recognition's sake. She was relieved to see McFly's peppered with acquaintances and many Dead People's Stuff customers. She placed shrimp and garlic bread on her plate and chatted with those next to her under the watchful eyes of Greely. He had a beer waiting for her when she returned. Lena wasn't a fan of beer but kept the fact to herself and thanked him.

"I gotta get mey another plate." In his absence, Lena took advantage of the gigantic fern between her and the bay window that gave view to Cannery Row. She discreetly poured a good portion of her beer into its base, figuring it must have had a few tastes prior and has survived so far. Greely returned, his plate overflowing with food stacked and teetering at the edge.

"We don't need ta go ta no place ta eat, we got dinner here," he said with a laugh, pleased as can be. He was feeling good and, from all appearances, very comfortable. She guessed he already downed his fair share of beer before she had arrived, which fit perfectly into her cursory plan. The bar was festive as usual with a sundry of regulars and tourists enjoying the perfect nights of Cannery Row. Busy, just as Lena wanted.

Greely asked questions about living in Monterey. How much "did it cost," where "exackla" did she live and the like. She made up a street name and described a house unlike her own. Lena steered the conversation off Monterey and on to Greely. He enjoyed talking about himself, even more, bragging about himself. Puzzled by what Greely found as brag-worthy acts or items, Lena listened with a degree of interest. She listened to him on various subjects ever mindful that the bereaved fiancé failed to mention Lauren once.

Lena ordered tequilas, one for her and one for Greely. She took hers with her when she went to the restroom where she poured half the tequila down the drain and replaced the missing tequila with tap water. Lena wanted Greely drunk or as near as possible and her own mind clear--the foundation of her plan. She hoped that with enough alcohol Greely would be loose, unguarded and too inebriated to realize or care as she attempted to extract truths about his relationship to Lauren and her death. It's the only plan she could come up with on such short notice but also seemed about the best chance when it came to Greeley and finding the truth regardless.

Lena briefly stopped at the bar on her way back from the restroom. "Richard," she spoke to the bartender in a hushed voice "do me a favor?"

"Sure, Lena, what can I do you for?" Richard responded, always pleasant, always accommodating, a relief to hear though Lena always found that saying quite odd.

"Could you please water down my drinks, not the drinks of my friend over there, just mine. This is going to be a long night; I'll explain another time." She made sure her eyes imparted that she wasn't joking.

"Gotta charge ya the same, Lena, but I'll put a cherry in it so you get your money's worth."

"You're too kind, dear Richard."

"What's going on?" he asked while looking at Greely.

"It's a long one, trust me. Anyway," she shook her head, "you gotta trust me, be nice to me, I know both your girlfriends. By the way, Chantra is interested in an old wood dough bowl I have in my store; make some points for yourself." Richard grimaced. They both broke out in smiles as Lena continued on her way back to the table.

Greely started right in about a bar in Arizona.

"So, Greely, how are you doing?" Lena interrupted.

"I'm doin' ahright," he answered, bewildered by the interruption and question.

"Are you getting along better now?" she asked.

"Geetin' along better?" It slipped his mind that he was distraught over the loss of his fiancé and visiting with her best friend to help pull him from the pit of sorrow.

"Without Lauren."

"I miss her ahright. It hurts mey, yeah. Yur helpin' mey, Geezer." He finished his drink then asked, "Another?" He signaled for the waitress.

"I'm still sipping on mine." The waitress left without hearing Lena's protest.

Greely was more than tipsy.

The drinks arrived, as Richard promised, Lena's drink had a cherry sunk in the middle.

"What the fuck, they put a fuckin' cherra in yur tequila, shit. That how they do here in Monterey, cherra in tequila." Greely was amused. Lena was appreciative. He started back up about the bar in Arizona. His speech varied from loud to normal Greely, which was a bit less loud. He was friendly and getting touchy, repeatedly finding reasons to touch Lena. He was bobbing forward across the table, getting closer each time he wanted to emphasize some detail in his story. She didn't back away but stayed steady, trying to judge just how intoxicated Greely actually was, if he were inebriated enough for her to start up the recorder and the questions.

"Ya want another tequila with a cherra in it?" Greely laughed.

"No, no; I'm still working on these. You go ahead though, have another."

"Ya like whiskey, Geezer?"

"I'm fine, you go ahead."

He finished his tequila and waved his arms for the waitress. Once Greely was happy with his whiskey in front of him, Lena proceeded to move on with her plan.

"I can see why Lauren was with you. You're a lot of fun, easy to talk to."

Greely agreed that he was a fun guy, wild and crazy and always up for a good time. Lena talked but his attention was wandering to the party atmosphere that was progressively getting louder with plenty of women in short skirts, tight pants and even tighter blouses.

"Greely!" she shouted. He leaned forward into the table to hear her better. "You haven't been honest with me." She slyly held her breath as she waited for his reaction. Greely backed away and sat upright in his chair. "Come on, Greely. You know you haven't been honest with me; the pieces don't fit. I know you loved her and I can see why she loved you." She struggled to make her eyes and words appear sincere. "You obviously loved her a great deal." Greely leaned his elbows back on the table, resting his chin in the palms of his rough and soiled hands. His dark eyes pierced Lena's attempt at a sincere gaze. "You were so thoughtful and kind to come to her memorial when everyone else in that town didn't bother." Not missing a beat, she played on, "You were very considerate to Ben, to all of us, and I know it was hard for you like it was for us. You invited us to your home and everything, showing Ben where you found her. I know you loved her, Greely, and I'm sure she loved you just as much but some things are just not making sense to me."

"I was thinkin' you didn't believe we was engaged ta be marrud." He kept his eyes fixed on Lena's, waiting for her reaction.

"You're right, I didn't. Because, you know, she never said anything about you to me. But later, when I was talking to Randolph, he pointed out why she would have kept it a secret." The bar atmosphere was getting more chaotic and the noise elevating to where Lena was near shouting. "You know," she hollered across the table, "with the breakup of her first marriage, it wasn't that long ago and she probably thought everyone would tell her it was too soon. You know Lauren, she does what she wants to do and she doesn't like people interfering." Greely seemed puzzled by her last word. "Interfering. I said interfering. That's Lauren, that's the way she is, or was."

Greely kept a steady stare.

"No one knew much when she got married the first time either." She leaned across the table closer to Greely. "Ben wouldn't have approved of her getting married again so soon, not because it was you, because it was too soon. He's her dad, he naturally would be concerned." She stopped and waited for him to react in any way.

"So what ya think I'm lying 'bout?" he asked, his eyes still straightforward, the rest of the goings-on at McFly's was no longer of interest.

"Greely, I don't want to shout this stuff. It's too loud in here, let's go somewhere else so we don't have to shout."

"Ta yur place?" His eyes lost their deadlock stare.

Lena put money on the table, grabbed her coat and waved for Greely to follow her. Once outside, Lena said that she would like to sit at the beach so they could talk with only the sounds of the ocean around them. Greely was high and compliant. She walked with him across the plaza making a point to wave and smile at those she knew as she passed the windows of McFly's. Her intention was to make people aware of her company and destination and for Greely to be aware that people noticed. They took the steps that led down to the beach next to the pier, the pier that supported the back half of McFly's and allowed for a magnificent view. She invited him to sit by her side at the base of the steps. They said nothing at first. The moonlight scattered and skipped across the dark water. Tourists' voices played in the background. They sat, quiet.

Lena moved back, up one step, slightly behind Greely. She told him she was warmer there because his body blocked the breeze off the water. In the maneuvering, she was able to reach into her purse and flick on the recorder. She hugged her purse to her chest as if it were assisting in warding off the chill, but in truth, it placed the recorder closer to Greely's face, and ultimately, his words.

"Greely, you have to tell me what you know about Lauren's death," Lena brazenly began her inquiry.

"What the fuck ya talkin' bout, I told ya about her death. What else do ya wanna know, shit." Greely was suddenly agitated and his manner startled Lena but the ball had already started to roll.

"I don't want you to take this wrong, Greely, or think badly of me."

"You ain't makin' sense." With a softer tone he added, "I like ya, Geezer."

"I like you too, a lot. I just know that things aren't connecting. I can't figure out why, why you aren't telling me the total truth. Don't get me wrong, Greely, I know you loved her and obviously she loved you but you aren't telling me the truth." She could feel her heart pound; she was nervous and afraid yet did her best to appear relaxed, calm and ever the trustworthy friend. The image of Lauren kept her steady and willing.

"Whatya sayin' here, Lena? You ain't makin' much sense, ya know. Whatya think I did, or whatya sayin' I did?" He spoke softly. His manner softened too. He sounded almost sweet and vulnerable, yet Lena knew better. He was vulnerable like a baby rattlesnake.

"I know you know what I'm talking about. You know where you weren't quite telling the truth. I know it. You know it. I want to know why. I want to know the truth that's all."

"We playin' a game here?" He stared forward watching the waves as they splashed against the rocks. His tone was serious yet not angry as she had expected or feared.

They danced around the subject, exigent and vague--a hornet's nest hanging a bit too close for either of them but Lena had to know. She stood up.

"I need to go then, Greely," she said, intentionally displaying her frustration.

He reached over and grabbed her calf with a firm hand. She didn't resist, but stopped in place and waited. Lena spoke first.

"If you want to talk, be honest with me, I would love to stay but I can't go along with any bullshit regarding Lauren, Greely." Lena's voice affirmed she was immutable; she was leaving if he was not forthcoming and Greely, surprisingly, got the message.

"Sit down," he said, still holding her leg.

"Only if you're going to be straight with me."

"Tell mey what ya think I'm lyin' 'bout."

Lena sat back down on the step behind him. She placed her purse back up to her chest and leaned closer to Greely. He pulled a cigarette from this shirt pocket and lighted it. Several people passed them on the steps making their way for a stroll on the beach.

"Okay, one thing, you said she was drinking, you smelled it on her when you found her but there was no alcohol in her system. Did you read the autopsy report?" Lena waited for a response. Greely took another drag off his cigarette and remained silent. "There's stuff about her, about her past you talked about that I know isn't true."

"Like what?"

"I'm not going to play this game, Greely. I know and you know; I just want to know why you said them."

"Does her daddy and the others think I'm lyin' too?"

"No, just me. I'm the one who spoke with you, not them. They all think you're an upstanding guy, mountain man type a guy." He laughed at the description of the mountain man. He liked the image; it gave him a certain rugged status, in his mind. "That's how you are described, as a mountain man and they like you." His pleasure with the impromptu description helped ease the building tension. She asked in a non-accusatory manner, "So tell me, Greely. What put Lauren by the river?"

Greely hemmed and hawed, and chain-smoked, while Lena waited a considerable amount of time. To keep in her company, now and in the future, Greely realized he would have to answer at some point. He had to think. He now had to decide whether he could trust Lena.

She had never seen him so pensive. He looked like a different person. She believed whatever was coming next was going to be sincere. Even if he were to walk away, she knew he meant it and would not be coming back.

"What really happened Greely?" she uttered as if a confidant, a trusted friend.

Direct and lacking due emotion, Greely began the story. He continued to drag on his cigarette and stare out towards the pier while he told the story from the beginning to Lauren's end.

Lauren wasn't engaged to Greely; they weren't even dating. He was enamored with her--not uncommon. Men found Lauren appealing for many reasons; she was not only attractive and talented but also extremely friendly and very kind. She was kind to others even to her own detriment. A man pursuing Lauren wasn't anything new or unusual and Lauren gave Greely, as she did everyone, the time of day, regardless of his crude manner and sullied appearance. He mistook her friendliness as leading him on.

Lauren was leaving an AA meeting when Greely confronted her at her car. They were alone; he planned it that way. He believed he could win her over. He just needed time alone with her. Lauren didn't initially comprehend Greely's oddly aggressive manner as serious. She smelled the beer, thought he was joking around, inappropriate but playful. He grabbed her car keys, hopped in the driver's seat and ordered her to get in the car. Lauren was always the optimist and far too trusting. The glass was always half full in Lauren's view, and everybody has a golden heart. She saw a man clowning around, being playful with her and no matter how feeble his attempt, she would act amused and go along so as not to offend or create a scene and drag another into an uncomfortable situation. Where Lena would have ripped the keys from the ignition and ordered him out, Lauren was just not that way. Lauren casually got into the car, smiling and going along with Greely as he drove off. She tried to make playful conversation while still believing that Greely was joking around to get her attention and she was going to be a good sport. She liked interesting characters with creativity and she believed that he was just having fun. But Greely ignored her playful inquiries. Panic began to stir in Lauren when the drive turned into a long ride into the mountains. He came to the river then turned down a dirt road where, after a short distance, Greely pulled up to his trailer. She quickly tried to assess the situation as he stopped the car. Greely took the keys out of the ignition and held them tightly in his hand. Lauren assumed, hoped, he was still playing around and gave him a warm smile, a smile that evoked an unexpected response and clearer picture of her predicament.

"You're a fuckin' tease. Womens don't fuck with mey...."

There was no doubt in Lauren's mind, at that point, that she was in trouble. Greely's eyes said it all. She looked to the other trailers for signs of life, anybody who might help. He raged on while slamming the car door behind him then he waited by the steps for Lauren to follow. Lauren sensed that neither reason nor a charitable heart was going to get her out of this situation. There wasn't a soul in sight. He yelled for her to "get out of the fuckin' car." She opened the car door and stepped out. Assured that his powerful presence had frightened Lauren into submission, Greely turned his back on her and started up the stairs.

As good as she was a hiker, Lauren was an excellent runner. She was off into the woods not daring to take even a few seconds to look back. It was but a minute until Greely realized his prize had bolted. Fueled by anger and beer, he took off after her. Lauren had little problem eluding him. She wove in and out through the trees and the power of luck, or some other power, guided Lauren to a rock enclosure--the same cryptic stone room Lena discovered the day of Lauren's memorial. She slid through the opening, ducked into the corner hidden from view but only a few feet from the second opening, Lauren was ready to flee if need be. Greely would have a task fitting through the small rock opening which would give Lauren the advantage. She remained motionless.

Greely yelled for and at her but couldn't find her. Lauren waited, still, listening. She was in awe of the prehistoric hideaway just as Lena had been. When she believed it was safe to venture out, she exited through the small rock window with cautious confidence. Lauren decided to leave her car; she just wanted to find her way back to town. As Lauren saw it, this was but another one of life's bizarre situation. This was just life, just part of being alive. Lauren typically took such events in stride. She had always found her way through life's adversities, attributing such outcomes to her perpetual positive outlook and ultimate faith in the ways of the universe, or karma. She made life decisions based on building and believing in good karma. She'd get out of this unfortunate situation as well.

Lauren would follow the river up to the road and make her way back to town. She felt certain she would run in to someone she knew along the way that would give her a ride into town and all would work out. She would go home and soon Greely, once sober, would realize he had gone too far, apologize to her sheepishly with her car keys in hand and all would be fine. Instead, an incensed Greely surprised her by the river, grabbing Lauren with an overwhelming force. He threw her onto the ground and flashed a raised fist. She moved quickly to her feet and missed the impact of his swing but only managed to get a few yards until he knocked her back onto the ground then dragged her towards the water. Lauren fought, fought hard until her petite stomach took an overwhelming blow from Greely's boot. She buckled and curled onto her side. Greely threatened and shouted profanities as if Lauren had done some unforgivable wrong to his life. A few more kicks to the huddled and defenseless Lauren and Greely shouted his last indignities, threw the keys to the Fiat at Lauren then walked back to his trailer.

Greely swaggered into the trailer, opened a beer, lit a cigarette and with the volume cranked up to maximum, sat alone in front of the television. Not until his roommate, Billy, came home hours later, did he realize that the Fiat was still in the driveway. He found Lauren in the same place where he had left her, motionless, on the damp ground by the river's edge, her car keys laying where he had tossed them.

"I wasn't sure she was dead or jus' knocked out but her color wasn't right," Greely continued.

Lena was taking deep quiet breaths, holding and slowly releasing them away from her purse and the recorder that was capturing Greely's moment of truth.

"I went back an' got Billy. He said she was dead. He thought she was dead. Fuck, Geezer, I didn't mean ta kill her. I was jus' pissed 'bout she was teasin' mey, actin' like she liked mey, she wanted mey, ya know? She was thinkin' she was ta good for mey." Greely tossed the still smoking cigarette butt and lit another one. "Billy and I took her ta the hospital. They said she was dead, ya know. Fuck, man. Dead. We got the fuck outta there." He turned to look at Lena. "It was an accident. Shit, I didn't mean to kill her, fuck. I was pissed but I didn't mean ta kill her or nothin'. Ya know?"

"But Greely, wouldn't the hospital have questions? They just let you go without, without calling the police or making a report or what?"

"I answered some questions but I took off. The police talked to mey, at ma trailer and I told them I found her, by the river."

"But they had to ask a lot of questions. Nothing was suspicious to them?"

"Nah, it ain't no big city, Geezer. They don't bring in no FBI. They ain't suspicious of nothin'. They ask mey some questions. I answered. What were they gunna do? Hell, peoples dying up there all the time. Guess she'd been sick. She was a drinker---"

Lena interrupted, "She used to drink and what do you mean people are dying up there all the time?" She was doing her best to keep her calm exterior.

"They are. Lotsa reasons. You walk onto some dope farm and you ain't walkin out."

"They thought her death was related to drug dealers?" Lena knew about the marijuana fields in the mountains but saw no connection to the circumstances of Lauren's death and didn't see how the police would either.

"I don't know. But she'd been sick. The police was talking about her being sick and 'bout her drinking."

"Sick?"

"They said she'd been sick, in the hospital. The doctor said she'd been in the hospital. I don't know. I went along with them..." Greely talked on. Lena got what she wanted. The lousy police work didn't much matter now. Her mind turned temporarily to Randolph and what would he want to know before she ended this.

"What about her things in your house? I don't understand how they got there."

"That stuff was all in her car. I took it out and put it in the room. Billy and I had to figure somethin'. Ya know, if I intended on killin' her well, I'd have done it different. I didn't want to kill her; it was an accident. I don't want to get fried for no accident. Billy and mey came up with a story. It cudda been true, ya know. Ya'll believed it." He turned back towards the sea. "Things jus got outta hand."

"I just have one more question. Did you call her father with the news?"

"Yeah, I called Ben but the police did too, I think."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said she had a seizure, was probably drinking too much. I found her and took her to the hospital but she didn't make it. That's all I told him."

"Didn't he ask you a lot of questions?"

"Like what?"

"Who you were? More specifics?"

"I told him who I was. I mean, I didn't say I was gunna marry her or nuthin'. I said I was her friend and I was the one who found her and took her to the hospital."

Lena had heard enough, she doubted she could continue the composed and intimate demeanor much longer. She needed to leave. She was beginning to feel physically sick.

Greely apologized repeatedly and she, in turn, reassured him that she understood it was an accident.

"Well, at least I know what happened and it all makes more sense." That was a lie. "I understand you didn't mean to kill her. It was a horrible, a horrible accident. I appreciate your honesty, Greely. Thank you for telling me the truth." She expressed sincere appreciation for his candor and promised, as a trusted friend would, to keep his secret. She backed her promise of secrecy with the fact that telling someone would not bring Lauren back; it was done and there was no point in exposing the truth to anyone. She even added that it was best that Greely not tell anyone else, "...tell no one! Keep everything you told me to yourself from now on. It's best. Trust me."

Greely agreed.

"Greely, you shouldn't drive. You've had a lot to drink." Lena stood up. The ocean breeze helped cool the beads of sweat stemming from her emerging nausea. She started up the steps. Greely didn't follow. She had to think clearly. She touched the angel hanging from her neck and counted silently in her head to calm herself.

"Are you coming?" She turned and looked at Greely.

Greely trotted up alongside her.

"You can't drive; you've been drinking and it's a long way." The hotel came into her narrow field of vision; it was a four-story pricey hotel across from McFly's that looked out over the bay—new, built for tourists.

"I'll get you a room." She began walking towards the hotel.

"Hey, Geezer, I ain't payin' for no fancy hotel jus to sleep it off." He stopped to size up the hotel. "I'll go ta yur place."

Lena stopped and loud enough for him to hear her but without turning to look at him said, "You can't, for lots of reasons, Greely. I'm paying, don't worry about it."

"I can't let ya pay."

"Yeah, you can. I'm a business owner here; I get a discount. They get a discount with me and I get a discount with them. Come on. They owe me."

He acquiesced, smirking like a winner.

There was no mutual discount plan among business owners. Lena paid for the room and handed Greely the key.

"Ya comin' up?" he asked, casual and upbeat no longer speaking in the somber manner of his confession.

"I'll walk you to your room but I need to get home. My dog is locked up in the house. I have things I need to do before tomorrow. I didn't expect to go out tonight." They climbed the outside stairs to the second floor without speaking, both absorbed in their own sides of the same predicament--Greely admitted he killed Lauren.

"Ya wanna come in?" Greely was a few feet inside the door while Lena remained on the walkway.

"No. I really have to get back." She stepped farther back and took a good look at Greely; she found him grotesque and again felt sick to her stomach.

"See ya tamarra?"

"Yes, I think so. I should be able to. I need to get going but I should have time tomorrow. Call me in the morning." She felt as if the blood was draining from her body and she could feel her skin turning pale. "Please wait until you have had a good rest before you get into your car to drive. They're pretty tight on DUI's out here, don't chance it." She wanted him to stay put as long as possible so she could figure out what to do and she didn't want another death caused by a drunken Greely behind the wheel, drunk by her doing. She turned toward the stairs. "I'll see you tomorrow." Greely continued to talk as Lena hurried down the walkway.

As she crossed the street, trying her best to walk at a normal stride, Lena could feel Greely watching her. She wanted to run to her car as fast as her shaky legs could transport her and drive straight to the police station with Greely's recorded confession yet she wasn't sure if that's what she should do. With great effort, Lena coolly walked up the street until out of his view then ducked behind a building and vomited. Her hands were trembling. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and allowed herself to break her composure, and cry.

"Wait, Pepper, wait," Lena scolded as he jumped at the door. The phone cord wasn't like Randolph's and it had a limited range. She anxiously waited for Randolph to pick up but he wasn't answering. "Oh shit, oh shit." She paced back and forth with Pepper at her heels. Lena grabbed his leash and the recorder out of her purse. "Hurry and go, Pepper." Pepper did his usual casual hunt for the perfect twelve spots to lift his leg. Pepper's ears perked and his head tilted inquisitively at the screech of the rewind. Lena followed Pepper around the yard while listening to Greely's cruel voice on the recorder. She had it all on tape. The capable little recorder did its job well. She was relieved and grateful that everything fell into place as planned.

"Okay, Pepper, come on." Lena reeled in his leash and went back into the cottage to try Randolph one more time. Still no answer and his machine was off. Lena decided to call the local police station to speak with Officer Bradley. She had to talk to somebody; this couldn't wait until morning. He wasn't on duty. Lena paced the floor clenching Greely's confession in her hand. Pepper eyes darted from Lena to the cookie jar--back and forth then back and forth until he got Lena to do as he wished.

"Got it," she said aloud. "Got it, got it, got it." She remembered she had Officer Bradley's home number from when she picked up the cowboy boots for his girlfriend.

"Hi, this is Lena. If you're there please, please pick up the phone. I'm sorry to bother you at home and this late. Please pick up the phone...." And he did.

"Officer Bradley, this is incredibly important. I don't know where to start, but I swear, oh God, I need your help...."

They met at Dead People's Stuff. Officer Bradley came alone. He listened to her story once more and then he listened to the tape.

"Does he know you have this place?" Officer Bradley asked referring to her business. She nodded yes and then asked him to take a look at the autopsy report. With the significant points highlighted in yellow, he briefed the report then asked if Greely knew where she lived. She shook her head no.

"Okay, Lena, you need to go back home. I'm going to need this report and the tape to take with me for now---"

"What are you going to do?" Lena interrupted. Her stomach was twisting and she told Officer Bradley she worried that Greely may leave the hotel before morning. He may even be near the store at that moment.

"I'm not in uniform and I drove Lisa's car. If he sees me here, he won't know I'm a cop-- might think I'm your boyfriend or who knows but not a cop," Officer Bradley reassured then offered to follow her home as an added precaution.

"I want this guy to pay for what he did to Lauren, but I admit, right now, I'm afraid of him and what's going to happen. He's so close by...."

"You need to leave it up to the authorities for now and you need to get home so I can move on this."

"Can you move on this? Can you do something? I don't know what procedure is. Can you arrest him from what's on the tape?"

"I'll do something. He probably has a warrant on him for something else. Just let me take care of this for now and let's getting moving."

Officer Bradley followed her home, waited for Lena to close the door behind her then did a quick search in the neighborhood before speeding off for the station.

Accompanied by Officer Hernandez, and with the sounds of tourists still enjoying the ocean side town below, Officer Bradley approached the hotel room door. The light in the room glowed through the peephole like a penlight. He knocked on the door. Officer Hernandez stepped back to the railing and leaned over to check if the Fiat remained parked. It was. Officer Bradley raised his fist and knocked progressively harder figuring he was waking Greely from a drunken sleep. The tiny light from the peephole went dark for an instant.

"He's in there, awake."

Officer Bradley instructed Greely to open the door.

"I'll get a key from Jessie," said Officer Hernandez. As he left for the front desk, Greely leaped from the hotel deck like a cat burglar. He was quick and managed to find his way under the pier, atop the rocks and to the other side of McFly's. He darted for the Fiat with success. It was easy for Greely. He made it to the car, through town and onto the freeway with no one on his tail. It would have been smart to take the back route but Greely wasn't smart, just brazen. He made it out of Monterey without an encounter and without much difficulty.

Lena paced and smoked.

"Lena?" said the voice on the other end.

"Yes. Officer Bradley, what happened?" She was tense with anticipation and puffing on one of the remaining borrowed cigarettes.

He explained the series of events and was concerned for her safety; Greely was somewhere out there.

"Oh, shit. He doesn't know where I live." She thought for a second. "I don't think he knows, oh God. I'm sure he doesn't know but he knows why you were there and he knows it's because of me. That's why he ran. Is someone up in Millet going to go after him? Tonight? What happens next?"

Greely called Billy from a pay phone to confess his blunder and warn him. Billy didn't own much; he could grab all he needed in a few minutes and disappear. Greely asked him to bundle up his things including his guns and meet him. After that, they would go their separate and free ways. Before putting down the receiver, Billy chastised Greely for "fucking everything up for some pussy," twice.

"She gunna be sorra she opened her fuckin' mouth, gawdam cunt." Greely instantly became focused more on revenge than a faraway escape.

"Well, keep me out of this one, man. I'm outta here and from now on I don't know you and you don't know me, Greely. Hang up and let's get this on the fucking road before they put my ass in jail. Your ass should be in jail, man, not mine. I didn't do shit." Billy hung up. He threw everything in the truck and was off to join Greely for what he hoped was the last time.

"I have a gun and I won't hesitate to use it. You don't scare me you scum, you cold-hearted sick scum." Lena's fear was challenged by her anger. "You beat Lauren to death, you coward...." Greely's calls were numerous, and venomous. He threatened in nightmarish detail. She mocked his attempts to frighten her over the phone but with seemingly little problem, he was eluding authorities and she knew that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for Greely to make good on his graphic threats. Lena's faith in the efficaciousness of the police waned. The logic of the justice system was in serious question also. Greely had an extensive criminal record yet he was out and about to do more damage to the innocent.

She went about her routine functionally afraid, always on edge and alert. She was afraid for Pepper's safety as well. She soon confided her predicament and deep concerns for Pepper's safety to her next-door neighbor. The strong and cynical woman from the "old country" was more than willing to help Lena out. She was fond of Pepper and he was welcome in her home anytime. Lena pondered bringing Pepper to work with her but he had a way of picking and choosing customers who were to, or not to, his liking that was bad for business. Helga gave Lena tremendous peace of mind when she offered to let Pepper stay with her during the day. Pepper himself couldn't have been more pleased. It became a match made in heaven. Helga loved to cook; Pepper loved to eat. Walking Pepper got Helga out of the house and she liked it, as did Pepper. They were both happy with the arrangement--particularly Pepper, who was getting a bit portly.

Greely's phone calls and threats were regularly reported to the police. There seemed to be little they could do. Lena eventually agreed with Officer Bradley when he suggested that she actually should have a gun for her protection. He offered to help her purchase a handgun and, most important, to teach her how to use it properly and feel comfortable in doing so.

Lena and Lisa, Bradley's girlfriend, watched as Officer Bradley loaded the new handgun and with ease took aim at the paper silhouette. He had Lena load and unload the gun several times. It did make her feel more comfortable and more in control of the handheld weapon. The paper target hung, waiting for the blast to the encircled vital parts. She pulled the trigger.

"Again," coaxed Officer Bradley.

The first shots were a bit jarring yet remarkably placed which pleased and energized both Lena and Officer Bradley. It didn't take long for Lena's focus to turn from the paper target dangling across the room to both Lauren and Pepper and how her life no longer was this idyllic existence that she worked so hard to create. She wondered if she could shoot a living thing, even if it was Greely. When she thought of the scene by the river, Lena pulled the trigger again. She felt more comfortable handling the gun but how would she handle her life on these terms.

"Not bad," Officer Bradley was pleased. He wished that Lisa would give it a try but she wanted nothing to do with guns. He delighted at Lena's ability and her smooth transition from awkwardness to a relatively calm confidence.

"Hey Lena. You're a natural; you'll have no problem hitting your target...."

His flattery fell on deaf ears.

"You sure you don't want to vacation at the beach for a few years, Ted?" Lena was more serious than joking.

"If you need me to come stay with you, if you're serious, let me know. We can arrange something." Ted responded more for reassurance than truth. He couldn't leave his business nor could he reasonably move it.

"Are you serious, Ted?"

"Actually, Lena, in my heart I am, honestly, but I couldn't move; I think you know that. Maybe you should move though. Hell, he knows where your store is. I hate to say this but I don't think it would take much to discover where you live. Actually, it's not that hard ya know with that little shit-mobile you drive around--the spotted wonder."

Lena laughed. "I know. Believe me, I've thought about it. I've been putting the top up and washing it. And, parking it in the alley behind the cottages. Fortunately, it's small enough to snuggle up with the garbage cans. But Ted I truly love it here, everything about being here--my business, my friends, my life is exactly how I want it to be. Or was." Her words battled with tears as she described her love for the life she had built in Monterey. "Life is perfect here. There is no more beautiful place on this planet than Monterey. It's my heaven on earth, Ted." She sighed, "I just don't see how I can continue living here like this."

"Right. Right. That is exactly it. Look, you may not have a life if you stay in Monterey. Ya know, I still can't believe Lauren is dead but it happened. It happened to her and it can happen to you, to anybody. I hate saying this, but you know already, that guy is a psycho and brazenfaced enough to take chances. The smart thing for him to do would be to get the hell out of California, go hide in the backwoods where he fits in but he's whacked and set on revenge. He calls you regularly. Nothing happens to him. I don't think he fears much. Look what he's gotten by with so far and whatever else he has done in life. I can't tell you what to do, you have to decide, but I can tell you what I honestly think and I think you should get out of there for a while."

"I know you're right but I hate even the thought."

"Isn't there somewhere you can go, somewhere you have always wanted to go, wanted to visit for a while? You can always come back, Lena, and pick up where you left off later. Lena, if you don't put your safety first, well, Lauren didn't survive this asshole. The guy is deranged. Eventually, he's bound to screw up and end up in jail for something else and then they've got him. Or better yet, get himself killed and you're home free. You can always come back home when things are safer."

"I can't imagine leaving here, Ted." A bit of anger took over. "I won't. I'm not going to let him drive me from my home. I'm not leaving; I'm just not."

Lena relaxed on the bench, soaking up the sun, while Pepper ran by the shore. This was her form of meditation, her ritual. It only took a backfire from a passing vehicle to awaken her to the reality of her vulnerability, and that of Pepper's too. Lena made the decision then and there to leave her beloved life in Monterey for safer ground. With her newfound conviction, Lena gathered Pepper and his prized piece of dried and smelly seaweed, and began her pursuit to find safer ground.

As if it were meant to be, the safer ground appeared quite quickly. A regular customer of Dead People's Stuff offered Lena his family cabin located in an obscure small town in northeastern Pennsylvania; it was three thousand miles away and as far away from Greely as she could get without leaving the country. It all happened so quickly. The contents of her store sold instantly at a ridiculously low price on the terms that the store was emptied immediately. The immediacy and chaos of the sudden move allowed Lena to keep her emotions at bay. She tried not to look at her storefront when using the main road to take care of other business. She practiced driving by and not looking at what was her life and the sign that still proudly proclaimed her business. It was all so fast, but probably the best way to make such a move.

The one-room, A-frame cabin with the "cozy" loft quickly turned into her cedar prison within a town she did not, nor did she desire to, fit in. Entertainment most enjoyed in the small town was shooting and trapping the local wildlife. As an animal lover, this was hard to take as it surrounded her little abode. The television's poor reception allowed only the "Wide World of Polka" to come in clearly. Non-descendents of the locals were not graciously welcomed. When told the starting pay at her first job, she mistook the figure as an ungodly early hour to start work. The one redeeming factor the town had to offer was that it was Greely-free, but even that blessing was wearing thin.

The few years that she managed to survive in the cedar prison passed torturously slow and were void of uplifting experiences and friendships. She did manage to find a wonderful veterinarian for Pepper and for that, she was very grateful. But Lena would vacillate between intense boredom and depression. After three years, she decided to take her chances back in California. She prayed that either Greely had given up his pursuit of her or that he was in jail where he belonged--or better yet, got himself terminated.

Lena planned to take the southwest route back to California. She had only briefly visited the magnificently beautiful area and had wanted to return someday. This was her opportunity to do so before buckling down to restart her life in Monterey. Lena intended on resurrecting Dead People's Stuff right away. Three years was a very long time for her but not so long for her customers and there were the perpetual tourists of Cannery Row. With her life uplifted on dreams and serious plans, she concluded her existence in Pennsylvania.

Lena purchased a small camper trailer--one the now spot-free Karmann Ghia wasn't capable of pulling. The only person she grew to call a friend was Pepper's veterinarian, Lon, who fortunately always wanted to visit the coast of California. They made a temporary exchange, the little Ghia for his huge and sturdy old Cadillac that would have no problem pulling the camper. Lon would make his way out to California for a much-desired visit and they would again exchange cars. Everything was falling into place perfectly.

Lena was up with the sun. She was more than ready for the departure and eagerly pulled onto the road out of town. Holding tight to the steering wheel, and with the vintage camper swaying and bouncing behind the gold metal monster and her Cheshire grin in place, she was on her way. She was heading back to the land of the living.

Twelve hundred miles from home, Lena pulled into Broken Arrow for some rest and reflection before completing her long awaited and much anticipated journey back to life.
Chapter Four

The Scout

Broken Arrow was a friendly community, exceptionally so, and invitations flowed freely along with the conversations. It was the environment Lena missed and craved the past three years, an environment she found difficult to leave even with her intense desire to be back in Monterey. She put off continuing her trip for a week, then two, then lucked upon an opportunity.

Lena was not fond of the Cadillac even though the gold behemoth served its purpose well: an entire closet could fit in the trunk, the back seat was a kin to a small yard for Pepper and it pulled the camper without problem--all good things. However, it was just too big and far too loud. She felt as though she was driving a condo on wheels, and that was without the camper attached. She drove over some railroad tracks while finding her way through Texas and in doing so damaged the muffler that gave birth to a loud rumbling noise that couldn't have annoyed anyone more than it annoyed Lena. She made the decision to wait until she was back home to attempt its repair, along with any other damage that might have occurred to the car on the journey. When she saw the opportunity, she was quick to seize it.

At the top of a hill, displayed as if it were about to roll over the edge, was an International Scout. Taped to the window was a For Sale sign, minus a phone number. Its precarious position had the townspeople placing bets on if or when the Scout would take a dive. Since Lena decided to extend her stay she a wanted, before the Scout had a chance to take the plunge, to find the elusive owner and make an offer.

The International Scout had its own moderately loud screeching sound from under the hood but paled compared to the Cadillac's obnoxious rumble. The price was right and the International Scout was hers. The townspeople who bet the Scout would remain stationary claimed a win, while those betting it would take the plunge called foul. From that point on Lena regularly heard, "Hey, aren't you the gal who bought that Scout?" "So, you bought that Scout..."and "You're the Scout lady," and so it went until "Scout" became Lena's nickname. She liked having a nickname; it made her feel even more at home within the community, another feeling void for the past three years.

Hail bombarded the campground again. The RV doors were slamming shut per usual. The tinny pinging made the campground sound like an arcade. Minutes passed and the hail was on its way and the campers came popping out of their RVs to check for damage.

"Scout!" Again, he yelled, "Scout!" Lena hoped, but knew better, that he would make it short. She opened the camper door.

"Hi Burt. How can I help you?"

In his usual matter-of-fact manner, Burt informed Lena that she left the windows of her International Scout open. Then immediately, without pause--except to spit chew juice into his cup--Burt dove right into a personal story from his past of saturated car seats, which led to a story of molded rugs and on to a story about rust that turned into a story about a reunion with his brother. No matter how far off the original subject Burt's stories veered, he managed to tie them all together at the end and always jumping back to the original story or comment. She politely listened to his stories of warning--the Scout had so many leaks it hardly mattered if the windows were up or down but it would only rain on Burt's verbal parade if she pointed out that fact. Burt had the usual log of chew between his bottom lip and gum. Though she tried to avoid looking at the wet log peeping out from his bottom lip, she inevitably ended up focusing on the brown wad as it submerged and reemerged between words. It made her queasy.

"Ever seen such hail, Burt?" hollered a passerby, much to Lena's relief.

"Yep, I have..." and Burt was on his way.

Relieved of polite duty she yelled out, "See you later, Burt." Without looking back, he waved his hand goodbye. He had a willing listener in his path, like a fresh bucket of oats to a hungry horse. Burt trotted off, story in progress. With visions of Burt's chew still fresh in her mind, Lena put lunch off and went to check just how much ice had filled the Scout. She shrugged at the layer of ice pebbles on its floor. The sun would reclaim them in no time.

Scout walked to the office where a handful of people made the daily pilgrimage in hopes of retrieving mail. The campground employees were rarely consistent with mail runs so these same people made several trips to the office each day. Mr. Chitwell often planted himself in the vinyl chair and waited patiently for mail and for telephone calls. Scout never saw him receive either. He was in his eighties and not very sociable. He was tall, very thin and pale, wore two hearing aids, and walked with a cane. Mr. Chitwell's financial status allowed him to live anywhere he chose, and he chose Broken Arrow. He felt wanted and needed at Broken Arrow, and he was. He bailed out Lila and her beloved campground regularly. When the water was turned off due to lack of payment, "We're having problems with the water pump...it should be fixed within an hour..." was told to the complaining vacationers (long-term residents knew better) as they filed into the office. There were times the pump truly was malfunctioning—flooded usually. At those times, a series of connected extension cords streamed from the office to the pump house, the lifeline to a borrowed blow dryer that was helping to dry out the pump. When Jose paraded through the park with tools hanging from his waist (magazine tucked under his shirt) making the visual announcement that he was on his way to fix the problem, the long-terms knew the drought was caused by an unpaid water bill. Jose sat in the pump house reading his magazine, reading and waiting while Mr. Chitwell wrote out a check to the water company. He handed it to Lila, who handed it to Eric, the immaculate groundskeeper, who announced to everyone in the office that he was off to the post office as he raced out the door and down to the water company. The bill was paid and soon Jose left the pump house a triumphant handyman, accepting "good work" praises from relieved campers as he proudly headed back to the office. A similar chain of events took place with the electricity. The telephone wasn't immune to the Broken Arrow fund deficit either.

Broken Arrow's breakdowns and glossed-over chaos had little effect on its popularity. Like Mr. Chitwell, Broken Arrow had its aches and pains but kept right on going day after unpredictable day. It was a campground like no other, run by Lila, a woman like no other. Lila was as mysterious as she was open. She was as private as she was social. Lila had a calm manner and a calming effect on others. She possessed a past that was not only colorful but also one to be envied. Lila flew cargo planes in her youth, traveled to every continent and brushed elbows with those on the big screen, in the big office and many who have been memorialized in history books. She kept an old Airstream trailer on the grounds, immaculate and shiny like a polished miniature silver blimp. Word was that President Kennedy used that same Airstream while visiting a military base in New Mexico. Word also was that Lila and Mr. Kennedy "appreciated" each other. Lila never spoke about Mr. Kennedy or of the significance of the well-kept Airstream but most saw it as her memento of a significant encounter in her extraordinary life. More than once Scout got a glimpse of Lila late at night as she crossed the campground to the old silver blimp. She seemed to take refuge there, alone. A tiny light illuminated the shaded windows. No one asked questions, and no one disturbed Lila while she was within its confines.

Like the Airstream, Lila was old but still in her prime. She created a unique quality and way of life at Broken Arrow that showed in the characters that called Broken Arrow home. The sense of family was the glue that held Broken Arrow together and made long-terms out of those who intended a short stay. For some, Broken Arrow was the family that they never had; it was a place where they were truly wanted and the family that they could finally rely upon.

At dusk, like clockwork, a convergence of men home from work, play or just the end of their day, strolled down to the showers behind the office. The showers turned on and the steam filled and rose from the windows like smoke. Men lined up in front of the wavy mirrors to shave, brush their teeth, comb their hair and converse. Below the window was a weathered bench attached to the wall and the best seat at the campground to watch the spectacular sunsets. The bright yellow sun turns orange and disappears behind swirls of purple, peach and rose-colored skies, replaced with stars scattered across a dark teal that eventually turns black. The inordinate amount of shooting stars did not go unnoticed by newcomers. Scout often graced the bench with Pepper at the end of the day, much like her bench at the beach. Bits and pieces of the men's conversations wafted out with the steam, she could put a name to a comment, a face to a laugh. The women's showers were quiet most of the time. Their showers were brief--not much steam, not much conversation. The women spent their time conversing in the office where there were tables, chairs and a small library of donated books and magazines plus free coffee and donuts.

"Hi, John. How are you?" Scout made a point to smile as she spoke to John. He was a grump down to the bone and it was a challenge to get a smile out of him. He shuffled towards the back door of the office, pulling his oxygen tank with one hand and puffing on a cigarette with the other.

"Fine. You?" he answered gruffly, no smile.

She was pleased he responded even if it was with peeve and effort. John's body was large and oval and he always wore khaki. He reminded Scout of a giant Mr. Potatohead. John's trailer mate watched him through the window of their metal home. Bobby's baseball cap bill was cockeyed pushed against the glass and a lighted cigarette balanced mid-lip. A constant hard-core expression donned Bobby's weathered face, one that rivaled John's. Penny, a campground neighbor, described Bobby as looking like a partially exposed mummy she once saw at an Egyptian museum. It was hard for Scout to look at Bobby from that description on and not visualize the mummy. Bobby's skin was rather dark, dried out and clung to her bone structure. Bobby's entire exterior was rough and had seen many years but no one was quite sure how many.

"I'm doing great, John," Scout replied while still staring at Bobby's face in the window. "Just watching the sun go down and the stars go up."

John continued on to the office at a snail's pace. Like the sound of a one-shot party popper, Bobby sounded off a belch and left the window.

"Waiting for the bingo bus?" teased Jose as he passed on his way to the office.

"Previous to this moment, I was enjoying the sunset," she quipped. "Did you need the bench to plop down on and slack off or feign exhaustion for Lila's sake?"

Jose stopped and Scout continued, "Oh, don't let me stop you. By all means, be on your way to the office," she paused, "and beyond."

"Don't try and get rid of me; I work here, remember?"

"Work!" She exaggerated her surprise. "I don't think stuffing donuts, drinking coffee and gabbing with senior citizens qualifies as work, Jose, unless you're on some kind of 'special' program." She smiled.

"Oooooh, am I not paying enough attention to you. Am I spending too much time with the others and that's upsetting you? Do I detect jealousy? All alone, drooping on the bench, forlorn---"

"Oh look, Jose! One of the horses just relieved himself, you better go get your shovel, earn your pay." She turned from Jose and looked back up towards the sky. Jose continued on his way to the office.

"Jose! Are you ready to go to dinner?" Lila called out as she balanced against the back door.

Lila noticed Scout sitting on the bench with Pepper and insisted, "Scout, now don't sit out here by yourself; grab a jacket and come to dinner with us." Scout loved how Lila made not-so-subtle requests that always stemmed from the heart. "Come on, we're leaving in a few minutes and you're going with us."

"Sounds fun; I'll be in the office shortly." She sat a few minutes longer, petting Pepper and watching the sky; she knew it took time gathering everyone up for an event so she didn't rush off.

John left the office, trudging his way back to his trailer. As he passed, Lena wished him a pleasant evening. He nodded. Bobby's face filled the trailer window like an old weathered beacon guiding him home.

The steam from the windows disappeared and night was on its way.
Chapter Five

Raising The Dead Husbands Club

Lila and a group from the campground often gathered for dinner at Elena's, a small local restaurant that carried as much history within its walls as the town itself. Micki, a former Broken Arrow long-term and a town intrigue, waited tables there. Micki's story was a constant tale with a little color added to each version when told to a newcomer. One only needed to ask Estancia to get the facts; she did not elaborate nor add a personal slant to a story. Estancia knew the town of Pista like a mother knows her child. Scout found the facts far more colorful than the elaborated upon versions told at the game tables in the office.

According to Estancia, Micki was involved with a well-known and financially powerful "somewhat local" politician while married to a ranch hand. One cold morning her husband's body was discovered drown in a shallow agricultural ditch containing a minimal flow of water. "Those are the facts," says Estancia. However, such a story lends itself to a variety of speculations and suspicions by the townspeople. The town's law enforcement did not view the matter as suspicious, just an accident. Or if they did, they never acted upon those suspicions. After the loss of her husband, Micki moved from their house immediately and into Broken Arrow's long-term section at the campground adding another character to the flock. Eventually Micki left Broken Arrow and moved into a house she purchased outside of town. The fact that she had the funds to purchase a nice adobe house coupled with the regular visits by a late model car with a high-gloss finish and darkened windows (the car intended to be incognito but may as well have had red flags waving from its hood) only added fuel to the fire of suspicion. Among all the gossip and suspicion, Micki continued to work at Elena's.

Lila, Jose, Estancia, Mary, Rod, Manny, Burt, Bella, Eric, Jarred, and a few newcomers, including Scout, arranged themselves in talking order at the table. Scout sat as far away from Burt and his chew as she could get. Jose was of course next to Scout for effective harassment position. Estancia chose to sit next to Bella because Bella's nonstop chatter relieved her from her social conversational obligations. She also made sure she was not directly across from Manny, whose sultry Mexican good looks made her uncomfortable. He possessed the looks Hollywood sought to play the outlaw Latin lover. Manny was pure seduction to Estancia, which she would not or could not let show.

Two tables away Micki was serving a group from the Senior Center, the DHC as Lila liked to refer to them--Dead Husbands Club. Tight curls and loose lips, they spoke openly of others' lives from the past sixty years to present and Micki's life was no exception, in fact, Micki had been the headliner for some time. The cook's announcement that Micki had a telephone call brought the DHC to silence. They strained their ears and shifted their eyes as they silently confirmed to each other that the call was from her lover in the fancy car. Micki was not oblivious to the gossip and that she was an infamous character to the DHC. She still served the ladies with grace and a smile. In turn, the judgmental seniors reached deep into their pockets and always tipped Micki well.

The topics at the Broken Arrow table were mostly on the light side until the dreaded subject inevitably arose--Burt's war stories, always with Burt insisting Jose swap stories of his experience in Vietnam. Burt was a proud WW II veteran eager to talk about his war experiences at any opportunity. He came home from the war a hero, victorious with impressive tales that captured the attention and admiration of his listeners. Jose ignored Burt's requests and Burt remedied the silence from Jose with more of his own stories. Though Jose would not acknowledge much less give-in to Burt's request, Burt's reminiscing always stirred unwanted recollections. He kept them to himself. As Burt detailed a story of his own, Jose thought back on the scared sweaty faces of the new arrivals, a familiar expression seen before the Vietnam veneer set in. Jose told war stories then, he told them to prepare the young men drenching their feet in Vietnam for the first time; he refused to tell these stories for dinner table entertainment.

Lila gave Jose the can't-stop-him look, a look everyone knew well if they knew Burt. Saved by Lester's entrance, Lila exclaimed loudly to overshadow Burt's oratory limelight, "Why there's Lester!"

"Always a pleasure at the dinner table," mumbled Mary.

Lester was, in his own words, "a big city" coroner. He claimed to have had his fill of big city crime and dead bodies, hence the move to the little town of Pista for a new start on a new life. He wanted to leave the past behind him. The problem was he never did. He still lived and breathed the dead bodies and unsolved mysteries that others managed to let rest.

"Howdy!" Lester's attempt at southwestern lingo was almost humorous. "So, what's the occasion?"

"Sit down, Lester. Have dinner with us, or have a drink," welcomed Manny. "Here, man, have a chair."

Though Lester is an appealing man, he inevitably finds a way to tie in some on-the-slab experience to the current topic. In anticipation of Lester's likely dead-body talk, and in unison, Mary and Rod held their stomachs and made pre-vomit expressions. Lester gave no indication that he was aware of the negative effect his subject matter has on others. To Lester, it seemed like shoptalk, like a mechanic referring to an engine or transmission he pulled apart, referring to the pieces and their condition. No one knew if he was just trying to impress and entertain or if these thoughts are inevitable for Lester. He could make some morbid comparison to most any topic at hand, and almost always ends with his manifesto, "...but, that's in my past; I've gotten away from all that now. Damn glad I did, it was killing me!" The only thing it was killing now was the appetites and cheery conversations of Pista, and his ability to find a lady friend. He blamed his lack of female companionship on the small town condition claiming, "There aren't that many single women in a small town, ya know." There were women, plenty of single women in the area just none that wanted to listen to Lester's Corpse Chronicles. It was hard for anyone who spent much time with Lester to see him and not recall and envision some previously described corpse. That was Lester. Most everybody liked him, at least for a while.

Lester's lack of a date condition usurped Burt's dinner theme. The subject of Lester finding a date got everyone talking, and joking again. In the midst of the lively conversations, Scout noticed Micki holding her purse and saying goodnight to a coworker. She excused herself from the table as if she were off to use the restroom. She quickly made her way to the hall with the window hoping for the opportunity at a glimpse of Micki's controversial and elusive lover. The only physical description she heard about the mystery lover was "The Old Goat." Scout imagined him a dignified man with a stoic presence that donned a blocked Stetson proudly on a full head of thick silver hair. Scout had this image secured in her imagination and the disparaging remarks from the Broken Arrow crew did not taint it though she was curious to see whose was more accurate. Besides, Micki was pretty and it was hard to imagine her being attracted to a man in the old goat category. Scout managed only to see the taillights of the grand shiny car as they disappeared down the road.

"Scout!" Burt called out from the table, waving his hand. "Come on, Lester has a good one."

"Morning!"

Morning greetings ricocheted through the office among the early risers gathering for coffee and donuts. Lila stood by the counter, waiting for a lull in the hive to make announcements.

"The Dead Husbands Club is having a crafts sale today. Come on everyone, they need to raise money so try and get over there if you can." She wasn't just the campground owner, she was the town organizer of sorts. Estancia held the town's secrets but Lila was the spokesperson for Pista's current events. The group of widowed women from the senior center sold their crafts from time to time and put on other small events to raise money for the center. Lila always referred to them as The Dead Husbands Club, if the name offended them, they had yet to express their objection to Lila. The success of their events was due mostly to Lila's help and they were grateful.

"And, they decided to hold the talent show in the corral house so if you have any talent sign up." She set a piece of paper and pen on the counter. "Right here. Just put down your name and your talent...." The Dead Husbands Club made the sudden decision to hold a talent show and counted on Lila to make it happen. She was rushed and determined. Lila proceeded to probe each donut eater for hidden talents to be exposed come Saturday night. She applied the necessary pressure--cushioned with a bit of confidence boosting--in effort to get each to sign up. She caught Jose as he passed through the office door. "Jose!" He cautiously turned in her direction. He knew that tone and it meant something other than good morning. "You're going to be in our talent show, aren't you?" The question was verging on an order.

Scout smiled; the mere thought of the perpetual harassment she could impose, as he would upon her, was too joyous to keep concealed. She added, "And what talent do you possess, Jose?"

"Jose can dance!" Bella cheerfully exclaimed. "He's a good dancer. Have you seen him dance, Scout?"

"Only with a broom, Bella, and I'm pretty sure the broom was leading," she responded still grinning at Jose.

Jose lifted his eyebrows and grinned back; he anticipated what response would follow Scout's sarcastic commentary on his talents. He leaned back against the counter, took a breath with the corners of his mouth slowly rising as the seniors exalted Jose's gamut of talents.

"He can play the guitar too," added Martha.

"He sings nicely," Edith said from her new electric wheelchair.

Lila shook her head as the women sang praise to the vast array of Jose-talent.

"Well, Jose, your talents abound. Sign up." Lila pointed to the sign-up sheet on the counter.

"Yes, such a talented man. I'm looking forward to seeing your act Saturday evening." Scout looked forward to the evening if she could succeed in remaining in the audience as Lila continued to apply the pressure for sign ups. Fearing she would succumb to the pressure, Scout grabbed a chocolate donut and headed for the door.

"Scout!" reprimanded Lila.

"I need to walk Pepper, Lila. I'll be back." Scout made sure not to turn around and make eye contact; she scooted out the door in record time. Jose leaned forward to watch as Scout zigzagged through Eric's still-wet cement walkway. Scout would return to offer help with decorations and set up but had no desire to be pressured into displaying some made up talent.

"Can you line dance, Jose?" Edith asked.

"Of course he can," declared Bella.

Jose turned from the window and returned his attention to his promoters, his surrogate gaggle of mothers.

Besides good exercise and a necessity for the canine, walking your dog was a venue for casual socializing, and an acceptable way to snoop. Hellos and information were exchanged: what and who was new and from where, what was going on in town and who was leaving and where to. It was like gathering kindling to fuel the verbal fire around the table during the evening games consisting of Mexican dominos, train, poker, chess or whatever game a newcomer introduced. The games lasted for hours like the ageless and enduring hard candy sitting in the bowl on the table; gossip or "information" was something to twirl around their tongues for extended amounts of time with each sweet morsel drawn-out to capacity and savored until the next piece. Scout often joined in with the evening games but not this night.

She needed to walk Pepper and Jarred accompanied her. She suspected their walk together would be the hard candy for that night at the game table. Little, if any, of this exchange at the game table was mean spirited, just topics to pass the time and fresh topics were always welcome. Estancia was the exception. She was an amazing source of accurate information, an encyclopedia of Pista, but only shared her knowledge when it was seriously wanted or needed, never for the sake of casual conversation or gossip. She was the kind of person people felt comfortable divulging their deepest secrets. Her gentle manner and discreet presence often caused her to be an unintended recipient of the most private information. With all the information and secrets she carried about the town and its people, Estancia was a Pandora's Box no one wanted to rattle.

"Hey Pepper!" Jarred exaggerated his enthusiasm in an attempt to get at least a wag out of Pepper. Pepper was more interested in getting on with his walk. He wanted to sniff the grounds, bark at the horses and play with Lila's goat, Wiggie. Jarred held no interest nor purpose for Pepper and he let Jarred know with a muffled growl.

"I'm thinking of getting a dog myself," Jarred announced, "but, one that likes me."

"Let's walk, he'll get happy."

"Then let's go." Jarred put his arm through Scout's and Pepper, straining the leash, led the way.

"How's business?" Scout's question was not a conversational nicety since Jarred's work fascinated her.

"The deluge of degreed idiots keeps me in business, Scout." He made no attempt to hide his contempt for those he worked with and for. Jarred spent time in prison for his superior skills as a hacker and those vulnerable to his expertise, those that relentlessly pursued and insisted on his prosecution, were there to greet him with open arms and checkbooks upon his release. His finely honed skills were in great demand when he re-entered the free world. Crimes to kudos, he became a highly paid computer security consultant. However, his loathing for the corporate world did not diminish with time and impressive paychecks.

"The big players in the cyber world trust you. You're paid well and you can live anywhere or anyhow you want. What's wrong with that?" Scout admired his position.

"Trust in the cyber world?" Jarred shook his head. "They need me; they have to trust me--next subject, Scout. You know that's why I'm on vacation--to get away from all that for a couple of months or so. Next topic?" Though they came from opposite sides of the country, they came from a similar environment and enjoyed conversation and each other's company. Scout did her time in Silicon Valley and could relate to the world Jarred worked within and resisted. She felt comfortable with Jarred, as did Jarred with her.

After walking Pepper, Jarred and Scout sat on the bench and watched the sunset then headed off to Jarred's wobbly trailer for a bite to eat. As a rule, like Scout, Jarred tended not to speak of his past. However, that night he threw back a few shots of tequila and talked openly of the activity that occupied the majority of his time and paid for his every whim. He talked of his travels, of Ireland, of the cat he had for twelve years. He even talked about his time in prison. Scout talked openly as well. The dismal shadows that hovered over their lives were brought to light for that one night. Exposing the past was emotionally liberating, for both of them, and created a particular bond that extended beyond the metal walls from that moment on. It was a night of revelation, true confessions. Scout shared her reasons for leaving California and told about her time in Pennsylvania. They also managed to find mutual humor in how they came to find Broken Arrow, Pista, New Mexico.

Scout was very impressed with Jarred; he was a well-traveled man, particularly for his age. She had no problem visualizing him in such exotic places: the Iguazu Falls, the Great Pyramids of South America and Egypt, and the Taj Mahal. It was seeing Jarred with his meticulously kept Mercedes Benz parked next to the trailer to give all trailers a bad name that was such an inconceivable sight.

He arrived at Broken Arrow without even a tent. He slept in the back seat of his car, which was against the campground rules. Instead of leaving Broken Arrow, he offered to buy the old falling-apart trailer Lila had hidden behind the barn. It looked like it had scantily survived a tornado and declared totaled by an insurance company--something best hauled to the dump. Jarred promised Lila that he would make the necessary improvements on the eyesore. Everyone watched--certain it would fall apart before it reached its destination--as Eric and Jose helped Jarred move the monstrosity to his rented space. There it sat without even a screw tightened. The door looked as if it was going to fall off the hinges every time it opened. If Lila weren't so fond of Jarred, she would have insisted it be removed.

That shabby trailer was home to an array of high priced, high-tech equipment--all that Jarred was able to stuff into the Mercedes Benz—and most any incidental piece was far more valuable than the trailer. Jarred was unvigilant about his material belongings, except for his car. He was generous and easygoing, except for when it came to his car. Do not lean on or leave your fingerprints on the Mercedes Benz. The contrast of the upscale and immaculate Mercedes parked in front of the trailer from hell was striking and humorous, not unlike Jarred himself. He was an interesting man and Scout appreciated being privy to his unusual and secreted world

Cameras clicked, capturing the awestruck swirls of illuminated colors, as the sun set on another night at Broken Arrow. Campers went for walks or prepared dinner and talked to each other through the screens of cranked open windows. Some commune at the showers and others gathered for nightly games in the office.

Scout sat in front of her camper with Pepper and waited for Penny. Penny parked three spaces down from Scout, the same place she parks every year. Penny was in her mid-sixties, on her own and proud of it. Across from Penny, parked in the same space as last year, was the RV housing Penny's least favorite person, Myra. Penny had no problem with Sam, Myra's husband, other than understanding why, that of all the women in the world, he would choose Myra. Penny and Myra got on each other's nerves for reasons only truly known to them. Sam was neutral; the volume control on his hearing aid helped in that endeavor. He paid a long-lasting price for having once laughed at an insult Penny shot Myra's way and from that time on he made a point not to--or pretend not to--hear the feuding duo. Penny derived some kind of perverse pleasure from agitating Myra, which wasn't hard to do; Myra upset easily. After observing the two, Scout concluded that each represented what the other did not want to be. Instead of avoiding the close proximity, they both defiantly held tight to their same campsites each year.

Penny passed Sam setting up the awning on his RV on her way to visit with Scout. She shouted, "Hi Sam!" He cautiously looked her way. "Haven't seen Myra, is she still in her crypt?" Sam continued with his task without responding.

"I heard you, Penny!" shouted Myra from the RV window in an angry voice.

Sam ignored the banter.

Penny kept on walking and loudly called out to Scout, "Hello Miss Scout," primarily to dwarf the sound of Myra. The sight of Penny coming his way set Pepper's tail wagging. "Hey there Pepper, you good dog. You're a good dog. You're a good boy." Scout met Penny when Penny was setting up her campsite and eating cookies--Pepper found the cookies and Scout found a friend.

"You set Myra off again, didn't you?" Penny's tenacity amused Scout and she hoped she could claim the same at Penny's age.

Penny smiled, mission accomplished.

Scout clipped on Pepper's leash and left with Penny for the bench by the showers. As they passed Myra's RV they could hear her, still upset, complaining to Sam about Penny. Penny grinned ear to ear.

Each grabbed a cup of coffee from the office then sat on the bench to watch the sunset. Penny talked of her plans for the future and Scout shared a few of her own: she hoped to reopen Dead People's Stuff. Penny loved the name, as Scout knew she would; they seemed to have a lot in common. The sun set and the two called it an evening. Penny disappeared into her RV with Myra watching from across the way. Scout, led by Pepper, disappeared into her camper. The nights were quiet at Broken Arrow. The lights in the RVs and campers shut off and everyone fell safely asleep in their metal cocoons. Lena slept well, for the first time in a long time.

A fire started in the two garbage dumpsters that were fenced off at the far end of the campground and a group of elderly men stood around observing, commenting, while they waited for someone to come to the rescue. Likewise, Jose stood on the back porch to the office with his arms crossed and his head shaking as he watched in amused disbelief. He stood alone observing the crowd grow along with the smoke, and the smell. The fire was a social gathering and not one in the gathering was lifting a hose or calling for help.

"Is Lester cremating someone?" Scout joked as she stepped up next to the obviously annoyed Jose.

"Can you believe this? Not one of them has come to the office to report the fire."

"Well, it appears as though you're not doing much different. They're watching the fire and you're watching them," she remarked as she watched the billowing smoke and crowd herself.

"It's entertainment."

"For them and for you. Maybe refreshments are in order."

"Look, Lester's out there." Jose gave a quick laugh. "Imagine what story he's telling."

"Oh geez, burned bodies on the slab stuff." She looked up at Jose, "Well...are you going to go put it out?"

"Look!" Jose laughed again. "People are moving away from Lester."

"Broken Arrow! Campground, Recreation Park and Crematorium. Necropolis of the Southwest. You can park it here permanently. Enjoy stories around the campfire with Cowhand Coroner, Lester---" Scout was interrupted by Marianne flying out the office back door yelling at Jose to put the fire out, referring to him as "Mr. Jose."

"I'm waiting for them to drop off one by one from smoke inhalation," Jose calmly retorted.

Scout laughed aloud, and wondered just how long the crowd about the fire would stand there inhaling smoke.

"Very funny, Mr. Jose," the high-haired office help screeched from behind them.

"Wanna get your bet in, Marianne, on who goes first?"

Since the beginning of her employment at Broken Arrow, Marianne made it an integral part of her job to point out inadequacies, from the lack of appropriate change in the cash register to Tom using the wrong broom. Her desire to make her presence and importance known by announcing shortcomings tried the patience of more than one at Broken Arrow. Jose and Scout were enjoying the minor payback while Marianne's gray roots seemed to grow another inch beneath her dyed coal-black hair. She clenched her fists at her hips and threatened to report Jose to Lila and "have his job terminated!" then stomped off the porch in search of Lila. This made Jose's day.

"Ya happy now?" Scout said with a huge smile.

"Ecstatic." He smiled and added, "I guess I should go over there and join the party." Jose headed for the contained fire. Scout followed.

"Jose!" Arthur yelled. "We have a fire here."

Jose's eyes shifted to Scout, both amused by Arthur's keen observation.

Onlookers swapped lively fire stories while Jose hooked up the hose to the closest working faucet. The fire had engulfed some plastic material that produced an awful smell. The toxic inferno sparked Lester's morbid memory as expected. He reminisced for all to hear about the old days when he worked on charcoal bodies. The burning body episodes may have held some horror story appeal late at night around a campfire but Lester didn't build on the events leading to the tragedy, which makes the story, he only elaborated on the effects after the fact from a coroner's point of view. A few weak-in-the-stomach onlookers departed immediately while others moved out of earshot, as most did when Lester told his cadaverous tales of days gone by--except the local adolescent males. He was a big hit with them; Lester was like a matinee show and they hung on his every gory word. Lester was off in a world of his own as the teens exclaimed, "cool!" But there were no eager adolescents desiring ensanguined memories of Lester so by the time Jose had the fire extinguished he stood alone, aside from Scout.

"You know, Lester, your stories may not have the social appeal you think they do. I mean, they may be a bit too much for most people." She was wasting her time. Lester was in deep thought and not paying attention to her advice on social graces.

Lila waved Jose and Scout to return. Jose tossed the hose aside and joined Scout for the walk back to the porch.

"A bit more interesting than the how-to's of successful RV cookery, wouldn't you say?" Though they bantered constantly, mostly with insults, Scout enjoyed Jose's company. "Lester really needs to get a hobby or something. He can really clear a gathering when all he wants is to be a part of what's going on."

"If you like Lester's stories then I can entertain you all night with mine," Jose replied.

"Hmmm, you've charcoaled a few in your day?" She caught herself before she commented further. She remembered that Jose was a veteran of a war known for the use of napalm and quickly added, "Anyway, I am not entertained by his stories. But, up all night listening to you talk, that would be interesting since you hardly say anything to me other than a grunt here and there, or an insult." She gave a twisted smile. "Or, are you just trying to find a way to lure me into your breadbox."

"Wasn't that you scratching at my door the other night, late, begging me to let you in?"

"Wrong direction, Jose. That was one of your transient dates trying to scratch her way out."

"Would you two stop the pubescent exchange," Lila scolded, impatient; she wanted to know about the fire. Jose explained that he had no idea how the fire got started, he could look into it if she wanted him to, but that it was completely out and nothing was damaged--just more room in the dumpster. She interrupted Jose when she saw Lester walking towards the porch.

"Find Lester a girlfriend, Jose. That's what he needs. Get his mind on a live body." She waved to Lester then turned toward the office. Before closing the door behind her she made a final request, "Keep Lester away from the potluck tonight, okay." She looked directly at Jose, "Okay?"

"I'll try."

"Well, I'll leave you two to talk dead bodies. By the way, why don't you ask him to do an autopsy for the talent show?" Scout nodded to Lester and walked off.

"Only if you're offering to be the model," Jose shouted before she was out of hearing range.

"You can really part the seas, can't ya Lester?" Jose scowled his comment to Lester.

Lester was oblivious.

Without warning, Marianne appeared on the porch and promptly asked Lester if he was going to be in the talent show. Lester had to think about it. Jose kept his word to Lila and invited Lester to go out drinking, which would make them both absent from the campground potluck however Jose's absence would not make Lila happy. Jose set the time to meet and left Lester to the charms of Marianne.

Jose rode his bicycle to meet Lester, which meant he intended on doing some heavy drinking that night. Jose would not drink and drive nor would he get into a vehicle with someone who had been drinking. ( If Jose's bike was gone in the evening, it meant he was more than likely inebriated somewhere in Pista.) And everyone at the potluck was grateful to Jose, so very pleased Lester wasn't there to do a professional correlation with the variety of dishes being served.

Saturday arrived and it was time for the Dead Husbands Club Fundraiser Talent Show. The talent show went as most small town shows go. No one drove too far to attend. No one displayed an abundance of talent, except for Lila who played ragtime on the poorly tuned piano--the piano that doubled as a table, a plant stand, a Christmas tree stand or a platform for whatever needed one. She was able to persuade Jose and Scout to dance in an attempt to get others to join in. "Act like you're enjoying yourselves," she demanded. They both held Lila in the highest regard so they obliged. They let their insulting banter rest, grabbed each other's hand and spun around the floor encouraging others to join in. Once the floor was full, they dropped their clasp like a hot rock.

The first act was Marianne dressed in rhinestones and sparkles singing a country western ballad she wrote herself. It consisted of four minutes of limited chords on a dime-store guitar and whining that had more than one finding a distraction to keep from laughing. There was a magic show straight from a cereal box that would have been endearing if done by a child. Myra gave a demonstration on how to use a pasta-making device that was like an infomercial where she happily took questions from the audience. The anticipation of Penny's appearance during Myra's demonstration had Scout and Sam on pins and needles. Burt twitched a log of chew under his lip while holding a red cape for his granddaughter as she performed a toreador ballet. Last, but not least, the Dead Husbands Club did country western line dancing. The southwest garb wore them as they danced as if their feet were stuck in flowerpots instead of cowboy boots. In true espirit de corp, the audience cheered and applauded every act and had a great time.

There wasn't enough talent or acts to take up the time allotted for the evening so Lila compensated with lively tunes and sing-a-longs. She played between acts and as attendees mingled and sampled from the buffet table.

Lila went about taking portions from dishes no one touched so that the owner of the dish would not be offended. At evening's end, the performers were celebrities and all were pleased with the show. The minor cover charge raised enough money to make the Dead Husbands Club happy--another Lila success story. People said their good-byes then walked to their vehicle or campsite. Jose hopped onto his bicycle to meet Lester at a local bar. Scout met up with Penny on her way back to the camper.

"Oh, did I miss the whole event!" Penny threw her hands up.

"You missed Myra giving a demonstration on how to use a pasta thingy," Scout informed. That bit of information got Penny started, and Scout laughing all the way back to her campsite. They said goodnight and Scout sat outside the camper for a short while. She watched the stars and thought about where she was, how she loved living at Broken Arrow, how alive she felt, and grateful. Broken Arrow was a stopover that was now becoming hard to fathom leaving.
Chapter Six

Map of Fate

The usual coffee and donut crew was in the office first thing in the morning with Mr. Chitwell taking his place in the vinyl chair by the phone. The mood was cheery and they were already laughing as Martha rehashed the story of Jose's ex-wife, Carla, coming to the office to rake Jose over the coals again for some long-past event. Lila's bird, Zoe, who enjoyed her living space in the office, squawked in pace with Carla while she verbally flogged Jose. As Carla got louder, Zoe got louder. The competition became too much for Carla and she stomped out of the office. Martha loved that story and the retelling brought as much laughter as the day it occurred. The other mention-worthy event was the expected arrival of Charlie with his mules (or were they donkeys, Martha wasn't sure).

Charlie's only profession was as a part-time clown, very part time. If he happened to be where there was a carnival, he put on his clown suit and went to work as "Chunky the Clown." His presence was welcome by everyone. Charlie was quite good as a clown and entertaining to both children and adults. He worked the state fair if his mules got him there on time.

Charlie lived and traveled in a wood gypsy-style wagon pulled by his family of mules. He never was in a hurry and he didn't ride the side of the road in his mule-fueled wagon either. Cars could go around him if they didn't want to go at a Charlie pace. They did, often with horns blaring and less than civil instructions for him too move off the road. He took his time and little if anything upset him; he was content wherever he happened to be, that's what made Charlie Charlie--same long johns, same coveralls, same old hat, same old Charlie. Martha got word that Charlie was heading their way. As always, Broken Arrow greeted Charlie like a one-man parade when he entered the campground. He was an oddity to the unfamiliar and an old welcome friend to the rest. Charlie was akin to the classic King of the Hobos. He was the King of the Road, a well-traveled character with entertaining stories to share with the amazed and amused stationary folk. Charlie counted on the campers' generosity to carry him along, and they never disappointed him. He ate and drank at Broken Arrow as if every night was a celebration. His mules also generously stuffed themselves while at Broken Arrow; Lila always had hay and Eric's carefully landscaped hedges and flowers became sacrificial meals. Charlie didn't pass by too often so all indiscretions by him or his mules were forgiven.

After a week stay, Charlie harnessed the mules and was on his way. He left with hugs, gifts and bags of sweetened corn from Lila for the mules. Eric was relieved and busied himself repairing the damage done by Charlie's four-legged family. Charlie waved appreciation and headed off to a destination known only to him. He was a loner but loved talking to a certain style of person and Jose was that style, and a good listener, so Jose always hitched a ride and rode with Charlie through town before saying goodbye.

"Good morning, Scout," greeted Bella.

"Good morning, how are you Bella?"

"I'm just wonderful, Scout; how 'bout you?"

"I'm doing great." Scout smiled, always appreciative of the happy faces and warm welcomes that greeted her first thing in the morning. "I wanted to ask you and Burt a favor."

"What's that?"

"If you would mind keeping an eye on Pepper this afternoon. I'm going to be gone for a few hours and planned on leaving him on a long lead under the tree outside my camper. I just wondered if you would check on him to make sure that he still has water, and he's okay. He can be a bit dramatic." Scout would have asked Penny but Penny was on an outing herself that day.

"Why sure, we would be happy to."

"Thank you; I really appreciate it."

"Do you have some fun plans for the day?" Bella asked.

"Where ya headed?" Burt popped into view, quick to join in.

"I thought I would take a ride through the mountains, try to find that lake. I'd take Pepper with me but it's so hot and it gets too hot in my car for him."

"It's too hot in that vehicle for that dog, I mean if you park it at all. Maybe if you left the windows down it would be okay."

"It gets too hot for me in that car, Burt. The engine seems to blow hot air to the rest of the car. Even with the windows down and all the leaks or holes where the air blows through, it still gets too hot in that car. I think he'd be miserable."

"Too damn hot to take the dog," Burt agreed. "Leave Pooper here; we'll watch him."

"Great," Scout responded, thankfully. "I really do appreciate it, Burt." She continued, "I heard there was a lake northeast of here, in the mountains, do you know if that's true or where exactly it is, Burt?"

He took a pen from his pocket and on the back of an envelope that he grabbed from Bella Burt drew a map while explaining the various routes one could take. His directions lasted longer than Bella's patience. She excused herself. Burt repeated himself to the degree that Scout tuned him out; he was talking and she was looking towards the mountains she planned to explore.

"You got it?" Burt asked.

"Yes, thank you. I'll be back before dark. I really appreciate you and Bella checking on Pepper." She reexamined the map Burt drew, trying to layout in her head the swirls and the big "X" designating the lake.

"Where you going?" Burt hollered over when he saw Jose walking his bicycle past the office.

"Bike ride. Wanna go?" Jose asked facetiously. He knew he wasn't getting on with his ride until Burt critiqued his bike and then some. Burt told Jose the names, dates, distances, deals and obituaries of the bikes in his past. Soon others joined in and the focus was off Jose's bike and to whether or not Burt could still ride a unicycle. Jose made his escape.

He met up with Lester leaning against his truck once he got into town. Lester had a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper opened to the personals in the other. He read a few of the singles ads and asked Jose for his opinion about women who advertised themselves

"No different than the men who read them," Jose answered. "Gotta go, Lester. Good luck" and Jose went on his way but again was distracted from his intended bike ride when he encountered Dwayne, a friend he hadn't seen in quite a while. Conversation started up as though the considerable span of time apart never existed. Jose stuck around and checked out Dwayne's new truck that he was so proud and eager to show off. He offered Jose, with his bike, a lift to the mountain and a demonstration of the truck's powerful four-wheel drive capabilities. Jose accepted. He hadn't planned on riding that far but with a one way ride he'd do the mountain trails and make it back to Pista before dark. They caught up on each other's lives while Dwayne negotiated the worst roads he could find but when he insisted on bringing up Carla, Jose decided that it was time to get out and get on with his ride--a decision for which Scout would be forever grateful.

She was touring the mountain roads trying to follow Burt's psychedelic map. Scout was having no luck whatsoever. She found a little town with a few houses, a gas station and a video store. To be safe, since the gas gauge on the Scout didn't work, she stopped to fill the tank.

Exack change only- drop in slot. A drawing of a shotgun braced the instructions to threaten the less than honest. So she did, plus a few cents extra since she didn't have the "exack" change. Scout pulled back onto the road as lost as before, though not minding at that point because the scenery was magnificent. She stopped to admire several decaying remnants of days gone by. On the side of a hill, not far from the road, were the remains of an adobe structure with each room still recognizable. There was a branch built corral with a raven anchored on one of the posts, so still that it looked like a statue. Jackrabbits with ears like antennas were going about their lives in the pale grass, scurrying about the dusty terrain. She passed cattle ranches, landscapes of cacti and scenes as serene as an Ansel Adams and as vivid as a Remmington. Aside from the screeching sound of her engine, that was progressively getting worse, the ride was quiet and solitary; she passed only three other vehicles.

Scout drove up and down back roads, on narrow dirt roads that came to dead ends and anywhere she thought might lead to a lake or remotely followed Burt's map. She trespassed on private roads with no notice other than a dog, cattle or a raven. Nothing even hinted at a lake. She decided to call off the search; she would venture out another day and maybe Penny would join her on her next try.

Scout found her way back onto a main road via remembered landmarks and headed in the direction of Pista using the flat top mountain as her guide. About five miles into her return the International Scout began to sputter and hesitate. She had filled the tank with gas in the little town. This must mean engine trouble--something she could do little about. She pulled the Scout over to the side of the road before it died in the middle of it. Knowing nothing about engines, she lifted the hood anyway to see if there was a problem obvious to an untrained eye, such as a disconnected hose--some minor repair she could rectify herself. The engine looked like Burt's road map minus the "X." She was stuck.

Scout left the hood up to indicate car trouble to a passerby, if one should pass by, and sat in the shade of a short tree by the road. When nature called, Scout dare not walk up the hill to relieve herself; she knew Murphy's Law took precedent over nature's law and if a car were to pass by it would be at those few moments. Nature's law won out. She returned quickly and sat in the shade of the International to wait for help. But when it became apparent that the sun would most likely disappear before a passerby would appear, Scout grabbed her backpack and began the trek back to Pista. A long hike had not been in the day's plan: a drive to the lake and maybe a short walk to the water but no hiking otherwise she would have worn a different pair of shoes. The clogs with the wooden soles made it difficult to maneuver on the rough, rocky uneven road. Scout had to walk slowly to keep her footing and to not lose a shoe. The rocks, pebbles and prickly plant life took away the option of removing the uncooperative footwear.

She looked back; the Scout looked small at the side of the road and the upright hood looked like a big hand in a stationary wave. She kept on walking. Between the heat and the shoes, it was a miserable walk.

Finally, the answer to her prayers, she could see a car a distance down the road; it was going the opposite direction from Pista and coming in her direction. She stopped to wait and rest her feet. She remembered hearing that it was against the law not to pick up a hitchhiker in Alaska due to the extreme cold. She dearly hoped that it was the same in New Mexico due to the extreme heat. As the car approached Scout jumped up and waved, shouted but the blue Taurus sped by. She cursed the shoes from hell, curled her toes to tighten her grip and keep them from slipping off then continued her journey to Pista. The Taurus was suddenly behind her slowing to a stop. Grateful, Scout ran to the driver's side, losing a shoe in the process. The electric window came down revealing a kid in his mid-teens slouched down so far that he could hardly see over the steering wheel.

"That your car up there?" he asked.

"Yes, the International Scout. I—" She was interrupted before she could explain her predicament.

"What's wrong with it?"

She told him she had no idea what was wrong with it and explained what happened that made her pull to the side of the road. Maybe he was skilled with cars, she hoped. He made no offer to examine the disabled vehicle. Scout offered him money for his time and gas if he would give her a ride to Pista; she could get some help there.

"You alone?" he asked as he scanned the immediate area then he looked back to where the International sat by the side of the road.

"Yes. Do you think you could give me a ride? Like I said, I 'd be happy to pay you." He didn't seem to be listening but she continued anyway, "Pista shouldn't be too far from here. You can just drop me off at the gas station which is at the edge of town."

"Get in."

She walked around to the passenger's side, retrieving her shoe along the way, and eagerly hopped into the car. She was surprised to see, in this hot weather, that he was wearing an oversized winter coat bearing the Bulls logo.

"Aren't you hot in that coat?" she asked to start conversation.

He sped off towards Pista with rocks and dust in chaos behind him.

"Does your car have air conditioning?" He didn't respond to this question either. She decided to keep her questions to herself and just be grateful for the ride.

After a few miles, he turned off the main road and onto a narrow side road much like the ones she spent the day negotiating to find the lake.

"Wait, wait. Pista is straight down the main road." Again, he did not respond but increased his speed. The car skid across the dirt as he raced up the hill barely maintaining control. Scout grabbed onto the dash.

"Stop! Stop the car!" she shouted, angry that the kid was showing off and putting her at risk with his antics.

His eyes were fixed on the road as if he were playing a video game. He maintained his speed to the top of the hill, slowed, aimed the car at the rocky cliff, sped up again then hit the brakes skidding to a stop. The kid remained expressionless.

"If your intent was to scare me, okay you did," Scout mumbled as she struggled to get her seat belt off, opened the door then stepped out of the car to make her way back to the main road. She looked back at the kid, half expecting to witness a pleased smirk on his juvenile face for having succeeded in scaring the hell out of her but instead she saw a gun at the end of his outstretched arm.

"Damn. What is this about?" Scout remained still while she waited for an answer.

"Give me the backpack," he demanded. His manner of speaking was non-threatening yet the gun said otherwise.

"Is that what this is? I'm being robbed!" She tossed him her backpack. "You could have robbed me on the main road; God knows no one was around. Why drive me out here." She looked him in the eyes, bypassing the gun and said, "Take it. Drive away. Leave." She stepped further back from the car.

"You get back in the car," he said with a slight laugh.

"You have my backpack. I'll just start walking back; you could be in Utah by the time I get to Pista." She dared to start walking. She heard the car door open and glanced back. The gun wasn't in sight so she ran, losing a shoe right away. She pulled her foot out of the other shoe and continued to run in her bare feet. The kid was within arm's reach in no time, twisting the gun into her back and ordering her to "get back to the fucking car" or he would "blow" her "fucking head off." No longer the soft-spoken juvenile.

He rummaged through her backpack while Scout sat still, watching.

"Just take---"

"Shut the fuck up! What are you, stupid?" He tapped the barrel of the gun against her head. His eyes appeared wild instead of docile and disinterested as before. After he felt he made his point he pulled the gun away and continued looking through her backpack. Her wallet contained a single twenty-dollar bill.

"I bagged a rich bitch, shit." He spoke in an artificially deep voice. Scout thought he was attempting to sound more menacing and wasn't sure if she should act more frightened to appease him or to play it cool and not respond, not appear a willing or helpless victim. She chose the latter, stayed silent and donned a stern expression while waiting for his next move.

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger's side window. "Get out," he said using the same strained deep voice.

She did as he asked. He began pushing Scout forward with quick sharp jabs to her back ending with a shove against the hood of the car. The kid looked into her eyes as though he was pondering or questioning something. He held the gun in his right hand and stepped back. His probing stare was dangerously slow. True panic began to set in for Scout. He no longer appeared the juvenile punk guilty of petty theft but a practiced heartless criminal.

"Can I talk to you one minute, please?" Scout hoped she could convince him to stop whatever he was planning and not let things go any further. "If you want money, you've got all I have."

Taken by his own sudden power and amused at the pleading victim before him, his face lifted slightly as if he were about to smile.

"Why don't you just go your way and let me go mine?" She didn't know how to interpret his odd smile.

His eyes roamed her body and he dropped the grin.

"Look, I'll walk off. You just drive away. I don't know you. You can be in another state by the time I get to Pista." She couldn't read him, she didn't know if her comments had affected him one way or the other. Cautiously, Scout turned toward the wooded hillside. She stepped away from the car attempting to show confidence and to not use the gait of a victim as she walked away. When she reached the first tree she stopped, her back to the kid and waited for the sound of the car.

He was again behind her.

"Please just go," she said quietly.

He pushed himself against her and the gun against her cheek. His breath on her neck felt hot and horrible. She flinched when she felt his tongue replace the gun. His hands gripped her shoulders pulling her back into him then slamming her forward against the tree. His palm rammed against the middle of her back and followed up her spine, pulling at the skin, stopping at her neck. She felt his fingers on her neck and feared he was about to strangle her. She readied to thrust her elbow into his abdomen and fight for her life but he quickly reached for her hair and tugged so tightly that her head arched back and she lost her balance. He reached with equal force with his other hand down the front of her tee shirt, painfully grabbing one of her breasts. She realized that he no longer held the gun in his hand but couldn't maneuver to see where he had put it. He bit down on her exposed neck. Scout focused on the whereabouts of the gun. He groped and bit, but the biting wasn't hard or threatening; it was more a pathetic attempt at being wild. His hands and mouth moved from place to place while he turned and twisted her body as though unaware of its limitations.

"Take it off," he said with the voice of a boy yet eyes of a predator. This was a kid, a teenager. She wondered just how dangerous could he really be.

A stolen low-budget pornographic video had become the kid's fixation. He memorized the script, placed it in his young malleable mind and waited for an opportunity to play it out. The innocence of youth seized for this kid years ago. The intensity was authentic, the moves rehearsed. The kid's festering fantasy exploded onto Scout. He made sounds that pathetically emulated lovemaking. His face brushed against hers as he made panting sounds with sweat on his brow and his eyes were half shut.

Taking on a rigid posture, he became rough and resumed the status of the attacker. He positioned and repositioned. He made every effort but ultimately was unable to fulfill his fantasy and Scout feared his frustration might have deadly consequences. He raised himself up; his hopes incomplete yet he appeared pleased with himself. He stood and danced around like a boxer punching his fist out in front of him—in his mind, the victor.

While he danced about, Scout searched for the gun but it was nowhere in sight. She got to her feet and ran to the car. He continued to box the air while she searched the car for the keys.

Scout watched the kid toss her clothes over the cliff then casually walk back to the car. He stopped at the window and pointed the gun. With her eyes closed and her head down, Scout stuttered a prayer. The kid then opened the door, reached in and pulled her from the car; he swung her to the front and tossed the Bulls coat at her. Scout was relieved; it was a good sign. She figured the kid wouldn't bloody his Bulls coat.

"I'm hungry," he said as if nothing out of the norm had happened, as though he were talking to a friend.

Scout snapped the coat shut.

"Ya got food in your car, ya know, picnic stuff 'n shit?"

"No, there isn't any food in my car. There's a store in a little town not far from here, not Pista, the other direction, just a little town." She believed her encounter with the kid was about to end and she survived the fate of a bullet.

"Your car's outta gas, right?"

If that's what he wanted to believe, that was fine with her. "It might be; I'm not sure."

"I can siphon from this piece a shit," he said and got back into the car. She remained outside.

"Get in the car," he yelled using his deeper voice again.

She complied. Her worst fear quelled; he chose not to shoot her and leave her body in that isolated spot. What little would be left after the coyotes and other scavengers were done with it may never have been found. She was alive and therefore the potential for escape was alive. She counted on the kid to drive recklessly when he hit the main road, drawing attention to the Taurus from a possible passerby. He sped onto the road and turned in the opposite direction from Pista. The kid slowed the car and drove inconspicuously as he had initially.

The International was just as she left it. The kid pulled up behind it, parking the Taurus in the opposite direction. He pulled the keys from the ignition, tucked the gun into waistband of his pants then got out of the car, warning Scout to stay put. A bicycle was leaning against the passenger's side of the Scout. As the kid lowered the attention-grabbing hood, Scout leaned out the driver's side window to get a better look at the bicycle; it looked like Jose's bike and she panicked. Scout feared what the unbalanced kid with a gun would do if Jose unexpectedly approached the scene. Against her captor's orders, Scout got out of the car.

"Where the keys?" he yelled to her.

"They're in the backpack," she responded in an intentionally loud voice while scanning for Jose's whereabouts. She hoped to get Jose's attention if he was within hearing distance and she could possibly warn him to stay away.

"Then get me the backpack, man." He looked up at Scout, noticed her looking around and shouted louder, "Bring me the fuckin' backpack!"

"I'm getting it," she shouted back even louder, still hoping for Jose's attention if he was in the vicinity—and he was.

"Scout!" Jose joyfully scurried out from the trees.

She waved for him to go back but Jose continued at the same pace, heading towards the kid who was now facing him. Scout shook her head no, quickly, and mimed fear.

Jose slowed his approach.

"Car trouble?" He said to both Scout and the kid, wondering who this kid was.

The kid's eyes nervously ping-ponged between Jose and Scout. Jose was ready to shout out an expected wisecrack but stopped as he saw the trepidation on Scout's face. The kid noticed. They were all still for a moment then Jose turned to face the kid.

"Stop right there, motherfucker!" The kid used his artificially deep voice. He pulled the gun from his pants, pointing it at Jose. "Stop right fuckin' there, man."

Jose looked back over his shoulder at Scout, then back at the gun and asked, "What's going on, Scout?"

"You talkin' to the fuckin' truck or her?"

Scout braved to step forward and stand next to Jose. "Just let him get back on his bike and go."

It was obvious that the kid now felt threatened and his power was through the gun.

"You know this guy?" the kid asked, keeping the gun pointed at Jose.

"You're going to draw a lot of attention standing there with a gun on somebody, you can get in your car and drive off, I can't follow you. Neither can he."

Jose glanced over Scout's bare feet and heavy coat and asked once more, "What's going on?"

"Don't fuckin' move or I'll blow a fuckin' hole in ya."

Jose moved his eyes back to the kid, displaying confidence and no fear of the kid with a gun.

"I told ya to get the fuckin' keys."

"I'll get them. Don't do anything, please. Just let him be on his way." Scout hurried to the Taurus and pulled out her backpack. She returned and stood slightly in front of Jose holding out the backpack to the kid.

"Yo, mothafuckur, go stand behind her truck," he ordered while changing the aim of the gun to Scout, "before I blow her fuckin' head off!" The kid was reveling in his gun-gained power. His eyes looked wild again and he was jumpy.

"Just do it, Jose." Scout was unmistakably frightened.

Jose complied, though reluctantly. He stood by the back of the International keeping his eyes fixed on the kid, which seemed to provoke the kid. He began wielding orders at Jose, telling him to stand closer to the vehicle, to put his hands in his pockets, to look at the ground in front of him and to not even think about being a "fuckin' hero" or he'd "blow both" of them away.

"Her fuckin truck is outta gas and were gunna fill it...."

Scout turned to Jose, "It was sort of missing then it felt like it was going to die so I pulled over to the side of the road."

"Shut the fuck up. He doesn't need no explanation."

She nervously continued, "It may be out of gas, I don't know the gauge doesn't work. But, I filled it with gas in that little town so I don't know." She rattled on, nervous, then she turned to the kid. "We're going to siphon gas from your Taurus, right?"

"It's not my Taurus; I wouldn't buy a fuckin' Taurus, man, fuckin' old man car."

He ordered Scout to stand by the driver's side door.

"Let me check it out," Jose said. "It doesn't sound like it's out of gas."

The kid thought for a second then said, "What are you, a mechanic, a greasemonkey? Go ahead." He stepped up to Scout and pulled her into him. "Try sumthin' and I'll pop her."

Jose confidently walked over to the hood and lifted it. He leaned over the engine, wiggled parts and declared he could fix it.

The kid pulled Scout to his chest, placed the gun at her neck and responded, "Then fix it."

Jose eyes focused on the kid a scary few seconds as Scout looked on, worried. The air was thick with tension, frightening Scout all the more.

"He'll need the keys," she apprehensively interjected. The kid let her toss Jose the backpack. He slowly picked it up, opened it and dumped everything onto the ground, doing his best to disperse the contents. He grabbed the keys and leaned back into the engine compartment. Both the kid and Scout watched Jose move things around in the engine. When Jose put his hands up in the air, the kid responded. Jose told him he needed to get behind the wheel. He warned Jose again not to try anything "stupid" and raised the gun to Scout's temple.

Jose inserted the key with one hand and covertly flipped the gas tank switch with the other. He pushed the gas pedal down a few times, cranked the engine and it started right up.

"Get out," the kid shouted as soon as the truck was running.

Scout sensed Jose was going to try something bold.

"Jose, please get out of the car," Scout pleaded.

"Hooooosay," the kid dragged out his name. He pressed the gun against her head and said, "Get out of the fucking car, Hooooosay, or I'll splatter your girlfriend right here."

Jose had one foot out of the car and the kid began shouting orders, "Put your fuckin' hands over your head. Stand at the back of the car." The kid moved back a few steps pulling Scout back with him. Jose walked with his hands up to the back of the car. "Take off your clothes," the kid shouted in his again feigned deep voice.

The way that Jose lowered his hands made Scout fear that he was going to rush the kid so she spoke up quickly. "Jose, just do it."

He started with his tee shirt and was interrupted by the kid telling him to leave the tee shirt on but take everything else off.

"Get over there." The kid shoved Scout towards Jose using the gun to direct her. They stood side by side, barefoot, watching the kid as he rolled Jose's bike down the hill and out of sight. He instructed Scout to take Jose's wallet then wrap his clothes around his shoes and throw them as far as she could down the hill.

"Fuckin' lame throw, man! Get in the truck." With the gun now pointed at Jose, he took the wallet and put it in his back pocket.

He ordered Scout beside him in the back seat and Jose to the driver's seat with a warning that if he didn't do everything he was told that Scout would "get a bullet in her fuckin' head." Jose glimpsed at the kid in the rearview mirror; he had the barrel of the gun to Scout's head. Jose pulled out onto the road and headed away from Pista as instructed.

"Where am I driving to?" Jose calmly questioned.

"Just fuckin' drive, man. Shut the fuck up. You talk when I tell ya. Just fuckin' drive."

Lester waltzed into the office with a newspaper in his hand seeking out Jose. He wanted him to join him for a drink so he could run a few personal ads by him to get his opinions. Martha let Lester know that Jose hadn't come back from his bike ride and invited him to join in a game of Mexican dominos. Lester declined the invite but sat down at the table; he opened the newspaper and resolutely went over the ads, circling perspectives and jotting down the symbols of his own rating system. The others went about preparing coffee, filling the bowl with hard candy and putting pillows on the chairs in preparation for the game. Lila showed up with Stoey's freshly made burritos--a regular meal in itself and a regular takeout item from Elena's. Mr. Chitwell had placed a pie in the office refrigerator because the one in his RV was full. Martha took for granted that it was for the evening's game and sliced it accordingly.

"Are you looking for a job, Lester?" asked Lila as she watched him circle and jot down notes on the paper.

"No, looking for a nice lady," he responded without taking his eyes off the paper.

"In the paper?" Lila wasn't familiar with the personals section of the paper.

"They sellin' women now!" George yelled over. "Buy me a rich blonde with a big butt." Everyone ignored George since to laugh at one of his comments was to open the floodgates of annoyance.

Lila strolled over to observe Lester's menu.

"They're the personals. Women, and men. Singles looking for other singles." He smiled up at Lila, "Like me."

"Have you found any prospective mates?" She was most curious about how Lester would describe himself in a personals ad. "Have you placed an ad, Lester?"

"I might, haven't yet." He paused. "Here, this one seems like my type of woman." He lifted the paper up closer to Lila who was now looking over his shoulder. "She likes to go out to eat, go out dancing, long walks in the woods, loves the outdoors and to travel. Sounds good, aye?"

Lila bent down to read the ad herself.

"What are the abbreviations?" Lila asked.

Lester pointed to the list of definitions to the abbreviations. She read them then glanced back at Lester's prize personal ad.

"I'm sure she would like long walks in the outdoors, to eat out and mostly to travel, Lester." Lila snickered, "According to the abbreviation here, Lester, your single is incarcerated."

Lester briefed the ad again. "Damn, your right!"

"You might have more in common than you think," Lila replied but Lester didn't respond; he was focusing on the abbreviations now.

"If I see Jose I will tell him you're in here waiting for him, Lester." Lila left the office for the evening.

Shortly after sunset Penny came into the office inquiring about Scout. She was concerned if anyone had fed Pepper. Eric offered a can of dog food and the two left the office for Eric's camper, intentionally escaping before Martha put the pressure on Penny to come back and join in the table games.

Jose was driving north, following his abductor's directions. All the while the kid talked about Mexico and how once there he would let them go. Jose mumbled something in Spanish. The kid leaned forward, told Jose to shut up and to quit looking at them in the rearview mirror then knocked the mirror off-center with the gun.

"Jose can help you getting into Mexico since he speaks Spanish." Scout feared the kid was getting more agitated by him.

Jose began to ask the kid questions in Spanish then made a comment directed at Scout in Spanish. He figured that the kid didn't understand Spanish but wasn't sure about Scout. Again, the kid told Jose to shut up, to save it for when they got to Mexico.

Jose turned on the radio that only received AM stations. The speakers were of less than stellar quality and they fuzzed and rattled as he tuned in a Spanish station. The kid demanded he change it. Intentionally, Jose overshot the station the kid wanted, going back and forth over the stations like a big brother teasing his kid brother. Scout didn't understand Jose's objective particularly when the kid had the gun pressed against her temple.

Jose asked the kid, in Spanish, what his name was.

"Speak English, mothafuckur."

"What's your name?" Jose asked in a sedate voice.

"None of your fuckin' business, that's my name. What, you gunna be my best friend?" he snapped back, amusing himself.

Scout cut in, "No, just what do you want to be called. Make up a name. They ask for names at the border...." She talked on to offset Jose's antagonistic manner. She had no clue what they did or asked for at the border but she also was aware that they were driving in the opposite direction from the Mexican border. She figured that the kid was living out some outlaw fantasy and didn't know the reality of what he was doing; he sure didn't know where he was going. That could be a good thing or a bad thing and she was panicking.

"Should we call you Mr. Dumas?" Jose retorted.

"Fuck you! And shut the fuck up."

Dumas? Doomoss. Scout ran that one through her head repeatedly wondering why Jose would come up with that name. Mr. Dumas. Mr. Du Mas. Mr. Dum As. Mr. Dumb Ass. She worried that Jose was not taking the kid as seriously as he should be and the kid's gun was pointed at her head. The kid's fantasy hadn't been fulfilled as desired. The abduction plan didn't include an added man. The kid seemed increasingly agitated as the miles progressed.

"Turn down that road," he said breathing down Jose's neck.

Jose was familiar with the road and knew it went through private property. The road was full of rocks and ruts. They dipped, bounced and rocked with the terrain. The car rode like an old covered wagon and Scout worried the gun might accidentally go off at each bump.

"Could you aim that away from my head until we get onto a smoother road, please? I'm afraid it's going to accidentally go off."

He tilted his head cockeyed up to her face. He appeared to be thinking. Then looked like he was about to explode.

"Maybe I want the fucking gun to go off in your head. Maybe I want you and your friend Hooooosay to shut the fuck up!" He backed up, pulled her over his lap and pushed her head up to the back of Jose's head. "Maybe I'll put a bullet through your head and it'll come out in Hooooosay's head. Maybe I---"

The car made a loud grinding sound and the engine died. The kid pushed Scout away and put the gun on Jose.

"What happened?"

Jose let the car roll a bit farther then stepped on the brake before answering the kid. "Not sure. I have to get out and check. Something probably rocked loose on this bumpy road."

The kid checked the road for any other cars then ordered Jose to turn the key and try to start it. The engine wasn't starting. He repeatedly told Jose to turn the key. He did and each time with the same result. The kid again checked to see if anyone was around then commanded Jose and Scout out of the truck. He had Scout get down on her knees in front of the truck where he could keep her in close range but out of view of possible passersby. He ordered Jose to check the engine.

Jose secured the hood, feigning the mechanic. He displayed sincere concern about getting the engine in repair and the vehicle on its way. Unlike a short time prior, the kid was responding favorably to Jose, honoring his request for assistance. Scout was uneasy about the sudden change in Jose's demeanor. The kid's mercurial reactions while still in possession of the gun made Scout stay in a constant state of panic. Even though her knees were hurting, she remained in the kneeling position as she watched, worried.

Jose and the kid were leaning over the engine pulling this thing, tapping that thing, unfastening, reattaching and talking back and forth. The kid was making suggestions and Jose was following through, adding possibilities, and handing the kid an engine part as the kid asked questions. Aside from Jose's lack of pants, they looked like father and son cooperatively working on the engine.

"Do you mind if I sit instead, my knees can't take this," Scout interrupted.

They both turned and looked at her as though they had forgotten she was there. The kid nodded a yes and added, "Watch the coat."

She pulled the coat up so it would not touch the ground and sat bare-ass on the prickly terrain watching the two pseudo-mechanics at work, wondering what was actually going on. Jose had told Scout previously at the campground that he knew little if anything about her vehicle and therefore couldn't tell her the possible cause of the screeching from the International, not even a guess. But Scout knew that Jose was good at faking; he had a lot of practice at the campground. Whatever Jose was doing, he had lessened the tension between him and the kid. The kid tucked the gun back into his pants, periodically checked the road for cars and people, and then continued working with Jose on the engine problem at an even keel.

With the tension lifted, Scout felt safe to change positions without sending the kid into a trigger-happy rage. She scooted back to lean against a boulder--ever so careful, making sure that she didn't soil the kid's coat. She watched the foamy clouds drift across the bright-blue sky and Lauren came to mind. Their fates had run side by side in so many ways in life, she now wondered if they would be likewise in death--would some twisted individual with a quick temper also take her life out in the woods?

A lizard scurried from behind her to the top of a rock. It extended its front legs, lifting its upper body as if surveying the area. She wondered what it would be looking for. Its head turned from side to side, and then it lowered itself, raced off the rock and camouflaged into the terrain. The reptile reminded Scout she was in rattlesnake territory. She was sitting next to boulders, a favorite sunning spot for rattlers. She scooted away and back to her designated kneeling spot.

"Okay, turn it over!" yelled Jose. The kid was sitting behind the wheel. The car made an airy nananananana sound then stopped.

"Again."

The kid turned the key again and the same sound played out until Jose told him to stop.

"Hold on, let me try this." Jose was fooling with the engine while the kid waited in the driver's seat.

Scout lowered her head onto her knees. She was thirsty.

"Okay, again." Jose was giving the orders now and the kid was obeying.

Something hit Scout's cheek and she jerked her head up. Jose was leaning into the engine signaling to her. He pointed to her, then to himself. He moved his two fingers back and forth to simulate running, then lifted his palm as to say "wait."

She alternated between watching the kid and watching Jose as the two continued calling out to each other regarding the engine.

"Maybe we can push start this piece of shit." The frustrated kid got out of the car.

Jose had a plan and responded, "Naaah, this whole engine is loose. It's rough. Things shook loose. I need to tighten them down but I don't have the tools. I need a rag."

The kid turned to Scout. "You got a rag in this piece of shit?"

"Not that I know of. Do you want me to look?"

Jose interrupted, "Forget it, I'll manage. Just don't turn it over until I have everything tightened down."

The kid got back behind the wheel and waited.

"Do you have your foot on the gas?" Jose yelled.

"Turn it?"

"No, do you have your foot on the gas, the gas pedal?" Jose looked at Scout in a way that said get ready.

The kid claimed he hadn't "touched a fuckin' thing."

"Okay." Jose instructed the kid to lift the pedal and pull up on the cable. "You're going to have to pull it pretty hard and turn the key in the ignition at the same time. Can you handle it?"

"Fuck yeah. Now?" the kid shouted back.

"Okay, crank the key and hold the pedal until I say stop or it starts. Got it?"

The kid contorted his body to have one hand on the cable and the other on the key in the ignition. As soon as the nanananana sound began, Jose crouched down and waved for Scout to join him. She quickly crawled over to Jose, scraping her hands and knees, and the coat. He reached for her arm to help her up and whispered, "Go as fast as you can but stick by me." They tucked themselves as close to the ground as possible and dashed to the rickety branch and wire fence. He helped her over then the two stood upright and ran into the pasture, Jose in the lead and Scout on his tail like an animal on the heels of its prey. Jose aimed for the closest cluster of trees for protection.

The engine noise stopped followed by "fuck!" and a gunshot. In their desperation to put space between them and the gun, the two didn't look back to see if the kid was in pursuit or if the gun was aimed their way; they kept running toward the trees for cover. The enraged kid had a clear view of his former captives as they ran across the open area. They were too far away. The handgun was of no help. The kid stopped at the fence and screamed his bloody threats for all they were worth but returned to the truck. He needed to get out of there.

Jose sat exhausted against the base of a tree and Scout joined him.

"My God, my feet," exclaimed Scout in pain. Her bare feet had been mercilessly assaulted from the small cacti, the stray cacti needles, rocks, sticks and the harsh ground cover as they ran across the pasture. Her blessed adrenaline delayed the pain response so the pain did not delay her.

Jose kept his eyes on the kid, watching him kick at the dirt, the tires and yell in frustration.

"Do you think he's going to get it started and be able to come after us?"

"Only if he finds the tank switch on your truck," Jose responded still eyeing the kid.

"What tank switch?"

"You have two tanks on that truck," Jose began to explain.

"You mean my car has two gas tanks?"

"It's a truck, not a car." He continued, "You have two gas tanks, you have a gas cap on each side of your truck, right?"

She was aware of the two gas caps, she filled both tanks but didn't know that they did not merge; she thought they both attached to one gas line. Feeling stupid, she said nothing.

"I just flipped the switch. One of your tanks is empty." He smiled at Scout. "So, you didn't know you had two tanks?"

Scout attempted to pull the needles and other sharp objects out of her feet.

"You owe me," Jose said as he pulled stickers from his own feet while still keeping an eye on the kid.

"What were you doing by my car, why were you out there?" She asked then winced, "God, my feet." Scout was now biting down on the tips of needles too small to grab with her fingertips.

"Look!" Jose alerted Scout to a car coming down the road towards the kid.

She crawled over to Jose's side to have a look. The International had its hood up and the kid stood by it looking stranded and in need of help. The car pulled up behind him.

"Shouldn't we warn them?"

"Hold on." He didn't want to alarm them if it wasn't going to be necessary. He didn't want to put the passersby in danger if the kid had no intention but to use their help to get the truck started.

"He's got the gun, Jose. He'll carjack their car to have something to get out of here."

"There's two men," he said, intently watching. "Just wait."

The two men got out of the car and the kid met them halfway. Jose figured one of them would discover the tank switch and the kid would be on his way but Scout feared the kid would shoot the two men and take their car.

"Don't worry." Jose sounded confident. "There's someone in the back seat. There are three of them; it's too much for the kid, too many people. He's just a punk."

"A punk with a gun," Scout worried.

Jose wanted to take this opportunity to gain more distance from the kid but Scout insisted on knowing what fate befell the good Samaritans. They watched and waited. One of the men leaned into the International. He found the switch and within minutes, the truck started up. The two men got back into their own car and drove off unharmed as the kid stood by the truck waving a friendly goodbye as they passed. He then turned and looked up in the direction of Jose and Scout.

"What do you think he's going to do?" Scout asked, focused on the kid.

"Get the hell out of here."

The kid got into the truck and was off down the road in full screech. She watched her beloved International Scout disappear down the winding dirt road along with its distinctive sound.

"Why didn't you fix that?" Jose commented on the hair-raising engine sound.

"At least we'll hear him coming. Anyway, it never bothered me."

"It's going to draw a hell of a lot of attention to the punk." Jose turned to Scout and asked, "Think he'll make it to the border?" He enjoyed the thought of the kid heading north to the Mexican border and added, "Fucking punk."

With the kid on his way, their focus was back on their feet. They had stinging objects too small to be seen and needles of various sizes buried and some protruding from the bottoms of their feet. Jose pulled his foot up onto his knee to get a closer look.

"Are you intentionally exposing yourself?" Scout raised her eyebrows; it was a relief to joke again.

"If you must look, feel free." Jose then stuck his foot out, holding it up to Scout. Jose's large fingers made it difficult for him to grab onto the tiny needles. "I saved your life and you owe me, me-The Great Lion." Jose beamed a smile. Both were feeling as though they could finally relax and breathe easy for the time being. She took Jose's foot in her hand and did her best to remove what needles she could then continued to foster the lighthearted banter, at least temporarily. She needed it. They both needed it.

He withdrew his one foot and stuck out his other foot. "I'm bipedal," he hinted.

"From this angle you're tri-pedal."

"Well, you begged me to take off my clothes," Jose wisecracked.

"Speaking of which, how are we going to make it back dressed like this?" she asked.

"Let's just be glad we're going back."

They stretched out their legs and took some time to rest.

"God, I really thought the kid was going to shoot you, or me. You seemed calm but I was panicked. I was afraid you were going to jump him or something."

"And you criticize the women I pick up!" Jose kept the joking going.

"Funny."

"Aaaaaah, inbreeding. Creates a find breed of youngins. How did you run into the psycho-kid anyway?"

"I was walking back to Pista. He stopped to give me a ride and I was grateful that he stopped. I had those damn clogs on and I could hardly walk. Anyway, he wasn't interested in helping me or giving me a ride; he wanted my car."

"And your clothes?"

"Same as with you. I'm sure he thought it would keep us from running. No shoes, no clothes, no going anywhere." She didn't want to talk about how she came to lose her clothes, at least not then. "Let's just figure how we are going to get back to Pista barefoot and half naked and without bullet holes."

"Yeah, out in the middle of nowhere where it hurts like hell to walk and we don't have clothes--good start. I've been in worse. We may not get your truck back but we'll get back." Jose looked around to get his bearings. "We should at least start for the main road." He stood up, ready to go.

"What about the kid? What if he comes back?"

"Don't worry; we'll hear him far in advance."

"Do you think we'll make it to the main road before it gets dark?" She trusted that Jose knew their location.

"No, but we can try. I know it's going to get cold if we don't make it back." Jose knew that they needed to get started. "Come on." He began walking east.

She watched him for a minute or so, ever mindful of her sensitive feet.

"Wait up!" she shouted once he got past the trees.

The pace was slow as they made their way across the side of the hill. They listened for the sound of the screeching engine and kept their distance from the winding road and their sights on getting to the main road before dark.

"Look! A truck!" Excited, Scout pointed to a pickup truck heading their way along the winding road.

"I saw it."

It was coming from the direction of the main road and was going west, winding down the same dirt road where they ran from the kid. They both at once started down the side of the hill in a painful trot.

"You think they could hear us if we yell?" Scout hollered to Jose as she tried to keep up.

"I doubt it." Jose stopped. "I think I can make it down to the fence by the time they get there and wave them down. You stay here."

"Why?"

"It looks like two men in the truck," he said with regard. "I don't want any problems," and gave her a quick reminder of their attire.

"Go over by the rocks; sit down behind the rocks, okay?" He turned to look at her and said firmly, "I'm serious."

"Okay, okay." She turned, taking the biggest steps she could manage to avoid the painful plants.

"If I get in the truck without waving to you," he continued as she walked away, "or if I don't look up at you, then it's because I don't think it's safe for you but I'll be back. Just stay right by those rocks; don't wander off, at all. Okay?"

Scout stopped. "I temporarily apologize for everything mean I have ever said to you, Jose. In other words, don't leave me here in the dark."

Jose jogged and hopped as fast as he was able and made it before the truck got to that section of fencing. He stood a bit self-conscious, barelegged, dressed only in his tee shirt. He thought how he would explain immediately that he had been carjacked, threatened with a gun and had his clothes taken.

As the truck approached, he saw three men in the cab and all three spotted Jose at the same time. He stepped up to the fence, waving for them to stop. They stared, a hostile stare, slowing just enough to get a better look. Jose continued to yell and wave his arms for them to stop. It worked; they slammed on the brakes. One of the men stuck his head out the window and said something that Jose couldn't decipher. They put the truck in reverse and stepped on the gas, weaving back and forth, stopping only yards away from where Jose stood cautiously from the other side of the fence. The man leaning out the window was sweaty, dirty and drunk. The man in the middle leaned over and by accident knocked the hat off the other man's head exposing his thin stringy hair drenched in sweat. The hatless man held a can of beer loosely in his hand. He balanced himself on the door as he hung out the window to spew two words like venom.

"Fuckin' faggot!"

He flipped Jose off with the same hand that held his can of Budweiser, spilling beer on himself and the truck. That loss of valuable beer became the fault of the wayward faggot and they scrambled to get out of the truck.

"Wait, man," Jose quickly yelled to the men. "Hey, man, wait a minute! Let me explain the---"Jose couldn't be heard over the shouts of "Fuckin' homo; we'll feed your dick to a coyote..." and the continuum of perils-to-the-penis comments as they stumbled out of the truck. Jose had sobriety on his side and took off running across the open space and away from where Scout hid by the boulders. Besides throwing a few rocks, the inebriated trio didn't overexert themselves; they got back into their truck and went on their merry way, popping open fresh cans of Budweiser--self-assured of their heterosexual status.

"Jose!" she shouted from atop the boulders. "They're gone!" Scout met him halfway, hopping and swearing at the assaulting vegetation.

"Wow, you made a good impression, Mr. Jose," she poked.

"You go next time," Jose retorted. "I need to sit, fuckin' assholes. I gotta let my feet recover."

They climbed onto a rock formation that had a large flat boulder still warm from the day's sun to lie on their backs and rest their feet. Scout laughed aloud as Jose described the men in the truck with creative and insulting verbiage.

"Why don't we make this rock our mattress for the night, since I don't think we have a better choice from the looks of it," Jose suggested. Scout scanned the area and saw acres of prickly terrain and the next rock cluster quite a distance away. His suggestion sounded agreeable under the dire circumstances, and she was exhausted. The adrenaline was fading along with her energy. The flat rock gave them a good view of the road yet they could slide back and quickly be hidden from sight.

"We may have better luck tomorrow catching a sympathetic ride then we did today," Scout hoped. "I'm just glad we are bullet-free, Jose. I am so relieved. That kid was nuts."

"We're going to freeze our asses off tonight, ya know," Jose informed.

They discussed sleeping arrangements, which consisted of Scout willing to share the kid's coat and Jose willing to make like a pillow. Once agreed upon, they turned their attention to Broken Arrow. It was a good distraction since they had no food and more important, no water. They needed a diversion and Scout had no interest in talking about anything that transpired with the kid.

"They'll definitely notice that both you and I are gone all night," Jose remarked.

"I hope someone thinks to feed Pepper."

Jose assured her that if Burt or Bella didn't feed Pepper, then Eric or Penny surely would, "...and Eric always has spare dog food."

"Why?"

"He wants a dog; he just hasn't found the right dog. He's preparing, buying the food before the dog. Who knows; it's Eric."

Scout smiled. Her encounters with Eric seemed to back such a theory.

The temperature was just right. It was quiet, calm and soon the sun would be setting—a beautiful close to a day under different circumstances and different attire.

"What a day, what a day," Jose proclaimed in exhaustion as he stretched and twisted to get more comfortable.

"Please, any other topic. I don't want to even think about it. Just for a while, let's change the subject. Any other topic...but keep it light, okay?"

"We're safe here and tomorrow we'll be back at the campground. We can handle it." Jose was confident and Scout appreciated how he took their present situation in stride. "Question for you," she began.

"Shoot."

"Okay, speaking of Eric, how does he stay so clean?" she asked in all seriousness. Eric landscaped, poured cement, did general construction and managed to look as if he were leaving for a round of golf. His collegiate attire was always spotless while his coworkers looked like they had been landscaping, pouring cement and had been doing general construction.

Jose got a chuckle out of the question, not that it wasn't one others pondered also.

"I'm serious, how does he stay so clean? He works, I see him." Trivial topics seemed appropriate and she persisted. "Well? I couldn't do it."

"That's just Eric. I don't know how he does it. He doesn't like being asked either. Have you seen the inside of his trailer?"

"No but I can imagine."

"No, opposite. A fricken mess. I wouldn't eat anything stored in his fridge." Jose contorted his mouth in disgust.

"That's odd, he is so clean when he works, as if he'd been Scotchguarded or coated in Teflon, and he doesn't even have a hair out of place."

"I got a beer from his trailer once and had to wash the can before I got it near my mouth."

"So, dirt sticks to his house but not him." She added, "I think he's a really nice person."

"To you," Jose said with obvious annoyance.

"You mean he's not normally friendly?"

"I don't think he likes his job there or likes living there. Actually, I think he hates it."

"Then why does he work there?" She paused for second to add, "Look, we are having a civil conversation, remarkable. Please continue."

"Yeah, let's see how long we can keep this up."

"Go on."

"You've seen that tall skinny guy that looks like a drug dealer?"

"Pierre?"

"Yeah, Pierre, the one who wears the Hawaiian shirts. He's Eric's brother. Pierre is a long story, a bad long story. Eric showed up looking for him and Lila hired him and gave him that trailer to live in."

"Showed up from where?"

"Louisiana."

"Louisiana? But he doesn't have an accent, a Louisiana accent, I mean."

"Pierre does, and Eric doesn't look anything like his brother either..." Jose proceeded to tell Scout about the peculiar circumstances of Eric and the long drawn-out story of Pierre and his shady dealings with Lila. Lila trusted the wrong person and Eric wanted to make it up to her.

"Okay, I have another question, as long as we are being civil and having a normal conversation...." Scout wanted to talk, focus elsewhere, and let the day's events disappear with the sun.

"Shoot." Jose figured that was what she was doing. He also thought she might be chatty to mask a degree of fear.

"What about Tom, does he talk to anyone at Broken Arrow? Does he ever talk to you?"

"Tom's Navajo," Jose said very matter of fact.

"What, Navajos aren't allowed to talk at Broken Arrow," Scout replied mocking Jose's blunt uninformative response.

"He's Navajo and doesn't talk to white people."

"So he works for Lila and but won't talk to her?" She doubted Jose's account of why Tom was silent.

"He talks to Eric. I think he talks to Lila through Eric. I've seen Lila talk to him but he shakes his head in response, never heard him really talk to Lila."

"But why?"

"You want to hear the whole story?" Jose asked her as though preparing her for a long one.

"Well hurry it up, my ride should be here any minute now."

"Tom's brother was killed by three white kids," Jose began to explain.

"Murdered?" she asked.

"Yeah, ugly situation."

"Why and how?"

"Beat him up. They were all drunk and high. He could have squeezed the life out of those little bastards if he wasn't so drunk. He was a big guy like Tom, he could have kicked all three of their scrawny asses with one hand tied behind his back if he wasn't so fucking drunk."

"So he won't talk to all white people because his brother was murdered by whites?"

"It was what happened to the three that did it, or what didn't happen."

"I think I know this story."

"You heard about the murder?"

"No, go on."

"They were caught, convicted and sent to some boys' camp for a few years and let out." He took an audible breath then continued, "Having your brother murdered and the murderers walking around town free, how do you live with that?"

"Unfortunately, a lot of people do."

"It's no secret, everyone knows. It was in the papers, the trial and everything. He had to leave that town. I think that's why Lila hired him. She understands and feels bad for him. Lila doesn't mind that he doesn't talk to her."

"Does he really blame all Anglos?"

"Anglos?" Jose grinned.

"Anglo, white, you know what I mean."

"Tom doesn't trust them." Jose was blunt. "You haven't been there."

Scout felt tightness in her stomach.

"You have to experience that kind of death---"

Scout interrupted, "You don't know what I have experienced, Jose. Thousands in this country, this world, have experienced a murder in their life."

"But you haven't," Jose stated so matter of fact that it was hard for Scout to hold back.

"I know the affects of a brutal murder. I know what it's like to have some scum murder someone you love and get by with it."

Jose waited for her to elaborate but she said nothing more.

"You know what it's like to lose someone to murder?" Jose was curious. "How do you know about murder? Tell me."

"How do we all know, it's in the paper, in the news; it's everywhere. It's in our entertainment; hell, I've spent time with Lester haven't I."

Jose gave a quick laugh.

"Wow, we got on a perky topic, sort of adds to the ambiance of the day."

"You asked about Tom; I was answering."

A disquieted silence consumed the next increment of time as they lie on their bed of stone.

"I feel like Fred and Wilma," Scout commented.

The swirls of vivid color adorned the setting sun. Soon the light faded along with the warm air.

"Are you tired?" Jose asked.

"Yes, but very uncomfortable on this slab and getting cold and my camper seems like a palace right now. Anything but this Flintstone bed would do."

"You can use me for a pillow, we agreed." He tucked the coat around her and scooted up a touch so that Scout could place her head on his chest. Little time had passed before Scout fell asleep. Jose watched as the stars multiplied and blanketed the dark blue night sky. He slept in spurts while Scout slept like a baby in a prehistoric cradle.

Come morning the same scent and warmth that cradled Scout to sleep was uncomfortably intimate. She quickly sat up and put distance between her body and Jose's. Her obvious discomfort by the unavoidable physicality of the circumstances amused him.

"Good morning," Jose greeted.

"I'm freezing, how about you?" Scout tucked her feet under the coat.

"I'm fine."

There was an uneasy quiet but Jose didn't allow it to last long. "So shall we call room service?"

"Oh, of course. You are such a gentleman. I'll have a latte, avocado and cheese omelet, sourdough toast, fresh strawberries with half whipped cream and half vanilla yogurt and a pair of pants and hiking boots. How 'bout you?"

"Hot coffee and pants sounds nice, and shoes."

Both scurried off in different directions to take care of personal matters. Scout arrived back at the rock formation before Jose and watched him hobble through the prickly plants knowing they faced miles more of such terrain.

"We should get started," Jose said as he looked around, watching the area come to life with birds, lizards and the sounds of cattle in the distance.

"I guess we should start walking, but I'm still freezing."

"The walk and the sun will warm you up. Come on, let's get started." Jose stood up and stretched, exposing more than intended and making Scout laugh.

"Quit looking," Jose retorted.

"Oh my, my, it looks just like a penis, only smaller," Scout joked back.

They bantered in jest while they began their long trek to the road. The cocky Broken Arrow employee Scout first encountered with contempt evolved into a playful adversary and now a hero.

She noticed that Jose's tee shirt and privates were vying for the same border. She shouted down to him, "We have to find you some kind of cover."

"Hard pressed to find a fig leaf around here," he shouted back. Jose wasn't pleased about hobbling around the countryside dressed like a toddler at the beach.

Scout offered to exchange clothing since the coat was longer than the tee shirt.

"Longer and hotter!" Jose shook his head while she donned a knowing smile. "Okay, toss me the coat."

Scout hopped down behind the rock and tossed up the coat. He made her wait for irritation sake.

"Toss me the shirt!" she yelled up knowing full well what he was doing.

"Say please, try the polite thing and see if it works," he taunted.

"Please, toss down the fucking tee shirt," she shouted. "How was that? Was that the polite you were looking for?" Scout leaned against the rocks and waited. Eventually the shirt flopped down in front of her. With the coat tied around his waist and Scout complaining that the tee shirt stunk, they headed east towards the main road.

Soon they were both complaining aloud of the bitter brush beneath their already abused feet. The only way they could tolerate the hike was to try to travel on the rocks and dirt as much as possible. This kept them a distance from the road but at that point, they didn't care; they were making their way in the right direction in less pain. Their route via the rocks led them to the top of a large rock mass where they rested, and again pulled plant particles from the bottoms of their feet. Scout voiced her concern about Pepper's care while Jose made light of the inevitable speculation buzzing about Broken Arrow due to their combined absence. Soon they were off, again trying their best to follow a trail of rocks and plant-less ground. Neither wanted to do another night in the chilly mountains and they were thirsty which motivated them to avoid frequent rests. They covered decent ground with little conversation.

They heard a distinguishable sound in the distance, which stopped them in their tracks. They looked at each other and waited to hear it again. And did.

"Could it be?" Scout asked.

"Sounds like Charlie to me. God bless Charlie!"

The distinct sound of Charlie's mule and the faint sound of whistling, Charlie's whistling, meant that Charlie was near. He was on one of those back roads inching along with his wooden home and family of mules.

"All right!" Jose punched the air in celebration.
Chapter Seven

The Posse

It was early in the morning and Broken Arrow was a bustle of worry and speculation. Jose and Scout were gone all night, and still not back. Lila had already contacted Woody, a long-time friend and sheriff to Pista. Penny retrieved Pepper for a short walk and proceeded to the office to confer with Lila.

"Good morning, Penny." Lila knew the reason for Penny's early morning appearance and wasted no time. "Scout didn't come back last night, Penny. We are looking into it."

"Jose didn't come home last night either," trumpeted Marianne for all to hear--a declaration not stemming from concern.

"I'll fill her in, Marianne." Lila had developed great patience with Marianne's ways.

"Did they both leave in Scout's car?" Martha inquired.

"No, Scout left in her truck and Jose rode off on his bike." Lila already explained this to Martha; she figured Martha was asking for Penny's benefit.

"Jose's bicycle can fit in Scout's car." Martha suspected they spent the night together but could not bring herself to come right out and say it.

"I don't think she would leave Pepper overnight and not say anything." Penny directed her comment to Lila. "She's too into that dog to do that, don't you think?"

"Who knows what might have happened. Pepper is fine. She knows we are all here and will look after him. If we don't hear from her in a while, Penny, we'll drive out around the lake and see what we can find." Lila gave Penny's arm a light pat. "Don't worry; I'm sure Scout's fine."

"Maybe they met up yesterday and went to the lake together. Maybe they had a secret date," Edith contributed as she moved her wheelchair closer to Lila.

Mary voiced her theory, "Jose may have gone with her because you know how her car is with that loud sound coming from the engine and it's old, apt to break down. He could have put his bicycle in the back. Jose is always so helpful."

Burt dismissed the theory of a clandestine date and Bella agreed. John also balked at the theory in his usual tactless manner.

"Jose and Scout always at each other's throats; they're not on a goddamn date for Christ's sake," John said and shook his head. "Jose and his bike are probably in a ditch somewhere, sobering up. Scout, who knows. Maybe she stopped at some fancy hotel or one of those B n' B's."

"B n' B's?" George sounded perplexed.

Jarred saw Pepper leashed to the front of the office and jogged over. After he introduced his new puppy to a disinterested Pepper, he entered the office to show Scout and the others his new four-legged friend. Martha spoke up immediately.

"Jarred, Scout hasn't come home yet, from last night, and if she doesn't show up soon we're all going to go look for her out at the lake." She wanted to speak before Marianne tainted the situation with innuendoes.

"She went to a lake last night?" Jarred asked, confused since he was not aware a lake existed and baffled why Scout would travel to a lake at night. Martha filled him in with every detail she possessed then mentioned that Jose had not come back last night either.

"I doubt she's with Jose. I didn't know there was a lake around here. Maybe she got lost," Jarred commented though attention was directed more on his puppy than his words.

"What ya got there, Jarred. Oh my. Isn't he wonderful..." Edith pined.

"Burt drew her a map to the lake," John said with distinct insinuation that the map was a possible culprit to a mishap.

"Why are you waiting to go look for her?" Jarred asked, a bit of irritation was evident in his voice. "If she didn't come back all night then something's wrong. Did you check her camper? She might be in there asleep."

"Her car isn't here, Jarred."

"That doesn't mean she isn't. Maybe her car had problems and she got a ride or walked and got in late and is just sleeping in."

"Good point." Penny left the office to check and she would check Jose's RV while she was at it. Lila already knew Jose wasn't in his RV but she hadn't checked for Scout in her camper. They all chatted about Jarred's new puppy while they waited for news from Penny; even John seemed to enjoy petting the new edition.

"She has mocha breath." Edith rubbed noses with the puppy. "Can I hold her?"

Jarred placed the puppy on her lap.

"What kind do you---"

Penny interrupted her. "She's not there. The door was unlocked; I checked, and Jose isn't in his either."

Burt and the others went about rounding up a posse for the search. Lester put aside his quest via the personal ads and offered himself and his truck plus space for anyone who wanted to ride along. Jarred bit the bullet and offered to take Burt in his car, an offer he feared he would regret. His patience wore thin with Burt's endless verbal ramblings, something he knew he would have to endure the entire trip. And he was right. Eric agreed to take John, Bobby and Tom with him in his truck. Martha offered her car to Rod.

Jarred hurried out of the office and left his puppy in Edith's loving care; Edith was in heaven. She was pressing her nose against the puppy and the puppy was wagging his tail wildly.

The muscles in Jarred's face tensed, visibly tight, as he unlocked the Mercedes door for Burt. John sat in the cab of Eric's truck with his oxygen tank propped up next to him while Tom and Bobby rode in the truck bed. Rod had Bella, Mary and Martha riding along with him. Lester would drive alone; no one was interested in hearing him relate some morbid story to the present circumstance of the two missing friends. Manny pulled into Broken Arrow with a coworker as the group was pulling out. Burt insisted Jarred pull over so he could inform Manny of the situation. Manny and his coworker joined the posse. In a line, with Jarred's Mercedes in the lead, the posse left Broken Arrow and headed out in search of the missing duo.

Jarred was determined to keep his focus and his patience as Burt rambled on. He not only repeatedly gave Jarred directions to the lake--with all the alternative routes--but he told of various trips taken to the lake in great detail. He included the types of fish that were in the lake, the types of fish he caught in the lake (measurements and all), the types of fish his friends caught in the lake and so on. Jarred tried his best but Burt flashed his hand drawn map in his face one too many times.

"Burt, come on, I've seen it already." He took a deep breath. "I'm on the verge of a headache, okay," Jarred said without pinpointing Burt as the source.

"Do you take aspirin for your headaches?" Burt asked without a pause. Jarred's headache was another topic Burt could report on.

"Quiet, just quiet will probably prevent this from getting any worse."

"Bella says you can take one of those herbs for headaches. I think it's called feversblue, says it works real good, real good. She takes it. She says you have to take it when you feel the headache coming on...."

Jarred imagined Bella was probably in pursuit of the perfect headache remedy for the past thirty years.

"You could take it every day, you know, as a preventative. It's an herb so I don't think it will hurt you to take it every day. I don't think there have been any studies on it...." Burt continued and Jarred gave a half smile, again envisioning Bella popping the herbal headache remedy daily. Burt gave his dissertation on headache remedies while the pain in Jarred's head increased. He looked out the window for signs of Scout or Jose and did his meditative best to isolate himself from Burt's presence in the vehicle.

Lester drove too slow for Manny's taste as did Rod so he raced past them both and pulled up behind Eric where he had full view of Tom and Bobby sitting silently in the bed of Eric's truck.

"Look at those two." Manny pointed to the bed of Eric's truck.

"Is that a man or a woman?" Richard asked referring to Bobby, a question frequently asked when referring to Bobby.

"Hell, I don't know." Manny laughed. "Tom's a man; I guess Bobby's a man; ever see a woman look like that?"

The fact that Bobby was a gender dubious name and that Bobby had been living with grumpy old John for so long had them speculating and soon laughing from their creative comments. They turned their commentary to the rigid inanimate posture Tom and Bobby both maintained, that Tom looked like a seated cigar store Indian and Bobby looked like an apple doll, the kind Richard's grandmother used to make and that spooked him as a child. They were thoroughly entertained, and a bit intoxicated.

"You mean you live next to it and you don't know if it's a he or she?" Richard chided. Manny explained that he had never spoken to Bobby and had never run into Bobby at the showers.

"So, it might be a woman, right?" Richard questioned.

"I don't know, no, it's a man. Who cares unless you're interested in dating it!" Manny looked over at Richard and asked as if serious, "Do you want me to set you up?"

"I'm going to talk to it," Richard had decided to get the gender answer and conversation went on to the subject of the women at Chili Bar.

There was lots of conversation in Martha's vehicle. Eric and John didn't speak. Lester sang along with country western tunes on the radio, perfecting his cowboy accent. Jarred tried to remember his given mantra, while Burt was never void of chatter. The caravan passed the deserted Taurus with only Martha taking notice of the abandoned vehicle. "There's a car," she pointed out, not certain if the sighting carried any significance. Everyone turned to look at the car, not saying a word, as they continued on their way.

"Turn here! Onto that road," Burt ordered in his most demanding voice, a voice that had Jarred obeying without question. Jarred made a sharp left turn off the main road onto the rocky entrance to a narrow dirt road that disappeared into the trees. He hoped that others had seen him turn but in case they hadn't, he honked his horn a few times to get their attention.

"And why exactly did I turn down this road?" Jarred had minor faith in Burt's judgment and his Mercedes was not meant for roads like this.

"There's a back road to the lake," Burt answered and waved Jarred to go forward between the row of trees looming too close for Jarred's comfort.

"That's a road?"

"Not sure. I thought this was the road," Burt answered as he surveyed the surrounding area.

"Shit Burt! You don't know, you don't know if this is a road, or that is the road!" Jarred slowed the car to a crawl as they maneuvered between the trees.

"I think it is. Calm down there, buddy. There is more than one road to the lake." Burt was craning his neck forward.

"But why would Scout choose this one? Is this what you drew on your map or something?"

"We just need to get to that lake to look around," Burt answered sternly.

The brigade was indeed thrown off by Jarred's abrupt turn. Eric swerved his truck onto the rugged roadside overrun with rocks and boulders bouncing the truck and its occupants like a raft in white water. Manny and Richard drove right past Eric, busy laughing and talking and not paying attention. Lester had passed Rod so as not to be last in line and maintained a higher speed to catch up. When Lester noticed that Eric's truck had turned off the main road, he slammed on his brakes to negotiate the turn and skidded right into a roadside ditch. His body thrust forward then sideways where he banged his head against the door window. Lester's obscenities were now louder than the country tunes. He flopped out of the truck holding his head and fell into the ditch himself. Rod arrived only minutes later.

"Oh my, look at Lester." Martha held her hand to her mouth.

Rod honked the horn repeatedly to alert the others of Lester's accident then jumped from the car to his aid. Eric heard the honking and responded, putting his truck in reverse then backing through the trees into the open where he spotted Rod waving for help. Tom quickly hopped out of the truck bed leaving Bobby bouncing like a fishing bobber as Eric negotiated the rocky terrain in reverse to Lester's tilted truck. He positioned his truck, retrieved a rope and tossed it to Tom. They went right into action but Lester couldn't stand back, he had to jump in and give unneeded and unwanted instructions on how to successfully tow his truck. Tom went about his task as if Lester were a ghost, unseen and unheard. He signaled to Eric when the rope was secure. Eric, also ignoring Lester's instructions, nodded and proceeded forward. But the tow wasn't going well. The weight was too much for Eric's truck and with the lack of traction he only succeeded in rocking Lester's truck farther sideways.

Lester panicked and Eric became frustrated.

"We need a four wheel, someone needs to go find Manny," Eric hollered from the open window.

"We'll go look for him," Rod volunteered. However, Manny came barreling back down the road before Rod got into the car. Manny heard the honking behind him and suspected that he had overshot the others.

Manny had little problem pulling Lester's truck out of the ditch. He immediately got back into his truck, passed Eric and sped off to catch up to Jarred and Burt.

"I think Manny and his friend have been drinking beer." No one seemed interested in Martha's observation other than Bella who assured her he wasn't drunk, just drinking.

Burt's directions were ambiguous and the road was getting progressively narrower, looking more like a path for hikers. At the first scrape of a branch, Jarred stopped the Mercedes. "This is far enough Burt." He put the car in reverse and carefully began backing down the dirt road. Burt used good sense and kept quiet.

Manny, busy talking, sipping beer and trying to catch up, with no concern about the branches scraping the side of his truck, plowed right into the back of Jarred's shiny Mercedes Benz.

Life stood still for three very long minutes.

Richard mumbled, "Aaaah shit and it's a foreign jobber too."

Burt grabbed his neck, however, Jarred shot Burt a look that had him scurrying out of the car where Jarred remained, calming himself. His nerves already frayed from having spent too much time in a confined space with Burt, Jarred feared his temper would get the best of him.

The three stood at the back of the Mercedes staring at the impression from Manny's truck. The old truck appeared unscathed. When Jarred could safely bring himself to join them, all were silent.

Manny shuffled in his boots. Richard shrugged his shoulders. Jarred grabbed his throbbing head and growled, "Whatever Scout and Jose are doing, it's got to be better than fucking this!"

Manny apologized. "Man, I didn't even see you, Jarred, I mean until it was too late."

"He was backing down the road, not your fault," Richard said, consoling his friend.

Eric was next to show up on the scene, his eyes wide and mouth agape. John being John wasted no time, he stuck his head out the window and shouted to Manny the estimated costs for repairs on a Mercedes "like that" and "without insurance...."

"Cool it, John!" Eric's request had no effect. John was cantankerous. He was old with an oxygen tank and he took full advantage of what leeway that gave him.

Eventually the whole posse was behind the smashed Mercedes, gasping and commenting, while Jarred squeezed his head even harder with both hands; he was ready to explode. They all agreed that it was best to call it a day. For all they knew, Jose and Scout were back at the campground. Burt climbed into the back of Eric's truck with Tom and Bobby. He figured it was best to leave Jarred to seethe in quiet solitude—and Burt knew that it was far too difficult for him to ride the entire way back to Pista without talking--in the silence Jarred now required. Burt participated in one-way conversations with both Tom and Bobby, he didn't mind; he told stories freely without interruptions, and it seemed that at least one of them might have been listening.

"You ought to get one, Edith," Jarred suggested as he retrieved his puppy, thanking Edith and feeling a bit guilty.

"Oh, I can't Jarred. I can't," she replied sadly.

Manny and Richard stopped at Caballeros for some more beer relief while the others went straight back to Broken Arrow. They all headed to the office where they were met by Lila and the news that there was no word from or about either Jose or Scout.

"Maybe they're off bumpin' somthin' other than their heads!" George jibed hoping for a laugh. Only Marianne reacted to his comment with a demonstrative lifting of her black painted-on eyebrows. She wanted to show serious confirmation to what was intended as a humorous accusation. When no one responded, she lowered her eyebrows and continued to flip through her mail-order catalog.

"Let me know if you need my help," Lester said as he gently squeezed Lila's shoulders. "I'll be at Caballeros, maybe someone at the bar knows something or maybe I can round up a more effective posse."

Burt took offense to his comment, no one else paid attention.
Chapter Eight

Gypsies by the Lake

"Start yelling. See if Charlie can hear us." Jose cupped his hands around his mouth in preparation.

"Wait, what if that kid is still around, and we start yelling." Scout worried the kid was waiting in the wings, still roaming the back roads trying to find his way to Mexico.

"Don't worry." Jose began blasting Charlie's name into the air.

"He could have slept in the car. We attract his attention and he may come shooting."

Jose called out to Charlie while Scout scoured the area as far as she could see for signs of the kid.

"With a handgun, don't worry, start yelling." Jose continued to shout, "Charlie! Charlie! Hey! Charlie...."

They decided to follow the sounds of the mules and Charlie's whistle as best and as fast as they could. However, the acoustics made it a challenge to determine Charlie's exact location. The harsh vegetation didn't make their pursuit any easier. The sounds came from among the trees so obviously Charlie wasn't on the main road holding up traffic or being a tourist attraction. They hoped he was camped out somewhere, making it easy to catch up with him.

He was and they did.

Charlie's camp looked like a scene out of the Old West with Charlie as the old sourdough.

"Charlie!" Jose yelled, relieved.

Charlie turned in his usual lackadaisical manner, rising from a stooped position.

"Aye there, Jose," Charlie yelled back with a smile.

"Thank God." Scout exhaled.

They both rushed down to Charlie's camp with the mules reacting more to their presence than Charlie.

"Ah, whatchya wearin' there, Jose?" Charlie raised his eyebrows and furrowed his brow at Jose.

"We were carjacked at gunpoint. The punk ditched our clothes," Jose answered, "and this fucking jacket is all I have to cover up with."

"Bulls fan are ya?" Charlie joked.

Scout jumped in with a more explicit explanation as she held the tee shirt in place. "I was being carjacked and Jose happened to show up, unfortunately for him, fortunately for me, and got in the middle of it. It was this teenage wacko with a gun; that's his coat." Charlie gave her his full attention. "He made us toss our clothes except for the tee shirt and the kid's coat." Scout shrugged her shoulders. "I guess he thought if we didn't have clothes we were more compliant victims."

"He jacked your car with you in it?" Charlie asked as he offered his guests a seat and sat down himself. "That's kidnapping."

"Well, right, I guess we were kidnapped and he stole my car, I mean truck."

"You have a truck, Scout?" Before she could answer, Charlie continued, "Kidnapped, carjacked and had your clothes stolen. Not a nice way to start the day. Hungry?"

"Yes. Thirsty actually. It happened yesterday. We had to sleep out on a rock last night," Scout kept on explaining their circumstances.

"We heard you whistling, Charlie. And the mules." Jose glanced into the pot Charlie was using to cook something that he couldn't identify. Scout was also eyeing the concoction in the pot. They were both quite hungry but the hygienic quality of Charlie's setup prevented them from making an immediate commitment to partake in the campfire cuisine. Dolly, Charlie's oldest and favorite mule, came to nudge Jose. He patted her head while she took a few steps closer to the campfire and the grub boiling in the cast iron pot, some kind of mush that had mule appeal.

"Get on, Dolly!" Charlie shouted. "She'll go for that and burn her snout. Get! Get!" Dolly turned and continued lazily nibbling at the ground.

"Oatmeal?" Scout leaned over and looked at the bubbling contents in Charlie's pot. "Part," he answered, which amused Jose.

The three sat, staring at Charlie's brewing breakfast as it bubbled and popped in the pot then Scout told Charlie her story about the kid before Jose arrived, leaving out the scene on the edge of the cliff. Jose took over where he rode up to Scout's abandoned car on his bicycle. He decided to wait for her return. After relieving himself out of view, he returned to encounter the kid with the Scout standing by her truck.

"I wondered what you were doing up there. I thought maybe the lake was up in that direction and you were coming back; I forgot to ask you," Scout interjected.

"You been to the lake, Scout?" Charlie asked between bites of steaming mush mix.

"No, never did find it. I had spent hours searching for that lake with Burt's map. I was heading back when my car started having problems."

"We're going to the lake." "We" meant Charlie and his family of mules.

Jose continued explaining the series of events that led to them sitting half naked around Charlie's camp. Charlie got a good laugh out of the mystery of the two gas tanks. He said he thought he had heard gunshots the day before, assumed it was a rancher shooting at a coyote or prairie dogs or "sumthin'."

Charlie's custom goo cooking in the dirty pot began to look more appetizing as their options looked more nonexistent.

"Charlie, if you have an extra bowl and spoon I'll nab some of your mush here, if you don't mind." Scout figured she could pick out the random items bubbling within the mush.

"Yeah, I'll join ya too." The blackened and soiled pot aside, Jose was hungry.

Charlie handed them old thick-plastic bowls and semi-clean spoons and offered them each a prepackaged sugar. When Charlie turned his back, Scout quickly wiped off the spoon and bowl with Jose's tee shirt then helped herself to the bubbling brew. The sugar helped make the mush tastier though Scout wished she had a lot more of the sugar.

Conversations stopped as the three partook in the steaming concoction. The mules meandered about and a slight breeze stirred the sweet scent of sage.

"Charlie, do you have any extra clothes I, we, could borrow?" Jose asked.

Scout wasn't uncomfortable in Jose's tee shirt, in fact, it was perfect for the weather but Jose wanted to shed the kid's coat.

Charlie looked at Scout instead of Jose and said, "Ya might find sumthin' in the wagon; go head, go look." He waved her on.

"Thanks, Charlie, appreciate it." She flashed a smile at Jose. "I'll see if I can find you something, Jose." Scout pulled the tee shirt down and maneuvered across the prickly ground then held the tee shirt between her legs as she climbed into Charlie's wooden shelter. She hadn't seen the inside of Charlie's wagon before. The inside of his gypsy-style home was so very personal, donned with affects like a museum of Charlie's life and she felt like an intruder. Respectfully, she began her search but felt too uncomfortable rummaging through his belongings. She stuck her head out the door and yelled out to Jose, "Jose, maybe you should come look with me."

"Yeah, you go get yourself sumthin' to wear, Jose, geezus, yer embarrassin' me," Charlie insisted and Jose got up to join her.

Jose had the same reaction once inside Charlie's wooden house on wheels. He looked around at the array of telltale personal effects hanging from the walls and he too felt like a trespasser in Charlie's private world.

"Pretty tight in here."

Scout sat down on a wood box and responded, "Where do you think he keeps his clothes?"

"You're probably sitting on it."

She got up and opened the box; Jose was right. She pulled out a yellowed pair of long johns and tucked them under her arm before continuing her search. She held tight to the long johns since they were looking like the best wearable prospect. She found a pair of socks. "Okay, I found my outfit. Good luck, sir." Scout backed away from the box while Jose began his search.

"Look." He pulled a clear plastic blanket bag from the box. Inside was Charlie's prized clown suit.

"This really feels like an invasion of his privacy, don't you think?" Scout commented as Jose pulled out the oversized clown shoes.

"This is it." Jose looked up at Scout. "You think he has clothes somewhere else in here?"

"You mean there's no other clothes but the clown suit? Nothing?" She bit down on her lip to stop herself; the thought of Jose relegated to wearing a clown suit with oversized shoes made it hard to keep a straight face.

"Nothing is right," Jose responded and knew Scout was enjoying the fact.

"Hmmm, sorry Jose, the Armani suit must be at the cleaners." She held even tighter to the long johns and socks. "Anyway, you can't wear his clown suit, though I would love to see it; they're his work clothes, special, like a business suit. I don't think you should wear it." She paused. "Do you?"

Jose eyed the long johns under Scout's arm and she quickly reacted, "Don't even think it!" She quickly exited the wagon heading for the trees to change. Scout got a closer look at the yellow-tan, once white, long johns; though various stains adorned the front and back, they were relatively clean. They were loose and comfortable. Scout was happy. She rolled a cuff at the bottom of each leg then tied the socks around her waist like a belt.

Jose yelled to Charlie from the wagon to ask if he had another pair of coveralls or long johns. Charlie told him he had a clean pair in the clothes box. Jose feared he was referring to the ones Scout had absconded with and emerged from the trees proudly wearing. She stood by Charlie with a face-stretching grin as Jose asked if Scout was wearing "the clean pair." Charlie turned to look at her, and yelled back, "Yep!"

"You want me to surrender my skivvies to ya, Jose?" Charlie kidded.

"Charlie, all I see here to wear is the clown outfit, your work clothes," Jose hollered and stuck the pair of oversized clown shoes out the door of the wagon.

Charlie gazed at them for several seconds before answering, "Go ahead, if it's all I got, wear em." The suit was his professional identity--the attire that got him positive attention, laughs, acceptance and a unique style of respect. Letting another don his clown suit was like sharing a tattoo. It was a dubious honor for Jose.

Charlie put the remaining mush into a plastic container then instructed Scout to soothe her feet in the same pot, which he had filled with warm water and a few leafy additives. She lay back atop one of the mule's blankets and soaked her feet in the pot as Charlie had instructed and in doing so missed Jose's awkward exit from the wagon. He high-stepped to her side and sat down, stretched out his legs and crossed the big bulbous toes of Charlie's clown shoes. He tapped them like Dorothy repeating "take me home, take me home" for Scout's entertainment but she got comfortable and was already fast asleep.

Jose groaned his disappointment then leaned back to relax himself. He watched Charlie as he tended to his routine of whistling and moving about at an untroubled pace. Charlie petted and praised his mules at every passing, moving about as if Scout and Jose were not there. He conversed with his mules and made plans aloud. He was as appropriate as one must be in public but Charlie was in his own world now. He was free to talk and laugh with his memories and unseen friends. He threw his head back at one point, laughing as though he had just heard something hilarious then waved his hand at the air as if to say "enough, enough" as his laughter wound down. Charlie checked the wheels on his wagon then disappeared inside it.

Jose felt unusually calm and at peace. Though uncertain, he attributed it to his relief at finding Charlie. He wanted to bask in this unfamiliar feeling while it lasted.

All was quiet.

After a short time passed, Charlie exited his wooden home and announced, "I'm still headin' for the lake." He stood like a king by his wagon, proud and in control of his destiny.

"You're what, Charlie?" Jose reached his big shoe over to jostle Scout.

"The lake, I'm going to the lake. You are welcome to join me." Charlie walked off towards Dolly.

"Hey, we're going to the lake." Jose kidded with Scout as she pulled her feet from the pot and sat up.

He clicked the big red shoes together and whispered, "Take me home, take me home!" and got the laugh he originally was going for.

Scout got her first look at Jose in the clown suit and fell back in laughter. "This was worth it all. If I only had a camera!"

Jose stood up and danced like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.

"If I only had a camera." Scout wiped the tears from laughter from her cheeks.

"You two goin' with me?" Charlie yelled with Dolly by his side.

"Going where?" Scout queried Jose.

"Da lake, da infamous lake," he responded with lifted eyebrows and a silly grin.

"Do we have much choice?" She wondered what their options were.

"You want to hitch home in these outfits, that's if Charlie will loan me his clown suit."

"But we have to get back. How long do you think he is going to stay there? Is he going back to Pista?"

"That's where they'll look for us, Scout, at the lake. What else are we going to do at this point?"

"I can see us making good time with you wearing those shoes."

Again Charlie shouted, "You goin' with me?"

"The lake, I'll finally get to see it." She stood up and yelled back, "Yes, we'll join you and thanks Charlie."

"You need some help getting the mules ready?" Jose headed for the wagon taking extraordinarily high steps so the big shoes wouldn't scrape the ground.

The sight was a prize and Scout yelled, "Charlie."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Do you have a camera, with film?"

"I do, somewhere in my wagon."

"Great! Can I use it? Just one picture will do?"

"You find it, you go ahead an' use it."

"I can find it." Determined, she rooted through the wagon and came out with the camera to record this moment in time.

Charlie stood with his arm around Dolly's neck and Jose leaned against Dolly from the other side, one shoe up and an open mouth smile from ear to ear. Scout snapped the picture.

When Charlie is ready to go, he is ready to go and without verbal warning. Jose and Scout scurried to hop onto his wooden RV. Off they went, rocking and bumping down the aged dirt road that once carried similar wagons, maybe also on their way to the lake. All three sat in front on the unpadded wooden bench style seat.

About a half an hour into the ride, mostly to break the silence, Scout asked, "How far to the lake?"

"Not far" was as exact as Charlie was going to get. He wasn't in one of his talking or story-telling moods.

Charlie was an old hand at this, he sat rather stationary as Jose and Scout bounced, rocked, swayed and tilted. They were two buoys on rough seas. The mules stopped periodically for no reason that Scout could determine except maybe to rest. At one of those stops, Charlie got off the wagon to relieve himself, which gave Scout and Jose a chance to whine out of earshot.

"My butt is killing me! My God, how does Charlie do it?" Scout complained and sat on her hands for cushioning.

"My back." Jose commiserated.

She looked down at Jose's shoes and her whining turned to laughter. She joked as Jose clicked them in Dorothy fashion and smiled. Realizing he didn't need them while riding, he pulled them off and respectfully placed them on his lap.

"Give em to me." Charlie reached up for the shoes. He walked back and climbed into the wagon to put them away.

"You think he heard me laughing and I offended him?" Scout whispered to Jose, worried.

"They're clown shoes, you're supposed to laugh. You didn't offend him. He's just putting them away since I'm not wearing them. Don't worry." Jose patted her head as one would pat a puppy. Charlie climbed back onto the wagon seat and they continued on their way.

Charlie was silent as if he were riding alone, how he was used to riding. Scout attempted to make friendly conversation and Charlie gave minimal responses. Eventually, Charlie and Jose began talking about fishing. While they talked fish, Scout sat on her hands and absorbed herself in the scenery. She assumed Charlie was heading toward a main road regularly used by cars, a smooth road that would be rather level and infinitely more comfortable but after a few hours she gave up hope. He had been around the area for so long he knew every old rarely used road to get him where he needed to go.

The fishing stories were lively and both Charlie and Jose were enjoying themselves. The topic held little interest for Scout; she was aching and wanted to lie down cushioned by a blanket or two.

"Charlie," Scout interrupted.

"Yep, young lady."

"Would you mind if I climbed into the back, get in the wagon. I really would like to lie down if that's okay."

"You going back to sleep again?" Jose commented.

"Suuuuuure," Charlie said in a lighthearted manner and brought the snail-paced mules to a stop. Charlie continued with his fish story, paying little attention to Scout as she descended from the front seat and climbed into the wagon. Before she could gather up the blankets, the mules started on their way rocking the wagon and knocking her to the floor. She grabbed a blanket for a pillow and remained where she landed.

The rough ride kept Scout wide-awake. She thought about Pepper, feeling assured Bella or Penny was taking good care of him. She listened to bits and pieces of the conversations between Jose and Charlie, amused at times. It felt like hours though Scout was uncertain just how much time had passed but they were finally approaching the lake. Charlie stopped to give the mules an extended rest and Jose climbed into the back of the wagon to check on Scout.

"Ya hungry?" Jose asked.

"You have something? Like chocolate, maybe?" She smiled and wisecracked, "Or an eight-foot bass?"

"I don't know what Charlie has but he must have something in here." Jose surveyed the inside of the wagon. Scout also looked around at the cluttered interior with thoughts that nothing edible could possibly be fresh.

"We should be at the lake in a few---" before he could finish his comment Scout moaned and dropped her head back down on the blanket and asked what time it was.

"I don't know, before dark," Jose answered then continued his original comment. "We should be at the lake in about twenty minutes. I'm hoping we can catch some fish for dinner."

"What kind of fish are in that lake?"

"Why, are you going to be picky?" He shook his head, "Radio active mutant fish from the runoff at Los Alamos labs; how's that sound?"

"Oh yeah, add Charlie's mystery mush and we have a gourmet feast." With hope she added, "Maybe we'll run into some campers at the lake."

"Don't count on it; it's not a well-known place."

"The 'Mystery Lake'. With Burt handing out maps its location will certainly remain a mystery."

Without a word from Charlie, the wagon started up and Jose remained in the back with Scout. They fantasized a dinner, each adding their favorites. They discussed nineteenth century travel, which segued to the Donner Party. That led to amusing themselves with Donner Party dinner favorites, using individuals from the campground as the main dish such as "leg of Lester" and "Bobby tartar" and how they would taste. They made up bizarre desserts until Charlie interrupted to announce they were almost to the lake. "You can see it!" Charlie shouted back to them. They popped their heads out of the door, though they couldn't see the lake, they could smell it--that scent of a body of water that's discernible but near impossible to describe. The rocking had both bashing into each other and the doorframe so they retreated into the wagon until Charlie came to a full stop.

Various pine and cedar trees encircled the small lake with a road leading to its edge just wide enough to welcome Charlie's home on wheels. The mules began calling out for Charlie to release them; they were eager to roam and graze. He stretched, took in an enormous breath of air and hopped down to tend to his mules.

Scout and Jose wasted no time getting to the lake and soon Charlie joined them as they sat on a rock that was about as comfortable as Charlie's wagon-seat and dangled their sore feet in the cold water. They were the only people at the lake, which squashed Scout's prayers for a possible normal meal.

"Well, we fishin' Jose?"

"You have poles?" Jose asked; he hadn't seen any in the wagon.

"Have poles?" Charlie was indignant. Charlie was prepared to fish at any given moment.

"You're going to fish with us, right?" Jose asked Scout; he didn't want to leave her alone though he suspected she had no desire to fish.

"No, you guys go ahead."

"I don't want to leave you here alone, come with us," Jose said with uncharacteristic sincerity.

Charlie had no comment; he just wanted to get fishing.

"I'm fine. You guys go."

"You're sure you're okay alone here?" Jose asked.

"I'm fine here. The kid's probably in Ontario, Mexico by now so I'm safe."

"You sure?" Jose asked again while Charlie, eager to fish, started for the wagon to retrieve the fishing gear.

"Yeah, go ahead. If I get uncomfortable I'll come find you guys or yell, you'll hear me."

"You're sure?" He asked one more time.

"Yes, I'm fine. Aren't you afraid of getting the clown suit dirty?"

"Did you want to donate your long johns?" Jose reached over and tugged at them. "Come on."

"You won't give them back; I know that. Wear the kids coat and stink it up with fish guts, maybe they'll catch him and I can return it smelling like dead fish. That would be my pleasure."

"I will, if Charlie doesn't object to fishing with a half-naked man." Again, he asked, "You sure you don't want to come?"

"Yes, more than sure. Now go. Catch lots of mutants. I really want to swim, i.e." she lowered her voice, "take a bath, alone."

"Let's fish," shouted Charlie. He was standing by the wagon with two poles and a tackle box in hand, waiting.

"Go, go. Charlie is waiting." She gave him a gentle shove.

Halfway to the wagon she yelled out, "Jose." He turned. "Try to catch trout if you can, I've had that and liked it." He saluted and went on his way. He changed into the kid's coat and Scout watched the talkative two walk along the edge of the lake until they disappeared out of view.

Scout sat alone on the huge rock wishing Pepper was there with her. This would be a bit like the ocean for him. She hugged her knees to her chest and the musty scent of Charlie's long johns seemed stronger than before. She considered jumping into the water with the long johns on and creating her own gentle cycle but she feared they would take forever to dry, and she might lose them to Jose during the drying process.

Such an environment naturally brought Lauren to mind. If she had been with Lauren they would have disrobed and jumped in the lake without hesitation. Those were different times but in honor of those times, Scout unbuttoned the top buttons and the long johns slid off. She jumped. It had been such a long time since jumping into an ice-cold lake that her body and psyche were definitely not used to or prepared for it. The cold water was a shock, one she was determined to get over quickly. She dove under water, soon distracted from the cold and captivated by the sensations. Scout floated on her back facing the sun filtering through the treetops and the cold turned to cool and enjoyable. She and Lauren had enjoyed this same feeling together so many times in their youthful past.

They hiked their way to the large pool of water fed by the runoff of a small waterfall. Lauren immediately pulled off her clothes and jumped in.

"Come on, Geezer, jump!" Lauren wasted no time.

Lena was hopping on one foot trying to get her other shoe off. She jumped in behind Lauren and touched bottom only to quickly surface, wide-eyed and yelling, "It's all slime!" They bobbed and floated in the water while discussing their plans for the weekend and the musical talents of their mutual friend, David. They didn't know that he played the piano much less had a great talent for it until his unexpected visit to Lauren's the weekend prior. Lauren wanted him to accompany her when she performed in Santa Barbara however she already had a piano player, but not one as creative as David. The resolve was to put together a whole new backup band in the future and invite David to be a part of the process. Lauren and Lena did a lot of their decision making under such outdoor conditions.

Lena swam to the side making sure her feet didn't touch bottom. Lauren followed. They grabbed their clothes, ran like two nymphs through the trees to an outcrop of rocks where they could lie in the warm sun to dry off. Once dry, warm and ready to go, they pulled on the clothing that had become their uniforms--jeans, denim shirts and hiking boots. The two hiked back to where they parked the Volkswagen, the little Beetle they drove like a 4 x 4. (Scout laughed aloud as she remembered the high security of that era: car keys were kept "hidden" under the front seat; everyone's house key was "hidden" under their front doormat. What were we thinking?)

The daylight was fading and their previous route through the woods was not so apparent, to either of them. The Beetle looked like a prehistoric critter wandering the woods with two lost souls within its belly as they forged ahead, making their way using the logic that if they could avoid hitting a tree and continue progressing upward that they would eventually find their way to a main road.

"Shit, we are lost and we're running out of light and probably gas too."

"You have headlights," Lauren reminded then asked with a laugh, "Don't you?"

"Have you seen these headlights?" Lena raised her eyebrows. "May as well tape two pen lights on the hood, you'd get more light."

Lauren rolled open the sunroof, stood on the seat and made like a sea captain--guiding and shouting directions while enduring an occasional swat from a branch. They drove, got stuck, got unstuck, drove over objects not previously thought possible and the two explorers made their way to a road, though an unfamiliar one, and all to the harmony of Lauren singing, " Take me home, country road...."

Dusk turned to dark, and the humor of the event turned to mild paranoia.

"Into the abyss," Lena remarked as she held onto the steering wheel and leaned up to the windshield to get the best view possible. This wasn't the vehicle to take out in unlighted areas.

Lauren pulled her guitar from the back seat and started strumming "Old Blue," a song that was special to Lena. They both sang out loudly to replace the scary silence of being lost in the dark back roads--Lauren with a blessed voice, Lena with twisted tones.

"Look, a light." Lena pointed. There was a light on in a cabin at the end of a long very steep driveway. She drove the Beetle to the edge of the driveway.

"Oh no, this driveway looks like a ski slope, Geezer."

"I think I can get down but can I get back up?" Lena craned to see the driveway as best she could. "Maybe we should walk down there."

"Go for it. Drive down." Lauren encouraged Lena to take the dive and continued to play the guitar, humming a song she had been working on but playfully changing the words to "two women lost in the woods." Lena ignored her, concentrating on her driving as she inched her way down the steep dirt drive to the lighted cabin.

"Think she'll shoot us for trespassing," Lena said to draw Lauren's attention to the solemn looking old woman in the window. She was sitting in a high back chair and still as if sleeping though she was staring forward. She appeared oblivious to their arrival. Lauren looked over at Lena with the I-shouldn't-laugh expression, one Lena knew well.

"What?" Lena waited for her to comment while she came to a stop.

"Think she's dead? Maybe she's dead, Geezer. Go knock on the window."

"Oh of course, Lauren.'Excuse me, but are you dead? My friend wants to know'."

"Can I help you?" asked an unexpected voice, scaring the two out of their seats. They turned, in unison, to an extraordinarily handsome man leaning towards the driver's side window. Lauren nudged Lena with her guitar.

"I bet you're getting out now," she mumbled.

Lauren popped up through the sunroof and informed the handsome stranger, "We're lost."

He asked in a gentle, welcoming voice, "Do you need directions or would you like to use the phone?"

"We just need directions to a main road," Lena responded. She grabbed and tugged on Lauren's jeans; when she got her attention, she nodded towards the now darkened window where the old woman had been.

Lauren sat back onto the passenger seat. The man leaned closer to the open window. For a silent few seconds, the stranger's looks captivated both Lauren and Lena.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Crazy, and tired." Lauren smiled.

Lena rolled her eyes and apologized, "Her jokes get worse as the night goes on."

"You're welcome to come in for a cup of coffee and I can jot down directions for you," he offered and before Lena could respond with a polite no thank you, Lauren accepted.

He walked off towards the cabin and Lena quickly grabbed Lauren before she exited the car; she didn't think it was a good idea and emphasized the disappearing old woman.

"The light's off, Geezer. Did you expect her to glow in the dark?"

"No, she was gone before the light turned off, chair and all. I'm serious."

"I think you're tireder than I am, Geezer. Come on. I can use some coffee."

"Geez, Lauren, maybe we're at the fucking cabin version of the Bates Hotel here."

"Oh come on." Lauren laughed and got out of the car. The trusting hippy still lived in Lauren.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Lena raised her voice slightly as Lauren proceeded to the cabin.

The stranger's name was John. Besides being handsome, the dark-hair man had the unique feature of one blue eye and one green eye. That area of California was a sea of blondes. Lena had black hair and blue eyes; Lauren had black hair and green eyes and this stranger had the combination. No significance, Lena thought to herself, but different and interesting. He was extremely likable. Lauren had him brewing coffee and talking like an old friend from the get-go. They moved to his back deck and sat among the treetops, sipped their hot coffee and continuing their conversations.

John was a photographer and enthusiastically discussed his work. The conversations were inviting, interesting and comfortable. He offered to make them his special vegetarian omelet, which Lauren and Lena appreciatively accepted. They ate, talked and discovered that they frequented some of the same places and knew some of the same people. The time passed quickly without notice and the sun was rising as they were still talking on the deck. Lena and Lauren knew that the night would catch up to them soon so they needed to be on their way. Promising to keep in touch, the three stretched and left the deck for the kitchen where John drew a map to the main road. He offered to drive his truck to lead them but they felt his map would suffice.

"I hope we didn't keep your mother awake." Lena apologized to John if she and Lauren were a bit too loud with their laughter in the late night hours.

"My mother?" John questioned, perplexed by the statement.

"Your grandmother?" she responded but he still looked perplexed.

"Your girlfriend?" Lauren added.

"I live here alone."

"Bates," Lena whispered to the air.

"What?" asked John, confused by their comments.

"The woman in the window last night?" Lena shot a quick glance at Lauren.

"A woman in the window, here?" He seemed sincere which alarmed them both.

"When we drove up there was an o---," she started to say old but changed it to, "elderly woman sitting in a chair staring out the window, in that room." Lauren pointed to the door to the room.

John's bewilderment turned to coy recognition.

"You saw an old woman in that room last night, looking out the window?" he asked shifting his eyes from Lauren to Lena. They both nodded yes and Lena added that the light was on in the room, hadn't he noticed that? Lena waited for a response while Lauren was taking slow steps to the kitchen door. "We aren't making it up; we saw a woman sitting in a chair looking out the window when we drove up but she was gone by the time we started walking to your cabin."

"No, you're not making it up." He paused. "You saw a spirit, the ghost of the woman who once owned this cabin."

"I told you she was dead, Geezer."

"Geezer?" John looked at Lena.

"Dumb nickname." Lena brushed it off and focused back on the ghost. "Tell us about the ghost."

Lauren marched right over to the room where they saw the old lady. She opened the door without hesitation. The room was empty except for a few boxes. No high back chair. No old woman.

"Are you joking with us or are you serious?" Lauren asked adamantly.

"I'm serious. I don't use that room; it's hers."

Lauren promptly slammed the door shut, walked into the kitchen, grabbed the map and said she would meet Lena in the car.

Lauren's reaction was so terribly unexpected that Lena was pie-eyed and silent but then had to laugh aloud. Both John and Lena looked out the screen door to watch Lauren as she hurried to the Volkswagen.

"You really scared her, John." Lena looked up at him. "That's not typical of Lauren in the least, not at all."

"I'm sorry I frightened you but you saw her yourselves. What could I say?"

"You didn't frighten me, you frighten Lauren. I better go, though I am very curious." She thanked him for his hospitality, and thanked him on behalf of Lauren. He interrupted with the explanation of the old woman.

"The woman, who owned this cabin, was an elderly lady," he began.

Lena peeked out the kitchen window to see Lauren waving for her to hurry up but she decided to hear out the story.

"I was renting this cabin from her. She passed away and left me the cabin and the land, to the objection of her family; they weren't too happy about it to say the least. I've seen her spirit here. I've seen her looking out the front window just where you saw her. My brother has too but no one else that I know of, until you two showed up. That's why I wasn't sure what or who you were both talking about." He paused a second. "It freaked me out some at first. If you go in the room, the room has a cold feel to it."

"That's okay, but thanks for the offer." Lena smiled.

"I just use it for storage, good place to store my camera stuff."

"Keeps the film cool." Lena joked though believed the practicality.

"She lived here a long time until she got too old. I guess she's still attached to this place. I don't blame her; it's a great cabin but the view is better off the back deck than from that front room, not sure why she stares out that window."

"You think she is looking for someone or waiting for someone?"

John looked quizzically at her.

"It's the front of the cabin, the entrance, like she is waiting for someone to arrive," she explained.

"I hadn't thought of that. Could be, could very well be."

"She's your greeter," Lena said while heading to the door.

John laughed.

"I had better go. Thanks again." She turned to him and said with a smile, "It was nice meeting you and thank you for breakfast." Lena reached out to shake John's hand goodbye.

"Wait." John jotted down his first and last name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "You guys don't be strangers. You're welcome back anytime."

"I wouldn't mind picking your brain about photography some time, if you don't mind?"

"Anytime, just give me a call."

On their long winding ride home through the woods Lena discovered the reason behind Lauren's atypical exit. For Lauren, talking about spirits or ghosts was thrilling, always had been. Actually seeing one had an unforeseen effect: the real encounter, particularly after her joking about the woman in the window being dead, truly frightened Lauren. Her previous show of interest in the paranormal was merely academic. Lauren believed the longer she lingered at that cabin the more she increased her chances of encountering the old woman again, hence her desire for an immediate exit. Lena responded to her explanation by pretending, with horror, that she saw the old woman in the rearview mirror propped up in the backseat. To which Lauren near shot through the sunroof, then returned with a hard punch to Lena's arm.

Several weeks later Lena called John. (Lauren wanted nothing to do with that cabin and its resident elderly ghost.) Lena discovered the richness of the mountains from a photographer's perspective. They often sat in the front room and talked to the old woman with hope that she would appear; she never did though the room temperature significantly changed when doing so.

John had a way of explaining events in life that made the incomprehensible make a certain degree of sense. John, like Lauren, was gone.

The memory of both Lauren and John left Scout feeling empty. She decided to get out of the water that was feeling quite cold again. Scout slipped back into the stained long johns that were warm from hanging in the sun as if just pulled from a dryer, they even seemed to have a more pleasing scent. She lay back onto the platform rock and watched the clouds hurry across the light-blue sky. The faint voices of Charlie and Jose played in the background as they made their way back. They were truly enjoying each other's company. Scout sat up to watch them. Jose waved, lifting high his bounty. Charlie kept right on talking paying no attention to Scout's whereabouts. She grabbed the heavy socks, tied them back around her waist and on her sore bare feet made her way to meet them at the wagon.

"The great hunter caught four good ones, know how to clean em and cook em?" Jose asked Scout.

"I can try." Scout was willing to give it her best shot.

"I'll cook em," Charlie shouted to Jose from the wagon.

"Is the lake water safe to drink, do you think?"

"Charlie has water, do you want me to get you a cup?"

"I worry about the cup." She grimaced.

"We can wash it out."

Jose's abrupt, acerbic edge was retracting. He walked up to the wood box attached to the outside of the wagon and returned with a plastic gallon of water and a dirty cup. Scout took the cup to the lake to wash and Jose began cleaning the fish. She ended up hauling all of Charlie's cookware down to the lake and gave them a good cleaning.

The camp was set up to Charlie's standards. Scout made a fire with Jose's help. Charlie tended to his mules. Thoughts or desires about getting back to Broken Arrow were set aside for the evening. They boiled Charlie's petrified noodles to softness, fried Jose's catch and Charlie told them where he hid his "booty" of edibles, inviting them to go into the wagon to take out whatever they wanted to complete the meal. Buried behind built-in boxes was an array of canned fruits and vegetables in mason jars. The ingredients were readily recognizable on most.

"I could finish off a couple of these jars myself." Scout held back, aware Charlie's stock needed to last him through his next destination, wherever that may be--hopefully Pista. Charlie refused to hunt except for fish; he did not believe in "whacking" wildlife. These jars would need to sustain him. They found sauces in the unlabeled glass jars that appeared to be homemade. They could have been gifts from Charlie's friends and fans but Charlie made many of his own concoctions, and not in the most sanitary of conditions so they left those and grabbed a few mason jars with fruits or vegetables.

"Didn't ya find the sauces for the noodles?" Charlie asked after checking out the jars they retrieved from his hiding place.

"This should be plenty." Jose then looked at Scout. "Unless, you want sauce on your noodles, Scout?" Jose asked with excessive politeness and a glint in his eyes.

"No, no, this is fine. Unless you wanted sauce on your noodles, Charlie?"

"Naaah." He looked as though he was thinking for a few seconds then continued, "Well, yeah, I think I do want sauce on my noodles..." and he left to pick a desired sauce.

"Don't you dare put any of that sauce on my food or I'll pay you back. You have to sleep sometime," she warned.

Jose smiled that devilish smile that indicated to Scout that he would certainly pour whatever concoction Charlie brought out onto her noodles.

Charlie returned with a jar of liquid green and handed it to Jose. Lena doused her noodles with salt. Jose pretended to pour the substance onto her noodles but stopped just in time to bravely pour Charlie's chunky green sauce onto his own noodles. His bowl looked like a polluted ocean with albino seaweed. Scout pointed out what looked like cactus needles floating in his sea of noodles. Jose plucked them out, amused. Charlie poured the same green needle filled sauce over his noodles but leaving the needles.

Before they finished eating their main course, Charlie asked Scout to get a jar of apples from the wagon. She gladly took on the hunt. She found jars of peaches, cherries, green beans, yellow beans, peppers, and a few jars that she could make no reasonable guess. Finally, she found one that looked like regurgitated apples. She held the jar out the door for confirmation.

"Those are them, I think, hell, bring em on down here," Charlie shouted then made another request. "Get the jar of rye too." Again, she rummaged around to find his request.

"So rye is this kind of dark liquid in the jar, right Charlie?" she hollered. Charlie nodded without looking up. She walked delicately on her bare feet back to the campfire.

The air cooled as the evening progressed. Charlie and Jose were keeping warm with rye and animated conversation while Scout pulled the socks over her feet and grabbed a blanket to ward off the chill. Time passed in a mirthful way for Jose and Charlie, enhanced by Charlie's rye. Scout remained the silent third party. She was relaxing but not sleeping or even sleepy. Yet, Charlie and Jose assumed she was asleep, which seemed to free up the topics of their conversation. They shared personal stories that Scout doubted they would even broach in her conscious company. When Jose called her name to check if she was still asleep, Lena didn't answer; she believed she had already heard too much for their comfort. She felt it was best to pretend that she was still sleeping. Anyway, her interest was piqued and she was intrigued by the now animated, verbose Jose. The composed cynic from the campground had disappeared; he was alive with conversation and spoke without reserve. She also heard Jose stutter for the first time, but only when he spoke passionately about a subject. Jose hurried through the stutter and the conversation didn't skip a beat.

Charlie had one tour in Vietnam under his belt to Jose's two. Their Vietnam dialogue initially sounded like two men describing high school days, then more like a football game with strategies, wins and losses. The double trip down memory lane intensified into chronicles of torture and morbidly recognized triumphs. All that Burt tried to extract from Jose without success had been liberated in front of a campfire with Charlie. Scout felt as though she was violating the assumed confidentiality of the confessors; she was hearing the gut and soul of two relative strangers without their permission. She heard answers about the war to questions previously unimagined. Scout's toes curled when Charlie spoke of how his feet rotted and the skin peeled off his foot like layers on an onion, among other personal discomforts. Jose spoke openly of sufferings braved, the inconceivable surroundings and situations endured--all a somber surprise to Scout. There was no mention of the intention of the war beyond survival. Their conversation eventually turned to fishing stories. Scout pretended to awaken. She excused herself and moved to the wagon for the night where she could hear only spurts of recognizable words. Occasionally Jose would shout something and each time Charlie roared with laughter. She thought about Pepper and fell into a warm and cozy deep sleep.

Scout awoke quite early the next morning to stereophonic snoring--Jose was curled up above her and Charlie sprawled out below her. She quietly climbed out of the wagon and with her feet still sore, and now very cold, she walked down to the edge of the lake. The cool crisp air was fragrant with the smell of cedar. She wrapped the blanket around her and enjoyed the sanctity of the environment. Ravens clicked out calls across the treetops and blue jays squawked as they flew from branch to branch. Charlie's mules wandered about loose, nibbling at the ground. The "mystery" lake was a wonderful find.

Charlie emerged from the wagon first. He stretched, then disappeared into the trees. Soon Jose climbed down from the wagon in the clown suit. Scout couldn't hold back her ear-to-ear smile as she watched Jose take giant clown steps to join her. She splashed the cold water on her face and swished a mouthful to suffice for a morning brushing.

"Nice isn't it?" Jose said as he looked out over the lake.

"It's been a long time since I've done this, forgot how much I miss it," she responded in almost a whisper. She'd rather hear the sounds of nature than the sound of her own voice. "Where'd Charlie go?"

"To use the restroom."

"They have a restroom here?" Her volume increased with excitement.

"Natural restroom."

"With natural toilet paper?"

"I'll ask Charlie if he has anything in that category for you," Jose offered then pulled a portion of Scout's blanket over so he could sit and save the clown suit from the moist soil. "You should've had some of Charlie's rye with us."

"You guys had the advantage of that green stuff to coat your stomach."

"Green stuff?"

"Sauce, the mystery sauce with the needles in it?"

"You don't drink?"

"No, or rarely."

She changed the subject. "Pepper would love it here, wish he was with me."

"You should have had Pepper with you in the first place then you would have avoided the encounter with the kid."

"Maybe, maybe not—"

"Morning, morning!" It was a gleeful shout from Charlie. They hollered good morning back and Charlie was off to tend to the mules.

"It was too hot to bring him anyway," Scout continued. "The kid had a gun so I am glad Pepper wasn't with me. He could have shot him." She changed the subject again and with apology said, "I heard parts of your conversation with Charlie last night. I'm sorry I intruded on your private lives like that; I didn't know how to excuse myself once you guys got started."

Jose said nothing.

"It was hard hearing what you both went through; it really was."

"I volunteered to go back a second tour," Jose said without regret as he watched a bird swoop down and fly across the lake.

"They made you go back?" she asked, respectful but perplexed.

"I volunteered to go back." Jose's eyes followed the bird up to where it perched on a high branch.

"But why? Why volunteer to go back? Sense of duty? Revenge? Self-destructive death wish of some kind? What would make you want to go back to that if you didn't have to, at least after what I heard last night?"

Jose responded with half a laugh and nothing more.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business. Okay, change of subject. Is Charlie planning on heading back to Pista today?"

"I didn't ask him. We're his guests. He has his own ways, his own routines, his own plans. I don't want to push him." Jose was savoring the unfamiliar feeling of ease and contentment and was in no hurry to get back.

"They're going to worry about you at the campground, Mr. Jose." She imitated Marianne's voice when saying his name.

"A little."

"A lot!"

"I'm a big boy, Scout--"

"You're a big Boyscout."

Jose rolled his eyes. "They know I can take care of myself. They are going to be worried about you. They probably have the sheriff out looking for you as we speak."

"Wouldn't they look here first? You know, maybe I drowned or got injured here and couldn't leave." She added, "I hope someone remembered to feed Pepper this morning."

Jose reassured her. "With all those women, and Eric, he's getting spoiled."

"That's a pleasant thought." She added, "You know Jarred, he wants to get a dog same as Eric."

"He's a strange one."

"I don't think so; I think he's interesting. Do you know him very well?"

"Do you?" He asked with an obvious innuendo that Scout ignored.

"Well enough."

"What's so interesting about Mr. High-tech?" Jose shifted to get in a more comfortable position.

"It's interesting how he ended up at Broken Arrow." She saw Jose respond with a big grin. "Okay, most ending up at Broken Arrow have an interesting story but his really is quite different."

Jose lost interest in the Jarred topic quickly. He was basking in the serenity of his surroundings and campground residents were far from his state of mind.

"Shall we eat?" Charlie yelled down then began his whistling without waiting for an answer.

"I better get up there and wash the pots and stuff from last night before he starts cooking in them." Scout scurried to the campsite leaving her blanket for Jose.

The telephone rang. Lila was in the office and quick to answer.

"Hello Lila, we got a call."

It was the sheriff and with those few words, Lila's stepped back to sit down; she was sure that Woody was going to describe bad news.

"A blue International Scout was found abandoned on Nolan's ranch. We're pretty sure it's your renter's," Woody said in his usual impassive voice.

"You're scaring me, Woody."

With those words, the entire office went quiet.

Woody gave Lila all the details that he possessed then asked, "Do you want me to have it towed to your place?"

"Yes, please do."

Woody had little else to say. Lila said goodbye and immediately shared Woody's information with the group.

"What was in it?"

"He's towing it back. I didn't ask. We'll see then." Lila left the office.

"What do you think? What do you think happened?" The conversation continued without Lila. They pondered possibilities and wondered about Jose. Was his bicycle nearby? Were they together? Was blood found?

"I bet she ran out of gas, left her vehicle to get help."

"Nolan's ranch is nowhere near the lake!"

Martha turned to Bella and asked, "Burt gave her directions right?"

"Humph, that answers that," George smirked.

"We have to get another search party together and go up there." Martha directed her comment to Manny; he agreed. Without wasting any time, both went about getting another group together for the search.

Late that afternoon Woody rode into the campground with a tow-truck hauling the International Scout following close behind. The group from the office watched as the three-car parade slowly passed. Penny was walking Pepper but stopped to watch Scout's vehicle being towed past her. The scene had the most noticeable effect on Lila; she withdrew to the sanctuary of her little garden. The invisible Do Not Disturb sign hung clearly on the garden gate as it did on the old Airstream; only Wiggie was exempt. The short and wide goat strained to push her head farther through the fence to reach both Lila and the fruits of Lila's labor--Lila's late husband built the sturdy fence for just that reason. It was a fence well chewed, rubbed and faded but still strong enough to take the butts from his beloved goat, Wiggie.

Burt stepped out of the office and the others followed. He wanted to investigate the empty Scout. Woody asked only that he be informed if they found anything they determined suspicious. This was small town police work in action--amusing to outsiders but normal to Pista for at least a century.

Scout returned to the lake and sat down beside Jose to scrub the dishes.

"Want to go swimming?" she asked.

"It's too cold," Jose said with the blanket pulled tightly around his body.

"It'll warm up in a bit; you can think of it as a bath."

"Is that a hint? Maybe you should ask Charlie." Jose referred to Charlie's rather ripe presence, which wasn't too noticeable until the three were in the close confines of the wagon.

"I had my soak yesterday. Your turn, and maybe Charlie's turn," she said while still scraping the pot with a rock as she tried to remove the cooked-on matter at the bottom.

"We'll put on a show for you."

"I've seen all you guys naked in the showers at the campground a hundred times." She wasn't sure why they kept involving themselves in such adolescent banter, but they did. It seemed to come naturally as if they hadn't gotten passed a grade school mentality on most subjects.

Jose's eyebrows lifted. "You have?"

"Why do you think the women sit on that bench under the shower window? You can stand up on the bench and look in at all of you guys."

Scout had never peeked into the men's room, nor did any other women as far as she knew but they could have, and Jose believed it.

"You stood on the bench and watched us take showers?" Jose asked, taken aback and amused at the news. "You and who else?"

"You have to get the confession from them, not me."

"So, like what you saw?" He laughed, enjoying the immature play.

"Well, let me say this," she glanced up at him. "A stroll in the woods after your swim may start a whole new flurry of Sasquatch sightings." She swished the dishes in the lake and held each one up to examine. "Clean as they're going to get." Before she went back to the camp, she reminded Jose to invite Charlie for a swim--meaning no offense, just aware that they would probably be sharing the small interior of the wagon again that night.

"Yeah, I'll give it my best. Come-on, did you really watch at the showers?"

"What else is there to do, you see one sunset, you've seen them all. But, it was a different show every night at the showers."

"I might tell Lila what you perverts are doing?" Jose warned in jest.

"Maybe Lila hops the bench too, ya know."

Scout walked with tender feet back to where Charlie was building a good cooking fire.

"I found Jose some coveralls." Charlie nodded towards the ground.

Scout looked down at the much worn, tattered coveralls crumpled on the ground by the campfire. It was hard for Charlie to see someone wear his professional suit, even if it was someone he was quite fond of. Charlie shined in that suit and he kept it unsullied and as pristine as Charlie could do pristine. He couldn't afford to replace it either so Charlie reached into the bowels of his laundry and found some other clothes for Jose.

"That was nice of you, Charlie. I know he would feel more comfortable in them. He is afraid of getting your suit dirty."

"Well tell em to put em on."

Scout yelled and waved the coveralls like a flag. It took Jose a few seconds to comprehend the content of her hand but once he did, Jose raced up in his bare feet as if he were trotting over hot coals to claim the coveralls. He grabbed them quickly. "Life is good." He smiled and held them up, surveyed the less than desirable condition but happy to get out of the clown suit all the same. Once in the wagon, he carefully removed the clown suit, folded it and respectfully placed it into the bag and back in the wood box along with the big red shoes. He checked the inside of the coveralls--not sure what he expected to find--before putting them on. They had a musty smell and dirt flaked off as he pulled them on; it looked like dried mud. He adjusted the straps of the oversized pair and made a jovial exit to breakfast. "Tada!" he clowned as he jumped from the wagon step.

Charlie cooked the morning's mush in a cleaned pot. At Scout's request, he added what was left from the apple concoction and breakfast was quite tasty and sociable.
Chapter Nine

Nolan's Ranch

"I'll go but I'm not taking my car and I'm not riding with Burt." Jarred needed a longer Burt-break than most.

"No problem." Manny reassured. "You can ride with Lester and George. Just Lester and George this time--no Eric or John or that Bobby."

Jarred asked straight out, "Is Bobby a man or a woman?"

Manny shrugged his shoulders and responded as best he could with, "One of Broken Arrow's mysteries I guess."

Since the trip was going to be a greater distance and they were possibly going to stay the night, the women decided to stay home. Lester drove with George past the office to Jarred's trailer with his windows up. That way if John saw them and called out, they could pretend they didn't hear him. Manny placed a small transistor radio in his jacket pocket and pushed the tiny earphone into his left ear before picking up Burt. The two trucks left out of Broken Arrow and headed north to Nolan's ranch.

Burt started right in and Manny discretely clicked on the radio in his pocket. Manny grinned from within. Manny had the Mexican music of home in one ear and the ramblings of Burt in the other. Burt talked and was pleased he had such a quiet and attentive audience. Both men were happy.

"We're taking a swim," Jose announced to Scout and discreetly winked out of Charlie's view. She gave him the thumbs up and was off to wash the dishes. "No peeking," he added as they headed down to the water. She noticed that Charlie was carrying at least one fishing pole.

"I'll try to resist the urge." Again, that mentality raised its pubescent head.

The sun began to melt the chill in the air and Scout decided to take advantage of the warmth along with her time alone. She retrieved Jose's tee shirt from the wagon, walked down to the cluster of boulders by the edge of the lake and gratefully pulled off the long johns. Over and over she dunked them in the cold lake water and squeezed until they were as clean as they were going to get without the benefit of soap. She hung them on the sunny side of the tree then sat back to soak up the sun herself. Scout was thoroughly enjoying the in-the-moment ambiance, the basking in the sun half-naked and the absence of worry. She found solace for both spirit and soul, something that she unconsciously needed for a very long time.

"I'm hungry, Manny. How much longer are we going to go till we stop for a bite to eat?" Burt was getting tired and a bit grumpy from the long ride.

Manny sped up to Lester's truck and honked for him to pull over.

"Goodness! Is George drinking beer in your truck?" Burt shouted over while staring at George through the windshield.

"It's soda."

"He's not driving, Burt, what do you care if he's having a beer!" Jarred's patience with Burt was still at a minimum.

"We can't have—" Burt stopped short. He saw the embers still burning in Jarred's eyes from their last outing.

They all agreed to wait the added hour until they got to Grada just outside and before Nolan's ranch. Grada was a tiny and old town at the foot of the mountains. Nothing had changed much in the last century and the town's ambiance made for a much desired and often used movie set. The obscure town was off the beaten path, functioned at a slow pace, no crime to speak of and the townspeople liked and wanted it to stay that way. Any bid to widen or improve the road leading to Grada met heated opposition. Few in residence were familiar with the current celebrities gracing their little town and even less were impressed or concerned. Pedro, the saloon owner, was impressed--but not by the star-studded visitors, it was the increase in business that impressed Pedro. The film companies added to the town's coffers. Keeping things status quo worked well for all concerned.

The old saloon served food and Manny promised Burt that the food was good. Lester gave Burt some Lifesavers to hold him over until they reached Grada. With the earphone discretely pushed back into his left ear, Manny pulled out onto the road and continued on his way. George popped open another beer, Jarred complained about Burt and Lester turned on a country western station and attempted to keep up with Manny.

"Hey, I want my tee shirt back." Jose tapped Scout's foot.

She sat up pulling the tee shirt between her legs as she rose. "Is Charlie smelling sweet?"

"You asked for a dip in the lake not a miracle."

"That's mean, Jose."

"Charlie swam in the lake, not his clothes." Jose cocked his head and grinned.

"So those ripe items simmered in the sun."

"Yep."

"Can I offer to wash his clothes without offending him, you think? I just washed his long johns."

"So Charlie can sit at the campground in the buff while he waits for his clothes to dry?"

"I don't mind."

"I don't know, locals have been coming here forever and it's not a place Charlie's going to run around in his birthday suit."

She had to think about the clothing arrangement for a minute. "I think I can wash most of the clothes and still have everybody covered."

Jose left to convince Charlie that Scout was in a washing mood and he should take advantage of it then returned with Charlie's clothes dangling from his extended arm.

"Oh man!" One whiff was enough. Scout immediately dunked the whole bunch right into the water. "I should wash those coveralls Charlie gave you too, don't you think?"

"They're dusty dirty; they're not bad." Jose sat down on the boulder where Scout had been sunning.

"I'll rub some pine into the clothes while they dry--natural cologne."

"Do you remember Hai Karate?" Jose asked, not sure why that came to mind.

Scout thought for a second.

"The men's cologne, Hai Karate, remember?" Jose's eyebrows lifted as if he were about to laugh.

"Oh, like Jade East." The commercial came to mind immediately. "Yeah, now I remember. Some guy fighting off women, karate chopping women who couldn't resist him cuz he was wearin' Hai Karate!" She shook her head. "What made you think of that?"

"I don't know," Jose said with a smile then added, "Lamb chop sideburns?"

Scout started smiling too as she remembered that ever so popular facial hair from days gone by.

"White belt and matching shoes with a polyester suit?"

"Oh gawd, yes, I remember men wearing those," Scout laughed. "Polyester pant suits with those big zipper flaps and no belt loops."

"Zodiac pendant on a chain with an open shirt."

"And a hairy chest." Scout grimaced and asked, "Did you wear that?"

Jose smiled.

Then Scout added her own fashion recollection. "Leg warmers? Do you remember leg warmers?"

"What were leg warmers?" Jose paused on that one.

"A fashion statement, I guess."

"Saying what?"

"I don't know. I guess 'I'm a dancer,' you know, sort of like the running suits and sweat bands on people who never walked a block much less ran."

"Remember how the bars were filled with smoke, it lingered at waist level? Fern bars. Remember fern bars?"

"Yeah, I remember fern bars. I always wondered how those ferns lived in a constant cloud of cigarette smoke and no sunlight. I couldn't keep one alive at home yet those lung-choker bars had these beautiful full dark-green ferns." Then Scout asked, "What is making you think of this stuff? Are you pining for a better time?"

"I don't know." Jose laughed aloud and continued to bring up icons of the 70's.

Charlie kept busy with his mules, lifting their hooves, scraping and checking their condition. The day carried on at a leisurely pace with Charlie and Jose fishing for dinner in the late afternoon. Scout swam and lounged in the sun as she waited for the newly washed clothes to dry.

Manny pulled up to the front of the "Grada Saloo," the "n" dropped off years ago and was never replaced. The large heavy wood doors still had the old wavy glass and original metal doorplates and knobs. The lock was a slide lock; the main security was Pedro sleeping in the back with a shotgun at close range. Pedro stuck to serving the drinks since he had an adverse reaction to customers leaving food on their plate when he went to the trouble and effort to prepare it. His girlfriend, and/or whoever might be there to help out, cooked and served the food.

While the others took a seat and checked out the menu, Manny approached Pedro to say hello and explain their presence in Grada. Manny and Pedro didn't see each other very often but each considered the other a good friend. After describing both Jose and Scout, Pedro was certain neither had been in Grada. "Not too many come through here; I'd a remembered." So, they talked about general goings-on at Grada. Pedro happily informed Manny that some "star lady" bought the place outside of town. Manny figured that probably wasn't good news.

"What'd she buy?"

"Broken down place on forty acres." The corners of Pedro's mouth turned up suddenly.

"Town not happy about it?" Manny asked, knowing the town didn't like change yet perplexed by Pedro's smile.

"It was my broken down place on forty acres. She ain't bringin' in a bunch of Hollywood types or makin' a palace outta the place. Nobody minds too much, not if they know what's good for em; she's my retirement fund." Pedro and Manny grinned to a laugh.

Manny asked Pedro if he had seen or maybe even heard, describing the screeching sound of its engine, the blue and white International Scout in or near town.

"Damn loud whining piece a junk?"

"Yeah, that's it, if it was blue and white. That's her truck," Manny said excited. "Did you see it or who was in it?"

"Some smartass kid was in it. He came in, wanted a beer. He wasn't twenty-one. Bad attitude." Pedro looked past Manny. Burt and Jarred were listening to the conversation and were now on their way to join in.

"What did the kid look like?" asked Jarred before Burt had a chance to speak.

"A punk," Pedro answered with obvious disdain for the kid.

"What kind of punk? What did the punk look like?" Burt insisted.

"Dark hair, short. Short hair. I don't know. I told him to get out."

"How do you know he was driving the blue Scout?" pushed Jarred.

"I heard the piece of junk pull up and I took a look."

Manny started to explain their theories but was cut short by Jarred.

"Was anyone else in the Scout with him?"

"No, not that I saw, just the pissed-off punk."

Manny continued, "The two friends that are missing that I told you about, the blue and white International making all the noise belongs to one of them. It was found abandoned at Tom Nolan's ranch. Woody had it towed back to Broken Arrow. Like I said, that's why we're up here, to look around, ask around, see what we can find."

"We should call Woody." Burt scanned the saloon for a telephone.

"What is he going to do, Burt. Woody can't do anything from back in Pista," Jarred retorted.

"Maybe the punk stole the vehicle while Jose and Scout were hiking and maybe they are just lost. Woody could go look at the lake. We need to cover ground, that's all." It made sense but there wasn't much Burt could say, at this point, that would not irritate or annoy Jarred.

"What do you think, Manny?" Burt wanted Manny to agree with him.

"I think we should get a bite to eat and head up to Nolan's ranch and look around. I'll call Tom again." He turned to Pedro." Can I use your phone?"

"Be my guest." He reached for the phone and set it on the bar for Manny.

"I still want to grab a bite to eat." Jarred looked back at George sitting at the table with Lester and added, "And I know they do." He quickly walked back to the table with Burt annoyingly at his heels.

Tom Nolan was out but his wife, Sarah, welcomed Manny and the others to come out to the ranch to look around, and, to stay as long as they needed. Sarah wasn't a descendant of generations of ranchers like Tom. Life as a rancher's wife was lonely for Sarah, but she fell in love and it was now her life. Tom--always involved in one project or the other--didn't share Sarah's desire or need for company, didn't much understand it either.

Sarah had a way of keeping people on the phone longer than the conversation called for and Manny obliged, listening to her talk about her old dog with its inevitable and dooming aches and pains. While he compassionately listened to Sarah express her fear that Jake's time was winding down, into the saloon walked a striking blonde woman in the mid-time of life. She had Manny's attention then his head whipped around towards Pedro. Pedro confirmed with a nod that she was indeed the new resident, the Hollywood woman making a new life for herself in the obscure town of Grada, New Mexico. Half listening to Sarah, Manny mouthed, "What's her name?"

"Afternoon Kim, everything all right?" Pedro yelled across the bar, answering Manny's question and greeting his retirement fund at the same time.

She approached the bar, swished her hair to one side as she tilted towards Pedro and asked, "Pedro, do you think that old truck in the barn will run?"

Pedro was looking at Manny; she turned to look at Manny also, mostly to see what Pedro was looking at so intently. Pedro was amused by the spark in Manny's eyes.

"The Willys?" Pedro switched his focus back to Kim.

Manny could only politely feign interest in Sarah's chatter; he was mesmerized by the blonde standing before him.

"Oh Pedro, I don't know the brand. It's the gray old truck in the barn. Do you need to come out to see it?"

"That's the Willys," Pedro recalled.

"It did come with the house, property, right?" She straightened her head and looked him right in the eyes. She wanted the truck.

"It's yours and I think it runs. Maybe it needs some work, but not much."

"You eating, Manny?" Burt shouted from the table.

Manny shook his head yes and told Sarah he would see her shortly then set the receiver back in place. He slid the phone across the bar to Pedro while keeping his eyes glued on Kim. The others had already given their order to JoJo, the son of Joe and Pedro's right hand man for the moment. He was Joe's Joe and hence became known as JoJo, a name he wasn't fond of, particularly as a teenager but adjusted since no one was going to quit calling him JoJo anyway--why fight it; the town still called Gordo "Gimpy" from a leg injury that occurred and was cured almost fifteen years ago. Manny returned to the table and picked up a menu. He had an excuse to pass Kim for a closer look if he went to the kitchen to give JoJo his order himself, so that's what he did.

"Manny!" Pedro shouted towards the kitchen. Manny stepped out and Pedro continued, "You're good with trucks, you think you could go take a look at the old truck in my barn, I mean in her barn, Kim's barn?" He paused. "Kim's truck, it's a Willys."

Manny quickly blurted out his order and headed for the bar where Pedro formally introduced him to Kim. Manny gently accepted her extended hand. Her soft pale hand fit into his large dark rough hand like pocket change.

Kim described the truck while Pedro and Manny listened, amused. Manny would have been pleased to hear her describe the Willys a few more times just so he could watch her amber tinted lips delicately move as she spoke.

"I can look at it." Manny acted nonchalant but was more than delighted at the opportunity to spend time with the pretty woman.

"Yeah, he can fix whatever is wrong with it. Manny's good for something.'"

"I wouldn't be able to look at it this afternoon. I'm here with my friends; we have plans. But, I could probably take a look tomorrow if you're going to be around."

"Yes. Wonderful." She gave Manny her telephone number and then struggled with directions on how to get to her new home. Pedro told her not to worry about it; he would direct him.

"It was nice meeting you, Manny. Manny, right?" She reached her hand out again.

Manny nodded and accepted the opportunity to touch her hand once more. She smiled and glided through the bar to the front door like a vision, at least to Manny.

"You never got a woman's number that easy. You owe me one, you sonofabitch. And, don't scare her off. I need my retirement money." Pedro spoke in jest and got a good laugh from Manny's instant infatuation. He knew far more about the inner workings of the Willy's than Manny did, but he was a friend.

They finished lunch and headed off for Nolan's ranch, Manny knowing full well that he was taking advantage of Sarah's invitation to stay the night--whether the others were or not. Manny's mind was preoccupied with Kim; he even asked Burt what he knew about Willys trucks and left the earphone in his pocket. No matter what his companions chose to do, Manny was staying on in Grada on his own and he also knew that having Burt ride back in Lester's truck with Jarred was going to take a bit of convincing. He would make it his mission to keep Burt under verbal control for the remainder of the day.

Charlie took in the scent of his newly washed clothes. "These smell nice, Scout. What'd ya do?"

"It's cedar and pine. I rubbed cedar and pine into them." The clothes smelled nice but were quite stiff after drying. "Sorry, no fabric softener." She was happy the semi-clean, cedar and pine scented clothes pleased Charlie.

Jose fried the fish covered with cornmeal he found hidden in Charlie's stash, adding a touch of salt and pepper. He poured some of Charlie's mystery food into a pot to heat and the three sat around the fire. All three loved the quick cuisine and Jose patted himself with culinary pride. They shared dinner and conversation like longtime friends. The subjects were as hodgepodge as the eatables.

Come nightfall Charlie entertained with stories of his adventures as a clown. The stories were so "Charlie"--direct and to the point, including his short romance with a she-clown. They planned to make it an early night and rearranged the wagon so that all three could fit as comfortable as possible for a good night's rest. They arranged the blankets and makeshift pillows then curled up for the night. Charlie had no problem falling into a deep slumber shortly after his head hit what sufficed as a pillow but soon began mumbling in his sleep. He seemed to wrestle with himself, grunting indistinguishable words.

"Charlie. Charlie!" Jose reached over and gently shook Charlie's shoulder. "You okay?" Charlie was still for a moment then his eyes popped open as though they were spring loaded.

"You okay?" Jose asked again.

"Yeah, yeah. Let me sleep, Jose. Geezus." Charlie turned his back towards Jose and within seconds began a guttural resonating snore.

"Let you sleep?" Scout laughed. They both lie in place, listening to Charlie; sleep seemed out of the question. Charlie went back to mumbling with an audible full-fledged word shouted out here and there. Scout entertained herself trying to make out the content of his brief shouts.

"You think he's having nightmares?" Scout asked in a low voice.

"Maybe he's dreaming of his old flame, Giggles."

Though previously looking forward to an early night's sleep, they were both wide-awake, not tired enough for sleep to obliterate Charlie's tortured serenade. Scout initiated conversation with her concern that Pepper might think she abandoned him. Jose again reassured her that he was more than likely spoiled rotten by those at the campground and probably the office mascot by now. He started a new topic.

"So tell me about Jarred's "interesting" story," Jose asked, emphasizing his sarcasm.

"Do you think we'll wake Charlie talking in here?"

Jose shouted, "Hey Charlie! We keeping you awake with our talking?"

Charlie's disorderly grunts and groans didn't skip a beat.

"I'm waiting. Tell me about Jarred's story." Jose repositioned his pillow and listened while Scout talked about Jarred. She was careful not to disclose what he had shared in confidence. Charlie's mumbles increased to spurts of violent shouts.

"Charlie. Hey Charlie!" Jose yelled in effort to wake him. "He didn't have a nightcap, maybe that's the problem." He called out even louder, "Charlie!"

"You want to go out by the fire?" Scout asked. "I'm wide awake now." She wasn't convinced that waking Charlie again was such a good idea.

They exited the wagon as if it were the start of a new day. Jose was able to spark the tiny glowing embers back into a campfire. He added twigs and wood and with blankets wrapped around them, they were very comfortable.

"So you find Jarred fascinating?" Jose's tone made it clear that he didn't; he found Jarred a bit pompous for his taste.

"I find most of the people at Broken Arrow fascinating." She placed the blanket over her head and tucked it under her chin.

"Marianne?" He ribbed.

"Marianne? Yeah, even Marianne to a small degree. I find how she effects people interesting."

Jose started barking like an angry Chihuahua, an apt impersonation of Marianne.

"Have you seen her husband?"

Scout softly snickered, knowing from Jose's tone the type of description that was to follow.

"Remember the big dumb guy in Of Mice and Men?"

Scout held back a laugh through a huge smile.

"I'm not kidding but Orland doesn't have as much personality."

"Orland? His name is Orland?" She caught her breath, "Is he big, tall?"

"A big guy."

The visual of a large lumbering dim-witted man mated to the small neurotic Marianne fueled Scout's laughter.

"He drives her pink Rambler with the Mary Kay sticker on the back window," Jose said with disgust.

Scout began to rock back and forth in an effort to control a raucous outburst of laughter in the quiet of night.

"He drives it more than her. You haven't seen him drop her off? He looks like a zombie driving that pink thing." Jose enjoyed, more than he would have imagined previously, making Scout laugh. In fact, he loved it, so he kept on. "He hit Burt with the Rambler once."

"Oh no!" Scout kept on laughing.

"Orland just bumped him; Burt wasn't hurt but we had to hear about it for months. Orland has tunnel vision when he drives, really scary, shouldn't even be allowed on the road. Check out the dents on that pink hunk of metal when you see it." Jose paused to watch Scout. "Wait till you see their kid!"

She began snorting between laughs, holding her stomach and telling Jose to stop.

Jose loved it, loved how he could entertain Scout in a way that made her so giddy with her defenses down. He told her about the delinquent and reveled in her reaction. Jose was a one-man show. He continued with stories of Mr. Chitwell, Eric and of others in town that she hadn't met yet. Scout hardly got a break from laughing. He told stories about Lila's goat, how one time she jumped or fell into the empty pool, "...she butted everybody trying to get her out of the pool. It was like watching a pinball game..." and Scout laughed without restraint.

Jose excused himself. She thought nature called but he came back with Charlie's rye, held it up, "Want some hooch?"

"No thanks."

"It's not bad, taste." He held the bottle up to her lips so she could take a sip.

"Ehk!" Scout recoiled from the harsh taste.

"It's not bad; a few swallows and you get used to it. You might even like it." Jose took another drink. "So how about some Arkansas wedding cake mix?"

"Of course, I could eat cake mix right out of the box. Did you really find cake mix in there?"

"He's got some stewed chaparral cock in one of his jars." Jose rattled off titles and phrases knowing full well she had no idea what he was actually talking about. Scout remained focused on the supposed cake mix. He told more stories while Scout lie on her back listening and laughing, enjoying the jovial and animated Jose.

"I have a sensual Burt and Bella story for you."

"Oh no! Absolutely not!"

Scout took reluctant bitter tastes of the fermented liquid and they talked, they joked and Scout laughed harder than she had in years. They were not only happy and playful, but they were grateful for each other's companionship. Each had spent the past years struggling with issues that tormented and which had no satisfactory resolve. Happy or joyous moments had been short lived and that, unfortunately, became the norm. This time, a life-threatening incident brought about unforeseen friendship and a cherished time-out in their lives. This was a respite they both could appreciate. A playful kiss by Jose's imitation of Burt to the stand-in Bella caused them both to pause, but only for a second. It was as natural and as easy as reaching for a blanket in the cold; Scout closed her eyes and pulled Jose's mouth to hers, suckling his tongue until lightheaded and open. They touched and pulled. Clenched and drew their bodies as close as form allowed. Tasting and savoring while absorbed in passion, Jose and Scout were intoxicated by the escape. Ultimately consumed, they lie beneath the star-filled sky surrounded by a different kind of quiet.

Charlie shouted obscenities in his sleep from the wagon and once again Scout and Jose were animated and laughing.

Sarah greeted Manny like a beloved relative. She had already made sandwiches for the visitors and had the coffee maker ready to go. She happily led them into the kitchen.

"We already ate, Sarah," Manny informed after introductions.

"Please sit down and have a cup of coffee with me." Sarah wanted company.

Jarred politely interrupted with their need to search the area while they still had light.

"Oh yes, yes. I'm sorry. You must be terribly worried about your friends. What do you think happened to them? Why were they up here?"

"We don't know," George spoke up. "They may not been anywhere near here. We think the International was stolen and then dumped here. We want to see if we can find any clues in the area where Tom found the vehicle." He sounded very official, very sheriff-like and not going for the laugh which was so typical of George. Burt was uncharacteristically quiet. Where he would normally barge right in and take over most conversations, Burt sat quiet.

"Scout drove her truck to the lake, or to find the lake---" Manny started but was interrupted by Sarah.

"What lake? Where is there a lake?"

"Yeah, where is the lake?" Jarred contributed his sarcasm as he glanced at Burt who paid no attention.

"There's a lake outside of Pista. Not a well-known lake, and that's what makes it nice, pristine..."

George and Lester looked at each other; pristine was not a word they expected out of Manny's mouth and so articulated, with effort.

Manny continued to tell Sarah of how Scout never came back and how Jose went for a bike ride and never returned either. Sarah responded with the same look of suspicion Marianne so aptly displayed upon news of the missing duo.

"Yep, a few people think that, same thing you're thinking Sarah, but if you knew them, well, it's not that, not in the cards; they don't like each other much. Jose wouldn't take off for days without letting Lila know anyway. He wouldn't worry Lila like that; he's like a son to her. Something's wrong, we just ain't sure what." Lester looked over at Burt when he finished, anticipating Burt would speak up but he neither interrupted nor contributed to Lester's explanation. Sarah also looked at Burt. He smiled back at Sarah, still not responding to Lester, shuffled his feet and looked away. Ever-observant Jarred rolled his eyes and shook his head. He recognized that old Burt was smitten with their host.

"Well, men, Tom found the car at the north part of the property. There is that little road by the old windmill, if you follow that and just past the windmill, that's where Tom and Rick found it."

"I know where that is." Manny had helped Tom with the fences and he was familiar with the layout of the ranch.

"You know, those old windmills are worth something now." Sarah seemed to be delaying their search; she just wanted company for a while longer. "Are you men going to stay for dinner? You are welcome to stay over, you know that."

In a very calm voice Burt responded, "Yes, I've heard that the old windmills are a collector's item now, quite valuable," then said no more.

"Sarah, we will probably take you up on your offer if it's not too much trouble for you," Manny said as he headed for the door to get the search started.

Sarah couldn't have been given better news--company for hours and maybe another day!

"Any word on Jose or Scout?" Mr. Chitwell asked from his vinyl chair as Lila entered the office.

"No word yet but I'm sure we will hear something soon. We have a Broken Arrow posse up there now, Mr. Chitwell," Lila responded adding a sympathetic smile. She was aware of his fondness for Jose. Mr. Chitwell wasn't big on toothy grins but Jose had a way of getting them out of him. "Manny and a few others drove up to Tom Nolan's ranch to see what they can find. I'm on my way to give Tom a call and see how things are going up there." She hurried past Mr. Chitwell--who was stationed as usual by the public telephone--to use the private office phone.

"Lila!" Sarah was elated, two phone calls in one day; this was a good day. She responded to Lila's inquiries then asked question after question about Lila's life, the campground and anything else she could think of to keep Lila on the telephone. Lila understood Sarah's situation and conversed longer than she initially intended or wanted.

When the men came back, they were none the wiser on the mystery of Jose and Scout. Sarah was just relieved that they came back. She went about fixing the men dinner and talking... and talking, some listening and more talking--just enjoying the company. Manny's silent objective was to get back to Grada first thing in the morning, without Burt. After dinner, Jarred went for a walk by himself. Lester and George plucked a movie from the voluminous selection stacked next to a big-screen TV. They settled into the overstuffed chairs with popcorn and beer. Manny and Sarah talked at the kitchen table with their audience of one. Soon Jarred passed through the kitchen. The distinctive scent indicated his smoking pleasure. "Goodnight everyone," he said without stopping as he headed to bed.

The house was full with company, Sarah could only have been happier if they had decided to stay a few more days or promised to come back and do it again in the near future.

They agreed come morning, while enjoying Sarah's hearty home cooked breakfast, that there was no need to go back up to the windmill or any other place on the ranch to look for clues. Manny's agreement was blonde inspired. He anxiously informed the men that he was off to Grada for a day or two and that Burt would need to ride back to Pista with them, all the while displaying an attitude of obligation to a friend in need and avoiding eye contact with Jarred.

"Four can't fit in the front of that truck, Manny," Jarred proclaimed with clenched lips.

"One can ride in the back," suggested George with a mouth full of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast in hand. Silence temporarily engulfed the kitchen. Sarah felt the tension, naïve to its origin.

"I'll ride in the back." Jarred preferred the windy, bumpy ride in the back to sitting for an extended amount of time in close quarters next to his former wayward guide. He blamed Burt for the damage to his Mercedes more than he blamed Manny.

"I have some blankets you can use to make yourself more comfortable and warm," Sarah offered.

She was sorry to see them leave and stood between the trucks chatting as long as they would allow. Jarred wrapped himself in the blanket and stretched his legs out for the long ride. Sarah handed him a magazine, a woman's magazine, "Here, since you don't have anyone to talk to on your ride home." "Sex with a Younger Man?" was one of the featured articles. Jarred smiled to himself and thanked Sarah then waved goodbye. They were off. A few miles down the road Manny turned away from the others, off to Pedro's old place and the mesmerizing woman with a truck he did not intend to fix in any hurry.

They heard the rustlings of Charlie.

"Quick, toss me the long johns."

Charlie saw the entwined bodies and intentionally exaggerated his exit from the wagon to alert them of his presence.

"Let's go fishin'," Charlie yelled after a long yawn.

Jose inched his way away from Scout and asked, "You'll come with us this time, right?"

"Wrong. I'm not good at fish killing. I see them flipping around for air and I am compelled to toss them back, can't help myself. Buuuut, if you tell me where that cake mix is I'll gladly pay you back on Tuesday."

"Arkansas wedding cake is cornmeal. Come-on, come with us. You can look the other way when we catch one." He succeeded.

On empty stomachs, the three were off on the fish hunt. Jose and Scout had a hard time keeping their minds off the night before but Charlie proved a good distraction. Jose asked Scout to hold his pole while he made a much-needed sprint into the woods. As she feared, as Murphy's Law will continue to rule, in that short time she got a bite. She eagerly handed the pole back to Jose as he reappeared. "Oh no, no, no. You do this," she said and turned away. The fish fought, bouncing and flipping at the end of the line. Jose reeled it in, unhooked the catch and handed it to Charlie for safe keeping in his old tattered creel.

"Aren't you going to knock it out or something?" Scout asked as Charlie's creel rumbled from the struggling fish.

"He'll be dead in a few. You should be so lucky to go so easy, Scout, or would you prefer being clocked on the head first." Charlie spoke his peace.

"Actually, I would." They were enjoying the sport but she wasn't and wouldn't. "Well, you guys and the lucky fish continue on. I'm going to go for a hike, look around." Scout stood up.

"Look around for what?" Charlie asked without taking his eyes off the line in the water.

"Nothing in particular. Maybe I'll find some campers and we can barter fish for chocolate or something." She walked off into the trees. Jose and Charlie barked junk food orders like two drunks at the drive-through as Scout disappeared into the woods.

A few hours passed and Jose and Charlie were back at the campsite. Jose had the fire ready and Charlie was fetching jars from the wagon. Playing host was depleting his stash but Charlie didn't mind; he was thoroughly enjoying the company, something he didn't expect since solitude had always been his preference. Jose called out for Scout several times but she didn't respond.

"Go find her," Charlie suggested, eager to eat.

Jose followed the path by the lake that led into the woods. The smells of the juniper and cedar were fragrant and calming. It felt as if his five senses had been fine tuned, acutely aware of the sounds, the smells and the feel of life around him. The sounds made by his body brushing against the foliage, the crack of the twigs beneath his feet, the sounds of the birds were all vibrant and distinct instead of background noise. He briefly thought about the night's encounter and, for a daring change, allowed feelings to govern instead of analyzing, critically picking apart the pros, but mostly the cons, of such an encounter. It felt good, a good he wanted to trust.

Soon Charlie was calling out Jose's name since he spotted Scout on her way back to the campsite. The three enjoyed another meal and lively conversations together, feeling unusually close in such a relatively short time. This was the intimacy of family, for all three. This was a feeling all three had lived many years without.

After the meal, Charlie tended to his four-legged family then returned only to bunch up his blanket to take a nap. Jose and Scout, still buzzing from the night before, took off for a swim. The yellowed long johns and tattered coveralls hung from an old gray, mostly dead, cedar tree that bent towards and over the water's edge. Scout's naked body slid over the rocks into the icy water without hesitation. Jose's was less willing.

"Oh man!" He pulled his foot out of the water as if it had bitten him.

"You'll get used to it. Quick, just jump in! You'll warm up, I promise." Scout waited, treading water just like she had done so many times with Lauren in the past. The icy water was welcoming, as were the memories. "Come on! You jumped in with Charlie; do I have to go get him?"

"I had a mission then."

Jose finally pushed off the rock, stiff with his arms tucked close to his sides, and sunk below the water like a corpse dropped from a ship.

"I'm not warm," Jose announced as his head rose out of the water.

"Keep moving," she coaxed.

They dog-paddled, dove, tried to touch bottom. They submerged then shot out of the water playful and full of energy. They moved together with the same vigor, facetiously attributing their high stamina to some secret ingredient in one of Charlie's sauces. They floated on their backs and talked, existing only in the moment. The fact that others were worrying about their whereabouts or that their time at the lake couldn't last much longer was forgotten for the time being. They slipped back into their clothes that were warm from the sun and soaked up the water from their bodies. The day was theirs to do as they pleased and they planned to take full advantage of the luxury.

Lila rushed to meet Lester when she saw him pulling into Broken Arrow. He indicated that they were not successful with a shake of his head. Burt was back in form; he exited the truck, rattling off details of their trip and search, minus the attractiveness of Sarah. They all headed back to the office together.

"Manny is doing what in Grada?" Penny asked as she stood at the office door with Pepper by her side.

"He thinks he's going to get lucky with a movie star," George was happy to answer.

"And, he probably will, George. He probably will." Lila took pleasure in Manny's romantic aspirations and enthusiasm. "I'll call Woody and let him know you're back and what you found."

"We didn't find anything." George emphasized his disappointment.

"We found out about the young man who had her truck," Burt announced feeling a degree of accomplishment with their mission.

"I think Pedro called him a young punk asshole, Burt." George corrected.

"That's significant, George," Lila interjected. "Tell me about the man who had her truck, for God sake."

"It was a punk kid, teenager. An asshole according to Pedro," George answered.

"He had dark hair and he was short, that's what Pedro said," Burt added.

"What else?"

"He wanted a beer and Pedro refused him and he was an asshole. He left in a screeching blue International Scout. That's it, Lila. That's all Pedro had to say."

"I'll let Woody know." Lila walked into her private office alone.

While back in the comfort of the campground office, Martha poured coffee for the men as if they were heroes home from battling a wildfire. Burt took full advantage of her sentiments requesting sugar for his coffee and a donut. It was Jarred that was a bit battle worn from the wind-whipped ride in the back of the truck, though enlightened by Sarah's reading material. He held onto his magazine and gulped down the coffee in silence. Burt rehashed the previous day's events to the office gathering, ignored by George and Lester and eventually annoying Jarred enough to cause his departure.

Days passed. Manny was still in Grada working on his charm and the Willys. Sarah called Lila several times to check on the status of the two missing friends and to chat. Pepper trained Penny well. She took him for walks through town and let Pepper decide how long and how far the outings would be. Pepper was a constant with Penny and his baggy face invited affectionate attention as it had with Helga. "Hi Penny, Pepper" went the greetings.

# Chapter Ten

# The "Rescue"

Jose and Scout enjoyed their paradise at the elusive lake, maybe a little too much. Charlie, who had previously disdained extended company while on the road--other than his family of mules, of course--was fully enjoying his guests, particularly fishing with Jose. Charlie even took a bath by his own choosing (disguised as a dip in the lake) due to his welcome guests. The topic of getting back to Broken Arrow had been avoided by all as the days passed. Each waited for the other one to bring it up, and no one did. All three found themselves in a situation desperately desired and needed for separate and personal reasons. They were verging on fantasy, living a daydream with only pangs of guilt here and there.

After lunch in the early afternoon, Jose and Scout decided to take off and go hiking while Charlie elected to stay at camp. They hiked to a large outcrop of boulders and rocks then climbed to a flat area, situating themselves to bask in the afternoon sun. They could hear Charlie playing his harmonica in the distance and the mules added their own sounds here and there. After a bit of prodding, Scout openly talked about her previous life in Monterey and everything about it appealed to Jose; this surprised Scout. She imagined that all the people, the tourists and the bustle would make Jose want to run the other way.

"Did you hear that ?" She quickly moved her head in the direction of the sound.

"Bear?" Jose whispered, half-joking but her serious demeanor held him silent. He listened along with her. She turned onto her stomach and slid down behind the rocks grabbing Jose as she descended. He crouched down beside her.

"What did you hear?"

In a whisper she answered, "I hear somebody, walking."

"Probably somebody just hiking around." Jose wasn't concerned.

"Maybe the kid." Scout was sincerely worried.

The kid never entered his thoughts. Jose now heard the same sounds. "You stay put, stay here, okay." Jose moved around the rocks to a higher spot for a better view. The sounds stopped. He waited a minute then stood up. Somebody was a short distance away and Jose recognized him. He squatted back out of view and back to Scout.

"Did you see somebody?" Scout's heart was beating faster in anticipation that it was the gun-wielding juvenile.

"Yeah, I saw somebody. Don't worry, it's not the kid; it's Bowzer."

"Bowzer?"

"He's from Pista, probably came to the lake to go fishing."

"Did he see you?"

Jose shook his head no.

She relaxed back into a sitting position. Jose joined her, pulling her closer, feeling her relief while his spirits began to dim.

"He'll see Charlie, hell, he'll hear Charlie," he said, "and the mules." It meant an end to the fantasy. Jose climbed back onto the rocks to see which direction Bowzer would head. He descended halfway down and waved Scout to hurry and join him atop of the rock. Bowzer had stopped to relieve himself. Instead of ending with a quick shake and putting it away, he shook it from side to side then up and down and back to side to side as if he were trying to get catsup out of a bottle.

"A little overkill, wouldn't you say," Scout whispered.

"Aaaah, it's the freedom of the woods, Scout. Shake it Bowzer," Jose exclaimed with a laugh.

"I guess it's safe to say our vacation is over." She squeezed his thigh. "Well, I'm sure Lila is incredibly worried about you anyway. Funny, no one ever came looking at lake."

"Maybe they did the first day."

"Or, maybe they relied on one of Burt's maps." This elicited a laugh from both of them. Burt's intentions were always honorable but the outcomes were often trying.

Jose covered her ears while he shouted, "I think it's empty!" down to Bowzer.

Startled, Bowzer quickly zipped his pants and turned to acknowledge his intruders. He recognized Jose and, taking long lumberjack steps, made a hasty path to the boulders.

"Well bingo!" Bowzer shouted like a 49er finding gold. "It's the missing persons! Damn, and there ain't no reward!"

Jose introduced Scout. It seemed appropriate to head back to the lake with Bowzer. Jose gave Bowzer a very brief explanation of how they came to be missing and ended up at the lake as they meandered their way to the campsite. Bowzer and Jose were exchanging digs in fun. Scout initially felt a deep disappointment and was quite sad but eventually thoughts of Pepper and regular food swung her in the other direction. When they approached the campsite, Charlie's usual halcyon demeanor was immediately gone at the sight of the third party. He stood rigid with a stare that wasn't saying "Welcome, friend." Bowzer seemed not to notice and hollered out a greeting that Charlie ignored. His life of solitude was by his choosing and liking until Jose and Scout came along. The three could be together and still enjoy their privacy. It was unorthodox for each, but it worked. Charlie had no desire for a fourth to be added to the mix or for the little family to be broken up so soon.

Bowzer spoke with enthusiasm as they sat by the dwindling fire. He was a gregarious guy whether warranted or not. Charlie remained standing and silent. Jose and Scout didn't say much.

"Damn, wish there was a reward or something for finding you guys; I could use the bucks," Bowzer joked. "I want to go to Vegas." He hadn't seemed to recognize that no one was too pleased about the rescue.

"Charlie, you have to come back to the campground with us." When he didn't respond Scout added, "We'll ride with you, and when we arrive we'll go eat at Elena's."

He pondered her request; dinner at Elena's was tempting. She added another perk, "Lila will have the goat's hay for the mules; they'll be happy. I'll be happy if you come back with us, just for a few days, Charlie, then you can be off to wherever." Charlie looked as though he was giving the offer serious thought. She continued in a lowered and more private voice, "I don't want to say goodbye like this. I'll be leaving for California soon myself. Come back and let me take you out to dinner, a minor thank you for all you have done for me. Please?"

"Lila feeds that damn goat too much," he said, his voice livened up a bit.

"Same goat that was in the swimming pool, remember that Charlie?" Jose asked trying to favor his humorous side.

"Lila's goat swims?" Bowzer asked with a laugh.

"Nah. No water in the pool. That gawddamn goat was ricocheting off the sides, buttin' people trying to get it out, shittin' pellets all over." Charlie laughed while remembering. "Damn goat. That thing must be as old as me by now. Lila loves that old goat."

"You gotta come back with us, Charlie." Scout prodded. "And, we about wiped you out of your food so you need to restock."

"Okay, okay... those mules could use some good hay," Charlie said still smiling about cantankerous Wiggie. "Well, I had better prepare the wagon if we're leaving." His mood lifted tremendously and with a bounce in his step, Charlie walked off to get ready.

"You want some help, Charlie?" Jose stood up ready to assist but Charlie waved him to stay put. Before sitting down he looked at Scout, grabbed his derriere and cringed as he anticipated the bumpy ride all the way back to Pista on the wood plank. Scout shot Jose a smile--if Jose was willing to ride with Charlie then she could ride back with Bowzer and bypass the abuse to her back and backside.

Charlie was moving at a Charlie pace and they knew they had a considerable wait. They made themselves comfortable.

"What's with the outfits, guys? Has Charlie converted you?" Bowzer poked fun, looking them both up and down with a furrowed brow.

With time on their hands, Scout gave Bowzer the abridged version of her encounter with the kid. Jose was quick to take over the synopsis from where he came onto the scene. This kept the story and conversation going so Scout and Jose didn't have room to feel the woe at the end of their journey. In exchange, Bowzer informed them of what he knew about the search for the missing pair. Pangs of guilt tweaked as they listened yet they had no regrets. The punk kid created a blessing, though obviously not his intent.

"Is my dog, Pepper, okay, do you know?"

"Yeah, if that's the dog that lady's been walking. Spoiled rotten if you ask me." Just like with Helga, Pepper was able to win her heart. Bowzer added that it might be hard for Penny to relinquish him since she had obviously become quite attached. Knowing Pepper's tendency to be temperamental and demanding, she was relieved that he got to Penny's heart and not her patience. Pepper established a routine quickly and had no hesitation to let one know when they were veering off the established path. Time for a walk meant time for a walk, not time to talk on the phone or time to chat in a stationary position with another human. His moans and his let's-go-now dance were near impossible to ignore. If you loved him, it was endearing, if you didn't, it was annoying.

Bowzer told Scout about her truck being found abandoned up north on Nolan's ranch. She grinned and turned to Jose, "I guess he didn't make it to Mexico, and he was so close to the border."

They made small talk. Jose and Scout twice removed from the heart of the trivial conversation. When Charlie and the mules were near ready, Jose grabbed his backside, moaned then headed for the wagon. Scout followed Bowzer to his truck. It was a distance and he was kind enough to give Scout a piggyback ride partway to save her feet. Bowzer talked and Scout listened, thankful for the ride while heartbroken for the sudden end to an idyllic escape with two remarkable people who captured her heart, she suspected forever.

A box of Cheez-Its was glowing on the front seat of his truck. Quickly, before the vision disappeared, "May I?" Scout asked already grabbing onto the box.

"Of course, it's all yours."

She climbed onto the truck, relaxing into the seat and began to devour the Cheez-Its. Bowzer hit rocks, ran over logs and other obstacles in his path—a bumpy ride but unlike Jose, she had cushioning below her derriere.

"Comfortable?" asked Bowzer.

"Very, thanks. Poor Jose," she couldn't help but comment. "Have you ever ridden on Charlie's wagon?"

"Nope, can't say I have ever had that experience. Why, not comfortable?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"Serves Jose right for scaring Lila like he did, the shit."

"You mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Course not." Bowzer reached over and turned the radio on for her. "Country western?" he asked doing a once-over at her long johns again.

"Anything you want is fine with me." Then she corrected herself. "On second thought, almost anything."

"This?" He pushed to the next station. "This?" Then the next, asking each time, "This?" until she responded with "That." Scout leaned her head back preparing to get lost in the music instead she listened to Bowzer drown out the tune with commentary on how the men at Caballeros suspected the two had run off together. "Not far from the truth, huh?" He turned to catch her response.

"Yes, very far from the truth," she corrected.

"Didn't look far from the truth to me."

"You heard the story. Don't think that would qualify as a planned vacation, do you?" Though, it was a vacation--a rustic romantic tale for Scout where Jose rescued her from more than the threat of the kid.

Jose bundled up a blanket for a pillow and lay looking up through the trees at a solid blue sky with only brush strokes of clouds, patiently waiting for Charlie to finish readying himself and the mules.

As Bowzer and Scout were pulling onto a paved road, Charlie was loosening on the reins to start the journey. Charlie remained relatively steady and began whistling as Jose sat on the bundled blanket, held on and rocked like a hard plastic toy in a child's wagon. He tried to lift his backside up from the seat as they meandered down the dirt road but grew tired from the effort and took the butt-al abuse without complaint.

Charlie started conversation. "Lots of ravens," he commented looking up at the trees.

"Pretty common around here, Charlie."

"Ever eat raven?" Charlie asked.

"No, but I bet you have."

"Yep, and it don't taste like chicken either." Then Charlie ran down the list of offbeat critters he had eaten in his life with a connoisseur-like critique of each.

"I ate dog once," Jose contributed.

"Never!" Charlie shook his head. "Never ate a dog, wouldn't eat a dog. Lord Jesus Jose, why would you eat man's best friend?"

"I didn't know it was a dog when I began eating it, damn..." and so their conversations went as they rocked and rolled their way down the road. The two engaged in long conversations between periods of comfortable silence. A subject came to Charlie's mind and he would delve into it. Jose would respond. There were long conversations ending with another extended bout of silence until something of interest came to Charlie's mind. So went the bumpy ride back to Pista.

Bowzer drove into Broken Arrow about the time Charlie finally hit a bona fide road. The ever-vigilant Burt was first to catch sight of them as they slowly entered the campground. He immediately hollered to the others and by the time Bowzer parked a small crowd had gathered around his truck. Hugs before questions. Everyone was taking turns, even Eric. The only regular not participating was Tom. He stood in the far background leaning his back against a tree with his hands resting on a rake, watching. Scout began to weep from the heartfelt reception. Her own family never displayed such concern for her well-being and she was overwhelmed. She had anticipated a flurry of questions. She thought that there would be an immediate need to explain the extended absence and lots of questions about Jose, but she need only respond to the love and concern of friends. The explanations and details could wait; they wanted to know that she was okay and how they could help. Scout felt what so many experienced once at Broken Arrow--that she mattered, truly mattered. No one needed to move mountains to be worthy of love and genuine concern at Broken Arrow.

A cold wet muzzle pushed up against her hand.

"Pepper!" and she smiled at Penny to say thank you, falling to her knees to hold a wiggling whining pooch.

"He's a good boy." Penny smiled back.

"He looks like a chimichunga." Scout laughed. Pepper had a way of getting others to feed him like a slot machine.

The group huddle around Scout as they all walked to the office. No one mentioned Scout's peculiar outfit though it didn't go unnoticed. Martha made a fresh pot of coffee and Scout grabbed the first donut she saw--dried out or not, it was delicious. She sat at the table and the others positioned themselves across from her. It reminded Scout of a book signing. She smiled, almost laughed. Now they wanted answers. They wanted the story.

"Would you like a robe, Scout?" Lila asked. Lila grabbed one of the guest robes hanging in the hall to the showers and handed it to Scout.

"I should shower and change, Lila."

"No, no. You look just fine," barked Burt; he was ready for the details.

She informed them that Jose was fine and on his way with Charlie but Burt was on the edge of his seat for more.

"Okay, in brief..." and Scout told of how her vehicle stopped, about the kid showing up then Jose showing up. She told of the kid holding a gun to her head as Jose drove and of their escape to Charlie and his mules. She apologetically added that they believed someone would come for them at the lake and they thought it best to stay there and wait. There was some truth to the statement, some.

With the exception of Burt who pushed in a rather tactless manner for more specific details, Scout's audience was quiet, no interruptions.

"You need to get out of those clothes, Scout; we can continue this later." A disgruntled Burt turned to Lila ready to contest her suggestion. She shot him a look and he knew better; he turned back around in frustration. He felt he deserved the details since he led the posse; didn't they remember?

"We are all happy you're home safe. I'll fix you something to eat. Go on, go get out of those clothes. Go give Pepper a good tummy rub." Lila prodded Scout to get up with several gentle pushes of her hand.

"I could go for all of those, Lila. I'd really like to take a shower and get into some of my own clothes. Get something to eat that's recognizable. Thank you." Scout pushed herself away from the table with all eyes upon her and the tattered long johns draped by the robe. Lila accompanied Scout out of the door and out of earshot of the office crowd to suggest Scout contact Woody. She offered to call him herself.

"Honestly, I don't want to file a report. I just am glad it's over with."

"Would you like me to call him for you?"

"I don't want to file a report. I just want to put this behind me."

"Woody has to close up this incident. He'll need to talk to you and you don't know that the boy who stole your International didn't do something else out there in your truck and you may be held accountable."

Scout hadn't thought of that aspect and agreed to speak with Woody after she showered and got a bite to eat. She looked Lila in the eyes and grinned, "I had to eat Charlie's packed-away food stuff."

"And you lived to tell about it. You're a lucky girl."

Woody was aware of Scout's arrival and was already headed for the campground. He arrived without fanfare and patiently waited for Scout in the office. Mary had over stuffed cheese sandwiches also waiting for Scout in the office. Woody insisted she eat when Scout arrived; he could wait. She sat down and did just that. Burt and a few others joined them. There were a few seconds of silence but only a few, Burt started right in telling Scout about their "posse" with exaggerated details. He told about Manny's truck running into Jarred's Mercedes. Jarred stood at the door, listening and not the least bit amused.

"I'm sorry, Jarred," Scout said after pulling the sandwich from her mouth and releasing the shock from her eyes.

"Not your fault," he responded, his eyes still fixed on Burt.

She could visualize every mishap, every detail of the scenario and the humor was hard to deny but she felt responsible for their trouble. When others started adding their versions and comments, the laughter crept out of all of them, even Jarred and Scout felt free to join in.

Burt began the story of Manny in Grada when George cut in.

"Wanna hear the really big news?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Lester got a date."

"But did he get a second date?" Scout asked since Lester didn't have a big problem getting the first date, it was getting the second that consequently frustrated Lester.

"Hasn't gone on the first one yet and I don't think she knows anything about him---"

"Then maybe if he keeps his preoccupation with dead bodies to himself he'll get a second," Jarred interjected.

The group reminisced about Lester's past dates, which always got heads shaking and people laughing. The mood was light. Woody tilted his head gesturing towards the door. He was officially at work. Much to Burt's dismay, Lila offered her home to insure privacy.

"Have a seat, if you would, Scout." Woody was very matter-of-fact, not part of the Broken Arrow family with whom she felt comfortable. "Scout, Lena, which do you prefer?"

"Either is fine. I guess Scout, that's what everyone here calls me." Then she added, "I prefer to stand unless it bothers you."

"No, go ahead and stand but I'll remain seated if you don't mind; it's been a long one." He leaned back. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. You were headed to the lake?"

She instantly thought of the kid's rage and bizarre behavior. She thought of what he might do to someone else. She felt a responsibility.

"Yes. I was trying to find the lake but never did. Burt's map, you know." She shrugged her shoulders. Woody gave a half smile. "On my way back to Pista my car began to miss...." Woody had the whole story up until they set up camp by the lake. His questions centered on the kid; he listened and took notes. He thanked Scout and said he would need to talk with Jose to wrap everything up. He was finished unless Scout had something else to tell him or if they found the kid. Scout said it all. She thanked him and watched from Lila's front door as he walked to his truck and he drove away under the front sign. Scout didn't return to the office though she knew the others were waiting for her there; she wanted to be alone for a while. Penny had Pepper so she went to her camper, made herself comfortable on the bed with her book of sketches.

Scout flipped through the pages remembering when, where and what inspired each one. She stared at the drawing of an overstuffed, oversized chair in an empty room and remembered its inspiration. Scout turned the pages and studied the drawings. It was settling, autobiographical in abstract and seemed appropriate at this time of transition. She examined a sketch she had done of an old graveyard in San Juan Bautista. The graveyard was over a century old and one of her favorite places to go and sit, and sometimes sketch. A pleasant old man on a bicycle passed by which inspired her to add the bicycle to the gravesite sketch, leaning it against a gigantic old willowy tree that shaded the headstone and coffee-colored dirt of a new grave. The drawings reminded her of home and of her intent to go back. Pepper and Penny approached the door and Scout put the sketches away.

"You up for company?" Penny asked.

"I'd love your company."

"I was teaching Pepper how to howl; it was driving Myra crazy." She looked over at Myra's and Sam's RV and leaned towards Scout, "Ya gotta let me borrow him, great fun." She imitated Myra in a screeching voice yelling at Sam, "Sam! Tell her to shut that dog up!"

"Did he?" Scout asked.

"Of course not." Penny loved it. "Myra nagged, Pepper and I howled and Sam played deaf, dumb and married to Myra."

Scout invited Penny to a dinner at Elena's and Penny gladly accepted; it was a date and a way for Scout to say thanks. Sitting down to eat with others was different at Broken Arrow. It meant more than a meal. It was casual and intimate, like a hug; you did it with those you cared about.

"Aunt Penny will bring a doggy bag for you, yes I will, oh yes I will...." Penny nuzzled her nose up to Pepper's face.

"You are going to come visit me in Monterey, Penny, right? In your travels? You'll love it, I promise you. You won't want to leave." As she was pressuring Penny with her invite the reality of her leaving Broken Arrow was sinking in. Going home meant leaving each wonderful person she had come to love.

"So, you're heading home soon?" Penny asked while still cuddling with Pepper.

"Yes, well, I'm not sure when, exactly. Eventually. I am enjoying myself so much here, Penny. This is like a whole new home for me. I love the people here. It's hard to think of leaving but Monterey is my home. It's calling."

"You have a lot of friends there?"

Scout thought for a moment. "Not like I have here actually. It's different."

"Well, you know best. I'll miss this little guy, you know."

"I know. Thank you again for being so kind to him. He obviously has grown quite fond of you Penny, which is another reason you must come visit and stay awhile. I promise, you'll love it there."

Pepper followed Penny halfway to her camper then returned to Scout. He took his sweet time as Scout waited for him to jump up the steps and hop into the camper. The little camper never felt so luxurious. Pepper jumped on the bed first to get good positioning. After he settled in, Scout squeezed in next to him--grateful to be in her comfortable bed and grateful Jose did the courtesy of riding back with Charlie. Scout easily drifted into a sound sleep.
Chapter Eleven

Tumbleweed Logic

Charlie and Jose shared a bit of rye but even the rye couldn't diminish the aching Jose was enduring from hours of rocking and bouncing on the hard wood seat. He felt like he was stuck on one of Charlie's old steel carnival rides, praying for it to be over. Charlie sought an adequate place to pull over to rest the mules for the night and set up camp. Though Jose thought his chosen spot was too close to the road, he had no desire to ride any longer in search a better location therefore kept his observations to himself.

"Charlie, you must have an ass of steal," Jose exclaimed as he descended from the wagon.

"You get used to it; you get used to most things in life, even grow to like it."

"Well, I'll miss ya when you ride off, Charlie, but my ass won't."

"Geezus Jose, don't be saying shit like that, somebody hears that, my lord...."

They settled in for a quick cold, straight-from-the-jars dinner.

Everyone was eager for Jose's return but fully aware of the speed of Charlie's travels. On Scout's advice, they refrained from driving out to pluck Jose from Charlie's wagon and get him home faster in a more comfortable vehicle. Scout told them not to waste their time since she knew that Jose wanted to ride all the way back with Charlie.

Scout spent the day enjoying Broken Arrow and thanking those who helped take care of Pepper and those who extended themselves to participate in the search party. She was surprised, in light of Jose's characterization of Tom, that he had joined the search. When she spotted Tom trying to knock something out of a tree with a rake handle, she made her way over to thank him.

"Tom," she said apprehensively. He turned to face her but said nothing. "I wanted to thank you for helping out with the search party; I really appreciate it."

He looked directly into her eyes, just for a second, nodded then turned away. Words came forth that she hadn't intended. "I'm sorry about your brother," she said in a near whisper. Tom continued as if he hadn't heard her, as if she were not there. "My best friend was murdered and her killer is free." Scout finished. A knot twisted in her stomach. She may have felt a certain bond with Tom due to their shared experience but it was doubtful he would feel the same. "Well, I just wanted to thank you. Jose told me a little about your brother and I wanted to say I was really sorry, that's all." She paused. "Okay, I'll leave you be."

"Why is he free?" His voice was gentle, at least compared to what she had expected. He stood erect with both hands wrapped around the rake handle looking at Scout. Then he looked past her, past Scout to the approaching Burt. Burt's chatter was often unwelcome and it was particularly unwelcome by Scout at that moment. Tom turned back around and continued to try to remove a stuck golf club out of the tree.

"Scout!" hollered Burt.

She took a deep breath with wide eyes and turned to respond.

"Scout, Lila would like to speak with you." It was apparent Burt had had his coffee. "Have you eaten yet? Where's Pepper? Ya got him tied up or does Penny have him. She'd keep that dog if you'd let her...." Scout walked alongside Burt back to the office, Burt chattering the entire way. Lila wanted to talk to Scout in private while the office crowd was buzzing over a planned welcome home party for Jose. Before Lila could say much, Martha, Bella and Mary burst into the office full of excitement, demanding that Lila and Scout come at once to see Jose's RV.

With their craft skills and a few donations, the three cleaned and redecorated Jose's metal home. They whisked Lila and Scout out of the office; they "just had to" see the finished product, the works of love for the campground hero. Jose was a hero, he saved Scout from the carjacker; he deserved a hero's welcome and due reward from those who loved and appreciated him. Scout had never been in Jose's RV but she had the accurate suspicion it did not look like this before the thoughtful women got to it--immaculate and with ruffles. The windows donned ruffled country curtains in a manly dark green. A crocheted version of an Indian dream catcher hung from the wall in powder blue. A large Aztec design wall piece hung on another wall. A bowl of hard candy and a bouquet of artificial flowers stuffed into a plastic vase sat on the little kitchen table. On Jose's bed lie a folded quilt of pastel colors and a thick cotton bathrobe just waiting for Jose to relax in. Scout smiled, partly from the heartwarming efforts of these women and partly from imagining Jose within the décor. She looked over at Lila, who had an appreciative smile that was successfully holding back a laugh.

"You guys did a lot of work in here; he's going to really appreciate this. It looks so, comfortable," Scout said to the proud women.

"Come see the bathroom, Scout." Mary waved her over.

The tiny bathroom was well groomed. There, on the back of the toilet, sat a hand crocheted toilet paper cozy in the shape of a teepee. Scout had heard of them but had never actually seen one, so she had to ask to be certain, "Is that to cover the toilet paper?"

"Yes, it's called a toilet paper cozy or cover for your spare toilet paper. Cute isn't it? Martha made it. Pretty blue."

Eric stuck his head inside the door to look around. "Nice," he commented and left.

The ladies were hungry for Jose's approval. They worked fast and hard at their labor of love to make sure it was ready when Jose arrived.

Scout and Lila walked back into the office leaving the three women to fuss over last minute details. Burt and George waited in the office to take everybody to Elena's. The talk with Lila would have to wait. They climbed into the cars and were off, passing Lester on the main street. They honked and waved.

"I bet he's buying new clothes for his date," said Martha as she stared at Lester heading to the western clothing store.

"Why waste the money; they never go out with him more than once. He could wear the same clothes every date," Mary added with a touch of annoyance.

Burt added his two cents, which turned into twenty dollars. "If Lester would just learn to stay off the goddamned dead bodies he could get a second date. He's damned morbid. Who wants to hear someone talk on and on...."

Eyes rolled and they listened to Burt without a break until they pulled in and parked at the front of Elena's.

That evening when the campground was quiet, the closed sign was hung on the office door and most were tucked away in their metal homes asleep, Scout saw a tiny light glowing through the window of the old Airstream. She doubted Lila would answer but she got up her nerve and knocked on the door anyway. Much to Scout's surprise, the door opened and Lila looked delighted to see her.

"Thank you for coming, Scout," Lila said and opened the door wider. The inside was untarnished, as if new, and had the feel of another era.

"I wanted to talk to you in private, I guess you know that. Thanks for stopping by. Please sit down." Lila offered her a seat.

"It can be a challenge for you to have your privacy it seems." Scout sat down at the table.

"Can be damn near impossible."

Lila made some small talk about the campground and its residents and reflected back to how it came into existence in the first place. Scout eagerly listened to the birth of Broken Arrow: Lila and her late husband purchased the land and decided to camp out on the property for a couple of weeks. During those two weeks, they had a steady flow of travelers asking to camp out for the night next to them. They saw the need and potential. One thing led to another and Broken Arrow was born, named after a broken arrow her husband dug up on the property and viewed as a good omen of peace and prosperity.

"Scout, are you going to stay with us?" Lila asked.

She felt a slight change in Lila's voice, more serious. "Do you mean will I be going back to California?"

"Yes. Do you plan on heading back to California soon?"

"Are you running out of spaces?"

Lila laughed lightly. "Of course not. Dear lady, you have a place here for as long as you want." She placed her hand on Scout's, gently patting it.

"Thank you but why do I get the feeling you are really asking me something else?"

"Oh, probably because I am. It's a delicate subject."

"You can come right out with me, whatever it is." She smiled hoping Lila would feel at ease getting straight to her point.

Lila returned the smile and asked, "I imagine you and Jose became friends, or at least friendly?"

"Yes. He saved me from the whacked kid. I'll always be grateful to Jose."

"Jose is a wonderful person if you have the pleasure of getting to know him."

"I agree. I did have the pleasure of getting to know him. The circumstances kind of required it. He is a wonderful person."

"Jose's wife, ex-wife, came to the office looking for him while he was gone," Lila informed, then paused.

Scout decided to refrain from commenting until she got an idea where Lila was going with the conversation.

"The people in the office just loved telling her they didn't know where he was. No one here thinks much of her, as I am sure you have gathered by now. She has no appreciation for Jose, his kind nature. All that man has endured in life." She paused again. Scout remained silent. "They have been divorced for many years and separated for many before that. She has a mean spirit; after all this time she finds reasons to show up and give Jose one kind of hell or the other. I would ban her from the campground if I thought it would help."

Scout sat steady and listened, watching Lila meander into the reason she wanted to speak with her in private.

"Jose is quiet, maybe defensive at times but he's not mean and he has a huge heart with a couple of holes shot through it. You may know that by now."

Scout had indeed experienced the quiet Jose, the quite rude Jose and the quite entertaining Jose. She wondered what Lila was working up to.

Lila folded her hands on the table. She continue to talk about the troubles Jose had with his wife, about him being an unappreciated veteran of an unpopular war and about his self-imposed seclusion--the reason he stayed at Broken Arrow.

"I know there is something you are getting at, Lila. I'm ready, just hit me with it." She hoped she hadn't offended Lila with her blunt interruption.

"Jose's heart is carefully guarded for a reason. Do you understand?"

"No, I really don't understand. If you are saying Jose's heart is fragile, I understand that, most hearts are pretty fragile but I can't say I understand what you're getting at. Is someone trying to hurt him? Can I help?"

"I saw that Jose was drawn to you. The silly banter, well, it is Jose's way. From Bowzer's comments, I believe Jose has opened his heart to you and I am concerned for Jose. I'm worried. He opens his heart and you leave."

"You're worried I'm going to hurt him by leaving to California?" Scout asked fully aware of Lila's maternal concern for Jose.

"Of course," Lila answered softly.

"Jose is so loved here. He is a lucky man."

Lila waited for Scout to say more.

"I care about Jose a great deal. I don't know what is going to happen but I can assure you, I have no intention of hurting him in any way. We talked about everything, about my journey from and back home." They had spoken about most everything except their relationship. "I had a crash course in the Jose everybody loves. I respect who he is, Lila. I think no matter what happens we will always remain friends. We can't be a date that's gone bad after all this." She lifted her eyebrows and smiled. "I appreciate your concern, your love for him. Don't worry, Lila; I think Jose understands me quite well, he's not going to be hurt by me." She got a bit tongue-tied. "Just know, the last thing I would want to do is hurt Jose in any way. I am very grateful to Jose for many reasons. You really don't need to worry."

"I do love him like a son."

"You know, you may not be too pleased but what if Jose wants to visit Monterey?"

"That would be very good for him, Scout, very good. You may want to pose that to him. We would miss him dearly but he may have more of a life out there than here."

"It really is a wonderful place. I told him about it."

"I've been there, dear. It might be the best thing for him. He deserves to be back in the world, a world other than here. He's young. Take him with you." She smiled. Lila was satisfied and cheerfully changed the subject. "So, Scout, how has Jose fared through the adventure?"

Scout relayed bits and pieces of the humorous side of their time away. Lila loved the clown suit story and Scout promised to share the photograph once developed. They easily spent another hour talking; Scout found Lila endlessly fascinating.

Word traveled quickly alerting Broken Arrow that Charlie's wagon was a few miles out of town. Mary and Martha made the decorative adjustments they deemed necessary to Jose's RV. George began washing out the coffeepot in the office to prepare for their arrival. Burt interrupted.

"George, my God, they're in Charlie's wagon with those mules as slow as slugs. That coffee will look like molasses by the time they get here...."

George was only prepping but he let Burt carry on until Bella quieted him by entering the office.

"Why don't you go out there and get Jose, Burt?" Bella was enthusiastic.

"No, Scout said he wanted to ride all the way in with Charlie so let him do what he wants," George firmly interjected.

"That's true, Bella. That's what Scout said Jose wanted to do." Martha agreed, always one to respect Jose's wishes.

John walked into the office, oxygen tank in tow. Bobby's watchful eyes followed his every move from their trailer window.

"Mail's not here yet, John." Marianne informed with a tone of satisfaction from the thought she might disappoint John.

John growled back, "I'm not here for the goddamned mail, Marianne. Go back to reading your magazine, that's what they pay you for isn't it?" annoyed by what he deemed a completely worthless employee.

"Did you need something, John?" Martha asked, friendly, concerned.

"I heard Jose was on his way. Where the hell is he now?"

Burt was quick to answer. "Well, he's coming a long way and he's on Charlie's wagon so who knows how long it's going to take for Jose to get to the campground. You figure those mules must only go---"

"Oh shut up. I came in here to find out where he was, not to listen to you ramble." Everyone assumed John's lack of oxygen caused him to be short tempered and gave him a wide berth for his rudeness.

"If you didn't have those tubes up your nose, John, you'd have my fist there," Burt shot back after a few seconds of silence. The comment surprised everybody in the room including Bella. Burt had had enough.

"Would you now?" John replied and actually smiled. "Don't let these little tubes stop you, come on Burt, get your fists out of your pockets and give it a try."

"Oh boys, stop it!" Bella stomped her foot.

The two postured a bit. John got off the last shot. "Aaaah, go back to your tea time with the women." He exited the back door, his tank thumping over the ramp boards.

"Women?" Ralph laughed. "Look at that woman John goes home to."

"Is that a woman?" Penny asked Ralph and everyone quieted for his response.

"We think so, Penny," Martha answered.

"That ain't a woman?" Ralph was now asking the question.

"I thought he, or she I guess now, was John's brother. That's a woman? Could have fooled me." George shook his head.

"We really don't know." Bella added. "He could be a she, or she a he. We don't know and no one is going to ask John."

"And live to tell about it." George laughed.

"Maybe John's gay and Bobby's a man, his lover." Jarred had stepped into the office and joined in.

"No one knows for sure," George commented. "Wanna ask John, Penny? We'd all like to know but we have to live with him; you're taking off so you can ask." He looked around at everyone in the office. "The million-dollar question. Anyone wanna take bets?"

"Ten dollars it's a woman," Ralph was ready to take him up on it.

The betting idea caught on fast with the folks in the office, all expecting Penny to determine the winners. George took down the names, amounts and checked male or female.

"I think Bobby is a she. I think she just got too much sun. Sun will age your skin. You should always wear sunscreen and a hat," Martha chimed in then placed her bet. "Five dollars Bobby's a she."

"Sun? Too much John 'll do that to a person. He could put anyone in an early grave. Twenty bucks it's a woman." George was busy writing.

"Place your bets or not, I'm not asking," Penny proclaimed and put herself down for ten dollars on Bobby being a man.

The conversation slowly made its way back to Jose's arrival.

Like a one-float parade, Charlie's wagon rocked and creaked its way into the campground to the awaiting crowd. Jose and Charlie waved with flat palms like beauty queens. The beloved son of Broken Arrow was home safe.

The crowd arrived at Charlie's usual camping spot alongside him, eager and welcoming. Charlie only basked in the warm welcome a few minutes then went about releasing his mules. Jose found himself surrounded in hugs, handshakes and welcome-home kisses. He was beaming. Scout watched in the background, deeply touched by the scene. Between hugs, Jose made eye contact and there was no doubt in Scout's mind what had been awakened by the lake was still breathing.

Tom had stacked bales of hay for Charlie's mules as Lila instructed. When he approached the wagon with a bucket of molasses soaked grain with Wiggie trotting alongside him, the mules caught the scent and charged. Tom tossed the bucket and got out of their way as fast as he could. Wiggie was like metal to a high-powered magnet, reaching the spilled grain before the mules and letting them know that she was not fond of sharing.

Woody wasted no time getting to Broken Arrow. He needed to finish his report by interviewing Jose. Before Jose would speak with Woody, he wanted a word with Scout.

"Happy to be back?" Jose asked.

"Yes and no. How's your backside faring?"

Jose moaned.

"So, Woody wants to talk to me. Anything you don't want me to say?"

"I told him about everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"How are you?" Jose asked before leaving her side.

"Well, just look." She smiled. "A shower. No more spotted long johns. Shoes. And I have been eating identifiable food stuff."

"Good to see you." He leaned forward and kissed Scout on the cheek, with a flock of witnesses looking on.

"We have an audience," Scout whispered. Jose shot back the biggest smile she had seen on his face yet. He was both amused and overjoyed about life at that moment--how could one not be, he was surrounded by more love at that moment than some will experience in a lifetime.

Lila offered the showers and some of her late husband's clothing to Charlie. He surprisingly accepted, which eliciting muffled laughs from the others. Lila's late husband certainly donned a different style than Charlie.

"Let's barbecue!"

"Now that's a good idea, George."

All agreed and went about getting ready for the feast. By the time Jose returned, the coals were hot and ready to do their job. There before him, on Bella's denim tablecloth, was a feast for the starving guest of honor.

"I can stuff it into jars if it will make you more comfortable," Scout whispered from behind.

Jose hardly had time to finish a dish and Mary was signaling Scout to get him to his RV. The three lined up outside, eagerly waiting.

"Jose, now is that the proper attire for a feast in your honor? Wouldn't you like to go get out of those coveralls and put on some nice clean clothes? Take a shower maybe?" She lifted her eyebrows and grinned.

He sensed another agenda behind the request, took a second to think, his eyes locked on Scout's. "Will you accompany me?"

"Come on." Scout waved him on.

The men tossed the meat on the grill and made promises to each other that they would never let the "girls" get at their trailer while they were out of town.

"Well, what's this gathering?" Jose asked the women standing next to his RV. "What do you ladies have up your sleeves?"

"Go on, Jose, go in," Mary demanded, obviously excited.

Playfully, Jose turned the knob slowly and opened the door in slow motion. The smell of peaches from the potpourri hit like fumes as he stepped up and into his metal home. The ladies waited, Martha with her shoulders pushed up and her hands folded to her chest. Jose leaned out the door.

"You did this?" he asked, knowing from the décor that it had to be the three. "Well, it's never looked better, or cleaner. You did a lot of work in here; it looks great. Thank you!" Jose was beaming. "Come on in. All of you, come in."

They rushed to join him. Each enthusiastically pointed out a detail they didn't want him to miss. Scout nodded her head towards the little bathroom thinking he'd get a kick out of the crochet teepee.

"We have to let Jose get ready for the barbecue." Mary began hurrying everyone out the door.

"Did you see your bathrobe, Jose?" Martha asked before exiting.

Jose was standing by the bathroom door, smiling, and answered, "Yes, Martha. Thank you. This is all very nice, very nice. Thank you, really nice. Thank you, lovely ladies." He asked Scout if she had helped.

"I helped by not helping. They get full credit for all this work."

The campground was alive with people and chatter. The sky was a massive display of orange, blue and purple swirls. There were lively conversations accompanied by the sound of Jarred's guitar. The smoky smell off the grill kept Jose's appetite going. Jose was fielding questions quite well, amusing Scout as she listened. Charlie just plain ignored questions regarding his two unexpected companions. The evening was festive, filled with all the good things that bring people together--love, laughter, music, food and friendship.

The next morning Jose was up early. Between the numerous "Hey, Jose, glad you're back" and "Good morning, Jose" shouted in his direction, he checked over and made adjustments to his new bike. Eric learned the fate of Jose's main mode of transportation and gave him his own rarely used bicycle. A pair of cowboy boots appeared between the spokes as Jose spun the wheel of the bike. They were attached to Lester who donned a John Wayne grin.

"Howdy stranger, finally made it home did ya?" Lester greeted Jose with his affected cowboy accent.

"Hey Lester. Thanks, man, for going out and trying to find us."

"No problem."

"What's up, buddy?"

"I'm going into town tonight," Lester informed and paused, waiting for Jose to inquire further but he didn't. Jose knew it wasn't necessary; Lester was going to explain before he could finish the question anyway. Lester continued, "I'm taking a lady out tonight."

"First date?" Jose asked.

"Well, yep. We've talked on the phone a few times though, briefly. She's Shirley's cousin."

"Didn't you go out with Shirley?"

"Once."

Jose looked up at Lester from behind the wheel, "Just once, huh?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. I took Shirley to a horse auction too. She was so busy I may as well have stayed home. I think you would consider it a date."

"She pretty?" Jose was making small talk, more interested in fixing the bike while he waited for Scout to exit from her camper than another one of Lester's about-to-be-first- date announcements.

"Shirley's not bad so her cousin couldn't be too bad...."

Jose listened until Lila relieved him.

"Morning Lester, you're up early this morning. There's fresh coffee and donuts in the office."

"Why thank you, Lila, I think I will. I'll talk to you later. Good to see you back, safe."

"Lester would you bring some coffee and a couple of donuts to Charlie for me, please?"

"Yes ma'am." Lester tipped his cowboy hat and left for the office.

"That'll keep him out of your hair for a while. Sometimes Lester can be a bit much first thing in the morning. He's an acquired taste."

"As we all know. I'm not in the mood to listen this morning, so thanks."

"Didn't think you would be."

"He's got another first date," Jose informed.

"Yes I know; we all heard. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I'll head into the office in a few." He stopped what he was doing. "Have you seen Scout this morning yet?"

"No, I haven't yet, but Jose I'm here to get you to go to Caballeros tonight; the guys want to give you a welcome home party. Well, they'll have the party if you're there or not, you know how that goes but it would be nice if you showed up."

He looked up at Lila. "I oughta to do this more often."

"Once is enough, thank you, Jose. You had us very worried."

"I'm sorry. I didn't plan it, Lila." He gave her his winning smile. "What time tonight?"

"I would imagine around seven. You'll be there then?"

"Of course!" He added with adolescent enthusiasm, "Can I bring a date?"

"Scout is invited. I was going to tell her as soon as I saw her. She should be up soon, has to walk Pepper."

"Look." Jose's hands were occupied so he scooped his head in the general direction of Wiggie who was out of her pen and munching on hay with Charlie's mules again.

"Oh, Wiggie!" Lila shook her head back and forth. "Damn goat! This means she broke her gate again."

"You love that 'damn goat' no matter what she does. I'll take a look at it when I finish," Jose shouted to Lila as she hurried off. Wiggie watched Lila stomp towards her, unfazed with a clump of hay bobbing up and down then disappearing through her rubbery lips. She begrudgingly left hay heaven and ended up tied to a tree.

Penny and Scout took Pepper for his walk. Penny was all chatter about a trip to Yosemite; she hadn't been there for forty years and was looking forward to it. They passed and waved to Jose as he struggled to fix Wiggie's gate then were seized by Lila. She wanted to extended invitations to both Penny and Scout to Jose's welcome back party at Caballeros.

There was a buzz of excitement about the evening's events--the big party for Jose, Lester's new first date and Scout getting away for dinner with Penny. Most everyone was heading out for the evening. As six o'clock neared, the men at the campground started leaving for Caballeros, including Tom who typically decline invitations to such events. Jose had his new bike ready for the evening. He figured he would be doing a good amount of drinking and chose to take his bike instead of Lila's car. No such thing as DWI on a bicycle in Pista, yet.

Lester removed what qualified as a good suit from his closet. The jacket was western style with an ultra-suede yoke. The pants belonged to another suit. He changed his shirt several times until he was satisfied that he had accomplished his desired look. He pulled on his best cowboy boots, splashed on more cologne than necessary then ran his fingers through his hair one more time before adding his signature brown cowboy hat. He was off to pick up his date.

Lester was nervous on the ride to her house. He wasn't sure where she lived but ended up finding it without any problem. She was waiting outside for him as he drove slowly up the dirt drive. His date rose from her chair on the porch and he got a good look at her. Lester was truly nervous now. She was pretty, much prettier than Shirley. He already knew he wanted her to be at least a two-dater. He didn't want to blow this one.

Lester stepped from the truck straightening his coat as he shut the truck door. She greeted him at the steps, looked him up and down and smiled. A good sign, he thought to himself. They exchanged semiformal introductions.

"I think we should be on our way, the party starts at seven." Lester stood rigid. He was very nervous; she was even prettier close-up.

"All right, I need to lock the door." Her voice was sweet.

Lester took a deep breath trying to relax, mumbled low enough that only he could hear, like a mantra, don't blow it, don't blow it....

Lester opened the passenger door in true gentleman style. He continued to mumble "don't blow it" as he rounded the front of the truck. He hopped in behind the wheel then took another look at his date. She smiled back. His heart sped up. Lester started the truck and for the first time since dating in Pista he instinctively knew to keep his mouth shut. She made it easy for him. She was planning to buy a horse, the details of her venture were cumbersome, and she talked about it without hesitation or many pauses, much to Lester's relief. He kept glancing at her as she spoke; she was so attractive.

Jose sat on his bed putting on his shoes and had to stop, amused and beholding, to admire his new décor. Eric blew his car horn as he passed by to hurry Jose along. All good things come to an end, shortly. That was the philosophy Jose lived by. If it felt good, particularly too good, don't hang around for the disappointment--walk away or distance yourself. Dreams and hopes for the future were a thing of the past, an ancient past. He was content in his life since he had it all figured out. Life rarely contradicted or gave error to his philosophies. Then came Scout. With his pessimistic predictions now absent, or at least on hold, Jose began thinking about a future. He knew that if Scout left he was going with her; if she stayed, he was staying with her. This, with all his cynical life predictions, was unimagined prior. Life was new for Jose. The last thing he wanted to do was distance himself.

Jose checked his look in the mirror then took a shirt from the closet and draped it on the bed. He placed a bottle of tequila on the table next to the bed with a note to Scout taped over the label. Carefully, he plucked a cactus flower from outside and placed it on the pillow. He was off. Wiggie called out to him from her little yard now held secure with a rope snaking around the gate. The breeze carried all the familiar smells of the campground and of Pista as he peddled into town. He peddled fast and sailed through Pista by rote, he could have done it with his eyes closed if it weren't for all the holes in the roads.

"Hey, Jose!" yelled Harold from the front of his store. He was closing up, locking the door and heading to Caballeros too. "Good to see ya back!" Jose waved back, holding on tightly with the other hand as he maneuvered the bumpy unpaved road.

"Come down to Caballeros," he yelled to Harold.

"I'm on my way."

Jose grabbed onto the handlebars with both hands as he negotiated the turn at an accelerating speed. Watching for cars wasn't Jose's main concern; it was the deep holes and rocks in the road that posed a hazard to a cyclist. He wanted to make it to the party quickly but without cuts, scrapes or anymore bruises than what already adorned his backside which he raised inches from the bicycle seat for relief.

Lester's date ran through most all anyone could say about buying a horse. He knew little about horses but didn't want to admit it and God knows he didn't want to blow his chances for a second date so he said near nothing. When she finally quit talking, the sudden silence made him anxious and eager to get to the party at Caballeros where others would take up the slack. Lester stepped on the gas.

Penny and Scout left Elena's and as they neared Pista's main street, they discussed whether they wanted to stop at the party. A party appealed to Penny but Scout had the same idea in mind as Jose. She wanted to talk about their time at the lake. She wanted to ask him to join her in Monterey. She wanted that evening to end next to Jose.

"I'd rather go home, Penny."

"I think the party might be for you too, Scout." Penny slowed her speed, giving them more time to decide.

"Oh no, the party is definitely for Jose. This is his town." Where there was a party that's where Penny wanted to be. "Why don't you just drop me off at Broken Arrow and you can go back to the party. I bet it'll be fun. Myra should be there, now that would add to the fun. How can you resist such an adventure?"

"Sounds good to me." Penny sped up. She dropped Scout off, did a sharp U-turn and was off to Cabelleros.

Pepper's evening walk was short. Scout cautiously made her way through the campground, careful not to be seen, and disappeared into Jose's RV. The smell of peaches was smothering but their origin was comforting. She turned on the main light briefly to find a smaller one and found the note on the bottle. Scout made herself comfortable on the bed and read Jose's request in the dim overhead light. She undressed, slipped into the shirt left on the bed and poured herself a shot of tequila. Jose's belongings were sparse. There were no books in view. She hoped to find a magazine in the tiny bathroom but no such luck, only a piece of mail set next to the crocheted teepee. She opened the closet. In the tiny enclosure were only a few pieces of clothing on hangers, a couple pairs of shoes and an open box with papers, folders and what appeared to be photo albums. She hesitated at first. Then she gave herself permission to steal a look inside the photo albums.

The dim overhead light illuminated an important slice of Jose's life. The albums contained page after page of Jose with his army buddies: Jose outside of a jungle, Jose dirty and sweaty with others soldiers strewn about some overgrown terrain, Jose next to helicopters, Jose posing playfully with other soldiers. And, Jose looked happy in every picture, as did the other soldiers. Jose was laughing or smiling in most every picture. There was writing next to several of the photographs. Jose posed kneeling with a German shepherd, obviously a sanctioned companion. "Paco" was written at the bottom. Scout wasn't aware that the soldiers had dogs. She realized how little she did know about a war that occurred in her time, fought by her contemporaries. Suddenly ashamed of her ignorance, Scout wondered how such a thing could happen--how could she live during a war and not know or understand what went on or what it was actually about. Worse, she knew she wasn't alone in her nescience. She wondered how it was for Jose to come home to ignorance such as hers. There were letters in envelopes stuck between some of the pages. She was curious, of course--to open them was to see deeper into Jose's past life. She respectfully left them in place, untouched. Scout looked over the pictures again and again. The more she stared at the pictures, like stepping back from an impressionistic painting, the more distinct and clear the picture of Jose became: his eyes, his stance, the changes, the man--the animated man in the photos was the man by the lake.

Scout placed the album back, poured herself another shot of tequila and reclined into the comfort of Jose's bed and new quilt with her thoughts about Monterey. She thought about the places that she would show him and pictured his reactions. And about the people that she wanted him to meet and to meet him, like Sam. She imagined where in town she would reopen her store and could picture Jose helping and enjoying all the weird and wonderful things that filled the store. She eagerly waited for Jose to return; there was so much to talk about, so many plans and decisions to be made. It was all so exciting. She felt like a child on Christmas Eve. The gifts of tomorrow were so exciting that she could hardly sleep.

Lester barreled down the side street hardly slowing to negotiate the turn onto the main road. He was focused on seizing a parking space directly in front of Cabelleros. Lester's eyes were on the empty parking space as Jose's eyes were on the maze of potholes and rocks. The party had already started at Cabelleros without them.

Suddenly Lester's date threw her hands up and covered her face. She let out a frightful scream.

"Oh shit, what did I hit?" Lester whipped his head from side to side as he slammed on his brakes.

She pulled her hands from her face and exclaimed in a panic, "Lester you hit a man, on a bike!"

He jammed the shifter into park and leaped from the truck but suddenly froze in place. Lester couldn't move. Jose's bent bike lie in one spot and Jose lie in another. Lester couldn't make his legs move. He couldn't step forward to reach his friend. Harold seemed to appear out of nowhere and at Jose's side, yelling to Lester, instructing him to get help as he kneeled over Jose who, like Lester, was motionless. Lester didn't move, his eyes were fixed on Jose. He didn't hear Harold.

"I'll call, Lester, I'll call." She looked up at Lester then ran for help.

Lester moved his hand and the rest followed. He made his way as though fighting a strong wind. He brushed the small bloody pebbles from Jose's face then looked at Harold. In a low monotone Lester declared, "He's dead."

"You're going to be all right, Jose. You're scratched up a bit. Don't move, just lie here...." Harold continued to try to comfort Jose.

"Harold, he's not breathing," Lester whispered.

"Fuck off, Lester. Save your dead body crap. Get the hell out of here." Harold reached up and with the strength of one arm shoved Lester away.

Lester could hardly steady his own weight.

"Just hold on, buddy..." Harold continued.

Lester turned to his date, pale and staring beyond her pretty face. She did her best to comfort him.

"I didn't see him..." He cursed himself and began to sob in her arms.

The news spread like an earthquake, down the main street and into the campground.

It was a gentle shake on the shoulder. Scout awoke. She sat up, self-conscious about being found in Jose's bed and pulled the quilt up to her neck. He poured her a shot of tequila and grabbed the bottle for himself. She was perplexed by Eric's brazen entry--uninvited and pouring Jose's tequila into his mouth straight from the bottle as if at a party. It was awkward being just the two of them while she was in Jose's bed.

"What's up?" Scout asked, bewildered by Eric's behavior.

Eric suggested she drink down what was in her glass. This wasn't the Eric Scout was familiar with and she shifted her position so she could see his face. "What's going on, Eric?" she asked again, this time a bit louder. His eyes appeared frightened. Scout felt her adrenaline pumping, not knowing why.

"I don't know a good way to tell you this, Scout, so I'll just tell you straight out. Jose was hit by a truck on the bike last night, and, ah---"

"Where is he?" Scout swung her legs over the side of the bed ready to dress.

"Scout, he didn't make it. Fuck, I gave him that fucking bike. I should've given him a ride. I should have stopped and given him a ride...." Eric's voice faded to a whisper as he repeated himself.

"He didn't make what?" Scout grabbed his arm and leaned forward, waiting for his answer and watching his face intently.

He offered Scout the bottle as if that was his answer.

Scout wrapped the quilt around her and went to the door.

"Fuck, Scout, he's dead. He's fucking dead. I'm sorry." Eric poured tequila into his mouth as though he was filling a glass.

"Where is he?" Scout asked as she opened the door. Burt stood on the back deck to the office. His face said it all.

Scout slumped onto the floor as she had at the news of Lauren's death only this time she couldn't get back up.

Burt called out at the sound of her cries. He wanted to help. He didn't know what to do other than to call out her name, let her know that he was there. Then he could no longer hold back his own cries.

Soon others joined Eric and Scout in Jose's long-time home. Penny held onto Scout as tight as she could. Eric could no longer handle the sounds of the cries; he passed the bottle of tequila to Jarred and rushed out the door.

The world that was Broken Arrow stopped that day.

Jose's funeral was packed, as packed as Cabelleros the night of his party. Manny showed up with Kim by his side. Scout sat next to Charlie, holding on tightly to his hand with Charlie's grip anchoring her through the ceremony. The past weeks replayed for Scout, flickering like home movies in her head with the volume turned up high. When it was all over, Charlie led Scout, like one would guide a lost child, out to join the others. Cars filled with friends in mourning waited. They were to follow behind the weathered truck transporting Jose's coffin to the old graveyard where Pista's loved ones were laid to rest for over a hundred years. Scout could not bear to watch Jose being lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, to see where he was to lie stationary along rows of others for eternity. Scout went back to Broken Arrow and immediately packed the Cadillac.

She decided to leave the camper. Maybe someone else would need it, maybe Jarred. She fumbled with the keys to the Scout; she couldn't bring herself to go near it. Like Scout, Tom chose not to watch Jose being lowered into the ground. Scout saw him sitting by Wiggie's pen and walked over. Holding back tears, she held out the keys to the Scout.

"I'm not taking it with me. It's yours if you want it." She felt at ease with Tom for the first time. She tossed him the keys and Tom caught them with little effort.

"Goodbye, Tom." She didn't expect him to respond and she turned immediately to leave.

Scout slept in Jose's bed her last night at Broken Arrow, talking to him as if they were again by the lake. It felt as if he were there, every bit there, she just couldn't touch him. The tiny overhead light turned off briefly then came back on, which is all she needed to confirm his presence and to know she was spending her last night at Broken Arrow with Jose. Whether real or not, it's what she needed to believe.

The next morning, determined and somewhat numb, Scout said her good-byes. Nothing seemed right besides going home. Half in a muddle, she took addresses and promised to write and some day return for a visit. Scout extended, to each, her sincere wish that they come to visit her in Monterey, anytime; they would always be more than welcome. She now knew what it was like to love a group of people, a family; people who would never leave her life or heart.

"Lila." She had a favor to ask. "Would you send me a copy of the picture of Jose and Charlie, with Jose in Charlie's clown suit?"

Lila nodded then looked away as she fought what tears she had left. She would miss Scout but mostly, looking at Scout made her think of Jose finally ready to meet the world again when fate gave him a mortal blow.

"We'll miss you, Scout," Martha said sweetly.

"I'll miss you all more than I can tell you." Scout took several deep breaths, pushed her hair back and tried to stop her eyes from tearing up. "I guess it's time to go home," she said and smiled, "before I break down and start crying." She took in each face. "I don't want to start crying, I may never stop or may not leave and I have to go." Scout's voice reached a pitch mix with pain and desperation. "I don't know what else to do." She turned away and quickly walked to the Cadillac. Pepper hung half out the window amusing Penny with his barking which she tried to turn into a howl. Scout climbed onto the driver's seat and took another look at everyone gathered on the office porch. Lila looked drained and, for the first time since Scout met Lila, so very fragile. She walked to her garden, opened the gate and stepped into her sanctuary. Wiggie's head immediately strained through the fence posts to reach Lila and the green bounty of Lila's well-kept garden.

Lena turned the key and the old Cadillac rumbled to life. She kept her eyes focused on the road ahead, intentionally avoiding the group on the porch waving their good-byes. She slowly drove out of Broken Arrow and pulled onto the main street of Pista. She turned down a side street to avoid the spot where Jose died on his way to celebrate his safe return with those who loved him. Lena sped onto the freeway. She let down all the windows so the air would rush in and over her, consume her. Pepper hung out the window with his ears and jowls flapping in the wind. Lena suddenly stepped on the brakes. Pepper lurched forward as the Cadillac swerved to a long screeching stop. She put the car in reverse, weaving backwards to the off-ramp out of Pista then turned the Cadillac towards the dirt road that aimed out of town--all under the watchful eyes of Woody parked on the overpass. She drove down the well-worn road to a narrow turn-off leading to Pista's old graveyard. Once there, she stopped at the wrought-iron gate and stared at the maze of wood, iron, tin and stone markers--every grave long standing, but one.

She left the car running, rumbling in the background as she pushed past the gate and past the weathered graves to a mound of fresh dirt. She witnessed an incredible display of love for Jose, even in death. There were flowers, fresh and artificial, and gifts of all sorts decorating every available space. A bicycle leaned against the shade tree like a headstone. A handmade card reaching over a foot-tall proclaimed the love for a lost friend. The handmade crocheted dream catcher from Jose's RV adorned the grave. A poem, written on cardboard and covered with cellophane, was propped up against an empty bottle of tequila that had a ribbon tied around its neck. Charlie left a fishing pole; it had line and a hook--ready to go. Lena stepped back to capture it all: the New Mexican sky, the ravens standing guard in the graveyard trees, Jose's grave, the distinct smells of the trees, grass and air. She wanted to remember and take it all with her. Jose's face, framed, stared back from the center of the shade tree. She stepped closer to read the writing across the bottom: Jose, a good man, Burt. Jose looked handsome in his uniform.

"You breathe life into me, Scout." She could feel the cool water and Jose's warm body pressed against her.

The sound of the Cadillac's injured muffler and the whimpers of Pepper called out. She took Jose's picture from the tree; she knew Burt would understand.

Once back on the freeway, ignoring the speedometer, she pushed all the way down on the gas pedal. In a whirlwind of hot New Mexican air, she flew out of Pista with no intention of letting up on the pedal--until, the flashing lights in her rearview mirror caught her attention. She immediately lifted her foot from the pedal. It was Woody. He pulled up alongside as the Cadillac slowed. Woody only wanted to make sure Scout was okay. She smiled, relieved, and was again reminded of how she loved and would miss the people of Pista. Woody turned off his lights, tipped his hat then sped off.

With Jose's picture sitting on the passenger's seat and Pepper hanging out the window from the backseat, she crossed the border from New Mexico into Arizona--a distinction only noticed by a sign. She flipped through the stations on the radio and turned the volume all the way up. It was a good omen, though it sounded as if it were being broadcast through a tin can, "Old Blue, ya good dog you..." was rattling the speakers. Lena sang along, loud, in a voice best heard in the vast landscape of a desert. The sound of Lena's off-key voice caused Pepper to howl, just like Penny taught him.

