which is just what you two don’t got. We’re gonna end up with this place one way or another.”
“Not gonna happen,” the old woman snapped.
“Not ever,” the old guy piped up.
I missed whatever was said next. My attention was diverted to the side of the truck, where a square, white sign proclaimed in red script: The Keeler Group. Into the Future Together . I felt better already.
I veered slightly to the left as I moved their way. Kept moving that way until I could make out that the driver’s door had the same Keeler sign on it. The muscle noticed and waddled toward the back of the truck.
I walked up and looked down at the thick brown layer of dust covering the back bumper. I used my hand to wipe it off. No BANTAMS bumper sticker.
By the time I dusted my hands off, Muscle Man was standing one pace away.
His black eyes moved over me like I was a lunch menu. I’d seen eyes like his before, but only at the Seattle Aquarium.
Whatever pleasantries we were about to exchange were put on hold when Suit Jacket said, “Let’s go, Dexter. Some people are just too damn stubborn to let you help them.”
Suit Jacket threw an angry glance at Keith and me as he strode toward the truck.
Dexter lingered long enough to be threatening and then hopped into the passenger seat in the half-second before Suit Jacket put the pedal to the metal and fishtailed his way out of the yard in a rooster tail of dust.
The old man pulled out a blue bandana and held it over his nose and mouth. The old lady hunched her shoulders and turned her back to the cloud.
Took a couple of minutes for the yard to clear. Out in the distance, the Keeler truck raced away from us, inside a swirling mantle of dust. I could hear the old man having a coughing fit. Choking and spitting into his bandana, as the dust swirled around us like locusts.
When I opened my eyes, the old lady was standing directly in front of me.
“Didn’t you see the damn sign?” she wanted to know.
She had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“Yes ma’am, I saw it.”
“Well?” She looked from me to Keith and back. “Can’t either of you boys read?”
“We came about Gordon,” I said.
And she knew why I was there. I could see it in those deep blue eyes.
The Snake River was aptly named. From where we sat, about a hundred yards behind the Hardvigsen house, the canyon writhed its way through the steep terrain like a slithering serpent. She was finished crying. She’d reached that point in grieving where you start reliving your life and wondering how things might have turned out differently.
I’d asked her if there was someplace we could sit down and talk. She’d led me out back to where the yard overlooked the river. Keith stayed back by the car. Seemed like he didn’t much want to be there when I told her the news. Probably smart.
We sat down on half a log that served as a bench. There was no way to soft-pedal what I had to tell her, so I took a deep breath and blurted out that her son Gordon was dead. I left out the gory details. Telling her he’d had a heart attack seemed close enough to the truth for me.
“Nothin good was gonna come from all that money,” she said finally.
I kept my mouth shut. I’d pretty much decided that I’d told her about all I was going to. Then she asked the question.
“Where’s his body now?” she asked. “I wanna make sure he’s put away decent.”
I took a deep breath. “Well . . . there’s a . . .” I stopped.
She pinned me with her eyes.
I told her the story of the woman in black picking up her son’s body.
The news pleated her leathery brow. “Why would somebody do something like that?”
I told her I had no idea, at which point she switched gears.
“Gordon and Olley never got along,” she mused. “Gordon thought Olley was extra hard on him cause he was a stepchild.” She caught my eye. “Wa sn’t true, though. Olley woulda been the same way if they was blood.”
“That why Gordon changed his
“Not gonna happen,” the old woman snapped.
“Not ever,” the old guy piped up.
I missed whatever was said next. My attention was diverted to the side of the truck, where a square, white sign proclaimed in red script: The Keeler Group. Into the Future Together . I felt better already.
I veered slightly to the left as I moved their way. Kept moving that way until I could make out that the driver’s door had the same Keeler sign on it. The muscle noticed and waddled toward the back of the truck.
I walked up and looked down at the thick brown layer of dust covering the back bumper. I used my hand to wipe it off. No BANTAMS bumper sticker.
By the time I dusted my hands off, Muscle Man was standing one pace away.
His black eyes moved over me like I was a lunch menu. I’d seen eyes like his before, but only at the Seattle Aquarium.
Whatever pleasantries we were about to exchange were put on hold when Suit Jacket said, “Let’s go, Dexter. Some people are just too damn stubborn to let you help them.”
Suit Jacket threw an angry glance at Keith and me as he strode toward the truck.
Dexter lingered long enough to be threatening and then hopped into the passenger seat in the half-second before Suit Jacket put the pedal to the metal and fishtailed his way out of the yard in a rooster tail of dust.
The old man pulled out a blue bandana and held it over his nose and mouth. The old lady hunched her shoulders and turned her back to the cloud.
Took a couple of minutes for the yard to clear. Out in the distance, the Keeler truck raced away from us, inside a swirling mantle of dust. I could hear the old man having a coughing fit. Choking and spitting into his bandana, as the dust swirled around us like locusts.
When I opened my eyes, the old lady was standing directly in front of me.
“Didn’t you see the damn sign?” she wanted to know.
She had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“Yes ma’am, I saw it.”
“Well?” She looked from me to Keith and back. “Can’t either of you boys read?”
“We came about Gordon,” I said.
And she knew why I was there. I could see it in those deep blue eyes.
The Snake River was aptly named. From where we sat, about a hundred yards behind the Hardvigsen house, the canyon writhed its way through the steep terrain like a slithering serpent. She was finished crying. She’d reached that point in grieving where you start reliving your life and wondering how things might have turned out differently.
I’d asked her if there was someplace we could sit down and talk. She’d led me out back to where the yard overlooked the river. Keith stayed back by the car. Seemed like he didn’t much want to be there when I told her the news. Probably smart.
We sat down on half a log that served as a bench. There was no way to soft-pedal what I had to tell her, so I took a deep breath and blurted out that her son Gordon was dead. I left out the gory details. Telling her he’d had a heart attack seemed close enough to the truth for me.
“Nothin good was gonna come from all that money,” she said finally.
I kept my mouth shut. I’d pretty much decided that I’d told her about all I was going to. Then she asked the question.
“Where’s his body now?” she asked. “I wanna make sure he’s put away decent.”
I took a deep breath. “Well . . . there’s a . . .” I stopped.
She pinned me with her eyes.
I told her the story of the woman in black picking up her son’s body.
The news pleated her leathery brow. “Why would somebody do something like that?”
I told her I had no idea, at which point she switched gears.
“Gordon and Olley never got along,” she mused. “Gordon thought Olley was extra hard on him cause he was a stepchild.” She caught my eye. “Wa sn’t true, though. Olley woulda been the same way if they was blood.”
“That why Gordon changed his
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