Chapter 24
We crossed the street in the bright sunlight and entered the diner. When we were inside, the heads of several seated guests turned our way, looks of surprise registering on their faces. Allison smiled and nodded greetings to several of them. This was followed by whispered conversations. Something new and gossip-worthy had just come through the door.
Choosing a booth that was a bit isolated from the rest of the patrons, Allison and I sat across from each other.
“So, Mr. Parker,” she caught herself, “Nathan. I have a lot of questions for you. Since I barely know you, and we are now on a lunch date, I have to learn more about you. This is a small town, and I need enough information to defend myself from all the gossip that will surely follow.”
She called this luncheon a date. That was quite a step up for me, going from possible sexual predator to date.
“I see that some of that gossip might have already started,” I offered.
She smiled and said, “The price of living in a small town.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you accept a lunch invite from a near stranger?” I probably shouldn’t care why. What mattered is that we were here now. But I just wanted to know what a stably employed young woman saw in me, an unemployed drifter.
“This is supposed to be my interrogation of you. But I’ll indulge your question first. It’s really quite simple. I admire that you are sticking to your guns. You said you found a body in the forest. Everyone else seems to be trying to convince you that you’re wrong. I’m not sure that you’re right or that antagonizing Enid is a wise thing to do, but let’s just say I like your spirit. I like your spunk.”
I pondered that for a moment. “I never thought of myself as spunky.”
“Well, maybe you should.” She beamed a heart-melting smile. I smiled in return.
“As I may have said before, you certainly seem to be well informed about me. The local grape vine?”
“That’s right. It works quite well.”
We gazed at each other for a brief moment in silence, and then I spoke. “Well, if you need information to deal with the gossips, then OK, Allison. Fire away.”
She was about to start when Janice appeared at the table. She definitely must live here. I had seen her early morning, in the evening, and now at lunchtime. Just further confirmation that her fair and unlined skin was due to her job. She never got outside in the sun.
“Hi, Allison. Welcome back, Mr. Parker.” She had remembered my name, and probably the gossip that went with it. As I recalled that gossip discussion from earlier, I could feel myself getting hot in the neck, most assuredly beginning to flush, though I hoped not too noticeably red in the face.
Allison partly covered her mouth with her hand attempting to suppress a giggle. Janice played it cool, simply asking for our orders.
Since Janice didn’t tell me what I should order as she did the other day for breakfast, I went with the likely safe bet of a grilled cheese sandwich and chicken noodle soup. Allison held up the menu in front of her. She did not speak, just tapped an item. Janice smiled, and simply said, “You got it.”
I turned to Allison. “I suspect you already know a lot about me. I’ve been a topic of gossip in town for days.”
“Actually, you’re right. I do know a lot. You graduated from Fairfield High School just north of Cincinnati, National Honor Society, several sports teams, majored in criminal justice at University of Cincinnati, attended Cincinnati Police Academy. Now an ex-cop from there. You’re out here maybe to do some hiking, maybe to write a novel, and maybe,” she paused briefly, “correction, probably found a body in the forest.”
“You got all that from the gossip wire?”
“Some, but it’s too slow for all the details. I prefer the Internet.”
“I didn’t know so much of my life was on the Internet.” I paused before continuing, uncertain if I should bring up the obvious. “So you did some on-line spying into my background before I asked you to lunch?” I asked it off-handedly, more as an amusing comment. There certainly was not time for her to do that search between when I first asked her to lunch and when she accepted. So she did it before today. There was no harm in it, and I was flattered that she might have done the search because she thought of me as potential dateable material before I asked her here. But then maybe she did the search to ensure I was not some kind of pedophile, booted out of Ohio for a nasty criminal offense. That’s when I realized it might come off as more accusatory than casual.
There was a brief flash of anger in her eyes at realizing she had probably said too much, more than she intended to. It revealed her snooping on my background, looking into my history. Then the anger was gone, and she responded brightly, “It’s my job. I’m the librarian.” She smiled, and the warm glow melted my heart.
After a few moments to quickly recompose herself, she added slyly, “Something else that did come from the gossip wire.”
“What’s that?” I asked suspiciously.
“You’re definitely on Deputy Powell’s S list.”
A very blunt woman. I could feel myself beginning to flush again.
“So you took pity on me and accepted my invitation to lunch?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, regardless of your motivation, I’m glad you accepted.”
“Glad to help a tourist in distress,” she offered. “Now I need some statistics. Height looks to be a little more than six feet. Weight 180 or 190 pounds. What about birth date and marital history?”
She wasn’t wasting any time getting the fundamentals out of the way. Very direct. I liked that. “You surely found all this on the Internet, didn’t you?”
“But it’s always wise to check your sources. I like to confirm my data.”
Me too, I thought. “OK. You’re close enough on the height and weight. Never been married. I was engaged briefly back in Cincinnati.”
“Oh, really? You’ll have to fill me in on that.”
“Later,” was all I offered. A brief image of Jennifer Lambert flashed into my mind. But it faded with Allison’s next question.
“Birthday?”
“Born on the fourth of July.”
“An Independence Day baby. Wow! Well, I guess someone has to be born on that day.”
“It gets even better. My mom was a Revolutionary War fanatic. So my full name is Nathan Hale Parker.”
“Nathan Hale the patriot?” she asked.
“That’s the one.” And that had led Ed Garvey to give me the nick name Liberty. The name had stuck. “My mother probably would have preferred if our last name were Washington or Franklin to go with it, but she was stuck with Parker.”
“Very cool, Nathan Hale Parker,” she cooed.
“So what’s your middle name?” I asked.
She paused, perhaps considering if I was trustworthy enough to be given such details of her life. Then she offered, “Violet.”
“Allison Violet Wells,” I recited. “Your mother liked flowers?”
“Yes, especially violets.”
“Good thing,” I said. “Allison Violet has a very nice sound to it. Otherwise you might be Rhododendron Chrysanthemum Wells.” I fumbled in saying that tongue-twisting name, but it sounded like I avoided butchering it. “I’d be calling you Rhoda.”
“Oh, please. I’d have to change my name or leave town.”
“So, Rhoda,” I began.
She flashed me the evil eye. Actually two green soul-piercing evil eyes, but only for a moment since there was a hint of humor behind them.
“So, Allison, when is your birthday?” Knowing the birthday was useful. It is very awkward to have missed on giving a gift or flowers or at least a card on the appropriate day, especially to someone who I considered very dateable material, someone I wanted to spend a lot more time with.
“In due time,” she said mysteriously. “I’ve clearly let this i
nterrogation get out of control. I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions.” She paused to consider her next inquiry, and I waited for it. “When you were a cop, did you ever get shot?”
Usually people first asked if I had shot anyone. Perhaps that was because of the many TV crime shows with shoot-outs in the streets. They wanted to hear about the gun battles I had been in and how many criminals I had killed or wounded. In reality, I hadn’t ever fired my gun at anyone, just at targets on the shooting range. Usually the second question then was to ask if I had ever been shot. But that was Allison’s first question. Not a big deal, but it suggested a different mindset, concern for the well being of the officer first, rather than the fate of the criminal suspect.
Instinctively I touched my left shoulder where a bullet had struck me, and I saw her gaze go there. “Yes, once.”
“What happened?” she asked with a note of concern in her question.
“It was late at night. A routine traffic stop for speeding. I never even got to the guy’s car before I was hit and down. Nothing serious. My partner ended up killing the guy in self defense.” The story was of course more involved than that, but those were the essentials.
“Those late night stops are scary,” she said. “My brother is a county cop and patrols through the night. I worry about him.”
I started to ask her more about that, but she continued.
“So you got shot. Is that why you’re an ex-cop?”
I didn’t like the ex-cop subject. It just brought up less-than-pleasant memories of a life now gone. “No. The bullet wound didn’t do it. I was a victim of budget cuts,” I said sourly. “Not enough seniority.” I did not go into my social litter analogy.
“But there is always a bright side. It did bring you to our nice little town.” She smiled brightly. “Next question. What are you researching on my computer?”
“Well, I really am writing a novel.” I paused. “More accurately, I am planning to write a novel. I had some ideas before I came out here, but finding the body of the Hispanic guy is leading me in a different direction. So I’m searching a lot of things as background. Maybe I can fit that into a plot.”
“Searching missing persons, Hispanics, fires, bounty hunters. Unusual stuff for a tourist. Did you find anything interesting?”
All those topics had been on the print outs I requested. She had handed them to me. So it did not surprise me she was well informed. And it did not bother me that she had snooped. No big deal. So I told her about the would-be car thief from last fall.
She laughed. “That was hysterical, the way Roland Barnes and Megan White beat on that guy. It was the talk of the town for a week. And the tackle by Deputy Powell was classic.”
I suspected what that tackle must have felt like from my experience with Deputy Powell on Monarch Trail. And Enid had tackled another guy, Evan McCormick, in his bounty hunter days. So classic seemed to fit, but I asked anyway. “Classic?”
“Sure, he was a big football star in high school and college. So tackling had to be the way he would catch the guy.” She paused to reflect. “Enid had a shot at the pros until he blew out a knee in his senior year at the University of Montana. Ended his football future.”
“And he came back to Willow Run to be a cop?” I asked. She nodded. “That must have hurt his ego,” I ventured.
“Yeah, he was pretty angry about that for a long time,” she said. “He thought he had a shot at fame and fortune. I think he takes out his anger sometimes on criminals. Like that car thief. The tackle bruised him pretty badly. Nothing serious, of course, but Enid could have just grabbed him. Nope, had to be a hard tackle.”
Her use of his first name suggested familiarity. “Do you know him well?”
“Oh, sure. In a small town, everyone knows everyone pretty well. We went to high school together, and we dated a couple of times after he became a cop. But he was too angry about how life treated him. So now we’re just friends.”
“Since you two have a history, does this lunch put me higher up on his S list?” I asked.
“Probably,” she replied devilishly.
Our food arrived then. My sandwich and soup, and her banana split. I looked at her suspiciously. “Won’t that spoil your dinner?”
“Oh, I certainly hope so. I figured since this lunch wasn’t planned, and you’re buying, I would be impulsive.”
We dove into the food, and she posed another question. “What else have you been searching?”
“About that big fire last year in the forest. I think there might be a way to connect the Hispanics with the fire, at least in making a story.”
“Yeah, that fire was quite the thing. A lot of the people here are in the volunteer fire department, and they all went out to fight that one. It burned a lot of acres of the forest in a big valley. Left quite a mess.”
“In talking with Ranger Pine about that, he said the area is off limits so it can recover.”
“Don’t you just love his name? Could he be anything except a ranger?”
“Probably not,” I agreed, recalling that the same thought had crossed my mind on first learning his name at the ranger station. “He seems like he loves his trees.”
“Yeah, he is a bit of a tree nerd. But here’s some gossip for you.” She leaned over the booth to confer conspiratorially. “His wife Edith left him almost a year ago. Just left one morning without a word. Didn’t say anything to anyone. Ever since then, Ranger Pine has been practically living at the ranger station, working every day. It’s as if when his wife left him, he married the job.”
“That’s a tough break. Where did she go?”
“No one knows. Neither of them grew up here. They moved in when Pine got the forest ranger position several years ago. They made some friends, but they weren’t what you’d call real close friends. Anyway, even they haven’t heard a word from her since she left. And he isn’t saying anything. He was a bit of a recluse before. Now he doesn’t seem to talk to anyone in town.”
“I guess losing someone close can really change a person,” I offered.
Since there didn’t seem to be anything further to say on that topic, we fell silent for a few moments. But Allison soon took the lead.
“Anyway, the off limits stuff is typical around here after a fire. Unfortunately, we’ve had some practice in dealing with wild fires, living so close to the National Forest. Doesn’t matter. There is plenty of forest out there for everyone, even with that burned out area closed off.”
“I suppose so.” Since she had just stuffed a heaping spoon of ice cream into her mouth, I took the opportunity to ask her a question. “I’ve seen a lot of Deputy Powell. Too much of Deputy Powell. What about Sheriff Tyler? He doesn’t seem to be too active.”
“The Sheriff is ready to call it quits. He wants to retire. So he’s letting Enid pretty much run things. On the job training, I guess.”
“Yeah, I overheard someone mention the Sheriff retiring.”
“See, you really are part of the local gossip wire,” she said smiling.
“I guess so,” I responded with a smile. “Is Enid ready to be Sheriff?”
“I’m not sure. He still seems too angry. He needs to be better with people. Maybe he’ll learn.”
I could attest to Enid Powell’s need to be better with people. Of course, I had heard the same said about me from the Sheriff. I guess we all have our issues.
“Sheriff Tyler seems to be very good with people.”
“Oh, he is, and everyone wants him to stay on. But his wife died from cancer a couple of years ago, and that really hit him hard. Then his son Jason was killed in Afghanistan. He kinda lost interest in the job. The city council is talking about not replacing him since the budget is so tight. But even a small town like Willow Run needs two lawmen. So he has been going to the county seat in Choteau and the state capital in Helena to plead for some additional funding. Maybe
the town can get enough to afford a second cop.” She paused, and then asked brightly, “Interested in a small town job?”
“I am beginning to think I could be persuaded.” We locked eyes for a few seconds, making a brief intimate connection.
“So, you’re wandering alone across the country, hiking and writing….and searching the Internet on my computer.”
“Yup, just the roaming gnome.”
“Sounds lonely, Nathan Hale Parker.”
“Oh, I was fine for a long time, except for the part about not having a job. I certainly thought finding a new one would be easier. I guess I’ve been doing OK on my own.” I had not planned to share any deeper feelings, but she seemed a receptive caring audience, one in whom I could confide without fear of it all hitting the gossip wire in Willow Run. So in spite of my normally reserved nature when it comes to personal details, I spilled some of my inner secrets. “But one thing about solitude is you have lots of time to think. I realized that while I thought being alone was fine, I really was looking for more out of life. A lot more.”
“I can understand that,” she said quietly. “I think we’re all looking for more in some way.” She was looking at me intently, but also looking into me, as if searching.
I thought she might be flirting with me, opening up to her inner feelings also. Since I had already stepped into this personal territory, I ventured another step. “And what are you searching for, Allison Violet Wells?”
She didn’t answer right away, yet continued to look into me. Normally I would feel discomfort at such focused attention. Normally I would turn away from the intensity of such a gaze, but I was not the least bit uncomfortable. Her eyes were sparkling and inviting, and I didn’t want to look anywhere else.
She finally answered wistfully. “I suppose it’s because this is a small town. Everyone knows everything about everybody. I just think there must be more. I guess I’m looking for something…..or someone to be more.” She kept focus on me for another beat, and the sensation flowed to me that I might be the more, the someone, she was referring to.
Then as if breaking a spell, she looked away, adding, “But my mom always said bloom where you are planted. So that’s what I’m doing.”
She smiled. “Well, Nathan, I will have to continue my interrogation of you later. It’s time for me to go back to work.”
So, there might be a later. That was encouraging.
“Thanks for lunch. Are you doing any more searching today?” she asked.
“Not today. But tomorrow, yes. Right now, I want to go talk to Joseph Custer about that car thief article.”
“Tomorrow then,” she said, lightly touching my forearm as she turned to go.
I adored this woman. It was hopeless to deny it. Even though I was society’s litter, I was feeling a lot better about it because Allison seemed to see value in me. Sometimes that’s all it takes to feel as if life has meaning.