Carnival (12 page)

Janet looked first at Martin, then at her husband. She shifted her gaze back to Martin and yelled, “But you just let your kids go off downtown to eat! Alone! And my kids are with them!”

“Janet ...” Martin spread his hands, “what do you want us to do. Nabo had Jeanne in his hands yesterday and didn't harm her. He helped her. I'm not going to sit on my kids until I'm given a reason to do so.”

Janet sat down on a hassock and put her face into her hands.

* * *

The waitress had taken their orders, grudgingly, and stalked away, muttering obscenities under her breath. She slammed the ticket down on the counter and said, “Fix this for the little turds over there!”

The kids exchanged looks at that but said nothing. They looked around the room while they waited for their lunch.

Two ministers traded curses for a moment and then resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, you lazy bitch!” the cook shouted from the kitchen. “Here's the slop for the turds!”

More looks of amazement mingled with a bit of alarm were exchanged between Mark and Linda and Susan and Rich. Gary Jr. was enjoying it all immensely, grinning hugely.

The plates of food were tossed on the table. “And eat every lousy bit of it!” the waitress snarled at them.

“Place is weird!” Linda summed up the feelings of them all, except for Gary, who had grabbed up a chicken leg and was gnawing on it, his attention on the food, no longer interested in the antics of those in the dining room.

Rich cut his eyes, an uneasy expression on his face. “What's the matter with everybody?” He kept his voice low. “They're acting like they're half crazy, or drunk, or something.”

“It's spooky,” Susan said.

“At least that,” Linda agreed. “I think we made a mistake coming here.”

“Pass the ketchup,” Gary said.

His sister looked at him. “On
chicken!”

“You eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches,” the boy fired back. “So gimme the ketchup.”

Linda grimaced and handed the boy the ketchup bottle before the conversation could turn any worse.

“He has such a way with words,” Susan said.

Linda nodded her head and cut her eyes just in time to see Mr. Morris, who owned a clothing store, lean across the table and give a backhand slap to the face of Mrs. Morris. The blow knocked the woman out of her chair and sent her to the floor.

“I can't believe this,” Mark said, his mouth hanging open.

Mrs. Morris crawled to her feet, profanity rolling in soiled waves from her mouth, her lip split and bleeding. She picked up her lunch plate, piled high with mashed potatoes and gravy, roast beef and green beans, and let her husband have it, right in the face. He toppled over backward and landed on the floor.

The kids stared.

“Kick him in the nuts, Sally!” a woman screamed. “That'll get the bastard's attention.”

The husband of the woman who suggested a kick to the parts reached across the table and busted her right in the mouth.

The woman climbed to her feet, snarling at her husband, her mouth bloody. She picked up a metal serving tray and clanged him right on top of his bald dome, bending the tray around his bean and sending the man to the floor, stunned and bleeding.

The cafe erupted in a wild melee as everybody joined in, cursing and shouting and screaming with the first person they could find, in most cases, their spouse. Mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans and chicken fried steaks and roast beef and liver and onions were flying throughout the place. Mark grabbed up Gary Jr. and slung him over his shoulder, and the young people hit the air, getting outside just as a chair came crashing through the glass of the front door.

The young people were back at the Tressalt house in five minutes, happy to have a bowl of stew, and relating their adventures to their startled parents.

“What next?” Gary muttered, disgust in his voice.

Martin shook his head and looked at Gary. “You'll be busy this afternoon, patching up the wounded.”

“If nothing else happens.”

Janet answered the phone and listened for a moment, her face tightening. “Yes, right away.” She hung up. “That was Audie Meadows, Gary. There's been a murder up on the north range of the Bar-S. He said he'd pick you and Martin up in five minutes.”

* * *

“I still can't figure what got into Alicia today,” Gary said, as they rolled toward the murder site in the sheriff's department's four-wheel drive Blazer. Audie drove, Gary in the front seat, Martin in the back.

“I have no idea. But that was the greasiest tone of voice I've heard from her in a while. At least since yesterday,” he added.

Audie kept his mouth shut and concentrated on his driving. Half the town knew what was going on with Alicia, but he sure wasn't going to be the one to inform the husband.

“You two getting along all right?” Gary asked.

“No. I thought we were, but lately it's been a silent war zone around the house.” Martin abruptly changed the subject. “Audie, do you know anything about this Red person?”

The deputy was glad for the switch. “Yes, sir. He's a good hand, but a sorry person.”

“You want to elaborate on that?”

“Yes, sir. Red is, was, not a very nice person. One of those mean types that Lyle and Jim like to have around them all the time. A bully. Always picking fights with people. He was a cruel man—cruel to animals and to people. I just can't think of anything good to say about him. Most of the hands that Lyle and Jim hire are like that; same with Cameron and Clark. The only saloon that'll have them is one up in South Dakota. They've been barred from every joint in this county. They respect force, and that's it. Red will not be missed,” Audie summed up the short eulogy for the dear departed Red, then added, “I don't even know the son of a bitch's last name.”

“Sounds like you've had a couple of run-ins with him,” Martin said, unable to hide his smile. Audie was not a man known for keeping his feelings under a bucket.

“Yes, sir. Exactly two. Last time I wore a slapjack out on his head. He had so many knots on his gourd when I got through with him he looked like a billy goat. I told him if I ever found him in Holland again, chances were real good that Miller over at the funeral home would be stuffin' him. I guess he believed me. He never came back.”

“The man who reported the incident?” Martin asked.

“A cowboy name of Don Talbolt. He was pretty shook up. Don's a nice guy, believe it or not. 'Bout my age. Got a good head on his shoulders. Don works for a year, saves his money, then goes back to school until his money runs out, then goes back to work. He's got three years toward his degree at the university at Laramie.”

“What is he doing working for Lyle Steele?”

“I guess he needed a job. Steele does pay top wages.”

A few miles farther up the road, they pulled into the drive of a small farm and Audie waved to Don to climb in. “I'll bring you back for your horse, Don.” He introduced him to Gary and Martin.

“I called Mr. Steele, Audie. I thought he had a right to know.”

“That's all right. If he's there ahead of us, tampering around with evidence, it'll give me an excuse to put him in jail.”

Don glanced at Martin and smiled. “I figured you to have horns and a tail, Mr. Holland.”

Martin had to laugh. “Not only does the boss dislike me, but it appears that most of his hands don't much care for me either.”

“You got that right, sir,” the young cowboy settled it. “But don't include me in that bunch. I knew I made a mistake within a week of signing on with that outfit.”

They chatted for a few minutes and Martin formed an instant liking for the cowboy. His boots were worn and his shirt and jeans patched, but he was working and saving his money for an education. Martin made up his mind.

“What do you know about lumber, Don?”

“I spent a summer building houses. Roughing out and framing.”

“You want to get away from the Bar-S?”

“I sure do!” There was considerable feeling in the short sentence. “I just don't like those fellows. There's something, well, cruel about them. And I hate that kid of Steele's.”

“You're at the end of a long list, Don,” Audie told him.

Martin stuck out his hand and surprised, the cowboy took it. “You want a job working for me at my lumber yard? I guarantee you I'll pay more than Lyle Steele.”

“But you don't even know me, sir!”

“I make very quick judgments of people, Don. How about it?”

“You just hired yourself a hand, Mr. Holland.”

“Fine. There's a couple of rooms behind the offices you can fix up and use. It'll be good to have someone on the premises at night to look after the place.”

Don told them about the carnage at the cabin, ending with, “I can talk about it all day, but you won't believe it until you see it. And I can truthfully say that I hope I never see anything like it again.”

Audie's stomach did a slow rollover at the young cowboy's depiction of the scene. All he had known prior to picking Don up was that there had been a murder.

“Like I said, Martin: you're gonna have to see it to believe it.”

“How about tracks, Don?”

“None I picked up on. For sure no car or truck tracks. But to tell you all the truth, I really didn't spend a whole lot of time concerning myself with tracks—except for the ones I made gettin' away from that place.”

“Robbery?” Gary inquired.

Don shook his head. “I don't think so. Some ... wild beast did this. But I sure don't know what kind it might have been. Robbery? No, sir. My rifle and Red's rifle were still on the pegs. And I'd bought a new hat to wear to the fair Thursday night. Saved my money for it. A brand new Stetson. It was still in the box, by my bunk, the box all blood-splattered. I don't want it.”

Martin was the first to ask the question that he suspected was on the minds of them all. “Was Red making plans to go to the carnival, Don?”

Don glanced at him. “That's an odd question, Mr. Holland. But it's sort of funny that you would ask it. I did mention the carnival to him and he near took my head off. Told me not to ever mention nothing about no carnival to him again. Not ever again. Red was a surly man to begin with, but I thought I was gonna have to fight him that morning.”

“This might seem strange to you, Don,” Audie said, “but bear with me. How about the rest of the hands—the older hands? How did they feel about the carnival coming to Holland?”

“Well ... now that you mention it, that's sort of funny, too. Most of the men are a lot older than me. Most of them in their late forties or early fifties. Just like it is at the Watson spread. Very few young hands. But there wasn't any of them real happy about the carnival. Not that many would talk to me about it. I had to just sort of pick up on bits and pieces of conversation. I was the outsider at the ranch, if you know what I mean. I just did my job and kept to myself. I'm happy to get gone from that place, tell you the truth.”

* * *

They spotted the carrion birds when they were still miles from the line shack. The buzzards had already begun their slow death-circling. As they pulled up to the cabin, a few of the huge, grotesque-looking birds had begun to strut and wobble toward the house with the broken door and smashed windows and smell of death. One had his sharp eyes on the mangled and bloody leg outside the cabin.

The buzzards reluctantly flew off as the men shouted and waved their arms.

But they did not go far, rising ponderously into the air and resuming their slow circling high overhead, gliding effortlessly on the currents. They would wait, with the patience of a million years inbred.

Audie took one look inside and began taking pictures with his 35mm. He had instructed the others to stay back and don't screw up any tracks that might have been left. Finally, he reappeared in the broken doorway and waved the men in.

Don chose to remain outside, by the Blazer; he'd seen enough of the inside of that cabin. He never wanted to look at it again.

Martin stayed by the door, looking in. He'd seen worse in 'Nam, and since he had not known the dead man, and probably wouldn't have liked him had he known him—based on Audie's summation of the man's character—he could view the carnage with some degree of detachment. But still, it was not pleasant.

“Mr. Holland,” Don called, pointing. “Mr. Steele comin' in.”

Martin stepped away from the door and walked to the Blazer, looking out over the vast emptiness of the grasslands. Lyle was hotrodding his fancy pickup, gunning it toward the cabin, several more trucks right behind him, coming up fast.

Audie stepped out of the cabin and his face was hard with anger. “That arrogant, dumb son of a—!” He stepped directly into the path of Lyle's pickup. When the dust had settled, he said, “Now back the trucks up about five hundred feet, Steele, and stay with them. No telling what evidence you've ruined now.”

Lyle stepped out of his truck, grinning arrogantly, several of his hands with him, their hands balled into fists, ready for a fight.

“I told you they'd come a day, Meadows,” Lyle said. “And today is that day.”

“I don't have time to chat with the likes of you, Steele. I've got a dead body in the cabin, I'm trying to reconstruct the scene, and as for you, get moving or I'll arrest you for interference with an officer of the law.”

Steele stepped closer. “You don't give orders on this land, Meadows.”