He was mildly surprised by the banks of computers and the teens and twenty-somethings at each terminal. As he walked past, he noted a familiarity in what they were doing-updating their Facebook pages. He thought, Some people used to go to libraries to gather information. Now they come to write about themselves.
He approached the information counter and a slim girl with bangs and a nose ring swiveled his direction and arched her eyebrows as if to say Yes?
“Someone told me Bull Mitchell would be here,” he said. “Do you have any idea where to find him?”
She pointed across her body past the reference book aisle. There was an archway painted with Mother Goose and Dr. Seuss characters and a sign that read children’s room.
“No,” Cody said, “I’m looking for an old guy named Bull Mitchell.”
She said, “Yes, and I’m telling you where to find him.”
Cody checked his wristwatch as he entered the children’s section, wondering how much time he was wasting when he should be coursing down the highway toward Yellowstone. But since he was here, he entered the room and walked toward the back where he could hear a gruff deep voice.
It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog.
I just got some terrible news. There’s been a murder on the ranch…
“Jesus Christ,” Cody grumbled.
Two young mothers were standing in the aisle and they turned when they heard him, and one of them lifted a finger to her lips to shush him. She was wearing a track suit and her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was vaguely attractive but already angry with him, so he looked to the other one. She was tall and slim with auburn hair and kind brown eyes and a nice mouth. Her face was wide open. She was pretty in a natural, athletic way.
He shrugged his apology and sidled up to them. He noted other mothers gathered along the windows on the side of the room.
“I’m looking for Bull Mitchell,” he said. “Do you know him?”
“Of course,” the tall woman whispered.“That’s him reading.”
Well, you know me. I’m no dummy. There’s a thin line between heroism and stupidity, and I try to stay on the south side of it…
“That’s Bull Mitchell?” Cody asked. “I can’t see him.”
“Here,” the tall woman said, stepping aside.
Cody nodded his thanks.
There, in the middle of twelve or thirteen kids gathered on the floor, was a big man sitting in a comically undersized chair wearing a heavy wool work shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. His head was a cinder block mounted on wide powerful shoulders and his huge hands held The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog indelicately, like a grizzly cradling a candy cane. He had silver-white hair but jet-black crazy eyebrows that looked like smudges of soot. He was an unpracticed and halting reader, Cody thought, but when his voice boomed for exclamations like Good dog! and Will you please shut up? the walls seemed to shake and he likely scared the bejesus out of the kids.
That’s when he noticed a tiny white-haired woman in a wheelchair next to the seated children. She had a wool Pendleton trapper’s blanket over her lap and she leaned forward to listen with a gauzy smile of pure enchantment.
“What’s with the old lady?” Cody asked the tall woman. “What’s she doing here?”
She reacted as if he’d slapped her. The blond woman rolled her eyes and snorted in contempt.
“What?” Cody said, genuinely surprised and puzzled.
Oh Hank, there’s been a killing right here on the ranch and we slept through it!…
The tall woman said, “He’s my father and ‘the old lady’ is my mother. She’s in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s, and this is the only way he can connect with her these days, by reading children’s stories.”
Cody slumped and sighed. “I’m such an asshole,” he said.
“Yes, you are,” the tall woman said. “But I can see you didn’t know.”
The blond mother shushed them both.
Cody said to the tall woman, “When he’s done will you introduce me to him?”
She almost smiled. “How can I introduce you when I don’t know your name?”
“Cody Hoyt,” he said. “I’m a cop.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this official business? You don’t seem to have a badge.”
Cody said, “It’s more important than that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll lay it out.”
“Angela Mitchell,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m the proud daughter.”
Cody thought, In other circumstances I would like to get to know this woman.
The blond mother leaned toward them hissing, “Shhhhhh.”
And Bull Mitchell read:
… Being Head of Ranch Security is learning to ignore that kind of emotion. I mean, to hold down this job, you have to be cold and hard…
Cody hovered behind Angela and Bull Mitchell as Bull pushed his wife through the aisles in her wheelchair to the van to return her to the nursing home. The children had joined up with their mothers or nannies and dispersed. Bull said to Angela in a flat, declaratory tone not unlike his reading, “So who’s the guy?”
“He says his name is Cody Hoyt. He wants to meet you.”
“Hoyt?” Bull barked.
“Yes.”
“I knew a couple guys named Hoyt. One was a drunk and the other one was a criminal. Why does he want to meet me?”
“Hey,” Cody said, “I’m right here. I can speak for myself.”
Bull paused and twisted slightly to a quarter profile, as if he wasn’t sure turning around to talk to Cody was worth more than that. He looked Cody up and down, said nothing, and said to his daughter, “Tell him not to interrupt my stories, goddammit.”
“I apologize,” Cody said. “I just wasn’t expecting a guy named Bull in the children’s room.”
Bull kept his back to him and guided his wife’s wheelchair out the front doors of the library. The attendant in the van climbed out to help position her chair on the lift. Cody saw she was still smiling and her eyes were wistful. She was small and reed thin and her body seemed to be drawing inward as if to fold up on itself. Her back was hunched, which made her head stick out forward rather than up. A baby bird, Cody thought, she’s turning into a baby bird in the nest, stretching out on a long neck. He felt sorry for her, for Bull, for Angela, and for him being there at that moment.
In a wavery voice as light as mist she said to her husband, “That was a wonderful story, Mr. Bull. One of my favorites. I wish I could have read it to my daughter Angela, you know.”
“I know,” he said softly.
Cody noted how Angela flinched when she heard what her mother said. She didn’t say I’m right here, Mom. No point.
Bull dropped to his haunches so he was eye level with his wife. She smiled at him with big teeth stained by decades of coffee.
“Good-bye honey,” he said, and bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll read to you in a week.”
Her waxen face flushed pink and she giggled and batted her eyes, admonishing him, “Mr. Bull…”
He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear and she blushed further and windmilled her tiny hands as if naughtily delighted by the words. Cody looked away.
The van driver activated the hydraulic lift and secured her in the van and drove away.
Angela said, “She was happy.”
Bull grunted.
“I think she’s falling for you,” Angela said.
“Who wouldn’t?” Bull said. Then he focused on Cody. His tone was gruff. “Now what do you want?”
Cody said, “Can I buy you and Angela a cup of coffee? I need your help.”