“Mule-stubborn, same as your brother.”
“Keep it up,” she said, “and he really will kick your ass purple. You’re no match for him. Or Skinny-Shanks Spears.”
“I know it.”
“So why keep banging your head against a wall? You one of those freaks who likes pain?”
“What I like is having something to believe in. All I’m after is the truth.”
“The truth,” she said. “Shit, the truth.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you and me could’ve been good friends, Jim. Real good friends. But you just blew it. A guy with crazy ideas is a guy with a busted head, likely. And a guy with a busted head is no damn good to me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I can use a friend right now.”
Lynette shrugged, started to slide out of the booth. Messenger put a hand on her arm.
“At least stay long enough to have another beer with me.”
“One’s my limit.” She shrugged off his hand. “Besides, I got to pick up my kid at the baby-sitter’s. So long, Jim, I wish I could say it’s been nice,” and she slid free of the booth.
“We’ll see each other again.”
“From a distance, if you know what’s good for you.”
She tugged her uniform skirt down and walked to the door. One of the men at the bar said something; the others laughed raucously. Lynette turned long enough to say, “Up yours, boys,” in a voice full of bitter dignity. Then she was gone.
The telephone rang five minutes after he let himself into his room at the High Desert Lodge. He was in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his heat-sticky face. He caught up a towel before he went out to answer.
A man’s scratchy voice asked, “This Jim Messenger?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name’s Mackey, Herb Mackey. You heard of me?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Well, I don’t know. I run a place down south of town a few miles. Mackey’s Rocks and Minerals.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Mackey?”
“More like what I can do for you.”
“How do you mean?”
“Asking around about the Roebuck murders, ain’t you? Don’t think that Anna Roebuck did it.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I got something you ought to see. Something you ought to hear about, too.”
Messenger sat on the edge of the bed. “Evidence that might prove Anna Roebuck innocent?”
“Better come out and see for yourself.”
“If you have evidence of some kind, you should take it to the sheriff—”
“No. You or nobody.”
“Give me an idea of what it is you have.”
“You got to see it. Unless you ain’t interested.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” Mackey said. “I ain’t said a word to anybody else about this and I ain’t going to.”
“But if you think—”
“I don’t think, mister. Thinking ain’t what I do best. You coming out here or not?”
“I’m coming. Where are you, exactly?”
“About six miles south, off the main highway. Side road to the west. You’ll see a sign at the junction — Mackey’s Rocks and Minerals. Make it about forty-five minutes. I got to go and get what I want you to see.”
“Forty-five minutes,” Messenger said. “I’ll be there. And thanks, Mr. Mackey. Thanks very much.”
Hunger drove him out of the room almost immediately. He hadn’t had any appetite until Mackey’s call; now he was ravenous. Sudden excitement had that effect on him, made him hungry for food along with whatever else he was anticipating. There wasn’t enough time for a sit-down meal, but he’d noticed a Jack-in-the-Box in a little shopping center near the high school; he could eat a burger and fries in the car.
But he didn’t get to the Jack-in-the-Box and he didn’t get to feed his hunger. He was opening the Subaru’s door when a familiar dust-caked station wagon turned off the highway into the motel lot, rattled to a stop nearby. The pint-sized stick figure of Reverend Hoxie popped into view.
“Going out, Mr. Messenger? I’m glad I caught you. Can you spare me a few minutes?”
Messenger said reluctantly, “Well, if it’s no more than fifteen.”
“Fifteen will be plenty.” Hoxie’s smile this evening seemed small and pasted on. Behind it was the kind of nervousness a person feels when he’s on a difficult or unpleasant errand. “In your room, where it’s more private?”
Messenger nodded and led the way inside. Hoxie glanced around, then sat gingerly on the edge of the room’s only chair. The bed or an upright lean against the dresser were Messenger’s only options; he chose the latter.
“What can I do for you, Reverend?”
“Well...” Hoxie cleared his throat. “I understand you had words with my daughter this afternoon.”
“We spoke briefly, yes.”
“Long enough for you to ask her embarrassing questions.”
“Embarrassing?”
“You intimated that she... that there was something between her and Dave Roebuck.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She was upset and I made her tell me why. We both thought those vile rumors had been laid to rest, and now you’ve dredged them up again.”
“So you did know about the alleged relationship.”
“Oh, yes,” Hoxie said with bitterness, “from the first. More than one member of my congregation saw fit to repeat the rumors to me. There’s not a shred of truth to them.” Absently he smoothed the crosshatched gray hair on his skull. “Maria is a good girl in the purest sense of that term. As close to an angel as any God ever made. She would never allow a man like Dave Roebuck to soil her.”
“Then how did the rumors get started?”
“I have no idea. How does any false rumor find voice? This is a small town, Mr. Messenger, a closed community. People see and hear all sorts of things that are open to misinterpretation. And not everyone gets along with his neighbors. Not even a man of the cloth is exempt from pettiness.”
“Enemies, Reverend?”
“I’ve made a few in my life, God knows.”
“Who in Beulah, for instance?”
“I won’t provide fodder for any more rumors.”
“I don’t start rumors,” Messenger said. “Or repeat them. I asked your daughter some questions, nothing more. I didn’t accuse her of anything.”
“What right do you have to ask questions? You’re not a member of this community. You have no purpose here except as a catalyst, an opener of old wounds.”
“That’s your opinion. I won’t argue it with you.”
“How long do you intend to stay?”
“Until I’m ready to leave.”
Hoxie stood. “Then I’ll ask — no, I’ll demand — that you not bother Maria again. Not speak to her at all.”
“All right. But with a proviso.”
“And that is?”
“The rumors about her and Dave Roebuck really are false—”
“They are.”
“—and she had nothing to do with the murders.”
Hoxie flushed; his prominent Adam’s apple slid up and down the column of his neck like a ball in a pneumatic tube. “Are you suggesting she was involved somehow?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“God help you if you are,” Hoxie said. “God help you if you do anything, anything at all, to harm or shame my daughter.”
It was not an idle threat. The little man’s face was implacable; he meant every word.
14
The Subaru’s odometer had clicked off 5.9 miles from the southern outskirts of town when he saw the sign: