I couldn’t help grinning. And I wished I had heard the conversation after Garrett had freed Ernest from the handcuffs. At some point, though, Donny and Tyler had been presented with a choice of penance or arrest. I wasn’t sure they were going to conclude they’d made the right choice.
“Something funny, Mr. Marx?” Ernest asked.
I shook my head. “No, sir. I just wanted to say howdy.”
“I see.” Ernest pushed up his glasses. “Well, you probably don’t want to say anything further. You’re starting to sound familiar.”
Once again, I gave him a salute. Then I turned away and started for the front doors.
But I saw Elizabeth and Garrett standing at one of the back doors. And Elizabeth was gesturing for me to come over.
I didn’t see any way out of it. So I went.
“I don’t think the two of you have officially met,” Elizabeth said. She was speaking rapidly, the way she did on those rare occasions when she was feeling nervous. “Matthew Marx, this is David Garrett. David, Matt and I used to be married.”
Garrett and I shook hands. “I used to be married, too,” he said.
“But not to Elizabeth.”
“I wasn’t that lucky.”
I looked at Elizabeth. “How’s the banter so far?”
She looked upward as if praying for strength. Then she said, “Okay, that’s out of the way. And now I need a piece of cake. David?”
“You go on,” he said. “I’d like to have a quick private word with Mr. Marx.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s such a bad idea.”
“I promise to play nice,” Garrett said.
I gave him my best this-smile-really-means-up-yours smile. “I will if he will.”
Elizabeth raised her hands in surrender. “There’s a deputy sheriff right over there. Just sayin’.” She went outside.
“Okay,” Garrett said then. “Even without the blackface, I recognize you.”
“I figured.”
“And I can only assume the reason you were out there was because you were stalking Elizabeth and me. You followed us there.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Garrett would jump to that conclusion. I even opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong—and then realized I might as well let him think that.
“It was stupid,” I said. “And it’ll never happen again.”
“Better not,” Garrett said. “I’m going to let it go this time because you helped me out. But I’m not paying back the thousand bucks, mainly because I can’t. For one thing, I’ve got my brother living with me now. People seem to think I’m rich, but I’m just the trustee for my mom’s estate. What I have of my own is schoolteacher money, which means I for damn sure don’t have an extra thousand. And I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It was my choice.” And it was your mom’s money.
Garrett nodded. “All right. I won’t say anything to Elizabeth about your being there the other night. And you and I are starting from scratch.” He held out his hand again.
We shook hands again for the briefest of moments, both hating it. Then he pushed open the door and gestured outside. “You joining the party?”
I was about to decline. Then I looked at the crowd and the tables of food in the small rear parking lot. And I saw Bobby Anthony at the cookie table. He was wearing a “Guns & Ammo” gimme cap and an “I ? Rodeo” T-shirt under a washed-out denim jacket.
So I nodded to Garrett and stepped outside. I glanced back long enough to see him join Elizabeth at a table full of cakes.
I followed Bobby Tone to the edge of the crowd. He saw me coming and stopped under a light pole, leaning against it and pulling the plastic wrap from a paper plate of oatmeal cookies. He took a bite of one as I came near.
“You know,” he said, “most folks zero in on the chocolate-chip ones. But I say there ain’t nothin’ like a good oatmeal cookie. It’s all wholesome and brown-sugary, you know?” He held the plate out toward me. “Go on, Matty. It’s on me.”
I took one and had a taste. “It’s good,” I said. “Not four hundred dollars good. But not bad.”
Bobby gave me his snaggle-toothed grin. “Now, if I thought for a second that you’d earned that four hundred dollars through honest work, I might feel bad. But I know who raised you. I personally don’t believe in hell, though, so I think he’s enjoying an oatmeal cookie and a reefer at the right hand of my Lord. Even as we speak.”
“That’s a special heaven you have there, Bobby.” I glanced around. “A special earth, too, where you can walk among people you’ve messed with and know they won’t touch you.”
He nodded and polished off his cookie. “My Lord is merciful,” he said, pointing skyward. “That’s why I know your little girl is up there, too. So remember, Matty. When something precious is stolen from you, you can’t steal it back. Not from anyone in heaven or on earth. Don’t even try.”
I turned to head back toward the food tables. “I’ll see you around, Bobby,” I said.
“Not if I see you first, Matty.”
There was a commotion across the lot at the cafeteria loading dock, and as I crossed in that direction, David Garrett’s brother Charlie came out onto the dock dressed as he had been dressed at the crooked house. He was followed by a dozen band kids with instruments, with every kid dressed just like him. I saw Kaylee with her trumpet, Jared with his clarinet … and Marisa carrying a white-fiberglass sousaphone with five ragged holes in the bell.
Down at ground level, Garrett whistled to get the crowd’s attention, and Elizabeth raised her hands.
“Here’s the surprise I promised,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever—Banda de Pumas!”
Charlie raised his arms and brought them down like twin axes. Then Banda de Pumas blasted out three of the loudest, brassiest, bass-horn-and-drum-heavy Mexican tunes ever heard in Kingman County. They had put the whole thing together in four days, but they looked and sounded as if they’d been doing it for years. Kaylee even sang on the second number, but it was in Spanish, so I had no idea what it was about. But I knew Marisa’s sousaphone was dominant and perfect, and I knew Banda de Pumas would be sticking around.
Just before the final number, Charlie disappeared for a moment and reappeared with the brass Conn sousaphone on his shoulders. Then he and Marisa played harmonizing bass lines, which I hadn’t even known was possible.
After that, the banda members vanished back inside. All except Marisa, who stepped down from the dock so the audience members could stuff fives, tens, and twenties into her sousaphone bell.
I searched my pockets and came up with two crumpled ones. I had been thinking about a slice of brisket, which smelled pretty good. But what the hell. So when the mob around Marisa thinned, I stepped up and added my bills.
“I assume this is all going to a good cause,” I said.
Marisa nodded. “Sí. Mr. Garrett’s brother Carlos is going to manage the banda, and anything we make after expenses will go to a scholarship fund.” She touched the collar of her red jacket. “The outfits were donated by our benefactor, so we didn’t waste any money there. And if you come to our next gig, I promise we’ll know more than three songs.”
“Y’all sounded swell,” I said. I reached out and touched one of the ragged holes in the sousaphone bell. “Despite a defective tuba made out of fiberglass.”
Marisa gave me a bright smile.
“Es la música,” she said. “No el instrumento.”
I looked around and saw no one else within fifteen feet.
“You knew I’d be there with the money Monday night, didn’t you?” I said. “You must have spotted me Saturday as you drove off in the van. And you knew I was in Garrett’s office when you brought Donny to the band room Monday morning.”