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“Mrs. Parens, what about Oscar and Pearl?”
“We must continue this discussion of that particular history another time.”
CHAPTER NINE
Mrs. P’s exceedingly polite bum’s rush sent me on my way without delay, which did have one upside.
I’d get to the ranch — the Circle B — where I’d be with Tom and Tamantha, earlier than I expected.
I texted Tom my new ETA. He’d responded to my earlier text while I was with Mrs. P with one word: Great.
As I mentioned, my leaving my father’s house to go to my husband’s house was not a part of the scenario for our upcoming nuptials. Though houses did figure as a bone of contention in some of our conversations over the past months.
Sort of a backward bone of contention. Instead of each of us wanting to spend max time in the house we brought into this coupling, Tom thought we should spend more time in the town house, because it was more convenient for my work and Tamantha’s school. I thought the brunt of the bad-weather commuting should not fall on him, so we should spend more time at the ranch.
The topic rose tonight as we prepared dinner, while Tamantha did her homework at a corner of the table. Tom did most of the cooking. I could bake, but otherwise I was a great table-setter.
“Thought we’d stay in town tomorrow night,” he said. “Tamantha has a meeting after school, so she could get the bus to the town house.”
“And you? You’d have to get up at an outrageous hour to get back here to the ranch to have enough daylight—”
“Never enough daylight this time of year.”
“—to do your work.”
“If that’s your only objection, I see the pluses outweighing the negatives. But if it’s something else... I hear—” He cut his eyes toward Tamantha. “—you’ve taken on extra work yourself. Beyond helping Mike with changes at the station.”
We hadn’t had an opportunity for me to tell him about my day’s activities. I wasn’t surprised he already knew some.
“Not officially. Not sure there’s anything there for... us.” A tilt of my head away from him and Tamantha indicated my fellow sleuths. “Exploratory for now.”
Proving he already knew a lot about it without needing any of my reporting, he said, “Nice guy. Different, and good with that. Sure of who he was.”
Mrs. P’s discourse on the history of communication across the Wild West had me thinking of these comments as telegraphic. The telegraph’s speed might have killed the Pony Express, but its communication style still had impact.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said to his daughter, which ended even our telegraphic communication over murder or murder victims.
Afterward, Tamantha cleared the table, then pulled out the last of her schoolwork.
While Tom and I put away leftovers, did the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen, I shared some of what Mrs. P told me, figuring tales of Wild West outlaws wouldn’t shock Tamantha... if she didn’t know all about them already. Without mentioning murder, Tom added a few points about Keefer Dobey and confirmed my impressions of Brenda Mankin and Wendy Barlow.
I also found an opportunity to say casually, “If you happen to hear from all your sources in the county, and beyond, that the sheriff’s department is about to close an active case with an arrest...”
“I’d call you immediately.” He looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t feel like that’s going to happen.”
In preparation for the drive to town, I made a pit stop in the master bathroom.
I heard Tom’s phone ring, but didn’t think anything of it.
His calling habits didn’t match a journalist’s, but with the number of organizations he was involved in, if not in charge of, he came close.
When I came back into the main area, with the living and dining rooms blended and the kitchen right off them, Tom had his phone propped up on the table, showing a video call — though I couldn’t see details of the screen from here. Tamantha sat next to him.
For my first few steps from the hallway into the main living area, I thought Tom and Tamantha must be listening to those on the other end.
I only realized nobody had been talking on the other end, either, when I heard a woman’s light voice said, “Oh, is that Elizabeth?”
Tom’s parents.
