two
hours, shirt, socks, shoes, until he'd finally decided to go in and dig some
shorts and sandals out of his suitcase. Upstairs he'd opened every window he
could find to try to air the place out. The heat and the musty smell were
enough to make his nose hairs curl, and if layers of dust could be read like
rings on a tree, then it was his guess that the top floor hadn't been used
since Vic was a baby.
He
mentioned this when Vic finally came out to join him on the front porch. Vic
opened the Coleman cooler beside the peeling porch swing and drew out a beer
before sitting down. "I stopped at the churchyard and saw Dad's
grave."
"I
know," Nolan said. "You told me. Did you hear me about the
upstairs?"
"Yeah,
I heard you. Myra said she tried to talk Dad into renovating, but he wasn't
interested."
Nolan
licked beer and sweat from his upper lip. "That must've been when she
thought it was coming to her."
Vic
ignored him. "I always thought he was loaded. He'd talk about these studs
worth ungodly amounts of money and I pictured this place as a real Sunnybrook
Farm. Now I come here and find furniture and appliances one step past apple
crates and woodstoves. At first I think he's eccentric, right? Or a tightwad.
But then I ask Myra what he did with all his money, and she says she doesn't
know. I start to think okay, maybe he spent it on her, but then I look around
and see that she doesn't have shit."
"She's
got twenty grand in a C.D. at the bank in Garden City," Noland said.
Vic
looked at him in exasperation. "Will you get off that? That twenty is a
drop in the bucket compared to what he must've had when this place was
running."
"So
what happened to it?" Nolan asked.
"I
don't know." Vic took a swig of beer and wiped his forehead. "I did
call the sheriff at a pay phone in the grocery store. He claims he received a
report that the horses had been sold prior to Dad's death. The alleged buyers
even had my father's signature on the papers to prove it. He figures Dad just
forgot to tell Myra. When I asked who gave him the report, and just why these
people came to pick up their horses in the middle of the night, he said
everything looked legal and there was nothing I could do about it."
"What
about the cut phone lines and the dead animals?" Nolan asked.
Vic
looked at him. "Who told you?"
"The
kid. We talked while you were gone."
"The
sheriff said he didn't know anything about it, and if it was a simple matter of
vandalism we should talk to Ed Kisner. He did, however, give me a toll-free
number to call for phone repair. I thought that was awfully big of him."
"When
are they coming?"
"Tuesday
at the earliest, Friday at the latest. Myra was lucky the first time, the
repairman just happened to be within twenty miles of the area."
Nolan
drained his beer and leaned back. "What do you think? You think someone
was trying to run her off?"
“You
mean you believe her now?"
"I
didn't say that. For one thing, I can't see the purpose. Like you said, she
doesn't have shit. Unless they wanted that itty bitty air-conditioner in her
kitchen window—which I'm seriously considering stealing myself—I can't see any
reason to terrorize her and the kid."
"She
has an air-conditioner?" Vic glanced down the drive toward the white
single-width mobile home. "I found a fan for the girls, but that's not
going to cut it."
"She's
got a television, too," Nolan said. "And it's hooked up to the dish
in the back. I asked Cal about it and he said your dad bought it when they
first came here. He never got around to buying a TV for himself."
Vic
grunted and got off the swing. "You want another beer?"
"Yeah.
Where are the girls?"
"In
the barn with Cal. Both of them wanted to get out of the house. I guess it's
not what they expected either."
Nolan
took the beer Vic offered and screwed the top off with the tips of his fingers.
"Well, at least we have a swimming pool. I bet Myra doesn't have a
pool."
Vic held
his beer to his face. "A swimming
hours, shirt, socks, shoes, until he'd finally decided to go in and dig some
shorts and sandals out of his suitcase. Upstairs he'd opened every window he
could find to try to air the place out. The heat and the musty smell were
enough to make his nose hairs curl, and if layers of dust could be read like
rings on a tree, then it was his guess that the top floor hadn't been used
since Vic was a baby.
He
mentioned this when Vic finally came out to join him on the front porch. Vic
opened the Coleman cooler beside the peeling porch swing and drew out a beer
before sitting down. "I stopped at the churchyard and saw Dad's
grave."
"I
know," Nolan said. "You told me. Did you hear me about the
upstairs?"
"Yeah,
I heard you. Myra said she tried to talk Dad into renovating, but he wasn't
interested."
Nolan
licked beer and sweat from his upper lip. "That must've been when she
thought it was coming to her."
Vic
ignored him. "I always thought he was loaded. He'd talk about these studs
worth ungodly amounts of money and I pictured this place as a real Sunnybrook
Farm. Now I come here and find furniture and appliances one step past apple
crates and woodstoves. At first I think he's eccentric, right? Or a tightwad.
But then I ask Myra what he did with all his money, and she says she doesn't
know. I start to think okay, maybe he spent it on her, but then I look around
and see that she doesn't have shit."
"She's
got twenty grand in a C.D. at the bank in Garden City," Noland said.
Vic
looked at him in exasperation. "Will you get off that? That twenty is a
drop in the bucket compared to what he must've had when this place was
running."
"So
what happened to it?" Nolan asked.
"I
don't know." Vic took a swig of beer and wiped his forehead. "I did
call the sheriff at a pay phone in the grocery store. He claims he received a
report that the horses had been sold prior to Dad's death. The alleged buyers
even had my father's signature on the papers to prove it. He figures Dad just
forgot to tell Myra. When I asked who gave him the report, and just why these
people came to pick up their horses in the middle of the night, he said
everything looked legal and there was nothing I could do about it."
"What
about the cut phone lines and the dead animals?" Nolan asked.
Vic
looked at him. "Who told you?"
"The
kid. We talked while you were gone."
"The
sheriff said he didn't know anything about it, and if it was a simple matter of
vandalism we should talk to Ed Kisner. He did, however, give me a toll-free
number to call for phone repair. I thought that was awfully big of him."
"When
are they coming?"
"Tuesday
at the earliest, Friday at the latest. Myra was lucky the first time, the
repairman just happened to be within twenty miles of the area."
Nolan
drained his beer and leaned back. "What do you think? You think someone
was trying to run her off?"
“You
mean you believe her now?"
"I
didn't say that. For one thing, I can't see the purpose. Like you said, she
doesn't have shit. Unless they wanted that itty bitty air-conditioner in her
kitchen window—which I'm seriously considering stealing myself—I can't see any
reason to terrorize her and the kid."
"She
has an air-conditioner?" Vic glanced down the drive toward the white
single-width mobile home. "I found a fan for the girls, but that's not
going to cut it."
"She's
got a television, too," Nolan said. "And it's hooked up to the dish
in the back. I asked Cal about it and he said your dad bought it when they
first came here. He never got around to buying a TV for himself."
Vic
grunted and got off the swing. "You want another beer?"
"Yeah.
Where are the girls?"
"In
the barn with Cal. Both of them wanted to get out of the house. I guess it's
not what they expected either."
Nolan
took the beer Vic offered and screwed the top off with the tips of his fingers.
"Well, at least we have a swimming pool. I bet Myra doesn't have a
pool."
Vic held
his beer to his face. "A swimming
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