"Nope. I just figured that if I could outchase the law, I
could outchase the lawbreakers." He shrugged. "It seemed
a natural career choice. Hungry?"
Before she had a chance to answer, he pushed open the
door of the B & B Cafe. A cowbell mounted above it announced
their entrance. It was the place where things were
happening, it seemed. Every table--red formica with rusted
chrome legs--was full. Reede led her to a vacant booth along
the wall.
Greetings were called out to him by executives, farmers,
roughnecks, cowboys, and secretaries, each distinguished by
his attire. Everyone except the secretaries wore boots. Alex
recognized Imogene, Pat Chastain's secretary. As soon as
they passed her table, she launched into an animated, whispered
explanation of who Alex was to the women seated with
her. A hush fell over the room as word traveled from one
table to the next.
No doubt this microcosm of Purcell gathered every morning
at the B & B Cafe during coffee-break time. A stranger in
the midst was news, but the return of Celina Gaither's daughter
was a news bulletin. Alex felt like a lightning rod, because
she certainly attracted electric currents. Some, she sensed,
were unfriendly.
A Crystal Gayle ballad about love lost was wafting from
the jukebox. It competed with "Hour Magazine" on the fuzzy
black-and-white TV mounted in one corner. Male impotence
was being discussed to the raucous amusement of a trio of
roughnecks. The nonsmoking movement hadn't reached Purcell,
and the air was dense enough to cut. The smell of frying
bacon was prevalent.
A waitress in purple polyester pants and a bright gold satin
blouse approached them with two cups of coffee and a plate
of fresh, yeasty doughnuts. She winked and said, "Mornin',
Reede," before ambling off toward the kitchen, where the
cook was deftly flipping eggs while a cigarette dangled between
his lips.
"Help yourself."
Alex took the sheriff up on his offer. The doughnuts were
still warm, and the sugary glaze melted against her tongue.
"They had this waiting for you. Is this your table? Do you
have a standing order?''
"The owner's name is Pete," he told her, indicating the
cook. "He used to feed me breakfast every morning on my
way to school."
"How generous."
"It wasn't charity," he said curtly. "I swept up for him
in the afternoons after school."
She had unwittingly struck a sore spot. Reede Lambert was
defensive about his motherless childhood. Now, however,
wasn't the time to probe for more information. Not with
nearly every eye in the place watching them.
He devoured two doughnuts and washed them down with
black coffee, wasting neither food, nor time, nor motion. He
ate like he thought it might be a long time before his next
meal.
"Busy place," she commented, unself-consciously licking
glaze off her fingers.
"Yeah. The old-timers like me leave the new shopping
mall and fast food places out by the interstate to the newcomers
and teenagers. If you can't find who you're looking
for anyplace else, he's usually at the B & B. Angus'll probably
be along directly. ME's corporate headquarters is just
one block off the square, but he conducts a lot of business
right here in this room."
"Tell me about the Mintons."
He reached for the last doughnut, since it was obvious that
Alex wasn't going to eat it. "They're rich, but not showy.
Well liked around town."
"Or feared."
"By some, maybe," he conceded with a shrug.
"The ranch is only one of their businesses?"
"Yeah, but it's the granddaddy. Angus built it out of nothing
but acres of dust and sheer determination."
"What exactly do they do out there?"
"Basically, they're a racehorse training outfit. Thoroughbreds
mostly. Some Quarter Horses. They board up to a
hundred and fifty horses at a time, and get them ready for
the track trainers."
"You seem to know a lot about it."
"I own a couple of racehorses myself. I board them out
there permanently." He pointed down to her half-empty coffee
cup. "If you're finished, I'd like to show you something."
"What?" she asked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic.
"It's not far."
They left the B & B, but not before Reede said goodbye
to everyone he'd said hello to when they came in. He didn't
pay for the breakfast, but was saluted by Pete the cook and
given an affectionate pat by the waitress.
Reede's official car, a Blazer truck, was parked at the curb
in front of the courthouse. The space was reserved for him,
marked with a small sign. He unlocked the door, helped Alex
up into the cab of the four-wheel-drive vehicle, then joined
her. He drove only a few blocks before pulling up in front
of a small house. "That's it," he said.
"What?"
"Where your mother lived." Alex whipped her head
around to stare at the frame dwelling. "The neighborhood
isn't what it was when she lived here. It's gone to pot. There
used to be a tree there, where the sidewalk dips slightly."
"Yes. I've seen pictures."
' 'It died a few years ago and had to be cut down. Anyway,''
he said, slipping the truck back into gear, "I thought you'd
want to see it."
' "Thank you." As he pulled the Blazer away from the curb,
Alex kept her eyes on the house. The white paint had grayed.
Hot summer suns had faded the maroon awnings over the
front windows. It wasn't attractive, but she swiveled her head
and kept it in sight as long as she could.
That's where she had lived with her mother for two short
months. In those rooms, Celina had fed her, bathed her,
rocked her, and sang her lullabies. There, she had listened