In Plain Sight

“Mother lives and breathes the ranch and this valley,” Hank said. “It’s like the Twelve Sleep River runs through her veins instead of blood . . .”

He talked less than five minutes, but his tinny, halting delivery was more riveting than Arlen’s speech. Never, in the entire time they were there, did either brother acknowledge the other, even with a nod.

When he was through, Hank folded up his notes, stuffed them into the back pocket of his Wranglers, and walked off the stage. While Arlen came down into the crowd to shake hands, Hank walked away through the parking lot toward the street. The pickup driven by Bill Monroe appeared and took him away.

Joe looked around for McLanahan and saw him in the parking lot talking heatedly with Robey Hersig.

THE CROWD MILLED around after the speeches. Groups formed to take tours of the new Scarlett Wing, others headed toward the snacks and drinks set up near the museum entrance. A few made their way to their vehicles.

Robey, his face red and his eyes in a snake-eyed squint, marched up to Joe and stabbed a finger into his chest. “What are you trying to do? Burn every damned bridge behind you?”

“Stick around,” Joe said, smiling. “I’ve got a few more to go.”

Robey turned on his boot heels and strode away from Joe toward the parking lot.

22

“JOE, I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’RE DOING THIS RIGHT,” Marybeth said. “This isn’t like you. You seem to be a little out of control.”

“You’re probably right,” Joe replied. “But it’s time to shake things up.”

She had lured him away from the crowd to a secluded place on the side of the addition. Joe felt his boot heels sink into the brand-new sod. There was real concern in her eyes.

“Joe, I see these people every day. I work for some of them. We have to live here.”

He tipped his hat back and rubbed his forehead where the sweatband fit. “I hate to give any credit to Randy Pope,” he said, “but he may be right about one thing, and that’s the tendency to go native if you stay somewhere too long.”

“I’m not following.”

“Think about what you just said. You’re starting to weigh my job and my duty against who we may offend. If that’s a problem, Marybeth, maybe we’ve overstayed our welcome here.”

Her eyes got wide, then she set her face. She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. Joe rocked back and thought, Uh-oh.

“Listen to me, Joe Pickett,” she said. “Don’t you ever, for one second, think I would want you to compromise your principles or your oath in order for us to get along better here. I have never done that to you. If that was in my mind, I would have insisted on it years ago, before you and your stupid job put us in harm’s way again and again and AGAIN.”

Marybeth took a step forward and Joe took one back. She was now jabbing him in the chest. He wished she hadn’t said “stupid job.” But he didn’t point that out.

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” she said. “I think your problem is your problem. You’re working for a man and an agency you don’t believe in anymore. You’re frustrated. You’re finding out that everything you based your career and your validation on might be built on a foundation of sand. It kills you that you’re thinking you’re just another government employee working for a government agency. And instead of admitting it or dealing with it, you’re lashing out. Am I right?”

Joe glared at her.

“Am I right?”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “Just a little.”

“Okay, then.”

“It kind of pisses me off that you’re so smart,” he said, chancing a smile. “I must drive you crazy sometimes.”

She punched him playfully in the chest. “It is a burden,” she said.

AS THEY WALKED back toward the parking lot and the people, Joe said, “I’m still mad, though.”

“You don’t get mad very often, so I suppose you’re allowed to every once in a while.”

“There’s a lot going on here,” he said, gesturing toward the museum and the Scarlett Wing, but meaning the county in general. “We can’t see it happening because we’re too close. I think it’s right there in front of us, but we’re not seeing it because we’re looking for something else.”

Marybeth stopped and searched his face. “What are you talking about, Joe?”

“Where does Bill Monroe fit into all of this?” Joe said. “I can’t figure out his role in it. He’s Hank’s thug, but he seems to be working with Arlen too. How do you square that deal?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something struck me during those speeches,” Joe said. “I was wondering if you picked up on it.”

“What?”

“Think back. What was the biggest difference between how Arlen spoke and Hank spoke?”

“Arlen was articulate and Hank was not?” Marybeth said.