As Meredith walked down the courthouse hallway, the bells at the Catholic church chimed for Saturday evening mass. They reminded her that this place had once been her palace and she had danced across the marble floors. She knew every corner of the first two stories as if it were her private playhouse.
Her father had never allowed her to climb the stairs to the third floor, just in case a prisoner was being held in the small two-cell holding unit. Once in a while, a man would be brought in for trial early in the morning and transferred out that night to the main jail six miles out of town. She had seen the small elevator in the sheriff's office that only went to the third floor, but doubted it still worked.
She could not help but glance over near the back door when she stopped at Granger's office and told him goodbye. The elevator was still there but the county clerk said Granger, or one of the deputies, took prisoners straight to the main unit nowadays. They did not have the manpower to assign someone to the third floor as a guard.
Granger looked up from his spotless desk and stared at her as if he had forgotten she was in the building.
She did not give him time to say anything. She wanted to get to Frankie's Bar and complete her mission. She was several feet down the hall when she thought she heard him answer, 'Evening.'
Kevin and she had gone to bars a few times during their college days. She guessed it was still the same-no one ever came early to a bar. So, five o'clock would probably be a slow time if Saturday had a slow time. She could talk to the owner, Frankie, get her business done, and be home before dark.
Clifton Creek once boasted thirty saloons, but when the oil boom slowed, the bars eroded into dilapidated buildings, storage garages, and quick-stop gas and grocery stores. Somehow, like the last dinosaur, Frankie's had survived. It had changed owners several times. In the sixties it was a biker bar, a beer and barbecue stand in the seventies, but since the early eighties, Frankie's place was pure countryand-western music and longnecks.
When she pulled into the parking lot, Meredith breathed a long sigh of relief. Only three cars huddled in front of the shack. Since lunch, she had been planning what she would say and now wanted to get it over with before she forgot her speech. She would use logic on Frankie. Even a bar owner would respond to that.
The wind whirled a caliche cloud around her car as she parked. White powder settled on her old Mustang, dirtying the already dull blue to Confederate gray. Clumps of dried weeds fought their way through broken sidewalks to serve as landscaping. Shattered bottles that had been tossed at the building framed the foundation like colorful crystal in the afternoon sun.
Meredith rushed inside, telling herself she did not care if someone saw her. She was on a mission. But she knew she would rather not have to explain. Thirty years ago a teacher patronizing such an establishment would have been grounds for dismissal. Today, it would probably only be frowned upon. She did not want to find out for sure.
As she walked in a heavyset man, with a beard halfway down his biker shirt, looked up from the bar he was cleaning. Meredith glanced around. A young waitress talked to a cowboy in the corner, but other than that, the place was empty.
She quickly crossed to the man behind the counter. 'Mr. Frunkie?'
He stared at her as if he was trying to identify a new species never before seen in this environment. 'Who wants to know?'
Meredith extended her hand. 'I'm Meredith Allen, a friend of Randi Howard.'
He did not take her hand and she could not help wondering if he had caught Granger's disease. 'Lady, you may be Meredith Allen, but I'd stake what's left of my hair that you're not a friend of Randi's.'
The barmaid moved closer, suddenly more interested in Meredith than the cowboy. 'Where'd you get that sweater, honey?' She raised one eyebrow that looked to have been painted on with a first-grade crayon. 'I'd like to have me one of them Santa shirts.'
'A friend made it.' Meredith held up the bottom of the shirt so the Santa shone in the bar lights. 'You can buy the sweatshirts at Wal-Mart, then all it takes is a little yarn and a pair of eyes. She glued these on, but you could use buttons.'
Meredith glanced up to see them laughing at her. She fought the urge to run. She was not used to having her kindness met with sarcasm. She did the only thing she could think of, she continued.
'It has to be washed by hand or the yarn tends to come out.' She held her head high and stared at the barmaid's forehead like she had been taught to do when she first started teaching. 'I could leave it here for a few days if you wane to use my shirt as your pattern.'
The woman was taken back by Meredith's kindness, but was too jaded to believe. 'What planet did you drop from, honey?'
Meredith smiled as if she understood the joke. 'I grew up here but went away for a few years during college. Took over Mrs. Helderman's second-grade class when I got my degree.'
The barmaid smiled. 'I had Mrs. Helderman. She was so old we all believed she dated Robert E. Lee. She still have that picture of him hanging behind her desk when you got there?'
'Of course. I don't think she ever threw anything away. You should have seen her files. She kept toothless, second grade pictures of most of the people in this town.' Meredith leaned closer so she could read the name tag. 'I don't remember seeing a Barbi, though.'
'It's Barbara. Barbara Coleman. I think I was in the fifth grade when you came. I kind of remember seeing you around.'
'Yes, of course.' Meredith patted Barbi's arm. 'You're Molly and Jake's big sister. How are they doing? I heard Molly got into A and M.'
'That's right. Another few years and my baby sister may be an engineer.'
'I'm so proud. She was such a sweet little girl.'
Meredith glanced at Frankie. He looked like he might throw up.
The cowboy sauntered from the other end of the bar, his beer in hand. 'I had Mrs. Helderman. She used to turn her ring around and thump us with the stone if we caused trouble. I still got dents in my head to prove it.'
Frankie groaned. 'I'm calling the cops. You stay much longer, teacher, and there's bound to be trouble. Who knows, all the customers will probably start getting out their old annuals and we'll sign `See you when the summer's over.' Wr can have a regular grade school reunion.'
Meredith ignored Frankie and looked at the cowboy. 'You're Smiley Weathers, aren't you? Mrs. Helderman used to tell stories about you when she'd come up to have lunch in the teachers' lounge.'
'She remembered me?' He seemed touched.
Meredith added, 'She showed the newspaper clippings of you making it into the rodeo finals in Las Vegas.'
Smiley took a swig of his beer. 'She did, huh? Well, I'll be…'
Frankie had had enough. 'You'd best be ordering a drink or stating your business, teacher,. I can't stand much more of this.'
Meredith folded her hands and leaned her elbows on the bar. 'As I said, I'm a friend of Randi Howard, and I'm here to see if you'd be willing to drop any charges against her if she had the light pole fixed.'
His eyes squinted like he was trying to see a lie. 'And how might you be friends with Randi?'
Meredith forced out the words she hated to say. 'My husband was killed with hers on the oil rig that caught fire a few months ago.'
Both Barbi and Smiley drew closer.
'Ohhh,' Barbi sighed. 'I'm so sorry. It was horrible, wasn't it? They say old Shelby Howard is little more than a vegetable. Had one of his ears burned completely off, too. No telling what else. Maybe it's lucky your man died.'
Meredith did not answer. She had grown used to such insane statements.
'I've got friends who played ball with your husband.'
Smiley made a slight toast with his beer. 'They say he was one of the best who ever played in this town.'
Frankie glared at the pair of crybabies. 'Now don't go started again. So you're friends with Randi because of some accident. That don't make you her keeper. She got into trouble last night, and this time she's going to pay.'
