Settling in, Roger asked, “So, Bud, what’s up with this Lucy Carpenter renting out at your place?”
“She needed something and she talked me into it. That teardown’s just been sitting. It falls under subdivision covenants now, but it used to be zoned for commercial. I’ve got more restrictions on selling it than the trouble it’s worth. I hate bureaucratic paperwork. She said she didn’t care what condition it was in.”
“Did you run her credit?”
Bud scratched his jaw. “No.”
“Why not?”
“No need. She paid me a check on the spot.”
“How did you know if it would bounce or not?”
“Didn’t.” Bud took a chug of beer, a crescent of foam staying on his upper lip. “But look at her. She’s got the nicest face of any woman coming into town these days. Who wouldn’t trust her?”
Roger frowned. “Opal, she say anything to you when she came into the diner the other day?”
“No, Roger. She just talked to Drew a short time while he was waiting on me to get Ada some biscuits.”
“I thought Ada was on South Beach.”
“She is. Doesn’t look like she’s lost a pound, but if you tell her I said that, I’ll say you’re a damn liar.”
“So what’s this Lucy Carpenter’s business in town?” Roger grabbed a handful of Spanish peanuts and let them trickle into his open mouth.
“Cooking,” Bud replied, nudging his chin a little higher to rid himself of its double sag. “She cooks for people. You know—like Raul Nunez.”
“Raul makes a mean scalloped corn deluxe. He won’t give me the recipe.” Opal crushed her cigarette.
“He still cooking for that actress—what the hell’s her name?” Roger’s mind drew a blank, and he swore at the senility of old age setting in, even though he was barely a day over fifty-five. “That one who did the movie with Tom Cruise.”
“Yep, he does,” Bud said. “She’s still in town for the summer. I seen her Mercedes at the yoga studio the other day.”
“You think this Lucy’ll give Raul a run for it?” Opal lit another cigarette, blew the smoke away from the men.
“I hate to say it, but she has spunk,” Roger commented, then let his thoughts wander as he ordered a drink.
Time would tell what Lucy Carpenter would contribute to Red Duck—and if that boy of hers would get himself into any trouble.
The rest of the night was spent debating who served the best burger in town, Woolly’s or the Mule Shoe. That ran its course at ten forty-nine, and then the conversation drifted to who might still be playing poker at the barbershop.
It was just another night in the High Country lounge.
Five
Matt walked down Main Street with his big brother. They’d gotten up early, had breakfast and helped move furniture, and now Mom was using their computer for work. She had to print out her cooking stuff for some people. She said he and Jason could check out the main part of town—as long as they were back in an hour.
Matt didn’t see much wrong with living in Red Duck. He had a few friends back in Boise, but he never really had a best friend like he’d had in the first grade. Tommy Olsen moved away in the fourth grade, and Matt hadn’t played with anybody else who thought it was funny to squish the guts out of night crawlers under the tires of a Tonka truck.
Shading his eyes against the afternoon sun, Jason stopped to look at a group of boys across the street.
“Jason, come on.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” His brother pushed ahead, his hair sticking up at his forehead. He’d put some jelly stuff in it today to make it spike.
Matt stepped inside a comic book store and Jason followed.
Jason didn’t read them anymore, he’d only come along to get away from the house. Matt glanced at the rack. “Look at all these.”
“Yeah, I see ’em.” But Jason was staring out the door.
“Jason, come here.” Matt didn’t like the feeling he got, and he worried his brother thought about doing something dumb right now.
“I’ll be right back.” Jason was walking outside.
“But—”
“I’m just going across the street for a second.”
“Only a second?”
“Don’t have a cow—I said I’ll be right back.”
Stepping off the curb, Jason stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and slumped his shoulders. Matt stayed in the doorway and watched his older brother talk to the boys. Jason thought he was hot stuff, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t anybody important in Red Duck. In Boise, other kids thought he was cool.
One of the boys lit a cigarette and Matt watched his older brother take a puff. Stupid. Mom was going to find out.
“Can I help you find something?” a man’s voice asked.
Matt turned around and saw a bald guy smiling down at him.
“Uh, no, sir. I was just looking at the comics.” Matt took one, flipped the pages, then skimmed through a few others until he got lost in one. When he finally glanced back to the street, Jason and the boys were gone.
Matt racked the comic book and stepped outside. He passed a sandwich shop, then read a sign that said the Mule Shoe Bar. The tall and narrow windows on either side of the door were too dark to see through. Matt cupped his hands around his eyes and looked inside a few of the other shops. His brother wasn’t in any of them.
Wandering around the corner, Matt tried not to worry. If he stuck around here, Jason would have to show up.
He saw a funny-looking lady walking a dog. She had one pink curler in her hair right on the back of her head. Her hair was gray, and she was like the dough boy on TV—plump and looking like her clothes were too tight. She had a happy face, though. She reminded him of his music teacher.
The dog she was walking was really cool. He was big and black and he kept pulling her down the street toward a
