I angled a little toward the boardwalk to have a better look at her, and when I slowed, she turned, looked right at me.
This time she was looking at me.
She had dark, almost black hair, rosy cheeks, and big brown eyes. I tipped my hat and she smiled as I rode past. I looked back to her, she gave her parasol an extra spin, smiled a slight more, then slid effortlessly through the open door of a fabric shop.
“She smiled at me, Ajax, not at you...”
I rode on up the busy street and there were a lot of people moving about for such a hot day.
Like S.Q. was saying, the place just gets bigger every day. It was hard to keep up with all the comings and goings, but there was most certainly more coming than going.
There was always something new happening, some new business opening, but mostly the growth — no doubt — brought a mischievous lot.
There were not any new churches, but there were plenty new saloons and whoring establishments.
Pritchard’s gambling hall was opening soon, and it had already caused a good deal of trouble with its own brand of mischief, like Boston Bill Black, Truitt Shirley, and Ricky Ravenfield.
When I rode past the place, prominently located on the corner of Main and 3rd Street, there were a slew of onlookers watching workers on tall ladders hoisting a huge colorfully painted canvas banner above the entrance.
I slowed to a stop next to Juniper Jones. Juniper was an amusing little man with a round body and red face. He sported a tall dark green flattop hat, was always sharply dressed, and was without exception the best attorney in Appaloosa. He was Harvard educated and wealthy, but he was also most assuredly gaining a reputation as the town drunk.
Juniper was perched on the edge of a water trough with a newspaper tucked under his arm, looking up at the sign being strung up across the street. He glanced up, squinting at me.
“Everett,” he said.
“Juniper.”
He looked back to the sign being hoisted.
“What’s this place coming to?” Juniper said.
“Good question.”
“I’m not talking about this godforsaken place, not Appaloosa. I’m talking about this country. What is it coming to?”
“Another good question.”
“Gambling has this motherland by the short hairs, Everett.”
“’Spose it does, Juniper.”
“Oh, it does... It’s an insidious kaleidoscope, offering the illusion of chance as a contender, a competitor to hard work and discipline. Not to mention it is a catastrophe for meaningful relationships.”
“Everything is a gamble,” I said. “This motherland was a gamble coupled with hard work.”
Juniper looked at me.
“Yes, but it has become an addiction for many, you see. Even when the gambler knows the odds are against him, when he can’t afford to lose, he still rolls the dice.”
Juniper got to his feet and brushed the back side of his trousers as he looked at the sign.
“Believe that’s French, Everett?” Juniper said. “Maison de Daphne?”
“Believe it might be,” I said.
Juniper laughed.
“Might?” Juniper said. “Besides me, you are the smartest person in this goddamn godforsaken town. You know French when you see it.”
“I do.”
“Of course you do.”
The workmen got the banner where they wanted it and tied it in place. Then I saw her again: the smooth-walking woman with the parasol. She came through the gathered crowd, waited as a buggy passed, then crossed the dry street and stopped, looking up at the sign. She watched the workers for a moment, then turned and looked at the onlookers. After a few seconds she walked between the ladders, up the steps, and entered Maison de Daphne.
32
Allie was working in the garden when I rode up. She was draping bed linens over the top of her plants so they didn’t fry in the hot sun. She looked up, seeing me as I tied off Ajax under one of the two oak trees that had grown tall enough in the past year to provide a little shade.
“Hey, Everett,” Allie said.
She stood from being bent over and pushed her hips forward, arching her lower back. Her hands were dirty and her blousy shirt was sweated through, but she looked pretty with strands of hair falling across her flushed cheeks.
“Hot enough for you?” I said.
“Nice day for a lizard,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Where’s your bonnet?”
“I know. I hadn’t planned on being out here, but you know how it goes, one thing leads to another.”
“I do.”
“How are you?” she said.
“I’m not working in the garden in the hot sun.”
“I had to do this before the whole thing burnt up.”
“You need some help?”
“No, I’m done for now, it’s quitting time.”
“Guess I timed it just right.”
“You did.”
I opened the gate onto the stone walk leading to the house and made my way toward where Allie stood in the garden. I thought about how I laid every stone of that path with Virgil on a day that was as hot as today.
“I should have gotten out here earlier, but I piddled around until it got to boiling, silly me.”
Allie pulled back the strands of hair hanging in front of her eyes.
“What kind of no good are you up to?”
“Thought I’d just pay my respects.”
“Well, I’m glad to know that I am owed.”
“Always, Allie.”
“Virgil’s not here,” she said.
“Who’s Virgil?” I said.
She cleaned the dirt off her hands with the front of the apron as she turned, appraising her garden.
“Would you just look at this?” she said. “This is a full-time job.”
“Tomatoes look good,” I said.
“Fat and juicy. Problem is keeping enough water on ’em.”
Allie took off her apron and shook it free of dirt.
“Yeah, well, it’s been hot, that’s for sure.”
“What you got in the bag?”
I held up the dripping gunnysack.
“Beer, ice.”
“What?” she said.
“Yep.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Wednesday.”
“Is it?”
“It is.”
She looked down at herself and her blouse was soaked with sweat and clinging to her chest.
“Aren’t I a sight?”
She pinched the fabric of her blouse and gave it a few pulls away from her chest so as to give her breasts a little air.
“You look just fine to me, Allie.”
“Why, Everett, you are a flatterer if I have ever heard one.”
“I’m sure you have heard plenty.”
“Oh, Everett.”
I smiled.
“Why don’t you let me freshen up a little and I will meet you on the back porch for a taste of some of what you have there.”
“Sounds good, Allie.”
I put the bottles of beer into a bucket with the ice and sat on the back porch, listening to the meadowlarks, as I waited on Allie. A welcome breeze picked up and under the shade of the porch was beginning to feel comfortable.
I thought of the conversation I had with S.Q., about what he said about Roger Messenger, and then I wondered about what really happened, about who really did kill Ruth Ann Messenger.
I heard Allie call from the house.
“Be right there, Everett.”
I looked back and could see Allie through the curtains of the open bedroom window. She had her back to the window and for a moment she was without covering, but then she slipped a dress on over her head.
After a few moments Allie came out. She was wearing a loose-fitting white cotton dress with her wet hair wrapped atop her head and held in place with an ivory hair comb.
“Forgive me, I had to water myself a little,” she said.
“By all means,” I said. “I waited on you.”