“It’s so personal,” she said in a whisper, “it scares me to death.”
“I’ll find him, Marybeth.”
She didn’t speak for a long time. As the minutes lapsed, he started to fear what she would say. He thought she might mention Nate Romanowski. That she wished Nate were there to protect them, instead of him. If she said Nate’s name, Joe wondered if he could go on, because he would feel that he had lost everything. Their tight little family was the only thing that anchored him to earth, the only constant. A breach could tear them apart and unmoor him to a degree he didn’t even want to imagine.
The sun slowly rose and backlit Wolf Mountain and fused the blinds with soft, cold gray light.
He was deep into melancholy when Marybeth said, “I love you, Joe Pickett. I know you’ll protect us.”
Despite the situation, Joe was suddenly filled with joy and purpose. He rolled over and kissed her, surprising her.
“What was that about?” she asked.
He tried to answer. The only thing he could come up with was “It’s about everything.”
But as he rose, the thought that they were running away came rushing back at him. And he hated to run.
21
SATURDAY BROUGHT THE GRAND OPENING OF THE SCARLETT Wing of the Twelve Sleep County Historical Society. The day was fresh with early summer, aching with sunlight, character provided by the new wildflower smells and the first bursts of pine pollen drifting down from the mountains.
Joe sat next to Marybeth on metal folding chairs set up in the parking lot of the museum. It seemed as if most of official Saddlestring and the county was there, including Missy and Bud Longbrake, who sat in the row in front of them and had saved seats for the girls. Although no usher greeted each arrival with an extended hand and whispered “Arlen or Hank’s side?” the effect was the same, with Hank’s backers on the right facing the podium and Arlen’s on the left.
On the raised podium itself, Arlen sat comfortably in a chair looking out at the audience, waving and winking at his friends. There was an empty seat on the other side of the podium. The chair was for Hank, as both brothers were supposed to speak at the event. The closer it got to ten A.M., when the wing was to be dedicated, the emptier the seat seemed to be.
JOE HAD AWAKENED in a foul mood that continued to spiral downward as the day went on. It had started when he opened his eyes in bed, looked around, and realized once again that his family was on the Longbrake Ranch instead of in their own home. It continued through breakfast, as Missy held court and pointed out repeatedly to his daughters how many fat grams there were in each bite they were taking. His black mood accelerated and whipped over into the passing lane when he started to contemplate just how ineffectual he had become; how useless, how he was no better than the bureaucrats he worked with.
Then there was the message on his cell phone from Randy Pope: “You left your house? Don’t you realize that is state property? What if it is vandalized even more while you’re gone? Do you plan to take responsibility for that?”
Joe seethed as he drove.
He was tired of following procedure, asking permission, seeking warrants, waiting for instructions, hoping for help.
No one, except him, was going to get him out of this.
As he drove his family to the grand opening, Joe made a mental list of things that were driving him mad. While he did so, he vaguely listened to Sheridan tell Lucy about the incredibly boring English literature class she was in. They were now reading Shakespeare, she said. Suddenly a thought struck him with such force that his hands jerked on the wheel and Marybeth said, “Was there a rabbit in the road?”
“No,” Joe said. “Something just occurred to me.”
“What?”
“About Opal. Something I never thought of before.”
“So . . . ?”
“Sheridan,” Joe said, looking up into his mirror so he could see her face, “would you please repeat what you just told Lucy about the play you’re reading? The one about the king?”
AS THEY WAITED for the ceremony to begin, Marybeth said, “I’ve been thinking about your new theory.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure I buy it. Is Opal really capable of something that mean? With her own sons?”
Joe nodded. “Opal is capable of anything. Remember, she didn’t have any qualms about stretching a neck-high wire across the river. And you untangled her books. You know how secretive she could be.”
Marybeth shook her head slowly. “Joe, if you’re right . . .”
“I know,” he said.
Marybeth started to say something to him when she was distracted by the fact that most of the people in the crowd had turned in their seats and were craning their necks and pointing.
“Well, look who’s here,” Marybeth said.
“Who?”
Marybeth pointed at the black new-model Yukon that had entered the lot with a license plate that said simply ONE.
The driver’s door opened and a big man with stooped shoulders and an easy smile swung out. He began instantly shaking hands and slapping backs. He moved through the crowd with a slick expertise, never stopping long enough to be engaged, but making eye contact with each person and calling most by name.
Marybeth said, “He looks like he’s headed this way.”
In a moment, he was right in front of them.
“Joe Pickett?”
“Yup.”
“I’m Spencer Rulon.”
“Hello, Governor.”
“Call me Spence. C’mon, let’s go for a little ride. Is this your wife?”
“Yes. Marybeth.”
“Lucky man. Come along, Marybeth. We’ll be back before the hoopla begins.”
WYOMING GOVERNOR SPENCER Rulon drove and spoke with a kind of daredevil self-assurance that came, Joe thought, from being pretty sure all his life he was not only the smartest but the cleverest human being in the room.
“We’ve got ten minutes before I need to be back at the opening,” the governor said, roaring out of the parking lot and onto Main Street, making the turn on what felt to Joe like two wheels. “Then I’ve got to take the plane back to Cheyenne right afterward. A pack of snarling Feds are coming to meet with me at four o’clock about the wolf issue. They’re like hyenas when they smell blood, and since we lost that court case they’re circling what they think is a dying corpse. But we’re not dead yet. We’ll win.” He shook his head in disgust. “Feds,” he spat.
Joe fumbled for the seat belt and snapped it on securely. He shot a glance back at Marybeth in the back seat, who was doing the same thing.
Rulon looked over at Joe and flashed on his full-blast smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Joe Pickett.”
“Likewise,” Joe said, shaking the governor’s proffered hand while, at the same time, glancing out the windshield as they drove through a red light. Luckily, there was no cross traffic at the moment.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
Joe couldn’t think of how to respond, so he didn’t.
“How is that Scarlett situation going up here?”
“Not well,” Joe said.
“You know Arlen’s the majority floor leader, right?”
Joe nodded, trying to keep up.
“He explained everything to me after the session. About his brother and all. What a clusterfuck that is, eh?” Then he glanced in the rearview mirror and said, “Sorry for the inappropriate language, ma’am.”
“It’s quite all right,” Marybeth said. “It’s a perfect description.”
“JESUS CHRIST!” the governor howled, hitting the brakes. “Did I just drive through a red light back there?”