I also felt happy to have truly arrived in high society. They were all there, sitting in the bleachers and sauntering over the grounds — the politicians and captains of industry, the judges and the big attorneys, the publishers and entertainers, the philanthropists and civic leaders, the owners and chairmen and chief executives, the builders, the movers and the shakers. The Tonello’s crowd — but more of them. Even the governor of California was expected to arrive by helicopter for a brief visit around noon. Orange County had voted strong for him in the last gubernatorial race. Not that I really knew many of these people, or really believed that their world was mine. This was merely the beginning of my association with them. But few men — especially those of us in law enforcement — are immune to the attractions of power. I’m not.
Best of all, I felt like a Sheriff Department insider, one of the handful of ambassadors that Jim Wade had picked to represent us to the top echelon of our county. To the people there at the Orange Classic, on any other day of the year, sheriffs are mainly just cops. But on the last Sunday of April we are the best of the best, the ones who can put away our guns and use our energies to nurture the culture’s finest aspirations — like providing for needy kids — through this splendid, ostentatious, lucrative event. Cops feel like outsiders, of course, not really a part of the society they serve and sometimes die for. That’s an old story. But here at Jim Wade’s ranch they are momentary insiders, powerful players within the system. They’re the insiders, the very core responsible for this extravagant event. Some are chosen. And I was one of them.
So when the tram dropped us off and we walked under the wooden J. WADE RANCH sign that hung between two massive redwood stanchions at the entrance of his property, my head was big and my heart was full. I’d bought a light-colored suit for the occasion, and Penny’s outfit was new, too. Even Melinda, so reluctant to buy clothes for herself, had found a department store dress on sale — a summery floral print — and bought it for today. We looked like subjects for an impressionist.
Jim and his wife, Annette, met us as we approached the big ranch-style house. He looked distracted, as I knew he would be, looking over my shoulder to see who might require more personal attention than one of his loyal deputies. He studied me for a split second when he shook my hand, then turned his attention to Melinda. Before we moved past him he leaned up close to my ear and said he’d see me in his study in an hour. I couldn’t tell by his expression what might be afoot. But a little shudder of excitement went through me as I nodded, then gathered my little instant family together and moved on toward the arenas.
We talked to Burns and Vega, both of whom seemed glum, considering the occasion. It’s always a little hard to see co-workers socially, hard to know which version of themselves they’re trying to be.
I tugged gently on Melinda’s arm and we eased away. We walked past one of the arenas to where the food and beverage tables were set up. We got drinks, then followed another family down one of the many trails of the Wade Ranch and into a meadow of wild-flowers. There were orange poppy and red lupine and purple penstemon all in bloom, an eye-shivering carpet of color. Big oak trees stood in solitary distance around the meadow, casting black shadows. And all of us humans in our Sunday best, outfitted like flowers, too, roaming through the tall grass.
We took our seats in the grandstand about a half hour later, to watch the hunters and jumpers. I saw Ishmael walk in front of the stand, with a pretty dark-haired woman I’d never seen. If there was anything tense in Melinda’s reaction, I didn’t feel it Penny jumped down and ran to them and Ish lifted her up for a kiss and held her for a moment against his big athletic body. He looked up and nodded at us.
Just then Donna Mason came up the pathway in front of the stand and stopped to talk to Ishmael. She wore a simple white dress and a hat with flowers on it, and she looked to me like something from a very good dream. Her camera crew lagged behind. I could see Ish introducing Penny and his companion to her.
“There’s your PR department,” said Melinda.
“And she’s not even on the payroll.”
Melinda poked me in the ribs playfully.
Donna’s interview with Abby Elder had made the nine o’clock news on CNB. Another good story on the Orange County Sheriff Department Crimes Against Youth unit. I was a little disappointed that Jim hadn’t remarked on it when we came in. Frances had again been our spokesperson. I’d been surprised that Donna had tracked her down so easily for an interview when Frances was sick and hadn’t even returned my calls to her home. I’d watched it with Melinda. But my thoughts were still back in my little apartment in the metro district, and my heart still very much in the embrace of Donna, just as my body had been a few hours earlier. I had watched the segment with Melinda, hating myself.
“Penny seems to grow an inch a month,” I said.
“I’m glad she doesn’t resent her father.”
“I am too.”
“It’s real important that they stay close.”
Donna looked up into the stands toward us, holding on to her hat with one hand as she squinted into the sun. I don’t know if she saw me or not. She was talking to her director and camera guy.
I sat back and felt the sunshine on my hair and neck. March was cold and wet, and April’s warmth felt like the creation of the world. I wondered about my meeting with Jim Wade in a few minutes. Or was it a meeting? Neither Burns nor Vega had said anything. Melinda wasn’t asked to attend. Ishmael hardly looked to be on his way to the ranch house.
Then I had a thought.
I saw a way to understand Frances’s strange looks of two days ago. And Jim Wade’s odd expression the day before. And Ishmael’s haughty, fearful grimace just yesterday afternoon. And all the silent attention focused on me by the department brass.
It was so simple and so clear.
And it hit me with a wave of pleasure: Jim was going to move me up.
To where, I had no idea, yet. But I realized as I sat there in the renewing spring sunshine that all of our seemingly casual private talk in his office of late, all his encouragement of me to turn out at Tonello’s, all the subliminal approval from his inner circle was going to be explained in just a few minutes. I closed my eyes and wondered if this might be the day Jim Wade chose the line of succession to his office. It seemed suddenly very possible that he was going to set me forward as a knight in the new court. I even toyed with the idea of being offered his position, remote as the chances were. I would be so perfect in some ways, and so bad in others. But no matter what was offered, I realized, I was being called into the inner, inner sanctum.
So much had happened. Matt. Ardith. My ill-advised decision with Melinda. The self-destruction and self-hatred of Terry Naughton.
But for the moment I allowed myself to think of Donna. I let myself think of us as husband and wife. I imagined children, hers and mine. And for just that brief moment I could actually feel what it would be like to be happy again.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes and looked out at the bright red jump poles in the arena. I put my hand on Melinda’s knee and felt her unmistakable low-voltage recoil at my touch.
Jim’s office was a rustic room with exposed timber ceilings, a collection of handsome saddles on the wood-paneled walls and Indian blankets carefully exhibited to show the beauty of their workmanship. Electric lanterns cast an orange light. There was a big stone fireplace with some old Winchester Repeaters over it. The room was large and dusky, given to shadows despite the lanterns. Jim sat behind a burnished oak desk and motioned me to sit across from him.