They didn’t see Laura enough either. The eldest Bailey girl sure did have piss and vinegar running through her veins. Even though her apartment in San Francisco was just four hours away, she didn’t visit all that often. And when she did, she had a habit of waking up after a few days with eyes like a trapped animal, ready to cut and run back to life in the city.
But cutting and running was something Sully understood. Just passing through had been his motto when he arrived in Sierra Falls a few decades back. He’d been a lethal combination of aimless but exhausted, roaming the country on his bike, trying to make sense of what’d happened between the years 1968 and 1972. Or maybe just what’d happened to him. He’d gone straight from West Point to Vietnam, and when the time came for the “coming back” part of hell and back, it was a whole other world he found waiting for him.
A couple of wives. A couple of motorcycles. A couple dozen jobs and a couple thousand miles later, he’d rolled into Sierra Falls. Something about the place had made it hard to leave.
He slammed the Jeep doors shut. His eyes went to Bear, sitting in the car, peering at that radio like he might be able to alter the destiny of the San Francisco Forty-Niners. The Baileys had come to be like family to Sully, up to and including that grumpy old son of a bitch.
As Sully made his way back into the tavern, he breathed in deeply. The mountains had air so pure he felt cleaned down to his soul. He always thought he’d leave Sierra Falls, but he kept putting it off until one day he realized he had a job. A place to live. A place.
After the war, he’d cut himself off from the world. But here he was, caught up in life again, and it felt good. He didn’t know when it’d happened, but he’d woken up one morning to realize he had friends. Family.
Sully hoped some good would come of those letters that had Sorrow so jazzed. The girl needed something to spur her out of the rut she was making for herself.
And then there was Bear Junior—he owed the kid an e-mail. BJ had heard about Damien and wanted to make sure he had good intentions. What would the boy think if he found out the sheriff had also been sniffing around his sister?
There was another person who’d been coming around the lodge a lot lately. Marlene Jessup.
Pausing at the door, Sully shook his head in appreciation. Sassy eyes, shapely legs, and a mouth that could bring a man to his knees. Now there was a person he’d like to get friendly with.
Seven
Billy closed his cell phone and sat in the SUV, parked along the thin, gravelly strip that was the tavern lot. He and Scott Jessup were supposed to meet for an after-work beer, but the ranger just canceled last minute.
Scott was an unexpected mix of thoughtful and boisterous, a good man with an easy laugh. They’d first met several months ago, both called in on the same missing person report. When it turned out to be nothing more than a stoned, wandering hiker, they’d gone for a beer.
He’d been one of the few with nerve enough to ask about Billy’s late wife—for some reason, most other people avoided the topic altogether, as if it might’ve slipped his mind otherwise. But Scott received the story with a heartfelt word and an unwavering eye, and the sheriff had held him in high regard ever since.
Friday night beers had become their routine. Except tonight Scott couldn’t make it. Something about a bear breaking into someone’s garage, devouring everything in their chest freezer.
He peered over at the main lodge but couldn’t see the roof from where he sat in the car. Had it been fixed? He kept putting it out of his mind, but something about the Bailey girl kept popping it back in his head again. For an instant, she had looked so desolate. Had her boyfriend helped her? Had she been able to seal off the attic? It’d been just yesterday when the branch fell through, but if nobody had helped her yet, the whole house would be freezing by now.
How was she? There was something about her that seemed forgotten, or overlooked. Like people noticed her, but didn’t really see.
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. What was his damned problem? “What the hell,” he grumbled, cursing himself. Sitting there thinking about some girl.
He’d had his girl. He’d married her. And now she was gone.
Billy put his key back in the ignition. Buckled his seat belt. With Scott canceling, there was no need to go inside. He’d drive home, back to the place he’d rented, and get in a good workout. He had a bench and free weights in the garage, and a killer session was always good for keeping the ghosts at bay. Maybe he’d top it off with a beer in front of the tube. Nursing a cold one in front of late-night television until he was too tired to think was sometimes the only way he could get to sleep.
He hoped the Bailey family could sleep with the wind howling through a gaping hole in their roof.
“Dammit.” He unbuckled again. Got out and slammed the door shut.
It was just a friendly visit, to satisfy his curiosity. To make sure everyone was safe and sound. It was something a sheriff would do, and he liked being sheriff. He liked feeling part of this community.
He knew in his gut he’d done the right thing leaving Oakland for Sierra Falls, shoveling cars out of snowbanks instead of working crime scenes. There was peace to be found in small-town life. It felt right to make a difference in little ways, helping good people, like Marlene or the Baileys.
He pocketed his keys. He’d just pop in, say hi, see how things were coming along. Maybe have a club soda.
With so much work to do, Sorrow probably wouldn’t be around anyway. And if she was, he’d keep it formal with her, of course.
A pack of young twenty-somethings spilled from the tavern, and Billy got out of his vehicle to give them a hard stare. Most folks in search of burgers and beer gathered at the Thirsty Bear, but the younger crowd always migrated to Chances, a noisy bar across town. That was probably where they were headed now.
His eyes narrowed on the kid taking the driver’s seat. Billy had zero tolerance for drinking and driving. The lone cell at the sheriff’s office was empty. His deputy, Marshall McGinn, was still on duty and would be all too happy to process a DUI offender for the night. But then the kid bid him good evening, and Billy’s shoulders relaxed—he was clearly sober.
Entering the tavern, he was greeted by a blast of warm air and classic rock coming from the jukebox. He looked around, registering the familiar faces—he believed recognizing people was part of his job. He noted Jack Jessup with some guys from his crew. Helen was behind the bar. Sully was off duty, sitting next to Bear, who looked like he hadn’t moved since yesterday.
Sorrow didn’t seem to be there, and the brief stab of disappointment caught Billy off-guard. Guilt came on its heels, and he tamped it down. Just a friendly visit—nothing to feel guilty about.
Helen stopped wiping down the counter to lean against it, cradling her breasts in the fold of her arms. “Evening, Sheriff. What’s a man like you drink after a hard day?”
He darted his eyes away—to the bar behind her, to the kitchen pass-through, anywhere but at her. “Just a club soda please.”
The woman was a flirt, and it made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t just that she was too over-the-top for his tastes, but she was married, with a few young kids, too. He imagined she’d probably been something else when she was a teenager, but hers was the sort of cute that didn’t age gracefully. Or at least, not in a way that appealed to Billy. By the slack jaws of several of the other men, he guessed his opinion was in the minority.
He turned his attention to Sorrow’s father. “How’s that roof coming along?”
Bear spun on his barstool and tipped his bottle of Bud toward Jack in a toast. “Fixed up, nice and tight. Marlene’s boys know their business. Too bad the other two Jessup brothers didn’t join Jack and Eddie. They’d be rich.”
Billy couldn’t picture Scott Jessup as anything other than a park ranger, outside all day, beholden to no man. And he didn’t think the fourth brother, Mark, was hurting for money working as a doctor in Silver City. “Either way, you’re lucky. Getting someone to patch a roof in this weather? I don’t care how many Jessups there are to choose from, that’s some feat.”
Bear puffed his chest. “Damien—he’s my Sorrow’s boyfriend—he’s got his fingers on the pulse here. You’ll learn, if you haven’t already.”
Was Damien’s power in the town what appealed to Sorrow? Billy found himself asking, “Where is Sorrow this evening?”
Just being friendly.
“Where she always is. The kitchen.” Bear scowled, pausing for emphasis. “Where she doesn’t belong.”
The comment caught him off-guard. “Now there’s a twist. You a forward-thinking man, Bear? Because isn’t the old-school line that a woman’s place is in the kitchen?” Billy chuckled at the thought of Bear Bailey as a women’s libber, but by the look on the man’s face, he didn’t seem to think it was funny.
“The girl’s got her mind on things.” Bear took a long pull from his bottle of Bud. “She always cooks when that happens.”
“As a man who’s eaten one too many Marie Callender’s meals this month, I’ve got to ask: how is that not a good thing?”
“If she made some real food, things might be different,” Bear grumbled. “God only knows what it’ll smell like when I get home. I have to sleep in that lodge, too, you know. Last time she had her mind on something, the place smelled like curry for a week. Disgusting.” He polished off the rest of his beer, and with a nod to Helen had a fresh one almost instantly.
Billy considered him. The man’s main source of pride appeared to be that Sorrow had landed Damien for a boyfriend. It made him feel defensive on her behalf. “You should be proud,” he said, even though he knew better than to goad. “She is something in the kitchen.”
Bear went on alert. “When’d she cook for you? Sully’s in charge of cooking around here. Nobody makes a better fried chicken. All Sorrow wants to do with chicken is put weird sauces and mushrooms on it. They grow those things in shit, you know.”
