Craig Johnson - Death Without Company
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- Book:Death Without Company
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- Publisher:Penguin Books
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- Year:2006
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A writer, like a sheriff, is the embodiment of a group of people and, without their support, both are in a tight spot. I have been blessed with a close order of family, friends, and associates who have made this book possible. They know who they are and, as the tradition goes, you can never thank a good cast too much. Thanks particularly to Lilly and Glenn, the dairy princess and the crack shot.
Many thanks to Susan Fain for the philosophic and legal counsel and for the weekly Fain File and to Ana Echavarri-Daily for the clarification of Euskara, the Basque language. Donna Dubrow for a lot more than just the use of the Presence Suite and Ned Tanen for the Sunday drives in the desert and the prune milkshakes. Susan Miller for reading half-written novels and saying she fully likes them. Marcus Red Thunder and Charles Little Old Man for circling the wagons, because I only feel safe when Im surrounded by Indians and books. Sheriff Larry Kirkpatrick for not making fun of me when I didnt recognize a 10-54 (livestock in the road) and Richard Rhoades for the intensive ballistic testing on gallon water jugs. Erin Guy for the Web site and phone messages and Joel Katz for the Absaroka Sheriff Department logo and for watching the detectives.
To Gail Hochman, superagent, who always has the correct word and is the fastest talker in New York and thats saying a lot. Ali Both-well Mancini, my editor in arms, who always has a sharp sense of humor and fresh ammo. To Kathryn Court, whose steady hand charms me, and to Clare Ferraro, who hides when I come to Manhattan and probably for good reason. Sonya Cheuse for finding lodging for Lucy and knowing that three fingers in Wyoming is a long way.
Eric Boss, Viking Penguin sales rep of the year for the mountain and plains region, who taught me how to say things like Its a character-driven piece with a straight face. Scott Montgomery, the only one brave enough to swim when we could have just had Jim walk across the Tongue River Reservoir. To Sharon Dynak and the Ucross Foundation for not taking what I wrote about the foundation seriously and Bonita Schwann for not putting a yellow-truck hit out on me.
Thanks to Robert B. Parker, Bob Shacochis, Dan OBrien, and Buck Brannaman for the kindness of words; youve always got a tumbler of Pappy Van Winkles in Ucross. To the Independent Booksellers Association for making The Cold Dish a Booksense pick and to the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association for making it a Killer pick.
For Judy who, like the stars, wonders if she shines brightly enough and always does.
EPILOGUE
The sounds the piano made were soft and just a little melancholy, with a poetic lyricism that matched the surroundings. Henry was planted behind the bar; Bill McDermott was dancing with Lana Baroja; Saizarbitoria was dancing with his wife, Marie; and Cady was dancing with our newest Powder Junction deputy, Double Tough. Dog was curled up by the piano; he had already called it a night, the shaved portion of his middle and the bandages on his head and abdomen making him look like a stuffed animal.
I made the musical bridge and cut in with an improvisational riff that paused the dancers but held my attention for a while longer. My fingers felt stiff, but I was loosening up. My eye patch was gone, and there was no serious damage to the cornea; my vision was a little blurred on the right, but Vic was to my left. I kept sneaking glances at her, still a little startled by her civilian clothes. She was wearing a short black dress and black cowboy boots with embroidered red roses and blue leaves. With the turquoise and silver chandelier earrings, it was western, with just a touch of gypsy insouciance thrown in for good measure.
There was brief applause as I reached for my beer and nodded in acknowledgment toward the dance floor alongside the pool table. I shifted my weight and leaned against the wall, looking over at Henry and signaling the jukebox. I had only played a half dozen songs, but my fingers hurt, and I needed a little relief.
Vic took a sip of her dirty martini and shrugged as the wind continued to batter the outside of the bar. Another storm had come in from the Arctic Circle and had dropped about eight inches of snow. The Ferg had volunteered for duty, but so far there hadnt been any phone calls; it was the kind of holiday we liked, where the weather was so bad that the populace stayed in, including Ruby and Isaac, who had elected to stay home to avoid the amateurs who might have decided to drive.
Hows your leg?
Still not up to dancing.
Nobody asked. She glanced over her shoulder at my daughter. Cady flying out tomorrow?
If the weathers decent.
Air Omar?
I nodded and took the opportunity to watch her for a moment, like I always did when she wasnt aware. You got two new deputies for Christmas. She stayed turned to the dance floor, watching Saizarbitoria, and tipped the delicate stem of her glass for another sip. Hes a dark horse, but hes sharp and he works hard.
I took another sip of my beer. The wife is nice.
Whatever.
I smiled behind her back. What about the hillbilly?
Her head pivoted a little as she watched Double Tough, who was still dancing with Cady. Hes durable.
That he is.
She turned back around. All right, so Joe got his name from the priest in Casper. Where did Leo get his?
Foster parents in Fremont County.
She nodded. Joe brought Leo over for the job after he laid the groundwork by keeping Charlie Nurburn alive?
Basically continuing Lucians efforts in hopes of getting a percentage for himself, but who knows? It looks like he was ready to kill half of Absaroka County to get what he thought he deserved.
What about Anna Walks Over Ice?
We found an unfinished letter at her house, in Crow. I glanced toward Henry. She outlined the whole situation; she had seen Joe add something to Mari Barojas Metamucil that night. I took another sip of my beer. I guess she just wasnt sure enough, at the time, to accuse him, and then with Leo it was too late.
She stared at the piano and tentatively reached out for a key. Very understanding of you.
I looked at my friend with the bandaged face; he was still mixing drinks behind the bar. I didnt have to kill him.
In the dim glow of the stained glass of the billiards light and the Rainier beer advertisements, my chief deputy looked like some courtly renaissance woman, the kind that would poison your wine. Its Tuesday night. Hes probably got the board out.
I waited for more, but there wasnt any. She just sat there, with her finger resting beside the keys, her eyes far away. She had looked like this at the hospital the night she handed me Lucians love letters from Mari. She waited there for a moment, then got up and straightened her skirt in an action that seemed both symmetric and disquieting. Where are you going?
She didnt turn when she said it but downed the martini in one gulp. Dancing.
As I watched her approach the stilled dancers to choose a victim, Lana came over and occupied the bench seat next to me. Im leaving.
I seem to be having that effect on people.
She glanced back at the Yellowstone County coroner. Bill says hell give me a ride back into town.
You should take advantage. She placed a hand on mine and ducked her head to catch my eye. She kept looking at me with those familiar dark eyes, so I diverted her thoughts. What are you going to do with all your money?
She didnt pause. Hire someone to work at the bakery. She smiled the jaunty smile that always seemed to put the world off kilter. What would you do if you had a million dollars?
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