Blackjack

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.”

I got a bottle of beer and poured us each a glass.

“You are a gentleman, Everett Hitch.”

I handed Allie a glass.

“Look at the foam.”

“Cheers,” I said.

“Cheers to you,” Allie said.

We touched glasses and drank.

“Oh, my,” she said.

Allie licked the foam from her top lip.

“My goodness. Is that refreshing.”

“It is.”

“Thank you.”

We sat and sipped our beer, and for the moment we didn’t say anything. It was comfortable with Allie, and she was, after all we had been through, a friend and I had grown to enjoy her company.

We heard Virgil come through the gate, then open the front door.

“Back here, Virgil,” Allie said.

Virgil made his way down the hall and out the back door, and when he did Allie held up her beer.

“Look what Everett brought.”

Virgil looked back and forth between Allie and me.

“Sit, I’ll get you a glass.”

Allie was up and into the house before Virgil had a chance to take his hat off.

“See you got a saddle on that black.”

“Good to know he’s still out there.”

“He is.”

Virgil took off his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket as Allie came back out the door with a glass. She poured Virgil a beer and handed it to him, then kissed him on the cheek.

“What have you been doing, Virgil Cole?”

Before Virgil answered he took a long pull of the beer, then held it up in the light and looked at its color.

“That’s damn good,” he said.

Allie smiled.

“S.Q. got that from Saint Louis,” I said.

“Glad for it,” Virgil said, then looked to Allie.

“I been over at the Western Union office.”

“What’s happening?” Allie said.

Virgil looked to me.

“Boston Bill Black has been caught.”