Breaking Point

3

Marybeth Pickett was giving an informal tour of the historic Saddlestring Hotel building to her friend and county prosecutor Dulcie Schalk when she heard sirens race up Main Street directly outside. In mid-sentence, she checked her cell phone to see if there were any texts or messages from Joe. When there weren’t, she dropped the phone back into the pocket of her summer dress.

“You do that automatically,” Dulcie said.

“I guess I do,” Marybeth said. “That’s what happens when your law enforcement husband is out there somewhere by himself and you hear sirens.”

“I understand,” Dulcie said.

Marybeth brushed a strand of hair out of her face and wiped her hands on a cloth to remove the dust that covered everything inside. It was hard to stay clean just walking through the old place, and she didn’t want to show up for her afternoon shift at the Twelve Sleep County Library smudged with grime. Dulcie had the same concern with her severe dark business suit.

Dulcie was slim, fit, dark-haired, and tightly wound. Joe considered her a tough prosecutor and too rigid in her approach, but he liked her. Marybeth had never worked with her-or against her-but they shared a mutual interest in western dressage and simply being around horses. When Dulcie’s stable had closed, Marybeth had offered space for Dulcie’s horse at their place, and now they saw each other twice a day when Dulcie drove out to feed Poke, her aging gelding. Dulcie was single and the subject of local barroom speculation about her availability and sexual preferences, though Marybeth knew her friend was straight-but cautious. And in Twelve Sleep County, pickings were slim.

Marybeth’s secret plan was to find a man for Dulcie and set a romance in motion. She was considering possibilities when Dulcie said, “Back to the tour.”

“Yes, where were we?”

Matt Donnell, a local realtor, had approached Marybeth two months before at the library and told her he had just purchased the Saddlestring Hotel structure at a foreclosure auction in Cheyenne. It had once been the finest hotel in the county and the place where anyone of note stayed in the area. President Calvin Coolidge, Ernest Hemingway, Gary Cooper, and John Wayne had all stopped there during its heyday, although it was now hard to believe, given the condition of the building. It was a shambling three-level structure built of knotty pine, with a steep roof and gabled windows, a wide portico where rocking chairs had once lined up, and it gave off an overall impression of faded frontier elegance. It had also been vacant and hulking for ten years.

Donnell’s idea, since home sales were slow and he and Marybeth were dedicated to historic renovation, was to figure out a use for the building that would benefit the community and restore an eyesore into something useful. He also wanted to make some money. He told Marybeth he’d always admired her business sense and entrepreneurship, and asked her if she’d like to become a twenty-five percent partner in his new venture. Since she’d once helmed a small-business consulting firm and had contacts and experience, he said he’d thought of her first.

She’d been surprised by the offer but intrigued by the possibilities. Her current schedule consisted of being the mother of three teenage girls, running the household, taking care of her two horses, and acting as unpaid research assistant, receptionist, scheduler, and sounding board for Joe. Only the library stint helped pay the bills, and family finances were tighter than ever. She knew from experience that uneven partnerships often resulted in tension and angst, but she had no capital to put into the deal. Sheridan was about to start her second year at the University of Wyoming, and both April and Lucy were on deck. Marybeth’s part-time salary at the library was small, and Joe’s game warden salary was hostage to an agency-wide freeze. Because of all that, though, Marybeth was frustrated with their situation-living in the battered state-owned home, scrapping for a better life-and wanted to break out of it. And she wanted to show her daughters that rewards could come by hard work and risk, especially since the only person of wealth they had known was Marybeth’s mother, Missy, who’d acquired a fortune by trading up husbands for richer and richer men.

She told Donnell she’d consider it, and he said he’d get the paperwork going for the Saddlestring Hotel Development Limited Liability Company.

Joe and Marybeth stayed up late that night, and the more she thought about it and they talked about it, the more excited she got. Donnell’s role was finance, compliance, permits, and materials, and her role would be restoration, recruiting, and administration. She loved the idea.

The deal wasn’t in place yet, and Marybeth wanted the advice of her friend before she proceeded, which is why she’d invited Dulcie to tour the building.

“So do you know what the sirens were about?” she asked Dulcie.

“Not yet. If it’s something important, they’ll call me.”

Marybeth slipped a rubber band off a roll of blueprints to show Dulcie the plans.

Dulcie smiled. “If I was married to Joe Pickett, I’d probably be hyperalert as well.”

“Tell me about it.”

“If we do this, we’d have to gut all the old rooms and knock down half of the walls between them,” Marybeth said, tracing with her finger on the blueprints, which were spread over an old door propped up by sawhorses.

“The last owners turned the place into a flophouse for transients and day workers,” she said. “We want to restore it to its old glory.”

She pointed to one spot on the blueprints. “We’d convert the old lobby into a central reception area,” she said. “That way, we can offer the individual office holders a shared receptionist and secretarial services.”

Dulcie nodded approvingly. “So you’re thinking of gathering up some of the folks who are doing business in spare rooms and old houses, then? Architects, lawyers, insurance guys?”

“Exactly,” Marybeth said. “The types who want a turnkey operation in a really cool environment. I know this is the kind of place I wish had been available when I had MBP,” she said, referring to the business consulting firm she’d founded and run for years before the economy sank. “Of course, first we need to get it ready for business.”

Dulcie put her hands on her hips and looked around, squinting. “It would really do wonders for Saddlestring and revitalize the downtown,” she said. “Right now, this place just sits here like an old drunk on the corner. I’m trying to picture what it could be like.”

“You really need to use your imagination,” Marybeth said, deadpan.

There was so much work to be done inside-battered plaster wallboard would have to be replaced, ceilings raised, new plumbing and electricity installed-although they’d recently been encouraged when a structural engineer confirmed that the foundation’s overall structural integrity was solid. In order to keep costs low, Marybeth planned to do as much of the preliminary work herself with help from Joe at night and on weekends. Matt Donnell wasn’t much of a hand when it came to carpentry or renovation, although he certainly put in the hours. Matt was better at dealing with local, state, and federal agencies that required permits and approvals. In fact, Matt was meeting with the building inspector and state fire marshal that afternoon. He’d confided to Marybeth that he had great relationships with the right people who could sign off on the permits.

Dulcie pointed at a large bouquet of flowers on the mantel of the old fireplace. “Those brighten up the place,” she said. “Who sent them?”

“Read the card.”

Dulcie read: “‘Congratulations on your new hotel, Marybeth. I’m proud of you. Love, Joe.’”

“Awwwww,” she said.

“I told him we can’t afford flowers right now, but it’s nice.”

“This is the kind of place where I’d love to work,” Dulcie said, imagining it. “It would be so much better than those cells they give us in the county building.”

The Twelve Sleep County Building was also a relic of the 1920s, and it housed her office, two courtrooms, the road and bridge department, and the sheriff’s department.

Dulcie said, “Although I have to say the atmosphere is better there now that Sheriff McLanahan is gone. There isn’t as much secrecy and good-old-boy nonsense.”

Marybeth nodded. McLanahan had been defeated by fewer than ten votes the year before by his deputy Mike Reed. Although Reed was confined to a wheelchair-he’d lost the use of his legs after an on-duty assault-he had a dutiful and sunny personality that buoyed those around him. Plus, he was friends with Joe.

Both of their cell phones erupted simultaneously, and when they realized it, they smiled at each other before taking them. Dulcie turned and walked out of earshot, and Marybeth saw the incoming call was from her house.

It was Lucy, her fifteen-year-old daughter.

“Mom, can Hannah stay with us tonight?”

Marybeth did a quick calculation of the food available in the freezer and refrigerator, and except for the game meat Joe provided in volume, she didn’t have enough items for dinner for six.

“Yes, but I need to stop at the store on the way home,” she said.

“Maybe you can pick up pizza?”

“Maybe. Why is Hannah staying with us again?”

“She’s my best friend, Mom,” Lucy said, put out.

“I know that,” Marybeth said, rolling her eyes. “Is it okay with her mom? She’s stayed over at our house twice already this week.”

“It was her mom’s idea,” Lucy said.

“Oh, really?” That sounded odd to Marybeth. Pam Roberson managed the office for the small construction company she co-owned with Butch, but she took pains to be involved in her daughter’s life and activities, and she kept a fairly tight rein on Hannah, her only child. Like Lucy, Hannah was bright and attractive, although Marybeth had noted a change in her recently. Hannah had expressed an interest in horses, and Marybeth was secretly thrilled. Neither Lucy nor April shared her passion for horses, and Marybeth loved the idea of mentoring Hannah. Marybeth hoped this new development wouldn’t create a rift between Hannah and Lucy because Lucy had no interest at all in riding.

Lucy said, “Yeah, she called a few minutes ago. She talked to Hannah and told her there were a bunch of cops at their house.”

“What? Cops?”

“That’s what she said.”

The sirens, Marybeth thought.

“Lucy, please put Hannah on the phone.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Mom, she’s in the bathroom. I think she’s crying.”