Linda Miller - Big Sky Country

What was that about?

She heard him exchange pleasantries with the clerk as he paid for the water, heard the little bell over the front door chime as he went out.

She stood frozen in front of the meat counter, strangely shaken, half expecting the sky to cave in, shattering the not-so-sturdy roof of Mulligan’s Grocery and landing all around her in big, blue chunks snagged with wispy strands of cloud.

“Aren’t you Elliott’s girl?” a quavery female voice asked.

Startled out of her daze, Joslyn turned and saw Daisy Mulligan herself standing at her side, shrunken and white-haired, with pink patches of scalp showing between her pin curls, but very much alive. Her blue eyes were watery behind the old-fashioned frames of her glasses.

Joslyn caught herself just before she would have blurted, “I thought you were dead,” and rummaged up a warm smile, putting out her hand. “Joslyn Kirk,” she said pleasantly. “Elliott was my stepfather.”

Daisy nodded slowly, her rheumy gaze watchful, as she shook Joslyn’s hand. “Nobody around here thought the Rossiter boy would grow up to be a crook,” she remarked. “His father and grandfather were both doctors. Solid citizens. We should have known there was something wrong with Elliott when he didn’t go to medical school.”

Joslyn tried to read the old woman, but it was impossible. Either Mrs. Mulligan was about to shout down the ceiling, calling Joslyn the spawn of Satan and ordering her out of the store, or she was just making conversation.

There was no way to tell.

“And when he didn’t marry a hometown girl,” Daisy added ruefully, following up with a sigh. She looked fragile as a bird in her cardigan sweater and simple cotton dress, though she walked without a cane and her shoes weren’t orthopedic.

Uh-oh, Joslyn thought.

“Not that your mama wasn’t a nice-looking woman,” Daisy allowed.

“Is,” Joslyn corrected awkwardly. “My mother is still—around.”

Daisy reached out and patted Joslyn’s left hand, where it rested on the handle of the rickety shopping cart. “That’s good to know, dear,” she said. Behind the smudged lenses of her glasses, her eyes grew a size. “Some of us thought you’d come back and marry up with Hutch Carmody, since the two of you seemed so crazy about each other, but the majority expected you to steer clear of Parable for good.”

Joslyn gripped the shopping cart handle with both hands now, her knuckles turning white. Daisy went on before she could think of anything to say.

“Fred’s brother-in-law lost a bundle in that mess of Elliott’s,” the old woman reminisced. “Died before that outfit in Denver started sending out checks.”

“Checks?” Joslyn managed, almost croaking the word.

“A settlement,” Daisy Mulligan said. “That’s what the letters from the lawyers said it was. Most everybody Elliott bamboozled got their money back, with interest, but it was too late for some.”

Joslyn’s throat tightened. She swallowed again. She’d known some of the people Elliott had fleeced were gone, known she’d have to face the living ones who remembered. But knowing hadn’t prepared her for the actuality, and neither had all the sensible answers she’d rehearsed on the drive up from Phoenix.

Daisy didn’t break her conversational stride. “Folks figure the tax people or the accountants or somebody must have tracked that money down to some foreign bank where Elliott stashed it before he went to jail, then gone in there and seized every nickel. It was like a miracle when those checks started showing up in people’s mailboxes.”

Joslyn nodded, and her smile felt plastered onto her face, about to crumble and fall away. “That must have been what happened,” she said, though she knew full well that none of the stolen money had been recovered. Elliott had certainly squandered most of it, if not all.

Daisy smiled benignly. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing back here in Parable,” she mused aloud, her tone sweetly confidential, as though she were sharing a secret. In the next instant, her wrinkled face brightened with speculation. “Unless you’re going to marry Hutch Carmody after all,” she said, almost breathless with excitement. “He could sure do with a wife. Might settle him down a little—he’s got that wild streak in him, you know, like his old daddy had. And his mama’s people, why, they might have acted fancy, but they made all their money bootlegging back in the 1920s. Before then, they were nothing but a bunch of hillbillies.”

Joslyn felt like someone trying to board a moving freight train. “Umm—no,” she finally said, stumbling lamely into an answer. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. I mean, Hutch and I are friends, but there’s nothing romantic going on between us.”

Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “Not so far, anyhow,” she said.

With that, having said her piece, Mrs. Mulligan nodded once, turned and walked away.

Joslyn finished her shopping, paid up at the register and headed for her car, pushing that stupid cart through the gravel.

A dog, a thin, dirty yellow Lab with burrs in its coat, sat near the front bumper, like some disconsolate hitchhiker hoping to cadge a ride.

Joslyn hadn’t had a pet since Spunky—she’d been too busy to give a dog or a cat the attention it would need—but she was a soft touch when it came to any animal, especially when it was so obviously down on its luck.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, after putting her groceries in the backseat of the car and pushing the cart aside. She could see that the dog was wearing a collar, and there were tags dangling from it. She could also see his ribs. “Who do you belong to?”

He shivered visibly, but he didn’t run away. Maybe he didn’t have the strength, the poor thing. From the looks of him, he’d been on his own for a while.

The best thing to do, Joslyn instructed herself silently, was get into her car and drive off. Just go home, put away the groceries, check Kendra’s office again and cook something. The dog had tags, after all. Someone would see that he found his way back to wherever he belonged.

Or not.

It was just as likely, she supposed, that he’d been dumped by some heartless jackass who hadn’t bothered to take off the collar. Joslyn took a cautious step toward the creature, one hand extended so he could get her scent. He sniffed her fingers warily, shivered again, but remained where he was.

“You wouldn’t bite me now, would you?” she prattled, moving closer, her hand still in front of the dog’s muzzle. “Because I’m not going to hurt you, fella—I just want a look at those tags, that’s all.”

She crouched in front of him, looked into soulful brown eyes, full of baffled sorrow and the faint hope that some small kindness might befall him. Carefully, Joslyn lifted the first of two tags. The numbers on the pet license had been partially worn away, but the second tag was more informative. The dog’s name was Jasper, and there was a local phone number.

Joslyn rummaged for her cell phone and dialed. One ring. Two. And then a recorded voice, deep and more formal than friendly, sounded in her ear. “This is John Carmody,” the voice said. “I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name and all that and I’ll get back to you, if I think it’s a good idea.”

Despite the warmth of that June day, a chill prickled down both Joslyn’s arms, raising the fine hairs as it passed.

She’d been away from Parable for a long time, but she’d known about Hutch’s dad’s death. Kendra had emailed her the news, and she’d sent a condolence card immediately. Obviously, no one had gotten around to erasing Mr. Carmody’s voice mail, with the peculiar result that, even though she knew better, Joslyn felt as if she’d just had a conversation with a dead man.