The following is a continuation of the April 20, 1949 entry in the Rocky Stone notebooks:
We closed the door on Mitch's shack. I kept my gun at the ready, but I wasn't about to use it, even if Marjorie tried to run away. She marched in front of us with her head held low and her hands held high, even though I never asked her. She was the least of my problems. My traveling companion, Gloria, was much more dangerous as long as she was in the employ of Max Blank. I didn't want to fight with her over Marjorie like two dogs over a cat.
“What say we make a deal?” I whispered in Gloria's ear.
She cracked a funny smile. “I'm listening.”
“Max just wants the money. Reverend Hosea just wants his wife back. Why don't we give our employers what they want and forget the rest?”
She didn't answer right away. She thought it over as I opened the back door, and when I safely tucked Marjorie inside, Gloria loosened her jaw. “What exactly am I supposed to tell him? That she got away?”
“I didn't say this deal was perfect.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let's find the money first. Then I'll think about it.”
I tossed her my keys and she smirked. “You drive.”
“You don't trust me, do you?”
“Should I?”
Gloria laughed and we jumped in our opposite sides of the car.
I thought it was hot outside but when I slipped into the Buick I could see I was wrong. Marjorie Gomer had been sitting inside for only a matter of a minute but the sweat was pouring off her like water off a duck's back. Gloria started the engine and we were going back the way we came.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Marjorie.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Gloria replied. “We'll have to pick up your things before we go. Where are you staying?”
It got the reaction I thought it might. Marjorie made a face like she was trying to swallow a soft-shell crab and said nothing for a minute. Then, in a quiet voice: “Chambers. It's a town five miles south.”
Gloria nodded and winced. She knew right where the town was and it bothered her that she hadn't looked there.
Chambers is a town like all the others. Maybe a bit bigger, but no less hot and dusty. A metal tube of a diner sat on one end of town and a cemetery sat on the other. In between, a group of smashed-together houses. Marjorie watched them as we drove through Chambers, not speaking a word. Gloria twitched, hoping to get some direction. It didn't come until the houses were behind us.
“Stop here,” said Marjorie.
As soon as the brakes were fully engaged, she pushed the door open and stepped out. “What is she doing?” Gloria asked, but I think we both knew. We were at the far end of town, at the gates of the cemetery, under the shadow of an old church. She needed to say goodbye to someone.
Marjorie wandered through the gates in a trance. I got out and followed her. There was a monument in the middle of the tombstones, a tall obelisk with four eagles at each corner of its wide, square base. She was drawn to it. The name on the monument was Moffett, etched near the top by careful hands. She stood there in the quietness of the moment and fixed her eyes on the flowers placed upon it. Her head bowed in prayer. I stood at the gate and watched her, and a wave of peace floated over the land. The world was silent.
But this fragile moment was killed in an instant. A shot rang out, and it echoed through the town.
Find out what happens next in The Lost Love, Part 13, available at all inter-net locations nationwide!
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