Dry Bones: A Walt Longmire Mystery (25 page)

I took the phone and cupped it to my face, knowing full well who it was. “Hey, punk.”

“I just got offered a job.”

I did my best to sound nonchalant. “Really?”

She sounded alarmingly like her mother. “Nice try.”

There was another roar as the crowd began enjoying the Bread and Circus of the overt bidding, figuring that if Jen wasn’t coming home to Wyoming, the bidders would have to pay the steepest price.

“It would be hard on Michael’s family.”

I turned away from the room so that she could hear me. “He said there wasn’t any rush.”

“I know.”

There was another long pause, and I filled it by asking, “How’s Vic?”

“Like a rock.”

“Good.”

“Like a pissed-off rock, but a rock.”

The auctioneer continued. “You, sir? Are you bidding?” An individual raised his paddle, and the bids accelerated.

“Anything on Michael?”

“No.”

I nodded at the receiver as if she could see me. “Something will break.”

“You promise?” I didn’t respond, and she changed the subject. “Who won the dinosaur?”

I glanced up at the TV screen and could see the auctioneer still plying his trade at a brisk rate. “The auction is going on right now, but we just went past the High Plains Dinosaur Museum’s price ceiling.”

“I should let you go.”

“No, I don’t care who gets the damn thing—I just care about you.” I started toward the back. “I’m taking the phone outside where I can talk.” I pushed through the heavy door and stepped out into the cool of the night, walked past the parked vehicles, and stopped under a dawn-to-dusk light where a few Miller moths danced overhead, the asphalt of the lot still glistening from the just-departed shower. “Are you going to take the job?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know.”

Taking the plunge, I spoke with all my heart. “I wish you would.”

“What did you say, Dad?”

I took my time forming the words. “I know I don’t have any place in making this decision, but I wish you and Lola were closer.”

“I’d have to live in Cheyenne.”

“Maybe your boss would let you come home on weekends.”

There was a very long pause. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“No.”

“Daddy?”

“I didn’t, I swear. I know better than to try and choreograph your life.” There were more cheers from the crowd inside, and I was sure the price for Jen was skyrocketing. “Why don’t you think about it.”

“I will.”

“I love you, no matter what you do. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Her voice choked up. “I have to go.”

“Tell Lola I said good night.”

“I will.”

I hung up and raised my head as a few strangers who’d only been here for the spectacle trundled out of the bar and headed for their vehicles. I caught Bob Barnes, just as he began backing out. “How much?”

He looked at me, confused and a bit surprised, but then finally shook his head. “Nine point three million.” He snorted. “Who’s got that kind of money, Walt?”

I smiled. “Not us.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Who got her?”

“I don’t know, some guy with a funny name, from the Middle East, I think.”

I was disappointed, thinking of Jen gracing an entryway, but at least the Lone Elk family would be partially compensated for the loss of Danny—if that kind of loss can be compensated for. I patted Bob’s arm and sent him on his way. “Drive safe.”

He nodded and waved, and I turned to walk back into the bar, pulling the Mallo Cup card out and studying it, thinking about the giant Crow Indian who had been haunting me. Maybe the visitations were over and wherever Virgil White Buffalo was, he was at peace—but I doubted it.

I stopped when I heard a sound, something strange coming from the back of the parking lot. Out of simple curiosity, I set off in that direction.

I looked around the corner of the black Conquest Knight XV and saw a man tossing pea gravel at a sign that read N
O
P
ARKING
. His aim was unerring, and I watched as he leaned on the front fender and continued a conversation on his cell phone while periodically pinging the metal sign.

As I walked around the outrageously expensive vehicle, I glanced at the tan leather interior as the George Armstrong Custer look-alike finished his conversation with “Sure, I can have the money transferred immediately.” Looking a little embarrassed, he pressed the disconnect button and glanced at me as he unhooked his cane from the side mirror and adjusted his 100X beaver fur hat. “Finally, a nice night.”

“Yep.” I gestured toward the cane. “How’s your leg?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m doing some physical therapy.” He threw another tiny stone at the sign, once again hitting it dead center. “When I was growing up, I was a pretty good Little League pitcher. I remember my old man teaching me.” He thought back. “I was pitching and he was catching and then he stopped and asked me what I was throwing at and I told him I was throwing at him.” The big game hunter turned to look at me. “He said that just him wasn’t good enough and that I needed to throw at the third snap-button on his shirt.”

I smiled at him. “Omar, did you just buy Jen for the High Plains Dinosaur Museum?”

“After that, I started getting a lot better.” He threw another stone at the sign, the metallic noise still ringing in the silence of the partially empty parking lot as he responded with a roguish grin and raised a fist. “Save Jen.”

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