Day Seven — Monday

MONDAY

Every member ofthe news staff who was in the building, crammed into the news Director's office for a video call with Mike.

Leona being among the attendees at an earlier time than she'd usually report was the first hint she knew what was coming. The second was that, while she wasn't beaming smiles at anybody, her level of hate had dropped.

But not gone.

That became clear when, after Mike announced hiring Octavia Zabel for an anchor spot, Leona said, "But only when the skiing's not good."

That required more explanation from Mike, to which he added, "And we're looking for at least one more anchor to complement Octavia's schedule."

"Any advance on a news director? GM?" Walt asked.

"Not that I can share now, but we're exploring ideas. And if anyone has recommendations..."

That got a laugh, which built when Walt said, "Sure. Leona."

She whacked him, Mike groaned, the rest laughed.

Before the meeting broke up, Mike said, "Diana and Elizabeth, will you two please stick around a bit."

We did, as the rest of them filed out amid congratulations to Leona.

With the two of us left and the door closed, Mike immediately asked, "Diana, why don't you want to replace the NewsMobile?"

The rat.

I'd told him he had to ask her, but I'd intended that to be between them. With her knowing my feelings on the topic, it might make her defensive.

"I don't need something big and shiny."

"Not what I asked," he said mildly. "Why don't you want to replace it?"

She gusted out exasperation, but hard to tell if it was at us or herself, especially when she looked away.

"The station sinks a lot of money into a new microwave truck and you're going to want to get the most out of it. If that's my station vehicle, then I'm going to be out on breaking news whenever it happens. With the age the kids are I want to be home more for them—"

Also, I suspected, for our sheriff, Russ Conrad. But I can keep my mouth shut when it's called for.

"—whenever I can. They'll be off to college soon — Jess really soon — and we won't have this time again. So, no, I don't want the big, new truck with all the tech, because I don't want the work-hour strings that come with it."

"Make it clear you aren't using it after your shift. As long as it's available for someone else to use—"

"You know that's not how it works. Jenks has come around a lot, but techy he is not. It will take forever to train him or the others on the newest tech—"

Mike interrupted us by laughing. Loud.

"You think we're buying something with the newest tech? State of the art? Really?" He went off again. Apparently catching a closer look at our expressions, he restrained himself with a few more gulping guffaws. "Sorry. You were stalling because of that? No need, because there's no way we'd make that sort of outlay for a single piece of equipment. Especially one that could get hit by a semi or go off the road or run into a cow or deer or moose."

I'd noticed Mike expressing concerns befitting an insurance agent more often since becoming majority owner of KWMT.

"Well, what are you planning to get?" Diana asked.

"Something used with better tech than we have now, which means, basically, anything since World War II. But now that I know how you feel, maybe I'll look at just getting you a vanilla van — because the NewsMobile is an embarrassment to have our name on—"

"Hey!"

"It is," I said, loyally supporting the station majority owner, as well as reporting factually.

"—and save for a more recent live van. Probably could get a satellite truck used at a better discount with them not being used as much, but—"

"Not satellite," Diana said emphatically. "But what about two used live vans?"

Ah-hah. Not having the only one wouldn't make her feel obligated to be on hand for every story, but she'd still have one.

"Two? That's getting expensive—"

"Not that bad." She now was fully into lobbying for this. The employee no longer refusing an upgrade from the owner, but instead asking for more. The world was no longer spinning backward. "Maybe get them a little older than you'd planned. Or one of them, anyway."

"Good idea to have a backup," I stuck in.

She picked up on that. "Right. If one breaks down — because, you are talking used and how many live trucks get driven by little old ladies going to church—"

Certainly not the ones she drove.

"—we'd still have the capability we needed."

Mike ran a hand through his hair.

Have I mentioned he had great hair. He should do that now and then on-air. His female viewership in Chicago would expand beyond true sports fans.

"I'll look at the numbers and see what's available — no promises."

"Of course not," she said with understanding. Perhaps she understood his position. She certainly understood she was almost certain to get what she wanted. And I agreed that would serve KWMT-TV well.

****

Not even anhour later, Audrey rolled her eyes at me and said, "Don't you have a murder to solve or something?"

I parted my lips, but that was as far as I got.

"Your prowling around here is driving everyone nuts." I glanced around and received several confirming nods. "And, no, you cannot ask Dale to do a little work for you. I need him. And everybody else on staff."

Surely that didn't include Diana.

I called her after I'd left the building. Hoping for inspiration, I asked her to meet me at the entrance to Elk Rock Ranch when she finished her next assignment.

"I had a feeling you weren't satisfied with Randall Kenyon," she said.

"Not yet, anyway."

She'd keep me posted on her progress.

After a quick stop at home — where I was a distraction from the well-oiled feeding-Suzie Q machine that was Iris and Zeb Undlin, and included plenty of side-treats to Shadow so he didn't feel left out — I left.

But I had a stop to make on the way.

****

Make that twostops.

The first one came when I recognized Gee's vehicle parked by the museum's rear entrance.

Possible she was there without Mrs. P, but unlikely.

The back door wasn't locked. Shoddy security for a museum. How could they expect people not to walk in?

"Not again," Clara Atwood said. She and Audrey could have been eye-rolling twins.

"You'll be glad I came."

As I started telling her about the nutmeg tin with the copy of an old newspaper article — but not about the other finds in Keefe's cabin — Mrs. P and Gee came into sight down the hallway.

Under the power of those two women, Clara gestured us all into her office. They took chairs, I sat on a spare desk, continuing my account.

"...and we know all that from the amazing job Jennifer Lawton did with enhancing it."

"It you damaged the original—"

"It was photos of the copy Keefe made. The original's lurking somewhere in your boxes. If something happens to it while it waits for your priorities, that's not on us."

"I want those enhanced images."

"I'll send you Jennifer's contact info so you can thank her appropriately while asking her for that favor."

She breathed out through her nose. "I have to talk to someone up front. You can stay here as long as you want," she said to the other two women.

"She's thrilled," Gee said once Clara was gone.

"She should be. Jennifer did amazing work. And Keefe found it amid all those boxes. She should be grateful."

"She is," Gee said. "In her way. But you didn't come here for that."

"No. I saw you were here and... I'm trying to sort out if there were long-standing jealousies or — Well, we know there were between Brenda and Wendy. Not only from when they were younger over at least one specific guy, but tension over Chester, too. And I wondered if there was something with Keefe..."

Gee turned to the older woman, putting the ball firmly in her court.

Mrs. P didn't hit it back.

I tried again. "I mean, two women and a man. Especially when they were young — not that I'm saying people past their first flush of youth can't be passionate—" Only when the words were out did I realize they could be applied to these women. I'd meant Tom and me. But come to think of it...

I backtracked to pick up my thread.

"So maybe the triangle still jabbed with its three sharp points or maybe time smoothed out aspects of it, but resentment remained."

This time Mrs. P accepted the opening to speak. "An alternative explanation could be that such feelings never existed or dissipated with the recognition, whether conscious or not, of the futility of them."

When she stopped — after a much shorter statement than her usual — I said neutrally, "Futility of the feelings..."

"You referred to a triangle, Elizabeth, with three sharp points and contemplated the possibility that time smoothed them. However, that is based on there having been three points at the start. It is difficult to have a triangle with two points, while the third..."

She looked at me steadily, waiting for the student to reach the correct conclusion on her own.

"Was never a point." Making Randall's fake note even more inept. I thought about Scott Hoole saying Keefe substituted wildlife and nature for human relationships. "Keefe wasn't gay..."

"No, he was not. It is likely that he could be considered as qualifying as what is now termed asexual. Scholars are only now studying it, with varying stances on whether it is a sexual orientation, as well as what percentage of the population to which that term applies, whether self-identified or otherwise. In addition, there is research and writings viewing a spectrum under that umbrella. Such interest in clarity is, perhaps, new, while it is highly unlikely this variation in human sexuality is new."

Figured she'd talk of this with ease. It was educational.

"You believe Keefer Dobey was asexual." She ever so slightly tipped her head. "Okay, you don't like believe. You—" She would like conjecture even less. "—have formed the hypothesis that he was asexual."

"My observations, limited and uneducated in this matter, do not rise to the level of a hypothesis."

"But, if he were asexual, how would that lead to his murder?" I saw her objection brewing and spoke quickly. "Or contribute to the complex interactions that might have led to his murder?"

She shook her head. I had not headed off her objection. "I would suggest that you consider the contrary. That if he was not one of those three sharp points that you described as forming a triangle that it is another shape or another cause you are looking for."

I could just barely stretch to believing that Keefe being asexual might have been a factor back when Wendy and Brenda were younger and wrangled over men. Each could have misread the situation and suspected his lack of interest stemmed from his being interested in the other.

But now? After decades of knowing the man?

I'd hoped for more clarity from this conversation, not fewer motives.

Which was interesting, because wasn't I waiting for Randall Kenyon to be charged?

I was so lost in that thought I missed what Mrs. P said and had to ask her to repeat it.

"I asked if you have enjoyed reading the dissertation I lent you."

"Enjoyed? I wouldn't say that. Your friend Ethel—"

"Esther."

"Sorry. Esther had some details I hadn't seen elsewhere about Oscar's and Pearl's early lives, as well as their early married lives and the beginning of their outlaw career, including what could be seen as her justifications for their actions. But Esther Ramalarga is short on details of what happened to Pearl after Oscar's death and, especially, now that we know she was pregnant, that seems... well, I'd say slipshod. But there's this odd undercurrent that she's in on a joke that nobody else is."

Neither reacted.

In fact, the complete lack of reaction became a kind of reaction.

I heard myself repeating, "That Esther Ramalarga's in on a joke... Esther Ramalarga."

Esther. Ethel. Etta...

I caught a look from Gee.

"What?" I asked her.

"Do you know what the Spanish phrase rama larga means in English?"

"Gisella—"

I spoke over Mrs. P's protest. "Large something."

"Long branch."

"Long branch?" I repeated.

Gee clicked her tongue at my slowness. "Branch as in—"

"Bough," I practically shouted. "B-O-u-g-h, as nearly b-A-u-g-h."

Gee compressed her mouth, not prepared to answer, but satisfied with stirring my questions.

"Esther Ramalarga of Sherman, Wyoming — a schoolteacher, no less — and your mentor, Mrs. Parens. Was she really Etta Place, the significant other of Harry Longabaugh and previously a resident of Argentina and Bolivia?"

"I have always heard she spoke excellent Spanish," Gee said.

"There is no proof whatsoever of such a connection." Mrs. P sent Gee a disapproving look. "It is speculation at best."

"But what did she say about it — Esther?"

"I never asked."