It didn’t take long for Eileen to pack up the Cadillac and get ready to head home.  The scene that had just taken place in the motel office at the Shamrock made the need for departure even hastier.  She figured she’d drive to Oklahoma City and stop for the night.  She vowed to not have anything to do with whomever the clerk was at the motel she stopped at, regardless of how attractive she may have found him.  She’d learned her lesson.  It was six hours to OK City.  The next day would be a long one, but she’d be back in Fort Stockton by dinner if all went well.

The Caddy was left running outside the motel office while Eileen went inside to drop off the keys.  She dropped a fifty on top of the counter, the keys to the room on top of that.  “That’s more than the bill.  Get something nice for the kids.  Make them think you’re a good father.”  She had no idea what she expected Rusk to say in return, but was surprised when he said nothing.  It probably saved them both time and effort.  Two minutes after she went into the office the Sedan DeVille was spinning gravel to get on the highway headed south, all the windows down, the wind blowing her dark brown hair behind her.

Eileen was mad at the fact that she’d allowed herself to become ‘the other woman’.  That’s not how she’d ever seen herself.  She’d have liked to have been given all the facts and make that choice for herself rather than finding out after the fact.  Damn, he had been good, though.  

Her mind couldn’t settle down and focus on one thing as she wound her way south.  The murders in Texarkana. The book deal.  The kidnapping in Kansas.  Cass.  Rusk.  What life would look like back in Fort Stockton.  It had been nearly a year.  She was going back a different woman than the one who’d left.  Was that still where she even wanted to be?

Back in Fort Stockton people tried to guess just what had happened to Eileen Parker.  “Folks in that family seem to have a habit of just being here one day and gone the next,” they commented at the Piggly Wiggly.  Trixie, over at the Klip-N-Dye, speculated that Eileen had left town to go off and have Perry Silverman’s illegitimate child. “Five will get you ten he put a bun in that oven and paid for her to not stick around and ruin his reputation.”  Few people believed that story, but it made the rounds, anyway.  Like stories do.

After the night in Oklahoma, Eileen skipped in any of the sights driving through Fort Worth and pulled into Fort Stockton as the sun was dipping over the horizon.  “The winter days are too damn short,” she thought to herself.  She was stiff and tired from the drive, despite the Cadillac being a living room on rubber.  She treated herself to a room at the Cattle Baron Hotel.  She’d see Perry tomorrow and find out what the Alamo Arms had available for more permanent lodging.

“I’ve had Franklin Danbury look over the contract.  He made a couple changes, but said this was a pretty good deal for you, especially for a first book.  He’s been my attorney for years.  You can trust him.”  Perry was looking across the desk at Eileen and trying to figure out just what looked different about her.  Maybe it was just the year of experience.  Time out of Fort Stockton.  She looked attractive, but more worldly.  “Do you know Franklin?”

“I know of Franklin.  Everybody does.  It’s Fort Stockton, for god sakes.”  Eileen had a mental picture of Franklin Danbury in her mind from the several times she’d seen him around town.  She thought she’d even met him once at a wedding or funeral, or some type of an event.  They all run together.  “Did he ever get married?”

“No,” Perry chuckled.  “Doubt if he ever will.”

Eileen made a mental note to find that detail out ahead of time from now on.

“I’m going to see if they have an apartment over at the Alamo Arms and get settled in.  Unpack.  Maybe take a day or two.  Then I’ll finish up the Greenlease piece.”  Eileen looked weary.  “We can go over it then.”

Perry glanced out the window and saw the huge old Cadillac parked out front of the Telegram-Dispatch office. “What the hell is that?  What happened to the old Buick woody?”

“A guy in Texarkana gave his life turning it into a pile of matchsticks.  Quite a scene, actually.  Anyway, I had to replace the car in a hurry and went with the biggest damn thing I could find.”  Eileen had kind of grown fond of the big yellow beast.  The absurdity of a 1959 Cadillac Sedan DeVille seemed to go along with the absurdity of the turns her life had taken.  “It gets horrible gas mileage, but you don’t lose the damn thing in the parking lot.”  They both chuckled.

The next morning Eileen made her way from the Cattle Baron Hotel over to the Alamo Arms.  Gloria was still the manager.  Some things never change.

“Any chance you have something available?”  Eileen tried to cut through the niceties to get to the meat of the subject.  “Preferably a one-bedroom?”

“Today’s your lucky day.  Had one come available earlier this week.  Just doing a cleaning and paint touch up on it right now.”  Gloria looked Eileen up and down, wondered where she’d been for a year, but didn’t want to ask.  “It’s on the corner.  Good view.  Rates have gone up.  But  if you’re driving a Cadillac, you can afford it.”  She’d already looked out the window and made the first of many judgements.

“I’ll take it.”  Eileen figured the price was going to be whatever it was going to be.  “Can I have it tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ll get the twenty-year-old kid working for me on it and make sure he’s got it done by noon.  He’s a good kid.  Industrious.  Got his fingers in a lot of different things all over town.”  Gloria looked at Eileen at that point for some type of reaction she didn’t get.  “You know Mason McCullough?”

“The McCullough kid is twenty already?  Damn.  Seems like he was bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly a week ago.”  Eileen was starting to feel old.

“You been gone a while.  Anyway, he’ll have it done. You’ll see him soon enough, he’s got the studio across the hall from you.”  Gloria pulled out the standard lease and started filling it out.  Eileen moved in the next afternoon.  Mason helped her carry some of the things in from the Cadillac.

Eileen slept in the next morning.  Longer than she thought she would.  Maybe it was being back home in Fort Stockton.  Maybe it was the two days navigating  the Cadillac down the great American highway.  It might have been the fact that she’d been researching and writing about some pretty terrible things for a year.  She felt like she was home, but in a place she’d never spent the night in before.  And she was pissed that Rusk Taylor had made her feel like a fool.  He’d made her feel a lot of other things as well, but the fool part stuck in her craw.

The book she’d written pertaining to the Texarkana murders was now in the hands of the editor at the publishing house, the attorney Franklin Danbury, and Perry Silverman seeing over the details.  Eileen eventually bought some things for the finished one bedroom apartment to make it feel more like a real home and less like just another motel she’d checked into.  Having never been acquisitive, most of what she found to furnish the place came from thrift stores in Fort Stockton and garage sales.  Within a few weeks the place had taken on the Bohemian look of a writer’s home.

In the months that followed Eileen would bump into Mason McCullough in the hall.  He seemed to constantly be working.  He was always polite, gentlemanly almost, though that seemed to be a characteristic that was losing favor with most.  He always called her ma’am at first, until she insisted he stop.  It was sweet, but made her feel ancient.  By early summer Eileen got a better feel of how well he took care of himself when shorts and a T-shirt became the standard uniform.  The open windows in his studio apartment allowed his choice of music to waft in.  It was an eclectic mix of country & western, rock-n-roll, and classical that she came to appreciate.  It was June when she first saw the inside of his apartment.

Coming home late from the Telegram-Dispatch office, she was walking down the hall when she passed the open door to his studio.  The shelves of books stopped her in her tracks.  That’s what seemed to take up most of the walls in his small place.  She was trying to read the titles when he walked past the open door and startled her.  “They’re my weakness,” he said, stating her.  “Books and the Cougar are about all I spend money on.”

Eileen had seen the yellow Cougar convertible out front of the Alamo Arms nearly every day and knew it was his.  She couldn’t ever remember seeing a girl coming or going from the apartment, something she thought odd for a young, good looking guy.  “Books and a good car are all you need.  You chose wisely.”  She waited just a moment for him to ask her in.  It took a little time for him to realize that’s what she was trying to do.

“Wanna come in?”

She did want to.  Hadn’t wanted to before, but now she was curious about Mason.  She stepped inside and closed the door.

“Want a beer or a Coke?  Those are about the only choices.”  Mason seemed glad she’d finally warmed up enough to come into his apartment.

“Let’s go with the beer.  But only if you’ll join me.”  Eileen took a seat on the old leather couch in the middle of the room.  “I don’t drink alone.”

The two of them sat on the couch and talked about his collection of books.  Why did he  purchase the ones he did?  Which were his favorites?  What parts would he change, if he’d had a say in the story.  His answers provided an insight into the young man who was wise beyond his years.

For her part, Eileen shared what it was like to live in Fort Worth for three years while she’d gone to TCU.  For someone who’d never lived outside Fort Stockton, it was fascinating hearing about the experience.  They had a couple more beers; she stayed longer than she’d intended.  When it was finally time for her to go to her own place across the hall, she thought Mason might suggest something to prolong her stay.  She wasn’t sure what she was going to say.  She ended up not having to worry about it.  He walked her to the door like a gentleman.  “It was great to visit.  I’d enjoy it if you came back some time.”  And that was that.

After that encounter, she’d glance out the window to see when the yellow Cougar convertible pulled up outside.   Sometimes she just opened her door.  Other times, she’d grab the trash and take it out, or act like she was about to.  He was slow to take the bait, but they ended up getting together again in one another’s apartment several times throughout the summer, always platonically.

With each meeting they found they had more in common.  They each had a general sentimental sadness or pessimism about them that people their age generally didn’t display.  The Germans call it ‘welschmerz’.  Eileen understood where hers came from.  She couldn’t figure out the source of Mason’s.  But it gave them a common ground to build a genuine friendship on.

Mason was working all the time.  He’d formed a partnership with a slightly older man named Kenny Dillon.  They seemed to be on the verge of success, Eileen thought.  Mason was hoping success would pull him out of the funk he seemed to exist in, it seemed to Eileen.

By the end of summer they were spending time in the evening together two or three nights a week.  Neither could call it dating.  There was nothing physical about the relationship.  It was a matter of enjoying each other’s company.  They’d occasionally get in Mason’s Cougar, top down, and go for a drive or grab a bite to eat.  But other than Gloria, the manager at the Alamo Arms, nobody would have suspected they were spending time together.  And despite the hours of conversations they’d had, Mason never shared the story of his indiscretion with Shannon Hudspeth in the press box at Jim Bowie High School, or the change in direction it caused in his life.  For her part, Eileen never mentioned the fact that she’d authored a book that was about to come out under a pen name.  She certainly never brought up Rusk Taylor, nor the Shamrock Motel in St. Joseph, Missouri.

And then, long about the middle of August, a confluence of events took place that shifted things.

It began when Eileen went out to the Sedan DeVille, got in it, and started the car.  It was already hotter outside than the hinges on the gates of hell, so she reached down and turned on the air conditioning for some relief.  Absolutely nothing happened.  No air.  No hint of coolness.  No sounds.  The warm damp stillness of the interior was already starting to make Eileen moist, and not in a good way.

She attempted to roll down all the power windows.  Only two of them showed any inclination to cooperate.  She put the Cadillac in gear and headed over to see Stan at the ESSO station before she made her way into work.  Stan was a crusty, jumberjawed old guy who was maddeningly slow, but completely thorough and dependable.  Twenty minutes later, he confronted her with the diagnosis.  “The A/C is shot.  Surprised it lasted this long, it’s the original unit from the factory.  You’re lookin’ at five hundred bucks.  The windows are another hundred a piece.”  Stan hated to be the bearer of bad news, but didn’t sugarcoat it, nonetheless.  “These old Cadillacs are cheap to buy, expensive to keep runnin’.  The whole darn thing isn’t worth $700.  If you want me to fix it all, it’ll take me a couple days to round up all the parts.”

Eileen walked the three blocks to work.  When she got to the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch office, she was surprised to see Perry Silverman and Franklin Danbury in Perry’s office waiting for her.  “Figures, the one day I’m late,” she muttered to herself as she threw her purse down on her desk and went into Perry’s office.

“Sit down,” Perry said sort of abruptly.  “We’ve got some news for you.  Tell her, Franklin.”

“It seems Hollywood wants to buy the rights to Murder by Moonlight for a motion picture.  They’re changing the title.  Probably The Town That Feared The Dark, but whatever.  That’s up to them.  The thing is, they’re offering twenty five grand for the rights.  Plus, they’ll want you to come out and be an adviser on the film.  That will be negotiated separately.”  Franklin let all that settle in.  “I don’t want to go any further with the deal if you’re not interested.”  Eileen sat stunned, not knowing what to say.  “This could lead to other things.  They want to take a look at your work on the Greenlease case.”

After she was done in Perry’s office, Eileen called Stan at the ESSO station and told him not to fix the Caddy.  “Put a FOR SALE sign on it and get whatever you can.  I’ll split it with you.”  After work, she called Mason and asked him to pick her up from work.  In the Cougar, she said, “Take me over to Frontier Ford-Mercury.  I need a new car.  I’m done with Cadillacs and Buicks.”

Mason figured Eileen had been impressed with his Cougar and maybe wanted one of her own.  Who wouldn’t?  He was surprised when she walked right past the row of Cougars, ignored the Mustangs, and showed zero interest in the Torinos and Cyclones.  He was absolutely floored when Eileen made her way to the triple black Mercury Marauder like a magnet.  “This is the one.  Write it up.”

The salesman that had been tagging along behind them was taken aback at the speed of Eileen’s selection.  He was also concerned that her choice was one that would cause problems, as the black Marauder had been specially ordered for the owner’s wife.  However, he was assured that his skills in sales would quickly transition her to a different unit.  “This one is taken, I’m afraid.  But I have quite a number of Galaxies over here that I think will be to your liking.”  He put his hand on her back, physically turning her around.  

Eileen stiffened.  Turned back around, and leaned up against the sweeping rear fender of the Marauder.  “Perhaps you don’t understand.  Is there a SOLD sign on this one?”

“No ma’am.”

“Was there any question as to what I was willing to pay when I told you to write it up?” she asked him.

“No ma’am.”

“Do I look like I am a woman who can be easily manipulated by someone who barely passed a Dale Carnegie course in salesmanship, or who has patience for attempts at condescension?  That means being talked down to.”

“No ma’am.”

“Then might I suggest that you make your way inside and complete the paperwork on this effing automobile before I can no longer fight the urge to go across the street to the Pontiac dealer and buy the black Grand Prix on the giant turnstile in his showroom.”  Eileen wasn’t a new car customer, she was an automotive assassin.

That evening, a brand new triple black Mercury Marauder was parked next to a yellow Cougar convertible in front of the Alamo Arms Apartments.  In Mason’s studio apartment, the two of them had a glass or two of wine and had a pizza delivered.

“I thought you’d go for a Cougar,” he told her.

“Too small.  I’ve had the entire front end of an REO Speed Wagon in the passenger seat next to me.  Size matters.”  That was all the explanation she felt the topic deserved.  Glancing at Mason’s coffee table, she saw a brand new copy of Murder by Moonlight sitting on top of a stack of books.  “Besides, the triple black fits my personality perfectly.”  She mulled over saying something about being the author of the new book, but kept it to herself.

The relationship between Eileen and Mason had never been physical before.  But something changed in the parking lot of Frontier Ford-Mercury, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal”.  That night he drilled her like an oil well in the Permian Basin.