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This is Chapter 7 in a series of ten stories.

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Abigail was married again within a year.  Someone she’d met in Dallas.  Several years older.  He’d been married before but never fully explained the reasons for his divorce, leaving Abigail with the belief she needn’t explain her own.

Duke De Kalb didn’t care for Husband Number Two from the first time he laid eyes on him and could never understand what his daughter had seen in the man.  At least there was no full scale wedding event that took months to plan and tens of thousands of dollars to pull off.

“Daddy, I’m getting married,” she told him by phone.  The next day the couple boarded a plane for Las Vegas and had the service performed by an Elvis impersonator at a pink chapel of some sort.  Duke was sure the nuptials weren’t going to be recognized by the Methodist church, and wondered whether the State of Texas would even go along with it.

Abigail was reluctant to bring her new husband home for holidays or events, always begging off with excuses about her new husband’s work schedule, prior demands, or some other excuse.  The few times she returned to Fort Stockton, she did so alone.

In fact, he saw Abigail’s best friend from high school and college more regularly than he saw Abigail.  Eileen Parker no longer went by that name.  She’d assumed Parker McHale as a pen name for the novels she’d written and the work she was beginning to produce in Hollywood.

By the late 1970s Eileen-Parker-McHale came through town  fewer and fewer times, but when she did, she always looked up Duke De Kalb.  They’d meet for dinner at the restaurant in the Cattle Baron Hotel, where she always stayed, and get caught up.  The relationship was purely plutonic, based on common interests and people whose lives they both shared.

“I thought you told me you were incapacitated by war injuries and unable to perform,” she scolded him after a couple glasses of pinot noir during dinner at one meeting.  “I have it on good authority that you’re banging two different women right here in Fort Stockton.”  She looked at him waiting for a response.  He only smiled.  “Well, the reviews I get are all good, anyway.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Duke admonished.  “It was the best way for me to assure I would never have to worry about explaining to my daughter something so unsavory.”  It was Parker’s turn to return the smile.  “Besides, I wouldn’t want someone to find me tied to my own bed, helpless and spent.” Duke couldn’t resist letting her know he some some of her secrets, as well.

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With that, Parker burst out laughing.  “I heard you were the one that found poor ol’ Dusty.  I figured I’d left him enough slack to get free,  Apparently I didn’t leave him enough energy!”  Duke tried not to laugh.  “He told me he couldn’t look at you when you cut him loose and that neither of you has ever said anything about it again.”

There was a long silence.

“I understand your age restrictions are fairly liberal in each direction,” Duke noted.  Parker played dumb.  “Mason McCullough?  How old is the kid, 19?”  

Parker shrugged her shoulders.  “He’s got a lot of pent up energy.”

“Is that what they call it now?” Duke chuckled.

Then he filled her in on Abigail.  “The second marriage was a bust.  The worthless dog turd was alcoholic and abusive.  He thought he’d found a meal ticket.  She lasted longer with him than she should have, just too embarrassed to have a second divorce in her past, I s’pose.

“She’s a lot better off without him,” Parker noted.

“She’s seeing someone in Houston now.  A doctor.  Plastic surgeon.  Seems legit.”  Duke filled her in on anyone else in town he thought she might be interested in, then asked her about some of the book and movie projects she was working on.  He was fascinated by her grasp on the macabre and her capacity to weave people and places together with the gore that goes with most crimes, especially the ones she seemed to write about.  The conversation was always entertaining.

When it was time to go, Duke paid the bill.  He always insisted.  Then he left and drove back to the ranch.  The lights were all off in the house as he sat out on the patio by the pool in the dark, a faint moon barley illuminating the sky.  That is, until the headlights of Parker’s Mercedes lit up the gravel driveway to the barn and then disappeared behind it.  He wondered to himself if he was going to have to go untie his ranch hand in the morning.

The next time the two would see each other would be three years later, at Abigail’s funeral.  Duke De Kalb was a hollow shell of the man he’d been at the restaurant in the Cattle Baron Hotel three years earlier.  He was devastated.

Abigail’s death had been unexpected and suspicious.  Her third husband, the plastic surgeon from Houston, barely spoke to Duke or anyone else that Abigail had been close to at the funeral.  He left as soon as the graveside service was over.  He remarried less than three months later.

At Duke’s request, Parker came out to the house for dinner later that evening.  He would have met her at her hotel, but didn’t want the two of them to be seen together, nor any of their conversation overheard, even accidentally.  Parker was still in the impeccable black dress she’d worn to the funeral.

Although Bella, the help, was an outstanding cook, Duke had sent her home early.  Duke grilled steaks and had potatoes baking in the oven.  They both just picked at their food.  They talked about Abigail.  They each picked out the best things they wanted to remember about her, the things they’d each treasure.

And then Duke asked her a series of questions.  Parker wasn’t surprised.  She provided him with as many details as she could, drawing on her field of expertise and much of the research she’d done over the years.  There was no laughing.  No witticisms or bantering like there had been at all the other meetings past.  It was solemn, almost clinical.

Later, when she left, Duke stood at the front door and watched the tail lights of her German sports coupe turn to the right , towards the road rather than left, towards the barn.  He was glad she took it upon herself not to go see Dusty after their meeting.

Months later, he stopped by Manny;’s Motor Mart.  “I’m looking for a running project,” he told Manny.  “Something better than a parts car, but nothing too pricey or exotic.  A title isn’t important.  Keep your eye out.”

Manny didn’t ask any questions, but said he would do as asked.  He figured Duke was looking for a project to get his mind off his loss.   “I’ll give you a call if something comes in,” he said.  “And I was sure sorry to hear about Abigail.”  Duke gave as much of a smile as he could, and nodded.

Several weeks later Duke was at home when the phone rang.  Mr. De Kalb?  This is Manny.  You still interested in a project?”

“Yeah, Manny.  I am.” Duke replied.

“I got one you might want to take a look at.” Manny replied.

Duke was at the lot an hour later.  Manny greeted him and said, “I got this Tri-Power 1959 Chevrolet Impala Sport Coupe.  It would make a damn good project.  You can have it for $800, if this is what you have in mind.”

Duke peeled off 10 $100 bills from his pocket.  “I’ll take it.  Here’s $800 for the car, an extra $200 says you never even saw it.  I’m wanting to keep the project a surprise.  For a friend.  Keep the paperwork.  In fact, burn the paperwork.”  

Manny knew Duke De Kalb well enough to not worry about the details, did as he was told, and folded up the cash and slipped it into his pocket.   “What paperwork?”

“I’ll drive my car home now and swing by later and get the Impala.  Leave the keys under the seat and put it at the back of the lot.”  Duke wanted to make sure it was dark and there wouldn’t be anybody around the lot when he came back and got the car later.

Duke got home just about the time Dusty arrived, pulling the enclosed trailer Duke had sent him to buy in Marfa.  “Any problems?” Duke asked.

“None.  ‘Cash talks and bullshit walks.’  Isn’t that what you always say?”  Dusty asked.

It was after dark before they got the ’59 Impala back home and in the barn.  Dusty had no idea what was going on, but knew not to ask questions.  He’d find out what he needed to when it was time.  And if it was never time, that was okay too.  The pay was the same either way.

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