Coming Home - Pt 8 -

Howdy Folks,

On April 9, 2013 I posted the first installment of "Coming Home" and then followed with Pt 2, on April 10, Pt 3 on April 11, Pt 4 on May 8, Pt 5 on May 21, Pt 6 June 18, and Pt 7, July 31. If you're just joining us you can find Pt 1 HERE, and each segment has a link to the next (If you'd like to revisit Pt 7 Click Here) … In Pt 7 we left Billie and Hector in her new office as Hector explained Sherriff Calhoun's dislike of woman and her father … Enjoy this next installment.

Kessy, Saturday & me writing

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Billie opened the file again, "So this Andrew Kent was arrested for drunken-disorderly, Sheriff Calhoun ships him back here, somebody wants him sprung." She tapped her fingernails on the file folder. "He'd served time for bad checks in '06 in Arizona, arrested and acquitted for forgery in New Mexico in February '04, arrested and given two years parole for beating a man nearly to death in Phoenix in November '04. Ah, see here, he's still on parole for the bad checks. Who would want to spring a likable fellow like this?" She held the black and white mug shot up for Hector to see. 

 

"Detective Weston, Sheriff…." Deputy Hardin's voice was interrupted by the loud wailing of fire sirens.


Hector followed Billie at a run to the front counter just in time to see the Hondo County Fire Department's entire fleet of engines and a lone tanker race past their window, sirens and lights blaring and flashing.

Deputy Hardin offered Billie the phone, timidly. "It's Sheriff Lovell on the line. Someone called him at home." 

"Yes Sheriff. Highway twenty-nine ... I see ... I can leave right away ... Yes Deputy Montoya is still here, would you like to speak to him?... Alright then, we're on our way. Would you like me to call you from the scene?... I will. Goodbye."

       

Billie faced Deputies Hardin and Montoya's inquisitive stares. "A truck driver found a burning car a few yards off highway twenty-nine, five miles outside Cibolo, when he stopped to investigate he found a body lying next to it. The Sheriff needs us to check on it right away." She started for the door, turned back, "How would a truck driver get Sheriff Lovell's home phone number?" She motioned to Deputy Hardin, "You call the phone company, find out whatever you can about that call. Call me on my cell as soon as you know something."

      

"Yes Ma'am."

       

"You drive," she pointed to Hector, "I'll try to have you home before your daughter's birthday is over. Rosita isn't it?"

      

Hector smiled. "Yes. For the rose. She is our little rose. You remembered."

      

"How old is she today, let me guess …eleven. That should be right. Yea I'll stick with eleven."

       

Hector smiled broader. "She is eleven, yes."

       

"Let's hurry, so you can get home to light eleven candles."

       

Cibolo is a cluster of about a dozen rusty mobile homes that sprung up along a cattle trail ranchers and drovers had used to push herds to the old rail yards way up in the panhandle. It wasn't really a town, or even a community. It just was. Most of the folks who lived in those old trailers did not have what some might call, real jobs. They made a living working here and there, fixing old oil rigs, windmills, or hiring on a few weeks at a time on the hand full of remaining cattle outfits in the county. Billie knew Cibolo, or not too far from it, was where Juan del Paso's grandmother had her old tiny trailer.

       

Outside by the cars Billie changed her mind. "We'll drive separate. When we're through with this I'm going to tell Juan's grandmother about her grandson. She still lives outside Cibolo I'd guess."

       

"Are you sure? I think I should go with you. She maybe won't remember you. She can be hard to talk to, if she don't remember you." But he moved with a smile to his cruiser.

       

Billie opened her own car door, then turned to face Hector, "You're right, she can be, shall I say, shy."

       

Her mind was more on Juan's grandmother than her driving, or the dead man lying beside his burning car as she drove along behind Hector. Billie truly liked the ancient woman, and in fact had learned as much from her, as she herself had ever been able to teach Juan. For that she'd often felt guilty. And she felt especially guilty this moment. Had she missed some important lesson, or example she could have used to influence young Juan when she'd been helping him study? Was there something she missed that could have later kept him from making a wrong decision, a decision that ultimately led to his death alongside a desolate stretch of paved road. 

       

The Comanche people were not known for their record keeping, but Sara Muguara, could recite her linage all the way back to the Aztecs of Mexico. As she drove she remembered Sara's name meant Spirit Talker. She wondered if Grandma Sara had already heard from her grandson's spirit.

       

The smoke from the burning car drifted straight up, high into the windless sky. Most of the fire apparatus was already being wrapped up. Two engines, and six firefighters had made short work of the flames, now there was only black smoke. She stopped behind Deputy Montoya's cruiser and surveyed the scene. The body was on the opposite side of the road from the smoking car. Good thing, she thought, at least it appeared to be far enough away to be safe from overzealous hose operators. Her mind was slow to react though, and she blamed that on the long, long day which was certainly going to get even longer. She was still watching the smoke and thinking about Sara Muguara sitting alone in her dark little trailer, wondering if the message she'd received from the spirit world, about her grandson was true, when Hector knocked on her window.

      

"Ah…ah…I ah…."

       

Billie stepped out. "What's wrong?"

      

"I am not sure what to call you." He held his hands in the air, palms up, "You know, now you are a Detective. I used to, when we worked together before, call you Miss Weston. Remember? But that is not good for a Detective, I think."

       

She was surprised and amused enough by his discomfort that all she could respond with was a silly half-a-smile, and a shrug.

      

"I suppose I should call you Detective Weston, but, you know, somehow it feels funny." He made a very apologetic face, took a big breath, "Not that I think you should not be a Detective. You should. And most certainly you will make a very fine Detective, but it sounds funny to my ears."

       

Still speechless she watched him struggle and thought this is more words than she'd ever heard Hector Montoya say at one time.

     

"I mean, I will learn to like, Detective Weston…Soon."

       

She put her hand on his shoulder and gave her most assuring smile, "Hector, why don't you call me, Billie? After all we are equals, quite possibly going to be partners." She had a pang of guilt for saying that last part. Poor Roy was supposed to be her partner and he died before they ever worked together.

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Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Coming Home - Pt 7

Howdy Folks, 

On April 9, 2013 I posted the first installment of "Coming Home" and then followed with Pt 2, on April 10, Pt 3 on April 11, Pt 4 on May 8, Pt 5 on May 21, and Pt 6 June 18. ... If you're just joining us you can find Pt 1 HERE, and each segment has a link to the next (If you'd like to revisit Pt 6 Click Here) … In Pt 6 we left Billie and Hector in her new office … Enjoy this next installment.

     

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She motioned for Hector to take the desk chair, Billie had designs on the leather couch. She called down the hall for Deputy Hardin to bring everything he could get his hands on about the prisoner Roy was transporting from Salado County, then collapsed on the couch. The day was beginning to take a toll. She'd been up thirty-six hours, fast highway driving for too many of them, then sworn in, sort of, as a Detective in her home town, so she could start the investigation of a lifelong friend's killing.

She turned to Hector, "That was, Juan del Paso, killed out there today wasn't it?"

Hector nodded.

Billie pulled her tablet and recorded that fact. She'd recognized him on the scene, or thought she had. "Was he in trouble again?" She'd known Juan, pretty well actually. Her father had tried to help him over the years. Helped him get his GED, and jobs, and he'd often gone to Juan's grandmother's house, where he lived, to talk sense to the boy. She'd even gone along on some of those visits. She respected her father's faith in every man, but she honestly could never see why he'd tried so hard for such a determined loser. She'd honored his request though and helped tutor Juan for his tests, and had grown to like his grandmother. For a minute she thought about the forth coming evening, telling her father and mother Roy was dead, and that Juan del Paso had something to do with it. She shook her head and sat up, "What was Juan doing lately?" 

Hector leaned toward her, his elbows on the desk, "I don't think he was in trouble recently. Nothing we heard about anyway. Your father had helped him get a job at the Staked Plains Museum as a night watchman. I remember how hard your father had to talk, because, you know, Juan's history and everything. But I think he was a good watchman, and he didn't get into trouble anymore. Even his grandmother came to your house to thank your father one time, not too long ago. I remember because I took her." 

"How long did he work there?"

"About a year."

Deputy Hardin knocked lightly on the door. "I have the file on the prisoner Roy was transporting." He stepped through the door and handed the file to Billie.

She reached to take it, "Thank you. Did you know him?"

"No, but it's interesting reading. I should stay at the front counter, call if you need anything else."

Billie propped herself up with a leather pillow and opened the file.

"You think I can go home now?" Hector stood, timidly picked up his hat, then negotiated, "It's my daughter's birthday."

       
"The only reason Roy was asked to move, Andrew 'Quiet-Man' Kent, to the Hondo jail was because, Under-Sheriff Calhoun, is pissed off the two counties merged Sheriff's departments?"

Hector sat down again, laid his hat on the desk and scratched his chin. "Sheriff Calhoun is a sore loser."

"Loser?"

"Yep. Sheriff Calhoun runs Salado County a lot like things were done in the older days. He likes to, you know, not answer to a lot of people."

"I don't know him."

"You will get the chance, maybe sooner than you think."

Billie sat back, raised her brow.

"Roy was killed in Salado County. Probably Sheriff Calhoun will visit you in a day or two."

"Where was he today?"

Hector let out a sigh. "That's his way, you know. He doesn't get involved right away. He gives things a little time, that way he can push people around, make them look stupid. So he can make himself look smart."

"I see. If he's involved from the get-go, anything a little, off-center, so to speak, reflects on him. He stays back a safe distance so he can be the hero who cleans things up."

"Yep."

"Okay, thank you for the warning."

"You're welcome. You should know also, he hates your father. A lot. And he blames him for the merger."

"So by extension, I'm going to have a problem dealing with Sheriff Calhoun."

"He don't like women too good either."

Billie smiled. "I'm not real fond of bullies myself, so we might get along fine."

"Maybe." Hector said with a polite chuckle.

     

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To Pt 8 CLICK HERE 

Gitty Up~ Dutch Henry

"It's About Who They Are not What They Are"

Howdy Folks,

 

Writing, people and horses always seem to go together for me. One of the novels I'm working on, "Coming Home" opens with the scene of the protagonist, Billie, sitting at the end of her parents' farm lane, pausing, thinking just a moment before driving in. We visit reuniting with family, and an old friend drops by too. Midway through the first chapter, in a scene set in a diner, Billie learns there's big trouble and tension builds quickly. Now modern, conventional wisdom has it that everything prior to the diner scene should be cut, and the story should start with the "action, or tension."

 Today everyone wants to start with the "action." You even see it in the current movies and TV shows that start with explosive action, then drift into flashbacks. How many times have we seen, "Three days earlier" on the screen, or in a book? Sure the action might be gripping, but if you think about it, it's action for action's sake. It's rarely compelling, so the writer needs to "take you back," so you can get to know and feel for the characters. And truly care about them. 

I like to do things a little differently. Publishers, editors and agents tell us, "If you start your story with reflection, contemplation or a character pondering it will not be published." Or read. I took that advice when my novel "We'll Have The Summer" was published, and I will forever regret the readers never saw the opening paragraphs that were cut to "start with the action." The readers missed out on tender, precious thoughts Mary Holt had looking out the kitchen window above the sink. Oh sure, I tried to weave those emotions in later, but the reader would have known who Mary was in the first paragraph on a deeper level.

I agree a story can't start with a ton of baggage, or back story. But I also believe that the need to start with tension, action, momentum is somehow a sign of our over stimulated time. To me it feels like too often it's about the "what" not the "who." And the "who" is important.

In fact, I believe that "who" is much more important than "what." In a story, in life, and with our horses. I believe when working with our horses it is far more important to get to know "who" they are before we begin to "train" them. That's another word I'm not too fond of, "training." Better than some of the other words used, but still very much in the world of "what" instead of "who."

If we take the time to allow our horses to tell their story, if we listen to their opening paragraphs of reflection, contemplation we will know them more deeply. That will allow us to have an understanding of "who" they are instead of "what" they are. Which will make possible a deeper, richer form of communication that will make sense to both the horse and the human.

Kessy & me lovin' the moment

To me taking the time to learn who a person, character in a novel, or a horse is, is time well spent. It's the fundamental building stone for everything that follows. It's about who they are, not what they are.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Coming Home-Pt-5"

Howdy Folks,  

On April 9, I posted the first installment of "Coming Home" and then followed with Pt 2, on April 10 and Pt 3 on April 11 …Pt 4 on May 8 … A few folks have asked for more, so here ya go. I'll take you to the end of Chapter 2. … We'd left Billie at the accident scene trying to make sense of the mess.  

You can find Pt 4 here which will also have links to all the previous segments… http://dutchhenry.blogspot.com/2013/05/coming-home-pt-4.html                                        Coming Home – Pt 5

"We'll see. While I agree with that, I must point out I take my orders from Sheriff Lovell. He told me to handle this." She pointed to the Coroner's car. "That's my Coroner. He'll do as I say." She started away then turned back, "Lieutenant, I'm sure you've got your own paperwork to do, why not get a head start on it while I examine the scene." She signaled Hector away and went to Roy.

She knelt beside her High School friend, shut out everything else, battled with the hot tears that tried to sting her eyes. She was glad she'd spent time surveying the scene from up on the rise. It helped her now that she had to look at Roy's face close up. At least she knew, without a doubt, he'd put up a hell of a fight. A fight for what? Obviously whoever did this, did it to free the prisoner Roy was transporting back to Hondo County. He'd lost his prisoner, but he'd killed one of theirs, too.

She pulled her tablet and wrote a note. - Why did they leave their man? Thought a second then added - They'd know we'd identify him-- Is that what they wanted? - Why?

From up there she'd put together what happened. Somehow the dump truck had managed to get close enough to Roy's car to ram it and shove it off the road. For whatever reason, Roy left his vehicle to do battle. Maybe to draw fire away from his prisoner.

The other dead man laying only a few feet from Roy didn't have a gun. Roy still clutched his own revolver. She stood and looked through the broken windshield. His shotgun lay on the front seat. She counted five spent shells strewn about it. She looked back at Roy. It looked like three wounds to the chest. Careful not to step on any empty casings she moved to the other dead man. He was lying on his stomach. The only wound she could see, without turning him, was in the back of his head. She looked at Roy, he couldn't have shot him. The dead man must have been shot by his own people. Accident? Maybe. She wrote it in her tablet.

She counted the empty casings, five from Roy's thirty-eight. Five from his twelve gauge. And a little farther from the car and dump truck, twenty-six, from various weapons.

Satisfied with her own notes, and Hector's photography, she gave the okay to the Coroner to take the bodies. She helped them load Roy.

******- End of Chapter 2 
To continue you can read Pt 6 here - http://dutchhenry.blogspot.com/2013/06/coming-home-pt-6.html

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry