If Catfish Had Nine Lives(98)
“Good. Now, want to come with me to the campsite?” I said.
“Sure, but why?”
“I need to talk to Orly again.”
“About?”
“His gun collection.”
“Okay. You sure we shouldn’t bring Cliff?”
“We could wait for him, and we probably should, because we’re going to be asking about firearms, but Orly did me a favor by taking me to Teddy before the world knew about the beating. I’d like to keep my suspicions to myself until I know for sure that the police might need to take a closer look. I think there will be plenty of people around. We’ll be fine. Cliff’s taking the crew from St. Louis to breakfast; he’ll be busy for a while.”
“Let’s go.”
• • •
The two campfires had already been lit, and from the smell of things were warming cowboy coffee and cooking bacon and eggs and probably some biscuits. A couple trails of smoke reached up to the blue sky as I parked the Nova on the back road, close to Orly’s tent and across from the Express station. My mouth watered with all the breakfast scents.
“You think the ghosts are all gone?” Jake said as he glanced at the station. On the way to the campsite, I had told him the details of our ghostly encounters and departures.
“I haven’t seen or heard from any of them this morning, but it’s early.”
“They left without the answers they were looking for? That’s a first.”
“I know. It bothers me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I hope they’ll all come back someday and we can learn more.”
“If Joe knew Astin, and Jerome had an idea where Astin’s remains were located, we were so close to answering some interesting questions. I must have been wrong about the letter or the reasons for the letter.”
I laughed. “Jake, trust me, none of this ghost business is predictable, and much of it is frustrating. I’m trying not to let it bother me too much. I’m sorry if involving you has made you emotionally invested, too. I probably shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Are you kidding? I love my involvement. I just wish I was even more involved.”
“Come on, maybe we can figure something else out, something from the world of the living,” I said as I threw the Nova into park.
The morning was as perfect a spring morning as you could get in southern Missouri. The smells from the campfires, the breakfasts being cooked, and the coffee being boiled made me want to find a comfortable chair somewhere and listen to someone recite some cowboy poetry. Of all the activities, skits, and poetry that had surrounded me over the last little bit, I hadn’t taken the time to enjoy the true creativity that the convention had to offer. But neither had Norman Bytheway, and at least I’d still have more chances.
Orly exited his tent just as we closed the Nova’s doors. He waved us over. He wore the same type of clothes I’d already seen him in: jeans and an embroidered cowboy shirt. But the typical vest and hat were missing. He looked incomplete without them.
He carried a blue tin mug. I thought that coffee probably tasted a hundred times better out of those mugs than any others. I hadn’t had my own cup yet this morning, though, so that might have just been caffeine withdrawal speaking.
“Betts and Jake, goodness, it’s early. Come on over, we’ll round up some breakfast for you.”
Orly unfolded a few chairs that had been leaning against the front pole of his tent.