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Authors: Kim Fielding

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BOOK: Rattlesnake
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It was surprisingly large, but then maybe that made sense if they’d been burying people there for over a century and a half. Several towering trees would provide good shade on hot summer days, asphalt walkways divided the cemetery into neat oblongs, and a small water tower hulked in a corner. Aside from a few graves topped by weeping angels and oversized crosses, the headstones were mostly small. As Jimmy wandered among them, he noted that the dates varied widely. A child who died in the 1860s was buried next to a woman who’d passed away in 2007.

A good bunch of the graves dated to the 1850s. Maybe some of them contained the victims of Rattlesnake Murray’s temper. He found Rattlesnake’s grave—he’d died in 1902 at the age of eighty-six—and several other Murrays as well. Quite a few Littles had found their final resting place in the Rattlesnake cemetery, but if any members of the Reynolds family lay there, Jimmy didn’t see them.

Some of the inscriptions were so worn and lichen-covered that they were illegible. A few stones had cracked, but someone had made sure they stood upright. And on many of the newest graves, mourners had placed plastic flowers, fanciful glass garden stakes, multicolored ribbons, and flags. One larger gravesite, for a man who’d died ten years earlier, was decorated with various San Francisco 49ers memorabilia, including a garden bench with plastic seat cushions and a covered cooler now faded by the sun. It was as if the man’s family expected him to start tailgating at any minute.

Tom wouldn’t have a grave, Jimmy thought. Not even a tiny one.

Jimmy didn’t loiter by the children’s graves. Too much lingering sorrow. He paused by the men who’d been killed in wars. So many wars, from the Civil War all the way to Afghanistan. The town of Rattlesnake had paid a blood price for every major American conflict.

When he was in his teens, Jimmy had toyed with the idea of joining the military. It might have been a good option for someone like him. He might have made something of himself. But that had been even before “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” and by his eighteenth birthday, Jimmy had been busted a couple of times for selling himself. Even if he had tried to play straight for the Army recruiter, he’d been pretty certain the military wouldn’t let him in.

He came to the grave of a man who had died in 1873 at age forty-eight, just a few years older than Jimmy was now. The man had been born in Sweden, according to the headstone. Other graves in the cemetery belonged to natives of Germany, Italy, Ireland, England, France, Wales, and Chile. Jimmy stood there for a long time, trying to imagine what it would have been like to cross the ocean by boat, perhaps cross the continent in a wagon, and end your days in a little mining town in the California foothills. Maybe some of these people had no families back home, no ties to keep them there. He wondered if they’d been happy in Rattlesnake.

Next to the Swedish guy, someone named S.M. Fontana was buried. The white marble headstone didn’t hint at Fontana’s full name, gender, or origin. Just a birth date in December 1824 and a death almost exactly ninety years later. And a single word in small capital letters: REST. Jimmy decided that S.M. was male. He’d had some menial job back east and had come to California to seek his fortune. But he’d never struck gold, and he’d spent so much time working hard at whatever jobs he could land that he’d never found a wife, never started a family. He labored until he was too worn out to do any more, and then someone had used S.M.’s life savings to buy him a grave plot and a nice headstone, on which they’d inscribed some final advice.

It would have been a good epitaph for Tom as well.

Once he’d finished exploring the cemetery, Jimmy wandered for a couple of hours. Outside of the town proper, he found ranches, a couple of rocky vineyards, and stands of trees. Birds he couldn’t identify flew overhead or watched him from fence posts and tree limbs. Once he crossed paths with three black-tailed deer, none of which seemed especially alarmed by him. He watched them descend a small gully and browse among the brush there. He came upon a long-abandoned house, its siding a weathered gray and its roof sagging badly. No other houses were nearby, yet it wasn’t far from Main Street. He could shelter there for a night or two if necessary.

Well past noon, his thirst finally drove him back to Rattlesnake and the inn. He wasn’t optimistic about Shane finding him a job. And even if Shane
had
been lucky, Jimmy probably wouldn’t accept. He had no reason to stick around here. No reason but Shane, and that wasn’t good enough. Jimmy could just grab his duffel, maybe hand over the letter, and head for the highway.

When Jimmy entered the building, Shane was standing with his aunt Belinda at the desk. “Hi!” Shane said, smiling widely. “Have you been exploring the many charms of our fair city?”

“I’ve had a ramble. Visited the cemetery.”

Shane flinched slightly before turning to his aunt. “This is the guy I was telling you about. Jimmy Dorsett. Jimmy, this is Belinda Copeland.”

“Good to meet you,” Jimmy said. Belinda nodded, her eyes narrowed in assessment. For what purpose, he didn’t know. He stood straight and tried to look reputable.

“Here’s what I was thinking,” Shane said, addressing Jimmy more than his aunt. “Things in this old heap are constantly breaking or needing work. You know, stuck window here, new paint there. I can handle a little of it, but I’m mostly a bartender. And most of it I just… can’t.” That shadow crossed his eyes again. Definitely a story there.

Belinda’s expression softened, and she patted Shane’s shoulder as she said to Jimmy, “My son-in-law Terry is nominally our handyman, but—”

“I call him Next Tuesday Terry,” Shane interrupted. “’Cause he always says he’ll get around to things next Tuesday.”

“He’s
busy
.”

“Busy being a pain in the ass. And he doesn’t do that great a job even when he does show up. Have you taken a look at the mirror he hung in the ladies’ bathroom? It’s crooked.”

Belinda looked slightly pained. She turned to Jimmy. “Do you have experience in general repairs?”

“Sure. I’m not licensed to do any fancy plumbing or electrical work, but I can fix most things. Unless they have engines. I’m not that good with cars.”

“Do you have tools?”

He shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

Shane said, “Belinda, Uncle Emilio’s tools are still down in the basement. Jimmy could borrow them.”

She didn’t look especially pleased with the idea, but she didn’t say no. Instead she stared at Jimmy the way she might stare at a horse she was thinking to buy—a horse with bad teeth and a history of kicking.

With a roll of his eyes and an impatient huff, Shane stepped closer. “So you could keep things in good shape around the inn, which will keep you fairly busy already. But you can also help out when we get shipments. I can’t lift anything too heavy. And there are always a lot of little chores to do, like keeping the planting boxes out front looking nice or helping with seasonal decorations. Once a month we have live music at the bar. You can help with the setup. How does that sound?”

Trying to ignore the hope in Shane’s puppy-dog eyes, Jimmy smiled slightly. “Sounds like I can manage it.”

Shane turned his eager gaze to Belinda, who hadn’t yet cracked a smile. “I can’t afford to pay very much,” she began.

Shane interrupted. “But we have a room for you. It’s small and the view stinks. And it doesn’t have a private bath. No kitchen, either, but I think we have a dorm-sized fridge somewhere. And Mae’s is right across the street.”

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. It all sounded so cozy and perfect. Far too good to be true.

“Two hundred dollars a week,” said Belinda sternly. “And the room. No maid service, but you can have clean linens once a week and clean towels daily. I cannot provide insurance coverage for you. I expect you to be available around the clock, but we can negotiate some time off.” She narrowed her eyes. “Absolutely no drugs, no drunkenness, and no behavior that would disturb the guests.”

“I’m pretty quiet, ma’am. And sober.”

She clearly wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but he couldn’t blame her.

Shane licked his lips nervously. “So can he have the job, Aunt Belinda?”

After a long pause, she gave a regal nod. “On a probationary basis.”

Nobody had asked Jimmy whether he actually wanted the job. Apparently they assumed he’d take anything offered. And they weren’t far from the truth. But he rubbed his neck. “It sounds like a good gig. But I’m not planning to stay for long. I’m just—”

“Passing through. We know.” Shane grinned like a schoolboy, looking momentarily years younger. “Try us out. Maybe we’ll grow on you.”

So although two of the three parties involved weren’t entirely enthusiastic about the arrangement, it seemed that Jimmy had a job and a place to stay.

 

 

T
HE
FIRST
-
FLOOR
room wasn’t bad. It was small, as Shane had said, but not cramped. The furniture was either well-preserved antiques or well-done reproductions, but not overly fussy. Jimmy could have lived without the green striped wallpaper, but nobody had asked him to play interior decorator. The room contained a double bed, an armoire hiding drawers and a flat-screen TV, a pair of nightstands, and a small desk with a chair. There was also a closet and, near the door, a tiny sink with a mirror above. The narrow single window looked across a small air shaft to an unremarkable brick wall.

“We only rent this room out when everything else is booked,” Shane explained. He stood in the doorway, watching Jimmy take a look around. “It’s pretty quiet, at least. And the mattress is good. Belinda replaced all of them just a few months ago.”

“It’s a nice room,” Jimmy said. And it was. Very clean too, with a highly polished wooden floor and gleaming brass fixtures.

“You share the toilet and shower with three other rooms, but you’re the closest. I guess it’s kind of inconvenient to pull on clothes if you have to pee in the middle of the night.” The corner of his mouth rose. “Or maybe you’re a pajamas kind of guy.”

Jimmy snorted. “I haven’t owned pajamas since… well, I can’t remember.” When he was a kid, he slept in underwear and maybe a T-shirt when the weather was warm, and added more layers if it was cold.

And yes, this time the gleam in Shane’s eyes most definitely existed. It made Jimmy’s throat feel dry.
Stupid
, he told himself.
So you’ll fuck and then you can leave town. What’s the problem with that?
None. Except maybe he’d stick around long enough to get in a shower and clean his clothes. Maybe even save up a few dollars.

“Do you want to unpack now or take the grand tour?”

Fuck. It was time for Jimmy to flirt back, just a little. “I’ll take the tour, if you’ll be my guide.”

The gleam momentarily flared. “Deal. But I gotta be sort of quick. Belinda’s handling the bar at the moment, but things’ll start picking up soon. Guests wanting to check in. Let’s go.”

They explored the ground floor first. After leaving the hall with the seven hotel rooms, they toured the bar and lobby, a crowded storage area behind the bar, a small office, and Shane’s apartment. Shane unlocked his door so Jimmy could peek inside. A bathroom, a living room with a kitchenette, and a bedroom. The furniture was mismatched and a little shabby, as if it had been salvaged from a variety of sources, and the painted walls provided a beige background to several framed photos. Jimmy recognized one of the locations.

“I walked by there today,” he said, pointing. It was the abandoned house he’d considered as a shelter. “That’s a nice picture. It captures the… the atmosphere.” Sad and lonely.

“Thanks,” said Shane, looking pleased.

“Did you take it?”

“Yeah. A couple years ago.”

Jimmy waved a hand. “The others too?”

“It’s kind of… it’s not even really a hobby. Just something I do now and then. I don’t have fancy cameras or lenses or anything and I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Well, I’m not exactly an expert. But I like them.”

Shane beamed.

The apartment was a bit messy. Scattered clothing and papers lay on the furniture and floor, and dirty dishes adorned the kitchen counter. The place wasn’t a disaster by any means. It looked lived-in. Comfortable.

“Do you like living where you work?”

“Sure. It’s convenient. Before this I lived in a trailer at my parents’ ranch. That was all right, but not very private. Mom sees all. Plus it’s too far to walk, so someone had to drive me to work and pick me up.”

“Why couldn’t you drive yourself?”

Shane looked away. “I can’t drive.”

That seemed to be an uncomfortable subject. “Why don’t you show me the rest of the place?” Jimmy asked.

Shane had some trouble with the stairs, gripping the railing tightly and grunting softly with each step. But since he hadn’t offered any explanations about his malady, Jimmy wasn’t going to press him. Jimmy silently followed him upstairs.

Fifteen rooms occupied the second floor. Shane unlocked the doors to a few that were currently unoccupied. None of the rooms were the same; each had different furniture and decorations. Everything looked as if it had been chosen individually and with care. Most of the upstairs rooms had an en suite bathroom, but the remaining four rooms shared two little cubicles with a toilet and sink each, plus a larger bathroom with a shower. A large storage area upstairs contained sheets, towels, and a supply of toilet paper, lightbulbs, and hotel-sized toiletries.

Jimmy liked the way the hallway floor creaked beneath their feet, as if the building were having a friendly conversation with them.

Their survey of the second floor complete, Shane took them back downstairs. Descending seemed harder on him than going up, and their progress was slow. But as soon as they were in the lobby again, Shane turned down a small hallway and unlocked another door. This one led to the basement, and although the steps were steep and uneven, he managed them without complaint.

BOOK: Rattlesnake
11.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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