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“Eventually you lose everybody,” he said.
“I’m very sorry about your brother.”
“I didn’t love him,” he said. “I won’t pretend that.” I thought of Lindsey’s anguished words about her mother. “It’s just he was family. We were the last of the famous Yarnell brothers.”
James stared into the sidewalk. “Max wasn’t always the man he became, the man you met. He was a link to my parents and my grandpa and my little twin brothers.”
A little group of tourists speaking German walked behind us, wowed by a large painting visible in the gallery.
“What do you think happened to Andrew and Woodrow?”
He shook his head, his handsome face a mask.
“Deep inside, I always knew they had to be dead. But when you never have a resolution, you never really know. So you always hold out hope. Grandfather hoped nearly to the end. He’d been able to do so much in his life out of sheer will. Then, he just seemed to give up one day. This great life force went out of the man.”
The tourists moved down the street and we were alone again. I said, “You don’t talk about your father much.”
He leaned back on the bench and sighed. “Morgan Yarnell had the misfortune to be the son of a larger-than-life man, and the husband of a very strong woman, my mother. Even his brother, Uncle Win, was colorful and loud. Dad wasn’t a bad person. He was just so…” he searched for the word, “…eclipsed. I guess he deserves more memory than that from his son. But, you see, when you’re a boy, those big personalities stay with you. By the time I came back from the war, Dad was dead. I guess I never really knew him.”
I hunched down, feeling suddenly cold. “How much did you know about your family’s affairs back then?”
“How much does a kid know?” he said. “We weren’t the happiest family in the world, but we weren’t the unhappiest either.”
“The records you let me see, they show a company that was in trouble.”
“It was the Depression.”
“Morgan took more of a role in the company.”
“Yes, Dad was the reliable son.”
“What about Win?”
“Win wasn’t in the business.”
“So no problems with the Yarnell Land & Cattle Co. other than the general economy?”
James shook his head. “Mapstone, I had my head more on horses and girls, not necessarily in that order, than the family business. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get away from it. Max was the businessman, always was. Let’s walk down the street and get a drink.”
“I’ve got to go,” I said. “One more question. Are you sure your brothers were blood kin?”
For just a moment, he looked remarkably like Max: the piercing, impatient glare. “What are you talking about?”
I told him about the dental records.
“That’s impossible.” He stood and started to walk away.
I followed him. “Why would it be impossible?” I demanded. “People are adopted all the time.”
“You’re crazy,” he shouted, in a breathy, drunken voice. I was surprised by his reaction. Gone was the easy-going demeanor of that night at Gainey Ranch, when I had first asked about the adoption issue.
“Those remains are your brothers. But they’re not your mother’s children. Help me solve this!”
“Leave me alone!” He walked faster, his gait turning oddly effeminate. Then he ran, a sad little-old-man run, back toward the gallery.
That’s when the air behind me exploded with a single whip-crack.
Ahead of me a shop window shattered into a thousand shards of plate glass. A woman screamed. James Yarnell gaped at me, his eyes overtaken by terror. I ran and jumped on him, throwing him roughly to the ground behind a little wall that separated the shop fronts from the sidewalk. My handgun was in the bedside table at home and my cell phone was in the car. Some Boy Scout I was: Be prepared, hell.
