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The Major settled into his recliner. Wearing a frown of slight disapproval, he took in Trapper from head to toe, then asked, “How are you, John?”
“Good. You?”
“Can’t complain.”
After that, they had nothing to say to each other, and even that amount of compulsory politeness had been for Kerra’s benefit. Trapper would have left right then, except for his vital need to know how the next few minutes panned out.
The Major was regarding Kerra with a halfhearted scowl. “Are you the persistent young lady who’s been calling me these past months?”
“You’ve been just as persistent hanging up on me.”
“Had I known it was you—”
“You wouldn’t have hung up?”
“I would have,” he said, “but I’d have been more courteous.”
She laughed softly. “Well, no matter, I got the message that you didn’t wish to speak to me. My only recourse was to seek out Trapper and request an audience with you.”
The Major looked at Trapper. “Didn’t you explain to her that I don’t do interviews anymore?”
“About a dozen times.”
“Then why’d you bring her?” He looked at Kerra and softened his expression. “Even though I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Breaking up the mutual admiration–fest, Trapper said, “I tried talking her out of it. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Maybe she will from you. Tell her no, I’ll see her on her way, and go have one of Del Rancho’s chicken fried steak sandwiches. That might make it worth the trouble of having to drive up here.”
With annoyance, The Major shifted his attention away from Trapper and back to Kerra. “I don’t give interviews anymore.”
She held steady. “This would be an extraordinary interview.”
“They all say that.”
She smiled. “But in this case, it’s true.”
“How so?”
She bent down, extracted a printout of the photograph from her bag, then got up and carried it over to The Major. “It would be a reunion.”
“Reunion?” He took the photo from her but didn’t look at it. He was looking up at Kerra waiting for an explanation.
She leaned down and pointed to the girl in the picture. “Look closely at her face.”
Several minutes later Trapper left through the front door. Neither noticed his departure.
Trapper drove to the drive-in restaurant that had been there for as long as he could remember. It had withstood the invasion of fast-food chains and still offered curb service. He ate in the truck and listened to country on the radio.
The sandwich wasn’t famous for nothing. The battered, tenderized round steak was as big as a hubcap and extended beyond the edges of the bun. It was delicious, but every bite Trapper took went down with a lump of worry over what was happening back at The Major’s place, what kind of persuasion Kerra was applying, and how easily, or not, The Major would yield.
When he finished his meal, he drove toward the interstate to start his trip back to Fort Worth, but when he reached a crossroads, literally, he stopped and took out his phone. The number was in his contacts.
The call was answered by a female voice made husky by too many years of Marlboros. “Sheriff’s office.”
Trapper asked to speak to the head man himself but was told that Sheriff Addison had already left for the day. “Do you want his voice mail?”
“No thanks.”
