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Chapter 6
Barbara
Weiss clicked down the sidewalk to the Olive Garden. Her high heels were killing her. She tried to remember if she had ever worn
high heels in all her working years, and couldn’t think of a time. She’d been a sensible woman.
No
more. It was all-feminine, all the
time. Pastel colors, dresses instead of
pants, high heels, plenty of make-up.
She would never look like the profile on her dating site, (a untouched
but fluky picture of her, in her slim pose), but she was doing her best.
This was her
fourth date, and she hoped at least that this one wouldn’t be cut short. Each time she’d walked into the restaurant,
and saw the hopeful look on her date’s face drop, and a polite veneer take its
place. Two out of three of the men had
been polite enough at least to see the meal through. One of them had gotten an “emergency” phone
call within minutes, and adding insult to injury, had stuck her for the bill.
It was all
right. She could afford it. She had a generous pension, double dipping
both the county and state. Besides, she
was beginning to think she should offer to pay for at least half the meal. Not the way she remembered it, but apparently
it was the new way to doing things.
This time it
was her turn to recoil. The man was fat,
nothing like his profile. That would
have been all right, but when he gave her a hug, he stunk. A not-bathing-kind of stink, something that
he could do something about if he cared.
If he stunk on a first date, she could only imagine how he’d be the rest
of the time.
She stuck it
out. He was actually fairly interesting,
but she got the distinct impression that he was hoarder, from his description
of all his flea market purchases. She
let him peck her on the cheek and hurried away without a commitment to a second
date.
That’s it,
she thought. Four strikes and I’m out.
She’d never
much liked the idea, but so many of her Facebook friends had told her about
their luck internet dating that she’d felt she had to give it a try.
Moving down
the Arizona was looking like a mistake.
Oh, she loved her house. She
loved the views. She liked the town and
the people. But she hated the fact that
old woman far outnumbered old men. She’d
never been able to compete on that level.
She’d always
been stocky. Not fat, just solid, ‘built
like a linebacker’ her Dad had said fondly, not knowing how much it hurt. It was at the senior prom when she’d met
Howard. He was with someone who got
drunk and belligerent, and Barbara in her take-charge way had taken the woman
aside and talked her down.
While she
was doing that, he own date wandered off to join his friends, none of which she
knew, and she found herself standing and talking to Howard. They’d hit it off from the start. He was tall and strong, and maybe had an ugly
mug but he was kind and patient and he loved her.
They’d had
two children, both of whom had gone on to higher education and lived back east.
She’d had
the best of it. Her career, her
marriage, her family, her friends.
Then Howard
had died five years ago, and most of her friends had wandered off or passed
away, and she was forced to retire by mandatory state and county guidelines. She’d rattled around the big house for a few
years, hoping for an occasional visit from Jeremy and Sarah. Her kids had instead invited her to move back
east, closer to the grandchildren.
Barbara had finally
decided she needed to get her life going again.
She needed a change. She moved to
Arizona.
She walked
out of the Olive Garden and the blast of heat almost melted her on the
spot. Her makeup seemed to be drying
into a solid mask on her face. She wanted to cry, but she raised her chin and
marched to her car. She couldn’t
remember when the last time she had cried.
One long cry when Howard died, and before that…? Never?
She tore off
her high heels and gripped the steering wheel.
She drove
home slowly, taking the long route, unwilling to sit in her big living room by
herself, watching TV or reading a book.
Alone.
After
meandering about, driving down roads she’d never seen before, she pulled up to
her driveway and pushed the garage door opener.
She sat there idling, thinking about nothing. She glanced out at her front yard. She’d decided when she’d moved her not to put
in a lawn or a garden, conscious of how much water it would waste.
She smiled
to herself. Her old coworkers would have
laughed at the idea of her being an environmentalist, but she’d always been
secret liberal, despite her occupation.
In fact, the only social activity she enjoyed down here in Arizona was
the group of other liberals she’d found, who had afternoon barbecues and patio
parties once a week. Jenny and Barry
Hunter, Stacy and Cameron Stevenson, the Silberstein’s, the Foster’s, and old
Billy Patterson, who’d been making eyes at her, but was so old she hadn’t
seriously considered him.
Maybe time
to reconsider, she thought. I think I
just need a companion, and I’m not going to be particularly picky about
it. Except…they couldn’t stink.
She pulled
car into the garage, and got out, and walked around the back of the car to get
the door into the house. She passed
briefly into the sunlight, and saw the three pigs approaching. Ordinarily, she’d have ignored them. She’d heard that her neighbors were having
trouble with the javelinas, especially Barry Hunter who brought the subject up
at nearly every meeting of the Bleeding Hearts Club. But because she didn’t have any plants to
attract the critters, so she hadn’t seen them much.
They were a
new species to her. Central Oregon
didn’t have them. They kind of
fascinated her in their boldness.
These three
were being especially bold. They were
getting closer and closer. She looked
into the eyes of the leading pig.
She didn’t
hesitate. She reached into her purse and
pulled out her Glock and started firing.
Her first three bullets hit each of the pigs square in the head, but she
emptied the clip as she was trained and grabbed the second clip and
reloaded. She held the gun out, looking
for movement.
Then Barbara
Weiss, the Sheriff of Crook County in Central Oregon for over twenty years,
went to her doorway and pushed to button to close the garage door.
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