Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(59)

There were about ten people in the bar when Walt arrived, all of them sitting at tables except Doc, who was up at the bar. Walt joined him there, leaving one stool to separate them. Doc and Walt merely nodded at each other; Doc wasn’t usually given to deep conversation. Jack grinned at Walt and slapped down a napkin. “Well, now. What can I do for you, sir?”

Walt peered at the empty baby pack Jack was wearing. “Lose a rider, son?”

“David’s off being ‘refreshed,’” Jack said with a laugh.

“How about a beer while you tell me what Preacher’s got cooking tonight?”

Jack drew the draft and put it in front of him. “Sunday special—pot roast. I don’t know what the man uses for seasoning, but it’s so damn good. And the gravy’s almost like tar, it’s so dark. He cooked it with vegetables but he’s serving whipped potatoes on the side. They’re like silk.”

“Perfect,” Walt said, lifting his beer.

“You want takeout for the family?”

“Just me tonight. Vanni’s gone up to Oregon with Paul for a few days, and I don’t rate much time with Tom while he’s on Brenda’s dance card.”

“Oregon?” Jack said with a lift of his brow. “You don’t say? What do you suppose they’ll find to do in Oregon?”

Walt smiled at him. “Funny.”

Jack chuckled. “Sounds like maybe some things got sorted out. This mean we won’t be seeing too much of that nice Dr. Michaels around here?”

“I think maybe that nice Dr. Michaels hanging around lit a fire under Paul,” Walt said. “Good man, Haggerty. If a little slow.”

Jack laughed. “Don’t go too hard on him, General. I think Vanessa scared him to death. She’s awful pretty. Wicked smart, too.”

Walt appreciated the compliment and smiled. “Hell, sometimes she scares me.”

“I’ll go give Preach your order. Be right back.”

Walt had enjoyed about half his brew when Mel came from the back and took the stool beside him. “Hey, there,” she said brightly. “Jack said you were here.”

“How you feeling, girl?”

“Ready to pop. But I’m hanging in there.” Jack came out with the carrier full of baby again, holding two steaming plates. He put them in front of Walt and Mel. “Mind if I join you for dinner?” Mel asked.

“I’d welcome it. Jack’s not eating dinner?”

“I’ve been helping Preacher all afternoon make sure it’s just right. I’ve probably had three dinners already,” Jack said. “You just missed your new neighbor by about an hour.”

“Oh?” Walt said, digging in. “Who might that be?”

Mel leaned an elbow on the bar. “Does the name Muriel St. Claire mean anything to you?”

“Can’t say that it does,” he said. He took a mouthful. “By damn, that Preacher,” he said, savoring the seasoned, tender beef. “He’s got the gift.”

“She’s an actress, Walt,” Mel explained. “Quite famous, actually. I’ve seen a lot of her films.”

Walt hummed in response, more interested in his food. Finally he said, “What’s she doing around here?”

“She says she came from these mountains and decided to return, retire here.”

“Just what we need,” Walt said. “Another little old lady. Is she rich at least?”

“She looked pretty rich to me,” Jack said. “And not exactly old.”

“Rich, retired movie star? What’s she going to do with a ranch? Raise exotic chickens?”

Mel laughed. “You might be in for some surprises. She moved into that old Weatherby place on the other side of your pasture. You should bake her a cake or something. Go say hello. I told her you Booths were nice people.”

“I’ll put Vanni right on it when she gets back to town,” Walt said.

Mel perked right up. “Vanni’s out of town?”

“Gone to Grants Pass for a few days with Paul,” Walt said, hardly missing a mouthful. “They’ll be back by the weekend.”

“Well, how about that,” Mel said, smiling. “Were you expecting that?”

Walt dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Girl, the finger’s been on that trigger for months. The only thing I didn’t expect was how long it would take Haggerty to pull it.”

When Walt got home, the house was dismally quiet. He turned on the TV for some noise and picked up a book for something to do. He wished Tom would show up with Brenda and take over the TV for a movie or something, but they probably wouldn’t. If they could escape Brenda’s house, they’d be buried in the woods, parking. He’d like to hear the baby fuss, or Vanni cooing to him. Paul would make decent company right about now—he could do that running commentary they had in response to CNN stories.

Out of sheer boredom, he went to the computer. He started a search of Muriel St. Claire, his new neighbor. He found several Web sites plus a Wikipedia listing. Fifty-six years old, born in Brother Creek, California. He looked it up—Trinity County, right near the Humboldt line. There was a list of movies—Jesus, almost fifty of them, not to mention television credits. When he saw a photo he recognized her, but only because she’d recently been on Law and Order and CSI. He’d never in a million years have known her name. He ran through a series of publicity photos—none in the recent past. Blond, sleek, large blue eyes. Too thin, he decided, although she could certainly hold up a strapless black dress. She always appeared to be glancing over her bare shoulder at the camera, or leaning into it with those sultry movie-star eyes. There was even a shot of her in bed, the only visible fabric being a satin sheet. And pictures of her taken at Academy Awards and the Cannes Film Festival—lotsa big jewelry.