Standing behind red saloon doors in her bra and underwear, Veronica sifts through the pile of jeans, slides deep blue denim over her calves and thighs and buttons them. Who wears boot cut jeans anymore? She looks like she's time warping back to the early 2000s. But the fit on her waist is okay and she can't summon the energy to try on the rest. The speakers are playing drawling country music about dirt roads and the room emits the stench of leather from the vast wall of boots.
Her phone rings, and she flicks it into the crook of her shoulder.
"So busy you don't call anymore?" Keith asks.
"I was giving you a break, one that you apparently wanted from my incessant hounding."
"Turns out I don't really mind being hounded."
"How's sunny Cali today?"
"The usual. Why are you so chipper and allowing me 'breaks'?"
"Because things are looking up. Logan agreed, I'm heading off tomorrow."
"Really?"
"Really, really. I'm currently purchasing ridiculous clothing for the endeavor."
"Why do you need more clothes?"
A voice sing-songs from behind the door, "How are you for sizing in there?"
"All good thanks," Veronica calls back and shimmies the denim from her hips.
Reverting to the conversation with Keith, she replies in a more hushed voice, "Because Logan is taking me."
"Taking you?"
"He thinks he's seen a cabin in that area before. He offered to take me."
Keith is silent. So she keeps talking to fill the space.
"We're leaving tomorrow on horseback. It will shave plenty of time off a walk and now you don't have to worry about me getting lost."
"Veronica."
"But I'll still take the GPS with me and my phone."
"Veronica."
"We should be back Friday. The weather's looking clear for a good run. Did Cliff come by last night?"
The silence returns and screams at her through the speaker.
She picks up a blue shirt and holds it against her body, not bothering to try it on.
"Do you really think it's a good idea?"
"I do, actually."
"I'm not saying he's going to hurt you. I'm just saying he's not exactly known for his calm temperament and, well, if the reports in the press are anything to go by."
"Logan is not going to hurt me."
"I'm not saying he is, but just, I don't know. Be careful."
She can see him running his hand over the shine of his bald scalp, back and forth in her mind.
"I will be the epitome of care and stealth. Get in, get the pictures, get out. Easy peasy."
In her tone she can hear it, the layering of bravado over the fear. She's scared. But if she doesn't say it out loud, maybe it's not true. Just jamming another emotion down into her bursting chest cavity of them.
"Do not approach him, do not seek answers, do not get evidence for a conviction," he says.
"In and out."
"Yes, in and out."
Veronica leans against the wall, still in her underwear. In a complicated maneuver she gets her t-shirt back on without dropping the phone.
"Want some more good news?" he asks.
"That's a ridiculous question. I'd sell my soul for some," she replies, and she swears she can hear him smile.
"Last night I caught McHenry with his pants down, so to speak. The place they finally did the dirty was midnight in the parking lot of the Walmart on Memorial Drive."
"Gross," she scrunches up her face.
"Understatement. But, a payday nonetheless. Cliff just cashed the check for me. I'll pay the electric bill. Rent isn't due for another week. You need me to put any in your account?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Sure?"
She nods, "I thought you didn't do surveillance anymore?"
"I was feeling okay. Thought I'd take a field trip," he brushes it off.
"Alright Dragnet, don't overdo it," she wonders how many pills he needed to pop in order to haul himself in and out of the car.
"Yes, boss."
She leans into the phone. It's nice, this talking between them. In person, crammed between those stained teal walls, they did everything they could to avoid it, but now, they couldn't. Without having to see his physical decline in front of her, it seemed easier. He could just be her concerned father, joking over sound waves.
"I better go and pay for my cowgirl getup."
"Please send pictures. You know how I love evidence."
"Not a hope in hell."
"Bye."
"Bye."
In the tiny space, she pulls back her own clothes, slings the new ones over her arm and exits. To the pile she adds the cheapest pair of riding boots on the rack and a light down jacket.
Logan had sent a text of all the things she would need for the trip and suggested she go to Grizzly Peak Outdoors. On the list was a pair of riding jeans, a hat, a jacket and a pair of flat soled boots. She didn't understand how riding jeans differed from regular jeans, but she was in no mood to argue the point. He'd agreed to take her. Riding jeans were a small price to pay.
She dumps the lot on the counter and smiles at the cashier.
"Are you Veronica?" the lady asks with a tilted head and a heavy v. She's unremarkable except for her bedazzled outfit. Detailed embroidery on her checkered shirt and pink jeweled pockets and bottoms of her jeans.
Veronica peers down at her chest, as though she had a name tag somewhere. She looks back skeptically but doesn't answer.
"Are you a friend of Mr. Echolls?" she asks, and when Veronica doesn't reply, she clarifies.
"Mr. Echolls called and said a lady would come in with your description today. He said to put everything on his tab."
"It's fine, I'm happy to pay."
The lady scans each item and fastidiously folds them into perfect edges, placing them in a paper bag.
"It comes to $230. Do you want me to put it on his tab?" she asks, again.
Veronica shakes her head, rummages through her wallet and places the cash on the counter.
"Nope," she says and the lady shrugs, takes the bills and hands back the change.
She's getting used to the hotel. What's all beige and sterile suddenly becomes a cocoon of familiarity. Those miniature bottles that get replaced each day, the bed that magically gets made every morning after she tears herself from its warmth. If hotel prices in Neptune were as cheap as here, it would be the perfect alternative to rentals. But she packs up her things and hauls them into her rental. As cheap as it was, $88 per night was a waste if she wasn't there.
It's early when she rolls up to the ranch. A mist is lifting from the surrounding hills, even though it's brisk now, the day promises to be warm.
There is a departure party awaiting her arrival. Logan and Piper are standing around chatting as Bill works.
"Wow, look at you, you certainly look the part," says Piper running her eyes up and down her outfit.
Veronica cringes and pulls at the shirt.
Logan busies himself with preparations but a wry smile forms across his face.
"You looking forward to your sleepover?" Veronica asks, hoping to distract Piper.
"A break from Dad's cooking is never a bad thing," she says, winking.
"Hey!" Logan calls out from underneath a horse.
"It's fine," she grins, "you'll see."
"Wait, what are we going to eat?" Veronica realizes that she'd forgotten much of the logistics of this endeavor. When Logan had said he'd take care of everything, she didn't really think much further on the matter.
His head appears above the saddle and he smirks, "Squirrels, skunks aren't bad."
Piper shakes her head, making a dramatic face at his comment.
Logan places his hands on the leather, and peers over at Veronica, "I'm going to pretend it's your unbridled trust in me that caused you to arrive, ready to mount a horse in the wilderness, with no food, for days ."
"Seriously?" Veronica knows he's joking, but this man is so changed from the boy she once knew, she has to double check.
"I have provisions packed, relax." Then he looks at Bill, "You packed provisions, right?" and Bill shrugs, but the corner of his mouth cracks slightly.
Veronica glances back at her car.
"I checked out of my hotel, do you mind if I leave my stuff here?" she asks.
"Sure," he replies with an incline of his head and starts following her to the rental.
He picks up her bag, and she grabs the laptop case. Piper stays with Bill, the tone of her voice teasing him as he checks straps and tightens various items.
Back in the house, Veronica follows him down the hall, but instead of the familiar route to the kitchen, he takes a right down a hallway, one-side is walled, the other windows. He opens a door and walks into what looks like an office, placing her bag on the floorboards. She wanders beside him, sitting her laptop bag beside it. Reaching down, she collects the worn green folder that contains Joseph Moyer's file and places it under her arm.
He stares at it. "You can't bring that."
"Why?"
"There is no room."
"But,"
"Surely you know that thing back to front already?" he asks with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah, but,"
"Maybe, while we're out searching out this guy, it's best to leave the giant folder of evidence against him behind, just in case."
It makes complete sense, but she has a hard time releasing it from her fingertips. He doesn't understand that it's a routine. Tuck yourself into bed, open a file, read it. How will she fall asleep without the rustle of paper surrounding her?
Reluctantly, she places it on his desk, a large mahogany beast overlooking the gardens, neat as a pin. He places a stack of invoices on top of it.
On her back she has a small backpack with a change of clothes, the items Logan had suggested. Across her shoulder lies the camera bag. Inside it, beside the telephoto lens is the GPS Keith gave her and her mobile phone. It seems like so little to take.
"Are you all ready?" he asks.
"I guess so."
"Let's do this."
Veronica follows him back down the hall, past Piper's school backpack, stuffed to the brim and ready for the day, past the pictures of his dead wife.
Outside, the smallest nub of twisted cigarette sits in the corner of Bill's mouth as he loads up the last items on the packhorse. The horse is huge. Instead of a saddle it's covered in a pile of things which look like bed rolls and bags, he throws atop a canvas covering to protect it from the weather and fastens the straps under its belly.
The three horses are tied together.
An SUV rolls up the drive, Piper bolts into the house and grabs her bag. Back down the veranda she comes, long plait swaying, and says goodbye to her dad. Logan walks to the driver's side, having a conversation with a driver that she cannot hear. Piper and Logan embrace, he whispers something into her ear and she whispers back. Veronica looks away, giving them a moment to say their goodbyes. Piper bounds into the car and rolls down the window, hanging her head out.
"Have fun you two!" she yells as the car drives away.
He shakes his head, "Don't worry, Piper told them you're an old highschool friend and I'm just taking you for a trail ride. We've told the workers here the same thing. Keeping things as close to the truth as possible."
Logan wanders over to the middle horse, running his hand down the pale, almost blonde mane. It's body is a tan-brown color traveling down to white socks on all four feet.
"Piper is loaning you Opie," he says, "He's lovely and gentle, responsive too."
Veronica isn't sure what to do. Large, inquisitive eyes peer at her, a swath of black lashes above it. He seems to consider her, probably sensing her trepidation. She slowly reaches out a hand, knuckles first. He extends his head down to smell her, the whiskers on his chin tickling at the skin. His face is so broad and muscly, she can see a map of veins reaching down the cheek and into his long neck.
"He's beautiful," she says and means it.
"Good, I'm glad you like him, because you're about to become very well acquainted."
He walks forward to a horse in front of Opie, Veronica follows up the side.
"You met Banjo the other day, he's a Quarter Horse still in training, but he's getting there. When I picked him up, he was mainly ribs and bones," he runs a hand over his expansive belly.
"You've certainly filled out," he speaks to Banjo as though he's a human.
Logan's horse is so tall Veronica can only see the tip of his head over the saddle. He walks around and when he does Banjo's face nudges his backside, lips moving back and forth on his pocket in search of treats.
Reaching around, Logan passes Veronica a helmet. She looks at his hair, the neat haircut, well brushed, parted slightly to the left.
"Are you wearing one?" she asks.
"I am not, but I've ridden a horse before."
"I'm happy to sign a waiver, I'll take my chances without it."
"You sure?" asks Bill as Logan places the helmet back down with a sigh.
"Sure."
Bill drags over a wooden crate and sits it beside Opie, holding out a hand. Veronica gently takes his outstretched, sandpaper palm.
"Put 'ya right foot in there," he mumbles and she obeys.
"Now, lift 'yself up, leg over."
Veronica summons calm, faced with a wall of powerful flesh. The horse moves slightly and she rests back on the step. As she hesitates, Logan has effortlessly lifted himself into the saddle, twisted his body around and watches her.
"Are we bringing the crate?" She asks.
Bill laughs, "Sorry, Logan's going to have to boost you up next time."
"Oh goodie," she deadpans.
A deep breath and she tries again, heaving her weight into her right calf in the stirrup, left leg high above the leather, she places her backside down and peers down from the height.
"There 'ya go," Bill says with what she suspects is the extent of his encouragement. His hands adjust the stirrups around her new boots, the leather still tight, showing her where to place the ball of her foot.
"Heels down, toes to the sky, keep the weight 'ere," he points. "He's tied up, he'll just follow Banjo, so ya won't need to do much other than hold on with ya thighs. Pull back hard to stop. You'll get the feel for it."
He ushers her through some more basic commands. Satisfied that he's imparted as much wisdom as possible, Bill waves a goodbye to Logan and suddenly they're moving. Between Veronica's legs the barrel of Opie's stomach shifts, a casual lumber. Holding the reins between her clenched fists, her fingernails dig into her palm.
As they begin their path down past the workers shed, through the vegetable patch, crossing a field. Veronica settles into the seat, the steady pace of their walk. Watching Logan from behind, he sits with his back rigid, hands low holding the reins, almost as if he's relaxing completely. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to his waist, his backside swaying in time with the horse's. Banjo's tail flicks occasionally to swat at an errant fly. Her heart thumps, taking in the distance from her position to the earth below. Only a few feet, but more than enough to incite fear and the wish that she'd accepted the offer of cranial protection.
Logan swivels around again as they walk, the squeak of the leather movements and the soft thuds of hooves on the ground the only sound. He smiles at her, squinting in the morning light.
Veronica avoids his gaze and instead looks at the vast surroundings. This is all his. From the grasses beneath the horses' feet until mountains as far as her eyes can see, all of this, Logan's. A green tractor carries a round bale of hay across a field in the distance.
"How did you end up here?" she asks.
"You say that like Neptune to Montana isn't a logical course?"
"In high school, I'm pretty sure I would have voted you most unlikely to become a cowboy."
"I'm not a cowboy."
"Says the man, riding the horse, looking like a young John Wayne."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I'll take it as one. John Wayne, young John Wayne was a very attractive man."
She chuckles, "He was."
"See?"
She rolls her eyes.
"I guess if you were a real cowboy you'd have a Stetson."
"I do, but it only comes out for special occasions."
"No chaps?"
"I'm a chap-free kinda guy."
"Still fighting the California boy?"
He laughs, a soft breath shaking his shoulders, "Something like that."
"You avoided my question."
"It wasn't intentional. I ended up here because I honestly didn't know where else to run. We needed to get out of LA. I'd bought a place in the hills there after it happened, excellent security, bodyguards, the whole gambit, but, every time I drove Piper to school, they were there, waiting like hounds. I realized that living in the city with the paparazzi was my problem. I was done with that life, done . I needed to get as far away as possible. One day I opened my laptop and typed in Montana properties. I don't know why the hell I chose Montana. At the time it seemed like the closest thing to the end of the earth. I wasn't really wrong."
"And you found this place?"
He nods, the field ends and she watches as he turns his body just slightly, twists his right boot outwards and Banjo seems to understand exactly what he means. They make a sixty degree turn, pivoting into an adjoining field, toward the mountains. Veronica was sure he never once moved the reins. There is no need for her to do anything, Opie, head down, turns without cues and follows a foot behind Banjo's rounded backside.
"Well, even if it was on a whim, there's no doubt it's beautiful. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything like it."
"Me either, I'm still surprised by it most days."
Veronica hesitates, unsure of what to say, but decides she needs to say it.
"I'm sorry, for the reasons you had to come here, for what happened to Lilly."
He looks toward the trail, not at her. She watches the tapering of his hairline, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His neck moves as though he's clenching his jaw, his entire body has stiffened.
"It's okay," he says finally.
Veronica can't think of anything to say. Words are useless, she knows this. They cannot piece your world back together when someone you love has died, or is dying. They are puffs of air from a dry throat. Things people say to make you feel better, but mainly to make themselves feel better.
She remembers the headlines when it happened, the picture of her Porche in the wreck. It's twisted panels like tinfoil wrapped around the California Walnut. Its trunk was at least three feet wide, scarred permanently from the impact, covered in gashes, maroon blotches of dried blood. When the story broke, she was standing by the microwave, waiting the required four minutes for her frozen lasagna. Cora sat cross-legged on the sofa, snipping coupons from a magazine and piling them on the coffee table. In suspended animation, she watched the footage until the microwave finally beeped. Pulling out the cardboard container, peeling back the plastic film, she poked the congealed white and red mixture with a fork before dropping it directly into the garbage.
Logan keeps tracking ahead. Following a path only he knows.
A car pulls up in the driveway and Piper jumps out.
"I'll only be a minute," she calls out and races up the stairs, pulling the key out of her pocket and unlocking the door.
She goes to her room and collects the Lit homework and a worn copy of The Scarlet Letter she left behind. Holding them to her chest she makes her way back down the hallway, past her dad's room, past his office. Just as she's about to hit the stairs she registers the vision in her periphery. Taking a few steps backwards and hovering outside the office door, she sees Veronica's small suitcase sitting on the floor, a laptop bag beside it. On the desk, beneath the pile of invoices, she recognizes the odd green hue of the file that had been spread across her kitchen counter two days prior.
She can't explain it. It's a pull, magnetized, the way her body moves towards it. There is no doubt she shouldn't touch it, her dad would be furious. The requisite grounding would last long into her adulthood. But she can't not touch it. Taking the papers from above she slides the file out, opening the front cover. On the top is a police report, typed, covered in red notations along the margins. A series of endless question marks Veronica has made for each sentence.
A small hand reaches into her pocket, pulls out her mobile phone and snaps a picture of it. She turns the page over, then takes another, then again, and again. It only takes a minute or two and she holds the entire contents of the file in her image folder. Leaving the pile exactly as it was found, the phone slips back into her pocket and she's back at the door, locking it, homework under her arm.
