Blackjack and Pearl...Chapter 3

Chapter Three...Rhonda J

The two horses were standing side by side, tails swishing away the flies. One periodically taking an irritated nip out of the other horse. It was past 5 o’clock in the evening, the peak of the heat, and their stomachs were rumbling. The three acres they grazed upon was down to stubbles and dirt by mid September. They knew the barn would supply alfalfa and sweet cobb, if they waited long enough, and if that person arrived.

Inside the ranch house, Rhonda J was a flurry of fury as she changed into her jeans and hiking boots. Her mind reeling with sordid theories and wild concoctions of doom, lost love and killin’ Carson.

“Damn him...” She yelled stomping out of the house. It wasn’t as if this was anything new. Every guy she had been with did the same exact thing. It was so predictable. Just a matter of time.

Cornelia was vying hard for attention, yapping like little dogs do. Happy as always. She had been a Raley’s dog that nobody wanted. Rhonda J took her home unable to resist the wire-haired pup.

“Corn Dog, what would I do without you?” She said bending down petting the dog.

The happy mutt pranced and danced around Rhonda J, yapping and causing such commotion, that the horses turned to see what was going on. Cornelia raced towards them, ears flying like a patriotic flag attached to her head, shouting out orders. She was working now. Workin’ the ranch. Darting in between eight hooves, narrowly missing an occasional stomp of irritation, and barking nonstop.

The horses ignored Corn Dog with equine arrogance. Their eyes focused on Rhonda J, who was speaking to them now.

“Hey...Sassy...Rambler. I bet you two are starvin.”They knew what she was talking about. Sassy stamped and snorted, Rambler bit Sassy’s rump. Cornelia almost got a concussion.

“Cornelia J, you leave them alone. You’re gonna get kicked in the head. And when you do, I am not takin’ you to the vet.” Rhonda J pleaded, which did absolutely no good.

“Sassy, stop crowding me. Back!” Rhonda J pushed the mahogany mare’s head firmly and unlatched the barn gate. She was smiling now. The animals, the barn, the smell of alfalfa and horse manure, all commingled to bring a sense of peace. She sighed. The horses followed behind her, throwing their heads up and down in grand gesture. Sassy ambled into the first stall and Rambler followed to his stall, snorting and scattering barn dust all around. The prized quarter horse was sixteen hands and a light chestnut color when clean.

After Rhonda J threw a flake of alfalfa in each horses feeder, and made sure the water pump was running properly, She and Cornelia headed back to the house. Corn Dog barking and chasin’ ground squirrels, just for the pure joy of it. High on life with canine bliss.

Back in the kitchen, the message machine was blinking. Is that Carson? She wondered. Jerk! Damn, she wanted a drink. A glass of red wine...or two. Check the message. What if it is him?

Three minutes of intense vacillation was all Rhonda J could submit to. Pushing the button, an official sounding voice filled the room and emptied her heart.

“Ms. Jackson? This is the Madera County Sheriff’s office. We would appreciate a call from you, when you get home. The number here is (559)693-9000. Just ask for Deputy Dennison.”

“Oh, my God...what is it?” Rhonda said as she picked up the phone with a shake to her hand and a dread. She had to dial two times before getting the number right. Holding the phone to her ear, it rang forever before a gruff sounding man answered.

“Sheriff’s office...Bass Lake. How can I help you?” he asked chewing on something.

Stuttering long enough to qualify for unintelligible, Rhonda J was finally able to spit out her reason for calling.

“I was left a message to call Deputy Dennison. I’m Rhonda Jackson.

“One minute Ma’am,” he said and quickly put her on hold.

There was only silence on the end of the line, with no elevator music. She waited for lack of anything better to do.

“Hello...Ms. Jackson...this is Deputy Dennison. Looks like we’re gonna need you to come on down to the Bass Lake Station. We got something we need to discuss with you. Sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologized.

“Who is it? Is it about Carson? Carson West?” Rhonda asked.

“Ma’am we can’t divulge anything over the phone, you’re gonna need to come down to the station, I’m sorry,” the deputy said.

The great sound wall of silence overtook the call.

“Oh... Well... Okay... I’m on my way,” she was able to squeeze out before her frayed nerves took over.

Driving back into town took twenty minutes, which was way too long for Rhonda J to be wondering and worrying what was going on. Her mind was coming up with all kinds of stories and variations of what it could be. One thing she knew for sure...it concerned Carson.

Annoyed, she reached for the CD player to eject the disc. If she heard, ‘I think your tractors sexy’, one more time, she thought she might throw up. It was a song Carson used to sing to her when they first met. She didn’t even have a tractor. Good God! How could she fall for him?

Driving up and down Deadwood, Rhonda J called herself every imaginable name she could think of. I’m a fool, I got no common sense, I’m so useless, ridiculous, silly, and old, geez I’m so stupid... This went on until finally, and thank god for her sanity, and what little esteem she still had left, she arrived at the Bass Lake Station.

Rhonda J, all riled up now and sweating profusely, checked her lipstick in the rear view mirror, then headed into the drab portable building known as Bass Lake Sheriff’s Office.

After her wait of over ten minutes the officer at the counter sat her in a small room with a cheap table, and two folding chairs. He handed her coffee in a styrofoam cup. Rhonda J sipped the coffee, and hated the way her lip stuck to the cup.

A couple minutes later another officer entered the room, also with a cup of coffee.

“Ms. Jackson, thanks for coming to the station. I’m Officer Dennison.”

“Some kids at the Christian Camp found this in one of the restrooms,” he said placing a pocket knife on the table.

“It’s got your name engraved on it,” he said. “it’s also got a little blood on it,” he added, while watching her.

“I gave that to Carson a couple months ago for his birthday,” She murmured.

“We haven’t been able to contact him. We thought maybe you might know where he is,” Dennison took a sip of the black coffee, as he watched her reaction.

“The last time I saw him was around lunch time. He was at Slim’s BBQ,” she volunteered.

“Were you with him?” he asked. Leaning back in his chair his pale gray eyes stared directly in her dark brown eyes.

“No...no I wasn’t. We...my friend and I decided to have lunch at the Mecca,” she stated.

“What’s going on? You know something, don’t you?” Rhonda asked with suspicion. She was becoming tired.

“Who was he with?” Ignoring her question.

Pausing a few seconds she sighed,” I don’t know.”

Officer Dennison questioned her relentlessly for an hour and forty-seven minutes.