Snapshots: We'll Always Have Cowtown

gavin cardigan was out of his element.

it wasn't just that it was hot, and it was certainly very hot.  the sun was blazing and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky to soften it a whit.  cardigan couldn't even find any shade.  it was as if every building in Fort Worth was a reverse-vampire that worshiped sunlight and feasted on darkness instead of blood, sucking the shadows from all manner of people and objects.

and the wind.

it wasn't a refreshing breeze from off the bay, spritzing his cheeks.  no, this was a steady gust of dry, hot air right in his face, no matter which direction he turned, carrying dust or ash or exhaust or the odor of cow manure with it.

oh, yeah.  cows.  they didn't have cattle round-ups every day in downtown san francisco, either.

"i want to go home," he muttered to nobody in particular but drawing the attention of several cowboy hats that were lingering nearby.  he cursed to himself, pulled down his fedora, and stepped into The White Elephant Saloon.

he felt better immediately.

it was nothing like Poor Yorick's Pub, but it was familiar enough.  it had a bar, and a bartender, and alcohol. he ordered a beer, took a sip, and sighed deeply.

"mr. cardigan?"

that voice...he turned around in surprise.

"ms. dupree?  are you stalking me now?"

she laughed, ignoring his outstretched hand to instead lean in close and kiss him on the cheek.  "maybe.  depends on where you're going."

"i going to buy you a drink," he grinned.  "what's your poison?"

"dark and stormy," she replied quickly. 

"what's that?" he asked as he signaled the barkeeper.

"dark rum, ginger beer, and lime," the bartender informed him.

cardigan shoved his beer away.

"make it two.  that sounds amazing."

cocktails in hand, they raised their glasses.

"to destiny, mr. cardigan!"

"it's gavin.  or cardigan.  and i thought you only believed in destiny when you're in san francisco, ms. dupree?"

she sipped, and considered her answer.  "it's lily, and your memory for details is amazing.  that must be what makes you a good detective."

"this is really refreshing," cardigan nodded at his drink with approval, then lifted his eyes toward hers.  "i remember every detail.  the Germans wore grey, you wore blue."

she laughed.  "Casablanca."  *clink*  "here's looking at you, kid."

cardigan looked around the saloon, the old cowboy hats hanging on the walls and ceiling.  "of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into...the one i'm in.  what in heaven's name brought you to Fort Worth?"

"work.  or at least, that's what i thought.  seeing you here, though...it seems that destiny has taken a hand."

"we're going to run out of Casablanca quotes at some point."

"then we'll just drink too much and sing As Time Goes By all night."

cardigan tilted his head and considered.  "do you think that's destiny had in mind for you here?"

lily stirred her drink, stalling.  "i don't know.  i've been thinking about you, cardigan."

"really?"  he sat up straighter.

"yes.  i was thinking of hiring you again."

"oh."  he tried and failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

she noticed and smiled.

"i'm not your client yet, though.  tell me, what are you doing in Fort Worth, cardigan?"

"suffering," he muttered.  "until you showed up, that is.  a client back in 'Frisco owns an art gallery.  he discovered a new western artist here and wants to offer him a contact to be his exclusive dealer.  but, having dealt with a lot of artists in his business, he knows that they can be a bit flaky and unreliable, so he wanted me to check out first.  it's not the first case i've done for him.  what kind of work brought you here?"

"there's a beautiful old episcopal church here called St. Nicholas on the Prairie.  the original architect was from new orleans, and it has a unique french colonial style.  the diocese brought me out for a consultation.  i'm a restoration architect, specializing in church architecture."

"holy moly."  cardigan cringed as he said it.  "why churches?  because you don't believe in destiny?  or because you do?"

"dammit cardigan, you sound like my old priest," she laughed.  "you are determined to get inside my head, aren't you?"

"to start," he winked.

"okay, now you sound nothing like my old priest!"

"was he more successful at getting answers out of you?"

"he would say no, but i think he understood me better than anyone.  he was very perceptive, and a good listener, and had great instincts.  just like you, really.  he would have been a good detective, too.  maybe you would be a good priest."

"i don't think priesthood is destiny.  but, we weren't talking about my destiny, were we?"

"weren't we?"  she signaled for another round.  "this isn't just about me; it's about us."

"oh, we're an us, are we?  pray, continue."

she gave him an exasperated look.  "it was much easier to hire you over the phone last time."

"but far less fun, with far less rum."  he finished his first drink just as the bartender delivered the second.  "does this mean that you're hiring me again?"

"i don't know.  i'm enjoying your company too much, and the...case...is not something i have ever talked about with anybody.  not even my priest.  it's something that happened a long time ago, that i ran away from.  i have been thinking lately that maybe it's time to go back there...but i'm also afraid that maybe it's too late and it might do more harm than good."

"that's very mysterious.  but that's not surprising.  you're a mysterious woman.  a living ghost, i believe was the description we agreed upon last time we met, the way you moved about the city as if you were on a different plane and in a different time than the rest of us.  and you don't know the extent to which that symbolism has played out in san francisco since you left."

she raised an eyebrow.  "now you're being mysterious.  what are you talking about?"

"the fat man, Gutman, who took pictures of you and then used them as a model for his painting.  i bought it, at a mutually beneficial discount with the owner," he grinned. 

"you did not!"

"oh yes i did!  but i gave it to my friend danny to hang at his Pub, since i spend more time there than i do anywhere else.  but the painting made a much bigger impression on danny than i ever thought it would.  he stares at it, straightens it when it doesn't need straightening.  i've even seen him try to draw it himself on cocktail napkins.  so, even in a painting your presence is haunting, like a ghost.  but from what you're telling me, it sounds as if you're also haunted by something in your past."

"but your detective skills are even spookier!  is this Pub the one you said has excellent food?"

"yes, Poor Yorick's Pub.  it's kinda weird.  danny doesn't have a menu.  he just makes one thing every day.  you never know what it's going to be, but you know it's going to be good."

"Poor Yorick's?"  she looked startled.  "i used to have a d---"

BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!!  BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!

they both checked their phones, pressed a button, and turned them off.

"now that's spooky!"

"it was destined to happen," cardigan agreed.

"aarrgghh!!  what am i going to do?  i'm not used to being indecisive."

cardigan drained his drink.  "it sounds like you're running from the truth, darlin'.  truth is my business, and i've learned that while it hurts, it also heals."

"you sound like my priest again," she sighed and drained her drink.  "i think i need to sleep on this some more."

cardigan straightened his imaginary tie.

"but not with my priest."

"hmph."

Snapshots: Faith Off

"father leo, do you believe in god?"

the portly priest gave his volunteer help a small smile.  "it's a job requirement, i'm afraid.  why do you ask, lily?"

the 16-year old girl didn't answer.  she ran her feather duster around the inside pane of the church's stained glass window depicting jesus walking on water before asking another question.  "can you serve the church without believing in god?"

a fair question, he thought, and he might have answered no in his more zealous novitiate days.  now in his third decade as a parish priest, his own faith was as strong as ever but he was more accommodating about how faith manifests itself.  lily herself was an interesting case study in faith.  she truly loved the church, but seemed indifferent to The Church.  she always volunteered to help pull weeds, dust, paint, file, or anything else that needed to be done.  when not helping, she would often spend time around the parish reading books, doing homework, drawing, or simply talking to him.  he didn't mind; he quite enjoyed her company.  indeed, she had become a good friend, as odd as that may seem and as...unseemly...as that may be for a catholic priest.

however, as much time as she spent at church, she only went through the motions during mass, and on those rare occasions when she went to confession, she only confessed that it had been a long time since her last confession.  there were many adjectives one could apply to lily dupree: intelligent, serious, beautiful, industrious, curious, generous.  however, the one that father leo always thought of first was guarded.  except for sophie and mack, she never let anybody too close, not even him.  not even god, he suspected.

"you're serving the church now, lily.  do you believe in god?"

"i don't know, father.  sometimes, i'm not even sure i want to believe."

father leo felt he had just witnessed a miracle--lily dupree answered a direct question.  her answer, as he would expect, was honest though it made him sad to hear a 16-year old say this.  "why do you spend so much time here, lily?  are you trying to find god?"

"no.  you say that god exists everywhere.  if that's true, i shouldn't have to try to find him, either at church or anywhere else."

he suppressed a grimace.  he always had to be at the top of his game with her.

"most 16-year olds are with their friends on saturday nights or out on a date, not sweeping and dusting a moldy old church with their fat parish priest."

"you're as much my friend as anyone at school, and i have no interest in hanging out at the mall.  as for boys," she shook her head.  "they're so dull."

father leo laughed.  "you have a point, there."

"and it's not a moldy old church!" she scolded him.  "it's beautiful, and fascinating.  houses and stores are built as rectangles, to maximize functional space within, with external visual aspects such as gables or columns added as an afterthought.  here," she swung her arm around, "it's not about functional space.  it's about inspiration.  look how high the ceiling is!  and the stories told in the stained glass windows!  it's like being inside of a painting."

the priest smiled at her outburst of passion.  "so you come here for inspiration!  how are you inspired?  do you want to be an architect?"

she didn't answer right away.  she placed a finger on the window and began tracing a small crack in the stained glass.  "i used to want to build things.  i wanted to be an architect or engineer and design big things like skyscrapers or bridges.  now...i'm more interested in preserving than creating.  i want to study restoration architecture, especially church restoration."  she tilted her head at the window.  "and i'd like to learn how to make and repair stained glass windows, too.  do you think i could work for the church as a restoration architect?"

father leo raised an eyebrow.  lily was, uncharacteristically, revealing a lot about herself, though each answer generated even more questions.  he hoped his luck (not that he believed in luck) would hold out and she'd continue to answer.  "i think that is a fascinating and worthy field of study, lily, and there is certainly a demand. after all, the church has been building churches and missions and monasteries and convents for centuries.  but, why is it important to you, especially if you don't believe in god, or even want to believe in god?"

she sat in a pew, frowning at the frayed edge of the thin cushion there.  "a church represents more than spirituality, father.  it also represents sanctuary.  it's a place where you're always welcome and safe, no matter who you are, what you do, or what you believe.  it's always here for you.  yes, there is inspiration here, but there's also comfort, peace, and salvation.  i want to preserve that."

he smiled at her choice of words.  "and you believe you can do that, do you?"

"yes." 

"i believe you can, too.  now, let's go back to something you said said, earlier.  god exists everywhere.  that means he exists in you, too, lily.  and if you believe in yourself, you believe in god."

she didn't buy it.  "but you're the one who believes god exists inside me, so that only means that you believe in god."

he shrugged.  "perhaps you're right; you're smarter than i am.  let's put it another way.  you believe in yourself, but you also believe that this simple building--or the concepts that this simple building represent--can inspire peace, salvation, and even spirituality.  you have faith, lily.  belief in god is a subset of that.  your desire to serve a church built on faith is not inappropriate."

she gave him a mischievous grin.  "does that mean i can be a priest?"

"i'm not getting into that with you again, young lady.  now, back to work!"

Snapshots: Young Man River

"aunt sophie? do you know any more river stories?" lily asked while putting a new worm on her hook.

sophie dupree took a sip of cold water from her thermos and watched her niece cast a line out into the green water. lily wasn't really her niece, but she loved her like a daughter. the day that her husband, mack, brought the troubled girl home had been both the saddest and happiest day of her life. she was sitting on the front porch drinking iced tea when mack had pulled his big rig into the yard of their house outside new orleans. she smiled and waved when he climbed out of the cab, then frowned when he walked around to the passenger side. when he emerged a minute later carrying a small white girl in his strong black arms, she gasped.

"mack dupree! who is that? what happened?"

the girl stirred in his arms, looked around drowsily, and held on tightly to mack when she saw sophie running toward them. "uncle mack, where are we?"

"shhh, child. everything is okay. this is my home, and this is my wife sophie."

sophie watched the fear fade from the girl with mack's explanation. then, to her amazement, the girl jumped down and threw her arms around sophie's neck, crying her little heart out. sophie held her tight, listening to mack tell the story. when she asked for more details, the girl--lily as she was calling herself--became terrified and cried that she couldn't tell couldn't ever ever tell please don't make her tell please please she can never tell the bad man is still out there and will find her please don't make her tell!

they didn't make her tell. instead, they took her in and raised her as their own. since sophie herself was half-white, they claimed she was an orphaned cousin. mack's sister was a county clerk and helped with the paperwork. sophie had never known that she could love anybody as much as she loved that skinny little girl.

"child, that river has more stories than louisiana has flies," sophie told her as she swatted another one away from her face. "one time, there was a little girl like yourself fishing in the river, singing a song she learned in church. she had the prettiest voice you ever heard, and the river loved to hear her sing. he began to send all the fish in his water down to where she fished. that way, she would always catch fish and keep coming back to the river, and he would continue to hear her sing."

"that's so sweet!" lily exclaimed.

sophie shook her head. "no, child. it was selfish, selfish to send all the fish in the water to one person when so many other people relied on the river to put food on their tables and fill their bellies."

"oh, i didn't think of that," lily said. "did people go hungry?"

"oh yes, child. it was awful. and when the river's father--the sky--heard about it, he was furious!"

"what did he do?"

"why, he called up a storm and made a powerful twister come down that lifted her and her family up and blew them all the way to texas!"

"texas? where the oil wells are? that texas?"

sophie laughed. "yes, child, that texas. but they didn't wind up all the way out there where the oil wells are. they landed right down on galveston beach! she didn't have to fish in the river anymore 'cause the gulf of mexico had all the fish they needed. the river never heard her sing again."

"that's sad. but, did all those people still go hungry?"

"no, child. the river learned his lesson and never shirked his responsibilities again. now everybody gets their fair share of fish. if they keep an eye on their bobber," she added with a nod toward the water.

lily yelped as the rod jumped in her hand and the bobber went down into the water. she jerked upward on the rod, laughing excitedly as it bent. "i've got one, aunt sophie. i've got one!"

sophie grabbed the net and watched lily pull the rod back behind her. she finally pulled a large, grey catfish out of the water and sophie swiftly caught it in the net. "you surely did get one. a big one!"

lily watched sophie pry the hook free and drop the fish into the bucket. "thank you, mr. river, for providing our supper tonight!" she blew the river a kiss.

sophie laughed. "you're a good girl, lily belle dupree!"

Snapshots: The Dupree Case

The fat man came into view again under the San Francisco streetlamp as another patch of fog drifted past like puffs of smoke from the devil's cigarette. I reached for my own pack of Marlboro Reds, not remembering that I had quit until my hand found an empty pocket. Damn. This city is hell on an ex-smoker.

I checked my watch. High noon. Right on time, my client emerged from the revolving door of the hotel across the street, wearing the red raincoat we'd agreed upon. She looked left, then walked right.

My gaze shifted back to the fat man. Sure enough, he raised a camera and began snapping shots as my client moved down the sidewalk. After several snapshots, he walked in the same direction on the opposite side of the street at a surprisingly brisk pace. Ah, I understood. He was trying to get a comfortable distance in front so he could shoot her face.

With a camera.

I hoped.

I maintained a similar distance as I stalked the stalker. More snapshots. My client seemed oblivious, but she had spotted him the previous day and the day before that without letting on. She was good. He was, too. He didn't have much time to set up his shots, but I could tell that he was getting clear, unobstructed views.

But to what purpose? My client claimed not to know anybody in San Francisco, and few knew she was here. She hired me over the phone after the second straight day of stalking. I didn't detect fear or anxiety in her voice; she sounded wronged. He had intruded on her space and she wanted it back.

My client suddenly stepped inside a trattoria for lunch. The stalker waited outside for five minutes, then stepped inside. I swore and moved my Hush Puppies forward but he walked out before I could get there and rushed off in the opposite direction. I spared a quick glance inside. My client was buttering a slice of bread. Assured of her safety, I took off in pursuit of my quarry. He was going for the cable car. I jumped on just in time.

After a short ride, the fat man deboarded at Union Square and took off down Market Street. He stopped in front of a shop, unlocked the door, and entered. I looked at the sign: Gutman Studios. The door was unlocked and the light was on, so I walked in.

"Can I help you?" The fat man looked up from a desk where he was connecting his camera to a computer.

I glanced around. The artwork was mostly oils on canvas--cityscapes. "I saw you taking pictures earlier. Are these your work?" I gestured at the walls.

"Yes. You looking to buy?"

"What were you photographing earlier?"

He shrugged. "Sidewalks. People. Streetlife. Why do you ask?"

"People?" I inquired. "Or one particular person?"

He looked at me sharply, then sank into his chair with a sigh. "She saw me, didn't she?"

"You're kinda hard to miss. Why were you doing it?"

"Have you seen her? She's amazing! Look," he opened a file and pulled out some photos. "See how she dresses? How she holds herself? She looks like she's from the '40s, like she doesn't fit in with everyone else, but she does fit in with the city. She belongs and doesn't belong at the same time."

He was right. She walked through the city as if nobody else were there, as if it were hers alone. "She's like a ghost," I muttered.

"Right! That's it exactly. When I saw her the other day, I knew I had to do her."

I gave him a hard stare.

"No, man. I'm talking about painting. Come here." He pointed at a canvas. It was her, wearing a stylish coat and hat, walking down a busy sidewalk. She and the city were grayscale; the other people and cars were in color. It was far from finished but it was stunning.

"So, you don't know her? You're only taking her picture so you can paint her?"

"Yeah. I'm not a stalker. Okay, okay, I guess I was stalking her, but I only wanted her picture. I don't know her name and don't want to know it. I have all the pictures I need; I won't follow her anymore, okay?"

I reached an understanding with the fat man, then walked outside and rang up my client. We arranged to meet for coffee near her hotel.

She was already seated at a booth when I walked in. Once again, she stood out from the crowd. She belonged in another era. Glamorous. Nobody was glamorous anymore. She was. But there was something more this time. I felt like I knew her. I knew I had never seen her before; I would have remembered. Nevertheless, I couldn't shake the feeling.

"Ms. Dupree?"

She looked up. "Mr. Cardigan? Please, sit down."

I sat and ordered coffee and a scone from the waiter.

"You said that you had solved the case?"

"Yes, ma'am." I explained how the artist had been struck by her countenance.

"Countenance?" She smiled. "I didn't know anybody used that word anymore, Mr. Cardigan."

"It fits you. The fat man said you evoke another era and that's what he was trying to capture. I agree with him, if you don't mind my saying."

She sipped her coffee. "No, I don't mind. I even understand, I think."

My own coffee arrived. It was black, strong, and hot; the scone was flaky, fruity, and nutty. I tried not to read too much into that. "Do you? Can you explain?"

"I'm not sure I can. I've never lived in San Francisco, but I feel at home here. No, not at home. Alive, maybe."

"You don't feel alive other times?" I was curious.

"Not the way I do here. It's complicated." She paused. "Do you believe in past lives, Mr. Cardigan?"

"I never gave it much thought before. But today...maybe I do. You seem very familiar to me, though I know we've never met."

"No, we haven't. I would have remembered. I'm not sure that I believe in past lives, either. Or destiny. But I admit that I feel those forces at work when I'm in this city." She looked out the window. "It's a special place to me."

"It can continue to be," I assured her. "The fat man won't follow you again. He doesn't know your name or where you're from; in fact, he doesn't want to know. It reinforces the image of a ghost."

"A living ghost," she mused. "I like that. It captures how I feel in this city."

"Far more preferable to being a dead ghost," I agreed. "The food tastes much better."

She laughed. "I agree! I couldn't bear the thought of being in this city and not eating. Each meal is special."

"You should meet my friend Danny," I told her. "He is a purveyor of special meals."

"Maybe next time I'm in town," she stated. "I fly out tonight."

"Give me a ring; you have my number."

"And your PayPal account. You'll be paid in full for your services, plus a bonus."

"The bonus isn't necessary, Ms. Dupree. I took care to overcharge you in the first place."

She laughed. "I like you, Mr. Cardigan. I hope I am stalked again on my next visit."

"Let me know when you're coming and I'll make all the arrangements."

She smiled. "I'd like that. Goodbye, Mr. Cardigan."

"Goodbye."

She left money for the bill and walked out of the cafe and out of my life. I felt certain, however, that I hadn't seen the last of Lily Dupree.

Snapshots: Meanwhile...

she woke with a shudder, hoping the wail of terror she had let out in her nightmare did not carry over into the real world.

it didn't.

she lay still at her end of the cab, giving no sign that she was awake. the roar of the semi-truck's engine and wheels as they sped across some random state was oddly comforting, as was the deep voice of the giant truck driver singing along with the music from the speakers.

she pulled the trucker's green, woolly army blanket around her closer. she knew it was still summer, but her young body felt as if it would never be warm again.

her slight movement drew a glance from the trucker. "you okay over there, little girl?"

no, she wasn't. she'd never be okay again. but she was alive. "yes, sir."

"would you like to listen to some different music? rock, or country music?"

"no, sir. i've never heard these songs, but i like listening to you sing them."

there was a touch of tenderness in his voice as he replied, "you're older than your years, aren't you, little girl? most of those songs are older than me."

she listened to the song:

i see trees of green
red roses, too
i see 'em bloom
for me and for you
and i think to myself
what a wonderful world...

the words broke her heart and made her smile at the same time. her mother had loved flowers. the First Day of Spring was an official holiday in their family. their mother would take them out of school and they would drive around all day planting flower seeds in random places: parks, roadsides, even houses that had "For Sale" signs in the yard. donnie would play fetch with yorick while she and their mother would place the seeds in the soil and pour some water from a plastic milk jug over the soil. it was their tradition; she didn't know anybody else who did this.

she resolved then and there that she would carry on her mother's tradition every First Day of Spring, no matter where she was. this sudden decision about her future made her sit up. she had a future. this was the first time since that terrible day that she had thought about the future. it had all been about how to survive the current moment, or missing her family. she had something to look forward to, now. a purpose.

"sir, where are we?"

"missouri," he told her, then added, "and i told you not to call me 'sir."

"i'm sorry, sir." she giggled. "sorry! what do i call you, then?"

he hmph'd. "i have a niece about your age who calls me 'uncle mack.' you can call me that, if you like."

"uncle mack," she tried it out. "i like that. you look like an uncle, although i've never had an uncle before."

he glanced at her. "since we're on the subject of names, i can't really continue to call you 'little girl,' little girl. want to give me yours now?"

she shook her head. "i can't. i can't let him find me again."

"who, little girl?"

"the bad man." she shivered as she recalled his face, evil even when lying there motionless, covered in blood as she made her escape. she wished he were dead but knew he wasn't. she may be only 10 years old, but she knew that evil like that couldn't be killed. he'd come looking for her again. and for donnie. she prayed that he'd never find donnie. she knew she couldn't look for donnie because that might lead the bad man to him.

the worry lines in the trucker's forehead creased even deeper. she had captured his heart and soul when he spied her behind the truck stop cafe, crying as she held her sneakers under a water faucet, trying to scrub blood off. when he knelt down and offered to help, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably into his chest. he could tell that she was in trouble--bad trouble--but she wouldn't tell him what it was, nor who she was, nor where she lived. when he mentioned the police, she had screamed and tried to run away from him. he saw the pain and terror in her face and just couldn't let her run away, so he promised to take care of her and not call the police. he took her to a Wal-Mart to buy some clean clothes, then they came back to the cafe and ate pancakes. when she begged him to take her far, far away, he couldn't say no to her. he still didn't know what to do, but he would not abandon her.

"well, if you're not going to use your real name, i guess you need to pick a new one."

she perked up. "i get to pick my own name?"

he shrugged. "you'd look pretty silly being called 'little girl' when you're 50 years old, wouldn't you?"

she laughed. "yes, that would be very silly!"

"so, what's it going to be? bertha?"

"yuck, no!"

"thelma?"

"no way!"

"well, what do you want to be called?"

she put her finger to her chin, thinking hard. "this is an important decision, isn't it?"

mack nodded. "very important. you're going to hear this name for the rest of your life, so you'd better like it."

"hmmm." she thought about her promise to herself to continue her mother's tradition of planting flowers. "what about...lily?"

mack grinned and started to sing:

who's got eyes that sparkle like a lily sprinkled with dew?
lily belle.
who's got lips that's fresh as autumn rain when summer is through?
lily belle...

lily clapped her hands in delight.