When she pulled into the parking lot, Meredith breathed a long sigh of relief. Only three cars huddled in front of the shack. Since lunch, she had been planning what she would say and now wanted to get it over with before she forgot her speech. She would use logic on Frankie. Even a bar owner would respond to that.

The wind whirled a caliche cloud around her car as she parked. White powder settled on her old Mustang, dirtying the already dull blue to Confederate gray. Clumps of dried weeds fought their way through broken sidewalks to serve as landscaping. Shattered bottles that had been tossed at the building framed the foundation like colorful crystal in the afternoon sun.

Meredith rushed inside, telling herself she did not care if someone saw her. She was on a mission. But she knew she would rather not have to explain. Thirty years ago a teacher patronizing such an establishment would have been grounds for dismissal. Today, it would probably only be frowned upon. She did not want to find out for sure.

As she walked in a heavyset man, with a beard halfway down his biker shirt, looked up from the bar he was cleaning. Meredith glanced around. A young waitress talked to a cowboy in the corner, but other than that, the place was empty.

She quickly crossed to the man behind the counter. "Mr. Frunkie?"

He stared at her as if he was trying to identify a new species never before seen in this environment. "Who wants to know?"

Meredith extended her hand. "I'm Meredith Allen, a friend of Randi Howard."

He did not take her hand and she could not help wondering if he had caught Granger's disease. "Lady, you may be Meredith Allen, but I'd stake what's left of my hair that you're not a friend of Randi's."

The barmaid moved closer, suddenly more interested in Meredith than the cowboy. "Where'd you get that sweater, honey?" She raised one eyebrow that looked to have been painted on with a first-grade crayon. "I'd like to have me one of them Santa shirts."

"A friend made it." Meredith held up the bottom of the shirt so the Santa shone in the bar lights. "You can buy the sweatshirts at Wal-Mart, then all it takes is a little yarn and a pair of eyes. She glued these on, but you could use buttons."

Meredith glanced up to see them laughing at her. She fought the urge to run. She was not used to having her kindness met with sarcasm. She did the only thing she could think of, she continued.

"It has to be washed by hand or the yarn tends to come out." She held her head high and stared at the barmaid's forehead like she had been taught to do when she first started teaching. "I could leave it here for a few days if you wane to use my shirt as your pattern."

The woman was taken back by Meredith's kindness, but was too jaded to believe. "What planet did you drop from, honey?"

Meredith smiled as if she understood the joke. "I grew up here but went away for a few years during college. Took over Mrs. Helderman's second-grade class when I got my degree."

The barmaid smiled. "I had Mrs. Helderman. She was so old we all believed she dated Robert E. Lee. She still have that picture of him hanging behind her desk when you got there?"

"Of course. I don't think she ever threw anything away. You should have seen her files. She kept toothless, second grade pictures of most of the people in this town." Meredith leaned closer so she could read the name tag. "I don't remember seeing a Barbi, though."

"It's Barbara. Barbara Coleman. I think I was in the fifth grade when you came. I kind of remember seeing you around."

"Yes, of course." Meredith patted Barbi's arm. "You're Molly and Jake's big sister. How are they doing? I heard Molly got into A and M."

"That's right. Another few years and my baby sister may be an engineer."

"I'm so proud. She was such a sweet little girl."

Meredith glanced at Frankie. He looked like he might throw up.

The cowboy sauntered from the other end of the bar, his beer in hand. "I had Mrs. Helderman. She used to turn her ring around and thump us with the stone if we caused trouble. I still got dents in my head to prove it."

Frankie groaned. "I'm calling the cops. You stay much longer, teacher, and there's bound to be trouble. Who knows, all the customers will probably start getting out their old annuals and we'll sign `See you when the summer's over.' Wr can have a regular grade school reunion."

Meredith ignored Frankie and looked at the cowboy. "You're Smiley Weathers, aren't you? Mrs. Helderman used to tell stories about you when she'd come up to have lunch in the teachers' lounge."

"She remembered me?" He seemed touched.

Meredith added, "She showed the newspaper clippings of you making it into the rodeo finals in Las Vegas."

Smiley took a swig of his beer. "She did, huh? Well, I'll be…"

Frankie had had enough. "You'd best be ordering a drink or stating your business, teacher,. I can't stand much more of this."

Meredith folded her hands and leaned her elbows on the bar. "As I said, I'm a friend of Randi Howard, and I'm here to see if you'd be willing to drop any charges against her if she had the light pole fixed."

His eyes squinted like he was trying to see a lie. "And how might you be friends with Randi?"

Meredith forced out the words she hated to say. "My husband was killed with hers on the oil rig that caught fire a few months ago."

Both Barbi and Smiley drew closer.

"Ohhh," Barbi sighed. "I'm so sorry. It was horrible, wasn't it? They say old Shelby Howard is little more than a vegetable. Had one of his ears burned completely off, too. No telling what else. Maybe it's lucky your man died."

Meredith did not answer. She had grown used to such insane statements.

"I've got friends who played ball with your husband."

Smiley made a slight toast with his beer. "They say he was one of the best who ever played in this town."

Frankie glared at the pair of crybabies. "Now don't go started again. So you're friends with Randi because of some accident. That don't make you her keeper. She got into trouble last night, and this time she's going to pay."

Smiley and Barbi looked at him like he had thumped a puppy.

Frankie picked up the rag and wiped the bar, trying tu ignore their disapproval.

"Randi's not alone," Meredith added. "Helena Whit worth is posting her bond and Anna Montano as well as Crystal Howard will stand behind her with any monoy needed to make the repairs."

Frankie snorted. "Crystal, I believe. She and Randi used to run this place on busy nights. Haven't seen her for a while. Don't know Anna Montano, but everybody's heard of her. Cowboys from the Montano spread who come in here say she's a looker."

"Look but don't touch," Smiley added. "I hear tell her brother threatens to cut the nuts off anyone who talks to her." He glanced at Meredith. "Pardon my language, Mrs. Allen."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "So Randi's got her some friends. So what? That don't fix my pole."

Meredith played her ace. "We'd be willing to put up a string of light poles that look like old fashioned streetlamps if you'd drop the charges. We have every intention of squaring up with you."

"Wouldn't that be swell," Barbi chimed in. "Think of it, Frankie. This place would finally have some class. Maybe folks could find their cars if we added more than one light pole."

"More poles would just be more for them to run over."

He wasn't giving in so easily. "Besides, the pole hit the building when it fell. Scratched the paint off the left side."

"You've got to be kidding." Smiley laughed. "How could you tell that scratch from the hundred folks made trying to leave the parking lot? Some nights it's like bumper cars at closing time."

"But if we got a string of new lights, folks would notice the paint job," Frankie reasoned.

Meredith remembered Helena's words to offer whatever she had to in order to get the charges dropped. "Would you call it even if we had the building painted?"

Frankie slowed his cleaning. "I might. I always liked Randi. If she hadn't killed my pole I'd say we would still be friends."

"Blue!" Barbi giggled. "The building has to be blue."

"Blue's not a good color for a bar." Smiley took another drink. "Black, maybe with a red roof."

"Both of you shut up. The two of you sound like those interior decorators on TV." Frankie looked like he needed a drink. "It's a deal, lady. I'll let you know what color. Now get out of here or order, I don't have time to chat."

Meredith offered her hand again, and this time Frankie took it.

As she turned to hug Barbi goodbye, the door swung open with a pop, letting in a wide slice of late afternoon sun.

Sheriff Farrington stood with his feet wide apart and his hand resting easy on his gun belt. Meredith almost laughed. He looked every bit the lawman stepping into a saloon in the badlands.

When he saw Meredith, she didn't miss the way his whole body relaxed. He closed the door and walked in as if finding her in the local dive were an everyday occurrence.

"Evenin', Frankie."

"Evenin', Sheriff. You off duty and drinking tonight, or like half my business lately, just come to talk?"

"Any problem?"

"Not unless you call arguing over what color to paint the place a riot."

Granger looked at Meredith. "You having car trouble. Mrs. Allen?"

"No," she said. "I was just leaving." She hugged Barbi again. "Now, tell Molly hello for me."

Barbi promised, then added, "I'd really like that pattern from your sweatshirt. They'd make real neat Christmas presents."

Meredith wiggled out of the sweatshirt and then straightened the white blouse beneath. It was wrinkled and hopelessly covered in tiny red balls. "I'll pick the sweatshirt up in a few days when I come back."