Part 25 (1/2)

She replaced the phone and folded her hands on the table.

'Most law professors love to hear their own voices so they lecture the entire cla.s.s. You didn't.'

'I don't lecture. I'm just a tour guide through Con Law.'

'Problem is, we never knew what you were thinking.'

'Good.'

'But we're not in your cla.s.sroom, Professor. We're in Marfa. So tell me what you're thinking.'

It was past noon, and Nadine was homesick and hungry. He had not yet found Nathan's truth, so he couldn't take her home, but he could feed her. They had ridden back into town for lunch at the Pizza Foundation, just a few blocks up Highland Avenue from the Border Patrol headquarters. The building had been a gas station in a prior life. A purple Vespa was parked outside.

'I'm thinking there's a connection. Between Nathan, the art, fracking, his death ... my gut tells me it's all tied together.'

'Maybe your gut's just telling you it's hungry.'

'Could be.'

'Connected by what?'

'Not what. Whom.'

'Hi, I'm Kenni with an ”i.” I'll be your waiter.'

A skinny young man wearing skinny jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt that read Frack Off stood at their table. He seemed too somber to be a waiter in Marfa. He wore purple with a pa.s.sion-in his hair, on his back, and on his feet. He was young, pierced, and tattooed. On the fingers of his left hand letters had been inked into his skin, one letter per finger: WWDJD.

'I've seen that WWDJD all over town,' Nadine said. 'What's it stand for?'

'”What would Donald Judd do?”'

Nadine frowned. 'Isn't it supposed to be WWJD? ”What would Jesus do?”'

'Not in Marfa.'

Kenni's face was puffy, and his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. Or as if he were stoned. Or both.

'You okay?' Book asked.

Kenni gave a weak nod. 'Just sad.'

He offered no more, so Book ordered the chicken, tomatoes, spinach, and olive oil on thin crust. Nadine went for pepperoni, sausage, Canadian bacon, and extra cheese and her hand sanitizer. When Kenni left, Nadine said, 'He's gay.'

'You're not going to stop, are you?'

She shrugged. 'Just stating the obvious. He walks with his palms to the ground.'

Book turned and observed Kenni. He walked with his arms tight to his body and his wrists angled up so his palms faced the floor.

'Telltale sign,' his intern said.

'All right, Ms. Honeywell, since you're apparently an expert on this sort of thing, why do you think Nathan was gay?'

'His photos.'

'Explain.'

'What did you see?'

Book shrugged. 'Black-and-white photos.'

'You're not gay.'

'I know. But why do you think Nathan was?'

'The brilliant law professor is clueless. I love it.' She smiled and wiped the table down then rubbed sanitizer on her hands. 'All the photos were black and white, manly scenes, cattle and cowboys, the rugged landscape, a drilling rig, but in each photo there was one object in color, one thing that didn't belong in the scene-a Barbie doll, a red rose, pink underwear.'

'Okay.'

'Like Nathan. He was saying he didn't belong here. He was a gay guy in manly West Texas, living a black-and-white life, forced to hide his true colors.'

Book pondered her words a moment.

'Ms. Honeywell, either you're really smart or all that ethyl alcohol is poisoning your brain.'

A gray-haired man wearing a plaid s.h.i.+rt, creased khakis, and cowboy boots walked up and stuck his hand out to Book.

'Ward Weaver, mayor of Marfa.'

They shook.

'John Bookman. And Nadine Honeywell.'

'Read in the paper you were in town, Professor. Mind signing my Nook? Got your e-book on it. Been carrying it everywhere with me the last couple days, hoping to run into you.'

Book used a Sharpie to sign the mayor's Nook.

'Mind if I sit?'

'Pull up a chair.'

The mayor sat then sniffed the air. 'Smells like a hospital.'

He waved at Kenni across the room.

'So how do you folks like our little town? Number eight on the Smithsonian's ”twenty best small towns in America” list.'

'The museum?' Nadine said.

'The magazine.'