Cry for the Strangers Page 0,68

Whalen a favor and keep a citizen from getting mad at him. Besides, I could use the company.”

Chip started to refuse, then changed his mind. There was a quality to Glen’s voice that reached inside him, and he realized that it was the same quality he’d heard in Harn Whalen’s voice now and then—not often, but on nights when Whalen seemed to be lonely and wanted Chip to hang around late, not because he had anything on his mind, but because he needed company.

“Let me pull the car up,” he said. “So I’ll be able to hear the radio if Harn calls me.”

Chip spent most of the afternoon at the gallery. He and Glen split the lunch that Rebecca had packed and polished off the best part of a six-pack.

As he ate, Chip wandered around the gallery asking questions about the remodeling.

“Deciding what to do was easy,” Glen said. They were standing under a large window that Glen was cutting. It was an odd shape, but it appeared to fit into the space Glen had allocated for it. “For instance, that window. It was just a matter of extending the line from that beam over there, carrying the ledge over the door on across, and then duplicating the pitch of the roof. Bingo—an interesting window that seems to have been part of the original design.” He grinned ruefully. “The only problem is, I can’t figure out how I’m going to keep the roof up. I cut a support post out to make the window.”

“No problem,” Chip said. “Cut another foot off the support, then build a lintel between the posts to support the one you cut. That way you have plenty of support for the roof and it doesn’t ruin the shape of the window.”

Glen studied the wall for a minute, then shook his head. “You’d better show me,” he said finally. “I can see what I want as an artist, but as a carpenter I’m pretty much of a loss.”

Chip found a ladder, dragged it over, and climbed up, explaining as he did so. Then, seeing the baffled look still on Glen’s face, he climbed down and stripped off the jacket of his uniform.

“Got a saw? It won’t take me more than an hour to put it in for you.”

For a while Glen tried to help, but soon realized the deputy didn’t need any help. He went back to the soiled pictures and began the tedious work of cleaning the stains from them. He moved slowly and methodically, using tiny brushes, picks, pieces of straw, anything he could find to lift off the bits of mud without disturbing the colors beneath. The cleaning went better than he had hoped; only a few of the canvases would even need a touch-up. By the time he had repaired the worst of the damage Chip had finished the lintel and was in the process of pulling down the shelves Glen had worked so hard to put up.

“What are you doing?” Glen cried. “Those things took me almost a week to build.”

Chip nonchalantly continued to pry the shelves loose from the wall. “Were you planning to use these shelves?”

“They’re display shelves for my wife’s pottery.”

“Didn’t you ever hear of a toggle bolt? These nails will hold the shelves up, but the shelves won’t hold anything. Look.”

He grabbed one of them with his left hand and pulled it off the wall. “What’s your wife going to say when all her pottery falls on the floor? Have you got any toggle bolts?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll run down to Blake’s and pick some up. Do you have an account there?”

Glen gaped at the deputy. “An account? Are you serious? Didn’t I tell you this morning what happened to my wife down there?”

Chip suddenly looked embarrassed, and Glen wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“Will this be enough?” he asked, handing Chip a five-dollar bill.

“That’ll be plenty,” Chip said. “Why don’t you finish pulling those shelves down while I’m gone.” He picked up his coat and started for the door, but Glen stopped him.

“Chip?”

The deputy stopped at the door and turned around.

“I don’t know exactly why you’re doing all this for me, but thanks.”

Again Chip looked embarrassed, but then he grinned. “Well, if we’re going to have an art gallery in town we might as well have one that won’t fall down the first week.” His face reddened slightly. “Besides, I guess I sort of owe it to