Where There's Smoke

“Think she bought that?” Bowie asked skeptically.

“She said she doubts that I would be that spiteful, but that she wouldn’t put anything past my mother or my brother.” In a small voice she added, “I’d hate to think they could be that cruel.”

She stared into space for a moment, then returned her attention to her guest. “I’m sorry, Bowie. I didn’t mean to take up your time with my family’s problems. What did you need to see me about?”

He rolled his shoulders. “It’s probably nothing. In fact, I tried for several days to talk myself out of bothering you with it.” He had set his hat on the table. Now he scooted it aside and leaned forward. “You ever notice anything peculiar about well number seven?”

“No, should I?”

“Probably not, but I figured I had to get it off my chest. See, it’s not yielding as much natural gas as it should. At least, that’s my opinion. Its production doesn’t jive with comparable wells.”

“All wells are different.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know that. They have personalities and they’re constantly changing. Kinda like women. Each well has its quirks and you’ve got to get to know it real good. Stroke it every now and then.”

Janellen ducked her head so quickly that she didn’t see that Bowie ducked his, too. Her cheeks turned warm, but since this concerned business, she felt it was imperative to keep the conversation going.

“What’s the daily MCF?” Gas was measured in hundreds of thousands of cubic feet.

“Two fifty per day. I figure that well’s output ought to be higher.”

“We allow for a four to five percent loss, Bowie. Even up to ten. There’s probably a small leak somewhere in the line and the gas is being absorbed into the atmosphere.”

He gnawed his cheek for a moment, then shook his head stubbornly. “I think the loss is higher than the allowance. After recording that well for the last several weeks, I think it should be a high gas producer, especially considering the oil we get out of it. Instead, it’s one of our lowest.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time studying it.”

“On my own time.”

Her heart swelled with pride. He was a conscientious employee who did more than was required. Her decision to hire him had been justified.

Even though she appreciated his concern, she felt it was misplaced. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bowie. Well number seven produces as we’ve come to expect from it.”

“Well, I reported it to the foreman, but he just shrugged it off and said its rate of flow has always been low, long as he can remember. Damned if I can figure out why, though. Just one of those worries that grabs hold and won’t let go, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” She stared into her cup of tea. After a long moment of silence, she raised her head. “There I go again. I can’t keep my mind on business. I keep dwelling on that little girl’s family. Her daddy does all our dry cleaning. He’s a nice, friendly man. I know how devastated he and his wife are, because we felt the same way when Clark drowned. I thought we’d have to bury my mother with him.”

“I never had a kid, but if I did, I can’t imagine having to put him in the ground.”

Janellen looked at him searchingly. He’d never had a child, but she wondered if he’d ever been married. There were a thousand personal questions she wished to ask him, but couldn’t bring herself to. Among those questions was where he had acquired his insight into people. He had an uncanny knack for seeing beyond affectations and straight into the heart and mind of an individual.

Trusting his instincts, she asked, “Bowie, do you think Dr. Mallory did something that caused that little girl to die?”

“All I know about medicine is that there’s no real cure for either a cold or a hangover.”

She smiled. “I’ve only seen Lara Mallory in person once, but she looked so… so… put together.”

Everything that I’m not, she thought dismally. Having seen Lara Mallory, she was no longer surprised that Clark had risked everything to be with her. She wasn’t merely beautiful. Her eyes reflected compassion and intelligence, and she exuded self-confidence and competency.

Janellen wanted to despise her. She knew that she wouldn’t be feeling this ambiguity if Dr. Mallory had come across as an empty-headed sexpot, all fluff and no substance. Instead, it was quite the opposite.

“I don’t believe the woman I met could be negligent.” Her conviction surprised even herself and made her feel disloyal. “I know I’m supposed to hate her, but…”

“Who says?”

“My mother.”

“Do you always do what your mother says? Don’t you ever think different from her?”