A Nose for Justice (36 page)

“Nope.”

After signing off, Lonnie said, “Looks like he’s alive.”

“Yep.”

Pete called Lolly Johnson who was still terribly worried about her brother.

As he slowed down for the sharp curves on the Geiger Grade—the views
unfolded for miles—Pete said, “It might be better for Teton if he gave himself up. He’d be safe in jail.”

“Ever notice that sometimes when people are carrying an object and they start to fall they still don’t let go of that object?”

Pete glanced at Lonnie. “So what’s Teton holding on to?”

“The money.”

L
ate in the afternoon on Tuesday Mags peered intently at the computer screen. She’d found various Frederic Remington sketches tucked away in museums all over America. Of course, Cody, Wyoming, had some, as well as the Bradford-Brinton Museum in Big Horn, Wyoming. Dallas, Texas, Kansas City—many museums had one or two.

She’d found an entire series of beautiful Remington drawings scattered throughout America, detailed sketches of the various riders in Buffalo Bill’s show. She called up and enlarged each of the Cossacks. Then she enlarged the British officers. One, Major James Plunket, looked stunning in his tunic and helmet.

“Wait a minute.”

Baxter raised his head off his paws.

Mags clapped her hands, which made the tough little guy bark. “Sorry, Baxter, but if only you could see this. The Dragoon has a square-beaded bracelet peeking out from under his sleeve.” She left the computer on, threw on her coat, and ran out to the old barn.

“What’s up?” Jeep noticed her niece’s flushed face.

“She’s pretty excited,”
Baxter stated.

King walked over to Baxter to touch noses.

“Aunt Jeep, I’ve found something important. I think I’ve found something that will lead us to our killer. If I only knew why.” She stopped before saying more. “Mr. Locke, I’m sorry. I was so excited, I didn’t see you there. Excuse me.”

“Hey, sounds pretty exciting.”

Jeep smiled at Mags. “I’ll be up later. Enrique and I were just talking to
Craig about the water rights issue now being considered by the Nevada Supreme Court.”

“I dropped by. Wanted to hear what your aunt thinks. She’s usually ahead of the rest of us, plus I can always try to buy her water rights. Reno will need a lot more water. It’s right under our feet here at Wings Ranch.”

Enrique smiled slightly. “Craig, Mom is not going to sell a drop, nor will I.”

“Aunt Jeep, sorry, I’ll see you later.” Mags apologized.

After she left, Craig returned to his take on this. “A ruling in their favor would be a big victory for environmental groups, but it will only exacerbate our water problems.”

“Who could have imagined that this would happen?” Enrique knew a long, expensive fight would ensue and as a matter of protection, people would have to refile water rights back to 1947.

“The state engineer’s office charges three hundred dollars per application. Some people aren’t going to be able to afford this.” Craig pressed his case. “That means their rights are imperiled no matter what the ruling might be. ’Course, that means SSRM can buy them up.”

“Craig, I don’t see it that way,” said Jeep. “Groups like Washoe Water Rights and Friends of Sierra will file suit to prevent the indigent from losing their rights if the ruling goes the wrong way. The right way for you”—she half smiled—“wrong way for others, but I think this issue might turn the tide on squandering our resources.”

“SSRM doesn’t squander water.”

“You may not, but this state can’t afford increased irresponsible draws on our water. You know as well as I do that in 1989 the Las Vegas Valley Water Department, the old name, filed applications and they were approved to draw eight hundred thousand acre feet of water a year from parts of rural Nevada. Eight hundred thousand! Sailed right through. But the sleight of hand that allowed the 2007 request for forty thousand acre feet of water to be siphoned off of Spring Valley in eastern Nevada was the straw that broke the camel’s back. That may be the wrong metaphor.” She frowned for a second.

“I think the 2007 request was at fault over a technicality. The Supreme
Court will look at the case in its most narrow form. Those forty thousand acre feet may now be denied, rolled back, but I just don’t see water rights being at issue all the way back to 1947 because of this.” Craig persisted.

“People are furious, Craig. Furious at big government, furious at higher taxes, lower services, furious at anyone who is an elected official and an appointed one, too. I think this battle that’s brewing is going to be one of the biggest blowouts in Nevada’s history and it will trigger similar lawsuits in other western states. For all I know, it might even provoke eastern states to take a careful look at their water tables.”

He remained silent for a long time. “It’s possible, but then what happens? Do we lose population? Does our economy stall?”

“We’ve heard that argument before. I’m deeply opposed to compromising rural water to feed cities. And, if I might pontificate, if this state is smart and keeps away from personal income tax and other forms of theft, which we have always done, business will stay. We’re the best deal in the United States. We have the lowest per capita state spending in the U.S. Some people, big-government types, see that as a negative. I see it as the old Nevada way. Take care of yourself. We really are the best deal in America.”

“But can business expand if we freeze—forgive the pun—our water supply? We can’t cut back.”

“We can and we must. All this yap about modern technology. Well, let’s see all those brains work on ways to recapture water instead of emptying our underground basins.”

“All right, I tried.” He turned to Enrique and motioned at the barn’s restoration work. “You’re doing a beautiful job here.”

“I’ll give you credit, Craig, you never miss any new angle to enlarge SSRM’s bank of rights.”

“That’s my job.” He walked to the barn door, Jeep accompanying him. “I’m sorry you and Mags found Oliver.”

“We did,”
the two dogs said in unison.

“It was most upsetting. Mags handled it fine, but it’s funny the way things affect people. She loves her twilight run and her dawn run. She won’t run that way down to Dry Valley Road now.”

As he drove away, Jeep went up to the house. “Where are you?” she called out.

“In the den,” Mags answered. “Come look.”

Jeep hurried down the hall, the heels of her cowboy boots slightly reverberating. “What?”

“Look.” Mags pointed to the drawing that she’d enlarged, the bracelet around the Major James Plunket’s wrist.

“The beads!”

“We can’t prove he’s our killer but he worked every day with our Russian. I’ve tracked down all but two of the Cossacks. Those who returned and those who stayed. I’m getting close.”

“I think you are.”

King lifted his head off his paws, he’d been dozing in front of the fire.
“Someone just turned onto our ranch road.”

Baxter, also snoozing, scrambled up.
“I’ll take care of it.”

By the time the vehicle stopped in front, Jeep and Mags had heard it as well.

Jeep looked out the window, the rough-hewn rocking chairs on the porch moving slightly in the wind. “Two ladies on a mission.”

“I’ll go to the door.” Mags rose, arriving at the front door just as they knocked. “Hello.”

A skinny lady, bundled up, her brown curls showing under her cap, said, “I’m Mrs. Armor Miller and this is Miss Shelley Pietrzak. We’re from the Department of Social Services.”

Jeep walked out to join the group. “Come in, ladies. Let me take your coats.”

The dogs eyed the two women who Jeep shepherded into the living room.

“We’re here to investigate a case of elder abuse.” Mrs. Miller whipped out her notebook. “I assume you are Magdalene Reed?” she asked Jeep.

“I am and this is my great-niece, Magdalene Rogers.”

“We must respond to every complaint. I hope you understand that. And we received a call informing us that your great-niece may be abusing you. Naturally she’ll have to leave the room. We need to speak with you alone.”

Mags exploded, “Catherine! I’ll kill her.”

“Mags, that’s enough. Go out and help Enrique.”

Red-faced, Mags stomped out of the room, yanked her coat off the hook, and left, Baxter on her heels.

“I’ll bite them. I’ll drive them off,”
the little guy offered.

Mags was so furious she didn’t notice.

Back in the house, Mrs. Miller and Miss Pietrzak asked many questions. Then they asked if Jeep would roll up her sleeves.

She did. “Not a mark.” Then she added, “As you can see, I am in possession of all my wits. I’m not battered and bruised and more to the point, my great-niece does what I tell her to do, not vice versa.”

“As I said, we must, by law, investigate each and every complaint. I’m glad this is a false alarm.” Mrs. Miller cooed.

“What do you do with the report?”

“We file it. It’s not public record.”

“I see.”

Once Jeep politely ushered them out the door, she leaned against it. “I told Mags to take a stiletto when she had lunch with Catherine. Maybe next time she will!”

E
ven in summer the high-desert dawn is crisp. In winter, it’s bone chilling. Since she didn’t have the money for a gym membership, Mags hoped the farm chores supplanted those workouts. Sure felt like it. If anything, those chores proved a better workout. She was using muscles she didn’t know she had. But once one got into a routine, it felt better to keep at it, so she continued her jogging, running between two and three miles at dawn and sometimes another run at sunset.

This morning she ran to the end of the driveway, Baxter keeping right up, as did King. Sometimes King ran along and other times he stayed back. He found he liked being with someone young, someone who could run, jump, and even skip rope.

Mags started to feel that fabulous lift just as she turned right under the P-47 propeller blade. Way down Dixie Lane she saw a parked 4Runner. She wondered what the vehicle was doing there but she stupidly kept running.

As she approached, the driver’s door flew open. A man wearing a ski mask stepped in front of her. Heart racing, she swerved. She was faster than he anticipated. He lunged like a linebacker, managed to grab her left ankle, and pull her to the ground.

“Get him!”
Baxter barked.

The man lifted a knife. King smelled the acrid odor of combat and fear on him. Leaping upward, the German shepherd mix grabbed his wrist in his powerful jaws.

Mags twisted as the man released his grip. Getting to her feet, she kicked him as hard as she could in his groin.

The man pulled in his knee defensively, King attacked again, as did
Baxter. The wire-haired dachshund may have been small, but his teeth were damned sharp. He sank them into the man’s throat.

Mags kicked him again. The knife flew out of his right hand. She bent to pick it up, prepared to stab him.

King pinned the attacker down.
“Bite his arm. Leave his throat to me.”