Snake Dreams (47 page)

SCOTT PARRIS
turned over and groaned.
Well, that was one helluva nightmare.
He opened his eyes and blinked at a window.
It’s still dark outside.
Knowing he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, the chief of police snatched up the bedside telephone and punched in the familiar number.

CHARLIE MOON
was on the ranch headquarters east porch with a mug of coffee, waiting for the dawn. After checking the caller ID on his cell phone, the full-time Ute rancher, part-time bluegrass musician, and sometimes tribal investigator greeted his friend in the following manner: “Columbine Ranch. It’s five ten
A.M
., the temperature is Just Right, and our Motto of the Day is the same as it was yesterday—Eat More Beef.”

“H’lo, Charlie.” Parris grinned at his Indian friend. “You sound like you’re already up and at ’em.”

Charlie Moon grinned back. “I’m always busy, pardner—there’s no flies on me. But if you’re having a slow week over at the cop shop, and hinting around about how it’s been way too long since we went fishing, just say the word.”

Parris wanted to say the word. “Thanks anyway. I’ve got way too much work to do.”

“Sorry to hear it.” The rancher waited to hear what the call was about.

“Charlie, this’ll seem strange, but d’you recall that time a few years back, when you got your skull cracked . . .” Parris felt his face blushing, “and you had that weird near-death experience?”

“That’d be a hard thing to forget, pard.”

“D’you mind I ask you something about it?”

The Ute smiled at his unseen friend. “Would it do any good for me to say, ‘Yes I do’?”

“No it wouldn’t.” The town cop cleared his throat. “If I remember correctly, you told me you were happy over yonder on the . . . the
other side
.”

“Your memory’s working fine.”

Scott Parris inhaled deeply. “Then why’d you come back?”

Starlight sparkled in Charlie Moon’s eyes. “To look after you.”