The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) (3 page)

“The quail have a creek to drink from.”

“Not in the high country. It’s very dry up where the chukars hang out.”

“Those are two of the orneriest old women in the country,” Pap said. “But they do love Bo.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my friends that way,” Tully said.

“It’s just that all the ladies love Bo,” Pap said.

“You still dating the medical examiner?” Flynn asked.

“On-again, off-again.”

“I ain’t touching that one,” Buck said.

“Me, neither,” said Pap. “Not with the padre sitting here.”

Tully chose not to mention that Susan Parker had tired of him and taken up with an airline pilot.

Just then a freckled kid in bib overalls came by. He was gnawing on a rib. He stopped and looked at Clarence. “That your dog, Bo?”

“I guess.”

“Can I pet him?”

“If you want to, Richy. Matter of fact, I’ll give him to you.”

Richy walked up on the porch and over to Clarence. “Dang! He tried to bite me, Bo! I don’t want no dog that bites!”

“I figured you might be picky,” Tully said. “If you know some fellows don’t mind a minor flaw in a dog, send them over to me, okay, Richy?”

The kid stomped off.

Tully stretched and yawned. “Well, it’s getting to be a long day, guys. I better let you folks hold down the porch here, while I stop by the office and wake up my skeleton crew. Buck, I got Pugh up in the studio, probably napping. Tell him he might as well go home.”

“I bet you got him on the lookout for Kincaid,” Buck said. “Shucks, old Lucas would be crazy, try to kill you.”

“He
is
crazy, Buck.”

TULLY SAVORED THE
sound his three-thousand-dollar alligator-skin boots made on the marble-chip floor of the courthouse—
clok, clok, clok, clok.
Any kind of cowboy boots would make a similar sound, but there was something expensive about the
clok
of these boots. The money had come from the sale of his latest watercolor, and that, too, made the boots special. He was getting closer every day to becoming a full-time artist. It couldn’t be soon enough.

“Everybody snap to!” he shouted as he walked into the sheriff’s department briefing room. “The boss is here!”

Three pairs of sullen eyes turned toward him. “You better have brought us food from your Freezer Day,” growled Herb Elliot, his pudgy undersheriff.

“Yeah,” agreed his Crime Scene Investigations unit,
Byron “Lurch” Proctor, who almost never agreed with Herb Elliot about anything. Tully had given Lurch his nickname. If Lurch wasn’t the homeliest person on the planet, he was at least a contender. His dull brown hair stood out in all directions. He wore rimless glasses an inch thick. His nose appeared to have been attached as an afterthought, and had been intended for a much larger person. He was also the smartest person Tully had ever known. One whole corner of the briefing room was Lurch’s domain, and he was there most hours of the day or night. Tully didn’t hold him to a regular schedule, which allowed Lurch the freedom to work almost around the clock. The CSI unit appreciated the flexibility. The sheriff, oddly, was the young man’s hero.

“And the food better be something good!” said Daisy Quinn, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Daisy was his secretary. Tully was sure she had been in love with him for a long time. Well, of course. She was a woman, wasn’t she? Usually, Daisy fairly vibrated with efficiency, but today she seemed only to vibrate.

“We’re starving!” she cried, a wisp of her short dark hair bobbing about on top of her head. She was wearing her tight black skirt and a white blouse, a combination Tully thought made her particularly alluring. Herb Elliot and he had often flirted with Daisy when she was married, but now that she was divorced they both regarded her as somewhat dangerous. It had been months since he had caught Herb perched on the edge of her desk, chatting her up.

“So where’s the food?” Herb said.

“It’s coming, it’s coming. Hold your horses. I’ve got Buck bringing you each a venison rib. Fortunately, there were four left over.”

“He comes through that door with only four venison ribs,” Daisy growled, “he’s a dead man.”

“I figured as much. That’s why I got Buck to bring them.”

Buck staggered in with a huge, greasy cardboard box. “I could have used a little help, Bo.”

“Yeah, yeah, quit complaining, Buck. We’ve got some starving people here, although you wouldn’t know it from looking at Herb.”

“Oh!” cried Daisy. “Do I smell garlic shrimp? I do, I do. Oh, all is forgiven!”

Buck spread the feast out on a table. The whole briefing room filled with the smell of garlic.

“Go get the beer, Buck,” Tully said.

“Geez, let me catch my breath!”

“Only two bottles apiece. They’re still on duty.”

“Only two?” Herb said.

“Yeah,” Tully said. “It’s the Blight Way. Lock the door when you come back, Buck. I don’t want any citizens to walk in and catch the staff gnawing ribs and guzzling beer. And tell Flo the feast is about to begin.”

“I know already, Bo,” Flo said, emerging from the radio room. Her crowning feature was her bright red hair, which seemed almost to have achieved illumination. “By the way, what if there’s an emergency?”

“I guess it will just have to wait,” Tully said. “We have serious eating and drinking going on here.”

Tully walked into his glass-enclosed cubicle. The large window behind his desk looked out over Lake Blight. He was once again thinking about having the window painted over. Because any shooter taking a crack at him in his office chair would have to be bouncing around in a boat a hundred yards out on Lake Blight, only a miracle shot could nail him. But miracle shots were made all the time. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to let Lucas Kincaid take away his view. Still, Lucas Kincaid was the kind of nut for whom miracle shots were routine. Tully would have to think about getting his window painted over. He dialed his phone. A woman answered.

“Agatha, it’s Bo.”

“Oh, Bo, how nice of you to call. What’s the occasion? I know it’s still three months ’til quail season.”

“The urge just came over me, Agatha.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Prettiest bait I’ve ever come across.”

“Bait? Surely, Bo, you don’t think I sent Bunny down to Blight as some kind of incentive to lure you up here to the ranch.”

“You pick out the tiny white dress?”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“I thought so. You’re a wicked woman, Agatha.”

“Tell me this, Bo. Did it work?”

“You bet. I should be up there sometime tomorrow. Probably bring Pap and Dave with me.” He leaned back in his
chair, swung his legs around, and planted his boots on the desk.

“Must you bring that nasty man?”

“What have you got against Dave?”

“You know the one I mean. But anything to get you up here, Bo, is fine with Bernice and me.”

“How is Bernice by the way?”

“Oh, she’s welding up a storm. Wait until you see what she has done with the front gate. It’s gorgeous! And she is so proud of your success as a painter, Bo.”

“She taught me everything I know about painting. I suppose she misses all her wonderful students in the U. of I. Art Department.”

“Let me say that you are one of the few she mentions, at least without the use of profanity.”

“So, Agatha, tell me about this mystery you want me to solve.”

“Oh, it’s just the foolishness of an old lady, but I’ve wondered about it all my life.”

Agatha said she could not remember her father because she had been only two when he disappeared along with Sean O’Boyle, who was about fourteen at the time. There was little doubt both of them had been murdered, she said, because Tom Link simply wasn’t the kind of man to run off and deliberately disappear, at least according to Agatha’s mother. All summer, he and O’Boyle had been panning some bits of gold from a creek running down out of the Snowies. Some of the gold still clung to white chunks of
quartz, and they thought that it was a good sign it had eroded out of an outcropping somewhere up the creek. They started exploring up along the sides of the drainage and found the outcropping, according to the story Agatha’s mother had told her. As they blasted back into the mountain, the vein of gold grew bigger. Tom Link had become increasingly excited about the find and was planning to file a claim. Then, suddenly, he and young O’Boyle disappeared. No trace of them or their mine had ever been found, as far as Agatha knew. Most people thought the mine had simply caved in on them, if there was a mine at all. In those days, it was not unusual for people to disappear in the Snowy Mountains and never be heard from again.

“So, that’s the story,” Agatha said. “I know it’s not much to go on, and I also know I shouldn’t be wasting your time on such foolishness.”

“Actually, Agatha, I’ve been thinking about taking a week or so vacation and camping out in the mountains for a while with Pap and Dave. What better time to look around and see if we can find some clues to the disappearance of your dad and the boy.”

“That would be wonderful, Bo! You can probably use a little vacation. And maybe it will give you a chance to hide out from that monster, Lucas Kincaid.”

Tully rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Bernice is so looking forward to seeing you, Bo. Bunny too. We mustn’t forget Bunny.”

No indeed, Tully thought. “Got to go, Agatha, but I’ll
probably see you tomorrow.” He hung up and walked out to the briefing room. “Daisy, as soon as you’re done wolfing down that shrimp, get your pad and come in here.”

Barbecue sauce still rimmed Daisy’s lips when she came through the door. “I suppose it couldn’t wait until I was done eating.”

“I don’t have until midnight,” he said. “Now shut the door.”

Daisy kicked the door shut behind her and sat down in a chair across the desk from him. “The shrimps are scrumptious! But so are the ribs.”

“Good,” Tully said. “I’m glad you found something to your liking. Here’s the thing. I’m taking a week off starting right now. Pap and Dave Perkins and I are heading up into the mountains for a little camping and fishing.”

“Is this about Kincaid?”

“Kincaid has nothing to do with this!” Tully snapped. “I just need some time off, that’s all.”

He studied the little ring of barbecue sauce around her lips. Kind of cute.

“The deputies are turning over every rock in the county looking for him,” Daisy said. “But if you want to hide out in the mountains for a week, Bo, I can certainly understand. He’s already killed four people, and that’s what we know about. If I were you . . .”

Tully’s chin sagged down onto his chest. “One last time, Daisy, I’m not running off to hide from Kincaid. In any case, he’s not the kind of person you can hide from. He will find
me, no matter what. Maybe that’s the plan, if there is a plan. Is that clear?”

She nodded. “But . . .”

He held up his hand to shut her off. “One last time: I’m going to be away fishing and camping for a week. I’m leaving you in charge here. As usual, we’ll let Herb think he’s running the show, but you actually do it. That’s why I pay you the big money.”

“Yeah, right. Well, the first thing I’m going to do is make sure all the guys are focused on Kincaid.”

“You’ll be in charge, Daisy. So you call the shots. But I’ve got Pugh busy with another project. He won’t be available.”

She raised her hand like a schoolchild wanting to be called on.

“Yes, Daisy?”

“Will Brian call in, so we can keep track of him?”

Tully tugged on the corner of his mustache while he thought about this. “I don’t know. I’d rather Pugh keep his mind on his assignment.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for him to call in once in a while, so we know he’s all right.”

“Why? You got a thing for Pugh?”

“I’ve got a thing for all our people, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Maybe you’re getting too soft for this job, Daisy. Anyway, I don’t want you to call me unless there’s an emergency you can’t handle. And you know what of yours gets run through the wringer if things get messed up.”

Daisy smiled. “Might be interesting. Can I count on that?”

“We’ll see how relaxed I am after this camping trip. I’m going to stop by and see Mom now and then head home to pack up a tent and supplies. After you finish wolfing down your meal, call Pap and tell him I’ll pick him up at five sharp in the morning. All he needs to bring are a sleeping bag, the whiskey and cigars, and his portable gold dredge.”

Daisy frowned. “Gold dredge?”

“Yeah, it’s a little machine you stick its spout down in the riverbed. It sucks up sand and gravel and sprays it over what amounts to a sluice box. The gold, if any, settles out into the sluice. Makes prospecting a lot faster than panning.”

“You want Pap to come armed?”

Tully laughed. “Pap always comes armed, sweetheart. If you had as many enemies as Pap, you’d be armed, too. As a matter of fact, tell him to bring a rifle. Maybe we’ll do some plinking at cans or something.”

“Plinking, my eye. You’re up to something, Bo, and it’s got nothing to do with plinking or sleeping on the hard, cold ground.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’ve got a big favor to ask. I want you to stay nights at Mom’s house while I’m gone.”

“Oh, my gosh! You think Kincaid might . . . ?”

“I don’t know. He’s a vicious monster and might think that’s a good way to get back at me. I really hate to ask this, Daisy.”

“Bo, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“Really? Well, maybe we’ll discuss that when I get back.

Take your service revolver with you. Mom’s got a couple of shotguns there and she knows how to use them, but I’d just feel better if you stayed with her.”

“Hey, we’ll have a ball.”

“Probably. But keep in mind Mom can drink you under the table. And don’t listen if she starts delving into her raunchy history.”

“This sounds better all the time.”

Tully drove over to his mother’s house. Her car was in the driveway, so he knew she was home. He tried the door. It was locked. He thought this was probably the first time in all the years she had lived in Blight that she had locked her doors. He knocked and called out, “Ma, it’s Bo!”