The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) (8 page)

Pap came yawning out of the tent. “I thought I smelled bacon frying. Yup, by golly, I did. Fish! You know how to lift an old man’s spirits, Bo, I have to admit that. You must have got up at the crack of dawn.”

“Yeah, I did. As a matter of fact I was awake long before dawn cracked. Your and Dave’s snoring kept me awake most of the night. I think you were the little woodland creature and Dave was the huge beast tearing the little guy to pieces.”

“You must have been dreaming,” Dave said, coming through the tent flaps. “I’ve never snored in my entire life. If you want to call those pitiful squeaks and squeals that come out of Pap snoring, well I guess you’ve never been in the army and lived in a barracks.”

“I’m afraid I came up between the wars. It wasn’t easy. You’ve got to have good judgment about when to get born these days. So how many trout, Dave?”

“Three and a small mountain of those hash browns. They look yummy.”

“Yummy! I’ve never heard a grown man say ‘yummy.’”

“You have to be awfully tough and mean to say ‘yummy,’ Bo. I’ve been places where saying ‘yummy’ could get you killed.”

“You’re close to being in one of them right now.” Bo slid three small trout and a mound of hash browns onto Dave’s plate. The trout were brown and crisp.

“You eat them like French fries, Dave.”

“I already figured that out. They’re about the size of fries.”

Pap had been paying serious attention to his own plate of bacon, trout, and hash browns. He looked up. “I just had an idea.”

Tully and Dave looked at him as if this might have been Pap’s first idea in years.

“So?” Tully said.

“You know that mine that was marked on the map? That’s the Finch Mine. It’s only a couple of miles from here. Why don’t we go take a look at it?”

“Let’s see,” Tully said. “Well, it’s within the range we figured out. But you said there’s a chain across the road and No Trespassing signs all over the place.”

“I told you I snuck a bolt cutter into the back of the pickup. We can just snip the lock off and drive on in. It won’t hurt nothing and I can look around and see if I can find where I buried the bottle of gold.”

“You sure that’s the same mine Gramps worked?”

“Yeah. It won’t hurt nothing for us to go in and take a
look. We’re just messing around anyway. You know there ain’t no way we’re ever going to find out what happened to Agatha’s pappy and that boy. It’s over eighty years since they disappeared.”

Tully tugged on the droopy corner of his mustache while he mulled this over. “I’ll tell you what, Pap. I’ll call Agatha and see if she can tell me where the Finches live. If she can, we’ll go ask them if we can look around the mine.”

“There’s one big drawback to that approach. They might say no.”

Tully took out his phone and dialed Agatha.

“Bo?” she said.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I thought you’d be calling. Your deputy showed up last night. I almost shot him, but he’s much too good looking.”

“Despite Ernie’s looks, he’s a pretty good deputy. He’ll stay there until we get Kincaid run down. He won’t be much of a bother.”

“Oh no, he’s a lovely young man. He and Bunny have hit it off, too.”

“What! Put Ernie on. I need to have a word with him.”

“He and Bunny are out by the creek. I’ll have him call you when they come in.”

“Yeah, please do, Agatha. Oh, the reason I called—can you tell me where the Finches live?”

“Why, yes, Teddy and Margaret Finch are good friends of ours. They’re a lovely couple. You would never know they’re filthy rich. They own thousands of acres of prime timber land
and they keep their woods like a park. A year or two ago, Teddy got some ecological award for his stewardship of the land or some such thing. They know all about you, too, Bo. They’re some of your biggest fans.”

“My sheriffing? I didn’t know law enforcement had fans.”

“Of course not, silly. I mean your painting!”

“Oh, good. Maybe they’ll let us go in and check out their mine. By the way, tell Ernie I don’t hold with poaching.”

“Poaching? What on earth do you mean?”

“Ernie will know. So tell me how to get to the Finches’ place.”

“It’s about three miles on the other side of Angst, a huge white house with a white board fence out front that encloses about twenty acres. You can’t miss it.”

“That their pasture?”

“No, dear. It’s their front yard.”

“Thanks, Agatha. Talk to you later.” He closed his phone.

Pap was finishing off the hash browns. “She tell you how to get to the Finches?”

“Yep. Saddle up and let’s go.”

THE FINCH PLACE
had about half a mile of paved drive-way. On one side was the Finch lawn and on the other was a pasture with a dozen or more beautiful horses prancing about. Tully hated horses, but if he ever started to like them he thought he would probably like one of these.

Pap said, “If Finch sold those horses he could buy the whole town of Blight City.”

“If he sold one of them,” Dave said, “he could buy the whole town of Blight City.”

“I wonder where Teddy made his money,” Tully said.

“He didn’t make it at all,” Pap said, squishing out a hand-rolled in the ashtray. “His daddy didn’t make it, either. It was his granddaddy, Jack Finch, made all of it on that gold mine we’re going up to see. He took millions and millions and millions
in gold out of that mine. When the ore played out, his son and grandson invested the money in timber. Got their own sawmill around here someplace. One of the few mills in the country that still turns out prime lumber.”

“How come you know so much about it?” Tully asked.

“I’ll tell you how come. Back when your granddad was sheriff, old Jack Finch apparently got the notion that some of his business associates was trying to kill him. He talked to my daddy about it and paid him a sizable fee and your grand-pap took care of the problem. I don’t know how exactly, but your grandpap wasn’t nothing like you, Bo.”

“That’s what I understand. As a matter of fact, you’re nothing like me either, Pap.”

“I didn’t want to say it, knowing how tender your feelings are.”

Tully got out of the pickup and walked up to the front entrance. A tall, slim, white-haired man answered the chimes. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

“I’m Sheriff Bo Tully of Blight County and—”

“Good heavens!” The man called over his shoulder. “Margaret, we have a celebrity right here at our own front door— Bo Tully!”

“I don’t believe it!” the woman cried. “Bo Tully, the artist?”

“I don’t imagine there’s more than one Bo Tully. Come in, sir, come in! Oh, I see you have a couple of folks in the truck. Tell them to come in, too.”

Tully signaled Pap and Dave to join him. The man stuck out his hand. Tully shook it. The grip was surprisingly strong.

“I’m Teddy Finch. This is my wife, Margaret.” Mrs. Finch was tall and willowy, with her silver hair wrapped up in a bun and held with a pin.

Mrs. Finch said, “We are so delighted, Mr. Tully. We have been fans of your painting for many years. You can’t believe what an honor it is to finally meet you!”

Tully introduced Pap and Dave, who now seemed somewhat subdued to be in the company of such a famous person.

Mrs. Finch said, “Come in, come in, please, gentlemen. Teddy will show you into the sitting room and I’ll go fix a pot of tea.” She disappeared into the vast spaces of the house. Tully had expected a butler to appear at any moment, along with a maid in a short black dress and a white frilly apron. Apparently, Finch read the expression on his face. “You’re wondering why two old people are living in this gigantic house alone. It wasn’t so large when we had our five children here and my father and mother, both of whom passed on quite a few years ago. Back then we did have some service people, mostly for my dad to torment—at least that was my opinion at the time—but now it’s just Margaret and me. We prefer it that way, as long as we can do for ourselves.”

Dave took Pap’s hat off his head and handed it to him. The three of them sat down on a couch across from Finch. “What brings you all the way up here, Sheriff Tully? I hope we haven’t broken any laws.”

“Not at all, sir. Actually, the three of us are up here on vacation,” Tully said. “My father here is an amateur gold
prospector and is fascinated by old gold mines. He was wondering if you would give us permission to look around the old Finch Mine.”

“I don’t see why not, as long as you promise not to sue me if you fall down an empty shaft. Seriously, the whole underground system is rotten. There may still be some gold down there, but it would be too expensive to get to. I’m not a miner anyway.”

“Oh, we just want to look around,” Tully said. “My dad lived in one of the houses up there when his dad worked in the mine back in the thirties.”

They went on discussing the mine until Mrs. Finch came in with the tea and some crumb cake. “You all had the good fortune to arrive on one of the few days I happened to do some baking,” she said. “When we’re done with the tea, I want to show you some of the Bo Tully watercolors we have bought over the years. We just love your paintings, Mr. Tully. When are you ever going to give up law enforcement and become a full-time painter?”

“Maybe the next election,” he said. “You never know about voters.”

Finch laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about elections anymore, not with the popularity of the Bo Tully Freezer Day.”

“Oh, that has nothing to do with politics,” Tully said.

“Right,” Finch said, still smiling. “You fellas believe that for a second?” he said to Pap and Dave.

“Not for a second,” Dave said. “Bo may seem lackadaisical,
but he never makes a move without planning it out in detail first. Never ask him to explain anything. He will bore you to death with the details.”

Pap said, “You mind if I have another piece of that crumb cake, Mrs. Finch?”

“Goodness no,” she said. “I’m just delighted you like it so much.”

“As soon as your father finishes with his cake, I’ll show you all around,” Finch said. “Besides Bo Tully paintings we collect a few other things.”

“Oh, show Dave and Bo around, Teddy. Pap and I will just chat. I want to know what he’s been up to since he’s no longer sheriff himself.”

“You remember when I was sheriff?” Pap said.

“I do indeed! Those were such wonderful times, all the gambling and drinking and dancing all night. I remember when you killed those three bank robbers and got shot yourself. You were such a hero! I just loved it all!”

Pap beamed.

Finch took Dave and Bo into a large adjoining room and pointed up to shelves along the walls near the ceiling. The shelves were lined with dozens of baskets and clay pots. “These are mostly from coastal Indians, but the ones in the next room are from interior tribes, the Spokanes and Coeur d’Alenes and some Kootenai and Nez Perce.”

“They’re wonderful,” Dave said.

“They’re mostly Margaret’s doing, but they keep her occupied. Now, step into my den and I’ll show you what interests
me.” He led them into the den, the walls of which were covered with firearms, including a blunderbuss.

Tully pointed at the blunderbuss. “Don’t tell me that’s an original.”

Teddy reached up and took the gun down. He handed it to Tully. “Oh yes, they’re all originals. I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for collecting them. That was the work of my grandfather Jack Finch, but I love looking at them and thinking about where they’ve been and how they were used. No doubt they killed a great many people.”

Tully handed the gun back and Teddy replaced it on the wall. “I’ve never before held that much history in my hands. I could almost feel it flowing through me.”

Teddy nodded. “I get the same feeling myself.”

“What kind of man was your grandfather?” Tully asked.

“I remember him as a tall, handsome man, with a sweeping mustache not unlike your own, Bo. He was always nice to me in his old age, but I guess he was pretty fierce when it came to some others. My father, Theodore, would go pale and start to tremble at the mere mention of his name, and that was after Jack Finch had been dead for a good many years. Jack rode with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. Roosevelt was his hero. Thus the name Theodore for my dad and me.”

Tully looked around at the guns on the wall. “Well, I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Finch, I’ve never seen so many old guns in one room in my entire life!”

“Oh,” said Margaret, coming up behind them, “you should see the basement. It’s crammed full of guns.”

Tully gave her a surprised look. “A basement full of guns?”

“Yes,” Finch said, “but most of them are not nearly so impressive. There might be a few gems down there, but I’ve never worked up the enthusiasm or the energy to sort them out. Almost all the guns came from my grandfather, the ones here and the ones in the basement.”

“All from your grandfather?” Dave asked. “He must have been quite the sportsman.”

“I never knew him well,” Finch said. “But I doubt Jack was much of a sportsman. As I say, my father was scared to death of him.”

“Jack sounds like my kind of man,” Pap said. “My own daddy was sheriff and my grandpap before him. Both of them knew your dad and your granddad, too. They was real men back then.”

Finch nodded. “I think you may be right about that, Mr. Tully.”

Partly to keep Pap from revealing anything more about the family, Tully said, “We shouldn’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Finch. If you will just give us the key to the mine chain, we’ll be on our way.”

“Oh dear,” Finch said. “It has been so long since any of us has been up there, I’m not sure where the key is right at the moment.”

“We got a bolt cutter in the truck,” Pap said. “What say we just snip the padlock off and put another lock on when we leave. We can drop the new key off here when we head home.”

“Bolt cutter?” said Finch. “Why, that’s a good idea.”

• • •

On their way to the Finch Mine, Tully stopped in Angst and did some shopping, including the purchase of a new padlock. He would just as soon Pap had kept his mouth shut about the bolt cutter, but it had probably saved them some time. He returned to the truck and put his purchases under the canopy. Pap and Dave were outside, Pap smoking, Dave leaning against the truck, his hands in his pockets. “You fellows want to grab some lunch, or will that crumb cake and tea hold you ’til supper?”