Hocus Croakus (27 page)

“I thought you were waiting for someone,” Judith said, her voice still sounding strange. “What happens to Dale after he gets the chests out? Does he end up with G. D. Fromm?”

“I never look too far ahead,” Doc replied. “It's like practicing medicine. I perform one procedure at a time.” With a quick motion, he took Judith by the arm. His grip was firm, but not painful. “There was no bloodshed,” he said quietly. “Not that I'm squeamish about blood. I can't be, in my profession. By tomorrow, there will be no body. There's still enough suction in the bog to make sure no one ever finds a corpse.”

Judith didn't take in all of Doc's last few words. She was standing by the very spot where she'd almost lost her life a half century earlier. Surely she wasn't going to die in her family property's quicksand bog.

“How did G. D. get here tonight?” she asked. “I didn't see his car.”

“I brought him earlier this evening,” Doc answered. “He wanted to make sure the chest had been exposed. When I walked from home now, I was startled to find you here. I hoped you'd cooperate and leave.”

Judith assessed Doc's physical condition. He was at least seventy, but appeared to be in excellent shape—certainly better than she was with her artificial hip. It would be useless to run. Panic overcame her.

Doc recognized the change. He had pulled something out of his jacket pocket, but Judith couldn't see what it was. “Enough,” he said, sounding gruff. He twisted Judith's arm behind her, turning her back to
him. His other arm wrapped around her neck. As pressure was applied, Judith began to gasp for breath. Then she felt a plastic bag being slipped over her head. The kicks and scratches she aimed at Doc glanced off harmlessly. She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe. She could taste the plastic on her tongue. She was going to die.

“Greed,” said a nearby voice, “breeds violence. And murder is the ugliest of sins against nature.”

Judith felt Doc's grasp on her neck ease off ever so slightly.

“You don't understand,” Doc said, his voice lacking its usual calm. “It's a game. It's part of the joke we all played on her. Everything's been a joke, hasn't it?”

“No, no.” The pitying laugh came from Bob Bearclaw, who was standing a few feet away. Through the filmy plastic, Judith could see that he was unarmed, yet his very presence exuded power. “This is no joke,” Bob said. “Please remove that bag. The poor lady can't breathe.”

After a moment's hesitation, Doc obeyed. Judith staggered, holding her throat and gasping for air. She stumbled as far as she could from Doc, finally bracing herself against a young alder tree.

Doc put the plastic bag into his pocket. “It doesn't matter what you see, really,” he said, regaining some of his composure. When the hand came out of the pocket, it held a gun. “I swear, Bob, I don't want to do this. But I must.”

Bob shook his head sadly. “No.”

From the shadows of the salmonberry bushes and sword ferns, Jack Jackrabbit and Emily Dancingdoe appeared from their hiding places near the gate. They each held a Colt .45 semiautomatic.

“I hope,” Bob said, “that Jack and Emily will only wound you. But they're in law enforcement, and duty bound. Please drop your weapon, Dr. Engelman. Don't turn this into yet another tragedy.”

From six feet away, Judith swore she could hear Doc's teeth grinding. By chance, she glanced from Engelman to Bob Bearclaw. Judith didn't see Doc aim at Jack and pull the trigger.

The bullet grazed Jack, who sank down on one knee. Before Doc could fire again, Emily shot him through the heart.

The noise and the flashes sent Judith sprawling on the ground. She could smell the damp earth, but it was marred by a more acrid odor.
The gunfire,
she thought. Maybe she should stay where she was and wait for everything awful to go away.

As if from a great distance, she heard movement and voices. Emily was on a cell phone, requesting emergency vehicles. There was no rush, she added.

Judith felt someone touch her shoulder. She looked up. Bob Bearclaw was kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“I'm a wreck,” Judith admitted. “You followed me?”

“Emily and Jack followed Doc,” Bob replied. “They parked across the road, at the auto court. We'd heard about Dale Armstrong's work crew pulling out. We've been aware of what's been going on here. Mr. Fromm wasn't very discreet, especially when he'd been drinking. We thought something was going to happen here this evening. When Jack and Emily saw your car, they alerted me, so I drove down. I arrived just as Doc tried to smother you, though you were never in any real danger. Jack and Emily were hiding by the gate. They were waiting to see if he'd make a move that would incriminate him.”

“Goodness. I wish I'd known that,” Judith said as Bob helped her sit up. “Did you believe G. D. Fromm had been killed?”

Bob surveyed Judith to make sure she hadn't suffered any serious physical damage. “Not necessarily. We believed the treasure chests would be removed tonight before the construction crew started asking questions. Their pay would stop with the job incomplete.”

Judith allowed Bob to help her stand up. Except for a very sore neck, she felt almost human. She gazed at the bog, though avoided looking at Fromm's body. “I can't believe there's gold on our property.”

Bob smiled. “There isn't.”

Judith turned swiftly. “There isn't? You mean those chests are empty?”

“No, no.” Bob's smile became ironic. “They're full of gold. But they're not on your property. They never were.”

Judith was flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever noticed how the highway takes a slight bend by the bog?” He saw Judith nod, though she still looked confused. “The road was built around it because of the swampy ground. The Stillasnowamish owned this land, and when it was sold to your family, it was surveyed in a straight line, allowing for six feet on each side for future highway expansion. You may recall that when you were young, the road was gravel. After the war, it was widened and resurfaced. Thus, the bog has always been owned by our tribe. We knew it was unlikely that the Grover clan would ever dig in that swampy area. It was a dangerous place. But last week, when we heard that something odd was going on, our tribal attorney wrote you a letter to inform you that the bog was off-limits as far
as your building plans were concerned. I gather you never received the notification.”

Judith thought back to the mail that had piled up since she'd left for the resort. No doubt the letter was in the stack on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, dear.” she sighed. “You're right. I was so involved with the renovations at home that I didn't open Saturday's mail. And Monday's hadn't come before we headed out of town.”

Bob shrugged. “No matter. Now you know.”

“So what are you going to do with the gold?” Judith inquired, still trying to sort through Bob's revelation.

More vehicles were pulling up alongside the road. Judith could see that one of them was an ambulance. Bob glanced in that direction, then turned back to Judith. “We also own a hundred feet of property next to you, upriver. I considered leaving the treasure where it is. After all,” he added with a droll expression, “the resort casino is our real gold mine. But other tribes aren't so fortunate. We can help them with our long-buried treasure. In exchange, we'll deed you the property that includes the bog and the other hundred feet from river to road.”

“Oh!” Judith smiled a bit tremulously. “That's very generous. But are you sure?”

Bob nodded. “Yes, quite sure.”

Judith stared briefly at Bob. “You seem to have a great deal of influence around here. And not just with the members of the Stillasnowamish tribe.”

“You mean,” Bob remarked wryly, “for a mere doorman?”

Judith was caught off guard. “Well—not exactly. That is…”

Bob smiled. “I
am
a mere doorman. I'm also the tribal chief.”

Dale Armstrong and his four-by-four arrived just as Bob was about to escort Judith back to the hotel. Abbott N. Costello showed up a minute later and promptly arrested Armstrong.

“Do you think Doc would have killed Dale after they got the gold out?” Judith asked Bob as Costello put the cuffs on the contractor.

“I'm afraid so,” Bob replied. “Doc didn't seem to want to share.”

A decision was made that Emily would drive the Subaru back to the resort. Bob felt it best that Judith didn't get behind the wheel until she'd had more time to recover. G. D. Fromm's body would be removed as soon as possible. Judith avoided looking at the bog as they started for the gate. But she couldn't ignore Doc Engelman's body. It had been covered with a Native-American blanket depicting eagles and elk and rainbow trout.

Judith admired the tribe's respect for the dead. But the beautifully crafted blanket didn't seem right. As far as she was concerned, Engelman should have been covered in cheap plastic.

 

When Bob Bearclaw showed up with Judith on his arm, Joe couldn't believe his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked in astonishment as he rose from his place next to Bill at the baccarat table. “Did you fall down again?”

“Sort of,” Judith replied in a lame voice.

Renie, who had been watching the husbands, scrutinized her cousin. “You look terrible. And your clothes are a mess.”

Bob suggested that they all go up to Pancho's office. When the whole story was unraveled, Joe was aghast,
Renie was incredulous, and even Bill's usual stoic facade was severely cracked.

“I should have known,” Joe declared, holding his head. “You just had to come up against a killer and damned near get yourself whacked.” He stared hard at Judith. “But no more. You've lost the bet.”

For now, Judith didn't care. “I just want to go to bed and sleep until noon. We'll sort everything out tomorrow, including Bob's offer.”

Joe agreed. After offering more thanks to Bob, the Flynns headed up to their room. When they got into the elevator on the second floor, Gertrude and Aunt Deb were already there. Neither of the old ladies had any idea of what had happened at the family property. Nor would they have to know, at least not now.

“Say, Toots,” said Gertrude to her daughter, “you look like the pigs ate your little brother. What did you do, walk into a wall?”

“Now, Gert,” Aunt Deb reprimanded, clutching a crystal trophy with the words “Most Outstanding Participant” etched on it, “don't be so hard on Judith. She's just a bit clumsy, like her poor old auntie.”

“Yeah?” Gertrude snapped. “That's how you ended up in a wheelchair, isn't it? At least I never broke
my
hip.”

“You still can't walk very well,” Aunt Deb replied in an amiable tone, “or else you wouldn't be riding around in a wheelchair, too. We should thank the good Lord that we're still around.”

The elevator stopped at their floor.

“Maybe the good Lord doesn't want us,” Gertrude said. She glanced at Deb. “Race you to the room.”

“You're on,” Deb responded.

The two old girls went charging down the hall. Judith smiled. Joe merely shook his head.

It was almost eleven o'clock before Judith and Joe woke up the next morning. They had breakfast in their room and were just finishing when the phone rang.

It was Pancho Green, asking if Judith would be willing to attend a press conference in about an hour.

“Who called it?” Judith asked with a frown.

Pancho made a grumbling noise at the other end of the line. “Not us. Not even the Mandolini bunch, although they're certainly going to use the staged murders as publicity.”

“Then who?” Judith persisted.

“You can't expect a murder, a shoot-out with a killer, and a treasure trove
not
to make the news,” Pancho reasoned.

“Come on, don't be coy,” Judith retorted. “Who?”

Pancho's sigh was audible. “Sheriff Abbott N. Costello.”

Judith held her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

“He claims it all happened under his jurisdiction,” Pancho said.

Judith tried to ignore Joe's inquisitive expression. “Tell Sheriff Costello that I'm indisposed. Tell him I've got mumps. Tell him good-bye.”

“But he told us he'd like to meet the famous Fatso,” Pancho said.

“He already has,” Judith replied and hung up.

 

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Joe insisted that Judith stay in bed and recover from her ordeal. She'd objected at first, but finally gave in. She was worn out, and her hip was bothering her. She wasn't surprised that she took two long naps during the afternoon. When she finally woke, it was after seven
P
.
M
.

Joe was watching a basketball game with the TV sound off. He got up from the armchair when he heard Judith call his name.

“How are you?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Would you like to eat here or join Bill and Renie in the Johnny-Jump-Up Room? They have seven-thirty reservations, and we have a free meal, remember?”

Judith waited a moment to clear the fog of sleep from her head. “It's our last night. We've got to do something festive. It won't take me long to get ready.”

The Flynns arrived in the restaurant by seven-forty. Renie and Bill were already there, seated away from the windows, which offered a panoramic view. Bill didn't like heights. And Renie apparently couldn't see. She was wearing dark glasses and a glum expression.

“Oh, no,” Judith exclaimed, “has your chronic corneal dystrophy come back?”

Every couple of years, Renie suffered a recurrence, but she usually wore an eye patch to speed her recovery. “No,” she snapped, yanking off the glasses. “That awful woman I keep running into gave me a black eye.”