The Blight Way (8 page)

He pressed the talk button. “Copy, Florence. Thanks. Put Barney on.”

Barney's voice came over the radio.

“Hi, Bo!”

“Hi, Barney. What do you need to know?”

“We heard you had a murder up there at Famine. Eliot won't tell me anything.”

“That's what Eliot is supposed to do, not tell you anything. We had three murders in fact. But I can't tell you much over the radio. Give me your cell phone number and I'll call you later.”

Barney gave him the cell phone number.

Tully pulled out his cell phone and called Buck on his.

“You and Susan out at the mining road yet?”

“Just got here.”

“You see a little orange fluorescent ribbon right by the road entrance?”

“No.”

“It's off to the left and up pretty high, about six inches long.”

“Not there, boss.”

“Okay, thanks, Buck.”

“Just thought I'd mention the tape,” Pap said, puffing his skinny little cigarette out the corner of his mouth. “You want me to mention something else?”

Tully nodded, a brief, irritable dip of his head.

“The ambushers had to have some kind of transportation.
It's possible they came in over the mountain and walked in from the other side of the berm. But if they're locals, I don't think they like walking that much. I bet there's a trail back in the woods someplace and they rode ATVs in there, three- or four-wheelers.”

“Possible,” Tully said.

“You probably noticed there wasn't any blood on the trail where they drug out the guy that got hit on the left side of the car. I think they must have rolled him up in a tarp or something. Otherwise there would have been a blood trail. They probably drug him over to the ATVs and hauled him out on one of those. It's not the easiest thing in the world to haul a dead deer on one of those contraptions, and it's even harder to haul a dead man. I suspect some blood may have leaked out on the machine and probably on the trail, too.”

“Find the trail and the machine and we'll check it out,” Tully said.

“Never can tell,” the old man said.

Two state patrolmen were standing next to their cars, which they had used to block the entrance to the road. They were talking to Buck. Susan was sitting in the Suburban.

Tully said to the patrolmen, “You guys see anybody come by and take a piece of fluorescent tape off that tree over there?”

“Matter of fact we did,” said one of the patrolmen. “An old guy in bib overalls. Had on one of those earflap caps. Probably lives in Famine. Said he'd marked the road because he'd killed a deer back in there. I'd recognize him if I saw him again.”

“Deer season doesn't open until next week,” Pap said.

“I suppose,” the officer said. “But folks get confused.”

Tully nodded. About half the population of Famine was old and wore bib overalls. He wasn't sure about earflap caps. He turned to Pap. “You and Buck drive back in the Explorer. Take Susan with you. Lurch should be along pretty quick, too. You might see if you can find that ATV trail while you're waiting.”

“Where you going?”

“To see Vern Littlefield. Not much happens in this part of Blight County he doesn't know about.”

Chapter 11

The half-mile-long driveway from the highway into the Littlefield ranch house was heavily graveled but smooth as a dance floor.

A Super Cub plane was parked in front of a hangar a short ways from the house. Tully could see the nose of a two-engine plane through the open hangar door. The asphalted landing strip stretched away from the hangar and diminished across a hayfield larger than most of the other ranches in the area. A young woman came out onto the porch of the ranch house and watched as Tully walked up.

“You Mrs. Littlefield?” Tully asked.

“I am. Call me Cindy, please. You have to be Sheriff Bo Tully.”

“I am. I heard that old dog Littlefield got married again, but nobody told me he had married a teenager.”

“Thirty-four hard years actually. But I appreciate the compliment.” She laughed. Her voice was husky and
incongruous with her youthful appearance. Now that he was closer, he noticed a tiny scar above the upper lip on the left side of her mouth.

Something he found somewhat sexy was that she was able to move her breasts beneath her white, short-sleeved blouse. He tried not to stare but had never before witnessed anything quite like this. He wondered if possibly Littlefield had found her in a circus sideshow. Suddenly a tiny, furry head poked out of the sleeve of her blouse. Tully jumped.

“I guess you've never seen a ferret before, Sheriff.”

“Never crawling around inside a woman's blouse, I haven't,” Tully said, embarrassed. “I thought maybe you had an unusual talent.”

Cindy laughed. “No, just a ferret. His name's Oscar.”

“So how long have you and Vern been married?”

“About eight months. Nearly eight. I suppose you're here to talk to Vern. Unfortunately, he went elk hunting. I know, I know, he's got six hundred head of cattle driving him to the poorhouse and he goes after an elk. Maybe he can't even stand the sight of beef anymore. Took off sometime yesterday and drove up to his hunting camp. Told Mitchell he'd be back when he got an elk. He's going to be disappointed he missed you. And the murders!”

“Mitchell?” Tully said. “That's your ranch foreman, right?”

“Sort of.”

“You already know about the murders?”

“Not much happens in Famine we don't get to hear about. So when you have three murders in one night,
word gets around pretty fast. Come on in, Bo, and rest a bit. You look a little weary.”

Tully ran his fingers back through his hair to smooth it and said that he didn't mind if he did. The living room was large, with a massive river-stone fireplace dominating one wall. Three-foot-long log sections were stacked alongside, presumably for fuel. The walls were covered with art. In a prominent place above a leather couch was one of Tully's own paintings.

“I assume you're the same Bo Tully who does the watercolors,” Cindy said.

“I am he. Oils, too, when I have the time.”

“Vern and I bought that picture from a gallery the last time we were in Los Angeles. It cost an arm and a leg. Vern's, of course. He moaned for days afterwards.”

Tully smiled modestly. The gallery had somehow neglected to inform him of the sale. He supposed his share of the money was slowly making its way in his direction. He sat down on the couch, its creamy tan leather seeming to envelop him.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Cindy asked.

“Some water would be great.”

Cindy left and returned with a glass of water with ice cubes.

“Thanks, I really needed this,” Tully said. He drank. “So what's this I hear about Vern giving up the cattle business?”

“He's actually doing it. Various meatpacking companies have been coming in and loading up cows. He must be serious. He says he's lost money on cows the last five years. ‘You have an enemy, give him a cow. He'll soon
be bankrupt.' Vern tells that joke to everyone he meets.”

Tully sipped his water. “He fire his cowhands?” he said.

“He's going to, he says. He feels bad about that, too. They've been with him a long time.”

Tully saw out the front window a Blight City ambulance going by out on the highway, probably to pick up the last two bodies.

“It's done,” he said. “Driving into Famine this morning, I met Vern's four ranch hands. They said they'd been fired by Vern's foreman.”

“Why, that's strange. I know Vern intended to do it himself. He was dreading it.”

“Not like Vern to take the easy way out,” Tully said.

“No, it isn't.”

“Any chance I can meet the foreman?”

“Sure. His name is Robert Mitchell. I haven't seen him or the other one around today. They stay at the next house down from here. Vern's parents used to live there. They're even getting their own cook. She's supposed to show up any day.”

“The other one?”

“Yes, Harry Kincaid.”

Tully took out a notebook and wrote down the names.

“Vern seems to take pretty good care of Mitchell and Kincaid. I suppose they're the ones who'll be in charge of the grapes.”

“Grapes?”

“I understood from the old crew that Vern was kicking out the cows and turning the ranch into a vineyard.”

“Vern doesn't discuss his plans much with me,” she said. “But I'd like grapes a whole lot better than I like cows.”

“Me, too,” Tully said. “Anyway, I'll stop back and see if I can talk to Mitchell and Kincaid.”

“Come by anytime,” Cindy said.

“Thanks. Oh, one more thing. My father and I and one of my deputies will be staying up here tonight. I was wondering if we could sleep in your hotel. We have sleeping bags with us.”

“I guess that would be all right. There are some old army cots in some of the rooms.”

“Great,” Tully said. “I appreciate it. By the way, if you hear from Vern, please give me a call.”

“I certainly will. Right now, though, our phones are out. The phone company should be showing up anytime to fix them.”

“Good luck,” Tully said. “Well, I'd better get back to the Last Hope Road. We've got a real mess out there.”

“The Last Hope,” Cindy said. “The Last Hope Canyon is where Vern has his dam. I didn't know that was where those men were killed.”

“Vern has his dam up there?” Tully said.

“Yes, it's about a mile up the canyon. He and his dad built it about thirty years ago, during an energy shortage. He sells the electricity to Central Electric.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Vern and I drove up to it once. We drove over the mountain and down the Last Hope Canyon. The dam is all automatic. Vern monitors it from here. He's got all the gauges and everything in the basement. If something
goes wrong at the dam or someone breaks into the enclosure, an alarm goes off here. The alarm has never gone off, at least not since I've been here.”

“You think Vern would mind if I walked in from the bottom of the canyon and took a look at his dam?”

“I'm sure he wouldn't. I hope you don't think the dam had anything to do with the murders.”

Tully laughed. “No, not at all. I just think it's pretty neat, having your own private dam. If I'm ever able to get out of law enforcement, I might build one of my own.”

“Vern says it's a whole lot less trouble than cows.”

“I'll bet it is,” Tully said. He nodded at the wood stacked by the fireplace. “Vern cut his own firewood?”

“Yes, how else would you ever find logs like that? I can't even lift them. But the fireplace is so big, it seems to require logs.”

On his way out to the Explorer, Tully saw a green pickup truck coming in the driveway. He leaned against his front fender and waited. Two men were in the cab. The truck pulled up across from the Explorer. The light bar and the Sheriff's Department emblem on the Explorer did not appear to please the occupants.

“Howdy,” Tully said. He moseyed over to the open window of the driver. “You must be the fellas who work for Vern. I'm Sheriff Bo Tully.”

“Any problem, Sheriff?” the driver said, frowning, not at all friendly.

“No, none at all, not counting I got three people murdered up north of Famine. Fact is, I just stopped by to visit with Vern, but I hear he's gone off on an elk hunt.”

The men in the truck seemed to relax. The driver reached out and shook hands with Tully. “I'm Robert Mitchell, Vern's foreman. This is Harry Kincaid, my number one guy.” Kincaid stared straight at Tully, his expression unchanging.

“Nice to meet you,” Tully said. “I was just wondering, did Vern ever mention to you when he intended to return from his hunt?”

“Not me,” Mitchell said.

Kincaid continued to stare.

“I guess maybe when he gets an elk,” Mitchell said.

“Thanks anyway,” Tully said. “Good meeting you fellas.”

Tully glanced back at the house. Cindy Littlefield was standing in the window watching. She did not look happy.

Chapter 12