The Night Visitor (22 page)

“Now I lay me down to sleep …”

F
OR ALL HER
big talk about getting up early, Sarah Frank had not been pleased to roll out of her warm bed while it was still pitch-dark outside. Now securely belted into the front seat between Charlie Moon and Daisy Perika, the dark-haired girl rubbed her eyes and yawned.

Daisy Perika, to her nephew's surprise, was in rare good spirits. Disgustingly cheerful, in fact. The old woman was always ready for an outing.

Moon, who had expected to have a hearty breakfast at his aunt's trailer-home, had been fed a hurry-up snack. A single fried-egg sandwich on white bread; a lukewarm cup of coffee.
Instant
coffee. This did not do much to improve his outlook.

They were heading away from Daisy's trailer-home, almost directly east. The greater of the heavenly lights was just rising over the crisp profile of the San Juans. A long crack snaked like a thin rainbow across the laminated glass. This fault—combined with a variety of pits from gravel and a decade of sandblasting—made the Blazer windshield worse than useless
when the sun was looking the driver right in the face. The Ute policeman pulled down the brim of his black Stetson to shade his eyes from the blinding beams that illuminated every pit and crack in the glass. When he turned north at Fosset Gulch Road, the sun wouldn't be so bad. But in the meantime, there was nothing to do but squint. It was not, he assured himself, like he was completely blinded. But if anything much smaller than an elk stepped in front of the Blazer he was dead meat.

What this old bucket of bolts needed. Moon decided, was some new glass. Also a rebuilt V-8. Fresh coat of paint would be nice. Wouldn't hurt to jack it up and install a new transmission, exhaust system, and some new snow tires.

Best solution was to jack it up real high. And drive a brand-new automobile underneath.

Sarah Frank spoke her first words since a hurried breakfast. “I gotta pee.”

Moon pretended not to hear.

“You might as well stop,” Daisy said.

He pulled onto the edge of the rutted lane and set the parking brake.

Sarah unbuckled her seat belt, craned her neck, and made a wary inspection of the barren landscape. “Where's the bathroom?”

Daisy was fumbling with the door handle. “Out there's the world's biggest bathroom,” she chuckled. “All the animals use it, whenever they please.”

“Animals?” Sounded icky.

“Sure. Deer and raccoon and mice.”

Sarah frowned.
And woolly bears and cobra snakes and red-eyed lizards.

Daisy pushed the door open and pointed. “Hurry now—right over there's a nice little bush you can hide behind.”

A chill gust of wind blew dust into the patrol car.

Sarah shivered and glanced up at Moon. “It's all right, Charlie. I don't have to go now.”

He rolled his eyes, put the Blazer into gear, and eased back into the most prominent set of ruts. And for a few moments things were peaceful.

Nothing lasts.

With no warning, a very loud disembodied Voice called out:

“Charlie Moon. You there?”

The little girl, startled by this sudden query from nowhere, screamed. “Ieeeeeee …” This outburst emptied all the lobes of both her lungs. She inhaled. “Who… who was that?”

“Who was what?” Moon responded innocently.

Daisy patted the child's hand. “Don't fret, Sarah. It was just the police radio.” She shot her nephew a scowl. “Charlie shouldn't have it turned up so loud.”

“Oh,” Moon said, “the radio.” He twisted the volume knob, then reached for the microphone. “Moon here. What is it, Nancy?”

The dispatcher's voice was crisp and clear. “Charlie… or can I be so informal? You want me to call you Deputy Chief of Police now?”

“‘Your Excellency' will do,” Moon said dryly.

“Okay by me. Soon's you have time, Your Excellency—check with Daniel Bignight. He's waitin' on three.”

“Understand. G'bye.” He turned the channel selector button on the obsolete Motorola radio. All the other SUPD patrol cars had fancy computer-control consoles. Moon was determined to keep his life simple. “Daniel—this is Charlie.”

The response was almost immediate. “Mornin', Charlie. I'm here at Capote Lake.”

“Good for you. What's up?”

“Abandoned vehicle. On tribal land.”

Moon frowned. Why was Daniel Bignight bothering him with an AV report? Probably it was listed as stolen and the young officer was eager to tell his supervisor about the coup he'd counted. Or maybe there was a body in the vehicle. Or maybe Daniel was lonely and wanted someone to chat with. One way to find out. Moon pressed the mike button. “Tell me about it.”

“I got a 1973 Dodge pickup. Arkansas plates. Some empty Coors cans in the cab.” He read off the license number. “And it's registered to a Horace Milchester Flye.”

Moon smiled. Milchester? Mr. Flye had not listed a middle name for the arrest report. “Is there a camping trailer hooked to this truck? Or parked nearby?”

“Nope.” There was a pause. “No trailer I can see.”

“And no sign of the owner?”

“Nope. But the pickup's unlocked, key's in the ignition. Hood feels cold, so I guess it's been here for at least a coupla hours.”

“Sit on it, Daniel. I've got a delivery to make. If Flye shows up, give him a breath test, and notify me. If I don't hear from you, I'll come by and have a look. So just relax. Take a coffee break.”

There was a smile in the amiable Pueblo man's voice. “Ten-four, Charlie. I'm already breakin' out the thermos and the donuts.”
It'd be nice if those rumors about Roy Severo's retirement plans were on the up and up. Charlie Moon would make a good chief of police. And he'd sure be an easier guy to work for.

Moon hung the microphone onto the dashboard mount.

Daisy frowned over the child's head at her nephew. “What's that all about?”

He shrugged under his sheepskin jacket. “The abandoned pickup belongs to a guy who works for Nathan McFain. At the mammoth excavation. Sounds like he parked by the lake, had a few beers, then wandered off to relieve himself. I expect he saw Bignight's police cruiser show up and decided to stay outta sight till Daniel leaves. But it's pretty chilly weather, so Flye'll probably show up before Daniel finishes his sack of donuts.” The Arkansas man had left his truck on Southern Ute property, but the trailer was probably still at the McFain ranch. Which was not in Moon's jurisdiction. Might be a good time to notify the state police. Something had to be done. A child deserved more parental attention than the little girl was getting …

“Now I
really
gotta pee,” Sarah said.

Moon could see the humpy silhouette of the Flye trailer as soon as he turned into Nathan's driveway and passed under the long sign which advised the hopeful dude that he (or she) had arrived at McFain's haven for city folk who craved to experience the thrill of the wild West with the added benefit of microwave ovens and satellite television
(149 CHANNELS
, the sign said in small print).

Nathan McFain's pickup was parked by the long front porch. There was a thin coating of frost on the windows. Vanessa's Chevy van was in its customary spot under a bushy willow. So Nathan's skinny daughter had managed to stay with her father for more than a week. Moon smiled. Must be a strain on the both of 'em.

The Ute policeman had intended to drive directly up to the ridgetop RV camp and check to see whether the Flye trailer was occupied. And if the child was there, make sure she was okay. But parked beside a cabin called O-K Corral was the familiar red Volvo. And exiting from the Corral was his best friend. Moon slowed the Blazer; he pushed a button to lower the window.

“Hey, Mr. Chief of Police,” he called, “ain't you a little ways outta your jurisdiction?”

Scott Parris, who had been about to open the Volvo trunk, turned and smiled. “Hiya, Charlie.” He saw Daisy Perika hunched up in the Blazer. The old woman had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Parris nodded respectfully at the tribal elder.

She nodded back. This
matukach
was a pretty nice fellow. For a crazy white man who'd once shot a big hole through her roof.

Moon got out to shake his friend's hand. “What brings you here?”

“Anne. She's writing an article about the mammoth bones.” “Oh,” Moon said with a raised eyebrow. Well, this was cozy.

“I'm in the O-K Corral,” Parris said with a rueful grin. “She's next door.”

“Oh.” Moon said again. “You two really ought to get married.”

“We have an… arrangement.” “Yeah?”

“We'll get hitched soon as she pops the question. Unless I'm too old by then.”

Moon regretted raising the subject. Scott Parris had proposed to the beautiful woman last year. She'd turned him down flat. Something about a former marriage. A macho husband
who liked to use his fists on women. She'd gone down for the count and wasn't quite ready for another round. “So you came along to keep her company.”

“It's my day off.” Parris noticed the child in the SUPD Blazer. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah. Sarah Frank. She's staying with Aunt Daisy for a while.”

Parris smiled at the little girl. “I bet she wants to see the bones.”

“You got it.”

“Why don't you guys come inside. We'll fix you some breakfast.”

Now this sounded interesting. Especially after what little Aunt Daisy had provided. He looked up the ridge toward the RV park. “What's on the menu?”

Parris, who was familiar with his buddy's preference for deep-fried food, glanced toward his girlfriend's cabin to hide a grin. “Anne brought some cereal. Skim milk. Strawberry yogurt. Texas-Red grapefruit.”

“Uh… thanks anyway, pardner. Matter of fact, I already had something to eat this morning. At Aunt Daisy's.”

“Then at least come and say good morning to my main squeeze.”

“That'll be a pleasure.”

Charlie Moon left his aunt and the little girl in the company of Scott Parris and Anne Foster. Someone had to check on Horace Flye's small daughter. There was a sinuous but inviting path leading up the hill through the piñon grove, so he parked the SUPD Blazer in a graveled lane that wound around behind Anne's cabin. And began the long walk.

Butter Flye, who had watched the arrival of the black police car with considerable interest, put the binoculars aside when she saw Wuff coming up the path. Being lonesome for company, she was quite pleased that the tall man was headed for the trailer. He must be coming to visit her—there was nobody else up here. But the others in the party were of more interest to the child. She wondered who the little black-haired girl
was. Was Wuff her daddy? And the old lady who walked with a stick and was all bent over. Maybe she was Wuff's mamma. Whoever they were, they must be friends of the other man and the pretty red-haired lady because the old bent-over woman and the red-haired lady had hugged and then the red-haired lady hugged the little black-haired girl. Like a big, happy family. Probably all of them lived in nice little white houses with lots of grass and trees.

The policeman was halfway up the hill when he heard the sound of an engine. It was Nathan McFain's pickup. The old man wasn't leaving the ranch, though. He was making his way up the long graveled road that ascended the hogback. So maybe Nathan was paying a call on Horace Flye. Or thought he was.

Even with the tall man's long stride, the pickup got to the RV park well ahead of him. When Moon topped the ridge, Nathan—oblivious to the policeman's approach—was eyeing the camp-trailer. Moon slowed his pace. Nathan evidently realized that if the pickup was gone, Flye was gone with it. The rancher muttered something Moon couldn't hear, then reached for the doorknob.

Moon was two yards behind him when he spoke. “Good morning.”

Nathan jumped like he'd been stung by a wasp. He whirled to face the voice. “What?”

Moon grinned. “Sorry I spooked you, Nathan. I guess Flye didn't show up for work, huh?”

“Well… no. And they need him at the tent. Thought I'd come up here and see what's keepin' him.”

The policeman pointed out the obvious. “Looks like his pickup's gone.”

“Yeah. Maybe it broke down somewheres. Flye's old Dodge is a real pile of junk. Not worth runnin' off a cliff.”

Nathan was in a nasty mood. Maybe he was still unhappy about the process server. And the court-ordered land survey that might give the Utes a few yards of his pasture. And a piece of the mammoth excavation. “Daniel Bignight found Flye's pickup parked over at Capote Lake. But maybe his daughter's at home.”

McFain's jaw dropped. “Daughter? But… but he lives by himself.”

“That what he told you?”

“Well, he never exactly said but …” The realization gradually grew in the old man's eyes. “That sneaky little son of a bitch. I told him up front I'd have to charge him extra for the RV hookup if he had anybody with him. I was square with him, and the little bastard played me for a sucker.”

Moon saw a small face appear in a window. When he made eye contact, the face was quickly withdrawn. Butter had evidently been told that she must not be seen by the landlord. “She's not big enough to make much of a difference. Let's see if I can arrange an introduction. You and her may get along just fine.”

McFain turned on his heel and waved off the suggestion. “I don't want to meet no kin of Horace Flye's. When he gets back here, his ass is fired. And he'll have an hour to clear out. You see him before I do, you tell him that.” The rancher cranked up his shiny pickup and roared away.

Moon, who remembered his last experience with this child all too well, tapped somewhat tentatively on the sloping roof of the beetle-shaped trailer.