Trouble at the Red Pueblo (35 page)

“I’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ve got enough money to get to Las Vegas. I figure I might do okay there.”

Spider shook his head. “You’d have a better chance in St. George. Lots of wealthy people come here to retire. Some of them end up widowers and are looking for company. Less competition than in Vegas.”

“But no excitement.”

“Sometimes no excitement is a good thing. By the way, how did you find out about Austin being dead?”

“I drove up to see him Monday, about noon. The place was crawling with cops, and they had yellow tape all over the place. I just kept on going. On the way down I asked at the gate what was wrong. The guy there said somebody had died.”

“Huh.” They’d reached the motel. Spider walked her to her room, took out his phone and tapped an icon. “Can I have you do something for me? Will you call me on your cell phone, so I can have your number in my address book?”

“I’ll just tell it to you,” she said.

He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “I’m so slow at keying in stuff, we’d be here all morning. If you’ll just call me, it will go faster.” He turned the screen, so she could see his number.

She pulled out her cell and punched the buttons. “Not only that, but it eliminates the risk of me giving you a bogus number.”

Spider’s cell rang. He answered it, disconnected, and then added the new contact. “There is that.”

There was also the fact that he had just remembered something that hadn’t registered while he watched her eat breakfast. He wanted her to key in the numbers, so he could test his recollection.

Sure enough, when she tapped in Spider’s number, Tiffany used her left hand.

SPIDER LEFT TIFFANY
at the door to Room 105. He got in the pickup and drove to the city park, pulling over at a shady spot beside the curb, so he could think.

So far, Tiffany was the last person to see Austin alive. Add to that fact her last lover died while they were in a relationship. And, she was left handed. But the wounds on Austin’s head indicated a crime of passion. Talking to Tiffany, it sounded like she was in the throes of love’s first bloom. No discontent there, unless she was a very good actress. But hadn’t LaJean said she was a good actress? Never put a foot wrong, she’d said. Hmm.

Spider took out his phone and dialed Marshal Thayne. He picked up on the second ring.

“Morning, Marshal. I’ve been over here visiting with Tiffany Wendt. I’ve got a couple more things I’d like you to chase down.” Spider waited for him to get something to write on and then went on. “Tiffany was apparently taking care of an older fellow, and he died. Yes, it was in the Modesto area. What I need to know, was there anything suspicious about the fellow’s death? If you talk to Neva, she has a sheet of paper that has the fellow’s name on it. It’s stuff Karam Mansour got for her.”

The marshal said he had something to pass on, and Spider pulled out his notebook and pen. “Go ahead,” he said, jotting down the information as it was given. “So, Wendell was in church all day? Okay, then. Don’t worry about finding out if he was left handed. But if you can get that other information soon, that would be great.”

He rang off and thought some more. Tiffany wasn’t the physical type. Would she expend the energy to beat someone to death? He could see her poisoning someone but battering them with a blunt instrument? And then there was the issue of money. Tiffany couldn’t afford to feed herself, but the police said that Austin had a wallet full of money when he died. They’d ruled out robbery as a motive. Hmm.

The sound of his phone ringing broke his train of thought. He saw it was Laurie and answered it. “Hi, Darlin’. How’s it going?”

“Oh, Spider.” Her voice broke. “It’s not going well.”

“What’s the matter? Tell me.”

There was the sound of her blowing her nose. “We’ve just come back from the doctor. Why don’t they make house calls anymore? It’s cruel and unusual punishment making us drag these poor people out and making them sit in a clinic.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“That he was too sick to be up.” She laughed a damp little laugh. “I knew that, but how was I going to get him seen? Actually, when I got him there, they took him in and let him lie down in one of the examining rooms to wait.”

“Are you sure you want to get back in that harness, Darlin’?”

“What harness? Oh, you mean taking care of someone?” She cleared her throat. “This one isn’t going to go on for years like your mom.”

“Oh? How long?”

Laurie’s answer came out in a breathy whisper. “Days.”

Spider whistled. “Did you mention to the doctor that he drove a horse trailer to Vegas on Sunday?”

“Yes I did. He said that was not unusual, that someone who’s dying does something heroic just before the end. If it’s for someone they care for, it’s like the spirit takes over and does what the body doesn’t have strength to do.”

“Are you home now?”

“Yes. They sent a home health nurse back with me, and we’ve got Jack back to bed. He insists on being on the patio, and that’s fine. They’ve got hospice lined up to help out.”

“How’s he doing?”

Laurie cleared her throat again, and her voice rose in pitch, like she was on the verge of tears. “He’s slipped into something like a coma. It looks like he’s sleeping, but I can’t wake him up to feed him or give him something to drink.”

“Well, Darlin’, I’m sorry you’ve got to carry this load.”

“I’m just glad I can be here to help him. Though people have been lining up at the door with food and other offers to help. They each have a story about how Jack stepped in when they had no way to turn and helped them out.” She blew her nose again. “How are things going there?”

“It’s like one of those ropes with three ends. I’m busy trying to find out which two are really supposed to be there.”

“Well, good luck. I’m back to my nursing.”

“Good luck to you, Darlin’. I’ll be back this evening.”

Spider disconnected and looked at his watch. He was ten minutes away from his appointment with the farrier. He pulled out the business card and keyed the address in. Daisuke would’ve been proud.

The farrier lived just off the highway between Hurricane and LaVerkin in a green little glen surrounded by black basalt cliffs. Spider drove in and pulled around back to where a pickup with
Lucky’s Horseshoeing
on the door sat in front of a barn.

He got out and stood for a moment, wondering where the farrier was. Hearing a door open behind him, he turned. A tall, lean man wearing a leather apron come out the back door with a coffee cup in his hand.

“Mornin’,” Spider said. “I’ve got an appointment. Name’s Spider Latham.”

“Spider, you say? I thought my wife had written it down wrong. I’m Lucky.” He came down the porch stairs and offered his hand. “Coffee?”

Spider clasped the calloused hand. “No, thanks.”

Lucky glanced at Spider’s pickup. “You didn’t bring your horse?”

“I just need to talk. You got a place where we can sit? I won’t take much of your time.”

“I got some chairs under that willow. That do?” Lucky led the way to where two wicker rockers sat on a shady flagstone patio. He sank into one and indicated the other with his coffee cup. “What can I do you for?”

“I’d like to talk to you about a horse with a malformed hoof.”

Lucky nodded. “I seen a few of those.”

“It’s a mare, and it’s her front off-side hoof. It makes it so she throws it out, just a bit.”

Lucky nodded again. “Yeah, yeah. I’d need to see it, but you can help it a lot with the proper shoe.”

“I’m talking about Jack Houghton’s buckskin mare. I believe you order in special shoes for her?”

“I know the horse. Best mannered little mare I seen in a long time. Whoever trained her done a good job.”

“My wife trained her,” Spider said. “We owned her before Jack and had our local man over in Lincoln County shoe her. He didn’t know about the special shoes.”

“That’s Rick Owens? He’s a good man but set in his ways.” Lucky took a sip of his coffee. “You know, I seen another mare just like Jack’s buckskin. Off-side front. Same shape hoof. Came in last week. What day was it? Friday? Yeah, Friday.”

Spider’s heart began to beat and his mouth went dry. “Was it a Palomino?

“Yeah. Owned by a redheaded gal. Said she heard from someone about the special shoes I got for Jack’s buckskin.”

“Is her name Dorrie Coleman?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I’m the one that told her about Jack’s horse, or my wife was, anyway. I wanted to know if she got hold of you.”

“Why’nt you ask her?”

“I was going to, but last time I saw her, she was in the process of moving, and she didn’t remember her new address.”

Lucky cocked his head, eying Spider. “Well, that’s kind of peculiar.”

“Not really. She told me how to get there, sorta, but she didn’t remember the number. I don’t suppose you’ve got it?”

Lucky grimaced. “I’ve got it, but I don’t know that I should give it to you.”

“Under regular circumstances, I’d say so, too, but look.” Spider pulled out his wallet and opened it to his badge. “I’m deputy sheriff over in Lincoln County. I’m not here on county business. I’m just showing you this to let you know I’m not flaky. A mutual friend just died, and I want to go let Dorrie know.”

Lucky raised his cup to his lips and looked at Spider over the rim before taking a sip. “You said your wife trained that buckskin mare?”

“Yeah, she did. Taffy was the second foal born with that deformity. Dorrie’s palomino was the first. When we arrived at the ranch looking to buy a horse, the owner had just put the mother down. He was getting ready to put down the baby, but Laurie talked him out of it. We took her home and raised her on the bottle.”

“Why’d you sell her?”

“Times got hard in Lincoln County.” Spider paused. Would he ever be able to talk about those lean, scraping-by times without his voice going all funny? He cleared his throat. “Jack is Laurie’s cousin. He heard we had to sell Taffy. He bought her.”

Lucky nodded. “Been through times like that myself. Give me a minute.” He stood and walked to the house, disappearing inside the back door.

Spider looked around at the neatly kept place. A small rust-red barn, spiffy with white trim, stood beside a corral. Beyond, he saw rows of pole beans and a stand of corn with yellow tassels looking like sparklers. Hearing Lucky’s approaching footsteps, he turned. “You’ve got a nice looking place, here.”

“My wife sees to it,” Lucky said, handing Spider a piece of paper torn off the back of a used envelope. “Here’s Dorrie’s address. I guess she’s setting up to board horses.”

“Yeah. I haven’t seen her place yet, but she said it’d suit her. Thanks for this.” He shook hands and Spider walked back to his pickup.

As he opened the door, Lucky called to him, “I’m sorry about the friend. It’s good of you to go tell her.”

“She may already know,” Spider said, climbing into the cab. He started the truck and headed back to the highway, muttering to himself, “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

DORRIE SAID HER
place would do her fine, and it looked like it would. A small single wide mobile home sat on the edge of the property, a sop to the necessity of a place to sleep and eat. A line of eight stalls buttressed the left side of a gravel parking area with a barn and hay storage on the center edge and a huge covered arena dominating the right.

When Spider pulled in, Goldie, the palomino, stuck her head out the window of the first stall, and Trey emerged from under the mobile home porch. There was no sign of Dorrie.

Spider parked under a cottonwood tree that shaded the area beside the trailer and got out. He crouched down to greet the three-legged dog as she hopped over to him. Scratching her under the ears he asked, “Where’s your mistress? Where’s Dorrie?”

When Spider stood, Trey hobbled over to a standpipe that had a bone-dry water dish sitting under it. She looked back at him and whined.

“Do you need some water?” Spider walked to the faucet and turned it on, filling the dish. An automatic dog feeder sat under the tree, and Spider noted that there was food in the bottom.

As Trey lapped, Spider put in more water, and over the sound of the splashing, he heard Goldie whicker. He glanced toward the stables and saw her stretching her head toward him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “This doesn’t look good,” he muttered.

He didn’t know whether to go to the horse stall first or try the trailer, but he was betting the horse was thirsty, so he headed for the stable.

Her water trough was dry. This was looking worse and worse.

The outbuilding was plumbed with a faucet in each stall over the trough, so it was a matter of turning on the tap. As water poured down, and Goldie crowded him to get to it, he looked around. Piles of manure littered the sawdust-covered floor, but that could be cleaned later. Spider put several inches of water in the basin and left Goldie sucking it up while he went in search of some hay. He found a bale in the next stall and pulled off a couple of slabs to throw in the mare’s manger.

On his way to the trailer, Spider tried to push away the feeling of dread that hovered over him like a black monsoon thunderhead. As he reached the porch steps, Trey followed him to the top, whining and scratching at the door. “Steady, girl,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right.”