“He’s a nobody. Trouble. A waste of time. Best you just forget all about him.” Abner waved his hand dismissively. “No good old coot.”
“But who is he? Did he work there?”
“Work there? Ha! Arthritic old buzzard couldn’t work a slide rule, let alone real work. No, you just forget about him.”
“Where does he live?”
Abner looked up to the heavens as if to ask what sin he was being punished for with my incessant questions.
“Lives in an old shack. About five miles from Silver Bend. If you stand behind Mrs. Watson’s old cabin and look straight ahead, his cabin’s up on the little hill you can see. Course, you’ll need a clear day. If the wind whips up the dust, you won’t see jack. Don’t worry ‘bout him though. He’s nobody. Just pokes his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“And he didn’t have any disagreements with Mrs. Watson?” I asked to confirm.
“Nope.”
Abner clearly didn’t want to talk about this Eagle-Eye Bill guy any more than he had already. It didn’t mean I didn’t want to talk to him though. It would be interesting to hear Bill’s take on Abner, for one thing.
The chair I was sitting on wasn’t very comfortable, and I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees to give my back a rest.
“Were you pleased about her development at Silver Bend?”
“Pleased? Why would I be?”
“It would bring new people to the area. Revive the old town. Bring in some tourism. There could be new opportunities.”
Abner snorted. “New opportunities? What would I want with them at my age? And tourists. I prefer the coyotes.”
“So you weren’t happy about what Mrs. Watson was doing?” I asked curiously.
“Not overly, no.”
“Then why were you helping her?” Ian asked. “You were her sole employee, weren’t you?”
“I was. The way I saw it, she was going to do what she wanted out in Silver Bend. I figured I could either let her hire someone else to help her, or I could join her. Help guide her. Make sure it didn’t get too commercial.”
“What kind of guidance did you give her?”
“Told her not to put in electricity. Told her to put up them cabins instead of wrecking the old town itself.” He shrugged to himself as he rocked. “I just didn’t want her ruinin’ the place. Tried to keep it as authentic as possible.” He lowered his voice a little. “And I hoped to keep out some of the tourists. Thought the lack of comforts would put ‘em off.”
“Did you get along with Mrs. Watson?” Ian asked.
“As well as any man could.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “She was a tough old bird, Mrs. Watson. I didn’t mind that. I’m a bit of one myself, truth be told. Others don’t like it though. That’s probably what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of them youngsters must have taken what she said the wrong way. Stuffed up her chimney for a prank. That’s what I think happened. Probably didn’t mean to kill her. But they did.”
“Did you see anyone do that? Where did you go after you locked up the saloon?”
Abner chuckled softly. “I locked up, then I rode home. From here to there is an easy ride. Got a trail out back which goes right there. That’s why I don’t drive. Horse’ll get ye there quicker.”
“I don’t suppose you live with anyone else, do you?”
Abner just laughed, not even bothering to answer. Of course he lived alone. And that meant he had no alibi for the evening, unlike most of the guests.
“You think I’d be climbing up on that roof in the middle of the night? At my age?”
While I hadn’t suggested it, it was clear he knew what we were driving at. I had to admit it did seem unlikely that an old guy like him would be climbing on roofs in the dark. But it wasn’t entirely out of the question.
“No, Abner, of course not. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. What did you actually do for Mrs. Watson? What was your day-to-day schedule like?”
“Well first, we didn’t have no schedule. Never been for ‘em. In school, they used to call me Absent Abner ‘cause I never went. What happened is Mrs. Watson would ask me to do something, and if I could, I’d do it. If I couldn’t, I’d let her know. We didn’t follow no schedule.”
“So what kind of things did you do?”
“Fixed it up. That saloon? It was in a state. I fixed the chairs, sanded down the bar, re-hung the signs, put in new nails to hang the lanterns, cleaned the whole place. Not just there, other things too. Made the town look like, well, like you saw it. Run down, but not a wreck, if you know what I mean.”
“Carefully managed dilapidation?”
“Somethin’ like that. The furniture in your cabins? I made all of it.”
As far as I recalled, the only furniture in our cabin apart from the bed had been a single chair, much like the one I was sitting on now.
“You mean the chairs?”
“Yep. All handmade by me. For Mrs. Watson’s cabin too.”
“And it was just the two of you?”
“Yep. Said she was going to start interviewing soon. She wanted herself a chef, and someone to handle the bookings, and someone to serve in the saloon. Ideally all the same person.” Abner laughed to himself. “Or a couple.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me? I’d still be there. Fixin’ what needs fixin’. Doin’ what needs doin’. There was plenty to keep me busy. Still is.”
“Bored!”
We all looked at Angel, who promptly hopped off of Ian’s lap.
“You want a carrot?” Abner asked, leaning toward her.
“No!”
Abner shrugged. “Suit yourself.” A carrot was clearly the beginning and end of treats he kept in stock for visiting children.
“How about going to see a ghost town?”
Angel froze, staring at me with her eyes wide open. “Ghosts?”
I grinned at her. “No ghosts, but a ghost town.”
“Okay!”
“Thanks for your time, Abner. We’re going to go poke around Silver Bend some more. If you think of any information that might be of use, please give me a call.” I handed him one of my business cards, which he took and looked at with interest.
“Good luck. I’m telling you it was one of them kids pulling a prank. I’d bet money on it.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks for your time.”
“Take care,” Ian said as we walked back to the car.
We left Abner out on his porch, slowly rocking back and forth in his old chair while he watched the world go by. Or not go by, as it was out there.
It took almost half an hour to get from Abner’s house back to Silver Bend by road, and I figured he was right about it being much quicker by horse. We had to drive all the way back to the highway, down it a few miles, and then back down the longer, even bumpier road to Silver Bend.
During the journey, Ian tried to explain to Angel what a ghost town was, but she was a little too young to fully appreciate the intricacies of nineteenth-century economic pressures that her uncle tried to convey.
“Ghosts?” she asked again for the dozenth time.
Ian gave up. “Maybe,” he answered with a slightly disappointed sigh.
Angel whimpered and grabbed onto him tight.
“Ian will look after you,” I called to her from the front seat. “He’ll protect us all. Won’t you, cowboy?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Should I take your gun?”
“No.”
“Pow! Pow!” Angel shouted.
“Exactly,” Ian said.
We pulled up in the parking area on the edge of the town near the cabins. Although mine had been the only vehicle last time I arrived, there was an even stronger sense of abandonment than what I’d felt the first time. Now the ghost town felt like a ghost town.
We got out of the car, and Angel walked between Ian and me, ho
lding hands with both of us and looking around warily as if a spirit or ghoul might pop out at any moment.
We walked over toward the cabins. I couldn’t think of anywhere better to look, or anywhere else to search for clues.
The last time we’d been by the cabins, there had been three different government agencies present, all doing their own poking around. Apart from those first few minutes in the cabin before we left to contact the authorities, I hadn’t had the chance to have a good look myself.
Horrible Nanna’s cabin had police tape wrapped around its perimeter. We stopped in front of the building, and I tried to look at it with fresh eyes.
It was a simple wooden building. At the front were three steps which led up to a wrap-around porch, upon which sat a rocking chair and a couple more high-backed chairs like we’d seen at Abner’s. There were two windows in front looking out, but both of them were still sooty from all the smoke on the night of the incident.
“Ghost house?” Angel asked quietly.
“Kind of,” Ian said.
Angel squeezed our hands tighter and whimpered again.
“Don’t worry. There aren’t any ghosts. And even if they were, they’d be friendly ones, not scary ones. Wouldn’t they Ian?”
Ian frowned. “Friendly ghosts? Really? Surely most ghosts are angry spirits seeking vengeance on the living…”
“Ian!”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” He crouched down next to Angel. “Friendly ghosts. Super friendly.”
Ian stood up again, and the three of us contemplated the cabin some more. Just as I was about to walk up to the cabin, we were interrupted by a yell that made us all whimper.
“Hey!”
I squeezed Angel’s hand and turned around. Staring at us from a few dozen yards away was a wild-eyed, wild-bearded old man clutching a rifle in one hand and a telescope in the other. Covering part of his face was a black eyepatch.
He began to walk toward us with a heavy limp. I felt Angel squeeze my hand again.
“Pirate ghost?”
Chapter Fourteen
As the man got closer, Ian let go of Angel’s hand and put both arms up into the air. Angel giggled, and copied him, sticking her arms up beside him. I stared at the pair of them and shook my head.
“Are you Eagle-Eye Bill?” I asked him as he approached.
“What?” he asked, way too loudly. He was clearly deaf.
“Eagle-Eye Bill! Is that you?”
“No need to shout,” he shouted. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Detective Tiffany Black. We’re here investigating what happened on the weekend.”
He halted in front of us. “Horrible business. Murder!”
“Yeah? Know who did it?” I asked him slowly and loudly.
“Old Abner, wasn’t it?” he asked, as if it should have been obvious.
“Why do you say that?”
“What?”
“I said—”
“Hold on!” Bill raised a hand and reached toward his ear and adjusted something. “There. I’m all switched on now. What were you asking?”
With his hearing now fully functional, I lowered my voice to a level more suitable for a professional detective rather than a wrestling announcer.
“Why do you say that it was Abner that killed her?”
“Who else would it be? None of them kids would have any reason to hate her, right? And I doubt you did it, either. Stands to reason that it was Abner. He was the one who was here every day. He was the one who hated her.”
I blinked. There was a lot to unpack in what he’d just said. Starting with why he would say it wasn’t me.
“Did you see me on Saturday?”
“Sure. Sunday too.”
“But we didn’t see you,” Ian said with some consternation. “Where were you?”
Bill tucked his telescope into his belt and then grabbed Ian by the arm. “C’mere.”
Angel and I followed behind Bill as he led Ian behind Horrible Nanna’s cabin. He halted at the back and then pointed into the distance where a small hill rose out of the desert.
“My place is up there.” He pulled the telescope back out of his waist and waved it in front of Ian’s face. “I keep watch on things. Make sure there’s no trouble.”
“You were watching us from all the way out there?”
“Yep.”
“And you could recognize me at that distance?” I asked in skeptical surprise.
He shook his head. “Naw. Too far to recognize faces. But you can recognize shapes.”
I frowned at that. I didn’t like to be reminded that I had a shape. “And you recognized mine, did you?”
He stuck out his telescope and poked my tote bag with it. “Sure did. Always got this bag hanging off your arm. Easy enough.”
And now for the million-dollar question.
“Did you see someone climb onto Horr—Mrs. Watson’s cabin roof and stuff up the chimney?”
Bill laughed, a throaty chuckle that sounded like he’d been smoking cigars or pipes longer than I’d been alive.
“Naw.”
“But you think it was Abner? May I ask why?”
Bill looked me over, as if sizing up whether it was worth explaining to me. “You met him?”
“Yes, of course. In fact, we were just at his house.”
Bill turned his head and spat into the dirt. “House? More like a shack. And that’s how he likes it. Abner’s an odd character. A real loner. Stays out there in that house of his barely socializing with anyone.”
I glanced back in the direction of Bill’s own secluded home, which, even only being able to make out a vague outline, I suspected was just as shack-like as Abner’s.
“And you think he hated Mrs. Watson?”
“I don’t think he hated her. I think he hated what she represented. What she was doing. I think he liked her just fine, but he didn’t like her as much as he hated the idea of bringing tourists out to Silver Bend.”
“But why?” Ian asked.
“Yeah, why?” Angel echoed, looking up to Ian for approval, which she got in the form of a nod.
Bill laughed at the little girl’s antics.
“Abner liked things the way they always were. Quiet. He didn’t want tourists coming here, hootin’ and hollerin’ all night long. I mean, I agree with him—who wants that?—but times they are a-changin’, am I right?”
“Right,” I said simply to get him to continue.
“Abner was really against it. He didn’t want that big city way of life coming out here and ruining everything.”
“Big city way of life?”
Bill waved his telescope at the cabins. “Look at ‘em all, crowded in right on top of each other. Not even enough room to breathe.”
If this was crowded, I wondered what he would think of my apartment building in Las Vegas.
“And you think Abner was so annoyed by this he killed Mrs. Watson?”
Bill shrugged. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was deliberate.”
“Do you have any evidence?” Ian asked.
“Yeah! Ever dense!” said his little protege.
“Nope. But explain this’n. Why was Abner always sabotaging the renovations? There’s a reason it took so long to get everything ready, and that reason is Abner. And now, everything’s finally ready for a grand opening, and what happens? Why poor old Mrs. Watson dies. Is that a coincidence?”
“What do you mean he sabotaged the renovations? How do you know?”
Bill waved his telescope at me. “Told you, I keep a watch. Make sure nothing bad’s going on. I saw him. Used to be an old water tower just down the street there, at the other end of town. He knocked the whole thing over while he was pretending like he was trying to fix it. Trashed it. Mrs. Watson’s got to get a well dug now.” He paused. “She would have, anyway, but that water tower was a nice little landmark.”
“That’s very useful information, Bill. Is there anything else you can tell us about anything here?”
He slowly looked around the cabins and then down Main Street.
“Nope. Told you all you need to know. It was Abner what did it, sure as day is day and evening’s night.”
“Thank you for your time,” Ian said politely.
“Thank you!” Angel yelled, waving at Bill as if to shoo him off.
Bill limped off back across the parking area to the edge of town. When he disappeared from view, I heard a gentle whinny from the horse he must have tied up on Main Street.
“Come on. Let’s have a quick look around and then head back.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ian asked, giving me a very meaningful look.
“What?”
“We didn’t eat lunch!”
Angel clapped her hands together. She sure knew what lunch was.
An hour later, the three of us were sitting in a booth eating a surprisingly good cheeseburger. At least two of us were. Angel merely had a plate of French fries in front of her.
“Do you think she should eat something else? A bit of fruit or something? They probably do pie…”
Angel shook her head at me.
“Fries!” she yelled, and then placed both hands protectively over the pile of greasy potato sticks on her plate.
“Actually, potatoes are very healthy. They’re basically the perfect food,” Ian said. “You could live off milk and potatoes.”
“Yeah?” I said dubiously. I looked down at Angel who was now rhythmically lifting up one fry after another and popping it into her mouth, chewing each one exactly four times before swallowing and replacing it with another. “If her mom asks, I had nothing to do with her dietary choices today, okay?”
Ian shrugged. “No problem. I can’t imagine Amber would have any complaints.”
“If you say so.” After eating and swallowing a big bite of my burger, I got back on topic. “What do you think of Abner and Bill? Think either of them did it?”
Ian chewed slowly while he thought, finally swallowing.
“I think there’s something they’re not telling us. Did you hear the way they talked about each other? I don’t think they like each other very much.”
“I agree. But if Abner was the killer, then maybe Bill would be right not to like him. Maybe he’s just a good judge of character.”
Just Deserts in Las Vegas Page 11
