Ivy Get Your Gun

by Cindy Brown

  “How ’bout the other guy?”

  “Chance? That’s really weird. All I could find was a couple of theatre reviews and a mention of him in some indie Western on IMDB—the Internet Movie Database.”

  “You sure Chance Keeler is his real name, Miss Ivy Meadows?”

  “Duh.” I slapped myself on the forehead. “Sometimes I can’t see the desert for the cactus.”

  “Not sure that metaphor works,” Pink said. “But it’s true, anyway.”

  “Any way you can get access to Gold Bug’s employee records?” I asked Arnie over the phone. This was a long shot. Arnie was not the most computer literate guy in the world, and Chance might be using his stage name (if that’s what it was) at Gold Bug too. Actors often made their stage names their legal aliases. For example, legally, I was both Olive Ziegwart and Ivy Meadows. I could get paid under either name.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Arnie said.

  Okay, I had all the information I was going to get for now. Time to put it altogether using my favorite tool: a whiteboard. I was a visual thinker. Maybe because I was easily distracted, or maybe because I always had so many thoughts running around in my head, or maybe just because I liked colored markers—whatever it was, seeing ideas written out on a nice clean whiteboard just made things clearer.

  I grabbed a bunch of markers and wrote “Gold Bug Gulch case” in nice big letters across the top of the board. Then:

  1. Why shoot Mongo?

  2. Why kill Billie?

  3. Are the two deaths connected—and are the other “accidents” at Gold Bug (sewer, snakes, and tires) part of the same plan?

  I chewed the end of a blue marker. Uncle Bob had taught me that most crimes could be put down to power or passion. Power included money, prestige, and the need to one-up someone. Passion covered revenge, sex, and love. Mongo could’ve been killed for revenge: Josh had that long simmering feud with his family. Chance could’ve killed Mongo for sex and love. Billie could’ve killed him out of jealousy—she had suspected another woman. I wrote those down.

  There was also that supposed business deal, whether with Josh or someone else. Mongo’s partner could’ve lost money and/or power. I wrote that down too.

  Now, Billie’s death. Josh and Billie were connected via the Golden Girls, and there was money involved, so power could’ve come into play. Chance could have killed her too, that love and sex motive again. He was definitely more into her than she was into him. And if he had killed Mongo for Billie’s love, only to be rebuffed by her, well…

  I wrote both of those suspects and motives down, then chewed on my marker some more. Several problems with my scenarios. The deaths and the accidents felt connected. But the timing was off. Why commit murder first, then go to vandalism? And the motives were problematic. Billie could have killed Mongo and then someone killed her out of revenge for his death, but it seemed unlikely. No one besides Billie and his tavern friends seemed to really miss Mongo. Josh and Chance could be responsible for both deaths, but when you added in the sewer and car sabotages and the reptile release, the deaths seemed less personal and more about Gold Bug Gulch itself. That pointed more to the power motive: someone wanted Gold Bug shut down so they could…what? Did Josh want his family’s property back? Would Frank kill people over endangered bats? And what about Nathan? Could someone have made him an offer he couldn’t refuse?

  Chapter 51

  I spent the whole morning spinning my investigative wheels. The only thing I had to show for four hours’ worth of work was a whiteboard full of scribbles and a couple of chewed-up markers.

  And still no response from Matt.

  But it was also a school day and a workday for him, plus he probably needed to pick up his mom from the airport. Sure, my denial mechanism was in high gear, but there was nothing else I could do.

  Yes, there was.

  “I’m sorry,” I texted him. Then I got in my truck and drove west.

  I stopped in Sunnydale and trekked across the golf course to a tree by a water hazard where I’d set up a camera. I grabbed my laptop out of my backpack, downloaded the camera info into it, and sped through a night’s worth of thirsty animals: bunnies and coyotes and…hey, a small sturdy figure waded into the manmade pond and lapped at the water. Could it be? Then another similar but much larger animal waded in next to the first one. It was big enough I could see its long snout and tusks. Sheesh. I must’ve been desperate, mistaking a baby javelina for a pug. I sat back on my heels. There was one more thing I could try.

  I didn’t relish the thought of being clonked in the head by a golf ball, so I got off the fairway before making my call—aiming for a low stuccoed wall that divided the yards from the golf course. I sat on the wall, punched the numbers into my phone, and tried to muster some enthusiasm. After all, if I was about to give up a big chunk of change, I’d better be damn excited about it. As the phone rang, I calculated. Since Arnie had hired me for the Gold Bug investigation, my part-time job at Duda Detectives was more like full-time, at least for the next week. I’d also get the extra money from the melodrama, bartending, and the gun fight. Then I’d be back to part-time money until I got a show. If I were cast in Annie Get Your Gun, I could be assured of a decent paycheck. If not, well, I did love beans.

  “This is Southwest Pet Search and Rescue. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Joy, it’s Ivy.”

  Silence.

  “Ivy Meadows? We met the other day?”

  “Sorry. Bad reception up here.”

  “Up here?” Maybe she was just on top of Camelback Mountain, here in the Valley. Joy looked like a climber. Please let her be a climber.

  “I’m in the White Mountains.” A mountain range about five hours away. “We’re on a search and rescue job.”

  “For a dog?”

  “No, Sam and I also volunteer for a couple of counties’ teams. A hiker got caught in an early snowstorm.”

  Hikers routinely got in trouble in Arizona, especially tourists. They either didn’t bring enough water with them, forgot that it snowed in the higher elevations, or fell off rocks they shouldn’t have been climbing in the first place.

  “Ivy? Are you there?”

  “Yeah. I want to hire you and Sam to look for Lassie.”

  “We won’t be home for at least another two days, depending on when we find this guy. Remind me, when did Lassie disappear?”

  “Last Sunday.”

  “Twelve days ago?”

  “Yeah, but one of the wildlife cameras snapped a photo…I guess it would’ve been Sunday night, maybe early Monday morning.”

  “Did you get any photos of predators?”

  “Coyotes. And…are javelinas predators? I saw a mama and a baby.”

  “Yeah, and they’re more aggressive when their young are around…Listen, for twelve days Lassie has been spending her days and nights outside, without access to regular food or water. And once small dogs get disoriented and slow, they’re easy targets. If you’re hoping to find her alive…”

  I didn’t remind Joy that Lassie was a him. Instead I said, “I think I hear what you’re telling me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but unless you want to find her body, I’d save your money.”

  I hung up and slumped back on the hard stucco wall, scraping the palms of my hands on its surface until they felt raw. Like the rest of me.

  Chapter 52

  Ten minutes later, I mustered enough energy to make another call. “I want to shoot something.”

  Silence on the other line. Again.

  “Can you hear me?” Maybe Pink was out with the search and rescue team too, though I didn’t know why they’d want a detective from the Phoenix PD.

  “Yeah. But it’s not such a hot idea to shoot things when you’re mad. Who you mad at?”

  “Myself. The world. Maybe javelinas.”

>   “Tell you what. You pick up some lunch and meet me at the Gulch in an hour. We’ll see if you’ve cooled off by then.”

  “Deal.” I slipped off the stucco wall. “See you then.”

  Pink was waiting in the Gold Bug parking lot when I got there. “Why are your lips blue?” he said as he climbed into my pickup.

  “Huh?” It was eighty degrees out.

  “Look in the mirror.”

  I did. My bottom lip was the lovely royal blue of my favorite marker. “A, uh, pen exploded.”

  “In your mouth?” Pink grabbed the In-N-Out Burger bag I handed him. I’d really wanted Mexican, but wasn’t sure I wanted to be in a small space with a guy who smoked menthols and ate beans. He peered into the bag. “This all for me?”

  “Yeah. I already ate.”

  “You feelin’ better?” Pink was already halfway through his burger. A big-bite taker, that guy.

  “If you’re asking if I’ve cooled off, the answer is yes. I’m not just cool, I’m cold. Cold as in cold case, cold trail, cold-stupid-detective-who-couldn’t-find-her-ass-with-a-flashlight cold.”

  “Okay.” He bounced on the seat as my pickup hit an especially big pothole. “But could you not take that out on your truck?”

  “Sorry. It’s just that nothing’s going well. Not just the Gold Bug case, but I can’t find Lassie, I still don’t know if I got this theater gig, and I had a fight with…never mind.”

  “The case I’ve been working on just blew apart too.” He crumpled up his burger wrapper and put in in the bag. “Guy killed his wife, got acquitted, then confessed right afterward. Bragged about it on Facebook. Can’t do anything about it. Double jeopardy.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

  He shrugged and started in on his French fries. “Sometimes a little reality check can go a long way.”

  “Damn.” Pink stared at the tin cans now scattered on the desert floor. “You must be feeling better.”

  I was, though it wasn’t really Pink’s reality check. It was the text from Matt: “Sorry. Forgot to charge my phone last night.” He must have had a sleepless night too. “See you tonight.” And the best part: “XXOO.”

  “You nailed every can.” Pink tossed his stub of a cigarette to the dirt and ground it under his heel. “I oughta recruit you.”

  “I’d make an awful cop.” I handed Pink my rifle and started picking up the cans. “I’m not even sure I’m a very good PI. Uncle Bob says if you look up ‘gullible’ in the dictionary you’ll see my picture.”

  “There was that time you thought that three-timing actor was—” Pink checked my gun to make sure it was fully discharged.

  “Yeah.” I cut him off but quick.

  Pink opened the door to my pickup and set my rifle behind the seat. “And the time you believed that guy when he bought you—”

  “Pretty gullible.” I tossed the cans into the pickup bed, then went back and picked up Pink’s cigarette butt. A good steward of the land. Frank would be proud.

  “And Bob told me how you were buddy-buddy with some criminals when—”

  “They were nice.” I climbed into my pickup. We had rehearsal pretty soon.

  “So yeah, I guess you would make an awful cop. But damn.” Pink looked at the bullet-riddled cans in the back of my truck. “You are one hell of a shot.”

  We got back to the Gold Bug parking lot a few minutes before my afternoon rehearsal. I parked next to Pink’s car, then hopped out and went around to him to say goodbye. “Thanks a ton.” I gave him a friendly hug. “I’ll talk to you—Ow! Damn!” I couldn’t move.

  “What?” Pink released me.

  “My earring. Must have caught it on my shirt.” I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the tug whenever I tried to lower my arm. “Must be my collar, or around my shoulder somewhere. Can you unhook it for me?”

  Pink leaned in. “I think I see it…damn, I really need my glasses.” He peered at my ear, so close I could smell the menthol on his breath.

  “And who is this?” said a voice close behind me. Chance.

  “Got it,” Pink said. My ear was released and he backed away.

  “This is Detective Pinkstaff of the Phoenix—”

  “And I thought you were single,” Chance said.

  “I am,” I said. “I mean, I’m not exactly, but—”

  “You act single,” Chance said.

  “I do?” I did?

  “If you have a man, you should act like it. Nice to see you again.” He tipped his hat at Pink. “I would keep an eye on her if I were you.” He turned and walked toward the Gulch.

  What was all that about? I suspected it wasn’t really about me, probably had something to do with Billie and Chance and Mongo, but…I acted single? That didn’t sound good. What did that say about the way I felt about Matt?

  “That was that Chance guy, right?” asked Pink.

  I nodded.

  “There’s something not right about him. Fake.”

  “He is an actor.”

  Pink stared after Chance, who walked with a slight cowboy swagger. “I think he’s acting right now.”

  Chapter 53

  After Pink drove off, I walked the dirt road to Gold Bug’s saloon. Chance sat waiting for me on the steps. “Is Nathan in his office?” I asked. He shrugged an “I don’t know,” but I caught something else on his face. “What?”

  “Women,” he muttered.

  No way I was getting into my love life with him, so I walked up the steps and into the saloon. “Nathan?” I called. “We’re about ready for the gunfight rehearsal.” Nathan needed to pull the fishing line that rang the bell and push the button on the remote to set off the squib in the flour sack. I heard a noncommittal grunt from the office. “Meet you out front in five,” I said.

  I walked back down the saloon steps to a still morose Chance. “Can I have the keys to the theater?” He handed them over without a word. I walked next door to the opera house, unlocked the stage door, and went to my dressing room. My rifle hung on its hook. I checked its chamber: empty. I pulled a box of blanks from my duffel bag (bought them myself at a gun store called Tombstone Tactical) and carefully placed them in the chamber of my rifle. I put Annie’s hat on my head, locked the stage door as I left, and walked back to Chance. I gave him the keys back, then reached inside my duffel bag and pulled out another box of blanks: pistol-sized this time. “Here.”

  “I already have some.”

  “Use these.” I pushed the box under his nose.

  “Yeah, okay.” Chance spun the chamber on his gun and shook the bullets out into his hand. They all looked like blanks—the ends were crimped, but I still felt better having him use the ones I purchased.

  Chance began loading. “You going to watch me load them?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  I didn’t think anyone could be more grudging, until Nathan pushed open the swinging door of the saloon. “Can we get this over with?”

  “You mean rehearse the biggest reason people come out to Gold Bug Gulch?”

  “It’s not the biggest—”

  “You think they come for the food?” Chance laughed. It was nice to see him in a better mood. Sort of.

  “So, Nathan, you do everything from up there.” I pointed to a balcony that ran along the second floor of the saloon. Its floor was the roof of the saloon porch. “You’ll find fishing line attached to the railing. Just yank it directly after my first shot and it will ring this.” I pointed to an old bell that hung from the porch roof. I handed Nathan a remote. “On my second shot, push the button on this remote—I’ve already placed the squib in the flour sack.”

  “NowIhatotakorderfromawom,” he said under his breath.

  “Why yes, you do have to take orders from a woman, especially when you ask her to direct. Now Chance, on my third shot, y
ou—”

  “I know, I pull the line on my hat. I read the script. In fact, I have a question about the song.”

  “Song?” said Nathan. “In a gunfight?”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to pay royalties.”

  “But…” Chance began.

  “All right. Places, everyone.”

  Nathan climbed the exterior staircase that led to the balcony. I went down the road toward the blacksmith shop, and Chance walked the opposite way, toward Gold Bug’s entrance.

  “And…lights up,” I yelled. No lights out here, of course, but it was the universal theatrical signal for “let’s go.”

  I addressed the invisible townspeople, the audience who would gather in the streets. “So I heard you all here in Gold Bug are down a sheriff. I’m right sorry to hear about his passing.” I took off my hat and placed it over my heart. Oops. Strike that blocking. My Annie Oakley pigtails were sewn to my hat. I cleared my throat. “I also heard you might need a little protection ’til your new lawman arrives in town. I’ve got a little break right now—I’m touring with Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West, you know—so I thought I’d stop a while here in the Gulch, just to make sure things stay peaceable.” I settled my hat back on my head.

  “Well, well, well.” Chance strode into town, spurs jangling. “What have we here? A new gal in town. And a pretty one too. With a gun. That’s cute, little missy.” He pulled out his pistol and twirled it around his finger.

  “You could shoot your foot off doin’ that,” I said. “And it’s Miz Annie Oakley to you.”

  “Well, Miz Oakley, awful nice of you to worry ’bout me. But you can stop now. In fact, you don’t need to worry ’bout anything, including the Gulch, ’cause I aim to be the law here.”

  “I don’t see a badge.”

  “Badge? I don’t need no stinkin’ badge.”