The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery

by Patrick F. McManus

  She heaved a sigh. “Great!”

  “Oh, he isn’t that bad. He used to be my high school biology teacher. It was the only class I ever got an A in. He told us he would kill any students who got less than a B, because they were too stupid to live and would eventually destroy the country. I’ll give you a signal to come up to the porch.”

  “Wonderful. I can hardly wait.”

  He got out and walked toward the cabin. He could feel Poke watch him come, although Tully couldn’t see the man’s eyes under the brim of his faded and shapeless old felt hat. Poke had told Tully once he always liked to see a man’s eyes. The old man stood up and grinned at him.

  “Well, I’ll be! Bo Tully! What brings you out this way?”

  “A business proposition, Poke.”

  “Business? I ain’t done a lick of business in fifty years. Who’s that you got hiding in your rig? Tell him to show himself. I don’t like folks hanging round I can’t see.”

  Tully motioned for Angie to join him. She got slowly out of the vehicle, displaying no enthusiasm for the meeting.

  “Gol-dang, Bo! You brought a woman! A mighty fine-looking one at that.”

  “You know me, Poke. That’s the only kind of woman I hang out with. She’s what you might call a gentlewoman. So watch your language.”

  Tully noticed Angie was carrying her shoulder bag, with the flap unsnapped and her right hand resting on top of the bag. She gave him and Poke a faint smile as she came up.

  “Angie, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Poke Wimsey. Poke and I have known each other all my life. He’s taught me everything I know about the woods and a bunch of other stuff too.”

  Poke removed his hat and gave Angie a shy grin. “Pleased to meet you, m’am. Not often I get to meet a pretty lady like you.”

  Tully thought Poke had probably learned his manners from Gene Autry movies.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Wimsey,” Angie said, obviously relieved.

  Poke pointed to the chair. “Have a seat.”

  “Oh, I can’t take your chair.”

  “I can’t have a lady standing while Bo and I sit here jawing. He claims he’s got me a business proposition.”

  Angie sat down in the chair, leaning slightly forward, her hands on her lap, looking unbelievably prim.

  “I do indeed, Poke,” Tully said. “I want you to guide us out into the swamp.”

  “Oh, I can’t do that. The swamp is dangerous. Folks go out in it and are never seen again.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the stories, mostly from you and Pap.” He turned to Angie. “Pap is my father. He isn’t at all the gentleman Poke is.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’ve read his file.”

  “File?” Poke said. “What file is that?”

  “The newspaper file,” Tully said. “So what I’m offering, Poke—the county will pay you a hundred dollars a day to guide us around in the swamp.”

  “A hundred dollars a day! That’s a powerful lot of money, Bo.”

  “There’s a reason it’s a lot of money. It could be dangerous.”

  “That’s what I just said. It’s dangerous. I reckon you’re looking for those men who have been messing around out there all summer. They’re a nasty lot. Met up with two of them once when I was out fishing and thought they were gonna kill me for the fun of it. I got out of there fast. I think they left a week or so ago. So I’ll take you up on that hundred dollars a day.”

  Tully smiled. “Actually, Poke, the hundred dollars is for day. We want to go out only during the night. It’s fifty dollars a night.”

  “Fifty dollars! I lost fifty dollars just like that!” He snapped his fingers.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Wimsey,” Angie broke in. “Sheriff Tully is a little confused. Nights are twice as dangerous as days. So I believe the rate per night is two hundred dollars.”

  “Two hundred!” cried Poke. “That’s more like it. I knew Bo was joking. There isn’t any way I’d go out at night in a dangerous swamp for fifty dollars!”

  Tully frowned at Angie. “Yes, I must have been confused. You see, Poke, Angie doesn’t have to deal with a bunch of corrupt and vile and stingy county commissioners, so she can be much more generous with the county’s money.”

  Angie ignored Tully and turned her whole attention to Poke. “Tell me more about the swamp’s being dangerous, Mr. Wimsey.”

  Poke pulled over a block of firewood and sat down on it. “It started a long time ago. Some fellows were running a whiskey still out on one of the islands in the swamp. My popper was one of them. He was a young fellow back then, and his job was to sit out on the end of a dock and watch for revenuers. The head moonshiner gave him a shotgun and told him to shoot anybody he saw headed for the island. They worked only at night. So this night there was a moon out and it was pretty bright, but a fog was hanging low over the water. So Popper is sitting there, his legs dangling off the end of the dock, and he’s bored to death because he never sees anything at all, let alone revenuers. All of a sudden he sees two boys gliding along on top the water. He knew right away they were ghosts, riding along on top of the water like that. He had never seen a ghost before and dropped his rifle right off the dock! Later, some of the moonshiners told him two boys had disappeared into the swamp and were never seen again, except for their ghosts that floated around the swamp from time to time. The current from Scotchman Crick flows right by the island, and that’s what the ghosts were gliding along on.”

  “Good heavens!” Angie said. “Have you ever seen the ghosts yourself, Mr. Wimsey?”

  “No, m’am, I haven’t. And I don’t want to either. But for two hundred dollars, I can chance it.”

  Tully was still scowling at Angie. “I bet you can, Poke. So when do we start?”

  “Tonight’s good for me.”

  “Can’t do it tonight. I’ve got to drive into Spokane tomorrow, but I’ll be back early in the afternoon. We could do it day after tomorrow. At night, I mean. That all right with you, Poke?”

  “I’ll have to clear my busy schedule, but sure.”

  “Great!” Angie said. “What should we wear, Mr. Wimsey, hip boots or chest waders?”

  “Shucks no! You wade around in that swamp, you’ll get sucked down by quicksand!”

  Angie looked at Tully and returned his frown. “Quicksand. I never would have thought of that.”

  “No, m’am, we won’t be doing any wading. I’ve got a log raft, a nice deck on it made of planks. We’ll go in comfort. I pole around out there a bit, fishing for bass and perch and crappies and checking out the smaller wildlife. Fishing is good but I don’t go out until the folks leave. Here’s an odd thing. The mosquitoes have been gone all summer. Last spring I started chewing up and swallowing a clove of garlic every morning to keep the skeeters off me and it worked like a charm.”

  “I noticed that,” Tully said.

  “You wouldn’t think that would clear all of the skeeters out of the swamp, too, would you, Bo?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” Tully leaned back against the cabin wall. “You mention that the folks were gone from the swamp. What kind of folks?”

  “Mean ones, at least the two I ran into last spring. After that I made a point of not running into them again.”

  “How many altogether, you guess?”

  “Maybe a dozen. They seemed to be scattered about on the two islands. Some of them went back and forth to land with a big boat powered with a jet outboard the size of a hog. There’s a short road into the swamp up where Scotchman runs in. They must haul the boat in and out with a trailer up there, but it’s got to be one heck of a backing job. That road’s as narrow and winding as the minds of our local politicians. No offense, Bo.”

  “None taken, Poke. A boat, hunh?”

  “Yeah. Some of them stayed out on the island all summer.”

  Angie stood up and held out her hand for Poke to shake. “Thank you, Poke. Is it all right if I call you Poke?”

  “Yes, m’am. A pretty lady
like you can call me anything she likes, but Poke is fine.”

  “Good, Poke. And you call me Angie.”

  His grasp swallowed up her hand. “Mighty proud to know you, Angie. I hope you’ll be coming along on our little adventure.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. It’ll make me feel just like Huck Finn, the log raft and all.”

  Tully got up and shook Poke’s hand. “We definitely need to take Angie with us. She might turn out to be useful. We could throw her overboard if something leaps out of the swamp and attacks us. Anything you want us to bring?”

  The old man screwed up his grizzled face in a thoughtful expression. “Just the money. Oh, some big flashlights would be good. And you might want to bring a rifle, Bo, if you’ve got one with iron sights. You can shoot a lot better and faster at night with iron sights than you can with a scope.”

  Tully frowned. “You think we might run into some bear or moose?”

  “Oh, them, too. Just bring the rifle. A bottle of whiskey would be good too.”

  “Whiskey helps you see at night?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Driving back to town, Tully turned and grinned at Angie. “Well, what do you think of Poke?”

  “I like him.”

  “You seemed to have fallen for his act.”

  She frowned at him. “What act is that?”

  “That Poke is ignorant as a post.”

  “I didn’t think any such thing.”

  “Well, it’s all an act. He’s written and published three books of poems. Besides that, he has hunted down and inventoried practically all the species of flora and fauna in the state. Recorded most of it on film.”

  “Actually, Bo, I did think he was wonderful, but I had no idea from talking to him that he was capable of such things. Never before in my whole life have I met anyone like Poke.”

  “He was some terrific high school teacher, I can tell you that.”

  “Is that why you’re still afraid of him?”

  “No! Didn’t I tell you he’s written three books of poems?”

  They came to the log on the road and Tully bumped the Explorer out around it. “I’ve got a couple things I need to check out. One, I want to find the boy who escaped getting murdered up in the huckleberry patch. We find him, we’ve solved the murders. The other thing is I’ve got a missing person who also may have been murdered. His name is Orville Poulson. My only suspect in the case is his ranch caretaker, Ray Porter, aka Crockett. Tomorrow I want to check out the area in Spokane where Orville has his post office box.”

  “Check out the area where he has a post office box? That should be a big help.”

  “Yeah, well, you just wait and see, FBI person, what a cracker sheriff can come up with. And since you like odd characters so much, Angie, tomorrow I’ll take you around to meet another really odd one. We may even take him along on our swamp excursion.”

  “Who, for heaven’s sakes?”

  “My father.”

  “The famous Pap Tully! I’d love to meet him!”

  “If you like Poke Wimsey so much, you’ll be absolutely delighted with Pap. I can’t stand him myself but I suspect he’s your kind of guy.”

  Angie laughed. “I can assure you I was much too young when the FBI went looking for Pap Tully. As I recall, all the bureau wanted Pap for was running houses of prostitution, illegal gambling, general corruption, and possibly murder.”

  Tully said, “I doubt if he ran anything, but he took a cut of everything. It made him rich. It’s on record that he killed a number of people in his duties as sheriff of Blight County. Then there may be a number of off-record killings. As he will tell you and tell you and tell you, he was decorated by the governor for valor in the killing of three armed bank robbers. They hit him a number of times before he killed them with a pump shotgun. Maybe that’s why the bureau didn’t charge him with anything.”

  “No, it didn’t,” she said, rummaging around in her shoulder bag. “I’m not sure why. One thing was, he simply disappeared. I guess we figured at least he was gone and we had better things to do.”

  “He went to Mexico until the heat cooled off. Loved it down there. Learned to speak a fair amount of Spanish. When you meet him, you may think he’s an old-time hick sheriff, but he’s actually very smart. With one exception, he’s one of the smartest people I know.”

  Angie had turned down her visor and was using the mirror on the back to repair her lipstick. “So, did you get your intelligence from him, Bo?”

  “Oh, no, he’s not that smart. I got my intelligence from my mother, Rose. She’s the real brains of the family. The only stupid thing she ever did was marry my old man twice. You ever been married, Angie? I notice you don’t wear a ring.”

  She replaced the lipstick in her shoulder bag. “You noticed that, did you? No, I’ve never been married. I hate to tell you this, Bo, but the pickings are very thin out there when it comes to men. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “I’ve come close to getting married a couple of times, but the good one was killed in the line of duty, and the other one, a handsome devil, turned out to be one of the sorriest individuals I’ve ever laid eyes on. So now I’ve given up on men. You’re perfectly safe with me, Bo.”

  He glanced at her. “Safe with you, Angie? That’s a disappointment. I love a little danger when it comes to women. Here I’ve been giving you the full blast of my charm all day, apparently to no effect.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. When I was lying on top of you out there in the swamp, some old feelings came surging back. It really was quite nice. Then again, it might have been all that oozy stuff in the water.”

  • • •

  After dropping Angie off at her hotel, Tully stopped by the office. The crew seemed glad to see him. The CSI Unit grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to his corner. “Bo, you’ve got to do something about Daisy. She’s been bossing us around like crazy. She’d have me sweeping the floor if I let her. After she wore us plumb out, she went down and laid into the prisoners. I think they’re all scared to death of her, and we’ve got a couple of really dangerous guys locked up. What do you think’s wrong with her?”

  Tully scratched his chin. “Women are awfully hard to figure, Lurch.”

  “I know. That’s why I asked you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. The old Tully magic.”

  He strolled across the briefing room and into his office. Daisy followed him in.

  “You look exhausted, Bo.”

  “I am. Worst day of my life.” He slumped into his chair. “The FBI is driving me up the wall. No offense to womanhood in general, but this female agent is making me crazy. You know I’m not fond of the FBI in the first place, but a woman agent, if you can imagine such a thing! This is the worst day I’ve had in fifteen years of law enforcement.”

  Daisy brightened. “Really, Bo, she’s that bad?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it. I can see now why her home office sent her out into the wilderness, as she calls us. She thinks I’m a cracker sheriff. Does nothing but grind me down. I tell you, Daisy, this agent What’s-Her-Name has just about put me off women for the rest of my life. I can’t stand another day with her.”

  Daisy’s mood had improved so much he was afraid he might have overdone it. So he got down to business. “What’s happening here?”

  “Oh, we had a bit of excitement. Some residents over on the north side called in and said somebody was firing an automatic weapon in the neighborhood.”

  Tully tapped a pencil on his desk. “Anything new?”

  “Yeah. A little bit later I got a call from your friend the lunatic, Mitch Morgan. He said a girl by the name of Jenny came flying into his house this morning. A great place for a young girl, the hangout of a motorcycle gang. He said a pretty rough-looking guy was after her, so one of Mitch’s gang laid down a line of bullets from an AK-47 in front of him. I sent Brian over to pick up the girl. He came back with bo
th the girl and the AK-47. He said the bikers raised quite a fuss about the gun, but he told them he knew they had all done time, so it was illegal for them to have any kind of firearm, let alone an AK-47.”

  “Good for Pugh. I take it neither Pugh nor the girl was harmed. What did he do with Jenny?”

  “Dropped her off at Rose’s.” Daisy looked pleased with herself.

  Tully was shocked. “Mom’s! She’d be better off with the motorcycle gang.”

  “Bo, your mom is the sweetest person in the entire world.”

  “Daisy, you are such a poor judge of character, I don’t know why I ever leave you in charge.”

  She smiled. “Because I’m the smartest person you’ve got on your staff.”

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  “You’re starting to make me mad, Sheriff.”

  He laughed. “Only kidding, Daisy. You do a great job. Anyway, you’re going to be in charge all day tomorrow. I have to go into Spokane and check out this Orville Poulson thing, and there’s a chance I might be able to run down the kid who escaped getting murdered up in the huckleberry patch.”

  “You taking the lady agent with you?”

  “Why on earth would I do that? One of the reasons I’m leaving at five in the morning is to avoid her. Anything else happening?”

  “Hold on a sec.” She walked back to her desk and returned with her stenographer’s pad. Reading from it, she said, “Your fortune-teller wants you to give her a call.”

  “Daisy, one last time, she is not my fortune-teller. She isn’t anybody’s fortune-teller. Etta Gorsich is an investment consultant. At least she was when she lived in New York. What else?”

  Tully got up and walked around his desk. Taking a ring of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the metal gun safe and took out a rifle with iron sights.

  “Uh-oh,” Daisy said. “This doesn’t look good.”

  He picked up a box of shells and dropped it in his pocket. “Just a precaution.”

  Daisy looked back at her pad. “Mrs. Poulson stopped by again. You have to do something about her, Bo. That woman is totally distraught over her husband. Ex-husband. Probably dead husband.”