The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery

by Patrick F. McManus

  “I see they used cedar poles. I thought anymore they used nothing but steel towers.”

  “Well, they used cedar poles on this one. I hate the steel towers. They’re ugly as sin, in my opinion. Now right up ahead, Bo, there’s kind of an opening in the woods. It used to be a road and it’s kind of grown up, but your rig should be able to manage it.”

  The road wasn’t any rougher than the drive into Poke’s, and Tully guessed the brush scratched hardly any of the remaining red paint off the Explorer. Oh, well, time for the shop boys to repaint it anyway. The vehicle was at least eight years old. Any speed over sixty miles per hour, the front end shook like a rag in a dog’s mouth. It was time the commissioners got him a new one anyway. How can you chase down a criminal if you can’t drive over sixty? Tully had no intent of chasing down a criminal over sixty miles an hour or at any other speed. That’s what deputies were for. They loved that sort of stuff.

  As they drove farther, the trees got larger and the woods darker. The setting sun sucked the last of the daylight up the tree trunks as if they were giant straws. Night closed in around them. Suddenly there was water directly in front of them. Tully hit the brakes. His passengers nearly slid off their seats. Pap erupted in profanity and then apologized to Angie, but the outburst was probably nothing Angie hadn’t heard many times before. In fact, Tully recalled a recent occasion when she used some of the words herself. Meanwhile the Explorer had stopped with its front wheels in the water, and Tully could feel them begin to sink into the mud. He hit the four-wheel-drive button and slammed into reverse. With a little spitting and howling, the vehicle climbed back onto dry ground.

  Poke said, “I was going to tell you, Bo, I thought the swamp was just a lick or two ahead, but you got there before I could think of the words.”

  Tully shut off the engine and opened his door. “Thanks a lot, Poke. You managed to get us to the swamp sooner than I expected and closer than I wanted, but you got us here. How far does the swamp stretch out this way?”

  The old man pointed directly ahead. “Three or four miles across here at the bottom. Then it gets narrower as it stretches up toward Scotchman.”

  They got out and followed Poke along a game trail close to the water’s edge. He stopped by a pile of brush.

  “You fellows help me clean this off. I keep it hidden so youngsters don’t come along and get hold of it.”

  “Good idea,” Tully said. “They could take it out in the swamp and get lost or drowned.”

  “And leave my raft rotting away out there in the swamp!”

  Once the brush was cleaned off, Tully gave a low whistle. “Poke, this is the finest raft I’ve ever seen.”

  Poke chuckled. “Isn’t it, though? I put a lot of loving care into building it.”

  Tully said, “Those logs you’ve got under the deck, why, they’re nearly as long and clean as those power-line poles we passed on our way in.”

  Poke smiled. “You think so, Bo? Why, that’s mighty nice of you to say. Those power-company boys hauled a bunch of poles in one summer and left them lying on the ground for nearly a month. So when it came time to built my raft, I made some just like them. Oh, it was a powerful lot of work, Bo, but I got it done.”

  Tully nudged Angie. “Just look what a man can accomplish with nothing but a chain saw and an ax, if he puts his mind to it.”

  She didn’t blink an eye. “It’s the most beautiful raft I’ve ever seen, Poke.”

  “Thank you, Angie. Well, all aboard. The only downside of the raft, I haven’t got a motor for it.”

  “A motor wouldn’t do you any good anyway, Poke,” Pap said. “Just make your raft go in circles. You know the only decent way to move a raft is to pole it.”

  “Danged if you’re not right about that, Pap. I’ve got the poles leaning against a tree back in the woods. I’ll go get ’em. They’re long and slender and mighty fine to push with.”

  “Tamarack, I bet,” Pap said. “The finest rafting poles there is.”

  “These have dried out for nearly three years. They’re light as toothpicks and strong as iron. I’ll go get them, if I can remember the tree I leaned them against.”

  Poke returned with two long, slender poles, one balanced over each shoulder. He gave them to Pap and Dave. “When you two get tired, Bo and I will take over.”

  Angie frowned at him. “Hey, where’s my pole, Poke?”

  “You’re a lady, Angie! I can’t have a lady poling my raft. It would be bad luck for sure.”

  Angie sat down in a pout on the front of the raft and crossed her arms and legs. “This is the worst case of male chauvinism I’ve ever come across, Poke, and I’ve come across a lot of it. This raft doesn’t move until I get my own pole.”

  Poke appeared about to panic. “No, you’ve got to be the lookout, Angie! You sit right there on the front of the raft and keep us from running into trees and stumps and stuff. I wouldn’t trust anyone else here with that kind of responsibility. Now here’s how the rest of us will do the poling. Pap, you pole on that side.” He pointed. “Dave, pole the other. Now both of you drag your poles in the water to the front of the raft and push them down till you hit bottom. Then you lean into the pole and push the raft ahead with your feet as you walk to the back of the raft. You got that?” Dave and Pap nodded. “If Angie yells ‘Pap,’ that means Pap stops poling but Dave keeps on, and the raft will turn toward Pap’s side. If she yells ‘Dave,’ he lets up and the raft turns his way.”

  Dave said, “Let me get this straight, Poke. We carry our poles back to the front of the raft each time we reach the back.” He gave Tully a wink.

  “No, no, no!” Poke yelled. “You drag the poles in the water. Otherwise you drip mud and swamp muck all over. We’d have a terrible mess in no time.”

  Pap said, “Been a long time since I rafted, Poke. Good thing you explained that to us.”

  Poke shook his head as if he couldn’t believe the quality of crew he had brought aboard his raft. He walked over to Tully and tugged his sleeve. “You got a blanket in your rig? We need something to wrap the rifles in.”

  “You bet. I’ll go get it.” Tully walked back to the Explorer and returned with two blankets.

  “You cold already, Poke?” Pap said. “I thought I could feel a bit of chill in the air myself.”

  “That’s a mighty fine idea, Pap, and maybe I’ll just take you up on it on our way back. For right now, though, I think we should roll the rifles up in the blankets so they don’t slide all over the raft.”

  “I planned on being the lookout,” Tully said. “Besides, Angie, if we get in a shoot-out, you won’t be accustomed to my rifle.”

  “I qualified with one just like it at Quantico, Bo. It won’t be a problem.”

  Pap and Dave began pushing the raft through the murky water while Poke wrapped the rifles in the blanket. Angie sat up front with her legs crossed in the lotus position. “I know the front of a boat is called a bow,” she said. “What do you call the front of a raft?”

  “Technically it’s called the front of the raft,” Tully said.

  “We could use ‘fore’ and ‘aft,’ ” Pap said.

  “Somebody hand me that extra blanket to sit on,” Angie said. “My aft is getting sore already.”

  Tully laughed. “Good! That will help keep our lookout awake.” He picked up the blanket and tossed it to Angie.

  The technique of driving the raft along was soon mastered. Once they were under way it glided along with surprising ease. A murky darkness seemed to be rising out of the swamp itself.

  “Anyone bring Maglites?” Pap asked.

  “Yeah,” Tully said. “I’ve got a couple of them in my vest. But I’d just as soon not use them until I’m sure we’re alone out here.”

  Angie said, “I’ve got one in my shoulder bag.”

  The full moon began to rise and bathe them in light. They could now see large patches of greenish scum on the water.

  “What we looking for, exactly?” Pap asked as he poled
toward the aft of the raft.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Tully said. “There are two big islands out in the middle of the swamp. I flew over them a few days ago. There were structures of some kind on one and what appeared to be a lot of bare ground on both of them. I didn’t see any sign of life. Somehow, I think this swamp has a connection to the killings up in the huckleberry patch on Scotchman. The only thing I can think is the swamp provided a cover for some kind of illegal activity. It’s not the kind of place you have people just dropping in for tea or that sort of thing, so you wouldn’t likely be bothered by visitors. If you have workers that don’t want to be there, they probably aren’t going to take off wading through the swamp. Who knows, there could be quicksand out there someplace.”

  “Yeah,” Angie said, turning around to shoot Tully a look. “Wading off through the swamp would be really stupid, don’t you think, Bo?”

  “Maybe not if you wanted to get rid of somebody, Angie.” He was crouched down next to the rifles.

  “Yeah, like the FBI,” she said. “One thing we need to keep straight here, Bo, this is an FBI operation.”

  “It is?”

  “If you think this swamp has something to do with the killings in a national forest, then those killings occurred in my domain. So I’m in charge of this little expedition. So far, I’ve been letting you wag me like the tail on a dog, but that’s about to end.”

  “Well, let me say, a very attractive tail.”

  “No matter.”

  “Okay, Angie, you’re in charge,” he said. “What’s our next step?”

  Angie was apparently thinking of the next step when a Canada goose exploded out of the darkness right by her feet. It went honking off into the dark. Everything was quiet for a few moments. Then Pap said, “Angie, do they teach you those words at the FBI?”

  “Some of them,” she gasped out. “The rest I picked up from hanging out with lowlifes like you guys. I can tell you this, boys, if I ever see a goose walking across the road, I’m going to run him down!”

  Pap laughed. “Is it a crime in Blight County, Bo, murdering a goose with a car?”

  “As you are aware, Pap, hardly anything is a crime in Blight County.”

  As Pap and Dave began to get the hang of poling, the raft picked up momentum. Now they only had to give an occasional push with their poles to maintain the speed. Dave said, “It just occurred to me, Poke—what do we use for brakes on this raft?”

  “Beats the heck out of me, Dave. I never had it moving this fast before. I guess whatever we run into will be our brake.”

  “In that case, I hope our lookout is keeping a sharp eye on everything up ahead.”

  Angie said, “So far we have missed a number of dead trees and stumps by several inches, but there’s a big mass of something coming up.”

  “Better just let it drift in, guys,” Tully said. “It must be one of the islands I want to check out.”

  “Good,” Pap said. “I need a rest and a cigarette.” He dug out the makings for one of his hand-rolleds and deftly put them together. He snapped the head of a kitchen match with a thumbnail and held the flame to the tip of his cigarette. Something cracked loudly in the direction of the island. Pap dropped his cigarette in the water and crouched down. The cigarette sizzled into silence.

  Angie laughed. “Don’t worry, Pap. It’s only a beaver.”

  “Well, that beaver’s a pretty good shot, because he dang near hit me. That bullet whizzed by about half an inch from my ear.”

  Suddenly five shots were fired from the raft so fast they sounded as if they had come from an automatic weapon instead of a lever-action rifle. Tully spun around. He stared at Dave, who must have snatched his rifle from the blanket and fired. Tully had never heard a lever-action rifle fired so fast.

  “I saw the muzzle flash near the top of the island,” the tracker explained. “Probably didn’t hit him but put enough lead in the air to scare him. We’re not likely to hear from him again anytime soon.”

  Angie had her .38 out and pointed straight up. Any goose that surprises her now, Tully thought, is a dead goose.

  23

  THE RAFT BUMPED gently into the shore. Angie stepped off, her pistol still out and pointed straight up. Pap and Bo each grabbed rifles. Dave reloaded his with shells he dug out of his pants pockets.

  “What do you want me to do, Bo?” Poke asked.

  “Stay with the raft. If it drifts off, we’re stuck here.”

  Angie jumped to shore and then turned around. “Dave, would you hand me my shoulder bag?”

  He picked it up. “Holy cow! What do you carry in here, Angie?”

  “Among other things, my entire arsenal.” She took the bag. “Thanks, Dave.”

  Pap and Angie crouched low as they moved slowly up the higher ground of the island. It had once been a hill, before the swamp backed up around it. Large evergreens cloaked its crown. Angie was in the lead. Tully moved up alongside her and whispered, “Unless the shooter has backup, he’s probably on the other side of the island by now. Must have come out by boat.”

  Angie stopped and crouched. Tully crouched next to her. Pap came up behind them. “What’s the plan?” he whispered.

  “Beats me,” Angie said. “What do you think, Bo?”

  “I don’t know. Where’s Dave?”

  “He’s over to the right.”

  Tully said, “There must be something on this island somebody doesn’t want us to see.”

  Pap whispered, “Well, we sure can’t see much with only moonlight. You figure we’re gonna stay here till morning, Bo?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What do you think, Angie?”

  “Beats me. I think we should at least push on to the top. That seems to be where the shot came from, according to Dave.”

  “Okay,” Tully said, “but I’m taking the lead.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Mine, too,” Pap said.

  They moved slowly up the slope. The ground near the top opened up beneath the towering ponderosas. It was free of brush and covered with a thick carpet of pine needles.

  “Whoever shot at us must have taken off,” Tully said from a crouch. Slowly he stood up.

  “If the shooter came by boat, he’s probably in it right now, headed back out of the swamp,” Dave said. “Or maybe he’s circling around to intercept us when we go back.”

  Pap peered off through the trees and clicked the safety on his rifle. “I don’t think so.” He pointed. A white object lay in the middle of a little clearing now bright in the moonlight. They moved toward it.

  A large man wearing a white T-shirt lay on his back. Tully took out a Maglite and put the beam on him. The white shirt shimmered in the light. Blood oozed from two holes in his chest.

  Tully bent to check his pulse, then straightened up. “You’re some shot, Dave.”

  “Thanks. I’ve never cared much for killing, though.”

  Angie stared down at the body. “I’ve never killed anyone, but I’ve often wondered what it would be like.”

  “Like eating raw oysters,” Pap said. “The first goes down pretty hard but the next ones are a lot easier. Pretty soon you start to like them.”

  Tully looked at him and shook his head. “I can’t stand raw oysters. Cooked ones either.” He reached down and closed the dead man’s eyes. “Remind me when I last deputized you, Dave.”

  “You bet. I think the last one should still be in effect.”

  “We’ll refresh it if it isn’t.”

  “Good.”

  Angie took out a handkerchief and used it to pick up the dead man’s rifle. She held it under Tully’s Maglite to examine it.

  Tully nodded at the scope. “What kind is it, anyway?”

  “A good one,” Angie said. “I figured it had to be infrared, but it’s just top-of-the-line regular.”

  She asked, “You think he’s the only one on the island?”

  “That would be my guess,” Dave said. “He was obviously a lookout,
sent here or left here to kill or scare off anybody who came poking around. I suspect he was low man on the totem pole. The top guys don’t usually stand guard.”

  Pap and Tully grabbed the dead man’s feet and started dragging him down the hill. Angie and Dave followed, carrying all the rifles.

  When they got back to the raft, Poke said, “I didn’t hear any shots. Who killed him?”

  “Dave,” Tully said. “From the raft.”

  Poke’s whispered expletive was one of amazement. “I’ve never seen shooting like that in my entire life.”

  Pap said, “You never will again, Poke.”

  Angie looked back up toward the top of the island. “So you think our dead guy was the only person on the island.”

  “Probably,” Tully said.

  They built a driftwood fire in front of a log near the water and sat in a row with the blankets pulled over their shoulders. Tully said, “We should have remembered to bring hot dogs and buns.”

  “And marshmallows,” Angie added. “Actually, I could go for a s’more right now.”

  “What’s a s’more?” Pap asked.

  “A Hershey bar and roasted marshmallow sandwiched between pieces of graham cracker,” she said.

  Tully shuddered. “Sounds illegal to me. That could kill an old man like Pap.”

  Pap tossed a piece of driftwood on the fire. “I was thinking the same thing, Bo. This here campfire reminds me of the time I took a prime elk steak out on a camping trip with Pinto Jack. It was pitch dark when I started cooking it over our campfire with only a flashlight to see by. I could hardly make out when the steak was done on the top side. When I turned it over it was burnt to a crisp on the bottom—worse than that. It looked like a piece of cowhide tanned too long. But the top side was perfect—juicy and tender. So we cut it up in strips and ate it like watermelon slices, gnawing off the good side. It was the best steak I ever ate.”

  Poke said, “I’ve thrown away more than one piece of meat I thought was ruined, and I bet I could have sliced it up and eaten it like watermelon. You should write a cookbook, Pap.”

  “I keep thinking about it, Poke.”

  “Sounds illegal to me,” Tully said, “Pap writing a cookbook.”