Jack The Roper (Axel Hatchett Mystery Book 6)

by Steven Nelson

  “I’m just patching a split. These horses with light colored hooves, they split easier. You’re right about our horses. They ain’t much. Mr. Roan don’t care about the dude ranch no more. All he cares about is his fancy studs. Never used to be that way. You seen the roofs on our buildings?”

  “As swaybacked as some of your hay burners,” I said.

  “Yep. Mr. Roan don’t want to spend no money on fixing them.”

  “Why is that?” asked Tracy. She’d found a straw to chew on.

  “Well, the place ain’t been the same since them killings a couple of years ago. Hurt our business some. And now here we got two new killings. Makes a man want to spit.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “We’ll turn our heads.”

  Sheepy spat into a pile of straw. I think it made him feel better.

  “I’m a private investigator,” I told him. “Nobody’s hired me to look into the murders, but I’ve got some professional curiosity.”

  “That so? You one of them detectives like on TV?”

  “No, those guys are chumps. I’m the real thing. Do you have any idea who might have murdered Brice Holcombe or Karl Rumdab?”

  He finished with the hoof, put his pot of goo away on a worn shelf, and came over to talk to us. “Some town folks, I figure. Maybe high school kids. The way they drive their cars is a caution, I’m telling you. I figure it was some of them that shot up our sign.”

  “Plugging holes in a sign is a whole lot different from strangling folks,” I said.

  “I reckon. But once you get started on the wrong side of the law, where does it stop?”

  “Do all you Carefree Buckaroos get along?”

  “You saying one of us killed Brice?” He glowered at me and spat in the straw again. “Pardon me, Ma’am,” he said to Tracy.

  “What’s a little spit between friends?” she said. “My husband’s just trying to get together a list of suspects. Clearing the names of your friends on the ranch is a good start.”

  “Well, we all get along fine. Nobody had nothing against Brice. He was a good wrangler and kept to himself.”

  “Any little romances going on at the ranch?” I asked.

  “I’m too old and stove up for any of that, but when you get heifers and bulls together there’s going to be some spooning. Hawk’s blood is too hot, and he’s always got an eye on the lady dudes. Drew’s sweet on Sissy Dell, but it don’t do him no good. Hawk’s partial to her as well, but — ain’t it funny? — with his looks and ways, she still don’t give him the time of day.”

  “Did Holcombe have any girlfriends?” Tracy asked.

  “Well, he and Audra talked over the fence more than a time or two. And Sissy Dell was partial to him. That riled Hawk. He couldn’t see why she’d have cow eyes for Brice and none for him. He’s stuck on himself, that Hawk is.”

  “Is he a real cowpoke?” Tracy asked. “I don’t like his clothes.”

  “Yeah, he’s hell for duds. He grew up around here, but then he went off to that Hollywood. Couldn’t act for beans, I hear, so he come on home. The lady dudes, they can’t get enough of him.”

  “Does Breedlaw behave himself?” I asked. “I know he’s married.”

  “He don’t look at the ladies none. He don’t bother Sissy Dell or Audra none. He’s in love with John Barleycorn.”

  “What about this batch of dudes you’ve got up here now? Have any of them talked bad about Rumdab that you’ve heard?”

  “I ain’t saying nothing bad about the dead. You talked to him, what did you think of him?”

  “He had some rough edges, but he seemed to get along with folks OK.” I said. “What about his wife, Lilly? Do you think she and her husband were getting along?”

  “Near as I could tell, they didn’t fight more than most married folks. You don’t think she killed him, do you?”

  “No, just trying to cover all the bases. Thanks for talking to us.”

  “Who has pierced ears around here?” asked Tracy.

  “I don’t pay no attention. You talking about the earring they found? Breedlaw told me about it. Was it for a pierced ear?”

  “I haven’t heard,” said Tracy. “The sheriff or the cops talk to you yet?”

  “No. I went to bed after talking to Mr. Breedlaw. I reckon they’ll be talking to us this morning. Is that police car still here?”

  “It was when we came down to the barn,” I said. “Listen, we’ll be seeing you later. Thanks for chewing the fat with us.”

  “Yeah,” he looked at Tracy. “Ma’am, you sure can ride a horse.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and colored up like a school girl.

  We left the barn and walked over to the chuck house. The cop car was gone and so was the coroner’s wagon.

  “I wonder if they’ve got the coffee pot on,” I said to Tracy. “I could use a cup.”

  We tried the front door and it was unlocked. The sheriff and his deputy were inside, along with Panhandle and Sissy Dell. Panhandle was yawning and his eyes were about half closed. Breedlaw came out of the kitchen with a tin cup of coffee in one hand.

  “Do you mind if a couple of us dudes have some coffee?” I asked.

  “Help yourselves. It’s in the kitchen.”

  I looked at the sheriff. “You mind our being in here?”

  “No,” said Fish. “We’re about done. I figure you folks can have your breakfast, same as usual. You two and the other dudes. Then I’m going to have to talk to all of you.”

  “That figures,” I said.

  “Do you have a lot of murders in this part of the state?” asked Tracy.

  Fish bristled. “Outside of this ranch, no. I wish they’d shut down the dude ranch. I wish Mr. Roan would sell the whole place, lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “It’s a nice place,” said Tracy.

  “Well, ma’am, it ought to be. It looks to be a good place. But four murders in two years makes it look like New York City. This ranch is a bigger spot of trouble than the whole rest of the county.”

  “Did they ever catch who did the first two murders?” Tracy asked.

  “We have our ideas, ma’am, but nobody’s gone to jail for it. Likely the Roper’s dead. You heard of him?”

  “Hasn’t everyone?” I said.

  “Who do you think it was?” asked Tracy.

  “I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not free to tell you that. No offence meant.”

  “None taken,” said Tracy. “I wanted to ask you about the earring that you found near Dr. Rumdab’s body. Was it for a pierced ear?”

  “Did you lose an earring?” He seemed suddenly interested.

  “No. I wouldn’t wear earrings up here. I’m not that much of a dude. I was just interested. What’s it look like?”

  “That information is part of our investigation, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “I got a glimpse of it, Tracy,” I said. “It was a silver dangly thing, shaped like a cowboy boot.”

  “How cute. Did you notice how it attached to the ear?”

  “It was for a pierced ear,” I lied. I wanted to see how Fish would respond.

  “Since your husband already knows. ma’am, I guess I can tell you. It was for a pierced ear. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of the dudes wearing those kind of earrings, have you?”

  “Dangly ones?” asked Tracy. “Betsy was wearing some yesterday. But since her hair was down for once, I didn’t really get a good look at them.”

  “Thanks for the information, ma’am.”

  “I’m not saying Betsy is a murderer,” said Tracy, hastily. “She sure has an eye for the men, though.”

  “You think she might have met with the doc out in the woods?” asked the sheriff.

  “Maybe. It’s more likely she lost an earring and the murderer found it and left it near the body, to try to frame Betsy,” said Tracy.

  “Why would the killer want to do that?”

  “Just to put suspicion on someone else. That’s all I mean.”

  “Listen, folks,” sa
id Fish, “since you’re already here, and the other dudes aren’t up yet, why don’t we go ahead and question you. It’ll mean less work for me and Lathe after breakfast.”

  “Sounds swell to me,” I said. “Let me go get some coffee.”

  “Two cups?” asked Sissy Dell. “I’ll get them for you. Cream and sugar?”

  “Black for me and a little sugar for my wife. Thanks.”

  She hopped off her stool and went to fetch our coffee. I noticed what a really pretty girl she was. Fluffy palomino hair, bright blue eyes, a scattering of freckles on a creamy complexion, and delicate features. She had a nice walk, too. I could see why Hawk and Drew might be smitten with her.

  Fish turned to Breedlaw. “Is there a private place where me and Lathe can talk to these folks?”

  “There’s the pantry,” said Breedlaw. “There’s a table in there, and we can carry in some chairs.”

  Sissy Dell brought out two tin cups of coffee and handed them to me and Tracy. I picked up a bar stool and Tracy took another. The sheriff and his deputy each grabbed a stool as well. Breedlaw took us into the kitchen and to a large pantry off to one side. Breedlaw turned on a light for us and closed the door on his way out.

  “This will work fine,” said Fish. “Lathe, you’re taking notes.”

  Lathe dragged a pen and pad of paper out of a shirt pocket and we all sat down.

  “All right,” said the sheriff, “let’s get started. First of all, what time did you folks go to bed last night?”

  “I don’t remember the time,” I said. “It was a while after the square dance, whenever that broke up. Tracy and I sat outside our cabin for an hour or so, drinking champagne. It’s our honeymoon.”

  “Congratulations to the both of you,” said Fish. “You didn’t get drunk or anything, did you?”

  Tracy laughed. “No, sir. We stayed pretty sober.”

  “What’d you do after you drank your wine?”

  “Went to bed,” I said.

  “You didn’t take a little stroll or anything first?”

  “No stroll,” said Tracy.

  “Did either of you get up during the night?”

  “No,” I said. “We slept until Lilly Rumdab woke us up by knocking on our cabin door.”

  “Hear any noises during the night? Like somebody’s cabin door opening? Footsteps? Arguments?”

  “We didn’t hear a sound until Lilly woke us up,” said Tracy. “We were pretty tired, and we’d had two bottles of champagne. Small bottles.”

  “I know you’ve only been here for a couple of days, but have you noticed anybody not getting along with the others? Was Doc Rumdab easy to get along with?”

  “He wasn’t all that friendly,” said Tracy. “I don’t know if anybody really got along with him. He was OK, just a little cranky. I never heard anyone say much against him.”

  “Not much? But a little? Somebody complained to you about him?”

  “Just my husband, Axe. He didn’t care much for the doctor, but he didn’t think he was all that bad either.”

  Thanks Tracy, I thought.

  “I see,” said Fish. “Did either of you notice the doc and one of the lady dudes, or one of the ranch girls, getting friendly? You know, flirting and such? Did you see the doc paired off with anyone other than his wife?”

  “Maybe Betsy,” I said, “but she likes men. She likes to flirt. I don’t think she means anything by it. Her husband, Walter, doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “Has anybody said anything in your hearing about Brice Holcombe? I mean, I know he was killed the night you two arrived.”

  “He was likely dead before me and my wife showed up,” I said.

  “Right. Have you heard any of the buckaroos talking about him?”

  “Just how good a guy he was,” Tracy said, “and how sorry they are he got killed.”

  “That’s all I’ve heard,” I said. “He was a popular guy.” Then I switched directions. “Is there any truth to the rumor that you’ve arrested someone for the murder of Holcombe?” I asked.

  “No, sir. If that’s what you’ve heard then you’ve heard wrong. We got some suspects, but we haven’t made any arrests. Folks, I’m about out of questions. I don’t have to tell you not to leave the ranch. If you come across any information that might help us in the investigation — of both Brice and the doc’s murders — make sure you pass it on to Mr. Breedlaw and he’ll get ahold of me. You might as well go back to your cabin. I guess you know breakfast’s going to be at seven, like usual. Are you looking forward to the hayride?” He tried to smile.

  “Sure,” I said, “we’ll be carrying shotguns.”

  11

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Tracy told me while we were walking back to our place.

  “I’ve been through a lot worse. They must not think much of us as suspects.”

  “It’s because you’re a detective.”

  “It’s because they don’t think much of us as suspects.”

  “Who do you think they suspect?”

  “My money would be on Walter. Betsy’s a flirt, and Rumdab obviously liked attractive young women. Maybe Betsy arranged to meet the doc out in the woods and Walter found out about it. He made Betsy stay put and went out to meet the doc himself. He left Betsy’s earring there to put a scare into her, make her look like a suspect. She knows Walter killed Rumdab, but she doesn’t dare say a word because Walter will put the blame on her. Something like that.”

  “You believe that?”

  “No, but I think the sheriff might.”

  “What about Brice Holcombe?” Tracy asked. “Why would Walter want to kill him?”

  “He wouldn’t. He didn’t even know the guy, more than likely. I hate to say it, but there might be two murderers, plus the Roper.”

  “Two’s always more fun.”

  “I’m just glad I’m not really working on this case. It’d drive me crazy. And I’d rather have you drive me crazy.”

  “We’ve got an hour before breakfast.”

  The sun rose higher and burned off some of the clouds, but there were still plenty of clouds left, and some thunder rolled in the distance. I thought maybe our hayride would get rained out. I doubted if anyone cared.

  At a little before seven, we fed and watered the cats and left them mewing while we went to breakfast. Either folks were pretty hungry, or they were curious about Rumdab’s death, because everybody showed up, even Lilly, which surprised me. Her face was puffy with crying, and she hadn’t bothered to cover the damage with makeup. She sat with us and accepted our clumsy attempts at sympathy. Of course none of us talked about the murder in front of her. I think a lot of us were relieved to not talk about it.

  “She’s packing up to move to a motel in Quail Eye,” Curt confided to us.

  “We’re going too,” said Mabel. “We’ve got the room next to hers.”

  “You folks are leaving the dude ranch?” I asked.

  Curt shrugged. “We don’t want Lilly to be alone. And, really, this isn’t turning out to be much of a vacation.”

  “We’d like to go home,” said Mabel, “but the sheriff won’t let us.”

  “We’re safe in the daytime,” said Tracy. She was actually smiling. “I’m looking forward to the hayride.”

  “It’s going to rain,” said Walter. “There might not be a hayride.”

  Breedlaw came over and laid his hand on my shoulder. He was a lot taller than me, and since I was sitting down, he towered over me. I looked up at his face. It was serious and fatherly. I wondered what the hell he wanted.

  “Can I have a word with you in private?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  The two of us went off to the pantry. The sheriff and his deputy, their plates piled high with food, watched us leave the room. Once we were in the pantry, surrounded by shelves of canned goods and sacks of flour and sugar, Breedlaw closed the door.

  “Mr. Roan would like a word with you,” said Breedlaw. “Don’t worry, you won’t miss the hayride. We’re p
utting it off to see if the weather clears.”

  “What’s Primus Roan want with me?”

  “You can’t guess? You’re a detective. He wants to hire you to find out who murdered Brice and Dr. Rumdab.”

  “I’m on vacation. I’m on my honeymoon.”

  “Consider the circumstances. Our plans are pretty well falling apart. The dudes aren’t much in the mood for enjoying hayrides, singing cowboy songs, and riding horseback. We’re thinking of giving them part of their money back and sending them home as soon as the sheriff says they can go.”

  “I’ll need to talk to my wife about this. She’s my partner. She might want to talk to Roan with me.”

  “I don’t see why that wouldn’t be all right. Once you’ve finished eating, I’ll take you on up to the big house.”

  “You make it sound like a prison.”

  “No, sir, it’s a fine place. Mr. Roan ain’t a bad fellow, but he’s used to being in charge. That’s how it’s been his whole life.”

  “I’m ready when you are. Let me talk to Tracy.”

  We went back to the dining hall. I bent over Tracy and whispered in her ear: “Primus Roan wants to talk to us about the murders. He might want to hire us.”

  “Us?” She didn’t whisper.

  “Well, I thought you might want to work on another case with me. You’ve always wanted to.”

  “You mean you think if you let me in on it I might be more willing to let you ruin our honeymoon.”

  “Don’t put it like that, and keep your screechy voice down, will you? We’re not exactly alone here.”

  The others were staring at us. I smiled at them unconvincingly.

  “Do I get to carry one of your guns?” Tracy asked me, in a stage whisper.

  “Sure. You can wear both of them.”

  “OK, I’m in.”

  We dug into our grub, and Tracy had an extra helping of pancakes.

  “I’ll need my energy,” she said. “to chase the killer.”

  She got up from the table and we both left the grub house with Breedlaw.

  “We’ll take the truck,” Breedlaw told us.

  The three of us climbed into the cab of an old green Ford pickup in back of the barn. He drove us down a shortcut that consisted of twin ruts across a meadow and through some stands of trees. The log house looked just as imposing as it had the first time I’d seen it, but against a background of rain clouds it appeared less hospitable.