Paws for Trouble

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Paws for Trouble Page 15

by Patricia Fry


  "I'll get the crowbar from my cruiser," one officer said.

  It wasn't long before Craig announced, "Well, the cat did it again."

  "What?" Savannah asked. "What did he do?"

  "He found what we may have been looking for, that's what?" Craig said. He laughed. "There he goes." When Rags suddenly pulled and knocked Savannah off balance, Craig grabbed the leash. "I'll go with him. Anyone got a light?"

  "Here you go," one of the officers said, handing Craig a flashlight. "What do you see down there?" he called.

  "I think it was used as a wine cellar at one time, but why it's blocked off like this I don't know." Craig asked Rags, "What do you think, partner? Do you get a scent?" Promptly, he stepped out with the cat in his arms, coughing. "I don't think that's been open for decades."

  "Is there any wine down there?" one officer asked.

  Craig shook his head. "Just cobwebs, spiders, and I imagine rodents, which is probably why the cat wanted to go down there. Another dead end," he complained, "although it would have been the perfect place to hide bodies." He laughed. "Those jerks probably didn't even know it was here. Come on, Rags," he said, "we're still looking for two people who may need our help." When Rags took off in another direction, he asked, "Now, where's he taking us?"

  "Probably to the barn," Savannah said, skipping to keep up with the cat.

  Once they'd explored the barn, another outshed, chicken coops, and several animal pens, Craig looked out over the terrain. "How about we jump back on the horses and check out the pasture."

  Savannah groaned. "Now you're looking for graves, right?"

  Craig didn't respond.

  The couple and the cat had been riding along cow trails, over brush—covered knolls, and through thickets and groves of trees for about an hour when Craig said, "Well?"

  "Well, what?" Savannah asked.

  "What does the cat say?"

  She chuckled. "He wonders where we're going and where the action is."

  "I imagine he does. This is kind of dull for him, just clippity—clopping along going nowhere in particular." He took a second look at Rags. "Hey, does he see something? Look at him." He snickered. "Or does he just want to take a potty break?"

  "Probably," Savannah said. She tried to look into Rags's eyes. "Want to find a pile of soft dirt, boy?" When Rags continued to appear antsy, she climbed down off Peaches, handed Craig her reins, and lifted Rags from the saddle, where he'd been riding across a thick blanket. She held tightly to his leash and watched to see where he wanted to go. "That way," she pointed, laughing as she tried to keep up with him. "Where are we going?" she asked, continuing to follow him through brush and into an area thick with tall trees.

  Suddenly Rags stopped and stared ahead. Savannah followed his stare. "Oh, hi kitty," she said when she saw a black cat a distance away looking at them with large round eyes. "There he goes," she said watching the cat skitter away and disappear. Once the black cat was out of sight, Rags put his nose to the ground and began sniffing and pawing around in the carpet of pine needles and leaves.

  "Looking for a private place to go, are you?" Savannah said. She sighed. "I hope there are no snakes out here under all these leaves." After he'd been clawing for a while, she let out an impatient sigh. "Let me help you, Rags." She looked around and found a dry branch, which she used to scrape away more of the natural debris. "There," she said, "how's that? Come on, Rags, would you just go so we can get out of here? Go potty, now." When he squatted, she laughed. "So you really did have to go, didn't you? But you don't have to cover it," she said impatiently. "Come on, let's get out of this spooky forest."

  Rags wasn't ready to go anywhere. She knew that he had his own way of doing things and his own time schedule, so she heaved a sigh and stood by watching him move some of the leaves back over the hole. While she waited for him, Savannah saw something amidst the ground covering. Rags noticed it at about the same time and began sniffing it. He pawed it a couple of times, then picked it up in his mouth and ran back toward the horses and Craig. Savannah shook her head. "Only you can find a treasure out in the boonies like this." She chuckled, "At least it's not a dead animal or something gross like that."

  "Who are you talking to?" Craig asked when they returned. "And what took you so long? Did you take the scenic route back?"

  "He's a very persnickety cat when it comes to his bathroom etiquette," she explained, "much more fastidious than Glori or Buffy. They're in and out of the litter box in a flash, but he has to make a production out of it." She laughed. "And look—he came up with a treasure for all of his efforts."

  "What is that?"

  "I don't know." When Rags dropped it at Craig's feet, she said, "I guess it's a gift for you."

  "What do you have there, boy?" Craig crooned, bending down and taking a look. He turned it over with one foot, then picked it up and studied it. "It's a fishing license," he said. His voice accelerated, he added, "It belongs to Bryce W. Randolph, and it was issued this year." He looked in the direction Savannah and Rags had come from and asked, "Where'd he get this?"

  "Oh, gosh, I don't know exactly—under one of those trees."

  Craig huffed, "Well, that doesn't tell me much; there are dozens of trees out there. Can you show me?" He looked down at Rags. "Or maybe he can. Here, let me have him and you watch the horses. Let's see if he'll take me there."

  "To his private toilet?" Savannah asked. "I kind of doubt it."

  "Well, tie those horses up or walk them in with us. I want to see where he got this from."

  Savannah looked around and found a section of fencing where she could tie the horses. She took Rags's leash. "Come on, Rags, let's backtrack." She pointed. "Look, you can kind of see where we walked. Let's follow our trail. Finally, she said, "There—that's where he found it. See the big pile of stuff he used to cover where he…"

  "Yeah, never mind that. Where was the license?" he asked.

  She pointed. "Right here—buried under some of those leaves and needles."

  Craig pushed the debris aside, then stood up and said, "I think we need to get people out here behind some shovels. Rags may be showing us Mr. Randolph's grave."

  ****

  "So your trek to the Randolph place was fruitless, was it?" Michael asked when he returned home from work later that day.

  "Yes. Rags found Mr. Randolph's fishing license. It must have slipped out of his pocket when he pulled out his kerchief or something while trying to round up a stray." She looked at Michael. "Was he still riding the range the last time you saw him?"

  "Oh, yes, on Darla. Randy loved that mare. He and Darla were quite the team. He was a trick rider at one time," Michael said, "and he sure has a way with horses. If we had time when I was at his ranch, he'd show me some of her tricks." He frowned. "I wonder where he is."

  "Craig is talking to the Randolphs' friends and family now. I'm sure he'll be calling you and Bud. So be thinking about anyone who might know. Hey," she chirped, "did you find out what Bud's parents know?"

  Michael nodded. "Not much, I'm afraid. They were not aware that the Randolphs had any plans to retire. Edith spoke to other mutual friends, and they all say pretty much the same thing."

  Savannah shook her head, then asked, "Did you ever meet any family members?"

  He thought for a few moments. "Randy spoke of a daughter, who, he said, was not interested in the ranch. This didn't sit well with Randy. He'd hoped she would take it over, but she went away to college and became a professor at a university in Washington, I think. She evidently still has horses for pleasure, but she didn't want the responsibility of a ranch."

  "What does she teach?"

  "Chemistry, as I recall—one of the sciences." He bit his lower lip. "Let's see, her name was Libby—Liberty, because she was born on the fourth of July."

  "Is she married, or does she still have the same name?" Savannah asked.

  "That I don't know. I never heard of any grandchildren, so maybe not. Then there were his ranch hands—let's se
e, there was Nash, Dylan, Cory, and Meryl." He shook his head. "I don't know where they were from or anything about them, but they seemed to all have a fairly long history with Randy. They lived right there on the ranch."

  "They did?" Savannah asked. "In the house?"

  "No," he said. "I doubt Mrs. Randolph would invite those guys into her fancy home, even for a drink of water. Did you see the inside of the place?"

  Savannah nodded. "Yes, I did. It's lovely. She has some beautiful antique furniture. Yeah," she said chuckling, "I can't imagine rowdy ranch hands living in that home." She frowned. "But where, I wonder? We didn't see a bunkhouse."

  "Really?" he said. "It's right out beyond that large stand of trees. I was out there once on a golf cart with Meryl. We were trying to bring in a few strays that had gotten away."

  "Oh?" she said. "I think I know the trees. That's where we turned around. I'll have to tell Craig about the bunkhouse. We saw the barn and the washhouse, but no bunkhouse. I did see a golf cart, though. It's still there."

  Michael shook his head. "I can't imagine that man leaving of his own free will. I wonder what happened." He looked at her. "Yes, have Craig poke around out at the bunkhouse."

  ****

  "Did you check out the bunkhouse at the ranch?" Savannah asked the following day when Craig called.

  "Yes. That was a great lead. Kudos to Michael. How we missed it when we were on horseback and so close to it, I'll never know," he grumbled.

  "Yeah, I guess we got too focused on that fishing license and Rags's bathroom habits." She asked, "So did you find anything useful?"

  "Sure did. It looks like the guys left the bunkhouse in about as much of a hurry as the Randolphs' left the main house. All they took was their personal stuff."

  "So no addresses or phone numbers? What about last names?" she asked.

  "Not yet, but my team doesn't have what we have."

  "What's that?" Savannah asked. "Oh, wait. You're talking about Rags, aren't you?"

  "Of course," he said, chuckling.

  "Sure, I wouldn't mind taking him out there again. It's a peaceful place. Maybe Michael and I should buy it and run cattle and horses."

  "You could do that, but let's close this case first, shall we?"

  "By the way, Craig, why were those guys trying to buy us out or chase us out? Mom indicated that Jake doesn't seem to know, and I've been wondering."

  "From what I understand, they heard some scuttlebutt that there are a bunch of housing tracts going in, and they're convinced that Hammond will need a large shopping complex. They want to be in on the ground floor of that, but in order to do so, they needed to own the right pieces of land."

  Savannah frowned. "So rather than go about it legitimately, those bozos were trying to steal the Randolphs' land and use scare tactics to get additional property at reduced prices?"

  "Yes," Craig said. "I think that's the scam. Then they hoped to sell the land to a developer at a ridiculously inflated price."

  "Heck, if I thought a shopping mall was going in on the Randolphs' property, I'd probably sell out," she said. "That would be awful."

  "Well, I don't think it's going to happen. Those guys may be detained for a long time, depending on how and if we find the Randolphs. Oh, I spoke with someone who can put me in touch with the daughter. I hope to talk to her later today. Libby Randolph is traveling, but her housemate said she expected a call from her—she calls and checks on her cats every afternoon. I guess one of them is sick. So what time can you get away today?" he asked.

  "Let me check with Mom and I'll call you back."

  ****

  Savannah and Craig arrived at the bunkhouse by golf cart with Rags later that afternoon.

  "Did you hear from the daughter?" she asked.

  Craig shook his head. "Could be anytime. She was expected to call her housemate around noon, and she had a presentation at one." He looked at his watch. "It's two now, so I expect a call just about any time." He took Rags's leash and led him toward the spacious bunkhouse.

  "This is nice," Savannah said. "They even had a little garden out here, veggies and flowers."

  "Yes, it seems to have a woman's touch. I wonder if Mrs. Randolph did the planting," Craig said.

  "One of the men might have a green thumb," Savannah suggested. She followed Craig and Rags inside. "Gosh, it's roomy and kind of eerie. Look, someone left their clothes on the bed and that bed's unmade."

  "Well, those guys we arrested might have been staying out here, or they had workers who did, so we can't be sure that what we find actually belongs to the ranch hands."

  Savannah shrugged. "So what are you looking for, Craig?"

  "Whatever we can find," he said.

  "If you give me an idea of what you'd like to find, I'll put it in my mind and see if Rags picks up on it."

  He grinned and quipped, "I forget sometimes that you use super powers with him. Sure, well, anything that might identify the ranch hands or help us to find them, and, of course, any hint about what has happened to the Randolphs."

  "Okay, give him his head and let's see what he uncovers," she suggested. When Rags simply sat looking around, she asked, "Want me to take him?"

  He handed her the leash.

  She leaned over and said to the cat, "Find Mr. Randolph, boy, or his ranch hands. We want to find Mr. Randolph." When the cat darted out the back door of the building, she quickly followed. "Oh, Craig, he's pulling toward that well. See that old well out there?"

  "Sure do," he said, with a sigh. "I just hope…"

  "I know," she said. "That's not where we want to find anyone."

  Showing no interest in the well, Rags trotted off in a different direction, leading Savannah and Craig back toward the bunkhouse. He walked up to a vent under the structure, and Savannah winced for Craig's benefit.

  He stared at Rags. "What do you think he's trying to say there?"

  She shrugged. "Better check it out with your flashlight, I guess."

  "Yeah, I'd better," he said, getting down on his knees next to the cat. "They really built this thing high off the ground. Do you get flooding out this way?" he asked. "Look at that, you could crawl around under this building quite easily." More quietly, he said, "And even discard bodies under here." He glanced around. "But there's no smell." He crawled closer. "Lye."

  "What?" she asked.

  "They may have used lye or lime to kill the—you know, aroma."

  "Yuk," she said, shuddering. When Craig removed the vent cover and shined his light under the bunkhouse, she stepped back, but Rags was on high alert, pulling on the leash toward the detective. "What do you see?" she asked.

  "Not much," he reported. "Nothing that looks suspicious." He continued to shine the light under the building, then said, "Bring the cat over here. Let's see what he wants to show us."

  "Don't let go of him," Savannah instructed.

  When she handed Rags off to Craig, the cat ducked into the crawl space, glanced around, then walked back out and began sniffing the air. She laughed. "I guess that's an all—clear as far as the bunkhouse is concerned."

  "Yeah, what's he interested in now, a rabbit or a squirrel?"

  "Could be," she said, taking the leash and waiting for Rags to make another move.

  Just then Craig removed his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. "I think it's the daughter." Awkwardly he stood up and dusted off his pants knees. "Hello, Detective Craig Sledge here."

  "Hello, this is Libby Randolph. Has something happened to my parents, Detective?"

  "Well, we're not sure, Miss Randolph. That's why I'm calling you to see if you know where they are?"

  "Where they are?" she repeated. "I would guess they're where they've been for the last forty years, on the family ranch in Hammond, California. Why are you looking for them? Did Dad miss another payment on his feed bill? He does get forgetful." She chuckled. "Or is he getting a refund for overpayment? That's happened, too." She paused. "But everyone has his address. It's been the same for
well over forty years, actually. That's where he grew up. My grandfather ran the ranch in the fifties."

  "Miss Randolph, I'm here at the ranch right now and, well, it seems your parents are no longer ranching. They evidently sold the place to investors and retired. At least that's the story we got."

  "What?" she shouted. "No. You must be talking about someone else. My dad runs the Circle B Ranch in Hammond, California."

  "That's where we are," Craig said gently. "Mr. and Mrs. Randolph are nowhere to be found. We've been told they retired and moved away. When is the last time you heard from them?"

  "I talked to Mom on Mother's Day, then again on her birthday in late May. I've been traveling. I tried calling Dad on Father's Day, but he didn't return my call, which I didn't think odd since Dad hates talking on the phone. Generally, we don't talk but once every few weeks or so. Mom keeps pretty busy with her church and a painting group. She's an artist." She paused. "So you're at the ranch and my parents aren't there? Did you talk to the ranch hands?"

  "I'm afraid they're gone too. We arrested a couple of men who claimed to have purchased the ranch. The cattle are gone. There's no livestock here at all."

  "Darla?" Libby asked weakly.

  "Gone," Craig said.

  "I don't believe this," she said. "Dad would never part with her and they'd never move without telling me. Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong."

  Miss. Randolph, where would your folks go if they did decide to leave? Do you have any idea at all where that would be?"

  "Let me think. Maybe near where her sister and nieces and nephews live. I never gave them grandchildren, so they've become close to my three cousins' children."

  "Where is your aunt located?" Craig asked.

  "Just outside San Francisco. Let me give you a phone number. Mom is in contact with Aunt Stella often. Hopefully that's where they are. But why they wouldn't tell me, and why they would sell everything off like that and so quickly, I don't understand." Libby Randolph was silent, then said, "Tell me why you're there. What do you think has happened?"

 

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