Circles in the Snow

by Patrick F. McManus

  “Just looking for some information, Ed, and this is usually a good place to find some.”

  “You try the library?”

  “Doesn’t have the kind of information I’m looking for. Maggie available?”

  “You know she’s always available to you, Bo. Have a seat and I’ll give her a call.”

  Tully plopped into one of the red plush chairs that lined one side of the entranceway. Ed picked up a phone, dialed a number, and said, “Bo Tully to see you, Maggie.” He listened, then hung up and turned to Tully. “She’ll be right down, Bo. Like a drink while you’re waiting?”

  “Yeah, I would. Unfortunately, I can’t, since I’m here strictly on business.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Afraid it is. Murder.”

  Ed shook his head. “That is serious. Anyone we know?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  Maggie came strutting across the hardwood floor leading to the entrance area, her high heels clicking smartly on the polished wood, her auburn hair perfectly done, the tight-fitting red dress fairly shouting “high-end boutique.” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement behind rimless glasses. “Sheriff Tully! Nice to see you up our way, Bo. Ed, get the sheriff something to drink.” She held out her hand. Tully stood up and gave it a squeeze.

  “Already offered, Maggie, but Bo says he’s here on duty. He’s investigating a crime.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. What can I do for you, Bo?”

  “We’ve had a rather nasty murder, Maggie, and I’m told by the wife of the victim that he liked to hang out here quite a lot.”

  Maggie frowned. “Well, as you know, Bo, this is a hotel catering to respectable and well-educated professional ladies who rent our rooms. I don’t inquire about any private transactions they may undertake. Gentlemen from all over the country come here in search of intelligent conversation. In fact, they make a point of traveling out of their way, just to stop by Silver Tip.”

  Tully smiled. “I think some of them might even be federal lawmen looking for bad guys. I suppose they don’t bother to ask about your ladies’ private transactions.”

  “No, they don’t. But for your information, Sheriff, the main thing our ladies sell is attention. Men come here just because the ladies listen to their stories and jokes and lies so attentively.”

  “I thought that must be the case. So what can you tell me about Morgan Fester?” He settled back in his chair.

  “Somebody killed Morg?”

  “Afraid so. I thought maybe some idiot might have stopped by here and bragged about the killing. Been known to happen.”

  Maggie slid into the chair next to Tully and lit a cigarette, tucking her silver lighter away in a pocket of her dress. “Yes, it has. This is the first I’ve heard about Morg, though. There are folks around here who would view his killing as a service to the community.” She inhaled deeply and blew out a stream of smoke. “I haven’t heard anything, Bo, but I’ll ask the ladies. I know Morg favored Sasha in particular. She’s very attentive, and I’m sure Morg told her all sorts of stuff, maybe some of it even true. That happens sometimes.” She turned to her doorman. “Ed, call Sasha and tell her a gentleman in the lobby would like to speak to her.”

  “You referring to Bo?”

  “Yes, I am! Now shut up and call Sasha.” She turned back to Tully. “For heaven’s sake, Bo, don’t ask her about birds.”

  “I wasn’t intending to. Why?”

  “She’ll talk your arm off about birds. Oh, she is a nut when it comes to our fine feathered friends. Travels all over the world, spotting and photographing rare species.”

  “All over the world? She must be independently wealthy.”

  “Could be. She gets paid extremely well here, let me tell you, and she also gets free room and board and some help with the expense of her travels. She’s worth every penny I spend on her, though. You know Augie Finn, I’m sure.”

  Tully grimaced. “Yeah, I know Augie well. He and his newspaper have been thorns in my side for years. How do you know him?”

  “Oh, he stops by every couple of weeks to check on us. He’s even done several features on some of the ladies who live here.”

  “Yes, I read his stories about the ladies and enjoyed them. I must admit he’s a major pain in my life, but I do like his writing.”

  “Several of our ladies do some very nice crafts, like knitting and patchwork quilts, and one even does oil paintings. Augie has written stories on nearly all of them, even mentioning their place of residence. He says some of his readers are surprised the ladies seem so normal and interesting. A month or so ago he did a feature on Sasha and her interest in birds. It was a fantastic story and very funny.”

  Tully nodded. “I read it. I guess I didn’t make the connection with this Silver Tip at the time. I hate to admit it, but I read everything Augie writes. I’m not fond of his stories about me and my investigations, though. He’s a funny guy and never lets a mere fact stand in the way of a good piece. His writing reminds me of Mark Twain. Most of the time, though, he’s a pain in my backside. The reporters in my own town, at the Blight City Daily News, are so ignorant and lazy I never have to worry about them. They’ll print any tidbit I give them. But Augie and that miserable little Silver Tip Miner drive me nuts. I think everybody in Blight County who knows how to read never misses an edition. What was the bird lady’s name again?”

  “Sasha. I never give out last names of the ladies. You’ll have to get that from her, if she wants to give it. Morg was particularly fond of Sasha. As you probably know, he owns—or owned—two huge ranches.”

  “Yeah,” Tully said. “I’ve known Morg a long time. I guess I’m one of the few people in the county who actually liked the guy. He reminded me of my grandfather.”

  “Really? I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, old Gramps was as nasty a piece of work as ever set foot in Blight County. Morgan Fester didn’t fall much short of his record, though.”

  “Oh, dear! Well, here comes Sasha. I’d better scoot and leave you two alone to talk. By the way, Bo, have you eaten supper yet? You look famished.”

  “Now that you mention it, I could use a bite.”

  A sturdy but pretty blond woman walked up. Maggie introduced her to Tully. He noticed she had a very firm grip when she shook his hand.

  Maggie said, “Sasha, do you know if we have any of that roast beef left from supper? The sheriff is starving to death right here in front of us.”

  Sasha smiled. “He’s in luck. I’ll bring him back a platter.” She left and disappeared into a side room.

  “You’ll like Sasha,” Maggie said. “She’s your kind of people.”

  “My kind?” Tully said.

  “Yeah, she likes to fish and hunt. She keeps us well supplied with wild fish and game.”

  “I suppose you know that using venison commercially is illegal, not that there’s anything wrong with that, Maggie.”

  She laughed. “Of course I do, Sheriff. But we only serve it free to our guests. There’s nothing wrong with serving venison free to guests, is there?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Maggie said, “Come with me, Bo. You’ll like eating in our dining room better than out here.” She led him into a spacious room filled with white-linen-covered tables, crystal chandeliers, large mirrors on the walls, and other elegant features a first-time visitor wouldn’t expect to find in a grimy little mining town like Silver Tip. Presently, Sasha came in carrying a tray. It held a platter heaped with slabs of dark meat and a small mountain of mashed potatoes, all of it covered with dark brown gravy, next to a side of grilled vegetables, another side of thick toasted bread slices, and a salad. She pulled up a small table with her foot and set the platter down in front of Tully. The aroma almost brought tears to his eyes. Sasha said, “I had to warm the roast and potatoes in the microwave. Sorry about that. Hope it’s all right, Sheriff.”

  Tully nodded and dug in. When he had finished devouring every last mor
sel, he ran a finger across the empty plate and licked it off, the only bit of gravy he had missed. Maggie and Sasha were smiling at him. He felt embarrassed. “I hope you didn’t get splattered,” he said, “but that’s the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life!”

  Maggie grinned. “I’m so glad we could be of service.”

  Tully smiled at her. “Thanks for being so attentive to my eating, Maggie.”

  “You’re welcome, Bo, even if you are a smart aleck.”

  Tully stood up and pulled over the nearest chair for Sasha. She sat, smoothing her stained white slacks as she did so. “Sorry for the way I look, Sheriff. I was about to take a shower but didn’t think you’d want to wait until I got spiffed up.”

  “You look great to me,” he said, sitting back down. “And call me Bo. Everybody around here does.”

  Maggie said, “I’ll leave you two to your discussion. I’ve got some work I’d better take care of.”

  Tully thanked her and she walked back toward her office.

  Sasha said, “Well, Sheriff, what can I do for you?”

  He cleared his throat. “First I want to mention how impressed I was that your cook was able to imitate the taste of venison so perfectly with those slices of roast beef you served me.”

  She smiled. “I guess maybe it’s all part of the art of cooking. Actually, Sheriff, it was the final bit of the very last deer I will ever shoot in my life. And I shot it early in the season, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Your last deer. Why is that?”

  “Because I’ve given up killing things. Something happened a while back that made it occur to me that all life wants to live. It doesn’t make any difference what form the life takes, something the size of an elephant or of a tiny red spider or a person, it all wants to live.”

  “A tiny red spider?”

  Sasha laughed. “Yeah, a tiny red spider. I was sitting at my desk one day and happened to glance down and there was this group of tiny red spiders watching me. I could see their eyes! And I hate spiders. When they saw I was watching them, they all rushed under a sheet of paper next to my computer. Then they gathered in a little red line and stood there staring out at me from under the sheet of paper, apparently thinking they were hidden. I was about to thump my thumb up and down on top of the paper and squish them when it occurred to me that even life in the form and size of a tiny spider wants to live. So right then and there I made up my mind never to kill anything again.”

  Tully smiled. “But Maggie told me you love to fish.”

  “I did, Sheriff, but I don’t anymore. You know why a fish fights so hard when it’s hooked?”

  “Hmm. Actually, Sasha, I haven’t thought that much about it.”

  “It’s because the fish feels helpless and is terrified by the unknown force pulling against it. The fish doesn’t want to die.”

  Tully sighed. “Well, there you go, Sasha. You just ruined fishing for me. Fortunately, fly fishing is finished around here until spring, and I should be over this conversation by then.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t mean to ruin fishing for you, Sheriff. It’s just a silly idea of mine. I go through periods of being weird, but I usually get over it.”

  Tully stood up to go. “Well, I’ve enjoyed our conversation, but I had better head back to the station. Or better yet, home.”

  “Come again soon, Sheriff. It was fun talking to you.”

  “You, too. By the way, Maggie tells me Morgan Fester enjoyed talking to you, and I happen to know men often blab stuff to attentive ladies they wouldn’t want anybody else to know.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this,” Sasha said. “Morg Fester is a nasty piece of work.”

  “Morg is past tense, Sasha. He was a nasty piece of work. Now he is a dead piece of work. Somebody murdered him.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I was hoping you might be able to tell me if Fester ever mentioned anything to you about somebody wanting to kill him.”

  Sasha thought for a moment. “No, and I would remember something like that. I suspect any number of people would be pleased to see him dead but wouldn’t want to do the deed themselves. His wife might be high up on that list, but I understand she’s quite a nice person, goes off and does her own thing and never speaks ill of Morg. They’re rich and she can do just about anything she wants. Morg told me she spends the winter in Cabo San Lucas. I guess they have another big ranch in Mexico. Did you know Morg was fluent in Spanish?”

  “I didn’t know about the Spanish. I knew he was smart.”

  Sasha smiled. “I don’t know many smart people, except maybe those government agents who stop by every few months tracking some gangster. And now you, of course.”

  “Yeah, I stop by occasionally myself. Get some of my best leads here. Well, I’m sorry to keep you from your shower, Sasha. Actually, I’m not. It‘s a pleasure meeting you. By the way, you seem quite different from the other ladies.”

  Sasha laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment, Sheriff. The ladies are all pretty nice.”

  “I know they are. Take care, Sasha.”

  He got up and headed for the door. Ed was there and unlocked it for him. “That Sasha’s something, ain’t she, Bo?”

  “She is that, Ed. My head is still spinning.”

  “I hope you didn’t get her talking on birds.”

  “No, Maggie had warned me about birds. I have to say, though, there’s something about Sasha that’s different from the other ladies.”

  “Oh, that’s because she ain’t one of the ladies, Bo. She spends most of her time in the kitchen. Sasha’s the chef. Almost never comes out front but occasionally does chat with some of the guests.”

  “You mean she cooked that wonderful meal I just ate?”

  “Yep. She keeps us all pretty well fed, even Morgan Fester from time to time. Her and Fester used to get into terrible rows.”

  “Fester? About what?”

  “Oh, mostly eagles. I guess eagles killed a calf of his once and ate it. Probably had a hundred wolf tracks around the kill, but he blamed the eagles. Morg hates eagles. He’s got a thousand head of cattle but apparently prized that one calf over all the rest. Well, as you probably know by now, Sasha’s got a thing about birds, eagles topping the list.”

  “That’s what I understand.”

  “Yeah, she loves birds. Kind of fanatical about them, if you ask me. When she’s got enough money saved up, she plans on going back to college to get a degree in birds. She’s already got a master’s degree in biology, but I guess there aren’t a lot of jobs out there for women with a master’s degree in biology.”

  “So she wants to be an ornithologist?”

  “Good heavens, no! She ain’t into any of that weird stuff. She just wants to study birds. I’m pretty sure Maggie plans to pay for her college. Bo, we do get a passel of weird women here.”

  “Sounds like it. Well, thanks for the info.” He started to walk out but then noticed something hanging out of one of the man’s rear pockets. “Say, Ed, that isn’t a blackjack, is it?”

  Ed looked surprised. “What? A blackjack? Oh, good heavens, no, Bo. Ha! I think that would be illegal.” He pulled the leather object out of his hip pocket. “Well, what this is, I just recently got into loading my own shotgun shells. And I carry the lead shot in this little leather bag. Oh, sure, once in a while a couple customers will get involved in a bit of a brawl, and I give one or both of them a tap with my little leather shot bag. It has a wonderful soothing effect. Calms them right down.”

  “I bet it does. It seems like something I could use from time to time.”

  Ed tossed the little leather bag back and forth in his hands. “Tell you what, Bo. I have another one at home just like it. You can have this one if you like.” He held it out.

  Tully took the little bag with one hand and slapped it a couple of times into the palm of his other hand. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. “Why, thank you, Ed, I appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Bo.
You thinking of loading your own shotgun shells?”

  “Something like that.”

  Chapter 6

  After pulling out of the brothel’s parking lot, Tully turned toward the business section of Silver Tip. He cruised slowly down Main Street, checking out the storefronts on each side. Then he saw it, a rather dilapidated frame building but with a neatly painted sign on a small front window that said THE SILVER TIP MINER. He made a U-turn at the next intersection, drove back, and parked next to the newspaper office. A light glowed dimly in the back, indicating perhaps someone might still be at work there, maybe Augie himself. He got out and rapped on the window with one knuckle. A man in a white beard and mustache and wearing a full-length leather apron put a hand to his eyes, apparently to see if he recognized the person disturbing him. Then he walked to the front of the shop and opened the door.

  “My goodness, Sheriff Tully! What brings you prowling around this hour of the night?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m looking for your editor and reporter, the famous August Finn.”

  The man frowned. “I hope you ain’t intending to arrest August over something he wrote about you, Sheriff.”

  Tully laughed. “Sir, I would be absolutely delighted to arrest August for something, but I’ll be darned if I can come up with any law he’s broken.”

  The old man held out his hand. “Vernon Scott’s the name, Sheriff. I’ve read a lot about you in my own Silver Tip Miner. But as long as you’re not here to arrest my reporter, I’ll show you around my newspaper, if you’re interested.”

  “I’d be very interested, Vernon. Can’t say I’ve ever seen any paper quite like the Silver Tip Miner.”

  The editor frowned. “That’s because there ain’t none like it anywhere in the world. Every other paper I know has gone sissy. We, on the other hand, print everything that’s fit to print and quite a bit that ain’t. August handles most of the reporting and I run the shop. If you’d like, Sheriff, I’ll show you around. I’m kind of proud of our operation, one of the last of its kind in the world.”