“I thought it was pretty dumb at the time but didn’t want to say anything.”
“Yeah, you would think I’d have known better.”
“Oh, you knew what you was doin’, Bo,” his father said. “But don’t get too upset about it. It’s something I would have done myself, if I’d thought of it. I expect it’s just the Blight Way, dumb stuff like that.”
Tully nodded. “I suppose it is. Hard to imagine a soft-hearted fellow like Fester shooting eagles, though. So you think maybe his wife killed him, because she knew he was doing just that? Maybe he even tormented her by bragging about it? She was a great lover of wildlife, especially birds, I hear.”
“Yeah,” Pap said, “I think either Hillory or Jeff Sheridan, her new husband, did him in. But there are other suspects out there. He fooled around with a lot of women, and it’s possible one of their husbands or boyfriends got upset with him.”
Tully thought about this. “But there’s a really weird side to this case, Pap.”
“I thought the whole thing was weird.”
“How about this, then? The fletching on the arrow that killed Fester was made of eagle feathers.”
“Eagle feathers! It’s illegal even to possess one eagle feather.”
“Yeah. Killing people with them is a bad one, too.”
Pap scratched his chin. “Depends on the person. I’d rather kill a person than an eagle.”
Daisy stuck her head in the door. “Boss, this came in the mail today. I thought it might be of interest to both you and Pap. It’s from Ed’s Archery.” She handed him an envelope. She had already sliced it open and probably read the contents.
“Great!” Tully said. “Maybe we’ll at least get some leads.”
He pulled out a note and read it aloud, with Daisy standing in his office doorway.
“Dear Sheriff Tully, as I mentioned to you when you stopped by Ed’s Archery the other day, we don’t keep track of what our customers buy, but we do keep a list of their names and addresses, so we can send them news of different promotions and sales we may have. If we were to go through thousands of copies of sales receipts, we could probably come up with what each person bought, but it would be enormously time-consuming, unless you have a person on your staff who could handle that chore.” He glanced up at Daisy.
She shook her head. “This person isn’t handling that chore!”
Tully read down through the list. “Well, this is interesting. Mrs. Morgan Fester was a customer of Ed’s Archery. I think that’s where she bought that green target I saw hanging on the side of a Fester barn. Here are more names of Ed’s Archery customers who live in Blight County—Ben Higgens, Mrs. Wallace Smith, Herbert Cathcart, Wade Gossage, and Jason Jones. Any of those ring a bell, Pap?”
“Only one of any interest—Wade Gossage. He’s a pretty heavy dude. Done some time back when I was sheriff, but I don’t recollect what for. Maybe it was murder or something else of little consequence.”
Tully shook his head. “Yeah, as I recall, murder was a misdemeanor back then.”
“I have to admit, we didn’t get too worked up about it. But here’s something may be of interest to you, Bo.”
“And that is?”
“Wade had a very pretty wife. She got to fooling around with some guy and Wade beat her up. So she up and divorced him, took most of his money, what there was of it. Knowing what was good for her, she took off for somewhere. Disappeared, anyway. Maybe Wade had something to do with that.”
“You happen to know the fellow she was fooling around with?”
Pap scratched his head. “It’s been a while, Bo, since I hung out with that crowd. But I’ll tell you who might know.”
“And that is?”
“A big biker by the name of Mitch Morgan.”
“I know Mitch!”
“Well, he heads up the biggest motorcycle gang in town—actually, the only motorcycle gang in town. He’s not someone you want to mess with, Bo.”
Tully laughed. “You’re right. Mitch knows just about everything that goes on at Slade’s and elsewhere in the underworld, too, I imagine. I suspect his gang is responsible for half the crime in Blight County.”
Pap said, “I don’t think ‘half’ does the gang justice. Anyway, Mitch might know something about what happened to Wade and, more important, Wade’s wife.”
Tully nodded. “Good idea, Pap. I’ll stop by Slade’s and see if I can find that pesky biker. I doubt he’ll tell me anything, though.”
“You can be awfully persuasive, Bo.”
“Pap, you know I would never treat anyone harshly.” He went on reading out loud from the Ed’s Archery note. “I’m sending you a list of only persons who live in Blight County and who have purchased products over the past year. Best of luck with your investigation, Sheriff. Sincerely, Ed Simpson, Manager and Owner, Ed’s Archery.”
After work that evening, Tully pulled up and parked half a block from Slade’s Bar. He would have parked closer but motorcycles took up all the parking space. He got out and lumbered down the sidewalk, absentmindedly feeling for the blackjack in his hip pocket. There was also a .45 semiautomatic pistol in the shoulder holster under his jacket. In other words, he was properly attired for an evening at Slade’s.
Even though it was still early, Slade’s was booming, loud laughter oozing out onto the street, harsh language roaring above it, a typical evening at Slade’s. Two motorcycles were parked up on the sidewalk, blocking his way. Tully raised a booted foot and sent them crashing out of his way. The noise instantly quieted the ruckus inside. A handful of occupants looked out the open door. Tully shouldered his way through. As usual when he put in an appearance at Slade’s, the tavern suddenly went silent and then, bit by bit, began to pick up volume. He looked around the room and found Mitch seated at the bar. The big biker calmly watched him approach and then turned and said something to a fellow seated on a stool next to him. The fellow shook his head. Mitch leaned closer and whispered something to him again. The man quickly evacuated the stool, which Tully then occupied. At least the fellow had warmed it for him.
“What brings you slumming, Bo?” Mitch said. “We don’t even have a decent knife fight going on.”
Tully smiled. “Just here on routine business, Mitch.” The bartender came over, removed the empty glass, and set a full glass of beer in front of him. “Your regular, Bo,” he said. “On the house.”
“Thanks, Pete.” Then he turned his attention to the biker. “I need some help, Mitch, on a murder investigation I’m working on.”
Mitch took an uneasy glance around the room, which was slowly rising to its normal volume. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Do you recall ever knowing a fellow by the name of Wade Gossage?”
Mitch ran his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth, then glanced over his shoulder, apparently to make sure he wasn’t in danger of being overheard. “Yeah, I know Wade.”
“Is he still around?”
“I’m not sure. He lived for a while with a woman who hung out down here from time to time. I figure she’s the one you’re curious about. Seems to me they got married at some point. In fact, I think they had been married before and broke up for some reason. Your man Fester zeroed in on her for a while. Gave her clothes and jewels and money, and then they went off somewhere on a trip together. It was just as if Wade didn’t exist anymore.”
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing much, as far as I know. After Fester got took out of the picture, she moved back in with Wade. He’s kind of an ornery cuss, but I think they get along all right now.”
“Any idea where they live?”
“Oh yeah, they got themselves a little cabin up on Rattle Creek. Wade does some cruising for the Forest Service and during summers mans a lookout tower. I imagine now he takes his wife along with him to the tower. She’s a pretty thing and Wade is smart to take her with him. She gets paid for the lookout duty, too. I, for one, wouldn’t leave her on her own. Ole Wade’s probably learned
his lesson. You think he might have done Fester, Bo?”
“It’s possible. I don’t have any other leads, at least none I’m happy about.”
Mitch slid off his stool. “Well, I don’t want to get Wade in trouble, but you might take a look at him. Years ago, I understand he did some guy and served time for it. Generally, though, he seems peaceable enough, not the kind of guy who runs around killing folks for no reason.”
Tully said, “I think I know the cabin on Rattle Creek you’re talking about. Years ago I used to fish the creek quite a bit.”
“Just watch yourself, Bo. I really don’t know what kind of state Wade’s in these days.”
“Thanks, Mitch. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 32
Early the next morning, Tully called Daisy from home and told her he was going to pay Wade Gossage a visit on the way into the office.
“Never heard of him,” Daisy said. “This related to the Fester murder?”
“Maybe. Seems like something I should check out, though.”
The Rattle Creek Road was mostly dirt. The snow had melted off it. Come spring, the road would be up to one’s knees in mud, but there was enough frost in the ground now to keep it solid. Rattle Creek was the sort of area that required a certain kind of resident, mostly people at the end of their rope who had started out at the short end to begin with. The creek had risen a little in the warmer days and was now rattling along in justification of its name. Tully spotted the little white house from half a mile away. It sat on a slight rise of ground that would protect it from the occasional spring flooding. As far as Tully could remember, the house was the last one on the creek, before the road began to climb into the mountains. There was a pickup truck in the driveway. Tully pulled in behind it, shut off the engine, and got out. There was a light on in what he thought was probably the kitchen. He didn’t know how he might be greeted and reached under his jacket and slid the safety off the .45. He knocked on the door, which was opened by an attractive woman of middle age. He said, “Ma’am, I’m Blight County Sheriff Bo Tully. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes we have, Sheriff. It was years ago. You weren’t sheriff then, but I think your father was. You were fishing the crick and stopped by and asked if I might give you a drink of water. I did and we talked a long while. You were still in college, I believe.”
“Mrs. Gossage, you have an excellent memory. I loved fishing Rattle Crick. It used to have a nice run of cutthroat trout in June each year. That month was like Christmas to me.”
She laughed. “We were all so young then. No offense, Sheriff.”
He grinned at her. “None taken. Is your husband in, Mrs. Gossage? I would like to speak to him.”
She turned and yelled, “Wade, Sheriff Bo Tully is here to see you!”
A tall, muscular man came lumbering out of a back room, running his fingers through his long graying hair. “What on earth have I gone and done now, Sheriff?”
“Nothing at all that I know of, Mr. Gossage. I’ve been working on a criminal investigation and someone suggested to me that you might know something about it. The crime has some rather gory aspects to it, and I would just as soon not subject Mrs. Gossage to it. So would you mind if we stepped outside?”
“No problem, Sheriff. Wait till I grab a jacket.”
He walked back down a darkened hallway. Tully hoped he would return with only a jacket. He did. They went outside.
Rattle Creek was still rattling away. Tully said, “I love that music.”
Gossage looked around. “What music is that, Sheriff?”
“The crick. I used to fish it when I was a kid, the happiest time of my life.”
The man stared at the water. “After fifty years of listening to it, I guess I don’t hear it anymore. Actually, without this little device, I don’t hear much of anything.” He tapped the device in his ear.
Tully nodded. “Yeah, I probably could use one of those myself.”
“I expect you’re here about the Fester murder,” Gossage said.
“Yes, I am, Mr. Gossage. I don’t have much to go on, and I’m tracking down every tiny lead that comes my way.”
Gossage jammed his big hands in his jacket pockets and stared out at the creek. “Well, Sheriff, I make a pretty good suspect. Years ago I would have killed him in the blink of an eye, and even thought quite a bit about doing it. I got in a bit of trouble as a young man, even did some fairly serious time, but as I got older the urge to kill somebody or even something faded away. I gave up hunting years ago and haven’t touched a gun in ages. I do love shooting, though, and took up target shooting quite some time ago.”
“Must be with a bow and arrow.”
“Yep. I read in the Silver Tip Miner that Fester was done in the back by an arrow. There was a time I might have shot him myself, but I wouldn’t have bothered with an arrow. That seems like a pretty creepy way to kill a person, if you ask me. And he was shot in the back! I would’ve wanted him to see it coming, to know why he was being killed. He might just as well die of a heart attack, with no idea he was being whacked for fooling around with some other guy’s wife.”
“Good point, Mr. Gossage. I’ve wondered about that myself.”
“You probably know this already, Sheriff, but Fester made a lot of enemies down at Slade’s Bar, fooling with the women there. He had all kinds of money to throw around, and some of the ladies couldn’t resist the jewels and flowers and travel and I don’t know what all. If I was going to look for his killer, I’d look at Slade’s. Come to think of it, if I was you, Sheriff, I wouldn’t even bother looking for his killer.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of throwing in the towel as far as this job is concerned, and doing so pretty soon, whether the Fester murder is solved or not.”
“Can’t blame you for that. Good luck, Sheriff.” Gossage walked back to his house, and Tully got in his Explorer and drove back to town.
Chapter 33
When Tully got back to the office, Lurch was standing next to Daisy’s desk. Both of them looked uneasy.
“Lurch!” Tully said. “You made it back! Excellent! Come on in the office and tell me all about it.”
Lurch gave Daisy an uneasy glance. She gave him a glance back, equally uneasy. He figured they had been talking about his little adventure in Mexico. The deputy followed him into the office, and Tully shut the door behind them.
“So, Lurch, I take it your trip was a success.”
“Not exactly, Boss.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, while we were spending the night in Nogales, somebody stole Mrs. Fester’s tire out of the back of the pickup. Yeah, I know, I should have taken it into the motel room with me. It just never occurred to me someone would steal an old used tire. How many people would even have a pickup the tire fit?”
Tully shook his head. “Lurch, putting the tire in the bed of the pickup was my idea. Pap has already told me what happened. Mrs. Fester and Jeff’s wedding down in Mexico even gave us a motive! With Morg’s murder, Hillory gets the whole shebang—both ranches and even a new husband! But without that tire, there’s no way we can place her at the scene and time of the murder!”
“I know, Boss! I know!”
Tully smiled. “Don’t get so upset, Lurch. After all, I’m the one who told you to put the tire in the bed of the truck. Who would even imagine somebody stealing a used tire out of the bed of a truck at night in a quiet old Mexican town? It’s not your fault. So don’t feel bad about it.”
“But this means we don’t have any evidence that puts Mrs. Fester at the scene and the time of the murder!”
“Oh yeah, but these things happen.”
Lurch, looking greatly relieved, got up and left. Tully wandered out to Daisy’s desk.
“Whew!” she said. “I was afraid you might fire Byron.”
“Ah, we all make mistakes. So, anything else going on here?”
“Well, yes, we did get a telegram from A
ustralia.” She ruffled through some papers on her desk.
“Just tell me what it said.”
“Hillory wrote that she and Jeff were cutting their honeymoon short and were flying back to the US to clear themselves in Fester’s murder.”
Tully thought about this for a moment. “Reply to her telegram and put my name on it. Tell her that she and Jeff should finish their honeymoon. No evidence against them exists in the death of Morg Fester.”
“Really, Boss?”
“Really, Daisy.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I feel pretty good about it myself. Now I have to go visit Judge Patterson. I need a shot of his best booze to celebrate.”
“What are you celebrating?”
Tully smiled. “Daisy, after all these years of working in the sheriff’s office, you still don’t understand the Blight Way, do you?”
“I guess not.”
Tully pulled up in front of the judge’s house and strolled up the walk. The flower beds were all bare dirt bordered by receding snow. Mildred had apparently moved all of her plants to the sizable greenhouse in the judge’s backyard. Once he had retired, Tully thought he would build a huge greenhouse in his backyard. He rang the doorbell. Mildred answered.
“Why, Bo, what a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in!”
He stepped into the hallway. Mildred stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “My goodness, Bo, it’s always so good to see you. I hope you have time to sample some of the judge’s expensive new gin with me.”
“Mildred, the day will never come when I don’t have time for that. How is the old man, anyway?”
“Ornery as ever. But as always, he will be happy to see you. You go plop into your favorite chair in his study while I roust the judge out of his den.”
Tully strolled into the judge’s study. It was as familiar as his own, including the worn pink easy chair Patterson had apparently reserved for him over the years. He took off his hat, dropped it on the floor, kicked off his boots, and put his stockinged feet up on the matching footstool. This room was one of his most favorite places in the world.
Circles in the Snow Page 14
