The judge came bustling in followed by Mildred. “Bo! Good to see you again so soon.”
Mildred turned and dashed off.
Tully said, “Well, Judge, I’ll probably have a lot more time in the future to drop by. I’m retiring as sheriff of Blight County!”
“Retiring! You can’t do that, Bo! What will the county do without you?”
“I think it will do fine. I’m recommending Brian Pugh as my replacement. You know Brian, Judge. He’ll make an excellent sheriff.”
The judge nodded. “Yes, I know Brian and I’m sure he’ll do fine. But what terrible thing has happened that makes you want to retire?”
Tully leaned forward in the chair and put his hands on his knees. “Well, it’s this way, Judge. I suddenly found myself making distinctions between bad guys who kill good guys and good guys who kill bad guys, if you get my drift.”
The judge was quiet for a long moment, his brow furled. Then he nodded slightly and said, “Yes, I know the feeling well.”
Mildred came into the room with a tray containing three martinis and a pitcher half-full of them. The judge said, “Just in time with the martinis, Mil. Bo is hanging up his badge.”
Mildred almost dropped her tray, causing Tully’s heart to miss a beat. She steadied herself. “Bo, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
“I feel the same way,” the judge said. “Bo, I can certainly understand you wanting to get away from the crime scene, but what will you do?”
Mildred handed Tully his martini. He took a sip and smiled at her. She smiled back. They both knew she had raided the judge’s secret stash.
The judge said, “I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from the gritty business of being sheriff, but don’t you think you might miss it?”
“That’s something I wanted to run by you, Judge. The truth is, I would miss it. So I’ve been thinking about opening my own private detective agency. That way I could pick and choose my own crimes to solve, rather than just any that come along. Might even do some work for the FBI. I have some contacts there and went through their training program for sheriffs and police officers. Also, when I was a college student, I took a semester course at Washington State University in arson. The lady who ran it was one of the leading arson experts in the world, and it was fascinating. I thought I might make that my specialty. Maybe I’d travel all over the United States solving arson cases. I might even go back to college for a semester and brush up on some of the chemical aspects of it.”
The judge sipped his drink and thought about this for a moment. “You know, Bo, that’s not a bad idea, setting up your own private detective agency.”
Mildred broke in. “But Bo, I heard you just made a major sale of one of your paintings and now wanted to paint full-time.”
“It’s this way, Mil. I love painting, but you get tired of doing the same thing day in and day out, so I thought maybe I would mix in a little gumshoeing. Also, I have this lady I’ve promised to drive up the whole length of Idaho on a sightseeing adventure. I figure I could take along a camera and get a lot of pictures to use in my painting. The lady has given me a lot of warnings over the years that have turned out to be right on the money, so I owe her this trip.”
“A lady!” Mildred yelped. “Bo, don’t you think that’s . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence.
The judge laughed. “He’s referring to his fortune-teller, Mil. I think you may have consulted Etta Gorsich from time to time yourself.”
“Oh my! Etta! My goodness, yes! She’s wonderful. But Bo, she must be at least seventy years old.”
“Not too old to enjoy the scenery of North Idaho. I’ll wait until the spring, though, when the snow is off and the new growth is coming on. I may even show her how to find morel mushrooms out in the woods.”
“Etta’s usually right on the money when it comes to predicting things,” the judge said. He reached over and tapped Tully on the knee. “Now there’s something I’d like you to show Mil and me, how to find morels! Occasionally, one of our outdoorsy lawyers will make us a gift of a few, trying to bribe me, and for morels, I let him! But I’d like Mil and me to learn how to find our own. Lawyers are simply too stingy.”
Tully nodded. “I feel the same way, Judge. I never have enough time myself to go after morels in the brief period they come out, not to mention fall mushrooms like shaggymanes. Anyway, Judge, I’m not exactly sure how an elected official resigns from his job.”
The judge frowned as he thought about this. Tully finished off his martini. Mildred raised a questioning eyebrow and held up her pitcher, but he covered the top of his glass with his hand. After a moment the judge said, “We don’t often have an elected official resign. In fact, I can’t remember a single one. Most of them die in office, but that seems a bit extreme in your case. I think all you have to do is write the board of county commissioners a letter, telling them you are resigning your office on such and such a date and for them to arrange an election for your replacement.”
“As I told you, I’m going to recommend Brian for the job. He’s the best guy I’ve got and they’re all good.”
The judge nodded. “I’d be happy to recommend Pugh.”
Mildred asked, “So, Bo, when do you plan to resign?”
“I’m handing in my letter of resignation to the secretary first thing tomorrow. No telling how long it will take them to act on it, but I’ll be done with the job as soon as a new sheriff takes over.”
Chapter 34
Tully paid particular attention to the klocking of his three-thousand-dollar boots as he walked for possibly the last time down the marble-chip floor of the courthouse toward the office. It was a sound he would definitely miss. Each klock seemed to echo with authority in the hallway. As usual there was a little group of uniformed gossipers crowded around Daisy’s desk.
“Ah,” he said. “How convenient to have you all assembled here, because I have an announcement to make.”
They turned and stared at him. He had never before made an announcement. “My announcement is this. I have just told Judge Patterson that I am resigning as sheriff.”
The group sucked in its collective breath.
He went on. “As soon as I turn in my letter of resignation to the secretary of the board of county commissioners, I will be finished as sheriff of Blight County. No doubt one of you gentlemen gathered here in this hen-and-bull session will be appointed sheriff. I will miss all of you, but I am not sad to be leaving. I plan to settle down in the house on my little farm and grow all my own food, heat and cook with firewood I cut out of my own forest, and paint pictures whenever I feel like it. There’s one picture in particular I am looking forward to painting.”
“What picture is that, Bo?” a deputy asked.
“The one of Daisy.”
Daisy gasped. “Of me, Bo? Why on earth would you paint a picture of me?”
He wrinkled his brow and scratched his chin, as if trying to think of a reason. “Well, I guess because you’re beautiful. Oh, and before I clean out my desk, I do have one last request.”
Daisy shook her head. “There’s always one last request, isn’t there, Sheriff?”
“Yes, I suppose it must seem that way. But my very last request is this. Daisy, will you marry me?”
She gasped. Then she threw herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses.
“Can I take this as a yes?” he said.
Late that afternoon, Tully decided he was about to drop dead of hunger and couldn’t possibly make it home to fix his own dinner. He checked his watch. Ah, it was just about time for the jail kitchen to start feeding the prisoners. He stepped into the rickety elevator and went rattling down into the courthouse basement. Two burly guards from the jail stood at the door to the kitchen. One of them, Carl Jaspers, greeted him.
“How you doing tonight, Bo?”
“To tell you the truth, Carl, I’m beat. Thought I’d join our prisoners for their nightly meal.”
“Good choice. I
eat here every chance I get. It’s something else. The chef—and that’s what she is, a chef, not just one of your plain ordinary cooks—is a genius when it comes to food. She’s transformed the simple fare of a county jail kitchen into a culinary triumph. Her name is Erin McManus. She’s been chef in some of the best restaurants in the Pacific Northwest, and here she is now, feeding the dregs of society. Seems a waste of her talents, to throw them away on a bunch of criminals.”
Tully looked around the room. It was full of smiling, expectant faces. He guessed even criminals needed something to look forward to, even if only their meals. His gaze suddenly stopped on one particular diner. He straightened and strode menacingly toward the person, a pudgy man happily lifting a laden fork toward his mouth. It was August Finn, the editor and reporter from the Silver Tip Miner.
“Augie! What the devil are you doing here, dining at the county’s expense?”
Startled, Augie peered up at him. “What do you mean, Bo, ‘the county’s expense?’ Erin charges me ten dollars for dinner and five dollars each for breakfast and lunch!”
“What! You eat three meals a day here, Augie?”
“Of course not. Only as often as I can manage it. The county jail is the best place to eat in all of Blight City, maybe in all of Idaho. As a matter of fact, I’m going to write a feature on it.”
Tully pulled out a chair and sat down next to the reporter. A car thief Tully had arrested several months before came up and stood over them, a pad in his hand. He removed a pencil from behind his ear. “What would you like, Sheriff?”
“Well, Barney, what are my choices?”
“Coffee, tea, or milk. Otherwise you get the specialty.”
“And that is?”
“What Augie is eating.”
“In that case I’ll take the dinner special with coffee.”
“That will be ten dollars, Sheriff.”
“You charge everybody ten dollars, Barney?”
“Nope, Sheriff. Us criminals eat for free. Only you and Augie and any stray citizen who wanders in has to pay.” He pointed to a group of tan-dressed men sitting at a far table. “Even Fish and Game. They furnish the café with most of its protein.”
“Not roadkill, I hope.”
“Naw, never roadkill. They get all of their game from poachers and turn it in to the jail, along with the poachers. Several of the criminals here tonight are eating meat they poached themselves.”
The reporter had his pad out and was scribbling furiously in it. Tully shook his head in dismay.
“Augie, if you run a feature in the Silver Tip Miner that my jail is the best place in all of Idaho to eat, we’ll be overrun with people wanting to eat here.”
“But they’ll all have to pay, Bo. That will help the county finance the jail.”
Tully stared at the reporter. “You think the average citizen of Blight County will want to eat with criminals?”
“Why not? Most of them already eat at home with criminals.”
“You have a point. Don’t quote me, Augie, but this is the best meal I’ve had in ages. I notice the chef manages to get the perfect flavor of venison in the meat.”
“Yeah, and here’s another whole mystery for you, Bo. Sometimes she even manages the flavor of elk or moose.”
Tully dug in his pants pocket, dragged out a rumpled ten-dollar bill, and handed it to the waiter. He watched Barney walk back toward the cashier and hand him something, probably an old parking ticket, if he knew Barney as well as he was sure he did.
That evening, driving down to his house, he glanced up at his woods. The trees were packed with eagles, their white topknots glowing like Christmas tree ornaments. He smiled and said, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, you will be safe here from now on. I catch anyone shooting at you, you can feast on his dead carcass for breakfast the next morning.” He glanced out to the middle of his lower hayfield, and there, glowing in the middle of it, was a large, perfect circle drawn in the freshly fallen snow. No footprints led to or away from it. His foot hit the brake and the Explorer skidded to a stop on the icy road. Now, at last, the mystery would be solved. He pulled on the hand brake, got out, and started wading through the snow down to the circle. When he came to it, he stepped carefully over the perfect line of the circumference, cut about an inch deep into the snow. He guessed the circle was more than six feet across. Then he waded over to the hole in the middle, where the point of the protractor must have stuck. He shined his flashlight into the hole. At the bottom of it he could see the imprints of an eagle’s claws, where they had pivoted tightly around. Now he knew an eagle had flown in there, spread its wings out to full length so that the tip of each just touched the snow. Then it had turned in a full circle. After completing its task, it flew off, leaving no tracks leading to or away from the circle.
Tully turned and looked back at the eagles roosting in the woods and said to them, “You’re welcome, ladies and gentleman! I don’t know what your message says, but I appreciate it anyway!”
Then he walked back to his Explorer, got in, and started driving the rest of the way down to his house. He smiled. There was a light on in his living room.
THE SILVER TIP MINER
January 4, 2013
Blight County Sheriff Bo Tully Retires
By
August Finn
Eight years ago, I graduated with a degree in journalism from a university in the eastern United States whose name is so precious I will not venture to mention it here in Idaho, and particularly not in the Silver Tip Miner. It was Bo Tully himself who advised me to keep my eastern origins a secret. There is no opinion I respect more than that of Sheriff Tully, and so I have striven over the years to keep my origins unknown to the general public of Blight County. Indeed, the sheriff has tried to keep some of his own origins unknown to me and also the fact that he is extremely well educated. I will strive to disclose all of that, as well as point out some of his accomplishments while in office.
Although Sheriff Tully had never taken a course in journalism—in fact, he did not even know such a thing existed—it was he who taught me journalism’s true basics, principles apparently unknown to any of my former professors. Such is the sorry state of higher education today, especially in Ivy League schools, whose professors chose to keep such principles secret from me, if they even knew of them. And so it is that now, on the sad occasion of Sheriff Tully’s quitting public office, I will attempt to set forth a few of his great accomplishments as the top law enforcement officer of Blight County, Idaho.
No holder of public office in the history of Blight County, with the exception of Sheriff Tully, has ever voluntarily chosen to remove himself from an abundant living provided by the taxpayers of the county. To have done so would have been regarded by Blight residents as evidence of insanity and reason enough for that person to have been otherwise removed. There is evidence of some commissioners still drawing their monthly salary after having been dead for several years. But Sheriff Tully is not dependent on the taxpayers of Blight County. Not only is he modestly wealthy, but I have come upon secret information that one of his latest watercolor paintings sold for an astonishing twelve thousand dollars! My informants tell me that he will now retire to his little farm, grow his own fruits and vegetables, hunt and fish, and cut his own firewood out of his own private forest. I realize that seems a grim kind of retirement to most of us, but here in Blight County we always say, “To each his own.” I don’t know what that means, but it is what we always say.
I here present a brief history of Sheriff Tully’s major accomplishments:
Some years ago the meager remains of a miner were discovered in a small, collapsed mine on Deadman Creek in northern Blight County. Sheriff Tully determined that the remains belonged to a miner who had been murdered near the end of the nineteenth century, approximately the time of the Spanish-American War. He set out to solve the murder and did. Although the murderer was now long dead of old age, Tully managed to identify him as the culprit and even tracked down
the murder weapon at a local museum. The complexity of the crime was staggering. Even so, Tully managed to solve it, leaving time itself to bring the criminal to justice.
Last year, three young men were shot to death in a huckleberry patch far back in the mountains. Although no one could understand why anyone would be killed for picking huckleberries, Tully once again solved the murders and brought the culprits to justice. The difficulty of solving this crime cannot be exaggerated, but Tully somehow managed to do it, with the assistance of beautiful FBI agent Angie Phelps. I have a note from Agent Phelps telling me that her efforts to establish chicken wrangling at the FBI Academy have proved fruitless. She also informs me that there seems to be little chance of the Bureau’s adopting the Blight Way.
One of Tully’s most difficult cases was the murder of a young former bank teller shot by a sniper on Chimney Rock Mountain while fleeing a bank robbery. The teller’s body was colored a bright yellow by falling tamarack needles, which offered not the slightest clue to the solution of the case but provided a rather pleasant tint to the whole mystery.
An avalanche made the solution of another case particularly difficult, but once again Sheriff Tully managed to overcome all obstacles, including a great deal of snow. Casts made of footprints in the snow became major clues in this mystery, as well as a description of just how such casts are made. The average reader may find such information boring, but there exist mystery buffs who will peruse it with keen interest, looking for errors.
Many of Tully’s cases involved the peculiar concept known as the Blight Way. I keep encountering it as I report on Sheriff Tully’s efforts to bring law and order to Blight County, but after several years of closely following his various methods devoted to law enforcement, I am as confused about it as ever.
I will now give a brief biography of Sheriff Tully. He was born in 1965 and grew up in the lap of luxury, a rare occurrence for citizens of Blight. The reason for the luxury was simply that a certain amount of wealth was passed down to him from his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, all of whom were sheriffs of Blight County. Prior to Bo, Tully sheriffs apparently held the record for most corrupt in the whole history of the state. Some of this wealth was passed on to Bo, who used a portion of it to enroll in the University of Idaho as an art major. His mother, Katherine Rose McCarthy—or, to be more complete, Katherine Rose McCarthy Tully O’Hare Tully Casey—was the sole source of stability over the course of Bo’s childhood.
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