The Tamarack Murders

by Patrick F. McManus

  Tully smiled. “I bet gas was about twenty-five cents a gallon when the Caddy was new.”

  Shanks laughed. “You got that right, Sheriff. It now costs me five dollars in gas to get to the end of my driveway. I don’t drive it much, except when I want to impress somebody, like a school principal.”

  “That work?”

  “Like a charm. He thinks I must be rich to drive a car like this. Rich people can cause a school principal lots of grief.”

  “They cause sheriffs lots of grief too,” Tully said.

  Shanks smiled. “I expect so.”

  Tully glanced into an open-sided structure that Shanks apparently used for a woodshed. Parked near the rear between two neat stacks of firewood—buckskin tamarack, Tully was willing to bet—was a red four-wheel-drive all-terrain vehicle. He knew it was a four-wheel-drive because he had been drooling over ads for the exact same vehicle. “I see you do some offroading, Grid.”

  “Actually, not all that much. I got that one at a great price. It’s for sale. Everything I own is for sale. If you’re interested, we could go out for a run sometime.”

  “I may take you up on that.”

  As they were driving out, Tully noticed scattered among the trees, several old vehicles including a pickup truck, and most in various stages of disrepair. What bothered him the most, the truck had two bales of hay in its bed. Then Angie pointed to a blue car door leaning up against a tree. “What do you suppose that’s doing out here?”

  Tully hit the brakes and backed up. He checked his rear- view mirror to see if Shanks had gone back inside. He had. “I think I’ll take a look at this.” He got out, walked around the Explorer, squatted down and looked at the door. A patch of rust the size of Tully’s hand coated the door where the paint had been knocked off. In the middle of the rust was a hole the size of a dime. He ran a finger around the edge of the hole, then stood up and looked back at the doorway of the house. Shanks had opened the door and stood there watching him. “Exactly twenty-five yards, Bo!” he shouted. “Did it from this doorway with a .45 automatic!”

  “That’s pretty fair shooting, Grid!”

  “Yeah, I thought so!”

  “Mighty impressive!”

  Shanks waved and went back in the house.

  When Tully climbed back in the car, Angie said, “What’s so impressive about hitting an old car door at twenty-five yards?”

  “He hit the same hole three times.”

  “Three times! How could you tell that?”

  “Because there are two little crescent shapes taken out of the sides of the hole, each about the size of a fingernail clipping.”

  As they turned back onto the highway, Tully glanced at the FBI agent. “Well, Angie, what did you think of Gridley Shanks?”

  “To tell the truth, I was overwhelmed. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”

  Tully smiled. “He’s probably an original, all right. Oh, maybe if you go back a couple hundred years, you might find the likes of him. What did you think of Sil?”

  “She was absolutely gorgeous. I don’t think she had a stitch on beneath that housecoat.”

  “Really? I can’t say I noticed.”

  Angie laughed. “Yeah, right!”

  “Well, I may have suspected, but that’s not the sort of thing I ponder on.”

  “I’m sure. You think Grid had anything to do with the robbery and murder, Bo?”

  “I don’t like to think so, but I wouldn’t rule him out. It’s odd to find a single fingerprint, even a partial one like that, on a strip of flagging tape, unless the tape has been wiped. Then you have to ask yourself, why would anyone wipe a strip of flagging tape? Maybe I’ll have a better idea after I talk to the two fellows he let hunt on his land. They may have been up there hunting at the time of the shooting and maybe they heard or saw something. You think Grid was involved in the robbery, Angie?”

  “He’s probably capable of just about anything. But I really liked him, Bo.”

  “Let me tell you something, Miss FBI. You will never meet a confidence man you don’t like.”

  “You think he’s a con man?”

  “The best I’ve ever run into.”

  Chapter 6

  Tully and Angie grabbed an early dinner at Crabbs. Lester Cline, the manager, seated them at their usual table. Tully dined with so many women he was amazed Lester could keep track of them all, matching each couple to a certain table. Maybe he had them all on computer: Bo and Susan: Table 8. Bo and Daisy: Table 12, Bo and Etta: Table 4, Bo and Angie: Table . . .

  Angie said, “Why, Lester, this is the same table we ate at the last two times!”

  “Yes, it is,” Lester said. “I just thought it would be nice if you and Bo had a regular table, now you’re back in town for a while. I keep certain tables open most nights depending on . . .”

  Tully interrupted him. “That’s very nice of you, Lester. Now how about some menus?”

  “Coming up, Bo. I was just saying to the agent . . .”

  “And a couple glasses of wine. What would you like, Angie?”

  “I’ll have Pinot Grigio.”

  “Make that two,” Tully said.

  “Good choice. And what kind of dressing with your salads?”

  They both took blue cheese on the side. Lester went to get the wine, then stopped and returned to the table. “Oh, I forgot to ask. What kind of bread? The rolls are particularly nice.”

  Tully shook his head. “No matter how carefully you give your order, the waiter always has one more question. We’ll both take the rolls, Lester.”

  “Good choice, Bo.”

  Angie said, “It must be nice to be known everywhere you go, Bo.”

  “Not that nice, actually. You may find this hard to believe, Angie, but there are people around the county who are not fond of me. I know that seems crazy, but it’s true.”

  Lester brought their wine, left, and returned with the rolls and salads. Angie took a sip of her wine. She pursed her lips and blinked. “Where do you get your Pinot Grigio, Lester?”

  “Would you believe we make it ourselves?”

  “Yes, I would,” Tully said.

  “Well, actually we don’t. We get it from a local winery that just started up. It’s owned by a lady who gave up the cow business for the grape business.”

  Tully took a sip. “I have to say, it’s interesting. You sure she gave up the cow business?”

  “Pretty sure. Let me know if you get a sharp pain behind the eyes. There will still be a chance we can save you.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Lester went back to the kitchen.

  Tully said, “You asked about my suspects. Right now Gridley Shanks is one of them.”

  “Suspected of what?”

  “I don’t know. Just a suspect. Maybe he’s involved in the bank robbery. Maybe he’s the shooter. We’re not all that picky in Blight County law enforcement when it comes to suspects. I’m sure the murder is connected to the robbery. Maybe the flagging tape is too. Maybe it was the signal where our victim was to dump the getaway car and head up the mountain to make his escape. And to be shot.”

  “But if Shanks was involved, why would he offer to introduce you to the two hunters who might be involved too?”

  “Because it would have been awkward not to. He had to have some reason for hanging up the flagging tape, and he couldn’t think of a lie. So he went with the truth, kind of the truth anyway.”

  Lester returned to take their orders. Tully went with the garlic steak and Angie the wood-grilled shrimp.

  “I’m surprised they have a wood grill at Crabbs,” Angie said.

  “They don’t,” Tully said. “They fake it. The grilled shrimp are still pretty good, though.”

  “So they cook the Blight way?”

  “You’re starting to catch on, Angie.”

  Tully dropped Angie off at her hotel. She said, “Please come in for a drink, Bo. They have a very nice bar.”

  “I would love to
, but I may have to do some serious drinking later tonight.”

  “Ah yes, work, work, work.” She laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. Tully wiggled his toes to see if they had uncurled. There are pecks on the cheek and then there are pecks on the cheek. This was one of the latter.

  Chapter 7

  That evening Tully parked three blocks away from Slade’s on the other side of the street. As he approached the entrance he could tell it was packed with a rowdy bunch, including the local motorcycle gang and numerous other Blight City characters. If he was ever to meet the person who murdered Vergil, he suspected it would be at Slade’s.

  The roar of the crowd diminished slightly when he walked through the bar’s front door, but only for a brief moment. Then it picked up, the brave music of a local blue-grass band barely audible above the roar of the crowd. A big-bearded biker slapped Tully on the shoulder.

  “What brings you to this dive, Bo? Out slumming?”

  “Looking for bad guys, Mitch. Seen any around?”

  The biker laughed and made a circular motion with his hand to indicate the entire crowd. “Take your pick.”

  Tully shoved his way through to the bar and found Grid sipping a beer, his hat resting on an empty stool next to him.

  “I saved one for you, Bo!” Grid shouted above the roar. “A stool is pretty hard to find in here this time of night!” He lifted the hat and put it on. Tully sat down on the stool. Shanks jerked his thumb in the direction of two men seated next to him. He shouted above the roar: “Horace Beeker and Ed Dance!”

  Beeker loomed over the smaller Dance. Both men reached around Shanks and gave him limp handshakes.

  Tully turned to Shanks. “I know a bunch of the crowd in here, Grid, and they’re pretty tough. I’m surprised one of them didn’t just swat your hat off the stool and sit down!”

  Grid shouted back, “Oh, that happened once before, when I was saving a seat for a friend of mine. Since then, nobody has bothered my hat a single time! Don’t know why.”

  “Well, maybe Slade’s is drawing a more civilized crowd these days. You think?”

  “Could be. Hey there, bartender. Give my friend here a drink!”

  The young bartender ignored him and continued talking to a couple of scruffy individuals across the bar.

  “Service in here isn’t what it used to be,” Tully said. “It’s always been awful, but it’s worse now.” He yelled at the young bartender. “Hey, bud, we need a little service here.”

  “Hold your horses!” the bartender snapped back. He went on chatting with his friends.

  “Excuse me a second, Grid. Oh, you and your friends might want to lift your drinks off the bar for a few seconds.”

  Grid and the men next to him picked up their drinks and leaned back. Tully grabbed a hinged section of the bar, picked it up and slammed it over with a crash. The crowd went silent. Tully walked behind the bar, gave the bartender a hard shove, then stood there studying the bottles of liquor on a set of shelves. Picking up the most expensive bottle he could see, he grabbed four glasses, walked back, gave the hinged section a flip, banged it back into place, and sat down next to Grid. He filled the four glasses, then set the bottle on the bar in front of them.

  Bit by bit the roar of the crowd resumed, although now with a great deal of laughter.

  Grid said, “Remind me not to try your patience, Bo.”

  Tully smiled. “Ever so often, Grid, a person has to make a grand gesture when dealing with the likes of Slade’s’ clientele. Among other things, it helps keep our criminals in line and rudeness at a minimum.”

  Grid laughed. “It worked on me. I feel a whole lot politer myself.”

  Joey, the regular bartender, walked down behind the bar. “Sorry about that, Bo. The kid’s new. I suspect he’ll mind his manners in the future. Anyway, the bottle is on the house.”

  “Thanks, Joey, but we’re doing work. I’ll put it on the county card. Otherwise folks will think I’m taking graft.”

  Joey laughed. “If you don’t take graft, Bo, folks will think you’re putting on airs! Just ask Pap. It’s on the house!”

  “You win, Joey!”

  Grid said. “You seem to be well known at Slade’s, Bo! Who’s Pap?”

  “My father. He was sheriff of Blight county for many years and holds the record for corruption, womanizing, legal and illegal killings, and the same for gambling. The FBI got after him once, and he ran off to Mexico. Lived down there until the county cooled off enough for him to come back. Slade’s is not my favorite hangout, but I do some of my best work here. Bad guys seem attracted to the place. No offense, Grid.”

  “None taken. Say, there’s a little all-night cafe down the street. What say we move down there, where we can at least hear ourselves think?”

  “Good idea! I’ll get Joey paid for the bottle of whiskey and drinks and meet you outside.”

  “Suits me.”

  Joey put the bottle in a sack and handed it to Tully along with his county credit card. “Sorry about the rudeness, Bo. Any time you come in, your drinks are on the house from now on.”

  “Thanks, Joey. But I’m afraid that actually would be graft. We’ll let the county pay.” He walked out front and looked for Grid, Beeker, and Dance. They were leaning against the front wall of Slade’s.

  Beeker was tall and husky with a mop of reddish hair, more orange than red, to be exact. The other man, Dance, shorter and skinny with a thinning residue of light-brown hair. Tully had never before laid eyes on either of them. He said, “You fellows must be new in town.”

  “Yeah,” Beeker said. “We came here a few days ago to hunt elk. Looked all over for a place to stay and finally found a little cabin outside of Famine.”

  “Yeah,” Dance said. “About the only thing it comes with is a wood stove and a view.”

  Beeker frowned at him. “The price was right anyway. Nothing. Got a supply of firewood in it, so a least we can stay warm.”

  “You’re lucky to find anything,” Tully said. “Blight County gets pretty crowded during elk season.”

  Grid said, “Hey, it’s freezing out here. What say we walk down to the cafe and finish our chat there?”

  Tully was surprised the place was still open. The four of them walked in and sat down in a booth. Tully turned the water glasses upright and filled each half full of whiskey. A waiter with sleeves rolled up to the top of bulging biceps walked over and handed out menus. He nodded at the bottle of whiskey. “I’m afraid that’s against the law, fellows.”

  Tully smiled at him. “I’m the law in Blight county, son. We’ll also have a round of coffee.”

  “Yes, sir,” the waiter said and went to get the coffee.

  Beeker was holding his glass of whiskey up off the table. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to make another grand gesture, Sheriff.”

  Tully laughed. “Don’t worry, Horace. I limit myself to one a day.”

  The waiter came back with the coffee. “We serve breakfast anytime. You fellas want some?”

  “Sounds great,” Tully said. “I’ll take hash browns, scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, the bacon crisp.” The waiter looked around the table and got nods from the others.

  “The same for all four. What kind of toast—white, whole grain, sourdough, or rye?”

  Tully shook his head. No matter how thoroughly you think you’ve given your order, waiters always have one more question. “White,” he said. The other three nodded in agreement.

  The waiter left, returned with four mugs and poured their coffees from a large black thermos, which he left on the table.

  Tully said to Beeker and Dance, “I’m sorry to take you fellows away from the pleasures of Slade’s, but I’m investigating a murder out on the mountain where you were hunting this morning. You must have left your rifles and hunting outfits in your cabin. Not a good idea if the cabin’s anywhere near Famine.”

  Beeker said, “Actually it’s quite a ways outside of Famine. There’s a spring nearby where w
e get drinking water, but it’s starting to ice up. We leave all our gear in the cabin. It’s remote enough, nobody should just be passing by.”

  “Remote is right,” Dance said. “We might shoot an elk right from our front porch. Grid told us you want to know if we saw anything when we were out on his place yesterday, right Sheriff?”

  “Yeah, I need all the info I can get, Ed. Anything you can remember would be great.”

  Dance said, “It was plenty cold, I can tell you that. We got there just before all the ruckus started, sirens all over the place. Heard a shot, but figured it was another hunter.”

  Tully sipped his coffee. “You have any luck?”

  “Naw,” Beeker said. “Not with all that ruckus. I did see a herd of deer come over the top of the ridge right up by that rock knob. It looked for a while like they might wander right down toward us. When they heard the shot, they scampered off, and we never saw them again.”

  Tully thought for a moment. “You remember what time you heard the shot?”

  Dance looked at Beeker.

  “Must have been close to ten,” Beeker said. “I didn’t check my watch.”

  “That’s about right.” Tully said. “What did you fellows do then?”

  “A whole lot of people started showing up, so we got out of there,” Beeker said.

  “What kind of vehicle were you driving?”

  “A pickup. An old Ford but it runs fine.”

  “Where did you park it?”

  Beeker thought about this for a moment. “Grid had put a piece of orange flagging tape on a tree at the middle of his property and told us there was a wide spot to pull off fifty yards or so farther on. That’s where we parked, but when the ruckus started we walked down to the truck and drove back to Famine.”

  “You see anything unusual?”

  “Naw. Just that herd of deer, if that’s unusual.”

  “You have scopes on your rifles?” Tully asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Beeker said. “That’s how I spotted the deer. I was scoping the ridge when the herd came over the top.”

  “Where was that again?”

  Beeker thought for a moment. “Right up next to that knob.”