The Tamarack Murders

by Patrick F. McManus

  “I ain’t takin’ him back. Besides, that pretty girl you got livin’ with you loves him, and he loves her. He don’t try to bite her or anything. What happened, Bo, he started chompin’ my chickens. Got a dozen of them running around with bare hind ends sticking out. Ever time I see Clarence he’s got a mouthful of feathers.”

  Tully groaned. “Listen, Batim, all you need to do is build a hen house and a chicken-wire pen, and Clarence couldn’t get near them.”

  “Wouldn’t work, Bo. These are free-range chickens, and I ain’t penning them up to keep them safe from your little dog.”

  Tully leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you what, Batim, I’ll be over in Famine tomorrow, and we’ll discuss it then.”

  “Don’t bring Clarence!”

  “Why I called in the first place, I’m looking for a couple of men I think may be hanging out over around Famine.”

  “Wouldn’t be them bank robbers, would it?”

  “Yes, it would. Suspected bank robbers. We don’t have any proof they’re the ones robbed the bank and shot a young fellow up on Chimney Rock Mountain, but they’re all I’ve got right now.”

  “I heard about it on the radio.”

  “Well, my suspects vanished. I figure they might have holed up somewhere over around Famine and maybe stayed there while they were setting up the robbery, if they set up the robbery. If we can find such a place, we may be able to get some leads on them.”

  Batim said, “Durned if I don’t miss crime, Bo. I just got too old for it.”

  Tully laughed. “Yeah, I’m getting too old for it myself, Batim.”

  “So what else you want, Bo?”

  “You know anybody in the area around Famine with the names of either Dance or Beeker?

  The old man was quiet for a moment. Tully hoped he was turning the names over in his mind. Then Batim said, “There’s a big old brick mansion out on the river. Nobody lives in it anymore. Years ago a fire pretty much gutted it. It’s huge, three or more stories high, all red brick. Must have five big chimneys on it. Folks still call the area the Beeker Ranch. Use to be said a cowboy could ride in a straight line for a week and never be off the ranch. An old couple, Alma and Harold, live in an old double-wide mobile home near the burnt-out mansion. I guess their job is to look after what’s left of it, or maybe because they don’t have anywhere else to live. I think Alma is somehow related to the Beeker what started the ranch. I’m pretty sure her last name used to be Beeker. Both Alma and Harold are crazy as bedbugs, but nice enough. Most crazy folks I know are nice. Maybe that’s what makes them crazy, they can’t find any of their own kind.”

  Tully smiled. “Maybe you should go into psychiatry, Batim.”

  “Maybe. But I got a policy never to go into anything I can’t spell. Anyway, your pal Dave Perkins, the fake Indian, was out there hunting pheasants or something last fall and asked Alma if she could give him a drink of water. She said maybe he’d prefer a nice glass of lemonade. Dave said sure and sat down on a chopping block out in the yard, and pretty soon Alma comes out with a glass of green lemonade. Dave takes a big swig and thanks her. Then he asks, ‘How’d you get your lemonade that nice green color?’She said, ‘Oh, I just dump in some of Harold’s aftershave. Makes it pretty and tastes fine too, don’t it?’”

  Tully laughed. “Good thing Dave survived? I may need to use him tomorrow.”

  Batim cackled. “Yeah, Dave says it’s the best lemonade he ever drunk!”

  Tully thanked Batim for the information and said he might stop by and see him tomorrow.

  “That be fine, Bo. Just don’t bring Clarence. If you need a little back up on your hunt for the criminals, I’m pretty handy with a gun.”

  “I know you are, Batim. If it starts to look like a tough situation, I’ll give you a call. I plan on using Dave for any tough situations, though. And I may bring along an FBI agent.”

  “An FBI agent! I hate the FBI!”

  “This one’s a pretty woman.”

  “They got pretty women FBI agents?”

  “Yes, they do. I may stop by and show her to you.”

  “I’d be mighty pleased if you do. Nothing I like better than pretty women. Just don’t bring Clarence.”

  Chapter 11

  Tully stopped at Angie’s hotel at eight the next morning. Clarence was on the front seat beside him, a seat belt looped around his middle. Angie was watching for Bo out the front window of the hotel. She came out, opened the car door and started to get in.

  “Clarence! What are you doing here?”

  The little dog wagged his tail.

  Tully said, “I’m returning him to his rightful owner.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad, Bo.” She scratched Clarence behind the ears and started fumbling around for her seat belt. The dog wagged his tail. He must like women, Tully thought.

  “You should keep him, Bo. Give you some company in that empty, old house of yours.”

  “I can provide all the company I need in my empty, old house. You want him, Angie?”

  “Really, Bo. You’d give him to me? What about his rightful owner?”

  Tully laughed. “His rightful owner will probably just shoot him, if Clarence keeps chomping his chickens.”

  “Maybe I will take him home with me,” Angie said. “I could use a little company at my own empty house.”

  Tully drove over to his father’s mansion on a hill overlooking the town of Blight. Pap Tully had been one of the most corrupt sheriffs in Blight County’s long history of corrupt sheriffs, most of them Tullys. Bo was the exception to the family tradition of corruption, causing his father to regard him as dimwitted and something of a disgrace.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Angie, I’m asking my father to go along with us. He can be a considerable help, if a dangerous situation develops.”

  “Mind?” she said. “Bo, I love Pap!”

  “I thought you might. He affects most women that way. I think women must have a weakness for vile old men.”

  “How about vile young men?”

  “Not so much.”

  Reaching the end of the long driveway that led up the mountain to Pap’s house, Tully honked the horn. A few seconds later Pap emerged from the front door carrying a pump shotgun in one hand and a lever-action rifle in the other. His beautiful housekeeper, Deedee, came out on the porch and waved to them. Tully gave her a smile, and Deedee smiled even broader and waved back. Pap opened the hatch door of the Explorer and stowed the guns in the cargo area, then walked around and climbed into the back seat.

  “I was looking forward to sitting with Angie,” he said, “but I see you got an extra passenger.”

  Clarence turned and growled at him.

  “Miserable little mutt,” Pap said. “What you gonna to do with him, Bo?”

  “I’m returning him to his rightful owner, Batim Scragg.”

  “Serves both of them right,” Pap muttered. He fussed with his seat belt and then threw it aside. Tully had been watching him in the rearview mirror.

  “Put it on!” he ordered.

  The old man finally got the buckle to snap shut. “The worst invention humans ever come up with,” he growled. “Just another modern contrivance to pester us with.”

  Tully shook his head. “I don’t know why it is that old people can’t figure out how to fasten their seat belts.” He turned around in the driveway and headed back down the hill. “I see you brought one of your pump shotguns. How come not an automatic?”

  “Because when you might be shootin’at humans, the pump gives you a bit longer to think. You reckon we might actually catch up to those bank robbers over in Famine, Bo?”

  “I doubt it, Pap. I suspect they’re long gone. But we might find some evidence and maybe get a lead on where we can track them down, provided we can find the cabin they were staying in. An old couple is still living on a portion of what used to be the Beeker Ranch. They’ve got a double-wide mobile home next to the remains of the old mansion. Batim told m
e the woman’s name used to be Beeker or maybe still is. That’s the name of one of our suspects.”

  Pap said, “I know that ranch, Bo. So you figure maybe the suspects holed up there for a while? Maybe they’re still there. Good thing I brought the pump. No need killing anybody who don’t need killing. You know something, Bo, that ranch ain’t nothing like what it was when I was a kid. It was thousands and thousands of acres of grazing land and timber. As I recollect, the owner and his wife was murdered in the mansion. Your great-grandfather Tully was the sheriff back then, and he hung a couple of the fellas who might have been the murderers. It was the sensible thing to do in those days, just in case the fellers you caught was the ones what done it. I hear the mansion’s been haunted ever since.”

  “Haunted!” Angie said. “You don’t believe in ghosts do you, Pap?”

  “I try not to, Angie, but I like to cover my bases. I wouldn’t even think about spending a night in the mansion, that being my first base.”

  Tully laughed. “Too bad, Pap. I brought along a blanket for you, just in case we do decide to spend the night in there.”

  Pap chuckled. “If you spend the night there, you can find me at Dave’s place in Famine the next morning.”

  “Surely you’re not going to let me and Angie spend the night there alone. It would be indecent. You know how people talk. You would ruin the Tully name.”

  “The Tully name’s been ruined for a hundred years,” Pap said. “And you ain’t done nothin’to improve it.”

  Pap dug out the makings of one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. “Speaking of improving the Tully name, Angie, I once was awarded a medal for bravery by the governor. How about that for improving the Tully name? I ever show you my medal?”

  “Yes, you did, Pap, and it’s beautiful!”

  Tully glared up into the rearview mirror at Pap working on his cigarette fixings. “You touch that thing off, Pap, and Angie and I are going to open our windows and freeze you to death.”

  “Oh, all right!” He wadded up the hand-rolled and stuffed it in an ash tray. “I hate it when a son of mine turns into a little old lady.”

  Angie said, “Is it true that visiting Famine is like going back in time a hundred years?”

  Tully and Pap burst out laughing. “More like two hundred,” Tully said.

  “Well, I think it will be a treat.”

  “If you’re mighty low on treats,” Pap said.

  Tully added, “Blight City is an exotic metropolis compared with Famine. It’s better now that I’ve put about half the population in prison. Some Faminites think that was the good half though.”

  Angie said, “I would never base my judgment on anything I hear from you two.”

  Pap snorted. “Don’t put me in the same class with Bo, Angie. I can’t stand the way he distorts and exaggerates.”

  Tully said, “Only because you prefer your own distortions and exaggerations. It does occur to me, Angie, that you and Dave Perkins hit it off a while back when you were up here helping me solve the huckleberry murders.”

  “Helping?” she said. “Well, I have to admit that Dave was like a breath of fresh air compared with you two. He was charming and intelligent and attentive.”

  “Attentive,” Tully said. “I’ve been working on that one.”

  “Me too,” Pap said. “But I gotta warn you, Angie, you might think Dave Perkins ain’t nothin’more than an amiable nut, but he’s about as deadly a critter as you’re likely to run into around these parts.”

  “I’ve had some experience with him in that regard,” she said.

  “That’s right, Angie!” said Pap. “I forgot! You seen him shoot, in the dark of night on a raft. His target tried to pick me off, but killing that sniper had no more effect on Dave than slapping a mosquito. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d done that sort of thing a few times before. He’s kind of secretive about his past, don’t you think, Bo?”

  “Yeah, and I try not to press him on it.”

  Angie suddenly became serious. “You know something, Bo, that was my impression, too. I guess I expected Dave to be more disturbed or something, after killing that man.”

  Tully nodded. “Me too. Dave is a pretty easy-going fellow, but I make an effort not to rile him. If you want to date him, Angie, far be it from me to discourage you, just because he’s a murderous maniac.”

  Angie sat in silence, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  Tully smiled.

  An hour later they approached the little town of Famine. Tully slowed and turned off on the road leading into Batim Scragg’s ranch. Batim was standing on the back porch. As he walked over to the car, Angie rolled down her window. “Hi, Mr. Scragg . . .” In that instant Clarence wiggled loose from his seat belt and leaped out the window, landing in the arms of Batim Scragg and licking his grizzled face. The startled old man reached up and began scratching the back of the little dog’s neck. “I thought I told you not to bring Clarence, Bo.”

  Tully held up his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I didn’t intend to, Batim. I was just taking him along for the ride. Shove him back through the window, and we’ll take him with us.”

  Clarence licked Batim’s cheek again. The old man continued scratching the back of Clarence’s neck. “To tell you the truth, Bo, I’m actually glad to see the little fellow. I got a pen only halfway done for the chickens, but you can let him stay.”

  “I didn’t mean to foist him off on you, Batim. Just stuff him back in here.”

  “No! It’s all right, Bo. He’s stayin’here.”

  “Well, okay, if you insist.”

  Back on the highway, Pap said, “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Bo, pullin’a trick like that on a senile old man.”

  “Senile! No way Batim Scragg is senile. You’d have to be senile to think he’s senile. He just knows a fine dog when he sees one.”

  Angie smiled. “I suspected something when Clarence started wagging his tail the moment we turned in the driveway. I’m not sure if that’s an evil streak you have, Bo, or something else.”

  Tully glanced at her. “I prefer to think of it as evil.”

  “You would,” she said.

  As they entered the little town of Famine, Tully acted as tour guide, pointing out the three bars, the gas station, the grocery store, the post office and, finally, Famine’s claim to fame, Dave’s House of Fry. “People come from all over the world to eat here,” he told Angie as they turned into the parking lot, past the sign that said, ‘World’s Biggest and Best Chicken-Fried Steak,’and a bit farther on, ‘World’s Smallest Indian Reservation.’

  “I hope you haven’t eaten breakfast yet, Angie, because I have a real treat for you.”

  Pap laughed. “Don’t let him fool you. Dave never charges us for breakfast or anything else. That’s one reason Bo likes the place so much.”

  Tully said, “Dave only pretends to be an Indian, but he’s actually the best tracker I’ve ever come across.”

  “Yep,” Pap said. “Tracking is practically a lost art these days. To find someone as good as Dave is pretty amazing.”

  Angie said, “You forget, I’ve seen him in action. You know, it might not be a bad idea to take Dave along when we go looking for the bad guys.”

  Pap laughed. “Bo’s way ahead of you on that one, Angie.”

  “Hey,” Tully said. “I can handle the bad guys without Dave.”

  As usual, the Famine breakfast crowd had packed the restaurant, and the roar of voices was deafening. A cloud of cigarette, cigar, and pipe smoke wafted among the tables. Suddenly a waitress appeared out of the smoke, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  “Tiffany!” Tully exclaimed

  “Bo! I ain’t seen you here in a coon’s age. Booth or table? I’ll clear out some of our locals for you.”

  “Oh, better not do that, Tiff. I need all the votes I can get.”

  “Hey, Sheriff!” a man in a booth called out. “We was just finishin’ up. You can have this one.”

  “Wh
y thanks, pardner. Don’t mean to rush you.” Tully shook the man’s hand, gave his wife a hug, and patted the two kids on the head.

  “See that?” Pap whispered to Angie. “Them kids ain’t even old enough to vote yet.”

  “I took note of that,” Angie whispered back. “He may be the best politician I’ve ever seen.”

  Holding a dishpan up to the table with her knee, Tiffany swept the dirty plates off the table in two swipes of her dishrag, made two more swipes, and the table was clean. Pap and Tully scooted into one side of the booth and Angie into the other.

  Angie said, “Bo, I noticed you suddenly changed into the folk vernacular when you spoke to that man.”

  “I did?” he said. “What’s a vernacular?”

  Angie laughed. “I’ve heard you do it before, whenever you pretended to be one of the guys.” She spoke in a deep voice, imitating Tully. “S’cuse me, pawdner, while Ah stomp this cow manure offen maw boots, and Ah’ll set a spell with you.”

  Tully looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You better shut up, Angie. You could cost me the next election right here.”

  She laughed. “Did I do him about right, Pap?”

  The old man was almost doubled over with laughter. “You nailed him, Angie.”

  Tiffany reappeared with three large menus which she flopped onto the table. “Coffee all ‘round?”

  “You bet,” Tully said.

  “‘You bet!’” Angie squealed after the waitress left. “Bo, you’re killing me!”

  “I’m about to. Now shut up about my vernacular. Here comes Tiff.”

  The waitress clunked three large cups on the table and filled them with coffee. Then she fished into her apron pocket and brought out a handful of cream containers and dumped them on the table. She stared at Angie, who was trying to wipe away the tears running down her face. “Anything wrong?”

  Tully said, “It’s just that we’re expecting a death in the near future.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” Tiffany said. “You want to order now?”

  All three took The World’s Biggest and Best Chicken-Fried Steak.

  Dave Perkins strolled over. His long gray hair, braided into a thick coil, ran down his back halfway to his belt. Although there was plenty of room in the booth, he slid his hip tightly up against Angie’s. She didn’t move away, Tully noticed.