The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries)

by Patrick F. McManus

  “Maybe the next election,” he said. “You never know about voters.”

  Finch laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about elections anymore, not with the popularity of the Bo Tully Freezer Day.”

  “Oh, that has nothing to do with politics,” Tully said.

  “Right,” Finch said, still smiling. “You fellas believe that for a second?” he said to Pap and Dave.

  “Not for a second,” Dave said. “Bo may seem lackadaisical, but he never makes a move without planning it out in detail first. Never ask him to explain anything. He will bore you to death with the details.”

  Pap said, “You mind if I have another piece of that crumb cake, Mrs. Finch?”

  “Goodness no,” she said. “I’m just delighted you like it so much.”

  “As soon as your father finishes with his cake, I’ll show you all around,” Finch said. “Besides Bo Tully paintings we collect a few other things.”

  “Oh, show Dave and Bo around, Teddy. Pap and I will just chat. I want to know what he’s been up to since he’s no longer sheriff himself.”

  “You remember when I was sheriff?” Pap said.

  “I do indeed! Those were such wonderful times, all the gambling and drinking and dancing all night. I remember when you killed those three bank robbers and got shot yourself. You were such a hero! I just loved it all!”

  Pap beamed.

  Finch took Dave and Bo into a large adjoining room and pointed up to shelves along the walls near the ceiling. The shelves were lined with dozens of baskets and clay pots. “These are mostly from coastal Indians, but the ones in the next room are from interior tribes, the Spokanes and Coeur d’Alenes and some Kootenai and Nez Perce.”

  “They’re wonderful,” Dave said.

  “They’re mostly Margaret’s doing, but they keep her occupied. Now, step into my den and I’ll show you what interests me.” He led them into the den, the walls of which were covered with firearms, including a blunderbuss.

  Tully pointed at the blunderbuss. “Don’t tell me that’s an original.”

  Teddy reached up and took the gun down. He handed it to Tully. “Oh yes, they’re all originals. I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for collecting them. That was the work of my grandfather Jack Finch, but I love looking at them and thinking about where they’ve been and how they were used. No doubt they killed a great many people.”

  Tully handed the gun back and Teddy replaced it on the wall. “I’ve never before held that much history in my hands. I could almost feel it flowing through me.”

  Teddy nodded. “I get the same feeling myself.”

  “What kind of man was your grandfather?” Tully asked.

  “I remember him as a tall, handsome man, with a sweeping mustache not unlike your own, Bo. He was always nice to me in his old age, but I guess he was pretty fierce when it came to some others. My father, Theodore, would go pale and start to tremble at the mere mention of his name, and that was after Jack Finch had been dead for a good many years. Jack rode with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. Roosevelt was his hero. Thus the name Theodore for my dad and me.”

  Tully looked around at the guns on the wall. “Well, I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Finch, I’ve never seen so many old guns in one room in my entire life!”

  “Oh,” said Margaret, coming up behind them, “you should see the basement. It’s crammed full of guns.”

  Tully gave her a surprised look. “A basement full of guns?”

  “Yes,” Finch said, “but most of them are not nearly so impressive. There might be a few gems down there, but I’ve never worked up the enthusiasm or the energy to sort them out. Almost all the guns came from my grandfather, the ones here and the ones in the basement.”

  “All from your grandfather?” Dave asked. “He must have been quite the sportsman.”

  “I never knew him well,” Finch said. “But I doubt Jack was much of a sportsman. As I say, my father was scared to death of him.”

  “Jack sounds like my kind of man,” Pap said. “My own daddy was sheriff and my grandpap before him. Both of them knew your dad and your granddad, too. They was real men back then.”

  Finch nodded. “I think you may be right about that, Mr. Tully.”

  Partly to keep Pap from revealing anything more about the family, Tully said, “We shouldn’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Finch. If you will just give us the key to the mine chain, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Oh dear,” Finch said. “It has been so long since any of us has been up there, I’m not sure where the key is right at the moment.”

  “We got a bolt cutter in the truck,” Pap said. “What say we just snip the padlock off and put another lock on when we leave. We can drop the new key off here when we head home.”

  “Bolt cutter?” said Finch. “Why, that’s a good idea.”

  • • •

  On their way to the Finch Mine, Tully stopped in Angst and did some shopping, including the purchase of a new padlock. He would just as soon Pap had kept his mouth shut about the bolt cutter, but it had probably saved them some time. He returned to the truck and put his purchases under the canopy. Pap and Dave were outside, Pap smoking, Dave leaning against the truck, his hands in his pockets. “You fellows want to grab some lunch, or will that crumb cake and tea hold you ’til supper?”

  “I vote for lunch,” Pap said. “That was the worst crumb cake I ever ate.”

  “I agree,” Dave said. “So why did you take a second piece?”

  “I was trying to be polite,” Pap said. “Besides, Margaret and I had a nice little chat. She said old Teddy is quite the greener. He still has his men log steep slopes but leave enough trees for the canopy to shade the slope and slow the snowmelt. They don’t have a single stream in their woods that’s been silted in or flooded out.”

  “There’s a rarity,” Tully said. “This whole county used to be prime fly-fishing, but most of it is gone now. Take a thousand years for it to come back.”

  “What good will that do?” Dave said. “We’ll all be dead by then.”

  “That’s why it will come back.”

  9

  A SIGN ON the door of Jake’s Café advertised that lunch was served between eleven and two. “This look okay to you guys?” Tully said.

  “No, but it will do,” Dave said.

  “Must be the hot place to dine in Angst,” Tully said. The café was empty. All the tables were covered with red-checked oilcloths, most of which had bare spots that had apparently been peeled by bored diners. They sat down at a table in the middle of the room. A chubby waitress in a dirty apron came over and gave them menus. “What’s good?” Dave asked.

  “Nothing, actually,” she said. “But most everything is edible. The Canadian stew ain’t bad. I recommend it along with the vegetable medley.”

  “What roughly is the Canadian stew?” Tully asked. “I can guess at the vegetable medley.”

  “Sliced potatoes, onions, carrots, cabbage, and other stuff plus slices of something that passes for beef and all of it covered with gravy so you don’t have to look directly at the ingredients.”

  All three took the Canadian stew, vegetable medley, and beer. The beer was cold and good and served in the bottles without any glasses to fuss with. Pap said it dampened down the remnant taste of the crumb cake. The waitress brought them a plate of rolls and a dish containing a slab of butter.

  They were sprawled back in their chairs drinking their beer and waiting for their Canadian stew when the two loggers came in, or at least two husky young guys who looked like loggers.

  “We got somebody sitting at our table, Stubb,” one said.

  “They’ll just have to move, Gordy.”

  “Afraid not,” said Tully. “There are plenty of empty tables left. Make one of them your special table.”

  Stubb said, “Either you move or we’ll move you.”

  The waitress came over and said, “Stop causing trouble, you clowns. Go sit at another table. These guys ain’
t bothering you.”

  Stubb said, “Mind your own business, Bev.”

  “Okay, I’m moving this one,” Gordy said. He bent down, grabbed Dave around the waist, and started to lift. Tully became interested. Dave gave him a questioning look.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Stubb said, bending over to grab Dave around the neck. A second later both loggers were out cold on their backs, bleeding about the face. Dave hadn’t risen from his chair. Tully wasn’t even sure he had seen him move.

  “I hate it when somebody ruffles my shirt,” Dave said. “I have to iron them myself and it’s a big nuisance.”

  “Remind me not to help you out of your chair,” Tully said.

  “You didn’t learn that move in no army,” Pap said. “I was in Korea and we never learnt nothing like that.”

  “Different time, different army,” Dave said.

  Bev brought out the Canadian stew and vegetable medley and another round of beer. She stepped over Stubb, set the tray on the table, and distributed the plates and silverware. The cook came out of the kitchen. “I’m Jake,” he said, wiping his hands on what may have once been a white apron. “Lunch and beer are on the house.” He nodded at Stubb and Gordy. “I never seen nothing like that before, a guy who could put Stubb and Gordy out cold without even getting up from his chair.”

  “Thanks, pardner,” Tully said. “We appreciate the offer, but we’ll pay. This stew is delicious.”

  “Don’t think too bad of them,” Jake said. “Logging around here has totally tanked. Stubb and Gordy haven’t worked in months. It makes some guys stupid or crazy, I don’t know which. They’re not bad boys.”

  Stubb and Gordy, occasionally emitting groans, remained on the floor until lunch was finished. As Tully got up to leave, both loggers began to shows signs of life, much to his relief. Pap left fifty dollars on the table to pay for the stew and tipped Bev a hundred dollars. “This is for the nuisance,” he said, indicating the two bodies. From her expression, Tully guessed Bev had never before been tipped a hundred dollars. He thought she was about to cry. For a good three or four minutes, Tully felt somewhat fondly toward Pap.

  Before heading up to the Finch Mine, Tully pulled into a parking lot and went in to a small grocery to pick up a few staples to tide them over the next few days. He put his selections in a shopping basket and set the basket on the counter in front of the cashier. She seemed tired and worn down by life, but her face brightened when she looked at him. “You’re Sheriff Bo Tully, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am he.”

  “Oh, what I would have given to have you in here this morning! I tell you, I never felt so close to pure evil! It was standing right where you are right now. Cold as ice, he was, and I figured he was about to ask for all the money in the cash register. Well, he didn’t. He just counted out a bunch of rumpled dollar bills and coins ’til they covered his bill. I couldn’t say a word, I was so scared. After he left, I had to go set down, to settle my nerves, and it wasn’t ’til then I noticed the smell, I had been so unnerved. It was ghastly, Sheriff! I don’t think that man, if that’s what it was, ever had took a bath in its entire life!”

  Tully tugged on the droopy corner of his mustache. “I think I know the individual you’ve described. Was he by any chance wearing a cap with earmuffs tied up on top?”

  “Come to think of it, he was! That had plumb slipped my mind but you’re exactly right, he was! Is he some criminal you’re after, Sheriff?”

  He looked at her tag. “Yes, he is, Shirley. You would make a good detective. I guess you don’t get the Blight Bugle this far north.”

  “Oh, we get it here at the store but I don’t read it. Mostly newspapers just upset me.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Shirley. I may give them up myself. By the way, can you tell me what the man bought?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes. It was kind of weird. He bought a big bag of dried beans, another one of rice, and about ten pounds of salt.”

  He thanked her for the information, picked up his sacks, and walked out to the truck.

  “Guess what, boys,” he said to Pap and Dave. “Kincaid was in the neighborhood. From what he bought, though, I think he may be heading back in the mountains to stay. He bought ten pounds of salt for one thing, which makes me think he’s planning on making jerky, probably smoking it over a willow fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has two or three wickiups hidden away back in the Snowies.”

  “Wickiups?” Dave said. “What are those?”

  Tully explained they were a bunch of poles stacked together in the shape of a teepee. “They’re not as classy as a teepee, but you can still build a fire inside. Anyway, my plan may be working. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in this area. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but you fellas better be on your toes from now on.”

  “Why did that bit of news just send a chill down my spine?” Dave said.

  “What worries me is nobody has heard from Brian in days,” Tully said. “I’ve expected him to call, but nothing.”

  Pap said, “You think Kincaid might have killed him?”

  “I don’t want to think about it,” Tully said.

  10

  THEY STOPPED IN front of the chain at the Finch Mine. Beyond it, up a hill and a dusty road, they could see a large structure open on three sides. It contained massive vats that were staggered down the slope, apparently so the top vat could feed into the next one down, and it into the third.

  “What’s that little building with the big pile of stuff alongside it?” Dave asked Pap. “The mine’s privy?”

  “Naw, it’s the assay shack.”

  “That’s a relief. What’s the big pile of stuff?”

  “Slag.”

  “Look at those vats!” Tully said. “They must have processed the gold right here.”

  “Yeah, they did some,” Pap said. “I think they concentrated it before it was hauled to the smelter. They had sulfuric acid or something in the top vat to separate the gold from the rock.”

  “I didn’t expect such a big operation,” Tully said. “I really hate this.”

  “You hate it?” Dave said. “How come?”

  “Because it diminishes my whole idea of gold. It’s the only legal currency you can find in nature. You reach down and pick up a tiny piece of it and you can walk into a store and use it to buy a loaf of bread. A forty-niner in California could wash up a pan of the stuff and go buy himself a farm. To tell you one of my secret desires, Dave, I’ve always wanted my own little gold mine, nothing atrocious like this—something where I could whack a chunk of ore out of a mountain, crush it up and pan out the gold, take in a few hundred dollars a day without too much work. It’s a one-to-one ratio for making a living. Otherwise you’ve got to go to school and then to college and then go to work for some giant corporation with folks hounding you night and day, something like we’re looking at right here.”

  Dave nodded and smiled. “Or you could take up painting and sell your pictures for thousands of dollars. That’s pretty much a one-to-one ratio for making a living.”

  “It’s okay but not nearly as good as picking gold up off the ground. Ever since I first heard about them I’ve envied those forty-niners.”

  “You could rob banks,” Pap said. “That’s pretty much a one-to-one ratio for making a living.”

  “The field’s too crowded,” Tully said. “It’s hard to find an opening. Anyway, I’m amazed and disgusted at the size of this operation.”

  “Oh, yeah, it was big,” Pap said. “When we lived here they must have had at least a hundred men working the mine and the processor. It was a pretty exciting place, with lots of fights and the occasional shooting. Those boys were a tough lot. I loved living up here. I’ll get out and snip the lock. I’ve had a lot of experience with bolt cutters.”

  “Needless to say,” Dave said.

  They drove in past the shack with the large gray pile.

  Dave said, “Old Jack Finch must have taken tons of gold ou
t of here to have an operation like this.”

  “It don’t look much different from when I was a little kid,” Pap said. “Been closed down over fifty years and it’s hardly aged a bit.”

  “Where’s the entrance to the mine?” Tully said.

  Pap had him drive around to another large structure on the far side of the site. They followed a set of wooden ties Pap said had once supported the rails of a narrow-gauge railroad track. “The tracks were for the ore cars. They hauled the ore from the mine to the processor.”

  They came to a timber-framed tower. Pap said it was a Galena shaft hoist for hauling the loaded ore cars back to the surface. A large two-sided building stood next to the hoist. It was filled with huge engines, winches, and wire cables, all thick with rust. Tully parked the truck, and they walked up to the edge of the shaft, which appeared to have been dynamited shut. Far down below they could hear the sound of running water. Pap said the winch would lower the workers on a kind of elevator and bring up loaded ore cars. The tracks took the cars to a crusher, where an auger of some sort carried the crushed rock up to the top tub.

  “Good thing they blasted the shaft shut,” Pap said. “After all these years I imagine the whole thing is loaded with rot.”

  “I never heard of rot in mines,” Dave said.

  “Well, that’s what I’ve heard happens in these old mines. You want to test it, Dave, wiggle your way down through those broken timbers and give a loud yell.”

  “Naw, I’ll take your word for it, Pap. So where are the cabins you lived in when your dad worked the mine?”

  “I thought I’d see them by now. It’s been over sixty years since I’ve been up here. Maybe they’ve all been torn down. Let’s go look up behind the processor building.”