Reunions Can Be Murder: The Seventh Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  I stepped outside to the front porch while Sophie went around and switched out lights. She emerged a couple of minutes later.

  “Okay, just let me get this key . . .” she puffed, struggling to yank a large key ring out of her tight jeans. She finally succeeded and pulled the door closed and inserted the key into the old fashioned lock.

  “School’s been closed since the 1950s,” she said. “Along with the post office and most everything else in this town. But I attended classes here and so did Pop.”

  We walked down the steps together.

  “These two old wooden buildings?” she said, indicating one at either side of the school. “Those were the outhouses. One for the boys and one for the girls. Let me tell you, in the middle of winter, I could hold it all day. We had indoor plumbing at home. Just follow me in your car. I’m going straight home after this.”

  I did as Sophie instructed. The road she took bore to the northwest, leading generally in the direction of the mine tailings I’d noticed on the way into town. We’d gone 2.8 miles by my odometer when she tapped her brakes to let me know we were at the end of the road. She pulled to the left and I edged in beside her, rolling down my window.

  “You can go up there about another twenty yards or so and park your car,” she said, making some marks on a scrap of paper sack. “Then you’ll see a path marked by an old wood sign. The sign’s faded now, but the path’s good and wide. It leads in about another mile, then you’ll see some old buildings—probably fallen down by now, most of ’em—and a coupla mine shafts. Be real careful around those. They can cave in.” She handed me her roughly drawn map.

  I thanked her and waved as she backed her little red car around and made the turn back to town. I did as instructed and parked at the trailhead.

  Rusty was thankful to get out of the Jeep at last. He relieved himself on a piñon tree and sniffed the area. I strapped the canteen over my left shoulder and stashed my purse under the back seat, taking only my keys and a tube of lip balm with me, in addition to Sophie’s map. When the sound of her car’s engine finally faded it was utterly quiet up here. I could see a few landmarks in town, including the school building and the entrance to the cemetery I’d passed coming into town.

  “Come on, kid. You want to run a bit?”

  The dog eagerly raced ahead of me, up the trail. I, too, was ready for some exercise but walked at a slow enough pace that I could watch for clues along the path. The early afternoon sun was warm and the hills sheltered me from the breeze that had funneled down the main highway through town. It didn’t take long to come to the little collection of buildings Sophie had described. As she’d said, they were pretty dilapidated.

  There were four buildings in all, made of rough wooden planks, weathered now to a smooth gray. A few bits of jagged glass remained in a couple of the window openings but most of them stood wide open to the elements. I saw evidence that curio seekers had made regular raids. Signs had evidently been mounted on two of the buildings, indicating that they had some commercial purpose originally, but they were long gone. Only a few nail holes and a background of slightly lighter wood showed their earlier presence. I peered through the window openings where I could, finding nothing but bare dirt floors inside.

  Beyond the cluster of buildings I could see a small hole in the hillside, framed by some heavy timbers. A mine shaft.

  I walked over to it and knelt to peer into the hole. Beyond the first ten feet or so it was utterly black. I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, but even with one I doubted I’d venture inside. The bracing around the shaft’s walls leaned at an angle and didn’t look at all steady. I stood up and glanced around for Rusty.

  The dog was sniffing around the old buildings. I left him alone and followed another path leading west. Against a small embankment I found another mineshaft opening. This one was quite a bit larger and looked sturdier but without a light I wasn’t about to go in. I wandered back toward the buildings.

  Rusty met me before I reached them, a prize dangling from his mouth.

  “What do you have here?” I teased, stretching my hand out toward him.

  He dropped a red kerchief into my hand.

  The material was bunched up and felt stiff with the residue of dried mud caked on it. I opened it out as flat as I could get it but it retained most of its wrinkles.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked Rusty.

  He waved his long tail and back forth slowly, staring up at me with ears perked. Really, Charlie, did you expect an answer?

  “Well, hey. Lassie would have turned right around and rushed back to the scene.” His tail continued to wag. “And there’d probably be a big bag of gold nuggets right under the kerchief, too.” I told him.

  Actually, Lassie would have picked up the bag of nuggets and carried them to Timmy in the first place. I patted Rusty on the head and scratched his ears. He may not be ultra smart, but he’s mine.

  I looked at the kerchief again. The fabric, despite the beating it had taken, was relatively new. There were no holes or worn spots and the color hadn’t yet faded, as it would have if it had spent years out in the New Mexico sun. I wondered if it might have belonged to Willie or Bud.

  I held the kerchief out to Rusty and shrugged my shoulders, asking where he’d found it. He smiled at me and wagged. What a help.

  I walked back toward the collection of old buildings, to the last spot I’d noticed Rusty nosing around. One of the structures sat apart from the others, slightly up a small rise, and I hadn’t given it much attention on the way in. My canine fellow-sleuth bounded along beside me; now that there was action to follow, he was ready. He raced ahead to the little house. For the first time I noticed that this one had a wooden porch and a front door. The door stood open. I followed the dog to the opening.

  The buzzing of flies was my first clue. For some odd reason, the thought went through my mind that I hadn’t noticed a single fly since I’d been in town. Obviously, they were all here in this little cabin. Hovering around the man’s body that lay sprawled on the wooden floor.

  Chapter 5

  Decomposition was pretty far advanced. Instinct told me this because I actually don’t know much about it. I glimpsed a dingy pair of jeans, a plaid shirt, and short white hair before I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow and backed out the doorway. Rusty surged forward, wanting to get a good close-up whiff, but I grabbed his collar just in time and yanked him backward.

  Outside, I blew out every bit of air in my lungs and drew in a fresh breath of untainted air. Blew all that out and took in some more clean air. My heart was racing at about ninety beats a second and my arms and legs had somehow become jelly-like. I stood there, staring at the cabin, for a full minute that seemed more like a full hour. I felt light-headed and realized I was hyperventilating.

  Stop it! I commanded myself. It would be pretty stupid to stand here and pass out just because I couldn’t control my jitters. I slowed my breathing and shook out my arms and legs. As soon as I let go of Rusty’s collar, he tried again to head for the open doorway.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said, grabbing him again. “I’m putting you in the car.”

  I had to drag him at first, but after we’d gotten out of sight of the cluster of buildings he found something else to attract his attention and he stayed with me. I kept up a pace that was just short of a jog and was feeling much more clear-headed by the time we’d covered the mile and could see the Jeep in its parking spot.

  My mind raced as I tried to think what to do. Our gruesome find would have to be reported, obviously, but to whom? I only knew two people in White Oaks and neither was exactly an authority figure. I turned the Jeep around and headed toward the café.

  The sun had dropped lower in the sky and shadows were lengthening as I hit the highway through town. The little café building sat alone in the middle of its plot of earth and I feared that no one was there. No lights showed through the windows and I didn’t spot Randel’s truck until I pulled into the p
arking area.

  Turning the doorknob, I tried to make a hasty plan as to just how I was going to handle this.

  “Keith?” I called out. “Are you here?”

  “Well, hey there, Miss Charlie,” he grinned, shuffling out of the back room. “Back for those enchiladas now?”

  “Not just yet,” I said. I found I was having to concentrate just to keep my breathing under control. “Who’s the law enforcement agency in charge around here?”

  “Well, we got no police department in White Oaks. County Sheriff is who you gotta call.” His eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with somebody in town?”

  “I may have just found the body of Willie McBride,” I blurted out. Damn. Now why did I do that? I didn’t know Keith Randel very well and for all I knew anybody in this town could have killed Willie—if the body really was Willie. I took a deep breath.

  “Do you know the sheriff?” I asked as calmly as I could manage.

  “Well, sure. Randy Buckman. Everybody ’round here knows Randy.” He raised one thick index finger and started to add something else.

  “Can you call him? Ask him to get out here now?” I said, interrupting.

  “Now wait just a second here, young lady. You got yourself a mite upset now. Set yourself here and let me get you something.” He brewed a cup of tea and shoved it toward me. “Now—I’ll call the sheriff.” He ambled slowly toward a phone on the back wall.

  “Hurry!”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Now, girl, didn’t you say you found a body?” He waited for my nod. “Now that tells me that the guy’s already dead, right?”

  I gave in with another nod.

  “Well then, no amount of rushin’ around is gonna save him at this point, right?” He pointed at the counter with his finger. “Drink your tea.”

  I obeyed blindly, too wrung out at the moment to argue. He whirled the old rotary dial on the wall phone and visited amiably with the dispatcher for a good two minutes. Finally, he got down to business.

  “Randy around?” he asked. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well, send him on out to the café here soon as you can.” He ended the call with, “Say hey to Johnny and the kids.”

  I sipped slowly at my cup of tea through all this and found that it really did settle me a little.

  “Buckman’ll be here in about thirty, forty-five minutes,” he said.

  I looked at my watch. It would be pitch dark in another two hours.

  “Just slow down, Charlie-girl. You ain’t on city time anymore. Things might happen slower out here, but the sun comes up and the sun goes down and everything else still gets done somewheres in there. Now, I’m gonna fix you a plate of enchiladas. Red or green?”

  I let the tension seep out of me. “Green, please.”

  “Comin’ right up.” He shuffled into the kitchen.

  “While you’re doing that, I’m going out to the car to feed my dog,” I called out.

  “You got yer dog with ya? Hell, bring him on in here. I can make him somethin’ too. Would he like a burger?”

  I chuckled. “I’m sure he would, but he really better have his own food. I’ll get it.” And here I’d thought Pedro’s was the only restaurant in the world that would allow Rusty inside. My heart softened toward Randel.

  Out at the Jeep I scooped some of Rusty’s nuggets into his bowl and invited him to get out. He trotted along beside me into the café without a second thought. I set the bowl on the floor beside my stool and he went right to it. A couple of minutes later, Keith brought my steaming plate of food.

  “Hope chicken’s okay,” he said. “Figured you had red meat at lunch.”

  “Chicken’s my favorite,” I said truthfully. “Thanks for keeping my diet somewhat balanced.”

  I’d just finished mopping up the last of the green chile sauce with a flour tortilla when we heard the clomping of boots on the wooden porch. The door swung inward and Sheriff Randy Buckman stepped inside. He was in his fifties, over six feet tall and slim. His uniform looked as crisp as if he’d just put it on. He removed his black felt Stetson and nodded to me. He gave Rusty a sharp glance but didn’t say anything.

  “What’s the story, Keith?” he asked, taking a seat two stools away from me and reaching for the cup of coffee Randel had already poured.

  “This here’s Charlie Parker from Albuquerque,” Keith said. “Says she’s found herself a dead body.”

  Buckman turned to me. His brown eyes were kind, despite the furrow between the dark eyebrows that might have otherwise hardened his face.

  I briefly explained what I’d been doing up at the old mining camp and expressed my suspicion that the body might be that of either William McBride or Bud Tucker.

  “Did you touch anything up there?” he asked.

  “I pushed the door open. Well, it was standing open about four or five inches. I just pushed it until I could see inside. I may have leaned against the doorjamb. I really don’t remember.”

  “Didn’t move the body, though?” he asked.

  Remembering the feeling of liquid rising in my throat and the way my breath had come in gasps, I didn’t want to admit that I’d nearly passed out. “No, I didn’t even go into the room,” was all I said.

  “I met Tucker’s daughter, Sophie, at the schoolhouse. She’s the one who showed me the trail to the mines. Someone should probably tell her personally, before the news gets around town.” My eyes flicked briefly toward Keith as I talked to the sheriff.

  “Let’s find out what there is to tell first,” said Buckman. He stood up and laid a dollar on the counter.

  Randel picked it up and leaned over and stuffed it into Buckman’s jacket pocket. “You know you don’t pay for coffee in my place,” he said kindly.

  “I’ll radio for the coroner,” Buckman said. “Then I guess I better get up there. Gonna be night soon and I’d rather not be toting a body down the hill in the dark.” He looked at me again. “You want to come up there? Don’t need your help especially, but if you can keep your hands off things you’re allowed.”

  My investigator side told me that this would be one of the few times I’d ever be allowed at a crime scene and I should probably go along to see what evidence I might find. My other side cringed away from going back into the cabin and viewing the body any more close up than I already had.

  “Guess it’s only my concern if the victim turns out to be Willie McBride.” I told him. “If you don’t mind sharing your findings with me, I think I’d just as soon stay here.”

  “Fine with me.” He handed me a card. “You can call me later.” He strode out to his squad car where I could see him speaking into a handheld microphone. A minute later he pulled out and drove up the highway without strobes or siren.

  “He’s a good man,” Keith said. “Sensitive-like. A woman’d do good to catch a man like him.”

  I wagged my shiny new wedding band at him. “I’ve already got myself an excellent man, thank you,” I said, smiling.

  “Probably take ’em a couple hours to get back here,” Randel offered. “You can hang out here and drink coffee if ya want. Ain’t no hotel here in town.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll head down the road. It’s been a long day.” I reached for my purse and left money on the counter for my dinner. Bidding Keith goodbye, I walked out to the car with Rusty following.

  The sun was nearing the horizon as I drove away from White Oaks. My mind was a jumble. I wondered whether the body of the old man would turn out to be McBride or Tucker, or someone else. Was his death from natural causes, or not? How soon would the news spread through White Oaks? Would Sheriff Buckman really share his information with me?

  I consulted my road map quickly and memorized the series of turns I’d need to make to take me to the south end of Ruidoso where Drake was staying during the fire. An hour later I was sitting across from my husband at a local restaurant where he wolfed down a huge plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a salad. I sipped on a glass of wine. I’d phoned Drake
on his cell as I approached the town and we’d agreed that it would be simpler to meet for dinner before settling down at the hotel. I didn’t mention that I’d already consumed a rather large order of enchiladas.

  We filled each other in on our respective adventures of the day, I making light of the dead body portion of my outing. Drake looked bone-tired and smelled of woodsmoke. Within thirty minutes after our arrival at the hotel, we’d shared a hot shower and had fallen into an exhausted sleep in each others’ arms. I was not at all prepared for the alarm clock’s insistent tweet at four-thirty in the morning.

  “Snuggle down and sleep awhile,” he murmured in my ear as he pulled himself out of bed.

  I groaned and rolled over. My good intentions said I’d get up and have breakfast with him, but my baser nature sent me right back to sleep. I didn’t become conscious again until I rolled over and looked at the clock to discover that it was eight-thirty. Drake had been so quiet I hadn’t even realized when he left. But his flight suit and helmet were gone, along with his government-required boots. I pictured him now, hovering over leaping flames for the past two or three hours.

  I got up and pulled on the same jeans I’d worn yesterday and a clean red T-shirt from my overnight bag. The early spring air was chilly, as I discovered when I walked Rusty outside, so I added a flannel shirt to my ensemble. I left Drake a note letting him know that I planned to head back to Albuquerque today.

  In the middle of town, we again found a fast-food place with a drive-through where I got a combination of traditional breakfast foods all piled onto a bun. Rusty had already cleaned his own bowl back at the hotel, but that didn’t stop him from wanting a share of my food too.

  Sipping the last of my coffee, I pulled Sheriff Buckman’s card from my purse and placed the call on my cell phone.

  “Sheriff’s office,” said a female voice with a soft hint of Spanish in it.

  I asked for Buckman and was told that he was out on a call. I left my number with her and requested that he call me as soon as possible. I hung up, hoping I’d hear from him before I left the area.