The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Ann Charles

A range of emotions rippled across his face, none of them close to ending with a smile. “From the beginning,” he iterated.

  She obeyed, starting with the day she and Claire found the box of glass eyeballs and ending with her asking Aunt Millie for help with finding the camper. “Your aunt was supposed to meet me today and give me the details she learned about the camper, but instead here we sit and now you’re involved, which makes this an even bigger mess.”

  “His job is to help clean up messes, not make them bigger,” Aunt Millie added her two cents. “And before we go any further, I need to add another chapter to this story.”

  Ronnie turned to her. “So you did find out something about the camper.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll be glad I made you come clean to Grady when I’m finished.”

  “You mean the camper we apprehended from the R.V. park?” Grady confirmed.

  “That very one. Turns out that after Ronnie’s mule was sent to prison, the state moved the camper to the auction yard with the other confiscated vehicles. A week later, it went up for sale and was purchased by a man named Pete Morshire, who hauled the camper back to his home in Pinetop. Last week, Pete’s neighbor stopped by to see if Pete wanted to split the cost of a load of firewood. Only someone else had paid Pete a visit first, someone who had torn Pete’s house and the new camper apart looking for something. When they didn’t find what they were looking for, they tore Pete apart, too. According to the police report, it appears a chainsaw was used to do the worst of the damage.”

  Ronnie felt the blood drain from her face. “What?” she breathed more than spoke.

  “There’s a killer on the hunt, honey,” Aunt Millie squeezed her hand again. “I’m scared clear down to my stockings that the trail now leads to your family’s R.V. park.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Ronnie felt sucker punched, unable to catch her breath.

  Aunt Millie frowned across at her nephew. “And after he finishes with the R.V. park, if Grady can’t stop him, he’ll follow the tracks to the end of the line—you and your sister.”

  * * *

  Claire was nailing on a strip of molding while Chester and his can of beer supervised from one of Ruby’s barstools when she heard the door in the General Store slam open.

  Before she could do more than look over her shoulder in the direction of the curtain dividing the two rooms, her finger hovering over the trigger of the nail gun, Ronnie raced into the room. Her sister’s cheeks had red blotches, her hands twisting together.

  “We have a problem.” She looked over at Chester, stole the beer from him, and chugged it down.

  Claire was impressed, especially with her lack of gagging and burping. That was some bitter tasting shit. She turned back to the task at hand. “What’s Kate done now?”

  She hit the nail gun trigger twice. Pop! Pop!

  “It’s not Katie this time. It’s me.”

  “I thought you said we have a problem.” Claire moved further down the strip of molding.

  “And you by association.”

  Pop! Pop!

  “Well, whatever this problem is, it can take a number and get in line. Thanks to Chester, I have a toilet to fix out in the new restroom.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Chester said, lighting a cigar. “I told Carrera to fish the thing out, but the old bonehead thought flushing it would be better.”

  Claire pointed the nail gun at Chester. “Either way, you’re going in there with me, or I’ll nail both of your asses to the wall.”

  “Claire,” Ronnie strode over and stole the nail gun from her. “This is serious.”

  Claire glared up at her sister. “Give me that nail gun back.”

  “No. Not until you listen to what we have to say.”

  “Who’s we? You and Casper the Ghost?”

  “Your sister and me,” said a deep voice from behind the curtain. The voice registered in Claire’s brain at the same time Sheriff Harrison joined them in the room, laying his cowboy hat on the bar.

  “Claire,” Chester said around his cigar, “Now might be a good time for you to tell me where you stashed my bird-watching binoculars in case you go to the hoosegow for a while and I need to keep a lookout.”

  “No. You’re still grounded.”

  “What if I promise to bring you a special cake with a little gift inside while you’re in the slammer?”

  “Chester,” Ronnie huffed at the old smartass. “This is serious.”

  “So is you stealing my beer.” He leaned over and patted Sheriff Harrison on the arm. “I’d like to report a crime.”

  “Claire.” Ronnie kneeled in front of her, her brown eyes and forehead lined with worry. “I’m talking life and death here.”

  What? Claire sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Criminy, Ronnie. What did you do now?” She glanced over her sister’s shoulder at the Sheriff, who was checking out Ruby’s collection of beer steins behind the bar. “And why is the Sheriff of Cholla County standing in our rec room?”

  “It’s about the diamonds.”

  Oh, hell. Ronnie had said that aloud, which meant the Sheriff was in on this. “What happened? And don’t try to tell me Grady seduced the truth out of you, because that always sounds so lame when they use it in books and movies.”

  “You know the camper where you found the diamonds?”

  “We found them,” Claire corrected. She crossed her arms over her chest, wondering just how many details her sister had spilled to Grady. “Of course.”

  “It’s been torn apart from top to bottom. Someone was looking for them. And the guy who recently bought the camper at the state auction was also left in pieces for the cops to find.”

  “In pieces?”

  “Yeah, as in murdered with a chainsaw.”

  “Holy shit.” Claire squeezed her forehead. “And now we’re next in line.”

  “Yeah.” Ronnie looked over at the Sheriff. “That’s why Grady is here.”

  First those people over the border had been gunned down, then the mule had been stabbed twenty-three freaking times, and now the camper’s new owner had been carved up with a chainsaw.

  Claire stared across at the Sheriff, her gaze drifting down to the firearm he had holstered on his hip. “He’s here to see the other eyeballs?”

  “Yes.” Ronnie sat down, leaning back against the wall next to Claire. “And to help us.”

  “I guess that’s good.” Claire frowned at her sister, “But will one lawman and his gun be enough?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kate followed Butch inside Biddy’s Gas and Carryout, Jackrabbit Junction’s equivalent of a mini-mart. Thanks to the heavy flow of bikers on all makes and models, The Shaft was running low on buns, condiments, and eggs. Butch’s usual supplier wasn’t able to deliver until tomorrow morning, so tonight they were going to make do with whatever they could scrounge up between Biddy’s and the General Store.

  “I’ll grab the buns and you load up on eggs,” Butch told her, his gaze twinkling with mischief. His hand snaked toward her hind end.

  She caught his wrist mid-reach and wagged her finger in his face. “That was slick, Valentine, but your eyes gave you away from the start. I’ll get the buns. You’re in charge of eggs.”

  Pulling free, he tweaked her chin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, Crazy Kate.”

  He headed toward the in-wall refrigerators filled with beer, soft drinks, and deli goods. Kate watched his buns as he went, enjoying the view along with the lighthearted banter they were sharing more often lately. It reminded her of life before the baby had come along.

  She crossed her fingers this meant the future wasn’t as bleak as it had seemed when she had gotten the pregnancy test results weeks ago. Butch wanted to be a father; she had no doubt about it. Next she needed to persuade him that he and she and baby made three, a happy start to a wonderful family life. At least things appeared “happy” in her recent daydreams.

  Then again maybe the baby was making her delusional.

  Kate’s a
rms were loaded with hamburger futures, when the door chimed and Dory Hamilton walked in heading straight toward the chips section. She froze, clutching the buns, and watched Dory try to decide between several different flavors of chips.

  “Kate,” Butch’s voice in her ear snapped her back to life. “While I enjoy it when you squeeze my buns most days, you might want to take it easy on these so we can serve them to customers.”

  She stepped back out of Dory’s view, motioning with her chin for Butch to follow. “That’s Dory Hamilton,” she whispered, nudging her head toward the other aisle.

  “I know,” he whispered back, taking a bag of buns from her as it began to slip off her pile. “Why are we whispering?”

  She peeked over the top of the row of laundry soap, bug spray, and other sundries. Dory had narrowed his choices down to a green bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and an orange bag of corn chips. “Because he’s the caller.”

  “The caller of what?” Butch caught another slipping bag of buns as she shifted her load.

  “Last week, he called the R.V. park and left a threatening message with Ronnie that freaked her out.”

  Butch pushed aside some boxes of matches and set the cartons of eggs he was holding on the shelf. “What threatening message?” He took another bag of buns from her, lightening her load even more.

  “He said, ‘He’s coming for you,’ and then hung up.”

  “How do you know it was Dory?”

  Going up on her toes, she leaned into Butch and explained the whole shebang as fast as she could in his ear, including how Claire had confronted Dory the other day while Kate had snatched his phone, getting the prison’s numbers from it.

  “Damn, Kate,” Butch leaned back, frowning down at her. “You’ve been busy—first stalking motel guests and now stealing phones.”

  “I didn’t steal it.” She glanced over, watching Dory dwell over which dip for his green bag of chips. “I merely borrowed it and then put it back the next day.”

  “Borrowed. Right.”

  Dory picked a dip and started toward the cash register.

  “Shit.” She shoved the rest of the buns at Butch. “Take these. I have to confront him.”

  Butch pushed the buns back at her. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. I need to find out who put him up to calling the R.V. park.” Buns still in hand, Kate started toward the register where Dory was handing the cashier some bills. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, no you won’t, sweetheart.” Butch grabbed her by the waist and spun her around.

  “Butch, let me go.” Dory was going to get away, damn it.

  “Absolutely not.” He pointed at the floor. “You stay right here and guard my buns. I’ll take care of this.” Then he was gone, following Dory outside.

  Kate moved over to watch through Biddy’s plate glass windows, shading her eyes from the setting sun. From her viewpoint next to a revolving rack of sunglasses, she saw Butch approach Dory, calling out to him, getting him to stop and look back.

  She watched Dory as Butch spoke. His jowly face changed from friendly to surprised, his eyes widening. But the surprised look quickly turned defensive with a narrowed glare and a lot of tense gesturing.

  At that point, Butch moved in closer, tapping the Tucson Electric Power patch on Dory’s coat as he talked. Red, blotchy spots formed on Dory’s cheeks before he replied. Butch crossed his arms over his chest, his stance determined as he spoke again.

  Dory nodded and when his lips moved again, Butch took a step back. Based on his profile Kate guessed Butch was skeptical. About what though? She leaned closer to the window, as if it would help her hear through the glass better.

  Butch’s lips moved again, and Dory nodded. Then Dory turned and climbed into his pickup, spinning out of the carryout’s drive.

  The bell over the door chimed.

  Butch strode down the aisle toward her, his lips curved down. When his dark blue gaze met hers, a storm brewed behind them.

  Her pulse giddy-upped. “What happened?”

  “Grab the buns please, Kate. We need to get out of here.”

  “Butch.” She followed on his heels as he moved over to where they’d left the supplies. “What did he say?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way back to The Shaft.”

  They hauled everything to the counter and Butch tossed some bills down, offering the cashier a free drink on Thanksgiving if he stopped by again this year. Kate loaded the buns into several bags along with the eggs, and they left the mini-mart in silence.

  The sun dipped below the horizon, the chill of night seeping in from the east. She could smell the smoke from The Shaft’s grill in the cool air, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since the madness rumbled into the parking lot right after they’d opened for lunch.

  Halfway across Biddy’s parking lot she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Damn it, Valentine,” she jogged up to him as they walked diagonally across U.S. 191. “What did Dory say?”

  He slowed, his face lined when he glanced down at her. She couldn’t tell for certain, but he looked sort of pissed off. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  “Who’s spurring Dory on.”

  “Who?” She grabbed him by the waist of his jeans, dragging anchor. “Come on, you’re killing me here.”

  Stopping in his tracks, he turned. “Sophy.”

  She gasped. “You mean Sophy Wheeler?” As in the loony bitch who tried to shoot holes through Claire last spring?

  “The one and only.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he call the Gila Flats complex when Sophy is in a prison east of Phoenix?”

  “Because Sophy was moved to Gila Flats a month ago. She’s been blackmailing Dory.”

  “Blackmailing with what?” What could a woman locked away behind bars have over the man?

  “For one thing, he falsifies meter readings in exchange for favors. He’s been sloppy about that for years, counting on nobody looking too closely at his records. Sophy could turn him in, get him investigated, and he’d lose his cushy job with that nice retirement the company offers.”

  “You sound like you knew about that before.”

  “I did. He had a deal with The Shaft’s previous owner for free drinks whenever Dory came into the bar and made the mistake of assuming I’d continue with their arrangement after I took it over. That was how I got him to come clean at Biddy’s. Sophy is the one who clued me in about keeping an eye on Dory years ago. I confronted him then, and he hasn’t messed with my readings since. But apparently he’s still making deals with others, and Sophy somehow has records that can prove it.”

  “Jeez. That woman is like a human scorpion. She keeps stinging and stinging.”

  “Blackmail isn’t her only tactic when it comes to playing puppet master with Dory these days.”

  “What do you mean? What else does Sophy have on him?”

  Butch grimaced. “Sex.”

  “What? Did he commit a sex crime?”

  “No, he claims she’s been having sex with Dory during his visits in exchange for ‘favors.’”

  She grimaced at the level that woman was willing to go to, but for what? A quick scare? A toothless threat? No, there must be a bigger purpose. “You mean favors like calling the R.V. park and leaving a threatening message?”

  “Exactly.” Butch began walking toward The Shaft again. “Come on, I need to get back and help with the orders.”

  She followed, feeling dazed. Sophy Wheeler. Holy moly. Claire was going to flip her lid when she found out. Maybe Kate should wait until the crowd had died down tonight to tell her the news. “So,” she said to Butch’s back, falling behind again. His legs were too freaking long, although she did like to trail her nails up them and watch him writhe under her touch. “What do we do now?”

  “You don’t do anything, Kate, except keep out of trouble and help me run the bar.”

  “I need to help my family. We have to f
igure out what Sophy is up to. If it has something to do with Ruby or Claire or both.”

  “I know.” He waited for her to reach his side, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m going to take tomorrow off and go to Gila Flats. It’s been a while since I’ve touched base with Sophy about her house.”

  Oh, yeah. Butch was still watching Sophy’s place for her while she was in the pen. Kate had forgotten about that detail while trying to keep a toehold just this side of deranged, no thanks to the baby hormones.

  “You think you can get her to talk?”

  “I think I have a better shot at it than your sister or Mac. One way or the other, I’m going to find out what the hell she’s up to before this goes any further.”

  “Why?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Why what?”

  “Why are you helping us?”

  His smile returned, his face softening under the glow of the red OPEN light in the window. Leaning down, he dropped a kiss on her lips, hovering just long enough to make her want more.

  “Kate Morgan,” he shifted the bags in his hand and ran a finger down her cheek. “Coming from a brainy, highly-educated teacher like yourself, that’s a really dumb question.” His gaze moved from her lips to her eyes.

  “Butch,” she started, blinking up at him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say exactly, but she needed to let him know how much it made her heart feel all warm and fuzzy that he was helping her and her family, yet she didn’t want to sound super-duper corny in the process and end up soaking his shirt in silly tears. Or something worse, like blubbering slobber.

  He didn’t give her the opportunity to finish. Pulling open The Shaft’s door, he reached down and patted her on the butt. “Back to work, Baby Momma.”

  * * *

  Thursday, November 15th

  Mac checked his watch, squinting at the clock face under the bright afternoon sunshine. He looked down the street, keeping an eye out for a familiar Silverado pickup. No sign of it yet, only the wind kicking around the remains of a tumbleweed that had played chicken with a car a few minutes prior.

  He leaned back against his tailgate, ready to get out of the city after a week of long hours and even longer nights at home alone. But this afternoon, instead of his normal routine of leaving work early and heading straight to his aunt’s R.V. park and Claire, Jackrabbit Junction was coming to him in the form of Butch Carter.