Bitch Creek

by Tapply, William

  “Everybody thought I was crazy,” said Calhoun. “Including me.”

  “Ross didn’t,” said the sheriff. “Ross guessed you’d figure it out sooner or later.”

  Calhoun shrugged. “I would’ve.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Ross took that Fred Green’s credit card, and he used it at the Thrifty car rental a couple days after you and Ralph found that foot, just to make us believe that old Fred Green was still around.”

  “Which we did,” said Calhoun. “So what did Anna Ross know about all this?”

  “Nothing, apparently. We questioned her this morning. She admitted she lied about what happened the night you found Potter’s foot sticking up. But she was just doing what her husband told her to do. She didn’t know what was going on. The Rosses are from the old school, you know. The husband doesn’t tell the wife what he’s up to, and she doesn’t ask.”

  “Why go after Millie?” said Calhoun.

  “Same reason he went after you,” said the sheriff. “He knew she was checking those deeds, snooping around for you. The day before Ross set her house afire, she was at the library looking at microfilm of old newspapers. Ross got wind of it, figured sooner or later she’d read about how somebody, probably Sam Potter, had murdered his father and made it look like suicide, and she’d tell you, and you’d put two and two together.”

  Calhoun shook his head. “I knew what happened to Millie was my fault. So what about Jacob Barnes? Was he in on this?”

  “Jacob claims he knew nothing about anything,” said the sheriff, “and Ross confirms it. At one point several years ago Ross was having some financial problems. Got behind on the taxes on that Potter property. He didn’t want to lose it, so he asked Jacob for a loan. Jacob’s a sharp businessman. Insisted he have some collateral. That’s when they formed their partnership. Jacob figured one day they’d sell that land and make some money. He had no idea what Ross was up to, or why he kept needing Marcus. Jacob hired out his big dumb grandson for five bucks an hour to anybody who needed a strong back, and poor Marcus just did what he was told.”

  “Even burning down Millie Dobson’s house,” said Calhoun.

  Dickman shrugged. “Yours, too.”

  “And hitting her on the head?”

  “Ross did that,” said the sheriff. “Marcus wouldn’t hurt a woman.”

  Calhoun nodded. “Or an animal. Ross wanted him to shoot Ralph. Marcus flat-out refused.”

  “I got a question,” said Kate.

  Dickman nodded.

  “I was wondering about Fred Green.” She frowned. “Lawrence Potter, I mean. I understand he needed someone to help him find the place. He hadn’t been there for almost sixty years. That’s how come he hired Lyle. But why use a phony name?”

  Dickman shrugged. “We’ll never know for sure, because we’re going to have a helluva problem getting answers out of him. Right now I’ve got some boys behind Ross’s barn digging up Lawrence Potter’s body from the bottom of the manure pile where Ross and Marcus moved it that night. Ross believes that Lawrence Potter knew his father was shot the day of the fire and that it was Ross who did it, so he came back not only to collect his treasure, but to avenge his father’s murder. Ross is convinced that if he hadn’t killed Potter, Potter would’ve killed him. I guess that would account for Potter using a fake name.” The sheriff paused to sip his coffee. “No question Potter came back to retrieve those gold teeth. They were his patrimony.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s the story. Unless you got something to add.”

  Calhoun said, “I was wondering if you heard anything about Millie.”

  “She’s doing good,” said Dickman. “She’ll be laid up for a few days, but she regained consciousness last night, and I guess she’s raising hell there in the hospital.” He stood up and tapped his hat against his leg as if he were knocking dust off it.

  “What happened to those teeth?” said Calhoun.

  Dickman smiled. “David Ross didn’t want that treasure for himself. He says all he wanted was to get it away from the Potters. After he shot Potter and Lyle the other day, Ross poured some of those teeth into his hand, and when he finally saw them, actually held them, he said it felt like he was holding the lives of six million tortured souls in his hands. So he did what he’d always intended to do with them. He threw them all into the pond there on the Potter place. Made me promise not to disturb them, and I don’t see any reason to break that promise. He says they should finally rest in peace, and I guess he’s right about that.”

  After the sheriff left, Calhoun reached over for Kate’s hand. “Looks like we’ll have to get you a new car,” he said.

  “Good thing I didn’t bother getting that tailpipe fixed.”

  “Might be a good time for us to go partners on the shop,” he said, gazing off toward the creek, afraid to look at her.

  “Partners,” she said quietly. “I like the sound of that.”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze. Partners. It sounded good to him, too. The word was full of promise. They’d have to discuss it some more.

  Not now, though. He knew better than to press his luck with Kate.

  The green Audi was sitting beside the house when Calhoun returned from the shop. It had been nearly two weeks since David Ross had come in the night.

  Ralph did not come bounding down the steps to greet him when he slid out of the truck. Ralph wasn’t doing much bounding lately. Neither was Calhoun, for that matter. Cracked ribs take a while to heal.

  Calhoun went in and found the Man in the Suit sitting on the deck sipping a Coke from Calhoun’s refrigerator. Ralph, sprawled beside him, lifted his head, gave his stub tail a couple of perfunctory wags, and dropped his head back onto his paws.

  “Help yourself to a Coke, Stoney,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Calhoun. “Appreciate your hospitality.”

  He got a Coke, went back onto the deck, and took the rocker beside the man.

  “I’ve got to debrief you.”

  “Figured you’d show up one of these days.”

  The Man in the Suit gazed off into the woods. “Sometimes,” he began, “traumatic events will cause people to remember things that have been buried for a long time. Doors open, lights go on, and suddenly everything is clear.”

  Calhoun rocked slowly, sipping his Coke, listening to the gurgle of Bitch Creek. He said nothing.

  “No doors have opened for you, have they, Stoney?” said the man.

  Calhoun shook his head. “Nope. I don’t remember anything.”

  “Good.” The Man in the Suit cleared his throat. “I understand you, um, overpowered a much larger and stronger man.”

  “Just lucky, I guess,” he said, remembering how he’d used his feet and his hands against Marcus.

  “Did it occur to you that you were taught how to do that?”

  Calhoun shook his head.

  “Or to register faces so clearly that you could sketch them from memory?”

  “I got a weird mind. That’s all I know.”

  The Man in the Suit smiled. Calhoun couldn’t remember seeing him smile before. “So nothing’s changed since last time we talked?”

  “I don’t remember anything, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You haven’t recollected the man who saved your life or what you were doing with him, then?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” The man cocked his head and peered at Calhoun. “You keep asking me questions.”

  Calhoun shrugged. “Sometimes it seems important that I connect my memories. I get flashes. But there are gaps.”

  “Your life story. Your childhood, your parents.”

  “Yes.”

  “Quid pro quo, Stoney. You’ve got to give me something once in a while, you know.”

  Calhoun shrugged. “I know how it works.”

  The Man in the Suit drained his Coke, put the empty can on the table, and stood up. “Well, I’ll be back.”

  “I suppose you will.”

  They walked down
to the green Audi together. Ralph followed along behind. The man started to climb in, then stopped and turned to face Calhoun. “Tell me the truth, now, Stoney,” he said. “Just between you and me. Off the record. What do you really remember?”

  Calhoun shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “It’s okay. You can tell me, you know.”

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  The Man in the Suit smiled. “Sure.” He got into his car, switched on the ignition, and started to back out. Then he stopped and held his clenched fist out the window. “Here,” he said to Calhoun. He opened his hand, which held three 12-gauge shotgun shells. “You better keep these. Shoot all trespassers, my friend.”

  Calhoun took the shells. Then the man turned around and drove away.

  Calhoun rolled the shells around in his hand, then squatted down beside Ralph. “Shoot all trespassers,” he said. “That’s damn good advice.”

  Then he went inside to wait for Kate.