by Kieran York
Royce surveyed the scenic area. She loved the high terrain with a backdrop of the steep mountain called Purgatory Hill.
“How’s Nick?” he asked as he stood. His wet waders indicated that he’d been panning for some time. They had sunk into the muddy creek floor beyond his ankles.
“About the same.” Royce added, “I’m optimistic.”
Chance and Gus had the same routine of dashing in circles when greeting one another. They frolicked and then returned to Wyatt and Royce’s sides. “I saw the flyer that’s going around. The woman. She’s got that trampy polished look. A fella would put seduction-quality sheets on his bed for her. Looks like the sheriff’s department is trying to find a beauty queen, huh?”
Royce smiled back. “They all look the same to me.”
“Reminds me, Gus here is a hero. We were over at the Crystal mall, and a Dalmatian puppy was out playing, and ran from its owner. I stopped what I was doing and Gus and I gave chase. Gus here ran right up to the pup. Kept the pup occupied while the owner got it leashed.”
Royce leaned down to give Gus a hug. “So, you’re the canine hero of the month!” Gus was a cuddly giant, but Royce had seen him growl at the neighbor that didn’t like Wyatt trespassing.
“You’re back here, so you got more questions for me?” His laugh boomed. “You think that I may have come down with a case of moral corrosion since you last interrogated me.”
“I think you’re a safe bet. You didn’t commit this crime. But if your neighbor, Duane Hill goes missing. I’ll definitely be checking for moral corrosion.” Royce smiled. “Chance needed a pit stop. And we could have come by to congratulate Gus on his heroism, but truthfully, I just needed to stop to give you a photo of the woman we’re looking for. Sam calls her Mimic Maiden because we surmise that she’s wearing disguises. Since you’re near the highway, keep your eyes open for a blue Dodge Challenger SXT. Seen any lately?”
“Naw. And I haven’t seen any blonde or brunette that looks like the woman in a blue Challenger. I’ll sure keep an eye out for her.”
“Makes it difficult by not knowing which hair color Mimic Maiden actually has.”
“I wish I could help you. And if I see the beauty queen, I’ll give you a call. This is tough because there are so many wealthy beauty queens in Crystal.” He laughed. “Well, some of them aren’t wealthy. They get themselves all dolled up like bait. They catch a millionaire. Then they are wealthy beauty queens.”
Royce chuckled. “I’m certain that many might believe that you perfectly understand the beauty queen theory of economics.”
Chance was bounding across the mountainside. Wyatt chuckled as he watched. “Look at that dog travel. Have you ever wondered when she chased a bad guy what she might be thinking? I say she’s wondering what kind of a dimwit thinks he can outrun a dog like her.”
Laughing out loud, Royce agreed. “Glad you and your neighbor aren’t needing to test Chance’s running skills.”
“I call that old man a stump jumping hillbilly.”
“You better learn to outrun Duane.”
“Sometimes I river-pan with just pan and a pail, so I can get a jump on outrunning him.” Wyatt looked up at the sky. “You know, Royce, prospectors have special kinds of wisdom. One is that quarts usually indicate there are veins of gold around. Even the earth’s elements stick together better than human beings. It’s too bad we can’t get our geological wisdom together. I’m not sure how it’s escaladed to a feud.”
“Maybe we can get it de-escalated.”
Royce thought, the mountainside was far too lovely to witness a couple of neighbor’s feuding.
***
Afternoon became hours of checking leads. Royce went to the D.A.’s office to check on her grandmother. She hated to ignore her Gran, but every phone call stretched into twenty minutes. “How’s it going, Mike?”
The D.A. shrugged. “Got some assault trials, got a really jumping defamation case. The one I want is Nick’s shooter.” He paused, “Any more news?”
“Not much. Mike, have you heard from Gran and Debra?”
“They’re staying put, safely out at the cabin. As we told them to do.” Mike shook his head. “Those two have become immediate best friends. And I’m not sure which is more rambunctious. I told them that photos on TV may look like the world is filled with innocent people. But we don’t know if this woman is as dangerous as the guy that shot Nick. If they’re a team, the woman might be very dangerous.”
“And we aren’t sure if she’s blonde or has brunette hair. Nothing is appearing from any of the data bases.”
“Your Gran suggested she might even be a guy.”
“Really.” Royce paused. “Gran might be on to something. Maybe the shooter is one and the same. But the two witnesses claim they saw a fairly muscular, bulked up man exiting the truck. And I’m pretty sure, Virginia Kern, from the Drop-On Buy, would have mentioned it. If she had any suspicion about the woman being in drag.”
“My grandmother may act like a Chicago sophisticate, but I’m betting that she knows what a drag queen is.” Mike’s eyebrows appeared to leap up. “I’m surprised that your Gran knows.”
“We’ve gotten pretty cosmopolitan since the population has grown so rapidly in Crystal.”
Mike agreed. “We’re right up there with Aspen and Vail when it comes to society pages.”
Royce chuckled, “Maybe not too far up. But our Crystal growth has changed the feel of the area.”
“Timber is still folksy.”
“Folky?” Royce asked.
“No complaints,” he answered. “I love Timber.”
Royce began catching Mike up on the day’s investigation. After reporting, she used Mike for a sounding board, to sift her thoughts. That was what she and Nick always did. “Something that puzzles me. Why is the killer sticking around? Wouldn’t someone that just committed a crime like attempted murder want to get away as quickly as possible?”
“That puzzles me, too. No good leads. The photos from Drop-On Buy – no one’s in the least familiar with this person. Suppose it is Kirk Dillard and his new sidekick. She uses her car, and they must have ditched the Ford pickup. And you’re right. They set up Nick, shot him, and don’t run.”
“They have to know we’ve got 24-hour protection No one gets through the hospital’s lines. So why would they be staying? Especially since Kirk can’t go out without being recognized. And no one knows the X woman. Mimic Maiden. That’s Sam’s name for her. It caught on with us all.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Sounds like our Sam. I like it. Sounds better than ‘hot woman’ or mystery woman. So many questions. “Where are they now? And is Kirk involved?”
“Same difficulty with that. Kirk is average height and build. It doesn’t fit. Someone knew the history of Wounded Badge Vista. Knew the sick irony of shooting down an enforcer at that location. Unless Nick suggested they meet there. The scrap of dialogue from the phone call is rather open ending about place. Nick can’t tell us the missing particle. His speech hasn’t returned.” Royce slumped down in the chair. She could feel her shoulders lower. “And his cognitive powers are at risk.”
Mike angrily complained, “And they may not return.”
Royce stood. “He’s going to live, and he’s going to get better.”
There was no answer. She slapped her leg, and Chance rushed after her. The new Justice Building stood secure, and proud, Royce thought as her boots clicked out her steps on the marble floor. Justice. If kindness is the true preamble to justice, Nick will recover.
***
Back at the Sheriff’s Department, Royce changed out of uniform, and into civvies. She headed across the street to the Bell Ringer.
It was dinnertime, and some of the patrons had ordered meals. Others were just there for after-work drinks. Before Royce opened the door, she heard the music. Smiling, she walked to the back of the barroom. The music was honkytonk country, and loud. Seated at the piano was the man billed as Troubadour Richard. His
outfit was snazzy. Multicolored shirt, and trousers, and a flashy red hat. Richard “The Troubadour” was a combination of entertainer and musician.
His accompanying grin and energy were part of his personality. Handsome, he was medium height, stubbly buzz-styled haircut, mustache and slight beard, with a wide smile, and cleverly expressive, intense blue eyes. His voice was pleasant, and his words articulate, and with a charming British accent. His singing voice was husky, friendly, and blended perfectly with instrumentation.
Faye greeted Royce with an excited nod. “Sheriff, I’m glad you’ve dropped by. You need a little entertainment.”
“The case isn’t easy. But then there never is an easy case when dealing with homicide or attempted murder.”
Faye whirled around, enthusiastically. “Look at how Richard fills the bar. Packs it. His music is damn closed to doubling our profits.”
When Richard “The Troubadour” joined Faye and Royce at the booth, he greeted Royce as if they were long lost pals. He was purely show business, witty, and intelligent, Royce thought as she interrogated him. From England, he had spent most of his adult life traveling between the United States and his homeland, England.
Royce commented, “You must feel at home here in Timber. Many of us were kin of English miners.”
“Everyone’s friendly, and as you can see, I’m a happy soul. I try not to be a liability,” he joked. “Across the street, Molly’s Pantry, serves lots of English pasties and shepherd’s pie. Scrumptious.”
“Mom loves baking,” Royce offered.
“Molly is a tribute to the womanhood of your country, Sheriff.” He lifted his hat, tipping it. “I love to meet people. Yanks, even.”
Royce laughed. “If you travel around, you must be excellent at meeting people.”
He looked into the eyes of the sheriff and said, “Strangers are wonderful. I’m a fellow who likes mindless chitchat. I can better appraise people’s intentions. I think to myself, each person in an audience could do my job better. A wise man told me that secret one time. A narcissist rarely can read a room. And how can I sing you a song, if I can’t read your heart to know what you want to hear?”
Royce retorted, “An amazing wisdom in that. I loved the last ballad you sang.”
“My theory works,” he snickered. Teasingly, he said, “I must be better than I thought.”
“My Gran would enjoy talking with you about the old country.”
“Old country,” he grinned, then said, “I can barely remember it from a couple of months ago. I do drive an old country Triumph. I travel in a sport car because I travel light. I can always buy anything I need along the way. And, I can always find a piano.”
Richard’s laughter was contagious. When the chatter died out, Royce took leave. Timber would be a wonderful place for Richard. He was a great storyteller and assuredly, rarely told the same story twice. Royce had the feeling that he was a treasury of good tiding. Although she doubted if Richard wanted to murder anyone, certainly not Nick, she was glad that he was offering good tidings. And he was with an alibi. He was playing piano in the Bell Ringer when Nick was shot.
She immediately liked him. And hoped that she wouldn’t need to arrest him for any criminal behavior. Much less attempted murder.
The sheriff was confident that he would never drive a Ford truck, or a Dodge challenger. Royce leaned down to give Chance’s head a pat. Chance also liked Richard.
Chapter 8
Royce and Hertha worked together fixing breakfast for the blurry-eyed Vannie and Antero. Although the kiddos didn’t enjoy being kept on the property because of being bodyguarded by a deputy, they were allowed outside in the backyard. There they took turns walking the patient-dogs. Throughout the day, they would pretend to be veterinarians, and they would help care for the dogs and cats.
The children had the chore of keeping the grounds clean and tidy. Although it was part of their tasks, it was the part they least liked. But they were getting allowance for it. That not only kept them out of trouble, but it offered Hertha and her staff time to devote to caring for their critically ill patients.
After breakfast, Royce promised Vannie and Antero that she would take them over to the new piano player at the Bell Ringer. If they were good all day. Hertha usually had a couple spay and neuters. Today was two cats and one dog. The children soothed the kittens. Holding them and tenderly petting them. That, Hertha had explained, kept them with a feeling of security. The dog, a sweet goldendoodle named Baylee was in to be spayed. Baylee’s energy seemed boundless. The beautiful pup had personality, too. Royce loved the way she befriended all folks that came near her.
Royce looked out the back window to see Antero running after Baylee, and Vannie carefully attempting to leash the beautiful dog. When Royce was first amazed at how the children were so concerned for animals, she mentioned it to Hertha. Hertha’s reply was nonchalant. She said of course they were good with the pets and patients. They were Utes.
The children had the same gentleness, with even the most energetic, large dog. Royce loved Hertha’s tranquility, and her kindness. They obviously had their biological aunt Hertha’s DNA gene pool coursing through their bloodstreams.
As Royce grabbed her Stetson from the wall peg, she thought how blessed she was with this new family.
She and Chase were nearly across the street when an emergency alert call came in. Royce listened to her radio. It was a message passed on from the hospital. Nick was coding. His shoulder wound was seeping, and they were taking him into for emergency surgery.
“Wanda,” Royce radioed, “I’m on my way to Crystal.” She and Chance rushed to the Sheriff’s Interceptor. She turned on her roof lighting and her siren. Throughout the ten-minute drive, she told herself that the wound may not be serious. They probably had caught it immediately. Nothing could happen to Nick. He’s fought so hard, she speculated, that he had to live.
***
Rushing, she saw both Bev and Terry. “How is he?” the sheriff questioned.
Bev was shaken. Her facial expression broadcast fear, and pain. “Royce he was doing better. More fleeting moments of consciousness.”
Terry interceded, “We’re going to be positive. The vessel rip is small. The surgical nurse said that it often happens.”
Bev, shrugged. “What she actually said was that it was just a little re-sewing, and he’d be okay.” Bev smiled. “I like that nurse’s optimism, and her humor. So yes, as Terry said, we’ve got to be positive.” Observing Bev’s hands, Royce saw they were trembling.
Royce carefully asked, “Was Nick squeezing your hand, Bev?”
“Yes. I tried to get him to code his answers with two squeezes for yes and one for no, but it didn’t work. But several times as he pulled in and out of consciousness, he’d do that.” Bev frowned. “Why?”
“It’s just that he held very tightly, as if asking me not to leave.” Royce frowned, “Maybe that was my imagination.”
“Royce, he did that a couple times when the doctors wanted me to leave the room. But it didn’t make much sense, because he knew I’d be right back as soon as the exam was finished.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, and one time he seemed very agitated. I had taken his phone out of my purse. I thought if he heard our song, the one that played when I called him, he would respond. I was trying to get him to remember me.” Her eyes filled.
Royce darted forward. “You’ve got his phone? The one he used when he was on duty?”
“Yes.” She looked perplexed. “Why?”
“How did you get it?” Royce recalled distinctly giving it to Forensics to be checked for any non-personal calls. And she’d specifically said that it should go to Sam.
“The Forensics tech was checking to see how Nick was. He had an envelope with the phone in it. It had Nick’s and my name on it. He figured he’d save Sam the trouble of dropping it by.”
“I’d asked Forensics to drop it by to Sam. Forensics hadn’t discovered anything on it. I asked them to get it to Sam, so he co
uld examine it.” Royce understood the misdirection. The delivery order was obviously miscommunicated. But Royce wouldn’t blame anyone. The team wanted to extradite a delivery. “Sam was going to work on the code. Password.”
Bev, rummaged through her purse. “I’ve had it for a couple days. I just wanted to keep it near me.” As she pulled it out, she stated, “I’ve got all his passwords.” As she pushed buttons, she uttered, “The business one is rock and roll. Home is what I call elevator music on sleeping pills. Work is a separate number.”
Royce voice was excited, strained. “Can you get me on his work number?”
As Bev pressed, it was Nick’s voice. His last message was with a man, and his voice sounded strangely like the voice that called in as Kirk, but couldn’t be identified.
Nick: This is Undersheriff Hogan, about your earlier call.
Voice: I wanted to talk with Sheriff Madison.
Nick: She’s out of the office. A morning meeting. Can I help you?
Voice: No, I wanted Royce Madison. I’m wanting to do a ride-along. I’m thinking about becoming a deputy.
Nick: She isn’t on duty today. Look, I’ll be glad to take you out with me. I can show you the basics. Where are you now?
Voice: I drove up to the place they call Wounded Badge Vista. Someone told me it’s a monument for fallen police. But I really would like the sheriff to meet me.
Nick: What’s your name, and can you give me your driver’s license, so I can check you out. Then I can be up there in half an hour. No sense in making you wait. I’m the undersheriff and I can make any hiring decisions.
The remainder of the conversation was the voice giving Nick his information. Reading it off another man’s I.D.
Royce was stunned.
When a moment of realization hit Royce and Terry, they heard Bev loudly inhale. “Oh, my God!” she blurted out.
