The Thirteenth Skull

by Bonnie Ramthun

  “Sir?” The touch brought him upright with a jerk and he winced at the sharp, hot pain in his neck. He’d been sound asleep and his neck was stiff.

  “Yes?”

  “Your flight, sir, I noticed you were sleeping. Your flight is being called.” The airline attendant was square and blocky, an unattractive woman, but attentive. The VIP lounge was always well staffed.

  “Thank you,” he said, searching for his case. He was fuzzy-headed with exhaustion. He needed a good night’s sleep before they headed into Wyoming. Ken would be waiting, a mere three hours away, and he would have information, and there would be food, and finally, bed.

  The flight was called again and Rene boarded the plane, feeling the anticipation tingle pleasantly in his belly. Time to kill.

  The Reed Ranch

  “I can see why you call him Bob,” Howard Magnus said, cigar in hand. Jimmy Arnold sat in the leather armchair with a glass of soda pop in his hand, looking at the skull with the first expression Eileen had seen on his face. He looked interested.

  The crystal skull sat back on the dressmaker’s dummy, swiveling to follow the conversation, glowing like a lamp. Eileen had protested, but Joe and Lucy had pleaded. They knew Bob was lonely in the safe. Jorie and Beryl avoided the ranch when the boisterous hunters were there, so the chance of being discovered playing with Bob were slim.

  “We’ll keep him out for a little while,” Paul said, with an affectionate look at Eileen. “Then we’ll put him back.” Hank was in bed, after racing around with Zilla for an afternoon where absolutely nothing happened. Lucy’s husband Ted was coming into the Rapid City, South Dakota airport tomorrow morning and Lucy, at least, was humming with pleased anticipation.

  Eileen rolled Joe’s engagement ring slowly back and forth on her finger and wished desperately that she was married, too, and could take Joe to bed tonight. Particularly after the way that Jorie wench had flipped her hair and pouted after him. She wondered if Joe had seen her jealousy. She hoped not. It was embarrassing to be jealous, and it was the first time it had ever happened to her. The emotion was hateful and ugly, like feeling a spider crawl on her. Worst of all, there was nothing she could do to brush it away. She was jealous.

  Joe sat right next to her, his thigh pressed to hers, warm and solid and reassuring, making her feel simultaneously ashamed of her jealousy and mad with desire for him.

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” Tracy said, standing up and stretching. “You hunting types would do well to hit the sack early, too. Paul has an big trip planned tomorrow and you’ll need the rest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mark Plutt said, already glassy-eyed and yawning. “I’ve never been so tired. Or slept so well, actually. I have trouble sleeping back home. Running a big company, you know, there’s always problems. So many worries and I can’t get them out of my head. But not on this trip.”

  “That’s what I told you,” Howie said with a grin, savoring his cigar. “Wait until hunting season this fall. Every smell, every sight will be sharper and clearer than you’ve ever felt in your life. Then that trophy elk will step into the clearing and you’ll feel like your heart is going to leap out of your chest.”

  “Howie?” Lucy asked, after taking a deep breath. Bob, who had been following Howie’s words, moved gently around to face her. That afternoon Joe and Eileen had contacted Marcia Fowler again and discussed the skull’s curious behavior. Marcia was thrilled. She told them she’d read of crystal gazing, or scrying. Evidently rock crystal had a particular vibration, and if the skull had been carved precisely it could vibrate to human voices and thus seem to follow them. This was comforting but nothing about Bob, so far, seemed frightening to Eileen. He was a happy skull. No one felt nervous under his rippling crystal gaze.

  “You’re going to ask me about hunting, aren’t you?” Howie asked. Lucy jumped a little.

  “Yes, I was,” she said. “I don’t understand hunting.”

  “Do you like to cook?” Howie asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “When you cook a really fine meal, like a fancy dinner or a Thanksgiving feast, don’t you just feel great? Tired, maybe, but fulfilled and happy and satisfied?”

  “Yes, I do,” Lucy said. “Is that what hunting makes you feel like?”

  “It’s a start, but there’s more than that,” Howie said thoughtfully. “If Mark decides to go hunting and shoots a trophy bull next year he’ll be putting delicious meat on his family table, and that’s very satisfying. And he’ll get a beautiful antler rack to hang on his wall, if that’s what he wants. But when you bring down a game animal there’s a satisfaction that is almost impossible to describe. We’ve been hunters, providers, for a million years. That’s what we’re meant to do, we men.”

  Eileen looked at Tracy, who hadn’t left for bed. She looked at them both, deliberately, and shook her head a tiny fraction. Not that, either, her shake said. Eileen was determined now to pin down her mother and find out what she thought men were for.

  Howie was continuing, however, his cigar sending up an obnoxious ribbon of smoke, his beautiful voice like rough music. “Trophy elk, the big bulls, usually don’t make it through their seventh winter. By the time our hunting season starts they’ve already fought and mated. Lots of the herd bulls have used their reserves to keep and impregnate a harem of elk cows. They don’t have enough stamina to make it through the winter anyway.”

  “So you take them out before they starve?” Mark asked. He didn’t sound convinced, and Lucy remembered that he wasn’t a hunter.

  “Or before the wolves get them,” Howie said. He put the cigar in his teeth and grinned. “I consider death by Howie’s arrows a bit better than being hamstrung and devoured by wolves.”

  Mark looked unconvinced, still, and Eileen thought about Mark Plutt driving a ceremonial Aztec knife into the chest of Dr. Jon McBride. Ridiculous. Mark was uneasy about shooting a game animal. Surely Mark couldn’t be the killer.

  “Howie’s arrows?” Lucy said. “But I thought—”

  “We’re archers, Lucy,” Eileen said, surprised. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m sorry. It just slipped my mind, I guess.”

  “We always carry side arms, of course,” Paul said. “But that’s for protection, not to hunt. It’s tough to hunt an animal with a rifle, but that’s nothing compared to hunting it with a bow and arrow. Did you want something, dear?”

  Tracy, who was sitting next to Paul, smiled and pressed her hand on his.

  “Thanks. I was just going to ask Eileen if she would mind going into Hulett and getting a gallon of ice cream for us. We’re getting low what with the midnight forays and all, and I could use a gallon before Doug comes with his truck.”

  “Doug?” Lucy asked.

  “The Schwan’s man,” Eileen said. “Sure, mom. Any special flavor?”

  “Whatever looks good,” Tracy said.

  “I’ll take you,” Joe said. “I’ve got ’Berto’s Mustang. We’ll be back before we left.”

  “Don’t go that fast,” Lucy said with a smile. “You don’t want to get a ticket from Sheriff King.”

  “Heavens, no,” Joe said with a groan. “Come on, babe. Let’s take a drive.”

  “Don’t call me babe,” Eileen said. She was suddenly thrilled. The day was as hot and breathless as every other day had been, but with the close of daylight the air was beginning to cool and freshen. Driving in ’Berto’s mustang with the top down would be heaven.

  “I’ll put Bob away,” Lucy offered. “You two kids go have fun.”

  “And we’ll toddle off to bed,” Howie said. “After we talk more boring hunting talk, while I finish this fine cigar.”

  Eileen didn’t hear any more. She was flying up the stairs like a teenager, to grab her purse and comb her hair and change from her jeans into a light summer skirt and a fresh new tank top that clung to her breasts and showed off the soft skin of her shoulders. She couldn’t wear her ankle holster with the skirt but her SIG-Sauer fit nicely in a clamshell holster at the
small of her back. She tied a light cotton sweater around her waist to hide the bulge of the gun and grimaced at her reflection. What she wouldn’t give for a glittery golden mop like Jorie’s, right now, instead of her dark red.

  “You look ravishing,” Tracy said from the doorway. She was smiling. “Take your time, punkin. If you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, Mom,” Eileen said, feeling her face grow red in an instant. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Only to your mother, maybe,” Tracy said. “I’m off to bed. We’re going to start interviewing in August for a new family for the cooking and cleaning job. I’m probably going to hire the first ones who answer the ad, I’m so tired.” She shrugged and held out her arms. “You and Lucy have been lifesavers, you know. Hug me, dear. Then run a comb through your hair and find your man.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Highway 24, North of Devils Tower, Wyoming

  “Ahhh,” Joe said, “this is the life.” His hair blew back in the evening wind. His black eye was beginning to lose its puffed appearance and was now starting a rainbow stage, patches of dark purple fading to orange and brown. There was even a greenish tinge where the brown faded out. Eileen didn’t care. He was Joe, and his arm was around her, and they were finally alone.

  The road was deserted in both directions, a ribbon of gray that ran through pine trees and into prairie. In the distance Eileen could see a herd of antelope, white hindquarters flashing in the evening light, as they bounded over a ridge. The air smelled of sage and pine and sun-heated grass. Eileen was glad she hadn’t put on perfume. The air was perfume enough. Joe wasn’t driving particularly fast but with the top down their speed seemed much higher. He had his arm across the seat and his fingers touched her bare shoulder.

  Eileen felt a sensation like slow molasses running through her. Every breath seemed to be a little less than she needed, as though she couldn’t get enough. She shifted in the seat and tried to get more of Joe’s hand on her shoulder, like a cat trying to get a petting hand to a particular spot.

  “Hey, Joe,” she said. “There’s a place I’d like to show you.”

  “Where?” Joe said. His fingers started rubbing her shoulder lightly. She found it difficult to speak.

  “Just two miles up. It’s a scenic overlook of the Belle Fourche River. It’s not marked; it’s on Ivan Zehr’s ranch. He lets locals use the road.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. He seemed as taken with the silence as she was. The two miles sped by in a blur of trees and grasses and far bluffs rising in the distance.

  “Here,” Eileen said, finally, seeing the seldom used gateposts at the bottom of the small hill. And the boot was still there! Joe turned off the road and traveled slowly down a track to the gatepost. A cowboy boot sat on the left post, a cracked leather thing that curled like an ancient piece of dried fruit.

  “What the hell is that?” Joe asked.

  “A cowboy boot,” Eileen said.

  “Is the track much worse than this?” Joe asked. “I don’t want to bang up ’Berto’s car, he loves this car.”

  “It’s easier past the posts, and I don’t want to bang up ’Berto’s car either,” Eileen said, unbuckling. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be right back.”

  She got out and flew down to the gate. Her sandaled feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. She removed the boot and placed it on the middle spoke of the gate, then pulled the gate open so Joe could drive in. Once he’d passed her she closed the gate and ran back to the car, trying to control the hammering of her heart. So close, now.

  “What’s with the boot?” Joe said.

  “So no one else will bother us,” Eileen said. “I’m taking you to our own private make out spot. Been this way for a hundred years, I think. Someone replaces the boot when it gets too old.”

  Joe didn’t put the car in gear. He turned to look at her, and until that afternoon Eileen wouldn’t have recognized the expression on his face. After Jorie and her pouting lips, though, she knew. Joe was jealous.

  “Did you park here with that Owen Sutter guy?” he asked.

  “Oh, Joe, you know I did,” Eileen said, instantly frustrated. They weren’t going to have a fight now, were they? “But everybody parked here. Mom and Dad, they came here. And I never—” she stopped, embarrassed and flustered.

  “You never what?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve never been in love, until you,” she said huskily.

  Joe’s expression lightened. He blew out a sigh and put out his hand. She took it and he squeezed her hand, hard.

  “Look at me,” he said. “I’m sorry. Show me this place. I want to see it. But you do understand we’re parking in a deserted lover’s lane, and there’s been a murder in the county, and it’s getting dark…”

  “And I’m a cop,” Eileen said.

  “That helps,” Joe admitted. “But if you’re going to tell me about a legend of a guy with a hook who creeps up on people in this place, well –”

  He put the car in gear and drove slowly down the overgrown grassy lane, smiling as Eileen laughed. The two ruts were still used, although not recently. They led over a small hill, hiding the highway behind them from their view, and then led up to the top of a small rise.

  Joe drew a deep breath as they crested the top of the hill. Eileen grinned. It looked just the same, even after all the years between high school and now. Beyond them was a hundred miles of nothing but mountains and valleys, shrouded in the coming dusk. The Belle Fourche River wound slowly by at the bottom of the bluff, lit golden orange by the setting sun. It was wild and gorgeous and empty as far as the eye could see.

  “How beautiful,” Joe said.

  “As gorgeous as you,” Eileen said. “Unbuckle, damn it.” She unbuckled her seat belt and as soon as he was unbuckled they were kissing, as frantic as teenagers, tongues together and teeth clicking off each other. She swung her leg over him and straddled his lap, her back against the steering wheel.

  Joe reached into her hair with both hands and held her head, the same way he would sometimes hold her head when she was exploring him with her mouth.

  She unbuttoned his soft ’Berto shirt as his hands left her head and traveled up her back to the hooks of her bra. She was caressing his chest, pinching his nipples with her fingers by the time he finally unhooked her bra with clumsy fingers and captured her freed breasts in his hands. He pinched, lightly, and she arched her back and threw her head back. Above her, the stars were already beginning to show in the indigo depth of the sky. She could hear the rustle of the river water at the bottom of the bluff, no noisier than Joe’s panting breath.

  “I am so excited,” she said, stripping off her shirt and letting her bra fall from her arms. “I can’t tell you.”

  “I think,” Joe said, burying his face in her breasts, “I know.”

  His hands traveled up her thighs and to her hips. Eileen unsnapped her clamshell holster and put her SIG-Sauer on the dash. She unsnapped and unzipped her skirt and lifted it over her head. Joe left her breasts for a minute and looked at her hips.

  “Is this a thong?” he asked. “This is a thong. You’re wearing a thong.”

  “Just for you. It’s actually sort of comfortable,” Eileen said, snapping a strap that led over her hip. “Do you like the pattern? Big hearts and stuff?” Lucy, in fact, had insisted that Eileen buy the silly thing. They had been shopping for bridal lingerie and Lucy had informed Eileen that men loved thongs. That she had to buy this silly silky one with the red hearts on it. She was very glad, now, that she had.

  “Oh, God, I’m going to come right now,” Joe groaned, closing his eyes. His hands held her hips and rubbed her back and forth over his lap.

  “Don’t,” Eileen laughed. “We still have to pick up ice cream, you know. Unless you brought a change of pants.”

  “Let’s get them off, right now,” Joe growled. Eileen eagerly unsnapped and unzipped. The steering wheel was in the way, so she shifted over and let him pull his pants off. The bucket seats of the mustang were
spacious, covered with old leather meticulously maintained.

  “Back seat?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Right here,” Eileen said, patting the passenger seat. She spread her skirt on the seat and Joe shifted over. She knelt above him and let him strip the silly underwear from her, and when they were around one ankle she pushed his hands aside and settled on top of him, slowly as she could stand, feeling every warm inch as they came together.

  He didn’t take long. She used her thighs to move up and down on him and as he took her hips in his hands he shuddered and groaned and buried his face in her breasts. She kissed the top of his head.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too,” he panted. He leaned his head back so they could kiss. “Did you come?”

  “Not the right position for me,” Eileen said. “I think you did, though.”

  “Lean back against the dash,” Joe said, his face still flushed and red and his breath fast. “Stay on me.”

  Eileen leaned backward, her thighs still folded on each side of Joe, their bodies still coupled. He touched her with gentle fingers and she closed her eyes and let the sensations build in her. The dashboard dug into her back but she didn’t notice anymore. Eyes open, staring up where stars covered the sky, she opened her mouth and screamed his name.

  As he pulled her trembling body close for a kiss, she heard a far-off yipping of coyotes in the darkness of the hills.

  “They’re wondering, what the hell kind of coyote was that?” Joe laughed, kissing her breasts.