Harry Mann In The Tangled Web

by Bo Drury

  -----------------------------------

  Harry Mann In The Tangled Web

  by Bo Drury

  -----------------------------------

  Mystery/Crime/Suspense/Thriller

  * * *

  Whiskey Creek Press

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright ©

  First published in 2010

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For your reading pleasure, we invite you to visit our web bookstor

  * * * *

  * * *

  * * * *

  Harry Mann In The Tangled Web

  * * * *

  by

  * * * *

  Bo Drury

  * * * *

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  * * * *

  * * *

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  * * * *

  Copyright (C) 2010 by Elizabeth Drury

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-60313-914-4

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue

  Editor: Sylvia Anglin

  Printed in the United States of America

  * * * *

  * * *

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my family, who assured me nothing was impossible and so inspired and encouraged me to reach for my dreams.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Prologue

  Opening her eyes—at least she thought they were open—she squeezed them shut, then opening them again tried to see, to focus and clear her vision. It was pitch black!

  “Where the heck am I?”

  Feeling off balance, she sat up slowly. The darkness affected her equilibrium. Swinging her legs off what she thought was a cot, she found she wasn't on a cot at all; she was on the ground. Putting her hand out and touching the cold damp surface of solid rock, she felt something akin to panic. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she held in the scream that hung aching in her throat. Sitting very still, she strained to hear any sound other than the pounding of her heart. From out of the inky darkness she heard the continuous drip of water.

  Reaching out in all directions, she felt nothing.

  What was out there?

  “I'm safe as long as I stay on the mat,” she whispered.

  Safe? Why am I here? Who would do this to me?

  “If I keep my eyes closed, maybe it won't be so bad.” Trying vainly to see in the dark was frustrating and pointless. Wherever she was, there was no light in any direction.

  “I have to think...what to do?”

  Crawling on her knees to the end of the mattress away from the sound of the water, and sliding her hand in front of her making sure there was no sudden drop, she moved slowly away from the mat.

  The rough surface tore into the flesh of her knees as skin and bone met rock. Ignoring the stinging pain as the sharp surface gouged the palms of her hands, she inched forward. Going what she imagined to be about five feet and finding nothing, she turned back, making her way to the mat.

  Where is it? It's not here!

  Fighting hysteria, she talked to herself in an attempt to calm down. “Steady girl, it's there in front of you somewhere.”

  Feeling frantically for the mat, wondering if she had misjudged her direction in the darkness, she jerked back when she touched the soft padding, thinking for an instant it was a furry animal. Trembling, she crawled onto it and pulling her knees to her chest, hugged them tight. Lowering her head, she rocked back and forth; she couldn't fight the flow of tears and the feeling of helplessness. Disbelief flooded her thoughts. How could this be happening?

  The smothering darkness closed in; the urgent need to push it away was overwhelming.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” she whispered. “Don't panic. You can do nothing if you panic. Harry...Harry,” she cried out in a broken sob. “Where are you?”

  Suddenly blinded by a bright light, she threw up a protective arm.

  “Who is it...”

  The hot stabbing sting of a needle in her arm caused her to jerk back. A rough cloth saturated with the sickening odor of ether covered her face, smothering her scream. Vise-like arms held her fast. Struggling to get away from the smell as well as the powerful grip that held her, she could feel the swirling darkness overtaking her. She sank into a black pit of oblivion.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Sleepy hazel eyes looked down the length of long legs encased in rumpled gray slacks, past scuffed size twelve loafers, out through the grimy plate glass window of 101 Main Street, and sized up the two men dressed in western garb approaching the office of Harry Mann, Private Investigator Extraordinaire.

  As he realized they were coming in, his feet quickly left the cluttered desk. Landing heavily on the floor, they stirred up a cloud of dust and discarded peanut shells from the worn carpet.

  The sandy-haired owner of the hazel eyes brushed away the smattering of shells decorating the desk top and, grabbing up a pencil and unopened envelope from the pile of scattered mail, attempted to appear busy as the men entered the office and called out, “Hal-lo!”

  “In here,” he answered. “Sorry, my secretary is out for the afternoon.”

  In truth, Doris, his secretary and girl Friday, only came in once a week during slow times to catch up on her e-mail. Fact was, Harry had not had a customer in some time. These guys looked like they might be good for some of the back rent.

  It wasn't that Harry was no good at his job; there just wasn't much call for a man of his talents in the west Texas town of San Angelo.

  Standing as the men entered, he offered his hand and his name, “Harry Mann.”

  Seeing the raised eyebrows and amused smile on the older man's face as
he took his hand, Harry grinned. “I think my folks had a sense of humor when they named me.”

  The man chuckled and the younger one gave a polite smile, seeing little humor in it. Harry invited them to sit down, motioning toward the two chairs across from his desk, and then asked, “What can I do for you fellows?”

  “I'm Jeb Stockton,” the older man said as though Harry should recognize the name. An important man no doubt, or at least the man thought so himself, Harry gathered. Then, indicating with a nod in the boy's direction, he added, “And this is my nephew, Scott.”

  The young man, looking as though he could use a good night's sleep, blurted out, “My friend is missing.” Taking a deep breath he went on. “The sheriff has given up on finding her. She's been gone a week; we need some help. I'm hoping you can help us.”

  “What do you think happened to her?”

  Harry watched as the young man shook his head in despair, angrily glancing toward his uncle, then back at Harry. “If I knew what happened I wouldn't need your help, would I?” Scott retorted.

  Friendly sort, Harry thought as he studied the troubled face for a minute before replying. “Sorry, just give me some background. But first...maybe I should tell you my fee.” He paused before he laid it on them. “Sixty dollars an hour plus fifty cents a mile with a ten hour minimum.” He hesitated, looking for a reaction, then went on, “So now, do you want to give me some particulars?”

  In the way of an apology the uncle spoke up, saying, “He's a little overwrought. The young lady in question came out to the ranch as a house guest a week ago. Sometime during the night she vanished.” He glanced at his nephew. “All her things were left behind. I have to admit I checked out the valuables in the house to see if anything was missing...”

  Harry looked at the boy; it was easy to see the remark made him angry. Before he could say anything the uncle went on. “It was a natural thing to do as we didn't know the young lady or her background,” he finished, giving Scott a stern look.

  Clenching his fists, Scott lowered his eyes.

  “Where did you meet the girl? How long had you known her?”

  “Scott—” the uncle started to explain.

  “I can answer that,” Scott spat out resentfully, “I met her a month ago at the Sutton Days celebration. She had driven over from Junction. Her adopted parents had been killed in an automobile accident and she was home to settle the estate.”

  “Where is she from?”

  “She's going to school in Austin.”

  “What about her folks—what happened to them? Might it have anything to do with her disappearance?”

  With a shake of his head, he answered, “Driving back from Del Rio, they ran into a herd of deer. One came through the windshield. They were both killed instantly.” He went on, thoughtfully, “No, this has nothing to do with her disappearing from the house. She seemed fine, lonely and a little sad but okay, considering. She was an only child.” He sighed and added, “She was in her own car. The sheriff thinks she just decided to leave.” As an afterthought he continued, “Her car is missing, too.”

  “But you don't think that's the case?”

  “No.” He slumped further into the chair. Harry thought he looked as though he were about to cry.

  The uncle cleared his throat. “Will you take the case and see what you can find out for us?” Standing, he put a consoling hand on the boys shoulder.

  Making notes on a legal pad, Harry told them, “I need a name and a physical description, the make of her car, and a check for six hundred dollars. I'll make up a contract and bring it to the ranch with me. I need to look around. It may be a couple of days; I want to make a run to Junction and find out what I can about the family.” Looking at the distraught young man, he added, “I'll do everything I can to find her, Scott, but you know—what we find might not be good. You need to be prepared for that.”

  Jotting down the information as Scott gave him the address and an emotional description of the girl, Harry felt sorry for the boy. More than likely he wouldn't be able to give him anything but bad news.

  The elder Stockton pulled a leather wallet from his breast pocket and extracted six one hundred dollar bills from it, handing them to Harry. Harry didn't miss the bulge of green left as the old man closed and replaced the wallet in the safety of his breast pocket.

  With a crisp tone that ended the meeting, Jeb Stockton said, “Bring me a receipt when you come out to the ranch.” After a firm handshake to confirm the agreement, the two men left the office. Harry watched through the smoky glass as they climbed into the black Lexus across the street.

  The uncle had made it clear he was not happy about the houseguest his nephew brought home. It appeared to Harry Scott was holding back a lot of pent-up anger toward his uncle. What's the story there? he wondered as he leaned back, propped his feet on the desk, and flipped through the six green bills in his hand.

  “Nice,” he said aloud, thinking how happy his landlord was going to be.

  He laid out three c-notes on the desk and folding the other three, placed them in the hidden recess of his billfold. Glancing at the scattered mail, which was mostly past-due notices, he smiled. As he popped a handful of shelled nuts in his mouth, he said aloud, “Let ‘em come! Looks like our boat just came in.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Early the next morning Harry tossed his sports coat into the passenger seat and let the top down on his ‘65 Mustang. The shiny red car was the only thing he had in the world worth anything and was his pride and joy. Folding his lanky form into the white leather seat, he put it in gear and headed out Highway 87 toward Brady. It was a hundred miles more or less to Junction.

  Donning his aviator glasses and turning up the radio loud enough to hear above the wind, he leaned back, relaxed and enjoyed being on the road. Stepping on the gas, he blew the soot out. As the speedometer climbed, he thrilled to the power of the souped-up car. Leveling out at seventy-five miles an hour, he put his mind to the task at hand. He had little to go on. Maybe he would find a clue to the girl's past in Junction; that would be some help. It was a long shot at best.

  He pulled into the old town where the Llano Rivers converged. Old houses and big trees lined the sleepy streets. He knew it was a small town big on Friday night football games and picnics in the parks along the river. Though it was early fall it was warm and the foliage was still lush and green along the river. The whole place had a pleasant, relaxed air.

  Pulling up to a local newspaper office, Harry parked and went inside. A perky young girl spied him coming in and met him at the counter. “Good morning.” She smiled expectantly. Turning on the charm, Harry smiled back and leaned on the well-worn bar between them.

  “I'm hoping you can help me out.” He spoke confidentially. “A young woman who lived here at one time has disappeared; I'm trying to help the family find her.”

  “Who is it?” she asked eagerly. Harry could see she was already writing the story in her mind; a real newspaper woman.

  “Her name was Melody Whitman...”

  “Melody...you don't mean it... Why...we went to school together. What happened to her? When did she go missing?”

  Somewhat taken aback, Harry studied the girl. Looking past her, he noticed several people in the room were watching them, trying to hear the conversation.

  When he didn't answer, the girl went on. “Her folks were killed in a car accident a few weeks ago.” She turned and looked at the man nearest her. He stepped forward.

  “What's this about, Melody?”

  “He says she's missing, Gus.” She turned back to Harry. “This is the editor of our paper.”

  Gus stuck out his hand as he looked Harry over. “We haven't heard anything about Melody missing. Who are you?”

  Straightening up and grasping the gnarled hand of the wiry editor, Harry got the usual raised brows and smile when he gave them his name. He was used to it. Then he explained his interest i
n the disappearance of the young woman.

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  He felt sure in a town with a population of less than three thousand, it would be certain they knew everything about everyone in town. He found out he was right. They told him Melody was an average pretty girl growing up in a small town, taking part in the sporting events, and cheering on the local high school football team. That was about all anyone at the paper could tell him.

  Several of the folks at the paper had joined in the conversation and added their two cents worth. Harry thanked them for the information and was about to leave when Gus added, “You might talk to Tom Talbert; he was the attorney handling the Whitmans’ estate. He might tell you when he heard from her last. His office is just down the street.”

  They stood in a group and watched him leave.

  Tom Talbert was younger than Harry expected him to be. When he mentioned Melody, it was obvious he had more than a professional interest in her. He was upset she was missing. She had an appointment with him the week before and he had been trying to reach her after she failed to show up. The Whitmans had left her a tidy sum of money and a rambling old house in the better part of town. He offered to do anything he could to help in finding her and asked to be kept posted on the investigation.

  Leaving the law office, Harry pulled a handful of peanuts from his jacket pocket. As he popped the nuts in his mouth, he thought of Doris and the fit she threw about his bad habit of dropping the shells on the floor; he dropped them into his pocket.

  Stopping on the sidewalk, he studied what direction to take next. Obviously there was little more to find out here. Odd the sheriff of Sutton had not been over and inquired about her. That was something to think about, he decided as he climbed into the car and drove out Main Street.

  Turning left where the highway sign indicated Highway 10, also called “The Old Spanish Trail,” he headed toward Sutton; it was time to take a trip to the Stockton ranch. After that, he would call on the sheriff. Harry had a feeling there was more to this than the Stocktons were telling.