Electile Dysfunction (Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Book 6)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Cortnie leaned forward. “So how did that deal go down?”

  “Bucky’s wife, Rayna, had been out of barrel racing for about a decade, then she decided she wanted back in. She wanted back in on top, not on the bottom. She was, after all, a world champion’s wife. They’d been looking around, and they came to me about my good horse, Mojo. I’d been winning a bunch on him, but I had to take some time off because of some family issues. The thought of selling him killed me, but I didn’t want him to go to waste sittin’ here on the farm.”

  “So your deal was with Rayna?” I asked.

  “At first, I was dealing with Rayna. I thought everything was well and good, but I shoulda known. I’d heard stories about some of Bucky’s deals. Rayna wanted to ride him, maybe try him at a few rodeos first, make sure they got along. I wasn’t so sure, so I made them pay for an insurance policy on him, and then they could lease him for three months. I wasn’t giving them a year on the horse, so they could run him into the ground and give me back a crippled horse.”

  Cortnie nodded her head. “But you sold Mojo to them, right?”

  “In the end. But it was a partnership deal, so I’d have first right of refusal to purchase him back if they ever decided to sell him.” She leaned back in her chair, looking exhausted.

  I asked, “So how did that work out?”

  “The auction is tomorrow.”

  . “Auction?” Cortnie said.

  “Yep, Mojo is going up for auction.” She slid her boots off the desk and leaned forward, putting her elbows where her boots had been. “I’m not even sure I should show up to the auction to see my own horse being sold.”

  Cortnie sounded incredulous. “Mojo is being sold at a horse auction?”

  “No, Mojo is being sold at Bucky’s place. The only horse being sold is Mojo. Court ordered.” She put her head in her hands and rubbed her forehead. “Rayna and Bucky have dragged my name through the dirt on this one. They’ve made it seem like I’m the worst person in the world.”

  “Why haven’t you spoken up and told your side of the story?” If someone dragged my name through the muck, I’d drag them right along with me, and Bucky seemed to have a lot to drag along.

  Pam sat up. “Are you kidding me? Bucky is the beloved politician and Rayna just went to the National Finals on Mojo. She won the circuit finals. They are the king and queen, and I’m just the idiot that jumped in bed with them. I’m the stupid mistress who should have known better. Well, I know better now.”

  “What were the details? I mean, why is Mojo up for auction? Why couldn’t you just buy back your half?” Cortnie asked. She spoke in a low, calm voice, trying to bring Pam down, so we could get the story before she flipped out and we got thrown out.

  “Bucky and Rayna made a ton of money with Mojo, and the deal wasn’t fifty-fifty. It was eighty-twenty. I really wanted them to own the horse, because I knew he was NFR quality, and they knew how to get him there. The contract Bucky drew up pretty much made us a limited liability corporation, a LLC. So, in any business, the income and expenses are split. I paid my part of Mojo’s expenses: feed, vet bills, gas, the stuff Rayna’s sponsorships didn’t cover. My part was twenty percent, right? And in return, I was entitled to twenty percent of the income, from sponsorships, winnings, and the rest. Only, I was paying one hundred percent of the bills, because they were coming to my address while Rayna was on the road. Bucky kept saying, ‘Send me a bill, I’ll cut you a check’, only I sent him several invoices and he never paid a single bill.”

  “How do you bill your own company?”

  “I was sending the bill to Bucky, and I should have been sending the bill to the LLC. It was a mess, and I had to get an attorney to get it all worked out. The bills were coming to the LLC, and I was paying them out of my pocket, because Bucky and Rayna weren’t putting the winnings in the LLC account.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, after two years of paying all of the bills, I told them I was done. I wanted to buy him back. Well, of course, she’d been winning a bunch on him, and was in the middle of an NFR campaign, so no way were they going to sell him back to me. The next step was to ask nicely for them to pay their portion of the bills, and give me an itemized statement of his winnings and sponsorships, so I could see what my portion of the income from the company should be. You see, Bucky had his accountant doing the taxes, so the LLC never saw a profit, but I was never paid a penny, either.”

  This Bucky was clever. I should have Charles take a look at this man’s books. Then again, it’s too late now, since the court had already had its say, but this story definitely told me that Bucky was in it for himself, and let the partner beware.

  “So, short story long, sorry about that. I asked them to buy me out. I wanted my expenses, and my portion of Mojo’s winnings from the years that we were ‘in business’ together.” She used air quotes to emphasize in business. “Plus, what I thought was a fair market price for my twenty percent of Mojo.”

  “Do you mind sharing what that was?”

  “You can look anywhere on social media. Rayna and Bucky tried to be the martyr in this, when all I wanted was what was my fair share, according to the contract Bucky drew up.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to share the number.

  “And now the whole thing was dragged through the court, because the LLC had to be dissolved, which means a selling of the assets, which in this case is Mojo.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Is that so bad?” I asked.

  “I can’t buy him back, and neither can they. It’s part of the court order.”

  I said, “Oh.”

  Skinner was right, Bucky was a snake.

  “And Bucky gets away with it again.” Pam stood and came around the desk. “So did you hear what you needed to hear? I got milk in the truck, and I’d better get that stuff in the house.”

  She was ready to dismiss us.

  Cortnie said, “What about Skinner?”

  Pam put an arm around her, “You watch out for old Skinner, honey. Those two old birds traveled together for many years, and birds of a feather, as they say.”

  “Anything in particular? I thought Skinner seemed like a nice guy,” I said.

  “Skinner’s a nice guy alright, loyal as the day is long, just don’t turn your back on him. Ask his wife about that.”

  I frowned. He seemed to love his wife when he spoke of her in my office this morning. “He spoke fondly of her.”

  “Of course he should, after all that woman’s put up with over the years. And how would you feel, knowing all these years that you were second choice?”

  “Ouch,” Cortnie said, as we walked out of the barn office. “What does that mean? Because it sounds like maybe Skinner was in love with someone else.”

  “There’s no‘was’ about it. He’s still in love with someone else. He just can’t have her, because she chose…”

  The light flashed clear as day. Cortnie exclaimed, “Bucky!”

  Pam grinned ear to ear. “You got it, babe. Skinner fell for the chick the first time he met her, hook, line, and sinker. Rayna was nothing more than a buckle bunny back then. Fine, she was more than that. She could ride, but she wasn’t a barrel racer. Skinner taught her how to ride barrel horses, moved her to Salinas, promised her the world. Then Bucky swooped in and swept that fickle bitch right off her feet. She left Skinner faster than a rope from a breakaway string. Bucky and all his charm were too much to resist, but she sure did keep Skinner close.”

  “So that’s why Skinner and Bucky stayed partners for so many years,” Cortnie said, pondering the team roping partnership.

  “Oh, they tried to split the sheets a few times, but they won too much money together. Skinner wanted Rayna back so bad, he roped better when he was with Bucky. Hell, they both roped better together.” Pam’s body shook as she laughed, then she got serious. “Those three were made for each other. And don’t think Rayna is a saint. You don’t wallow in mud without gettin’ a little on you.”
/>   “Or a lot,” I said.

  “I’d love to stay and see some of your horses.” Cortnie looked around the mostly empty barn.

  “Not much to look at. We’ve sold off most of them. It’s been a rough few years. The pastures aren’t growing. Irrigation is out of the question, and hay is $16 a bale. I’ve kept my stallion and a few mares, but we aren’t even breeding.”

  Pam’s skin turned pale as she looked around the pristine barn. Barely a piece of straw out of place. An occasional snort from a complacent horse, but otherwise quiet.

  “I’m sorry. I was just telling Mimi I miss rodeo, but it’s not a sport I can afford at the moment. Now I know I really can’t afford it.” She turned and gave Pam a hug. “We’d better head out. It was good to see you again, Pam.”

  “You, too. I hope you nail that bastard for whatever it’s worth. But don’t be surprised if you end up bringing your client down along with him.” Pam wiggled her brows.

  “Any chance you get Mojo back?” Cortnie asked.

  “It’s a done deal. The best I can hope for is that the new owner takes good care of him.” She walked us back to the car.

  “Thanks for telling your story. Sorry for your loss,” I said, as I shook her hand.

  I walked over to her Ford F350 diesel pickup and got a closer look. The extended cab pickup looked sharp with the midnight blue metallic paint and tinted windows. I looked in the passenger window. The interior was spotless, with dark blue leather upholstery. “Now that’s a badass looking truck.”

  She laughed. “Thanks. It’s a fuel hog, but it’ll pull a gooseneck trailer real nice.”

  I peered in the bed of the truck to get a better look at the trailer hitch. The bed of the truck didn’t even have so much as a piece of straw. Pam was quite a meticulous woman.

  She stood near the back of her pickup as I got in my Land Rover and shut the door.

  Cortnie said, “Bucky’s place?”

  “Sure,” I said, then asked, “Where do you think she puts her groceries in that truck?”

  “I don’t know, why?” Cortnie asked.

  “She said she’d been at the grocery store, and I didn’t see any bags in her pickup. That’s all.”

  Cortnie eyed me. “How close did you look? Because they could have been on the floor in the back seat. That would have been difficult to see without opening the doors.”

  I had to give her that one.

  * * *

  We drove back across Highway 101 and over to Pesante Road into what was still considered Salinas, but I would call it Prunedale, and Charles would call it Prunetucky. Pesante Road was a winding sucker, and our destination was toward the end.

  You couldn’t miss the Cox farm, with the political campaign signs everywhere, and Bucky’s smiling face with his too white, perfect teeth. In person, his teeth weren’t that white, or that perfect. Photoshop! But who really cared, because the general public would likely never get close enough to see the difference, and they’d probably never see the first subtle lie in Bucky’s lexicon of lies.

  The brown fields spoke of drought here, too, with dirt being more prevalent than grass, or maybe it was just too difficult to tell the difference. I pulled into the driveway of the ranch. Not the big impressive horse farm of Pam Brown’s, but this was a rodeo ranch, not a breeding farm. To my left was a full on rodeo arena.

  “We used to hold junior rodeo practices here when I was a kid. Not sure if Bucky owned it back then. There are roping chutes and even bucking chutes.” Cortnie pointed as we drove by the arena toward the house. “That’s the announcer’s stand. Our coach used to sit up there and announce like it was a real rodeo. He said it was good to hold mock rodeos to help us get used to it, calm our nerves.”

  The place looked a little worse for wear. I wondered just how well the Coxes were doing on the rodeo road, and if there was a reason they weren’t paying their bills. Maybe the political trail was sucking the wallet dry?

  I thought Pam’s place was quiet, but this place felt like a morgue. No one around, and the only horse I saw was standing loose in the arena with his back foot cocked, like he was napping.

  Just past the arena was a mechanical thing with four long metal arms sticking out of it, contained within a fence of chipped white paint. It looked like the thing I’d seen in the barn area at racetracks, you know, when they do interviews for the Kentucky Derby. The ground around the inside looked to be sand. “Lazy way to cool off the horses.”

  “Efficient,” Cortnie said. “When you’ve got ten horses to ride in a day, you saddle them all up, put four on the walker at a time to warm them up, by walking them while you ride. When you are done, you unsaddle and put them back on to cool them off. You get a lot more done, and you don’t waste time with warm up and cool down.”

  That made sense, so I took back my lazy comment, but just to myself.

  Past the mechanical walker was a huge red barn, filled with hay, and I supposed grain, too. It looked like it was the feeding station, as it had feed buckets and a wheelbarrow, and scoops of various sizes in view. Past that was a long red barn with stalls.

  Unlike Pam’s place, these stalls were facing outside, with a narrow shed row to keep the rain out. Also, unlike Pam’s place, there was straw, hay, shavings, and manure strewn everywhere. The Coxes were not as neat and tidy as the Browns. The stall doors were Dutch, but both the tops and bottoms were open, and some sort of nylon or canvas net was snapped across the front. I could see straight through the stalls, which looked like they could use a good cleaning, to the open paddocks behind them. I’d seen this type of stall door at racetracks before. It seemed to let a lot more air circulate. I saw a few tails swish, which told me the horses were hanging out in the paddocks outside.

  “Go up the hill.” Cortnie didn’t seem nearly as impressed with the horse barn as I was, and I needed to pay attention to where I was driving because I almost hit a damn cat.

  I drove past the small barn and up the hill to the house. Not a bad looking house. Two stories, red brick, with a redwood deck that overlooked the stables. What a nice way to spend an evening. Have a few drinks and enjoy the view.

  Before I could slow the car and park, a woman stormed out of the house and up to the passenger side, banging on the door.

  “This is Rayna.” Cortnie rolled down her window.

  No wonder Skinner was in love. Rayna flowed toward us, even though she had the air of a woman scorned. Her sable locks trailed behind her, catching the light of the sun, and her blue eyes sparkled with fire. Years in the sun had barely put a wrinkle on her skin, or maybe she wasn’t as old as Skinner and Bucky, but I knew she had to be. And she was lithe. The only thing sticking out on her was her boobs, and they perked out nicely in the V-neck sweater she wore.

  “No one is supposed to come up to the house. If you’re here for the auction tomorrow, you’re too late. The viewing for Mojo ended an hour ago. Bucky is putting him away.” She looked at her watch. “He should’ve been back to the house by now, but if he’s still down there, he may still show you the horse.”

  I leaned down to talk to Rayna from across the car. “Hi, Mrs. Cox. Actually, we aren’t here to see the horse. We’re here to talk to Bucky.”

  Her demeanor spun on a dime. “Well, honey, why didn’t you say that? He must be putting Mojo away. I can call his cell.” She pulled a cell phone from her skin tight jeans.

  The cowgirl in her turned into a politician’s wife in a big, bad hurry. I’m not a huge fan of politics, and here I was, knee deep in the shit, and I don’t mean horse shit. “You don’t need to call him, I can go back to the barn. Thanks for your help.”

  I let my car drift forward to give her the hint that I was headed back to the arena, or the barn, wherever Bucky was, and that I was finished talking to her. As pretty as she was, there was something dark about her I didn’t like. I couldn’t quite put my mind to what it was, but her actions and words didn't fit with her demeanor, just like a politician. Maybe she was the puppet behin
d the man. Who knows? They say behind every good man, there is a woman pulling the strings. Ha!

  Before Cortnie rolled up her window, she said, “Good luck with the auction tomorrow.”

  I kept driving forward, as the house was set on a hill with a horseshoe shaped road around it, that came out back in the area near the barn.

  “Park here,” Cortnie said, as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “We can get out and walk back to the stables.”

  I looked down at Cortnie’s shoes, then I contemplated the walk to the barn in my black ballet flats. They’d be light brown with dirt and dust by the time I got to the barn and back. No, thank you. They were expensive shoes and I wasn’t going to ruin them by accidentally stepping in a pile of manure, or who knew what else. “Or I can drive.”

  What was I thinking coming out here directly from the office? Cortnie and I should’ve gone home and changed clothes, since we knew that Pam and the Coxes both lived on ranches. This was ridiculous. My normal work attire would have been fine for a meeting, but the outfits we’d chosen for the funeral were over the top, and in no way appropriate for this meeting.

  “I want to see if that’s Mojo in the arena.” She got out of the car as I put it in park.

  Fine. I turned off the engine. I’m not exactly a fan of dirt, but everything washes, right? I watched her walk toward the arena like she was wearing boots, not four inch heels. Astonished at her balance, I marveled at her gait. I’d have broken an ankle by the third step on this terrain.

  Before I could get out of the car and catch up to her, she came to an abrupt stop.

  “Mimi, don’t come any closer.”

  “Yeah, right.” I kept walking.

  She yelled, “Mimi, stop, right now!”

  I stopped. She hadn’t moved, so I figured it was a snake or something. I hate snakes, and neither of us had a gun on us. Mine was in the car. Could I get to it and get back in time?

  “What?” I whispered. Why the hell I was whispering when she’d just screamed at me was beyond me. In a normal voice I said, “What’s up?”

  “Go back to the car and call 911. Then call Nick.”