The Rotten Rancher (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 16)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I nodded. "He's a Deputy Sheriff at the Carmel station. He's the one who worked the case." We'd given Mr. and Mrs. Morse a very brief overview of the murder. I didn't mention being run off the road, Mrs. Hughes, or the fact that Mr. Hughes had been arrested.

  Nodding, Morse said, "Yes. I think I've met him. He used to go with O'Bannion's daughter. The one who went to Stanford and became an architect."

  "That's him," I said.

  Mrs. Morse shook her head. "Poor girl. She died so young."

  "Have you been to the house?" asked Carter.

  "No," said Mrs. Morse. "We've never been able to get down there. Lettie says she wants to tear it down and start over but it seems like there was some local opposition."

  Morse frowned very slightly. "Frank and Roberta Hughes. They always treated Annie O'Bannion like she was their own daughter." He lowered his voice and continued, "I don't like to speak ill of anyone, but O'Bannion told me that Frank was a little odd in the head. Had something to do with when he was at that C.C.C. camp down at Pfeiffer, working on the state park. Those boys were rough. They did good work, though." Looking at me, he said, "You should go down there and have a look around." He grinned, lowered his voice, and added, "You should also go down to Hearst Castle and dance on the S.O.B.'s grave while you're at it." He laughed as Mrs. Morse shook her head.

  "Now, Sam—"

  "Now, Maurine, you know how I felt about Hearst. Don't like to speak ill of the dead, either, so I don't have much to say about him. I bet Nick doesn't much, either."

  I grinned. It was fascinating to watch how he could talk about things without ever talking about them. He had just acknowledged he knew everything about me but hadn't directly said a thing. I was impressed.

  Carter asked, "Did you ever know Big John Reynolds?"

  Morse looked up. "I'm impressed, son. How do you know about him?"

  "His grandson delivered some firewood to the house the other day. He mentioned his grandfather."

  I looked up at Carter. He was becoming such a good P.I.

  Morse nodded. "Used to run the north part of the Sur like it was his own little fiefdom." Using his right hand, he pointed to the rungs of an imaginary ladder. "On top, you had Big John." He moved his hand down a rung. "Then you had O'Bannion." He moved his hand all the way down to the table. "Then, everyone else."

  Looking at me as he cut into his steak, he said, "Now it's your father and that odd man James Parker that Mrs. Reynolds sold Big John's land to. It's a strange place up there. No one I know has been inside but I hear that there's people driving up from L.A. to see the man."

  "We've been inside," I said.

  Morse nodded slowly. "What's it like?"

  I looked over at Carter, who said, "Big house right on the ridge. Looks like he's teaching meditation. There was an Indian man playing a sitar and a lot of folks sitting on the floor."

  Morse looked thoughtful. "Very interesting." He cut into his steak, took a bite, and chewed slowly. He seemed to be thinking about something very intently.

  Mrs. Morse leaned towards me and quietly said, "He's trying to figure out how to make money off what you just told him."

  "I heard that, Maurine," said Morse with a laugh. He sighed and took another drink. "I don't think there is any way to make any money there. I don't pretend to understand what he's up to but he looks harmless."

  . . .

  Once we got back to the motel and were getting ready for bed, I said, "Let's do what Mr. Morse suggested. I wanna go to Pfeiffer and see the place."

  As Carter pulled off his socks, he asked, "Do you wanna go down to Hearst Castle?"

  I shrugged. "Sure. Can we just go in?"

  "Never know until we try."

  I sat down next to him and leaned against his right shoulder. He put his arm around me and held me tight. "You OK?"

  I nodded. "Sure. You?"

  He sighed. "Getting there."

  . . .

  I stood at the sink and drank a glass of water. I looked at my watch. It was half past 3 in the morning. I wasn't sure that I'd slept. Carter and I had made love for at least an hour after we got in bed. Having done most of the work and done it with an intense passion that was a little scary, Carter had collapsed and was still sleeping.

  I had dozed but had a hard time keeping my eyes closed. Every time I did, I could see Mrs. Hughes looking at me, blaming me for her decision to kill herself. As Mr. Morse had been talking during dinner, I began to understand what had happened to her husband. I knew why he'd tried to kill us. Killing Carl had been a mistake, a byproduct of his rage against Carter and me. I suspected the source of his anger could be found somewhere in the past at that C.C.C. camp down the coast.

  Knowing all of that didn't help assuage my guilt. I'd played and replayed those last few minutes. I knew the moment, the precise moment, when Mrs. Hughes had decided to jump. It was in her face.

  And then, when she looked at me... It seemed as if she had turned and looked right at me, almost in mid-air. I knew that couldn't be right, but as I'd played the movie in my head, over and over again, it had taken on a life of its own.

  Since '53, I'd seen a lot of people die, a lot more than I ever wanted to see. I'd become a private investigator because I wanted to do something more with my life than just be a hospital orderly. I knew I wouldn't ever be satisfied with sitting in a room somewhere, counting my money, like my father had done until he met Lettie. That was why I'd taken the job at City Hospital after the war. It was something I was trained for, having worked as a corpsman in the Navy. I knew how to clean up after people.

  I looked at my face in the mirror. My chocolate milk eyes were still the same color they'd always been, as was the dimple in my chin. Apparently, my eyes were the same color as my mother's. I didn't remember her eyes but I did remember her long hair.

  Carter always claimed that his first lover, Henry Winters, looked like me. That was ridiculous. Henry was much more handsome. But we did have the same face. His was more interesting, having a scar that went down the right side of his face. It was a war souvenir and made him look distinguished.

  I'd met Henry the same afternoon I met Carter. They'd been standing together, both leaning against the bar at a long-gone club called La Vie Parisian. I'd opened the door to walk in and had immediately seen Carter. And he'd seen me. It was just like in the song, across a crowded room and all that.

  Carter had been tongue-tied at first. I smiled at myself in the mirror at the memory. I was in love from the very beginning and that had never changed, nor did I think it ever would.

  A soft knock on the bathroom door broke me out of my reverie. "Nick?"

  I opened the door and looked up at Carter. His hair was pointing in every direction and he looked concerned. Without asking, he pulled me into his arms. I leaned my head against the two hard pillows on his chest.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I can see her looking at me."

  He leaned down and kissed me. "Go get in bed. Lemme take care of business and then I'll be right there."

  I nodded and did as he said.

  . . .

  "It's not your fault."

  I lay there in silence as his chest rose and fell with his breath. He was right but it didn't help. If I closed my eyes, I could see her. As long as I kept my eyes open, I was fine.

  "You realize what this is all about, right?"

  That got my attention. "What?"

  "He must have been assaulted at that C.C.C. camp."

  I sighed. "I think you're right."

  "That doesn't justify his trying to kill us or killing Carl, but it makes it easier to understand."

  "Yeah."

  "And, for me, it explains why Mrs. Hughes did what she did."

  I sat up and looked down at him. "Why?"

  "She'd stood by him all his life." In the dark, I could see him frowning. He lifted his left arm and punched the pillow under his head. "What if he was one of us?"

  I sighed and thought about that. "That cou
ld explain why they never had any children."

  "Sure. Of course, there could be other reasons."

  "Annie was our age."

  "Yeah. So, Mrs. Hughes arrives from Oklahoma and, poof, there's a child for her to love."

  "What about—" I stopped and laughed bitterly.

  "What?"

  "I don't give a damn about any of those people. I just wanna go to sleep." I could feel the tears start.

  Carter smiled a little. "Yeah." He patted his chest. "Come on, son. Lay down."

  I slid down next to him and closed my eyes. After a long moment, I could feel all the shock and the marvel and the anguish of the day. The shock of being in the car as it was pushed over the edge. The marvel of looking up at Mrs. Vazquez and realizing I was still alive. The anguish of Mrs. Hughes throwing herself off that cliff. All of it began to roll over me, like I was in the ocean and under a heavy wave.

  I began to really cry, gulping for air as I did. I could hear myself making strange noises as the tears came. I felt Carter's reassuring hand on my back, not moving, just holding. Each wave hit harder than the last until the pressure began to subside. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, the tears stopped. In the dark, in the silence only punctuated by Carter's breathing, I felt myself finally getting sleepy. I realized, at long last, that my eyes were closed and all I saw was the comforting dark and all I heard was Carter's gentle snoring and all I knew was that it was going to be OK.

  Chapter 17

  Hide-A-Way Motel

  Tuesday, November 15, 1955

  Later that morning

  The sun was trying to make its way through the room's curtains when the phone rang. I heard Carter say, "Hello?" before I could open my eyes.

  "Hi there, Ron." There was a long pause, after which Carter sighed and said, "Thanks for letting us know. Do you need anything?" I sat up as he waited for the answer. He was frowning. Whatever Forrester was telling him wasn't good news. After a moment, he said, "I don't know. I'll talk to Nick and one of us will call you back. How about that?"

  He hung up and sighed loudly. Turning on his side, he looked up at me. "They questioned Frank Hughes yesterday at the county jail in Salinas and got him to admit to everything. They found him dead this morning in his cell. He hanged himself."

  I nodded and closed my eyes. I was hoping I wouldn't see his face. I didn't. I could see Mr. Vazquez and his luminescent brown eyes that reminded me of Nacho's. Opening my eyes, I said, "Before we do anything else, we have to go to see Mr. and Mrs. Vazquez."

  Carter blinked in surprise and then nodded. "You're right. Then we have to find someone to clean up your father's house."

  I shook my head. "Nope. We find someone to tear it down."

  Carter closed his eyes for a long moment. As he did, a tear ran down the side of his face and onto the bed. I stretched out next to him. I put my hand on the right side of his face. "What?"

  He opened his eyes. They were glistening in the bit of morning light that was making it into the room. "I had a dream last night."

  I smiled. "You did?" I had dreams all the time that I told him about. He'd never once told me about his dreams, if he ever had them or remembered them. "What happened?"

  He sighed. "We were at La Vie Parisian, standing at the bar. Nacho walked up and bought us margaritas. We talked about what he was doing. At one point, I remembered that he was supposed to be dead. When I asked him about that, he shook his head and said, 'No, my friend. I'm still around'." Another tear rolled out of Carter's left eye. He blinked and wiped it away.

  I smiled. "He still is."

  "I don't understand why I miss him."

  I moved in close and kissed him on the lips. "I'm glad you do. Because I do, too."

  Carter nodded. "After we finished talking at the bar, we walked outside. He made a move to hug you—"

  I grinned. "Were you jealous in the dream, too?"

  He smiled wanly. "Yeah, I was." He laughed at himself and sniffed. "He looked up at me and said, 'Welcome to your new home'."

  "New home?" I asked.

  "Yeah. We were in Paris."

  . . .

  "Good morning, Nicholas. How are you?"

  "Fine, Father. How are you?"

  "Just fine. Frank Hughes is in all the papers this morning. Have you heard whether there will be a trial?"

  "There won't be a trial. He hung himself overnight."

  There was a long silence. Finally, he said, "I suppose I should ask Lettie to call Roberta."

  I cleared my throat. "It will probably be in the afternoon edition. She jumped off the cliff in front of the house yesterday."

  "Oh, my goodness, Nicholas. Were you there?"

  "Yes, sir. Carter tried to stop her but she was too fast."

  "My dear boy. I am so sorry. How is Carter?" He was out getting us a couple of fried egg sandwiches and some coffee.

  "Fine. Or getting there. It's been a long twenty-four hours."

  "Yes, of course. Will you be coming home today?"

  "Not yet. We have a few things to do. We had dinner last night with Mr. and Mrs. Morse at the Pebble Beach Club."

  "I'm glad to hear that. Sam Morse is one of the best men on the West Coast. I have a tremendous amount of respect for the man. I'm glad you were able to meet him."

  "Yes. We're now members."

  My father chuckled. "I suppose you became members so that Carter could get in and have the cook destroy another fine steak."

  "You got it in one. Since when do you play golf?"

  "Play is not a word that anyone in their right mind would use, Nicholas."

  I laughed. "I have a feeling you're a better player than I ever could be."

  "You never know. Now that you're a member, you could give it a try. If nothing else, it's one of the most beautiful walks in the world."

  "Father, I was wondering if you wanted us to get anything out of the house for you?"

  "What's that?"

  "Well, we're gonna have Gustav bring down the Roadmaster in the morning to pick us up. If you want us to collect any of your things from the house, we can."

  "I see. I suppose you can't carry your trunk back in that Sunbeam, can you?"

  "So that wasn't in this morning's paper either?"

  "What wasn't?"

  "Frank Hughes tried to run me off the road yesterday. He succeeded."

  I could hear a panic in his voice. "Are you OK?"

  "Yeah. I managed to grab onto a tree."

  There was a long pause. Then, in a very low voice, he said, "That son of a bitch. If he wasn't dead, I'd come down there and take care of it myself."

  "Yeah. You would have to beat Carter to it."

  He sighed. "I'm very sorry, Nicholas. I wonder why that wasn't in the papers."

  "I don't know. But it'll be in the Examiner as soon as they get hold of it. 'Notorious Nick Escapes Demented Truck Driver. Perverted Tree Embraces Him In Bizarre Love Triangle'."

  In spite of himself, my father laughed. "Yes. Something like that, no doubt."

  "So, is there anything you need from the house?"

  "Not that I can think of. Why—?" He stopped. "Oh, I see. You're assuming... Yes." He sighed. "Hold the wire, Nicholas. I'll need to ask Lettie."

  "I wanted to talk to her, as well, if you don't mind."

  "Of course. Hold the wire. I'll put her right on."

  I waited for a couple of minutes. I could hear them talking in the background.

  "Hello, Nicholas?"

  "Good morning, Lettie. How are you?"

  "Happy to hear your voice. Your father told me everything. You're not hurt?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "When did that happen?"

  "About an hour after we talked yesterday."

  "Oh my goodness." She sighed. "Well, Parnell said you wanted to know about our things in the house?"

  "Yeah. Gustav is driving down in the morning with the Roadmaster. Do you want us to get any of your things out of the house?"

  She sig
hed again. "Don't bother. We'll go down in a couple of weeks and sort things out. Feel free to leave things as they are."

  "The kitchen is still a big mess."

  "That's fine." She paused. "I'll call Doreen. She'll know someone who could use the work."

  I laughed. "Yes, she will. Before I let you go, I have a question for you."

  "Yes, dear boy?"

  . . .

  "Prospect 9-7001."

  "Hello, Gustav. How are you?"

  "I am fine, thank you, Mr. Nick. And how are you?"

  I laughed. "Good. How is Ferdinand's aunt?"

  "She is very well. She is enjoying the many delights of the City."

  As he said that, I realized I didn't want to interrupt her visit. So, I said, "How are Bobby and Tom?"

  "They are very well. Mr. Tom has been working in the garden with Mr. Bobby."

  "He has?"

  "Yes, Mr. Nick. Ferdinand is not very happy about this but yesterday he tell me that it looks better." Gustav laughed.

  I grinned. That was high praise, coming from Ferdinand. A wave of sadness passed over me as I realized how much I was going to miss the two of them.

  "One of the reasons I'm calling is because there's going to be a lot of news about us in the afternoon papers. I just wanted to let you know that Carter and I are OK. A lot has happened down here."

  "Yes. Mrs. Kopek tell me of the murder from this morning. There is more?"

  "Yes. Tell her not to worry when she sees it."

  "I will do this."

  "Where are Bobby and Tom?"

  "They have take walk to Union Square. They go with us today on boat with Captain O'Reilly."

  "That's very kind of you to invite them, Gustav."

  "I think even Ferdinand like Bobby." He sounded relieved.

  "Gustav?"

  "Yes, Mr. Nick?"

  "You know how much Carter and I love you and Ferdinand, right?"

  There was a long silence at the far end of the line. Finally, Gustav whispered, "Yes. We both love you both, too."

  "Good." I sniffed. I suddenly realized what I wanted to do. "I'll call you in the next couple of days to let you know when we'll be home."

  Gustav cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr. Nick."

  I looked up as Carter opened the door, carrying a couple of brown bags and two paper cups of coffee. He grinned at me and I smiled back.