2 Death at Crooked Creek

by Mary Ann Cherry

  Beth Marie had materialized like a wraith. “Good choice. How about you, Miss?”

  “Make it two specials. But only one piece of pie for me. I’ll have the coconut cream.”

  *.*.*

  Half an hour later, Arvid patted his ample stomach. “Alice’s Cafe back in Sage Bluff makes just a mite better Dutch apple pie, but this was more than passable. Good coffee, too.” He put down his fork. “How’d you like the coconut cream?”

  “To die for.” Jessie’s fork stopped an inch from her mouth. “Oh, what an awful choice of words.” She put a hand on her forehead, shoving the red curls back. “Arvid, what am I going to do? Surely Fischer doesn’t think I had anything to do with that dead man.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Poor, poor Benny. I’m never going to open that hatch again without seeing his face staring up at me.” She swallowed hard. “My God. Those staring eyes. It was awful.”

  “Hang in there. No time to fall apart, Jess.” Arvid patted her hand and looked glum. “How dark was it?”

  “How dark was what? In the Hawk’s storage space?”

  “Nah. How dark was it outside when Evan Hansen sent Benny out to the Hawk?”

  “Oh. I see what you’re getting at. It was getting late…dark enough that someone might mistake him for Evan. Heck, in the winter jackets everyone wore, he could have been mistaken for anyone. And where I was parked, it was dark as pitch. The pole lights weren’t working in that part of the parking lot.” She paused. “It was really annoying because I had to run the electric cord from the Hawk to the special electrical outlet on the pole. I have a flashlight app on my phone and I was thinking about getting the phone out and using it. Anyway, when I went to haul in some things for Jack, I could barely see my way back to the motorhome.”

  “It’s gotta be a given that Evan was the actual target, Jessie. Someone better warn him. That is, if Fischer hasn’t already put the fear of God into him. Whoever sent that email to lure him out to the parking lot must’ve known you were parked in the far corner where it would be easy to hide. Very dark. Very isolated. I wonder if the street light was intentionally damaged.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ya. Someone has it in for Evan Hansen.”

  “I agree.” She chased a small piece of pie around the plate with her fork. “You sound as if you know him.”

  “I do. I met him last year when Esther played piano here at the show. She does it nearly every year. I don’t know him well, but he seems like a nice enough young fellow. He’s been studying marketing. Does all of the show promotion.”

  “That reminds me, Arvid.” Jessie told him about the painting she’d donated to the auction the previous year, and about the rumor that the money hadn’t reached the Humane Society as promised.

  “You want me to go with you when you tackle Max Watson about that?”

  “Of course not.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m a big girl. I’ll put on my pointy-toed cowgirl boots and go broach the subject. But I’ll fill you in when I find some answers.”

  “You have any idea who bought your painting?”

  “No. But I think I can find out. I’ll locate and speak to the person who had the winning bid and make certain the sale went through. If it didn’t, the painting should have been returned to me.”

  Arvid nodded, slouching back against the booth seat and taking a sip of coffee. “Say, why do you suppose Sergeant Fischer wanted to know about the banner on the tractor?”

  “No clue. I thought that was weird, too.” Then Jessie went on to tell him about the tiny reproduction she’d found in the hall that morning. “It was the cutest thing. A toy exactly like the big one parked out in the lot. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  Arvid sat up straight. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Jess. Fischer asking about the tractor while he was interviewing you about a dead body in the Hawk. And now you’re saying there was a replica of the same tractor outside your hotel room door.” He looked at his untouched coconut cream pie and frowned. Then he put it into a white Styrofoam ‘to go’ box the waitress had left. “Nup. I don’t like it. And I don’t think it’s just happenstance.”

  “Well, thanks for making me feel oh-so-much better.”

  “Sorry. I just think it’s weird.” He looked contrite. Then he eyed the go box. “Hey, I got this piece of pie to go, but I think I’ll have it now. You want half?”

  “Sure,” Jessie said quickly. At Arvid’s crestfallen expression she grinned. “Just kidding. Now, I feel better.”

  He shook his head at her in mock disgust, but his eyes brightened as he opened the white box. “Wish they’d had huckleberry or rhubarb. Just the wrong time of year. Now, a rhubarb-custard pie is hard to beat.” He aimed a fork at Jessie. “Did you know that rhubarb originated in China in about 2700 BC? It showed up in America between 1790-1800. It even has some medicinal qualities.”

  Smiling, Jessie pointed her own fork at Arvid. “Nobody but you would bother to research pie filling, Arvid. And you know that Esther is going to ask you how many pieces you had.”

  “I got a good response to that. I’m gonna say, ‘Esther, that info is on a need to know basis’. And then if she grumbles, I’ll promise to start watching my diet on the first of next month.”

  Jessie grinned and shook her finger at him. “April Fool’s Day, huh?”

  Arvid nodded. “You’re welcome to borrow that phrase whenever you want. I’m generous that way.”

  The little waitress was back with the coffee pot. “Want a hotter?”

  Both Arvid and Jessie took an inch.

  “I heard you say ‘rhubarb’. I always got some in the freezer. Come back next Wednesday and double-crust rhubarb pie’ll be the special on the menu.” She buzzed off like her feet were on fire.

  Arvid scowled. He wouldn’t be in town long enough.

  Picking up her coffee mug, Jessie took a healthy swig. She did feel better. Eating had been smart. Gazing outside she saw Jack, actually the back half of Jack, hind feet and tail-end pressed against the glass, in the window of Arvid’s truck. She knew immediately that his head and front feet were at the level of the door handle.

  The little bugger’s trying to get out.

  She was on her feet in an instant, jogging toward the door.

  “What the heck?” Arvid rose to follow but Beth Marie stepped in front of him with the bill.

  Jessie reached the truck just as the door popped slightly open and a jubilant Jack squeezed through and stepped out onto the sidewalk, tail up and a self-satisfied feline expression on his face. He lifted his head and sniffed, then turned toward the deli two doors down and lifted one large paw to begin his survey of Crooked Creek.

  “Oh, no you don’t, Houdini. You could get lost or hit by a car.” She scooped him up and reached into the truck for the new cat harness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Previous December, Fort Stewart Army Base, Georgia

  Dominic read the letter, scowling. The anonymous letters to Berg must have started soon after Addy’s funeral nearly three months ago. Why hadn’t his Dad given him a heads-up earlier? Probably too proud. But the timing couldn’t be better. It was right at the deadline date when he could either re-enlist or take an honorable discharge. If he didn’t re-up, his last day would be the middle of next week. December 15th. Then he remembered that he had two weeks of leave coming. Maybe he could book a flight out in the next couple of days if he turned in that leave. The Army would even owe him a bit of money. I could be home before Christmas, maybe cook Dad a turkey. He rubbed his chin in thought, in his mind smelling the rich aroma he associated with Christmas—the baking bird, pumpkin pie, a freshly cut evergreen tree. He sighed. Only him and the old man this Christmas. It wouldn’t seem like much of a holiday with his mother and Addy both gone, but he could make it as normal as possible. He folded the note and put it into the pocket of his fatigues.

  He sighed. He’d better just get out of the military. He’d joined for two reasons. First, because he thought every man should take his
turn serving his country. Second, so he could take advantage of the student loan repayment program. Taking classes to earn the Agricultural Business degree from Montana State had been expensive. Worth it, though. His mother had been the bookkeeper for the ranch. After she passed away, his Dad always messed up the books. It went from bad to worse after he was diagnosed with cancer. The place started going downhill. Addy tried to do what she could. Dom couldn’t imagine how hard it must be now without her. The poor old man had no family at home to help and, proud as Berg was, Dom knew he wouldn’t call on friends and neighbors even if things got to be too much for him on the farm. Dom cursed under his breath. With the advent of the threatening notes, he was more certain than ever that his sister’s death was no accident. His eyes filled, and he wiped a sleeve across his face.

  Why would anyone want to kill his sweet kid sister? And how come the Sheriff wasn’t doing more to find the bastard who did it?

  Worry gnawed at his gut. He chewed his lip. Tomorrow he’d take his dad’s letter to a friend in the military police. The guy was clever and might have some good ideas on how to go about finding the bastard threatening his old man. Dom could work on that. He clenched his fist. He’d love to get his hands on the culprit. And at least now, when he went home, he’d feel like more of an asset than just another pair of hands. Dammit, his dad might even listen to some of his ideas on how to improve the ranch. Yes. He’d book a flight as soon as possible. Dom smiled at the thought.

  “Guess what, Freeman?” He directed the question at his Army buddy, Harris Freeman, a round-faced, dark-haired man stretched out on his bunk reading a manual. They’d joined at the same time when the recruiter came to Crooked Creek.

  “You’re a surprise a minute, Nielson. Now, how am I supposed to guess what in hell you’re up to?” The man gave Dom a crooked grin. “Just enlighten me, wouldja?” He slapped the manual down on his bunk.

  “I’m going home, man. Taking the rest of my leave and opting out.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” The other man sat bolt upright. “Who’s gonna stick around and wipe my nose?” He gave an elaborate sniff. “You know I’m dying of boredom here. That’s why I left you everything in my will, Nielson. All my wordly possessions.”

  Dominic laughed. “Yeah, sure. I left you mine, too, remember? All twenty bucks and my extra skivvies.” The friends had written fast, tongue in cheek wills when they thought they were being mobilized a second time to Afghanistan—a mobilization that never materialized.

  “Geez, Nielson.” Freeman stood and stared in incredulity. “You’re serious. I thought we were in it together for the long haul when we joined up.” Freeman stood and stretched. “Four years. Until all our student loans were covered. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Dominic thought of the letter resting in his pocket. With some wacko harassing the old man, he needed to get back to Crooked Creek. He had a feeling of urgency. If he explained the situation, his commanding officer might help expedite his separation from the Army.

  “Most of my loans are covered. Near enough, anyhow.” He pulled the letter back out of his pocket and handed it to Freeman with a frown. “It doesn’t matter. There’s some trouble at home.”

  Freeman read quickly, his lips tightening as he read. When he finished he looked at Dom, worry evident in his gaze. “Well, Holy Ned. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of. First your sister was shot by some nut case, and now somebody’s writing such crap to an old guy like your dad.” He handed the letter back to Dom with a serious expression on his face. “I signed my reenlistment papers yesterday. My leave has been planned for months, but it doesn’t start until the end of January. Sounds like your Dad thinks he might get a bit of help from Addy’s boyfriend. That’s a great idea, if he actually set up that trail camera. Once I get there and catch up a bit with my family, I’ll swing over and check in with you. See if you need my help.”

  “Sure. You do that. But I hope I have it handled by then. I’ll head to the Sheriff’s Office first, find out what they’ve been doing to look into it. Dad doesn’t have any faith in the younger deputy, Jacob. That’s the guy he’s been showing the notes to. The one he calls the ‘lazy, ignorant, disrespectful cowpie of a kid’ in the letter.” Dom and Freeman both grinned. Then Dom sobered. “But I always thought old stiff-necked Fischer might be a decent man in a pinch.”

  “Yeah, me too. Remember when he caught us with the six-packs after graduation? He was cool to just confiscate the beer and not rat us out to the folks. He was a straight shooter.”

  “Hey, he probably downed free beer after work every day for three months.” Dom chuckled. “I think I’ll bypass cowpie Jacob and go see Sheriff Fischer as soon as I’ve had a few minutes to visit with Dad. See what the Sheriff thinks we can do to help catch this creep.” He gave Freeman a thoughtful look. “I’ve been thinking I might sign on as a volunteer deputy once I get processed out of the Army. It depends on whether I can get a job right away. I’m not sure what I can do around Crooked Creek with a business degree.” He smiled. “Once I start pulling in a few bucks, I might call Tabatha Williams and see if she’s still single.”

  “Aw, shut up, will ya, Dom?” Freeman snarled. “I’m starting to regret signing that re-up form.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crooked Creek Lodge - March

  Arvid drove slowly into the entrance of the lodge, eyeballing the tractor parked next to the hotel driveway. The art show banner stretched from the front of the John Deere to the back, covering the entire side. “Wonder what happened to the windshield,” he said. “You know, that looks like a bullet hole in the back window.”

  “Yes. And at the restaurant this morning I overheard someone say a girl was shot in it. It was late when I had cocoa in the restaurant. It wasn’t there then, so someone brought it in after I went back to the room,” Jessie replied.

  “Interesting. I’m just dang curious about why Fischer asked about it.”

  Jessie shrugged. “Me, too. But, I don’t have a clue.”

  Arvid pulled into the unloading area by the lodge entrance and stopped, letting the engine idle.

  “I’ll drop you off, then go find a spot to park. No sense looking for a rental car until tomorrow.”

  “No, I have to be here at the hotel all evening, anyway, so I wouldn’t be driving one. Thanks for everything, Arvid.” Jessie lifted Jack, now decked out in his cat harness, got out and walked around the truck. She set him on the sidewalk, the loop of the blue leash wrapped around her hand.

  Arvid rolled his window down. “Say, Jess. If Esther isn’t in our room—it’s room 212—why don’t you call her cell and meet her by those tables near the piano? She’s looking forward to seeing you, and I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

  “That’d be great. But I’ve got a few things to do first. Give me at least half an hour. I need to contact Max and find out what he’s arranged about continuing—or canceling—the workshop. And I want to speak to him about last year’s auction.” The cat had flopped onto his back and was rolling on the now dry concrete.

  “Okay.” He gestured to Jack and blew a raspberry through pursed lips. “Look at him. You’re dreamin’ if you think that cat is gonna walk on that leash. Poop. I knew that harness was a waste of money. You’ll probably have to just sort of drag him along.” He made a rolling motion with his hand.

  Jessie gave him a dirty look. “Nobody’s dragging my cat around. He not only walks fine with his harness on, but he has better manners than that brute of yours. Not that I don’t love that big brute.” Arvid’s enormous Neapolitan mastiff, Bass, had saved Jessie’s life six months earlier. The dog had been trained to recognize only Norwegian commands, and Jessie was forced to commit a list of terms to memory in order to manage the huge animal. She continued, “Jack doesn’t slobber, and he understands English. Jack is, um…refined.”

  “Ha.” He snickered at the thought of the rag-tag ear and the tooth that frequently hung over the cat’s lip. “Refined
.” He slapped his knee. “Not hardly. And I’d like to see you get Jack to follow any commands at all. That cat don’t take orders. In fact, I think that feline gives ‘em.”

  “Oh, yeah? Listen and learn, Arvid. Listen and learn.” Jessie turned to the tom, who was now standing, looking curiously around. “Let’s go, Big Guy.” In an undertone to Jack she said, “Treats.” Then in a louder, commanding voice she said, “Inside, Jack. Let’s go, Butter Tub.” Jack strode purposely toward the door of the lodge, tail up.

  Jessie glanced over her shoulder at Arvid and waggled her fingers in a wave.

  He shook his head in amazement. “I don’t think that’s really a cat,” he muttered aloud. He stepped on the gas and pulled away from the lodge, his rich chuckle filling the cab.

  *.*.*

  The door slid open with a swish as Jessie and Jack strolled into the lobby. The Art Expo had an info desk set up and people stood in line to buy western T-shirts, posters, and tickets to the special events. The crowd contained people dressed in everything from casual jeans and T-shirts to elaborately fringed and beaded contemporary western chic leather jackets, cowboy hats, and fancy boots.

  Jessie and the cat skirted the crowd and were heading toward the elevator when a woman waiting in the long line at the hotel check-in counter touched her on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me. Are you familiar with this show?”

  “Yes,” Jessie said. “Did you have a question?”

  “Can you tell me what’s worth attending? And are any of the events free?”

  “Sure.” Jessie explained, “Browsing through the showrooms costs absolutely nothing. It’s free for the duration of the show, all three days. But some events—such as seminars, talks, a quick-draw, buffet style dinner and the main auction—do cost something. Tickets purchased individually at the door are more expensive, so most patrons purchase an all-inclusive ticket. That ticket lets you in to all the activities, and you also get a bidding number for the auctions on Friday and Saturday night.”