The bartender held a thick hand out over the bar. “DeWayne Scragg,” he said.
Tully shook the hand. “Bo Tully,” he said. “You by any chance related to Batim Scragg?” Batim owned a run-down ranch up north of the little town of Famine. At the moment, Tully had his two sons in jail on a drug charge connected with the Last Hope murders.
“He’s some relation but I won’t admit what,” DeWayne said.
“Oh, Batim isn’t such a bad sort,” Tully said. “I put him in prison once and my old man put him in once. You get to know him, he’s a pretty decent fellow.”
“You like Scotch, Sheriff?”
“Single malt, if you have it.”
DeWayne took a glass off a shelf and filled it with Glenfiddich. He set the glass in front of Tully. “On the house, Sheriff.”
“I appreciate it, DeWayne. But run a tab for me and my men. They’ll let you know who they are.”
“One of them already has. An Indian fellow. Said you’d be running a tab.”
An Indian fellow. Tully took a sip of Scotch and smiled. “You mixed it just right, DeWayne. Tell me, you got any idea where Mike Wilson could have gone?”
The bartender frowned. “Mike runs off like this fairly often. Stays gone for a week or so and then comes back.”
“So why is Mrs. Wilson so upset this time. He’s been gone only a couple of days.”
“Because he didn’t take a car. She figured he had skied up to the Pout House. That’s a—”
“I know,” Tully said. “I take it Mike Wilson isn’t so good to the help?”
“He treats me all right, but he has a mean streak. He gives the women a pretty rough time. Bawls out the waitresses in front of everybody. If you don’t do everything exactly as he wants it done, he goes bananas. Except you never know how he wants it done until you’ve done it. What’s the word for that? Compulsive something.”
“Obsessive. Compulsive obsessive. It’s one of the most irritating of mental disorders. Not to the victim but to everybody else. He ever hit anybody?”
The bartender was silent for a moment, obviously thinking over his response. “Not the help, not that I know of anyway.”
“Not the help. How about somebody who isn’t help?”
DeWayne looked around, then leaned across the bar toward Tully. “Mrs. Wilson didn’t come out of her apartment for a couple of days. I asked Wendy, one of the housekeeping persons, to check on her. She told me Mrs. Wilson had been beaten up. Had two black eyes and a puffy lip.”
“You think Mike Wilson did it?”
“I had a little talk with Mike about it. There’s been no evidence Mrs. Wilson has ever been hit again.”
“Odd that Mike didn’t fire you after your little talk,” Tully said.
“He probably would have if he could. I think Mrs. Wilson holds all the cards. Also, I’m sort of connected around these parts.”
“I take it you mean you’re part of the Scragg family.”
“Did I say that?”
Tully took a sip of his Scotch. “If Mike doesn’t hit the help, does he ever hit on them?”
“Yeah, there’s some of that. Maybe some more serious stuff, too, but I don’t know. Some of the girls are terrified of him. They would probably quit but jobs are scarce around here.”
Tully took another sip of his Scotch. “You think something has happened to Wilson?”
“We’ve checked all the cabins, and there’s no sign he’s been in any of them. Up here this time of year, a man can’t be outside for two days and live. I figure he’s dead. Fell and broke a leg and froze, something like that. Has to be, unless he’s holed up in a snow cave somewhere.”
“Well, I’d better be moseying along. Nice talking to you, DeWayne. By the way, when I walked up I noticed you seemed to be having some lady trouble. The young woman was pretty upset. What was that all about, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The bartender seemed startled by the question, but then said, “No, I don’t mind. Alice is my girlfriend. Was my girlfriend. It’s over now. I told her I’ve got some plans and it just wasn’t possible for her to be part of them. If you’ve ever been romantically involved, Sheriff, you’d understand.”
“Romance is much too complicated for me, DeWayne. I prefer to leave that sort of misery to you young fellows.”
He thanked the bartender for the information and wandered into the dining room. Lit only by candles, the room was dim and smoky. It was occupied with perhaps thirty people at white-clothed tables. The diners kept their talk to a low murmur, as if they were at the scene of an accident.
A soft voice behind him said, “You must be Sheriff Tully. I’m Mrs. Wilson.”
He turned. She was a small, elegant woman in a black dress, pearl necklace, matching pearl earrings, and a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses dangling from a thin gold chain. She wore her silvery hair in a chic cut. He guessed she might be fifty.
“I am he,” Tully said.
“You are something of a mess, I must say.”
“I’ve had a trying day.”
“We also,” she said. “As you can see, we lost our electricity a short while ago. I would suspect Mike, but I can hardly believe he is that upset with me. He does have a rather fierce temper, though.”
“I can assure you Mike is innocent of the electrical problem. An avalanche very nearly got us on our way in, and I’m quite sure it wiped out your power lines.”
“Good heavens!” she said. “That explains why our phones are dead, too.”
“I’m afraid so. One of your employees, a nice lady by the name of Wendy Curtis, has arranged to get a couple of my young passengers back to their rooms, as well as find the girl a pair of crutches.”
“A new set of clothes might be in order for you, Sheriff.”
“I guess,” he said. “Actually, I have some extra duds in the car. They’re in a large duffel bag in the back of my vehicle, a red, battered Ford Explorer with a sheriff’s insignia on the side. Maybe you could have someone haul the bag up to a room.”
“I’ll get that taken care of right away. But first, Sheriff, maybe you would like to step into my office for a few moments. You seem to be dripping blood on the floor.”
Tully glanced down. There were several bright red spots on the floorboards. He followed Mrs. Wilson into her office. She pulled a chair out and gave him a gentle push into it. “Now, if you will please drop your pants,” she said.
Tully was too exhausted to be shocked. He undid his belt and slid his pants down. His knees were a bloody mess. He could hardly stand to look at them. Mrs. Wilson ran some warm water in a pan and came back and knelt in from of him. She carefully dabbed away the blood and then took a dropper from a small, dark bottle of something and dribbled the liquid over the raw places. Tully let on as if he felt nothing, although his first impulse was to rise screeching from the chair.
“I hope this doesn’t hurt too much,” Mrs. Wilson said. “It should take care of any infection, though.”
“Mmm,” Tully said, shaking his head. He could feel his eyes tearing up.
She dabbed his knees with gauze and then taped squares of gauze over each. “Knees are so hard to bandage but there, that should hold them for a while.”
“Thanks,” Tully croaked. “That’s very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome. Usually I wait at least an hour after I meet a man before I ask him to drop his pants. Now you have to tell me how you ever managed to do that to your knees.”
“How about later?” he said. “Right now I’d like to change into my other clothes. And maybe have another large drink with some dinner.”
“It’ll be waiting for you.”
7
HIS ROOM WAS NICER THAN he had expected. Half a dozen candles provided a soft, glowing light. The furnishings were clearly old but well cared for. The double bed appeared to be made out of peeled, varnished poles. A matching nightstand was on each side of the bed. Large braided rugs covered most of the floor. Four straight-backed
chairs were arranged around a small wooden table. A large wood-and-leather rocking chair completed the furnishings. In the bath, someone had placed a bucket of water next to the toilet, apparently for flushing, if the electricity failed to come on anytime soon. He was particularly pleased at the sight of a massive, claw-foot tub. The sink was equally old and impressive, with a large mirror above it. Tully looked in the mirror. It was a mistake. He shuddered at the sight of himself. He grabbed the bucket of water, splashed the sink full, then washed his face and hands, combed his hair and mustache, and headed downstairs for dinner.
As he entered the lounge, the lights came back on with blinding brightness. Tully actually preferred the candles and was confused as to how the electricity could be restored so quickly after the avalanche. Mrs. Wilson stepped out of her office at that moment and apparently read the puzzlement on his face.
“Generator,” she said. “Grady, our handyman, apparently just got it going. The generator runs on propane. We have a thousand-gallon tank of it.”
“You’ll probably need all of it,” Tully said. “It’s going to take a while for the highway department to get that road cleared out again.”
“No doubt,” she said.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get out and look for your husband. We’ll get a search going first thing in the morning.”
“I understand, Sheriff. Nothing can be done this late at night. I should have called you earlier. It’s just that I put it off until I realized that even Mike couldn’t be this angry, or this stupid, to be gone so long this time of year.”
“Right,” Tully said. He remembered her dismissing any possibility that Mike might have gone off on an affair. It had to be pretty humiliating to be married to a woman who couldn’t imagine you having an affair. Even Tully’s devoted Ginger had kept a wary eye on him.
Mrs. Wilson said, “I forgot to tell you that your associate arrived earlier. He’s back by the windows. I’ve had your drink put at his table, and your dinner will be there shortly. Hope you like pot roast.”
“One of my favorites,” Tully said. He thanked her again for repairing his knees and walked with her on through the lounge. He noticed five young men seated in a circle of easy chairs and a sofa. Marcus was one of them. A husky fellow in a letterman’s jacket appeared to have been a participant in some recent fisticuffs. His eyes were blackened, his lips swollen and cut, and his nose solidly punched.
“Who are those chaps?” he asked Mrs. Wilson.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, they’re fraternity boys from Washington State University. They apparently see themselves as extreme-sport practitioners. They spent the day out cross-country skiing. I think they intended to climb Mount Blight but gave up on that after one day. According to DeWayne, my bartender, they were seated there when a gentleman in Indian attire came in and one of them started teasing him. Apparently, the man invited the boys out to the parking lot and their disagreement was settled there. That sort of thing, I should mention, is not unusual here. Our clientele for the most part are fairly physical types, if you know what I mean. Skiers, mountain climbers. We don’t have DeWayne interfere too much when they get into their little disputes.”
“Indian attire?” Tully said.
“Yes, your friend, I believe. He doesn’t seem to be injured in any way.”
“I suspect not,” Tully said. He thanked her again, excused himself, walked over to Dave Perkins’s table, and sat down across from him.
Dave had his head tilted down, studying a glass of whiskey. He and Tully had been friends since childhood, often playing cowboys and Indians when they were very young. Dave had always wanted to be the Indian. He looked up. “Bo! Good to see you. Hope you didn’t run into any trouble on the way up.”
“Only an avalanche. And a couple of naked people. How about you?”
“Nothing of interest.”
“So you didn’t have anything to do with that blood out in the parking lot?”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you? I had to teach a frat boy a little respect for his elders. I’m kind of sorry now that I turned the whole tribe loose on him.”
“My recollection is you’re the only person in your tribe.”
As far as Tully knew, the reservation and casino were part of an elaborate running joke. But he couldn’t be sure. You never could be sure about Dave. With a totally insane mother and an absent father, he had suffered through one of the worst childhoods imaginable, without it ever seeming to affect his high spirits. After eighth grade, he dropped out of school and went to work in the mines. He joined the army as a sniper and scout as soon as he was old enough. The army educated him through high school and college and an MBA, and he eventually worked in army intelligence. And possibly for some other intelligence agencies. Dave never talked much about that part of his life.
“That’s true,” he said. “So far my tribe has only one member. But you didn’t bring me all the way up here to ridicule the size of my tribe. There really was an avalanche, hunh? Bad?”
“Really bad. Wiped out the road, almost took out the Explorer and dammed up the West Branch for good measure. Don’t know if the water will back up this far. Took out a cabin down below, though. I just barely managed to get a couple of kids out of it.”
“That one of them?” Dave said, nodding toward another table.
Lindsay was eating dinner with Pap and in animated conversation with him. Pap seemed interested but a bit overwhelmed.
“That’s Lindsay, all right,” Tully said. “Pap looks as if he might need rescuing, but I think I’ll leave him to his fate.”
“You’re leaving a young girl with Pap?”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t, but I think Lindsay can take care of herself.”
Dave said, “When you get time, I want to hear the naked part. She’s a cute little thing. Love that red hair. Must have been pretty wild.”
Tully nodded at the glass of whiskey in front of Dave. “That mine?”
“I reckon. I’ve already had two, waiting for you to show up. So I haven’t drunk much of yours. What’s the deal on Mike Wilson? He still gone?”
“Yup. From what I hear, he seems to be a bit of a jerk.”
Dave nodded his head. “Yeah, if he’s the Mike Wilson I know. He almost made the Olympic biathlon team twenty-five years or so ago and never let anybody forget it. The guy was a major athlete, though. I personally couldn’t stomach him, but he kept himself in terrific shape.”
“Sounds like he would know his way around in the snow.”
“He knows the mountains in this area like I know my reservation.”
“Not the kind of guy who would get lost around here, I take it.”
“You take it right,” Dave said. “In my opinion, Mike Wilson is not the kind of guy to disappear unless he wants to disappear.”
Tully took a sip of Scotch. “You think he has a bit on the side.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Women seem crazy about him, at least until they get to know him. That was some years ago, though. I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”
“His wife dismissed that possibility with a laugh.”
“That’s kind of mean, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought.”
Mrs. Wilson came up to their table. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sheriff, but there’s a lady who would like to talk to you. She’s up here from Boise practicing with her dog team for a race we are supposed to have next week. She’s been over all the trails with her team the last couple of days. She might be able to suggest something.”
“No problem,” Tully said. “I’ll be back in a minute, Dave.”
“Can I drink the rest of your whiskey?”
“Have at it.”
Tully followed Mrs. Wilson over to a nearby table. The lady was blond and slim with a pretty, nicely tanned face. She stood up as they approached.
“Janice Duffy, this is Sheriff Bo Tully.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff,” Janice Duffy said, holding
out her hand.
Tully took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.
Mrs. Wilson excused herself and went to attend to some other guests.
Janice Duffy smiled at him. “Would you mind stepping out on the veranda with me for a minute, Sheriff? It’s so stuffy in here.”
“It is that,” Tully said. He opened the door to the veranda and they stepped out into the snow. Janice Duffy grabbed him around the neck and kissed him hard on the lips. Not being a fool, Tully kissed her back. Then he gently pushed her away.
“So,” he said, “the marriage with Tom isn’t working out?”
“Sure,” she said, laughing. “It’s working out. Tom still buys my dog food, like a truckload every month. I’m just happy to see you.”
“I must say you have a nice way of showing it.”
“I can be a whole lot nicer, Bo. I’m here all alone and I have a very private room. You might want to stop by later in the evening.”
“Odd you should suggest that. And here I just assured my mother that I never sleep with married ladies.”
“Shoot! And here I thought you might have changed,” she said, pretending to pout.
The years had treated Janice well. Or maybe it was the sled-dog racing. She was lean and firm and fairly radiated health. She had married Tom Duffy while the three of them were still in college. Loud and funny and smart, she had chosen Tom for his good looks and money, instead of Tully, for love and poverty. Women were hard to figure.
“I admit it’s tempting,” Tully told her. “Alas, I still have my principle—I try not to do things that might cause hurt to my friends, and Tom’s a friend of mine. But I do have a favor to ask.”
“Really?” she said.
8
THE NEXT MORNING TULLY PUT on his long underwear, black wool pants, checked wool shirt, wool socks, and insulated boots. Then he went downstairs and ate breakfast with Pap and Lindsay. Lindsay immediately burst into intense conversation with Pap, who gave Tully one of his calm, innocent looks.
“Listen, Lindsay,” Tully said, interrupting her chatter. “I have to tell you something.”
Avalanche: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) Page 4
