by Randy Rawls
I didn’t hesitate as I headed down the path to the cottage. Anger and frustration drove me, keeping me from facing reality.
Right brain screamed, You idiot—
Left brain cut it off by congratulating me.
It was a gorgeous morning. The cottage was at least a half-mile from the main house and it felt good to be stepping out. After about two hundred yards, my mood had improved, but I’d learned I should have taken the golf cart. Western boots work for lots of things, but walking along a trail is not one of them. The heels are small and tilt toward the toe, better to hook into a stirrup. Picture a woman in high heels walking along a dirt path, and you’ll get what I mean. My ankles rolled left, right, and every direction in between. I stopped and stared toward the main house, wanting to turn back, but my irritation kept the upper hand.
I ignored the discomfort and plowed on. Soon, I congratulated myself that I had. Chip’s ranch was beautiful with rolling low hills and well-maintained green pastures, barns, and cattle pens as far as my eyes could see. Some of the pastures had grass knee-high and higher. The occasional copse of trees made it more picturesque. I don’t have an artist’s eye and little artistic talent, but I wished I could do a landscape of the beautiful country unrolling before my eyes. It’s part of what makes us say, “The other forty-nine are states. Texas is a State of Mind.”
I made it to the cottage in about thirty-five minutes and took off my boots. That much time in cowboy boots on a country lane is equivalent to an eternity in any other footwear. My cats gave me their you’ve done something stupid again look.
I slipped into athletic shoes, then went to the phone. The thought I should earn Chip’s money had taken root during the walk. I pulled out Sheriff Galoway’s business card.
Dub answered the phone on the second ring. After he went through his spiel that told me I’d reached the sheriff’s office, I said, “Good morning, Dub. It’s Ace Edwards. Is Sheriff Galoway in?”
You’d have thought we were long-lost cousins the way Dub took off talking. “Ace, glad you called. Heck, I wanted to call you, but I been stuck on this desk, and the phone won’t quit ringing.”
“Ah, Dub—”
“I been thinking what we talked about, and I’m pretty sure you’re right. I betcha Peanut was the rustler what took Joseph off. What I don’t know is if anybody was with him.”
“Dub, Dub.”
“But I’m betting he won’t alone. Peanut ain’t been back for long, so we need to find out who he’s hanging with. What I figger is he didn’t pull this off with no stranger. If we find out who his drinking buddies are, I bet we got the other rustlers. Not only that…”
He went on and on. About the time I decided to yell to get his attention, he dropped a pearl. “I guessimate Joseph’s headed for the glue factory. Doc Horvath says the body was Peanut, and he coulda been kicked to death. Doc says he’d vote for Joseph as the killer.”
That was my first firm indication that Joseph was a serious suspect. I don’t claim to be an expert on animals-versus-people law, but I remembered news reports about dogs that attacked humans. The canines lost.
“You know, Doc Horvath might be onto something,” Dub continued, unabated. “My Uncle Charlie had a mule what didn’t like people. He liked mules all right, but he shore didn’t like no humans. Oh, he didn’t mind pulling a plow, but if you got too close to him, he’d get you. One day, Uncle Charlie was rubbing him down after a hard day of plowing and he jist up and bit’m.”
“Ah, Dub. Is the sheriff around?” I yelled. Dub stopped talking, and I continued in a quieter voice. “I’d sure love to talk to him.” My lowest priority was finding out who or what got bit by whom or what.
“Hell, you shoulda told me you wanted to talk to Bob. I’m shore he’s got time for you, what with you being Chip’s friend and all. I’ll git’m on the phone.”
I relaxed and congratulated myself. I had penetrated the sheriff’s palace guard.
“Arty, I’m glad you called. I hoped to find you today. Do you have a few minutes?”
I groaned, wondering if it was the water. Everyone I talked to had plans to call me. Also, it looked like I was stuck with the name Arty in Van Zandt County, but I gave it one last try. “That’s Ace, Bobby, Ace, not Arty. Only my mother could get away with calling me Arty. I’m getting pretty damn fed up with people calling me Arty. You do understand, don’t you, Bobby?”
“Ouch, don’t do that. Bad memories. I had an aunt that I hated that called me Bobby. She’d walk up, rub my head and say, ‘Hello, Bobby dear.’ You proved your point. I get the message. You’re Ace as long as I’m Bob.”
I heard his chuckles. “I need to talk to you away from Chip. We have to come up with a strategy to save Joseph, and we need to do it without Chip’s blubbering about how he can’t run the ranch without him. I know Joseph’s good at protecting the herd, but that don’t cut nothing if he turned into a man-killer.”
“Okay Bob, do you have some time now?”
“Sure. Solving this murder is the hottest thing on my calendar. Come on in. I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee.”
“I’m on the way.” I hung up and considered my boots. Nope, my feet still tingled. This one time, I would swallow my Texas pride and wear athletic shoes with jeans.
I grabbed my hat and headed toward the door, but stopped at the look the boys gave me. Striker appeared to be playing our game of stare-me-down, but Sweeper’s eyes seemed to flash a message. I stared. They stared harder. I broke eye contact and went out the door.
As I climbed into the Chrysler, I muttered, “Damn cats. Always acting like they’re one step ahead of me.” I started the car. “Shit, I bet Sweeper’s onto something.”
* * * *
By the time I reached the sheriff’s office in Canton, my watch glowed eight-thirty and, true to his word, a pot of coffee greeted me. I welcomed it, especially since my stomach still whined over the loss of Annie’s blueberry flapjacks. That reminded me of my anger at Wanda. It also made me wish I had waited to hear what she wanted to say. At least I could have finished breakfast.
Bob handed me a cup of coffee and a box of doughnuts. “Glad you came in.”
I took a doughnut to appease my greedy stomach and sipped the coffee. I grimaced from the bitter taste, added a packet of artificial sweetener, then settled into a chair in front of Bob’s desk. “Okay, what do you have, and where do I start?”
“We better start by finding Peanut’s killer. I’ll keep the public off Joseph as long as I can. But I’m gonna need proof he’s innocent, and the best proof is the real killer.” He hesitated. “Assuming of course, Joseph didn’t kill him.”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t know. Can’t make up my mind. One minute I’m saying he wouldn’t have done it unless Peanut threatened the herd, and the next I’m saying, he could have done it. But my opinion ain’t important. Evidence is all that counts, and I don’t have any that clears him.”
“Hmm, tough.” I pretended to be in deep thought before I added, “Something that doesn’t make sense to me is the phone call Chip got after your guys found Joseph.” I stopped to figure how to plant the seed I wanted. “It’s obvious Peanut had a hand in the kidnapping. But there had to be at least one other, maybe more. Peanut sure as hell didn’t make the phone call.”
Sheriff Galoway sat for a moment, rubbing his chin. He stood and walked to the window, looked out, then turned to me. “You ain’t bad, Edwards. I bet you’re thinking the rustlers fell out among themselves. I bet you got this sniffed out that Peanut and somebody else kidnapped Joseph, then the second guy killed Peanut. That’s pretty good. Yep, pretty damn good.”
He returned to his chair. “You might be as good as Chip says. A falling out among thieves. We still have to prove it.”
Who was I to argue with him? His hypothesis sounded logical to me. I nodded in agreement.
“’Cept for two things. Why’d Peanut’s partner or partners kill him, then let Joseph wander off
? And, who was the partner?”
I hate it when somebody plays twenty questions with me, and I don’t know the answers. I countered with, “Who were Peanut’s friends? I know he had a long track record. Who’d he run with? Who’d he trust enough to join in a kidnapping?”
Sheriff Galoway stared at me. I think he still massaged my idea about Peanut having a partner, an idea I accepted as fact. From what Chip had told me, Joseph was too much for a runt like Peanut to walk off with. I was about to repeat my last question when the bell saved him, make that the buzz of the telephone.
Bob picked it up and listened. “No, not now. I don’t—”
The door to his office slammed open and a woman strode through. “Hello, Bob. I decided to escort myself.”
“Uh, hello, Candi. I told Dub to send you back.”
“Bullshit. I bet you did.” She dragged a chair into the office. While she did that, the sheriff shrugged his shoulders and gave me one of those What else could I say? looks.
Dub appeared in the doorway, his face red from anger or embarrassment. “Sorry, Sheriff. I told her you wuz—”
“It’s okay, Dub,” Sheriff Galoway replied. “Ms. Maliday’s always welcome.”
Candi dropped into the chair, and it creaked, but not because Van Zandt County bought cheap furniture. She stood about five feet eight inches. I’ve never been good at guessing a woman’s weight, but she was overweight, not fat, mind you, but carrying extra pounds. Not that it showed in the way she dressed. I saw a partial double chin. I estimated twenty-five to fifty pounds stood between her and an attractive woman. Of course, she’d need a complete makeover in other areas, too. She had her hair pulled back and twisted into a tight bun. It was light brown, dark blond or somewhere in between.
In spite of that, there were indications of beauty in her face. She wore a loose brown dress that hung from the shoulders to the floor like an all-encompassing bag. I’ve never understood why women wear those things, and have no clue what they’re called.
Her eyes were intriguing, or I thought they would be if they weren’t hidden behind red rimmed glasses. Her eyes were a serious shade of green and had a quality that made it seem like she could see into my soul.
“Dub said you were in conference about Peanut’s murder,” she said. “I knew you’d want me to hear what you have to say so you won’t have to repeat yourself later.” She turned to me. “I’m Candi Maliday, Peanut’s daughter’s lawyer. You must be that hotshot detective from Dallas, Space Edwards.” She chuckled.
Left brain said, Correct her.
Right brain said, Let it go. She’ll rip you apart.
I took the coward’s way out. I listened to right brain.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Ace Edwards and it’s a pleasure to meet you. You won’t mind if Bob and I continue?”
Before she could insult me again, I turned to Bob. “You were saying you didn’t think Joseph killed Peanut—probably his partner in the kidnapping did it. If so, you theorized that would clear Joseph. I think you should share your theory with Judge Malady.” I hoped Bob would follow my lead.
“Uh, yeah. That’s what I—”
“Bullshit,” Candi said. “You know that damn jackass killed him.” To me, she added, “And that’s Maliday, Ms. Maliday to you, buttface.” She turned toward Bob, then spun on me. “And that’s Ms. Lawyer Maliday. Someday I’ll be a judge, but not yet.”
Before I could inform her Joseph didn’t like being called a jackass, she went back at Bob. “You’re stalling, trying to protect Chip. It won’t work. All I need is the medical examiner’s report, and I file my case. Peanut’s daughter will be a wealthy woman. It’s taken awhile, but I’m going to break Chip’s ass.”
During the last part of her speech, she stared at Bob, ignoring me. Behavior like that pricks my ego. “Who is Peanut’s daughter? The way I hear it, folks around here don’t know anything about a daughter.”
She glared, then sneered. “So bullshit, who cares what people around here know?”
“I do.”
Candi continued to gaze at me, and I matched her stare for stare. I again noticed her eyes and the greenness of them, close to the shade of Striker’s. I wondered if Candi was as effective with her claws. The stare down continued, almost forcing a smile from me as I pictured Striker and Sweeper in a contest of wills.
I won. She blinked. “Peanut’s daughter lives in Dallas. Grew up with her mother in one of those bullshit subsidized neighborhoods. Peanut spent as much time with them as he could although it was difficult. Every time they began to develop a father-daughter relationship, the cops picked him up on some bullshit charge and shipped him off to Huntsville.”
“Oh, and I’m sure he was always innocent?” I said.
She rose and walked to the coffeepot. Bob and I said nothing as she poured a cup of coffee and took her time putting three packs of sugar in it. When she took a sip, my mouth puckered thinking how sweet it must be.
After she’d returned to her chair, she continued as if I hadn’t questioned her. “Her mother didn’t advertise she married Peanut. The court system conspired to keep them apart. He didn’t get to see his daughter born. When she was seven months pregnant, Peanut got six months in jail on some bullshit charge.”
Candi laughed, kind of a cackle. It reminded me of the fat witch in Bugs Bunny cartoons. “His daughter loves him and so does his wife. They lost a loving husband and father.”
Loving husband and father? Not from what I’d heard. She was ladling it on with a snow shovel. This sounded more like a eulogy than a civil suit. “Are you representing Peanut’s wife?”
“No, she’s serving five years at Gatesville with three years left. But she’s worried about the future of her fatherless child.”
Another layer—as brown as her dress. “That’s nice background data, but you didn’t answer my first question. I assume the daughter has a name.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bob flinch.
“Bullshit, Spaceman. You don’t need to know. You’ll find out when I file—if you can read. Until then, I’ve told you all I’m going to. And don’t bother her, or I’ll have you in jail for stalking.”
I gathered she anchored her vocabulary around the word bullshit, kind of using it as a pivot point, an interesting effect. She had different pronunciations—accent on the first syllable, accent on the second syllable, and equal emphasis on both. She had a whole vocabulary filled with b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t.
She spun toward Bob. It reminded me of a destroyer turning in the open ocean—crisp, but requiring a lot of space. “When are you going to release the ME’s report? And I don’t want any bullshit. I can get a court order, you know? Judge Rollins is my friend.”
“Slow down, Candi,” Bob said, his voice nervous. “As soon as I have it, I’ll give you a call. No point in getting the judge all upset. I’m sure he’ll have enough to do later. I can tell you the body’s been identified as Peanut.”
“Bullshit. That’s not news. I’ll be back.” With a last glare at Bob, then an intense one at me, she stormed from the office. The slam of the door caused the windows to quiver.
She had saved her best glare for me, leaving me proud.
ELEVEN
“Chip’s in trouble.” Bob stared at the door Candi had exited.
“Yeah, I get that impression.” I stood, walked to the coffeepot, and poured a fresh cup. While I mixed the artificial sweetener into the black mixture, my mind raced, looking for a shortcut to Peanut’s murderer and Joseph’s kidnapper.
Bob sat, his face resting in his hands. He looked at me. “You know, Ace, I could have retired last year. I didn’t need to run for re-election. I’ve got a small spread in the southern part of the county. I should have gone home and become a gentleman rancher. I might have starved, but that would have been better than facing Maliday again.”
“Is she that bad? How?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. We don’t have many crimes, so what few we have are big news. In some upside down kind
of way, Peanut was a local hero. Candi is well aware of that and will play on it. By the time she finishes, the jury will think we lost a Founding Father.”
“Come on. You gotta be stretching things.”
“Nope. You mention his name to anyone in the county, and he’ll have a Peanut story. Most of them are exaggerations, but they’re all good stories. He’s kinda like a Robin Hood. The difference is he stole from the rich and kept it.” Bob grinned. “Just yesterday at lunch the folks at the next table were swapping Peanut stunts. They’d tell a whopper about him, then laugh like hell.”
“Give me a short version.”
“One of the best stories I ever heard happened about fifteen years ago. A farmer near Ben Wheeler swears it’s the truth.” Bob chuckled.
“I suppose I’m going to hear the long version whether I want it or not.”
“Yep, you need to know about Peanut. It’ll help you with Candi—if there is any help.”
I dropped into my chair. I would have taken the one Candi used, but it might not have the strength left to take on my one-hundred-seventy pounds. “Okay, I’ve got coffee and a chair I can’t fall asleep in. Let it rip.”
Bob chuckled again. “Open your ears, it’s a knee-slapper. About fifteen years ago, ol’ Jim Strucker—he has a small ranch down near Purtis Creek State Park—was complaining his top soil was plumb wore out. The story goes that Peanut heard about it and asked how much he’d pay. Strucker must have quoted a figure because Peanut showed up with a line of trucks and asked where to dump it.” Bob guffawed. “I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but Strucker’s neighbors say the output from his farm picked up. And not long after, I got a call from the sheriff in Hunt County asking if I’d heard anything about a dirt thief.”
He laughed some more while I waited for him to get to the punch line. Finally, I interrupted his gaiety. “Ah, that’s nice, Bob, but what does it have to do with Joseph, Candi, and this case?”
