Magic City Murder

by C S Davis

  Magic City Murder

  A John Lockhart Novel

  By C. S. Davis

  Magic City Murder

  Copyright © 2019 by C. S. Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the author.

  Interior design and layout by C. S. Davis

  Cover art by cheriefox.com

  Edited by Sam Wright

  ISBN: 9781077051386

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Follow: @realcsd

  Email: csdavisbooks@gmail.com

  First Edition

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  For Shivey, my love, my world, my life

  Chapter 1

  There was ice in the wind and at my feet, but the crispness in the air was somewhat refreshing. It was a sunny day on East Rosebud Lake, a beautiful day for fishing though some would probably disagree. In fact, the entire community around the lake was deserted save for me. Then again, the community was mostly made up of people who wanted to brag about owning a cabin in Montana they only visited a month out of the year. The rest of the year they left them vacant or rented them to tourists for the warmer months. The winter months brought much snow and made the road only passable by snowmobile which increased my sense of surprise when I heard the clopping of feet on the ice.

  I laid my pole down on the bucket where I had been sitting for the past hour. I stared into the depths of the lake and could clearly see to the bottom. It was only about twelve feet deep where I had drilled my hole through a foot of ice. I peered out a small window of my cubed shelter and looked in the direction from where I had heard the crunching. The sun gazed back at me. It was around 3 o’clock but it was hanging low and threatening to set soon.

  Unable to see anyone, I unzipped the door of the shelter and slowly peered out. The steps had ceased. My hand dropped to the Glock 17 on my hip, a relic from my past life.

  A butane heater kept the shelter warm, so I had removed my heavy coat. The wind blew softly with a gentle reminder of the temperature. I softly stepped around the shelter to get a look at the other side. The crampons on my feet gripped the ice and kept me from sliding.

  I looked westward, squinting my eyes at the setting sun. A figure obstructed the view of the setting sun. The figure was not that of a person, but of something more threatening and only about 20 feet from me. The bull elk in front of me was over 8 feet tall to the top of his antlers and probably weighed around 900 pounds. I slowly backtracked and crouched down, hoping that he was oblivious to me. The breeze blew from me to him, so he likely heard any crunching my steps had produced. He turned towards me and regarded me as nonchalantly as any other 900-pound animal might. He turned away and strolled along the ice to where it ended. The faster moving part of East Rosebud Creek still flowed on the western side of the lake. Standing on a sheet of ice with water running next to it was always a little disconcerting for me.

  The elk carefully licked the water and then stood statuesquely after he had his fill. Something in the distance to the east of us caught his attention. He carefully treaded away across the ice and broke into a trot once he hit snow. In a matter of moments, he disappeared into the trees and I heard the sounds he must have heard before. Two figures on a snowmobile raced down the same path I had used for my own sled. They stopped at the edge of the lake next to where I parked and dismounted. One was carrying a large backpack,

  the other was dressed as any sheriff deputy would in the winter in this area.

  I squinted at the two figures approaching carefully on the lake. “Oh, shit,” I thought. I recognized the male carrying the large backpack as my son, Noel. His mother and I had never married and had gone our separate ways a couple of years prior. We had a standing agreement that Noel would spend every other winter break with me and summers. Noel loved to hike next to the streams and rivers in the mountains; the winters--not so much. He was a Texan born and raised and preferred the milder climate the Lone Star State offered. Staying with me in the winters was torture in his eyes. That I had completely forgotten he was coming had no doubt poured salt in the wound. I was dying to hear how he had made it to the frozen lake from Billings, where the airport was located that he had flown into.

  I paced towards Noel and the deputy as they walked towards me. I saw that he was walking a line familiar to me when I raised up my hands for him to stop. When I fish on the lake, I must drill a new hole or two almost every time. The reason for this is that the previously drilled holes freeze over. They don’t completely freeze over, just enough for an inch or two of ice to accumulate at the surface. We had a little snow the previous night, at least enough to accumulate on the ice and blow around, covering the holes I had previously drilled.

  “Hold on!” I yelled. I knew there were some holes out there somewhere in his path but was not completely sure where. They were sort of like winter’s land mines, awaiting the foot of some unfortunate soul.

  Noel held up a hand to his ear. “What?” he called back as he continued towards me. That is at least what he tried to say. The word came out as more of a “Wha--” that morphed into a “--ACK.” Noel’s foot went through the ice and the lake consumed his leg up to his thigh. He fell on his stomach, and for a moment, knew for sure he was going to sink straight to the bottom. Relief swept over him as he realized it was just one leg. Relief turned to anger when he realized just how damn cold his leg was.

  “Ah, shit,” I murmured as I jogged towards him.

  I could see it was Carbon County Sheriff Deputy Phil Jones with Noel. Jones had Noel by the arm and was helping him to his feet. “Hi, John,” he said. “Look who I found trying to get a drink at the Lion's Paw Tavern.”

  The Lion's Paw Tavern was the only bar or restaurant in the town of Roscoe that kept all twelve of its inhabitants entertained during the winter. There were enough tourists and outdoors enthusiasts in the warmer months to keep it afloat year-round.

  “That right?” I asked.

  Noel made a half-hearted effort to brush the water off his jeans before realizing he was accomplishing nothing. “I hate this fucking place,” he mumbled.

  “Hey! Language,” I said. “I’m sorry, I guess the time got away from me.”

  He glared at me. “The time? That’s what you say when you burn cookies in the oven. Not when you forget your son is coming visit you.

  I nodded, when the kid is right, he’s right. Jones chuckled. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he said.

  “Thanks for giving him a ride, Phil,” I said.

  He waived as he started back to his snowmobile. Jones turned his head as he walked. “Hey, give me a call when you’re free tomorrow. We’ve got someone at the jail you might want to have a crack at.”

  “Will do,” I replied.

  I hugged Noel, he recoiled. “Ugh, let me go.”

  “How the hell did you get here from Billings?” I asked.

  He replied curtly, “Drove.”

  “You drove from Billings?”

  He shook his head. “No, I drove from Dallas.”

  My eyes met his and I could tell instantly he was telling the truth. “Are you out of your damn mind? That’s a two-day trip!”

  He shrugged. “I napped a couple of times.” Noel kept moving his legs to keep warm.

  “Come on, help me break this stuff down and we’ll get back home and get you warmed up.”

  He nodded and started loading equipment into two plastic sleds I had sitting next to the shelter.
It had been two years since I had taken Noel ice fishing with me, but he remembered what to do like he had been the one who set everything up in the morning. He grabbed the drill and unscrewed the anchors of the shelter. I loaded the pole and buckets and then we both packed the shelter up. It was amazing how much everything condensed. Noel threw his backpack into one of the sleds. I assumed it contained everything he needed for the next two weeks. We each grabbed a rope to a sled and dragged them back to my snowmobile.

  My mind calmed from the initial surprise of seeing Noel and questioned how he traveled 1,300 miles on his own without his mother having a coronary. I did not bother trying to converse with him while we dragged the sleds on the ice because the scraping noise they made was loud enough to be heard across the lake. The noise on the snowmobile would not be any better. I would let Noel dry off and get warmed up, then I would quiz him. Questions about what Deputy Jones had for me also filled my mind.

  A few years earlier, my federal law enforcement career had ended abruptly. Shortly after, my relationship with Sonia Flores also ended. Sonia is Noel’s mother and had the same career as me. To save hers, I had to ruin mine. In the end, she could not take the guilt she felt when she looked at me and I could not handle the resentment I felt. So, I did what any man does who buckles under the pressure of the world, I retired early and exiled myself to a life of solitude.

  My father used to take me camping in Montana and Wyoming when I was young. Some of my fondest memories were sitting on a rock next to my old man and having him explain the world. He was a mountain of a man and probably wondered how he had produced such a scrawny kid. If he was unhappy with any aspect of me, he never showed it. Cancer took him much too early and until the day he left us, he was my hero. I glanced back to Noel and knew he would probably never say the same of me.

  We attached the ropes of the sleds to the back of the snowmobile and headed back to the cabin. It was only about half a mile, but farther than anyone would want to walk with that amount of equipment.

  When we got back to my cabin, I stored the gear in a shed and went back in to make Noel a hot cup of tea. He was looking around when I entered. The cabin had two bedrooms with a small kitchen and living room area. A woodburning stove sat in the middle of the room. I threw a couple of logs in with some newspaper and got it going. I had little because I didn’t need much. The stuff I did have all had a place. Things being out of place always bothered me. Noel’s mother Sonia did not have the same outlook. She was a free spirit and lived as such. It was a wonder we had stayed together as long as we did.

  “Still OCD, eh?” asked Noel.

  I rolled my eyes. “I guess. How about you go get changed out of those wet jeans and I’ll throw them in the wash?”

  He nodded and disappeared into what was typically my office area. I had a full-size couch in there with a bed that pulled out. It also had small desk, cork board, and computer with a printer and fax for when I had work. After exiting the government, I got licensed as a private investigator and picked up the occasional odd job. I got to know the locals fairly quickly and they began asking for help sometimes when they were at their wit’s end with questioning a suspect or did not have the resources to dedicate to an investigation but wanted someone to poke around a little. Sadly, the majority of my income was from an insurance contract I had that involved me sneaking around and taking pictures and video of people who had claimed to be injured but were actually fairly healthy. John Lockhart, insurance fraud investigator extraordinaire. Jesus, what had my life become?

  A tea kettle on top of the stove was whistling when Noel emerged from my office and handed me his jeans, socks, and underwear. I threw them in the washing machine, then grabbed the kettle and poured hot water over a bag of Earl Grey.

  “It smells like cigars in there,” Noel remarked.

  I nodded. “Probably from the cigars I’ve been smoking.”

  “Can I have one?” he asked.

  I chuckled. “Sure, go grab one out of the humidor on the desk. Bring the lighter sitting next to it too.”

  Noel seemed a little stunned at my answer but did as he was told. He emerged from the office awkwardly holding one of my Corona-sized Padrons.

  “Watch,” I said. I folded out a hole punch from the lighter and cut a hole into the end of the cigar. “You have to toast it before you can light it.” I flipped the lighter around and a flame shot out like a miniature cutting torch. I held the cigar horizontal, slightly angled downward and slowly went around the edges and then the middle until about an eighth of an inch was “toasted.” I gave it a couple of puffs while continuing to move the torch around for an even light. “There ya go,” I said, offering the cigar to Noel.

  Noel held onto it like it was a dart he was about to throw. He raised the rolled tobacco to his lips and took a big puff inward. Immediately, he coughed and pushed the cigar back to me while shaking his head. I accepted it and chuckled.

  “I forgot to tell you not to inhale.”

  He continued coughing. “Oh God! Why do people smoke these?”

  I took a puff and regarded my son through the rising smoke. “You might figure it out when you’re older, I guess.” It had only been about four months since I had last seen Noel in the summer, but he seemed to be a head taller than when I last saw him. It did not appear he had cut the dark locks of hair that fell over his ears since then. He took more after his mother, so he had dark hair and tan skin. I had been a skinny teenager, so he was too. My hair was closer to a dirty blonde. He had his mother’s cheekbones rather than my round face. Noel inherited my blue eyes though so he was bound to be a good-looking guy once he came out of the awkward teenager phase we all go through.

  Noel plopped down on the couch and plucked away on his phone. It was a small miracle of engineering that allowed me to have internet in the remote area. I guess enough people with “fuck you money” had made it happen. I poured a couple of fingers of Scotch into a glass and sat in my recliner. The only sound that could be heard in the cabin was from a clock on the wall softly ticking and the soft whistle of the wind from outside.

  “So, tell me about your trip here,” I said.

  Noel glanced up and shrugged. “My trip here? I just drove,” he said.

  I sipped my whisky and gazed at him. The clock softly ticked. Noel stared at his phone and every second or so would glance in my direction. “What?” he finally asked. I said nothing, just smoked my cigar and stared at him. The years of interviewing and interrogating individuals had made periods of silence enjoyable for me. One of the things that made them enjoyable was the discomfort everyone else felt. It generally feels a bit odd to sit in a room with someone and not say a word.

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “OK, so Mom gave me money for plane tickets, and I drove instead.”

  A wry grin grossed my face. “I suppose you insisted on driving yourself to the airport as to not put a burden on her busy schedule. That would ensure that she would have no idea you had driven. But one thing you had forgotten was the road between here and town is impassable in some places.”

  “Pretty much,” Noel said plainly.

  “So where is your car now? The Lion's Paw?”

  Noel nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Sam about you leaving it parked there until you leave,” I said. I continued to smoke my cigar, drink my Scotch, and think to myself.

  Sitting up straight, Noel asked me, “So that’s it?”

  I came out of my trance. “Is what it?”

  “You’re not going to tell Mom?”

  The prospect had crossed my mind. “No,” I said finally. “I don’t think it’s worth troubling her.”

  Noel exhaled deeply. “Thanks,” he said.

  The words “you’re welcome,” did not seem appropriate. The responsible thing would have been to call Sonia and tell her what he had done. She and I used to be able to talk about anything. It seemed like the longer we went between periods of speaking the more strained our conversation became. These days,
it was just easier not to try to force it. I have never been a fan of the insincere exchange of pleasantries and small talk.

  “She ever talk about me?” I asked.

  Noel stared at his phone and shook his head. “She cries a lot in her room,” he said, his eyes still glued to the screen in front of him.

  “Me too,” I thought.

  Chapter 2

  The following day was Monday. I woke early and made my usual dark roast coffee and tossed it into a travel cup. I left a note on the fridge for Noel, saying I would be out for a few hours but would bring him back lunch from Red Lodge, a neighboring town. My ‘95 Jeep Wrangler was probably the best purchase I made after retiring. The heater worked most of the time and it got me through the snow consistently on a road never plowed. I had my own small plow attached to the front that helped get me out the East Rosebud Lake area and onto the main road to Red Lodge.

  When I had first moved to the mountains, the snow took a little getting used to. Once you accepted that it wasn’t going anywhere and would keep coming, you could move on and just enjoy life around it. The darkness though, that was tough. The days were excruciatingly short in the wintertime. I tried to remember to take vitamin D every day and get outside when I could. So, I fished and snowshoed around the lake, gathering wood. Plenty of trees had fallen so I would bring an axe and chop them up and then throw them into a bag and haul them back to the cabin. I could have just ridden around on my snowmobile to do that, but I needed to get exercise from somewhere. I also found the physical exertion outside helped me avoid cabin fever.

  I worked my way up to Roscoe then headed east to Red Lodge. After about half an hour, the town was in sight. Red Lodge was probably one of my favorite towns in Montana, at least when it wasn’t covered in tourists. It seemed like there was always something happening. A lot of locals and folks from Billings came through to ski on the mountain near there and frequent the shops on the picturesque main street. It was also the last town before going over the Beartooth Pass to Yellowstone. Unfortunately, that road was open maybe three months out of the year due to the amount of snow that fell at the higher elevations. Driving across the snowcapped mountains and seeing the crazy people skiing up there while wearing shorts in July made me realize this was the area for me.