by Pamela Cowan
After she hung up Emma picked up her pen and wrote. Who was in the area this morning and who would know that?
Tapping the pen on the notepad she considered the question. On the way to the Keller house, she and Leo had driven through the small town of Muddy Creek. Living in a small town was a lot like living in a cul-de-sac. Only a few people belonged there so everyone was always attuned to the presence of strangers. If a stranger had come through, someone would have noticed it.
She’s have to go back to Muddy Creek soon but for the moment she’d stick with working on the computer. There were a couple databases she subscribed too, designed to help people find people. They could be eerily effective.
Pen clenched between her teeth, she settled in for a long night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monday, September 20
The special phone rang. For a minute Jelly considered letting it go. Let the damn thing buzz and vibrate until hell froze over. Then he thought about Vegas, of Rose in a new dress with her hair done up. He picked it up. “Yes.”
“Letting you know there’s a pickup today. Eleven this morning. Sharp.”
Beale’s voice, so smooth and carefully modulated, set Jelly on edge. He scraped his teeth across his lower lip while he wondered why Beale had called him. Usually Beale called Dodge who then let Jelly know.
Maybe this direct call was Beale’s way of showing that Dodge was out. Then a new thought occurred to him. What if Beale figured he’d done as asked and he thought Dodge was already dead? You don’t call a dead man.
As if he’d read his mind, Beale said, “Dodge isn’t answering his phone.”
Jelly heard the question in Beale’s voice but said nothing.
“Probably felt rapey and went out looking for some free range pussy,” Beale finally offered.
“Yeah, you probably got it right,” Jelly told him. Or he’s passed out somewhere. Jamal driving today?”
“I guess,” said Beale.”
Jelly imagined he could hear disappointment in the man’s voice.
“And yes, Jamal’s driving,” Beale added.
At least that was something. Jelly had worked with Jamal for a couple years and was about eighty percent sure he wasn’t some kind of cop. That was about as sure as he got about anything.
“You should find someone else to do the pickups for you after you take over,” Beale suggested. “No more grunt work.”
Jelly said nothing.
“Drop it at the usual place,” Beale said, though that instruction was unnecessary.
“No problem,” said Jelly, trying for a you’re-the-boss tone. He didn’t like Beale. He never had. Dodge was a bad man, but he never pretended to be anything else. Beale wore a suit, drove a nice car and acted like he earned it all working for justice. He was a bad man pretending to be a good one and that, in Jelly’s mind, was worse.
Jelly didn’t really want to work for the hypocrite, but taking Dodge’s place meant he’d finally be able to give Rose everything she deserved, nice clothes, a new car, a house of their own design.
She’d never quit working, she loved being a nurse and she’d worked hard to be one. But if they had money they could leave here and she could find a nursing job in a better place. Money gave you options.
He pressed the end call button on the burner phone while visions of floorplans filled his thoughts. Checking the time he saw it was already ten o’clock. Better get moving. He grabbed the keys to Rose’s car. He’d driven her to work all week because his piece-of-crap truck was in the shop again. To hell with American made. To hell with Chevy. Maybe the next car they bought should be a damn Toyota.
As he drove past the only gas station in town, he glanced at the fuel gauge. Three quarters of a tank, no reason to pull in.
Reaching the casino early, he parked in the closest spot he could find and went inside for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. He didn’t gamble, thought it was a fool’s game, but he couldn’t turn down the good food at low prices they used to lure those fools in.
The casino was owned by the local tribes. Neither he nor Rose were members, so they didn’t get a cut of the profits. They both joked that they were East Coast Indians, though they’d never been there. The only perk they got from their brown skin was an extra point in their favor, when they applied to lease their house, which belonged to the reservation.
Jelly thought the Blue Feather Casino was a hell of a place. A log and stone fortress decorated with life-sized statues of elk and eagles. It held stores and a restaurant and at its heart an enormous gaming room with a high ceiling, and chandeliers that gave out less light than the machines they hung above. A hell of a place all right, with a weird interior design that seemed to worship nature and glitter equally. It was wildly successful.
During the day the restaurant was about half full of old people, either staying in the new hotel wing, which also belonged to the tribes, or in their RV’s parked around the perimeter of the parking lot. At night the casino floor was thick with people wagering their pensions and paychecks, and staying half buzzed from the cheap booze that was poured for them like water from an endless source.
He was finishing his second cup of coffee when he heard the hydraulic brakes on a bus. He left money on the table and followed the narrow blue pattern, that wove like a river through the dark green carpet, to the front door. Outside he leaned against one of the pillars, noticing the sun was heating up the asphalt and mist was rising. The increasing thrum of tires, and the bright glints of light as the sun reflected from chrome, told him traffic on the highway was picking up.
A large silver bus had just pulled into the loading zone. Most of the passengers were disembarking and going directly into the hotel, confident someone would deal with their luggage. They were right, a hotel employee was dragging a baggage cart toward the bus.
One young couple stood beside the storage compartment, waiting for the driver to unlock it and hand them their bags. Once they got their things they too headed inside. A few minutes later, cart loaded, the hotel employee returned to the casino.
In the early days the casino pickup had been more complicated. A porter would take the bag into the hotel and up to a room reserved under a phony name. Jelly would get the bag from there and take it to his car. They soon realized there were more cameras in the casino than outside. Now Jelly took a more direct approach.
He walked up, stood next to the bus and nodded to Jamal. The smell of burning diesel surrounded them. The air shimmered from heat pouring from the exhaust. Jamal wiped his hand across his face, turned to Jelly and said, “Gonna be a hot one. Can I say Indian summer?”
“I can say Indian summer. You cannot,” said Jelly, his voice stern but his eyes filled with humor.
Jamal smiled. “I hear you, brother. Got some luggage for you.” He reached into the cargo space and pulled out a gray bag on wheels. He set it on the ground and pulled out the retractable handle. “There you go, she’s all yours.”
Jelly shook his head, pushed the handle back in place, picked the bag up with one hand and did a bicep curl.
“Yep, you’re a badass,” quipped Jamal. “Bet you could do those all day.”
Jelly nodded. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“I can see that. You stay safe, huh.”
“You too.” Jelly said, by way of goodbye.
“Always,” said Jamal. Then he bent to lock the storage space as Jelly headed toward the parking lot.
Squinting against the sun, Jelly opened the trunk and tossed the bag inside. He would drive into Hollis, to Hawks Hill, locally known as Snobs Hill. There he’d drop the luggage off at the house of Dr. Denman, a retired dentist, who would cut the heroin with his own proprietary recipe of Tylenol PM and chalk.
The digital radio read 11:23. Jelly decided to make it quick. Dr. D was a talker, but if he hurried he might be able to get away from him in time to have lunch with Rose.
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Saw “unknown calle
r” and answered it.
“Yes?”
The voice of one of his dealers said, “Did you hear, Dodge is dead?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday, September 11
For a moment Emma had considered calling the store and asking if Leo or El would like to go. But the moment passed. Asking for company could too easily be mistaken as asking for help.
Without company, the drive to Muddy Creek seemed to take longer than the last time. At least she felt pretty confident about her next steps. She’d spent hours doing research yesterday. What she was doing now was just another kind of research.
From Hollis, the highway she traveled rolled through scenery thick with lush forests that thinned now and then to reveal the highest peaks of the Cascade Mountain range. Already those, not too distant peaks, were dusted with snow.
Muddy Creek was small. What was it Leo had said? So small they’d have to widen the road to paint traffic stripes? It truly was small, and not that easy to find if you didn’t pay attention.
She kept an eye out for signs of civilization and after a while passed a factory on the right with big smoke stacks releasing puffs of steam that drifted into the sky. There were cars in the parking lot but no sign to indicate what the factory produced. A little further on was a motel fronted by a cafe that advertised berry pies. On the opposite side of the highway was a small airport with a single narrow runway and a single small hanger. On the roof of the hanger someone had painted a big red arrow and the words, Muddy Creek.
Emma slowed and turned off the highway, drove past the airport, over a narrow two lane bridge across a small river and onto Main Street. The street seemed to live up to its name and took her through the center of town, past small homes, a church, a grocery store, a post office, another church, a tribal office and a community center.
There were only a few people in sight. She saw a young mother holding her son’s hand and preparing to cross the street. There were two old men sitting on a bench outside a barber shop. They had gray hair, one cut short, one in long braids. The braids were the only thing she’d noticed that said Native American. Otherwise the little town on the reservation could have been anywhere.
She noticed a Chevron station on her right. The only building beyond it had boarded windows and a large faded sign that read, “Muddy Creek Second Hand.” The road divided there, the left fork following the base of a hill back around the town, the right going up a hill and disappearing behind a forest of pines and firs. It was this road she and Leo had taken to Keller’s house just yesterday. It was strange to think they’d found the body only a few hours ago.
Emma pulled into the gas station, past the pumps and into a parking spot in front of the empty store. The building had a cedar facade like an old western saloon, with a big picture window papered with old flyers and advertisements for lost dogs, cars for sale, babysitting services. The usual.
As she entered, a bell chimed and a woman she judged to be in her late fifties, with blue eyes and sun damaged skin, looked up from behind the counter and smiled.
Despite the lines that crisscrossed her face she was attractive. Her thick gray hair was swept into a tidy bun. She wore heavy turquoise jewelry, a squash blossom necklace and earrings, and silver and turquoise rings on each finger. She wore a blue button down shirt and black jeans. Emma knew, without looking, that she’d be wearing worn cowboy boots. She looked like a retired rodeo queen from somewhere in the Southwest.
“Anything I can help you with, hon?” The woman asked. Emma noticed she wore a name tag that read, Audie and wondered if she’d been named after the car, or the fifties era cowboy actor. Her dad had tried to get Emma to watch the old black and white films but she’d never been interested.
Emma couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected friendliness of her tone, even if it was just well rehearsed customer service. She took out her license and placed it on the counter. Audie looked down at it and her smile didn’t waver, she just raised one questioning brow.
“I’m a private investigator,” Emma said. “I’m looking into a murder that—”
“Dodge,” the woman said, nodding. “You’re looking into Dodge Keller getting shot. I heard all about it when the cops came in asking questions last night.”
“So, the police have already spoken to you. Did you know Dodge?”
“Know him? Not really. Know about him? Some. I mostly sold him gas and cigarettes. I’ve only worked here for three months, but you know, small places, you get to know everyone pretty quick, if not directly then through gossip someone is bound to share.”
“And what kind of gossip did someone share about Dodge?” Emma asked.
“Just that he wasn’t to be messed with, especially if he was drinking. I’m used to that though, a lot of folks get mean when they drink. Boss told me Dodge was known to have a violent streak that got worse after his mamma passed. He never gave me any trouble though. Just paid for what he wanted and went. Not a big talker, but that’s okay. I can talk enough for two.”
“Were you working Sunday morning?”
“I sure was. I’m the new person after all.”
“Did you see many people that morning? I’d especially like to know if you saw anyone driving up Main, heading east.
“You mean up to Dodge’s place? That’s the same question the cops asked so that’s an easy one. I’ve already thought it through. There were four people I remember seeing that morning. There was Norma Mackie, Willy Keene, Rose something. I don’t know her last name. She’s married to a guy named Jelly, which is a name that you don’t forget, right? You gotta wonder where that name came from. I mean, was he born with it or—”
“That is an unusual name,” Emma said, cutting off the self-professed talker. “You said there were four people you saw that morning?”
“Right. The fourth was Harry. He’s a sheep farmer who lives right up that road. The turnoff is past the Mackie place on the left if you’re heading up that way. Not sure about his last name either, but I think it’s Allstaff or Olsen. One of those Norwegian names. Whole lot of Norwegian farmers settled in Oregon, or so I hear.”
“Thank you, this is really helpful,” Emma said, “Do you have something I can write on? I should put those names down before I forget them.”
Audie pushed the feed button and tore off a length of register paper handing it and a pen, adorned with a giant plastic Easter lily, to Emma.
“Thanks,” Emma said again, quickly jotting down what she’d learned.
“You’re welcome,” said Audie. Thing is, I don’t believe it was one of the folks I saw driving who killed him. Who the hell would be dumb enough to drive through town if they planned to kill someone? They’d have to know they’d be seen.”
“Yeah, that makes sense, but how would someone get to Dodge’s place without being seen?”
“Well, me and a few of the folks who have lived here awhile talked about it and we agreed. If it was us we’d cut around town on a horse or on foot. We think whoever killed Dodge probably parked within walking distance and hid their car up some old logging road.
From what I was told, the best thing would be to park up near Jansen’s Mill, walk along Deer Bone Ridge, low enough I’d be in the tree line, then hike down to the house. Get out the same way but in reverse.”
“That’s pretty specific. You think it has to someone familiar with the area?”
“Makes sense doesn’t it?”
“I guess,” said Emma.
“Lot of it’s just talk though,” said Audie. “I’d bet they don’t get a lot of murders out here. I imagine the whole town will be talking about this awhile. You still plan to talk to the people I saw that morning?”
Emma nodded and decided it was time to go.
Audie had put a lot of thought into how she would have murdered Dodge. Did she know Dodge better than she claimed? Should she be added to Emma’s list of suspects? Maybe there was more to her than a friendly smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
> Tuesday, September 11
In addition to the names she gave her, Audie had given her directions to some of their homes. After paying for a diet coke and a fill up, which seemed only fair, Emma headed to the Mackie place.
Tonya Mackie was a widow who ran a huge hay operation along the Mackie River. Named after one of her husband’s ancestors no doubt. Audie had told her the Mackie place was on the same road she’d taken to get to Dodge Keller’s yesterday.
How had she passed by it without noticing? The entrance was hard to miss. A huge sign loomed above it with the words Mackie River Ranch burned deep into the wooden cross piece. She wondered if Leo had seen it. Had he been as preoccupied as she’d been? It was nice to believe he’d been as distracted by her presence as she’d been by his. Shaking her head, she pushed away the thought.
From the entrance, the house was another quarter mile away, all of it across Mackie land. Emma’s Jeep shook as she drove across a cattle guard a little too fast. At first barbed wire fences lined the road, but as she slowed to drive across a second cattle guard, she saw that the fence ended. She found herself driving past scattered groups of cows who grazed on stubby grass and eyed her with frank speculation. There was nothing between her and the cows and it was a surprisingly scary feeling. Cows were large.
“Moo,” she said to them in an effort to show them she was a friend. Though of course, she was not. She was hungry and all she could think of was grabbing a burger on the way back to town. She hoped cows weren’t mind readers. She’d never make it out alive.
The house was a single story, as deep as it was wide. It was painted white, with white trim and had a green metal roof. To the right of it a long building with the same green and white theme held a row of farm equipment. What the row of convoluted metal on wheels were used for was a complete mystery to Emma.
Smoke was rising from a chimney and Emma parked next to a mud-spattered Jeep and walked up to the house. As she stepped onto the front deck she could hear dogs barking inside. She knocked and the door opened immediately, the woman who answered her knock had undoubtedly been alerted by the dogs the minute Emma pulled into the driveway.
