The Little Tombstone Cozies Box Set

by Celia Kinsey

  “I do. I’m sure you are aware that August Taylor has a prior conviction for bigamy.”

  Officer Reyes neither confirmed nor disputed my statement.

  “I have reason to believe the man is still juggling at least three families.”

  “I see.”

  I could not tell if this was new information to Officer Reyes, or not, but I went ahead and gave him the names and home addresses of Melissa in Des Moines, Amy in Denver, and Christine in Omaha.

  As soon as I returned to the apartment, I took over scanning footage from Georgia so she could cook us all supper. Janey and Oliver took the animals outside, and Maxwell went with them.

  I had already watched hours of motion sickness-inducing footage of the drone sweeping over the landscape around Little Tombstone, and to be honest, it was deadly dull.

  However, a few minutes after Janey and Oliver had taken Earp and Hercules out back, Morticia called us all over to look at her screen.

  The drone was hovering over the bunkhouse.

  “When was this footage taken?” I asked.

  She paused the footage to show us the time stamp embedded in the file name. It was from the morning of Jorge’s murder.

  “Where do you think the twins were standing?” Morticia asked.

  “It’s hard to know,” I said. “But if that turns out to be important, we can ask them.”

  We watched the screen as a figure approached the bunkhouse and went inside.

  “I think that’s August,” I said. No offered a dissenting opinion.

  Nothing happened for several minutes, other than the drone swooping around at dizzying angles and landing briefly on the roof of the pig shed.

  Several minutes later, another figure went into the bunk house.

  “I think that’s Jasper,” said Georgia.

  “Jorge must already be inside,” said Georgia. “He was shot while he slept, and everyone, including Nancy, agrees that he didn’t come to breakfast.”

  I didn’t point out that the reason Jorge hadn’t come to breakfast might possibly be because he was already dead.

  A few more minutes passed, and then the door of the bunkhouse opened again.

  August, if one could trust identifying him by his trademark cowboy hat, walked closely behind Jasper.

  “Does he have a gun?” Georgia asked.

  “It certainly looks like it.”

  Just after the pair descended the porch steps, Jasper turned and tried to get the gun out of August’s hand.

  The tables turned, and now Jasper was covering August with his own gun. As August cowered on the ground a few feet from Jasper, Jasper reached into his pocket with his free hand and removed something.

  “Is that a phone?”

  Jasper must have called Janey but only gotten out a few words before he aborted the call. That explained why I’d found his phone resting in the dirt in front of the bunkhouse.

  As Jasper held the phone to his ear, another figure approached from around the corner of the barn.

  “That must be Hugo,” I said.

  When Hugo reached the scene, he stopped, a natural reaction to finding that one of your coworkers has another of your workmates cowering on the ground with a gun pointed at his head.

  “This is fascinating,” said Georgia.

  It was fascinating, but I was glad Janey wasn’t there to see it.

  We couldn’t hear what was being said, of course, but it was clear that there was a tense exchange. Hugo made a move toward Jasper, who dropped something (it had to have been his phone) and ran away in the direction of the pig shed, still holding the gun.

  After that, the drone pitched up and over the top of Nancy’s house and came back to earth near the back porch. That explained where the twins had been and why they hadn’t witnessed the scene their drone’s camera had captured. Apparently, the twins rarely looked at what they’d filmed.

  I copied the incriminating footage to a USB. It was very late. Almost past Maxwell’s bedtime, even though he’d not even eaten supper yet.

  I decided that there was no great hurry to get the footage to the Sheriff’s office. Jasper, I believed, was safer behind bars, anyway.

  First thing the next morning, though, I headed up to Santa Fe with the USB. When I got to the Sheriff’s office, I asked to see Officer Reyes.

  When I handed him the USB and gave him a summary of what he could expect to see when he watched it, he didn’t seem surprised.

  “You were right,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “I was right about what?” I asked Officer Reyes.

  “That gun you found in the well—it was registered to August Taylor.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jasper Hamm also implicated August in the murder of Jorge Lopez.”

  “Isn’t that just one man’s word against another?”

  “It would be, except there are some gaping inconsistencies in the statements we received from the various other parties. We were able to confirm some unique details of Jasper Hamm’s statement.”

  “Is August going to be arrested again?”

  “Hopefully,” said Officer Reyes. “There’s a warrant out for him this morning, but the officer who went to find him says he’s left the ranch.”

  “Nancy Flynn fired him and told him never to come back.”

  “So she said.”

  “You might still find him in the area.”

  “I doubt it,” said Officer Reyes. “I have a feeling those addresses you gave me may come in handy.”

  He didn’t mention the footage, but I had a strong feeling that in several months’ time, a jury of Augustus Taylor’s peers were going to be viewing it as part of his trial for the murder of Jorge Lopez. August was going to be in prison for a very long time, between his involvement in the car theft ring and killing Nancy’s ranch hand.

  I was 98% sure that August was the one who’d shot Jorge as he slept, but I still had several unanswered questions, and there was only one man who could answer them.

  “I’m assuming Jasper Hamm is going to be released from custody?”

  “You can head down to the county jail and give him a ride back to Amatista if you want,” said Officer Reyes. “He was being processed for release half an hour ago.”

  I hurried down to the county jail and called Janey from the waiting area to give her the good news. I was still on the phone with her when Jasper emerged from a locked metal door, carrying a manila envelope containing his personal items.

  I handed the phone off to him and let him reassure his sister that he was alive and well.

  “I’ll give you a ride back to Amatista,” I said.

  Jasper was not inclined to talk. He didn’t warm up until we were halfway back and, even then, not until after I told him about the drone footage I’d procured from Nancy’s nephews.

  “I’d like to know what happened that day,” I said.

  “I guess you have a right to,” said Jasper. “If you hadn’t—”

  He left the “if” unsaid, but he went on to tell me what had happened on the day of Jorge’s murder.

  “I went straight to the pig shed after breakfast,” said Jasper, “but when I returned to the bunkhouse, I found Jorge dead in his bunk. At first, I thought I was alone, but then I heard a noise in the bathroom. August came out, holding a bloody leather work glove. I think he had soaked it in Jorge’s blood.”

  “But you’re confident that Jorge had been shot in the back of his head while he slept?”

  “I can’t be absolutely sure, but I can’t come up with any other likely scenario.”

  “My dog found that glove. It had the initials J.H. written inside. Did that glove really belong to you?”

  “No. It didn’t. August intended to frame me for the murder of Jorge right from the start, but it turned out that I made it even easier for him by acting in a way that made Hugo believe without question when August said I was the one who’d shot Jorge.”

  “But why didn’t Hugo tel
l the police he believed you’d murdered Jorge right away? Why did he wait so long?”

  “Somebody had stolen twenty thousand dollars from the car theft operation that August, Jorge, and Hugo were running together.”

  That explained the box of cash buried in the floor of the root cellar.

  “You had nothing to do with it?”

  “No.”

  “Who stole the money?”

  “I’m not sure who stole it, but it was Jorge or August.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t Hugo?”

  “It can’t have been Hugo because August told Hugo that I was the one who had taken it.”

  “True, Hugo never would have believed that if he’d taken the money himself.”

  “But why did August kill Jorge?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” said Jasper, “but I think it had something to do with the money.”

  August was so deeply in debt I doubted he’d have been inclined to share. Either Jorge was the one who’d stolen the money, or he’d figured out August had done it and was angling for a cut. We might never know exactly why.

  “But what does the stolen money have to do with Hugo being unwilling to tell the police that he believed you’d killed Jorge?”

  “I’m guessing August told him that I had hidden the money somewhere and was refusing to say where. If I went to prison, they’d have a hard time getting the money back, so I think they settled on tracking me down and forcing the information out of me.”

  “What happened that day Jorge was killed? I mean, after you ran away from the bunkhouse?”

  “I was so terrified I just ran without thinking and ended up over the hill at the abandoned ranch where the chop shop was.”

  “Did you already know what was there?”

  “I did. Nancy sent me out there about a week before Jorge died. I was trying to decide what to do about what I’d found.”

  “How did the gun end up down the well?” I asked.

  “I threw it there.”

  “Why?”

  “I figured that my prints were on it.”

  “And then you somehow got ahold of Tina, and she came and got you?”

  “I walked cross country all the way to the truck stop and used their phone. Then I hid in a drain culvert under a side road until she arrived.”

  Jasper must have been pretty scared to go to those lengths. I didn’t think his fears for his life had been misplaced. He didn’t know where the cash had been hidden, but I had no doubt Hugo was capable of killing Jasper in the process of trying to extract the information.

  August himself would have been better off with Jasper out of the way altogether.

  We’d arrived at Little Tombstone. Janey was out on the front steps of the Bird Cage waiting for her brother. I wondered where they would go. It wasn’t like we could move yet another person into our apartment. Maybe Jasper would bunk in with Oliver. I’d leave that to them to work out for themselves.

  While Janey and Jasper were hugging on the front steps of the Bird Cage, Hank came out of the Curio Shop and motioned for me to come inside.

  When I got inside, he closed the door behind me and said in a low voice, as if conveying information of grave importance to the security of the nation, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to marry Phyllis.”

  “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

  It probably was wonderful, for Hank, anyway. I was far from convinced it would be wonderful for Phyllis. I wondered where the happy couple would live. I couldn’t imagine Hank ever leaving the Museum of the Unexplained. It was equally hard to imagine any woman in her right mind moving into Hank’s cramped and squalid apartment behind the Curio Shop. I’d long ago realized that Phyllis never made overnight visits to Little Tombstone. Hank always went to her place. I surprised myself with the realization that I would miss Hank and his Chupacabras should he opt to leave us.

  “I thought we’d get married on Valentine’s Day,” said Hank.

  “Have you asked Phyllis?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Perhaps you ought to propose to the lady in question before doing any unilateral setting of wedding dates.”

  Hank grunted. I don’t think it had occurred to him that Phyllis would be anything but over the moon at the prospect of getting hitched with Hank. I hoped Hank Edwards wasn’t in for the disappointment of a lifetime.

  Before I headed upstairs, I went around back and knocked on Morticia’s door.

  “Hank’s going to propose to Phyllis,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  Morticia tried to look surprised but missed by a mile. Despite engaging in an occupation that for all intents and purposes amounts to being a professional liar—at least on occasion—Morticia isn’t very good at hiding her thoughts.

  She clearly couldn’t have been more pleased that Hank had decided to pop the question.

  “I know it was you,” I said as I did a little dance on the pull-out steps of her old Winnebago.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Morticia.

  “I know you’re the person who makes up the Amatista Advance crossword puzzle.”

  Morticia didn’t deny it, but she refused to confirm it, either.

  “Your mother put you up to it, didn’t she?” I persisted. “Your mother found out that Phyllis wanted to get married, and Hank was dragging his feet and—”

  “Oh, all right,” said Morticia, a broad smile on her face. “But please don’t tell anyone. If Hank ever finds out it wasn’t really his mother—”

  “Isn’t that a bit risky?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “What if you’re wrong about Hank and Phyllis being right for each other?”

  “What if I’m not?”

  “I guess only time will tell,” I said.

  I was about to leave, when I remember another question I had for Morticia.

  “How did you know that Jasper Hamm was in danger?” I said. “By the way, he’s just been released and there’s a warrant out for the arrest of August Taylor. It turns out August is the one who murdered Jorge.”

  The smile dropped right off Morticia’s face.

  “I’m so relieved,” she said.

  “What did you know?” I asked.

  “Not a lot, actually,” said Morticia. “The day before Jorge was shot, he came to see me.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know where to find something that had been stolen from him. I believe it was money, but I never got much more than that out of him.”

  “Were you able to help him?”

  I was sorry I’d asked that question as soon as the words left my mouth. Morticia had told Jorge his fortune, and the next day he’d been shot dead in his sleep.

  Morticia didn’t seem disturbed by my question, however.

  “I wasn’t able to help him. Although if he’d taken to heart what the cards said, he might still be alive today.”

  “What did the cards say?”

  I never got to hear what the cards said because Maxwell, Earp, and Hercules burst out of the back door of the Bird Cage.

  “Good afternoon, Morticia,” said Maxwell. “Good afternoon, Emma. Pleasure to see you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” I said and gave Maxwell and menagerie a little curtsy which was lost on them, because pug, boy, and piglet were already on the far side of the trailer court.

  Georgia has been working on “greeting skills” with Maxwell, and he’s really taken the lessons to heart. Probably a good thing, but a bit disconcerting when you saw the kid two hours ago over breakfast. I was glad Maxwell was homeschooling. I tried to imagine him greeting a schoolyard bully with the words, “Good afternoon. Pleasure to see you.” That wouldn’t end well.

  Georgia came out a minute or two after Maxwell and the animals. She came over to the steps of Morticia’s Winnebago and said, “Roberta Haskell just came by to see Juanita.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know, just thought you might find that to b
e an interesting development.”

  I did find it to be an interesting development.

  By the time I made it inside the Bird Cage, all I saw was Roberta Haskell’s back as she went out the front door.

  Juanita was probably still peeved at me, but I couldn’t resist going into the kitchen and saying, “I just saw Mrs. Haskell leaving out the front door.”

  Juanita, who was in the act of assembling a pan of enchiladas, stopped what she was doing and looked at me. She didn’t look quite ready to throw the sauce-covered spoon she held in her hand at my head, so I risked another question.

  “What did she want?”

  “I don’t know that it’s any of your business, Emma.”

  “It probably isn’t, but I’d still like to know.”

  Juanita put down her spoon and heaved a dramatic sigh before saying, “Her son told her everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “More or less.”

  “Did Roberta apologize?”

  “She did.”

  “What’s she going to do?”

  “Her son is coming to stay with her for a while, until he gets back on his feet.”

  “Oh.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  “Is Roberta happy about that?”

  “Absolutely ecstatic.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you happy that Roberta’s no longer going around telling people that you’re stealing from her?”

  “I don’t think my feelings come into it.”

  “But aren’t you happy?”

  “I suppose.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Look, Emma,” Juanita said. “I know you were just trying to protect me, and protectiveness can be a wonderful quality, combined with wisdom.”

  I think that was Juanita’s gentle way of calling me a fool, but I let it go.

  “What you must understand,” Juanita continued, “is that I wouldn’t go back in time and change a thing.”

  “What if Rory Haskell never had told the truth?”

  “Then I guess I’d just have had to live with being misunderstood.”

  Juanita is a better woman than I, but I still wasn’t sure she was right.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For interfering in your affairs.”