Ivy Get Your Gun

by Cindy Brown

  Frank jumped out of the way. “Shit.”

  “That’s what you get for killin’ folks.” Josh mounted his horse, and I hoisted myself onto Toby.

  “I still don’t get it,” I said as we headed back toward Gold Bug. “Two people dead over bats?”

  “I told you I’d never kill anyone over bats. And I don’t lie.”

  I wanted to point out that he did kill and probably also lied somewhere along the line, but I still hadn’t put all the pieces together, so instead I said, “So…?” I wanted to give him enough rope to hang himself, so to speak.

  “Gold, woman. There was gold in that mine. Found two nuggets bigger than my thumb. ’S where I got the money for my house and car.”

  Josh made a noise in his throat but still faced forward, walking Blackie at a pace slow enough for Frank to keep up.

  “And you bought the mineral rights,” I said. “So you could get more gold.”

  “’S not a crime.”

  “And he’d need the land around it so he could re-open the mine,” said Josh.

  “Reopen the mine? But wouldn’t that disturb the bats?”

  “No endangered bats in there,” said Josh. “Just common old bats.”

  Frank chuckled. “Yep.”

  “But still, doesn’t mining cause all sorts of environmental degradation?” I turned to look at Frank. He’d seemed so sincere. “I thought you were an environmentali—”

  “I am.” Frank raised his voice. “This land is ruined. For God’s sake, woman, there are drums of cyanide buried all over this place. Even gets into the water.” The smirk in his voice made my hands curl into fists. “But my box canyon, now that’s pristine. For now. With the money I get from the mine, I could save it for future generations.”

  “You killed people to shut down a tourist town so you could open a mine and buy another piece of property?”

  “Sacred property.”

  “I think the desert sun has addled your brain.”

  “It’s not the sun,” said Josh. “It’s the gold. Gold makes people crazy. Too bad there isn’t any in that mine.”

  “’Course there is,” snorted Frank, trundling along in the dirt road behind us. “I sold those nuggets I found. They were real. Fetched a pretty penny.”

  “They were real,” said Josh. “And they were everything you were going to get out of that mine. My grandpa salted it years ago when he had a couple investors on the hook. Problem is, he did it after a bout of drinking. Couldn’t remember where he put those nuggets. The investors never found them and neither did he.”

  Frank stopped walking. “No gold? You’re shittin’ me.”

  “Nope. No gold. Just common old bats.”

  Frank sat down in the middle of the dusty road. “No gold?” he whispered to himself. “No gold?”

  Josh turned around. “C’mon, Frank, get up. I don’t want to drag your scrawny ass over all these rocks.”

  “I want to talk more about gold,” I said to Josh. Though he had saved my hide, I still wasn’t sure of him. He could be complicit with other goings-on. “Who are the Golden Girls?” It was a risk, asking him straight out like that, but I still had my rifle and he’d seen me shoot. “Do they have anything to do with the mine?”

  “The Golden Girls? Billie’s outfit? Nothin’ to do with mining. It’s a scholarship program for young women in rural Arizona.”

  Oh, Billie. Golden-hearted Billie.

  “For a guy who doesn’t have any money, you sure donate a lot for girls’ scholarships.”

  Josh shrugged. “I gave some of the money from the land sale to The Golden Girls.”

  “Paying off your dad’s debt?”

  “At the beginning. Then I saw what Billie was doing for those girls. Decided to invest in the future, so to speak.”

  “Josh Tate, one of the good guys,” snarked Frank.

  “If it’s legit, why so cagey about it?”

  “The organization is all above board,” Josh said. “But some of the funds…”

  “Come from the game, right?”

  “Don’t think the proceeds are exactly legal.”

  “You ever join in on the game? With the Philly investors, maybe?”

  “What? No.”

  “You all seem pretty chummy. I saw you with them a couple of times at the forge and then again down by the creek.”

  “Yeah, I’d been talking to them about…down by the creek?” Though I couldn’t see Josh’s face in the dark, he tilted his head toward me. “Oh.” He straightened up in his saddle. “Those weren’t investors. Well, maybe they will be.”

  “Good luck with that.” Frank still sat in the middle of the road.

  “Just you wait and see. I think it might work out in the end.”

  “What?” I said. “Who were they? What might work out?”

  “I’ll show you.” Josh nodded to our right, where the creek sloshed at the bottom of the hill. He dismounted, then held out a hand for me. I took it and swung off Toby. “What about Frank?” I said in a low voice.

  “Blackie won’t move unless I give him the go-ahead, and Frank can’t pull a thousand pounds of horse. Still,” Josh got out another rope from his saddlebag, “might as well make it interesting.” Josh tied the rope into a lasso, swung it over his head, and then looped it over a cholla. He clucked at his horse. “Back up, Blackie.” The horse began walking backwards. “Better stand up unless you want to get sat on,” Josh said to Frank.

  Frank scrambled to his feet. Josh grabbed Frank by the rope that encircled him, and pulled him toward the lassoed cactus.

  “Oh no.” Frank dug in his heels. “You’re not planting me in any cholla patch.”

  “I’m not, long as you don’t move.” Josh fastened the rope around Frank, so he was tied to Blackie on one end and the cholla on the other, with only about six inches in between Frank and the devilish cactus. Josh stepped back to admire his work. “You’d better stay still. You move just a couple inches, you’ll get skewered.”

  Josh led the way down the hill. “That was brilliant,” I said, partly because it was true, and partly because I was walking into the dark woods with a man who had a pretty diabolical imagination and I wanted to be on his good side.

  I lagged behind Josh as we climbed down the rocky slope, pretending I couldn’t see well (my eyes had actually adjusted to the darkness), when I really wanted to make sure I had enough room to shoot a rifle if need be.

  We reached the brushy edge of the riparian area. “Shh,” Josh said. “Follow me, but quietly.”

  We were silent as scouts as we wound through the cottonwoods to one of the spots with the long grass. Suddenly it shivered, as something moved just inches in front of me. Wait, was this a trap? Could you kill someone on purpose with snakes?

  Josh didn’t move, but squatted in the meadow in front me. The grass moved and lightning-quick he reached down into the grass and grabbed something. He walked toward me, his hands cupped around something small. Not a snake. “This here is the real value of this place.” Josh opened his hands to reveal…a mouse? “The New Mexico Meadow Jumping Mouse.” The little brown mouse lay on his back, Josh’s thumb on his white belly. “Just look at those babies.”

  “Omigod,” I said. “His back legs are enormous. Like a kangaroo’s.”

  “The better for jumping, my dear. These guys can jump as high as three feet.”

  The mouse regarded me with curious little eyes. “He also may be the cutest thing I’ve even seen.”

  “And these mice are the endangered ones, not the bats. Not very many them left anywhere and none ever found in this part of Arizona before.” He stroked the mouse’s belly with his thumb. “This little guy is the real treasure of Gold Bug.”

  He knelt down and let the mouse go. The grass jumped in several places, as if the other mice were doing a little danc
e in honor of the return of Josh, the Savior of Mice.

  “Is this why you don’t want people at your house? You’re protecting the mice?”

  “Yep.” Josh stood up and watched the moving meadow, a smile on his thin lips. “Those investors you thought you saw down here? They’re folks from the Wilderness Coalition.”

  “But I’m sure I heard someone say gold when you all were down here.”

  “We might have been talking about these little guys—the real ‘gold’ that’s here.” Josh smiled as he watched the jumping grass. “Or maybe the gold bugs—they’re not endangered but they’re not common either, and they’re awfully pretty.”

  I did not think bugs could be pretty but decided not to state my opinion right then.

  “But we were probably talking about Gold Bug Gulch. I’m hoping they’ll partner with us.”

  “With the Gulch? The tourist attraction?”

  “It’d be Gold Bug Gulch Western Theme Town and Wildlife Refuge. We’d keep the town as a theme park but set aside this riparian area. That’s why you saw me meeting with the investors too. They’re all onboard. Smart. The Wilderness Coalition will put some money toward maintenance and preservation, and we’ll probably double the tourist traffic.”

  “You might want to be careful, Josh. Those investors, the ones from Philly? I think they’re the reason Nathan disappeared.”

  “I know.” Josh turned to me.

  My heart dropped out of my body and tumbled into the creek. Josh was too close to shoot. I glanced over my shoulder. Could I make a run for it?

  Josh shook his head. “Nathan ran off because he’s misdirected. For some reason, he thinks the investors are…connected. They’re not. They’re just Italian guys from Philly who like the old cowboy-style Arizona. In fact,” he smiled broadly, “you might call them Spaghetti Westerners.”

  Chapter 67

  “Hello! Is somebody there?” The voice came from near the creek.

  “Is that Chance?” Josh asked.

  “Yeah, I thought he was after me, so I led him into the quicksand.”

  “Nice,” Josh said. “Nobody ever believes there’s quicksand in Arizona.”

  It took ten minutes for Josh and me to extricate a grumbling Chance. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were trying to save me. I thought you were a bad guy.”

  “I should wear a white hat.” Chance washed the quicksand mud off his boots. “So people know which side I’m on.”

  “Mongo was onboard too,” Josh said as the three of us crested the hill. “He said he just needed to work out one last detail.”

  Ohhh. That was the investment Billie had mentioned. But…

  “Aha,” said Frank. “No wonder Mongo was trying to bail on me.”

  “Wait, what?” I said to Frank. “Were you the business deal he wanted out of?”

  “You think I could’ve afforded those mineral rights all by myself, even with those nuggets? Too bad Mongo didn’t have the balls he was born with.” Frank chuckled. “Me, on the other hand, I got the balls and the brains.”

  “And that’s why you’re trussed up and tied to a cactus,” said Josh.

  “And that’s why I’ll get away committing the perfect crime. You have no proof I did anything.”

  “You held us at gunpoint,” I said. “And we both witnessed your confession.”

  “Oh, that’ll go over well. A blacksmith with a long-standing grudge against me and Mongo, and a girl detective who couldn’t find her ass in the dark. Besides, I’m pretty sure I never actually said anything about killing.”

  Didn’t he? What did we have? I willed my brain to put the pieces together.

  “You got nothin’,” Frank said. “No witnesses, no evidence.”

  “I will testify,” Chance said. We’d told him he was safe, visa-wise. “About the blackmail. And the bullets.”

  Bullets. A tiny cog in my brain started turning.

  “And what a great witness you’ll make. A guy who works under an alias, who wanted Mongo dead, and then found that Billie didn’t want him after all,” Frank said. “You got a way better motive for killing those two than I do. After all, would a guy with a lifelong reputation for peaceful activism kill someone over bats?”

  “Bats?” Chance said. “I thought it was gold.”

  “No gold in that mine. Right, Josh?” Frank cocked his head. “You know, I think I have a better case than you all do…kidnapping, maybe aggravated assault. Yep, you might as well untie me now.”

  My brain-cog was still whirring. “Why did you swap bullets for my blanks? Did you want me to kill Chance?”

  “Whoever swapped those bullets…” Frank chuckled and I nearly slugged him. “Could’ve have a double motive: keep a loudmouth fake cowboy quiet and put a nail in the coffin of this damn tourist town.”

  “Too bad you didn’t resist that last impulse.” I had it now. “Because we do have evidence: your prints, from where you handled my box of ammunition.”

  That wiped the smirk off Frank’s face. “Uh…” He sucked on his teeth.

  “Also, you got me.” A menthol cigarette-voice came from the darkness. “And I make a pretty good witness.” Pink stepped out from behind a saguaro. “Came when I got your call,” he said to me. “But dammit.” He looked at his feet. “Didn’t have time to change my shoes.”

  Pink helped the now-regulation-handcuffed Frank into the backseat of his cop car, which he’d parked around a bend in the road. “I’m gonna drop this guy off at the County Sheriff’s—there’s a substation on Bell Road. You want a ride into town? I didn’t bring a battery for your truck. Seemed more important to get out here quick.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Maybe you could drop me off in Sunnydale?” I could ask Marge to borrow her car to get a battery tomorrow. She’d probably even drive me out to Gold Bug later in time for Mongo and Billie’s funeral.

  “Do you need us?” Chance looked down at his mud-covered self. “I would rather…”

  “You guys can go,” Pink said.

  Josh swung himself onto Blackie. Chance just stood there.

  “C’mere, Toby,” I said. He trotted up to me. I stroked his soft ear. “Best donkey in the world.” I led him over to Chance. I was the only one close enough to see Chance take a small step backward, his eyes wide

  “You’ll like Toby,” I said quietly. “He’s not like a horse. More like a golden retriever you can ride.” I handed Chance the reins. As he cautiously mounted, I whispered in Toby’s ear, “You be especially good and you’ll get your very own Frappuccino.”

  I swear that donkey nodded.

  Chapter 68

  “So, gold, mice, quicksand, and a Sergio Leone movie?” Marge and I walked down her hall past a door that practically shook with Arnie’s snoring.

  “Spaghetti Westerners,” I said as she opened the door to her guest room. I was so tired I couldn’t make my mouth say any more. I flopped on the bed.

  “I got it,” she said. “Really. Arnie’ll be so relieved. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  That was the last thing I remembered before waking up to coffee in bed, courtesy of Marge. “Arnie wanted to bring it, to thank you. But I wasn’t sure you’d be decent.”

  I was. I was lying on top of the covers, still fully dressed as Annie Oakley. “Hey, do you think you have some clothes I could borrow?”

  Marge came back a few minutes later with one of her tracksuits. “I brought you a black one. For the funeral.”

  At least I wouldn’t be wearing buckskin. I got dressed and padded out to the kitchen where Marge was slicing bagels, just in time to hear the doorbell ring. “I got it!” Arnie shouted from somewhere in the house. Another ring, the sound of the door opening, then, “Oh my God!”

  Marge and I raced to the front door. Nathan stood there, Arnie in front of him, on his knees, crying. And
in his arms was a little black pug.

  Later, over bagels and coffee, Nathan told us he’d put up a thousand-dollar reward. “Went around to all those posters you hung and slapped an orange sticker over them with the reward and my phone number.” Lassie sat on Arnie’s lap, licking cream cheese off a bagel. “Guy called this morning,” Nathan continued. “Have the feeling he mighta had Lassie for a couple of days, but hey, money talks.”

  “You are so awesome!” said the affirmation clock. I actually agreed.

  Marge jumped up and hugged Nathan for about the tenth time. He’d started hugging her back around embrace number three.

  “So much money,” she said. “Let us pay you back.”

  “Consider it a gift for setting my mind at ease.” We’d told him the whole story, except for investigating him, of course. “Besides, I’m flush right now.”

  Lassie looked at Nathan with love and a little cream cheese on his nose. The look on Marge and Arnie’s faces (and my own, I suspected) was a sort of gratitude-skepticism salad.

  “Yeah, Papa.” He slung an arm around Arnie’s shoulder, his mouth full of bagel. “Your son is one damn fine poker player.”

  Nathan drove me to get a battery. He even paid for it. Then he drove me out to Gold Bug and helped me hook up the battery. Who knew his brusque manner disguised a real softie? Guess he had more of Arnie in him than I’d suspected.

  Even so, I didn’t want to push my luck by asking to borrow his phone, so I followed him to the saloon. “Need to use the land line,” I said to the people who were prepping for Billie and Mongo’s wake. “My phone is at the bottom of a mine shaft.”

  No one looked surprised. Must not be that uncommon out Wickenburg way.

  I called Arizona Center Stage and New Vintage Theater, both of whom actually picked up. I spoke to them both, then made another call. “I’m so sorry,” I said to Uncle Bob’s voicemail. “I know you didn’t abandon me. You love me and I love you and I hope you have a great vacation with Bette. You deserve it.”