Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

  The brown fields spoke of drought here, too, with dirt being more prevalent than grass, or maybe it was just too difficult to tell the difference. I pulled into the driveway of the ranch. Not the big impressive horse farm of Pam Brown’s, but this was a rodeo ranch, not a breeding farm. To my left was a full on rodeo arena.

  “We used to hold junior rodeo practices here when I was a kid. Not sure if Bucky owned it back then. There are roping chutes and even bucking chutes.” Cortnie pointed as we drove by the arena toward the house. “That’s the announcer’s stand. Our coach used to sit up there and announce like it was a real rodeo. He said it was good to hold mock rodeos to help us get used to it, calm our nerves.”

  The place looked a little worse for wear. I wondered just how well the Coxes were doing on the rodeo road, and if there was a reason they weren’t paying their bills. Maybe the political trail was sucking the wallet dry?

  I thought Pam’s place was quiet, but this place felt like a morgue. No one around, and the only horse I saw was standing loose in the arena with his back foot cocked, like he was napping.

  Just beyond the arena was a mechanical thing with four long metal arms sticking out of it, contained within a fence of chipped white paint. It looked like the thing I’d seen in the barn area at racetracks, you know, when they do interviews for the Kentucky Derby. The ground around the inside looked to be sand. “Lazy way to cool off the horses.”

  “Efficient,” Cortnie said. “When you’ve got ten horses to ride in a day, you saddle them all up, put four on the walker at a time to warm them up, by walking them while you ride. When you’re done, you unsaddle and put them back on to cool them off. You get a lot more done, and you don’t waste time with warm up and cool down.”

  That made sense, so I took back my lazy comment, but just to myself.

  Past the mechanical walker was a huge red barn, filled with hay, and I supposed grain, too. It looked like it was the feeding station, as it had feed buckets and a wheelbarrow, and scoops of various sizes in view. Beyond that was a long red barn with stalls.

  Unlike Pam’s place, these stalls were facing outside, with a narrow shed row to keep the rain out. Also, unlike Pam’s place, there was straw, hay, shavings, and manure strewn everywhere. The Coxes were not as neat and tidy as the Browns. The stall doors were Dutch, but both the tops and bottoms were open, and some sort of nylon or canvas net was snapped across the front. I could see straight through the stalls, which looked like they could use a good cleaning, to the open paddocks behind them. I’d seen this type of stall door at racetracks before. It seemed to let a lot more air circulate. I saw a few tails swish, which told me the horses were hanging out in the paddocks outside.

  “Go up the hill.” Cortnie didn’t seem nearly as impressed with the horse barn as I was, and I needed to pay attention to where I was driving because I almost hit a damn cat.

  I drove past the small barn and up the hill to the house. Not a bad looking house. Two stories, red brick, with a redwood deck that overlooked the stables. What a nice way to spend an evening. Have a few drinks and enjoy the view.

  Before I could slow the car and park, a woman stormed out of the house and up to the passenger side, banging on the door.

  “This is Rayna.” Cortnie rolled down her window.

  No wonder Skinner was in love. Rayna flowed toward us, even though she had the air of a woman scorned. Her sable locks trailed behind her, catching the light of the sun, and her blue eyes sparkled with fire. Years in the sun had barely put a wrinkle on her skin, or maybe she wasn’t as old as Skinner and Bucky, but I knew she had to be. And she was lithe. The only thing sticking out on her was her boobs, and they perked out nicely in the V-neck sweater she wore.

  “No one is supposed to come up to the house. If you’re here for the auction tomorrow, you’re too late. The viewing for Mojo ended an hour ago. Bucky is putting him away.” She looked at her watch. “He should’ve been back to the house by now, but if he’s still down there, he may still show you the horse.”

  I leaned down to talk to Rayna from across the car. “Hi, Mrs. Cox. Actually, we aren’t here to see the horse. We’re here to talk to Bucky.”

  Her demeanor spun on a dime. “Well, honey, why didn’t you say that? He must be putting Mojo away. I can call his cell.” She pulled a cell phone from her skin tight jeans.

  The cowgirl in her turned into a politician’s wife in a big, bad hurry. I’m not a huge fan of politics, and here I was, knee deep in the shit, and I don’t mean horse shit. “You don’t need to call him, I can go back to the barn. Thanks for your help.”

  I let my car drift forward to give her the hint that I was headed back to the arena, or the barn, wherever Bucky was, and that I was finished talking to her. As pretty as she was, there was something dark about her I didn’t like. I couldn’t quite put my mind to what it was, but her actions and words didn't fit with her demeanor, just like a politician. Maybe she was the puppet behind the man. Who knows? They say behind every good man, there’s a woman pulling the strings. Ha!

  Before Cortnie rolled up her window, she said, “Good luck with the auction tomorrow.”

  I kept driving forward, as the house was set on a hill with a horseshoe shaped road around it, that came out back in the area near the barn.

  “Park here,” Cortnie said, as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “We can get out and walk back to the stables.”

  I looked down at Cortnie’s shoes, then I contemplated the walk to the barn in my black ballet flats. They’d be light brown with dirt and dust by the time I got to the barn and back. No, thank you. They were expensive shoes and I wasn’t going to ruin them by accidentally stepping in a pile of manure, or who knew what else. “Or I can drive.”

  What was I thinking coming out here directly from the office? Cortnie and I should’ve gone home and changed clothes, since we knew that Pam and the Coxes both lived on ranches. This was ridiculous. My normal work attire would have been fine for a meeting, but the outfits we’d chosen for the funeral were over the top, and in no way appropriate for this meeting.

  “I want to see if that’s Mojo in the arena.” She got out of the car as I put it in park.

  Fine. I turned off the engine. I’m not exactly a fan of dirt, but everything washes, right? I watched her walk toward the arena like she was wearing boots, not four inch heels. Astonished at her balance, I marveled at her gait. I’d have broken an ankle by the third step on this terrain.

  Before I could catch up to her, she came to an abrupt stop.

  “Mimi, don’t come any closer.”

  “Yeah, right.” I kept walking.

  She yelled, “Mimi, stop, right now!”

  I stopped. She hadn’t moved, so I figured it was a snake or something. I hate snakes, and neither of us had a gun on us. Mine was in the car. Could I get to it and get back in time?

  “What?” I whispered. Why the hell I was whispering, when she’d just screamed at me, was beyond me. In a normal voice I said, “What’s up?”

  “Go back to the car and call 911. Then call Nick.”

  109

  Charles

  We had barely gotten back on Highway 1 when the call came in.

  Nick said, “It’s my day off. Did you call 911?”

  I could actually hear Mimi’s voice through the phone and it wasn’t on speaker. “I don’t give a shit if it’s your day off or not, I need you to get here now. Have Charles put the address in his GPS.”

  That was enough for me. I grabbed the phone from Nick. He tried to grab it back, but thank goodness we were in his Boxster and not the Crown Vic, so he was more worried about the car, and driving, than about me having his phone. “It’s me, Chica, give me the address and the 411, and I’ll give Nick the directions.”

  She did, and I did, then I hung up, gave the phone back to Nick and said, “Let’s roll.”

  Nick rolled his eyes, which I found extremely condescending, and also adorable, and kept driving at the same rate of speed.

&n
bsp; “Well, aren’t you going to save your damsel in distress?” There was no way he wasn’t going to Bucky’s place.

  “It’s a dead body. What’s the hurry?”

  “It’s Mimi. It’s a dead body. There isn’t anyone there to keep her from doing anything stupid. Usually I’m there to keep her from investigating on her own. I’m not there.” Why did I always have to explain the obvious?

  Nick reached down under his seat and pulled out his flashing light. Putting it on the top of the car, he turned it on, and picked up speed. Next thing I knew, we were traveling down the 101 at 120 mph. Yeah, having cops for friends was good for the adrenaline.

  We slowed to seventy once we turned onto Pesante Road, and then slowed to a crawl once we were near Bucky’s place. Driving onto the property was a move Nick and I debated on the ride over. I called Mimi to confer with her, and she said there had been at least a dozen, maybe more, cars and trucks in and out of the ranch that morning, so one more set of tire tracks wouldn’t likely make a difference. Regardless, Nick parked just inside the bridge that spanned the ditch running alongside the road.

  We looked ridiculous in our suits, so we both took off our jackets, and I even left my vest in his car.

  We’d arrived before the police. Oh, wait, we were the police. Fine, Nick was the police. And he’d been in touch with Dispatch on the trip over. They were sending a patrol unit, and the crime scene van, but Nick would be in charge. How the hell did we end up in this situation again? Oh, yeah, Mimi took on a case. Wasn’t that how it always happened? She was a dead body magnet.

  Nick and I hoofed it (pun intended) toward Mimi, Cortnie, and some other woman who must have been the wife. I deduced this because she was with Mimi and Cortnie, but what did I know?

  Nick said, “Where is the…” I think he was looking for a polite term for “the body” when Mimi saved him.

  “Bucky Cox is behind the bucking chutes.” She pointed to a bright pink flash of fabric.

  “How the hell?” I started, but remember who was standing with us. “Oh, goodness.”

  How the hell did they know that was Bucky Cox? It was a flash of pink fabric. Then I saw the lawn banner next to the arena. Bucky was wearing the exact same shirt. Way to milk the ad campaign while showing your horse for auction.

  “Ma’am, I’m Charles Parks. I’m with Detective Christianson. You are?” I didn’t offer to shake her hand. For all I knew, she still had horse shit on it.

  “Rayna Cox. That’s my husband.” She pointed to the pink fabric, then sniffled.

  Cortnie said, “The horse in the arena is Mojo. He’s the one being auctioned tomorrow. It’s a big deal. I can fill you in on the details later.”

  I couldn’t wait. Not.

  Nick wasn’t as friendly as he normally was. “Rayna,” he said.

  She said, “Nick.”

  And maybe that’s why. They already knew each other. Duh, Bucky worked for the city. I’d just bet that Rayna was a handful. She looked like a handful.

  “I’m going down to take a look.”

  She flipped her hand at him. “Go.”

  Nope, that wasn’t awkward.

  Nick said, “Charles, let’s go.”

  What the…? Didn’t have to ask me twice. I stepped right up. Not like he’d ask me to accompany him to a murder scene too many more times in the future. Even though I’d gotten to be a part of the last one we’d work together. The corpse behind the motel happened to be someone I knew. This corpse was someone I knew of.

  Mimi said, “Um, excuse me?”

  Nick and I ignored her and kept walking.

  “She’s going to be so pissed off.” I had to warn him, if not for his sake, for mine.

  He looked back. “Mimi, can you come here for a second?”

  She trotted over. Ha! Get it, trotted.

  “Yes?” Way too eager.

  “Charles is going with me, as a witness for me. Rayna is not going to be able to say I messed this up in any way. There is no love lost between us, so I’m not taking chances. Nothing else, got it? I need you to stay with her and make nice.”

  Mimi’s face scrunched up like a pitted prune. “It should be me as your witness.”

  “She knows you aren’t a cop. She has no idea Charles isn’t.”

  I nodded. “Good point.”

  Mimi said, “Shut up.”

  Nick grabbed my arm. “Let’s get this over with.” He reached in his pocket and handed me his phone. “Here, take video.”

  “You got it.” I manipulated his phone to figure out how his video worked, which wasn’t all that difficult, since all I had to do was slide the screen and find his picture icon.

  “Start recording. We aren’t going to take any chances with a well-known politician.” Nick stepped down into the back side of the bucking chutes.

  “Cortnie knows a bit about horses and this rodeo stuff. Do you think maybe she should accompany us, so she can identify things that we can’t?” It was just a thought. I didn’t know what we’d find down there.

  Nick smiled. “You’re always thinking, but I don’t know.” He looked toward Mimi.

  I yelled. “Cortnie, can you please join us?” Then I looked at her shoes. “Never mind.”

  Cortnie beamed. She was out of those shoes in seconds flat and jogged, barefooted, toward us in a hurry. “What’s up?”

  “Backup for product identification. I’m not much of a horse expert,” Nick said.

  I looked back to Mimi, whose head was about to explode.

  The three of us stood on the landing above Bucky’s body. “Someone was mighty pissed at him.”

  He lay face down in the dirt behind the bucking chutes. I know they were bucking chutes because I’d seen a rodeo or two. I can appreciate the nice bodies of those rough stock riders. But Bucky was definitely not a rough stock rider, and his body was definitely not nice. I often wondered how he even found his dick to pee, much less have sex. And now I wondered at the angle of his body in death. It’s not that he was so big, but all of his weight seemed to be on his belly. He had skinny legs, and skinny arms, but a little chub in the tub. Bucky’s body had twisted at an angle as he took his last breath, or as he ran out of energy. When I say face down, I’m guessing, because the thing on his neck was so bloody and bashed in, I couldn’t really make out the face from this distance.

  “What’s so weird about this image?” Nick poked at Bucky’s skin with his pen.

  Cortnie answered, “His pants are down around his ankles?”

  “There’s that,” I said. “So was he in the middle of something, and got caught? Was he yanking it behind the chutes?”

  “Or was he being yanked?” Cortnie’s voice had a lilt of conspiracy, sexual conspiracy.

  “Or was it postmortem?” Nick pondered.

  This was why he was the homicide detective and I was just his sidekick. I’d have never considered it. Bucky, as a politician, had exploited many folks, and if this was a homicide, the killer would love to see it hit the papers that Bucky was found dead “with his pants around his ankles.” I know I’d love to know someone had been humiliated that way, if they’d screwed me over in the past. In my case, I’d more than likely be the one… oh, we just won’t go there.

  “You are still recording, right?”

  “Yes, Nick,” I replied, like the good wife. Jeez.

  “Nice hit,” Cortnie said as she leaned in close to Bucky’s head, not even a bit queasy. “Or hits. Looks like the first hit was a blow to the side of the head. Then over the top a few times?”

  “Hard to tell for sure, but I’d say the initial blow was the one to the side of the head. Makes sense. A good baseball type of swing. And it looks like whoever it was caught him from behind.” Nick pointed to the angle of the dent in Bucky’s skull. “But I can’t say for sure. That’s the M.E.’s job.”

  Pesante Road isn’t a through road, and as such, there isn’t much traffic. So when I heard a vehicle screeching into the drive, I figured it was the patrol car,
and possibly the CSU van. But when I looked up, I saw a red Dodge pickup. Not a little girlie pickup, either. This was a full-sized, manly man pickup, the kind I’d drive if I didn’t love sports cars, and might still consider purchasing for the Gotcha Detective Agency. Lola would look so good riding in the passenger seat of a truck like that, instead of Mimi’s piece of crap.

  “Great, just what we need. I wish the patrol officers would get here and tape off the property,” Nick groaned. He went back to examining Bucky’s head, where the ear had been smashed into the skull, and was now concave.

  It looked like it was going to be business as usual, until the chick who was driving that gorgeous hunk of Dodge pickup got out, stormed over to where Rayna and Mimi stood, and punched Rayna in the face. Rayna, unprepared for the attack, dropped like she’d been punched by Muhammad Ali.

  Cortnie jumped to attention. “Oh, shit, that’s Emmet Hollister. She’s pissed.”

  I looked at Cortnie. “Well, thank you for that observation, Captain Obvious.”

  Mimi bent down to help Rayna up from the ground, but it was clear that she preferred to stay down, thinking the pixie haired, blonde chick was going to hit her again.

  Then the screaming started. “Who do you think you are? You can’t pick and choose who can bid on that horse, and who can’t. It’s a public auction, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you keep me from that horse.”

  “I’d better go up there. I know Emmet,” Cortnie said. She started up the stairs.

  I wasn’t going to miss out on the cat fight. I saw the patrol car slow at the driveway, and saw my chance. “The cops are here. I should stay out of your crime scene. You know how Pics can be.”

  Nick shook his head. “Leave the phone, so I can have a record. And go play with your girlfriends. Lord knows you don’t want to miss a good cat fight.”

  I nearly tossed the phone at him, then ran up the stairs. I heard him say, “I want the details later. And don’t you dare tell Mimi I asked.”