Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

  What the hell was wrong with society? Just because a girl got drunk didn’t mean she was free game for a horny asshole to stick his dick in as they pleased. And who is teaching the boys and men in our society that this kind of behavior is okay? Putting the soap box away now. Besides, an eye for an eye isn’t the way to solve anything. Or is it? Oops, soap box away, pushed way in the back now.

  “I know what you did was your choice, but it wasn’t and isn't your cross to bear. And I’m glad Bucky is dead, if that’s what he did to you. No man should get away with rape because of his standing in the community or the sports world. This is bullshit! I’m sorry. Sorry in so many ways.” I needed to keep my personal feelings out of it. I’m so glad I didn’t know this earlier, or I’d have grabbed that pipe and beat Rayna across the head with it, too. “And that wife of his…”

  “It’s all water under the bridge. I can’t do anything about it now. I just have to love my child the best way I know how. Move on, so it doesn’t eat me from the inside.”

  Cortnie gave Emmet a sympathetic look. “And then you found out you were pregnant?”

  “Right, and apparently Rayna never told Bucky that she knew about the rape. And it’s not like it was a violent rape. This sounds bad. I’m not defending what he did. It’s just that I was really drunk, and he offered to give me a ride back to my trailer at a rodeo. We were in Steamboat Springs. Anyway, when he got me to my trailer, he had sex with me. I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but I couldn’t. And when I found out I was pregnant, he called me a whore and said it could be anyone’s baby. I told him if he didn’t want his wife to know, he’d take a paternity test. He did, and it was his.”

  Great and good and all, but we already knew this much. Not that she was raped, but that the kid was his. Or so we’d figured.

  “He tried to pay me to have an abortion, but I refused. I stopped rodeoing, because I was afraid I might have an accident at his expense. He’s that scary. But I had her, and I love her more than life itself, and Bucky pays handsomely, or did pay.” She stopped. The tears welled in her eyes.

  “So was that what the spat was over in the yard at Cox’s ranch yesterday?” I tried to change the tone a bit.

  “Rayna knows Kiley is Bucky’s kid. Look at her, she looks just like him. And family wasn’t allowed to bid on Mojo. Court order. Well, that bitch made sure I couldn’t bid on that horse, because no way in hell was Bucky’s illegitimate daughter going to ride her old horse.” Emmet chuckled. It was sinister. “What that hag doesn’t know is that her husband came back to me time after time over the years, wanting more. I never had sex with him again, not after what he had done, but I held it over him. And he paid handsomely, but now we have nothing. I don’t even know how I’m going to pay the stable rent, or the rent on the apartment. Look around you.” She looked around the bare apartment. “We don’t live high on the hog. Everything I have goes to Kiley, so she can ride junior rodeo, and she travels with me when I rodeo.”

  “So, you didn’t have a life insurance policy on Bucky, just in case?” I would have. I mean, he was an asshole, and people would have wanted him dead.

  “What good would that do? I’m not related to him. And you can’t just get a life insurance policy on the guy in the apartment next door. He’d have to take all of the blood tests, the health tests, and answer the questions. I have one for myself. It’s a lot to fill out that stuff. You think Bucky would do that for me?” She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out.

  “No, but maybe he’d do it for his daughter?” I suggested.

  “Oh, hell no. He still wouldn’t accept that Kiley is his child. He only paid the money so it wouldn’t end up in court, so there’d be nothing with his name on it. He didn’t want anything to come back to him. Are you kidding? I think that man wanted to be president someday.”

  That might be a skeleton that was too hard to hide. Not that it mattered anymore.

  “What are you going to do now?” Cortnie asked, though she didn’t seem all that concerned.

  “I don’t know. Get a real job. Sell at least one of the horses.” Emmet put her arms on the table and crossed them. She dropped her head onto her arms and started bawling. “I have no idea. And I can’t tell Kiley. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Cortnie’s voice was as cold as I’ve ever heard it. “You could call your parents.” Cortnie stood up and walked to the door. “You could always do that. I’m sure they’d love to know they have a granddaughter. And maybe they’d be willing to help.”

  I had no idea what was going on, but I jumped up, ready to bolt for the door.

  Emmet looked up from her pity party. “You don’t know anything, Cortnie.”

  Cortnie shook her head. “I know a whole lot, Emmet, and sometimes this lonesome road, this desperado thing, gets old. Call them. Let them know you’re okay. Introduce them to Kiley. It’s never too late. Until they're dead.”

  Cortnie opened the door and walked out.

  I followed close behind. “Good luck to you, Emmet, and to Kiley. Sorry for your loss.”

  I rushed after Cortnie. Damn it, if no one ever told me all the details in advance. Now I was beyond curious.

  “What the hell?”

  Cortnie waited on the passenger side until I got the door unlocked.

  I pressed the button and we both got in the car at the same time.

  “I need caffeine, stat,” she said.

  Caffeine it was. I drove to the nearest coffee house with a drive thru, which just so happened to be a Starbucks.

  “I’m not going to let you make me wait,” I said as I turned onto Main St.

  “Before we started rodeoing together in college, she used to be a world class equestrian. Her parents paid a fortune in riding lessons and travel, not to mention horses, because it was their dream for her to go to the Olympics. Then in our freshman year of college, Emmet met a cowboy and found the sport of rodeo, thanks to hanging out with a couple of us girls.”

  Oh, no, I could already tell the ending of this one. “And they were pissed because she chose rodeo over show jumping?”

  “Sort of. She sold her best horse, which her parents were stupid enough to put in her name and not theirs, to her biggest rival, then bought a couple of rodeo horses. She bought a top barrel racing horse, a breakaway horse, a team roping horse, and goat tying horse. And she bought a new truck and trailer, so she’d fit in with the college crowd. Of course she made the rodeo team. She had the best horses, was a fantastic rider, and she had money.”

  “But her parents didn’t care?”

  “Her parents cared when she dropped out of college to rodeo full time.” Cortnie looked at me. “They said they could forgive her shattering their dreams of Olympic glory. They had another daughter, after all. But not finishing college, and being a dropout, who could do nothing more than ride horses and wait tables, that they couldn’t forgive. They cut her off, and she cut them off.”

  “She chose rodeo over her family? Sweet girl. ” If my mom did that, I’d be screwed. I couldn’t live without my mom. Now I felt like I should call her and tell her I loved her.

  Cortnie pointed to the Starbucks and I pulled into the drive-thru. “You’d be amazed at what people have done, and what they’ve given up, for that sport. I’m amazed sometimes, and I participated in it. For some, it’s like a drug. You’ll do anything to keep riding. Anything.”

  That had me thinking. Skinner was past his prime. He still worked around rodeo, but from another angle. Rayna was still in the game, but for how much longer? Bucky was getting out; he’d found a new drug in politics. And what about Galynn? She was raised in the sport, obviously, so she’d been going down the road all her life. Now, the horses were being sold, the tack room was nearly empty. Bucky was working dirty deals.

  What about their sponsors? Were they having trouble with the sponsorship money, too? I wondered if Charles was learning anything from those women. Because if anyone could charm information out of women without them knowing the
y were offering it, it was Charles.

  119

  Charles

  Getting Rayna to open the damn door was the first task at hand. She didn’t even want to let me in her house. It made me wonder if maybe they had a meth lab inside or something. But I didn’t smell any cat piss on either of them, or when she opened the door, so I put that thought aside.

  “Mimi and Cortnie left me. I guess my sense of humor was too much for them to bear. I was hoping I could come inside while I made some phone calls to get a ride. Or maybe one of you could give me a ride back into town.” I smiled my thousand watt smile.

  Did I mention I looked extremely handsome in my white wife-beater with the two-tone gingham print Nautica shirt with the sleeves rolled up? Blue always makes my eyes pop. I had that unshaven look, mostly because I hadn’t shaved that morning, and I looked like I wanted to be taken back to bed. I wore white denim jeans, and suede loafers, and I didn’t really want to stand out in the wind and dirt.

  “I guess you shouldn’t have pissed them off then, should you?” She wasn’t budging.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” Galynn opened the door wider.

  “Hey, I just needed to come inside while I call for, and then wait for a ride.” I ran my hands from my shoulders to my hips, so she could appreciate the specimen in front of her. “And I’m not exactly dressed for this venue.”

  “He let Skinner drive off with my horse.” Rayna tried to shut the door.

  “Mom, let’s not go there again.” She moved her away from the door. “Go get in the shower, and get ready. I’ll take care of this. Charles, is it?” She smiled like she wanted me in her bedroom. I was in.

  “Yes, Galynn, I’m Charles Parks. And you have the most unique and lovely name,” I said, as I stepped inside.

  I could feel the heat coming off her as I walked by. This could be easier than I expected, or it might make it difficult, since I’d be fighting her off with a stick soon. I can’t help it if I’m so attractive.

  “It’s my grandmothers’ names. On my mom’s side, her name was Gay, yes, Gay, and my dad’s side was Lynn.”

  “Really, so your mom’s maiden name was?” And I waited.

  “Rayna Gunther. How terrible is that? And my grandma was Gay Gunther. It wasn’t so bad when she wasn't married, she was Gay Anders.” Galynn was a chatterbox when she was nervous. I’d be taking advantage of this.

  “Gay Gunther isn’t bad.” Now I had the maiden names going back two generations on that side.

  “And so, your dad’s mom was Lynn Anderson?” The reference to the country music singer went right over her head.

  “I don’t know. She was always Granny Cox to me.” Galynn cocked her head.

  I’d better not push this too much. I had to keep her interested before she started asking why I wasn’t calling for my ride.

  “Lynn Anderson was a country music singer from back in the day. I was being facetious.” I looked around. “The interior of this house doesn’t look anything like I expected.” It looked exactly like I expected.

  We entered through a mud room with dull white walls and simple crown molding. The floors were linoleum. A washer and dryer were nearly hidden behind the open door, and I could see a wash sink, and stacks of shelves with cleaning materials off to the side of the appliances. Just to the right was a small window, and below it were cheap hooks for hanging coats and such. There were at least a dozen different boots and shoes lining the floor under the coat hooks.

  We walked through that room, straight into a galley kitchen with the cabinets and appliances all along the right side, and overlooking the stables. The kitchen windows lined the entire wall, which was cool, and let tons of light into the room, which was painted in the same dull shade of white, with saitin white cabinets. What boring taste in colors, I thought.

  The countertops were overflowing with small appliances and gadgets, but the kitchen was clean. I was practically drooling over the farmhouse porcelain sink, which was a dark red, and empty. It impressed me that there were no dishes in the sink. And I was a sucker for the deep farmhouse style sink. The only bit of color, other than the sink, was the bit of silver metallic in the white Formica countertops. I guessed, from the dullness of the paint, the rooms hadn’t been updated in years.

  The windows along the wall above the sink had no curtains.

  “Are you getting new curtains?” I did think the lack of window covering was strange.

  “No.” She leaned over the counter and looked out. “My dad always liked to be able to look toward the barn any time of day or night to see the horses, so no covers on the windows in here.

  “I see.” But I didn’t.

  “That way he could see who was driving up to the house, and decide if he was going to answer the door or not, but the person driving couldn’t see into the house.” Galynn laughed it off.

  She didn’t seem as upset about Bucky’s death as I expected.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I guess I haven’t told you that.”

  “Me too, I guess.” She leaned against the counter.

  I looked through the small doorway to the dining room. “Wow.” I stepped into the dining room. “What a beautiful table.”

  It was an ordinary reproduction of an antique, but she had no idea I had expensive taste. It was a nice enough table if you didn’t have the money to buy the real thing.

  This was the first room that spoke anything of the life this family led.

  There were rodeo action photos framed on the walls: bucking horses, barrel racing, and team roping. A couple of belt buckles were in frames, too. Strange place for buckles, but then maybe they were trophies, and you could only wear one buckle at a time.

  “Are those signed?” I was talking about the photos in a stack next to the china hutch.

  “Only some of them. We get a lot of requests for autographed photos for rodeo benefit dinners and stuff like that.” Galynn almost looked embarrassed. “It’s weird being a celebrity.”

  I could only imagine. “So, you mean like a pro football player, or a movie star, or something?”

  She blushed and said, “Exactly. At the bigger rodeos, we do a publicity thing where we have a booth. People can do a meet and greet, get an autographed picture or have their picture taken with us. My mom and I do a booth together. Our sponsors pay for it.”

  Ding, ding, ding. My mind was in overdrive. “Can I get one? I’d love a personalized one. I’m not really into rodeo, but I’m a collector of rare signatures. I’d say this falls into that category.”

  “Sure.” She pulled a clean photo from the pile. “Would you like it personalized?”

  “Just put Charles,’” I said. Then I watched as she wrote my name and hers with her left hand. “You’re a lefty?”

  She grinned. “Yep, my mom always made fun of me, because she and my dad are right handed, and Skinner’s left handed. She said I did it just to be ornery.”

  I raised my brows, but said nothing.

  Was she strong enough to lift that pipe and whack Bucky over the head with it? It was a thick piece of pipe, but I wasn’t sure how heavy it was, as I hadn’t picked it up.

  “So you were helping your dad get Mojo ready for the auction? How did you feel about that?”

  “I wasn’t happy, but it was my mom’s horse. Actually, in the long run, I guess it was my dad’s horse. He made sure he had full control over everything. Some people are control freaks. That was my dad. But I wanted him to sell well, so my mom could get another nice horse.”

  “And you and your dad didn’t get in a fight when you were down in the chutes? And you just lost it?” And beat him to a bloody pulp?

  “He was my dad, for goodness sake. How could a person kill their own parent? I wouldn’t be who I am today without the things my parents taught me. Sure, there are days I hated him, my mom, too, but never enough to kill either one of them. I love my parents more than life itself.”

  “Had to ask.” She handled that better than I’d expected.
<
br />   She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’re not the first person to think me or my mom did it. But I can assure you, many other people hated him worse than we ever did.”

  I wanted to work my way further into the house, so I thought it best not to provoke her anymore until I’d seen what I wanted to see. And maybe get a few pictures.

  The table I’d mentioned was a long schoolhouse table with a bench on one side and captain’s chairs on the other. A window, with floor to ceiling drapes along the far wall, let in a fair amount of light, and reflected that light off the glass of the pressed wood china cabinet. The china did appear to be authentic 1950s pattern, but I wasn’t going to open the cabinet to find out. Mixed in with the china were blue ribbons, sterling silver goblets, and serving trays. They were engraved, so they must have been trophies, too.

  I looked off to the left and saw a hallway with bedrooms, or so I assumed, since I could see at least part of a bed in each. Two of the rooms were just off the dining room. I could see straight into one of them. And in front of me was a stairway leading down to another floor. I peered down that way.

  “That’s the living room. We hardly ever use it. It’s kind of formal. I swear, we’re either always in here, or in our own rooms.” Galynn straightened the table runner on the dining room table.

  I looked to my left again. “Your bedroom?” I stepped toward the doorway, knowing it wasn’t a bedroom.

  Galynn quickly stepped toward me. “No. That’s my dad’s den. You don’t want to go in there. It’s a mess.”

  “I’d love to take a look.” I leaned into the room. It was about as messy as a surgical ward before a surgery.