Death Etched in Stone

by C. M. Wendelboe

  “Am I?” Manny nodded to Neville’s watch. “You started wearing your watch on the other wrist after I took a chunk out of the one at the bath house.”

  Neville rubbed the wrist Manny had bitten. “Maybe Tony did it. I hear people identified him—”

  “They identified him because the picture I had was an old jail booking photo. Not the best quality. I thought you cutting your hair might be too expedient, especially since it’s your courtroom persona.”

  Neville tossed his ball cap on the floor and ran his fingers over his close-cropped hair. “Stuffing my hair under my cap wasn’t working anymore, so I had to visit that old fool next door. Believe me, I damned near cried when I had the braids cut. But what could I do when I found out you were showing Tony’s booking photo around with his hair braided.”

  Bobo stepped closer to Manny and cocked his gun at his head. “This is bullshit. Let’s just off these two, and the girls, and get our asses away from the rez.”

  “Patience,” Neville said. “Don’t you want to know if Agent Tanno told anyone else? And how much he knows?”

  Bobo hesitated, his gun inches from Willie’s head.

  “Do you want to be looking over your shoulder all your life?” Neville asked.

  Bobo lowered his gun.

  Neville jerked his gun at Brandi. “All the years I’d done Johnny’s legal work. I made out his first will. His only will. But I grew suspicious when Henry tried buying that land. It was worthless, but there must have been a good reason if that skinflint wanted it. Dad had willed Johnny the mineral rights—I’m sure as a practical joke—and Johnny’s will deeded the rights to Tony and me.” Neville swung his gun in a lazy figure eight between the Brandi and Shawna and Manny and Willie. “I learned of the seismograph crew testing there and filed an owner’s disclosure. They sent me a copy of the report. And when I learned that Johnny had changed his will to give mineral rights to Brandi, I knew that wasn’t right.” Neville smiled. “And as an attorney, I’m all about making things right.”

  “How’d you know about the will?”

  “Tony’s answering machine. Tony called and said he needed some clothes as he was stuck in the Hot Springs jail for a two-day drunk and disorderly charge. I went to his house and checked his answering machine. There was that old fool, telling Tony he needed to see him in Wind River right away. About Della. I got hurt feelings that Johnny didn’t call me.”

  “That’s when you ransacked Tony’s house to make it look like he left right ahead of an arrest?” Willie asked. “When I interviewed him in Johnson County, he insisted he’d never heard that tape from Johnny. I’m no Manny Tanno, but I’m getting pretty good at telling when someone’s being truthful.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Is that when you decided to rent the car and come get your dear Uncle Johnny?” Manny asked. “With Tony’s license. The same one you used when you bought the fishing gear?”

  “So I make snap decisions. Paid off, don’t you think?” Neville said.

  Willie scooted around so he could face Neville. “What did Johnny want to tell Tony about Della?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Neville asked.

  “He invoked his right to silence,” Willie answered.

  “Good boy. At least he learned something from his big brother.” Neville pulled the chair back closer to the door and sat. “Della hauled Dad to the hospital that night he got beat up after that rodeo in Wind River.”

  “And Kenton didn’t kill Butch Hausey.” Manny eyed his Glock sitting well out of grabbing range. “Della did. Like the police suspected in the beginning. I studied the reports. Your father was knocked out with dope that first night in the hospital. Della sneaked away and found Butch. And beat him to death with a tire iron.”

  Neville nodded. “Dad never told anyone what happened. Except Johnny, one night when they were a little stinko. And then he let it slip years later when he was passing the jug with Henry and Tony.”

  “You never felt compelled to go to the authorities about Della?” Willie asked.

  “Tony asked me what he should do, and I told him that if he kept quiet, Della never would be implicated.”

  For the first time, Neville’s smirk faded. “Butch raped Della in back of the rodeo stalls. When Dad found out, he hunted up Butch.”

  “Guess Butch got the best of him,” Willie added.

  Bobo stepped between them. Spittle flew from his mouth. His eye twitched, and he picked at a sore on his arm. Tweaking for the meth, Manny recognized. And recognized how much more dangerous Bobo was now. “If you don’t off these assholes—”

  “You’ll off me?” Neville said. “Back off, and make sure that damned horse doesn’t poke its head in again.”

  Bobo backed up to the door, and Neville moved between Bobo and the women. “I worked for Devlon Thomas right out of law school before Tony’s hell raising forced me to quit and move here, where I started my own practice. I knew where Devlon kept his papers, in that old safe. Which is where I found Johnny’s will waiting to be filed with the clerk of courts.” He waved his gun at Brandi, and she cringed.

  “Until she came into your office and showed you a copy of the will, you thought you were home free,” Manny said, scooting agonizingly closer to his gun in the corner. “If Tony were fingered for Johnny’s murder, he wouldn’t be able to collect his share of the money that would come from the methane.”

  “You are smart,” Neville smiled.

  “But you almost got caught. That flat tire nearly did you in.”

  Neville nodded. “I was in the trunk trying to move Johnny’s body out of the way of the spare when that deputy pulled up. I got the trunk closed just in time.”

  “You mean the car you rented with Tony’s driver’s license?”

  “It’s not like he should have been driving anyway, as drunk as he gets,” Neville answered. “But that almost did me in.”

  “But what’s all this got to do with Bobo?” Willie said.

  “He offed Nate—”

  “Shut up!”

  Neville ignored him and continued. “You were right about the dope. Nate and Shawna inadvertently stole a bag full of it. I fronted Bobo the money, and we were going to split the profits.”

  “That’s enough,” Bobo said. “If I go back to the joint, it’ll be as a habitual criminal.”

  “Like they’re going to leave here alive to testify against you?” Neville said. “Nate and Shawna were parked at Oglala Lake,” he continued, “doing some bowls, when I happened along with Uncle Johnny. I knew they saw me when Nate called me and told me he wanted money. ‘I’ll tell the cops you dumped Johnny in the lake,’ he threatened. And what better way to find them than enlist the aid of my old friend—”

  “Client,” Bobo corrected.

  “Client, Bobo Groves, who hasn’t yet paid me for all the times I kept his ass out of the slammer. Until this came along. He killed Nate but didn’t know where they’d stashed the dope.

  “Joey One Feather and Kyle Wells knew all about your dope,” Willie said. “So you had to get rid of them, too.”

  Bobo grinned. “I talked with Kyle first—his body will be found someday in a culvert outside Rapid City—and he gave up Joey.” He pointed his gun at Manny’s head. “If I would have had another fifteen seconds with you that night at Homer One Feather’s house, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” He laughed. “As it turns out, tonight Shawna showed me where Nate had hidden the rest,” he motioned with his gun barrel. “Right under that board in front of the bench.”

  “How’d you find Shawna?”

  The pony outside nickered and Bobo jumped again. Bobo turned to the door and flapped his cap on the pony’s head. It backed away, and Bobo walked over and ran his gun barrel down the off-colored hair in the middle of Shawna’s head. “I found her by watching her grandmother’s house. When
she showed, I would have grabbed her right then if it hadn’t been for Reuben.”

  Bobo used the gun barrel to flip Shawna’s hair. She squealed, and Manny edged her way. Bobo turned his gun on Manny and he sat back down. “So I watched Reuben’s house, and saw her come and go. I figured eventually she’d break away from him and head home.” Bobo smiled. “So I went to her grandmother’s house. And got a bonus. Some old man with a shotgun met me at the door.”

  Manny remembered Chief Horn walking into Sadie Moon’s house with his shotgun. “You found Shawna there?”

  “Picking up traveling clothes.”

  “What about Chief Horn?” Manny sputtered. “The old man?”

  “Dead,” Bobo smiled, genuinely pleased with himself. “The old boy come up with that shotgun and I clubbed him. Tough old fart, though. He came up at me with his bare hands when all of a sudden, he collapsed. Deader than hell.” Bobo tilted his head back and started laughing.

  A rage overcame Manny, a rage that shut out the sound of the pony pawing the ground outside, of Brandi and Shawna’s whimpering, of faint steps approaching the cabin.

  Manny kicked out and his boot caught Bobo’s kneecap. He went down, howling, and Neville swung his gun barrel at Manny. He fired. The bullet sliced the air just behind Manny’s head.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Manny caught movement: Willie lunging for Neville’s gun and Reuben filling the doorway in the same instant. Reuben kicked Bobo in the gut. When Bobo doubled over holding busted ribs, Reuben kicked him again. Manny scrambled on his knees. He dove toward Willie and Neville, fighting over his gun. A loud snap bounced off the walls of the tiny shack, preceding Neville’s howl of pain. Willie let go of Neville’s arm, and he dropped his gun. He clutched his broken arm to his chest. Willie snatched Neville’s gun and held it on him while he crawled to his and Manny’s guns in the corner.

  Willie tossed Manny his Glock, and he turned to Shawna.

  Bobo moaned, and Reuben kicked him in his love muscle in passing, and he writhed on the floor. Manny bent to untie Brandi as he tossed Reuben his handcuffs.

  “I know,” Reuben said. “I should know what to do with them by now.”

  Reuben cuffed Neville, while Bobo was still squirming, speechless, on the floor holding his gut and his battered cojones. “Me and Sungleska timed it pretty good. But how’d you know I was outside? I’m pretty quiet when I want to be.”

  “Sungleska, your horse, kept poking his head in.”

  Reuben shrugged. “There’s a lot of ponies around here.”

  “Yours is the only Tobiano paint with four white stockings.”

  Reuben nodded. “You’re sharper than I give you credit for.”

  Epilogue

  “You look dashing, despite what that butcher did to your hair.” Clara draped her arm around Manny’s shoulder, and held him to the seat. “But I don’t think you need any more prime rib.”

  He patted his stomach and loosened his tux. “You’re right. As always. It doesn’t go well with the mints and peanuts. But at least they didn’t listen to Philbilly.” When Clara had called Philbilly to arrange for Pee Pee and his band to play at Willie’s wedding reception, Philbilly offered to park his taco truck outside the reception hall. Just in case anyone wanted a taco for dessert. Clara thought the big bold acronym for his Sizzling Hot Indian Tacos, still visible on the side of the truck from Philbilly’s last failed business endeavor, would have been . . . tacky at a wedding.

  “It couldn’t be any worse than what’s painted on the side of the thing now,” Willie said. He dropped in a chair beside Clara, a haggard look on his face. “And we had wedding pictures in front of that truck? I must be nuts.”

  “So it’s just the catchy name of the band painted on the truck that you object to?” Clara asked.

  “Come on,” Willie said. “It says Pee Pee and the four Skins. How embarrassing.”

  “Hey,” Manny said. “We skins got our pride, too.”

  “Not enough to turn down Brandi’s generosity.” Brandi had donated some of her future royalty money and sprung for prime rib for everyone. And reimbursed them for silver nut cups as well. “It’s the least she could do, being an instant millionaire,” Willie said.

  Reuben and Philbilly hovered over the food table. “Too bad Willie’s acting chief couldn’t be here,” Clara said, “to see how nice it was that Willie had a moron and an ex-felon as ushers at his wedding.”

  “Hey, don’t give morons a bad name,” Willie said. “And as for Reuben, as long as he stays on this side of the law, he’s welcome at my wedding.”

  “Just where is Lumpy?” Clara asked.

  Manny laughed. “Lumpy just edged out that female land shark from Denver for the Chief of Police. He’s probably hanging all his Elvis memorabilia in his new office. And probably trying to rinse that bad taste in his mouth.”

  “From kissing all that butt?”

  “You got it.”

  Pee Pee and the Four Skins started into another song and Willie stood. “We got a pretty good case against Bobo and Neville, don’t ya think?”

  “We do.” Manny sipped his punch. “Even though Shawna couldn’t ID Neville that night at the lake, we did get a confession—of sorts—when we were in the cabin. And Deputy Toby Head actually identified Neville as the one with the flat tire that night.”

  Reuben walked over with a plate that seemed too small in his hand. Like his lovely usher uniform. “You look ravishing,” Manny said.

  Reuben glared at Philbilly. “If I ever get the chance . . . ” He looked at Willie. “I won’t spoil the festivities, but the next time that fool lines up usher uniforms for us to—”

  “Usher?” Clara said.

  Reuben nodded. “From the Goodwill. But on to something more pleasant: what’s the lowdown on Bobo and Neville?”

  “The U. S. Attorney said Bobo claims you kicked him and broke his ribs. Then kicked his jewels.”

  Reuben delicately dabbed a carrot stick in ranch dressing on his plate. “He should thank me when he’s in prison. He’s going to be someone’s wife or girlfriend for a long time. If he can’t use his . . . ” Reuben looked at Clara holding a silver favor cup and stopped.

  “Nuts?” she asked.

  “That’s the word,” Reuben said. “Besides, it wasn’t intentional. When I came in that shack it was pretty dark—”

  “That’s what I told the U. S. Attorney. That you accidentally ran into him on the floor.”

  Reuben pointed to Manny’s plate with a carrot stick. “You going to eat the cauliflower?”

  Manny wanted to say that he, as Willie had pointed out, was a carnivore. Instead, he took the coward’s way out with Clara sitting there and nodded. “And I’ll go back for seconds.”

  Reuben finished his carrots and eyed the dessert table. “And how about that other weasel—Neville?”

  “He’s doing what I expected he’d do,” Manny said. “Trying to cut some deal. He’s pinning everything on Bobo.”

  “Even Johnny’s murder?” Willie asked, catching Doreen’s eye for a dance. He leaned over and whispered, “I can’t dance.”

  “You should have listened to polka. Would have given you rhythm,” Manny said, and pushed him out onto the dance floor.

  Manny watched Doreen lead Willie stumbling around the dance floor and turned back to Reuben. “Neville is claiming Johnny died of natural causes at the bath house.”

  “With the marks on Johnny’s shoulder consistent with someone pushing him under?” Reuben said. “I don’t think that defense will fly. And don’t forget Johnny’s blood alcohol was a .15 when the man quit drinking ages ago. Neville said he didn’t force the booze on Johnny, he drank the pint of brandy voluntarily.”

  Willie came back to the table and dropped into a chair beside Clara. “Polka, my ass,” he said, eyeing Pee Pee and the Four Skins. “At least I c
an go on my honeymoon knowing this case is behind me.” Willie said. “Right?”

  “You can. Except for Della and Tony.”

  Clara, Reuben, and Willie leaned closer, waiting for Manny’s explanation. He sipped his punch, drawing out his explanation, reliving his days of making expert appearances on TV news. “Tony’s still going to be charged with trying to kill me,” Manny said at last. “Even though all along he thought I had worked up a case against his Aunt Della. And I heard there’s a plea bargain in the works for him to get probation as long as he makes a profit at his farm.”

  “I wonder how long that’ll last?” Clara said.

  “Long time, I hope,” Manny answered. “As for Della killing Butch, that’s out of my hands. The case has been turned over to a tribal investigator. The U. S. Attorney will make a decision based on his follow-up report.”

  “Do you know the tribal officer?” Willie asked.

  “We both do. One of the original officers on Butch Hausey’s murder—Sergeant Tom Walker.”

  “What’s the chance that will be handled impartially?”

  Manny smiled. “I hear they had their first interview a couple nights ago—at the Legion in Lander over dinner. However, it ends, we’re not involved anymore.”

  Clara leaned closer to Willie. “You never said where you’re going on your honeymoon.”

  “We’re flying to Yellowstone.”

  “You’re flying?” Manny asked with skepticism. “In that rat trap of yours?”

  “No. We’re going commercial. Something about Doreen being scared to death to fly in a plane with only one door.” He saw Manny’s look, and clarified: “The wind took it. It’s probably somewhere north of Wall Drug by now.”

  “Then Doreen and I finally agreed on something,” Manny said.

  Sadie Moon stood at the food table, and Manny excused himself while she walked to her table. “Grandmother Moon, may I help you?”

  Sadie turned to Manny and scowled, but a thin smile soon replaced it. “Under the circumstances, I will be happy to accept help.”

  Manny carried her plate and glass of punch and led her to an empty table away from the band. “They are pretty good,” she said, “even if they have a goofy name.” She sipped lightly. “I wish they played polka, though.”