Dead Set

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Like wall studs,” Jonas offered.

  “Exactly. You’d expect to see a wall stud, as well as plumbing and electrical conduits. Stolen goods, though, like the one you found, Agatha, tend to be more oddly shaped.”

  Someone on the road outside of Agatha’s honked a horn, followed by another person shouting, “Get out of the darn road.”

  Bannister shook his head in mock surprise. “Sounds like my officer may need a little help.” And then he was gone, hurrying across the front yard faster than Agatha would have thought possible.

  She could hear the Rangers inside, calling to one another.

  “South wall. Living area. Clear.”

  “Got it.”

  “West wall. Living area. Clear.”

  The voices took on a kind of monotony as they moved back and forth downstairs, checking the walls of Agatha’s home off on a grid. Then she heard the clomp of boots on stairs, and knew they’d made their way to the upper floor. Agatha prayed things would remain uneventful. Boring was good. Boring meant nothing else had been found in her home and that just maybe, soon, her life would return to normal.

  Chapter Ten

  Floore’s Country Store was best known as a music venue. Opened in 1942 by John T. Floore, some pretty famous musicians had entertained folks from the stage—Patsy Cline, Bob Wills, Ernest Tubb, Elvis, Bob Dylan, even a young Bible salesman by the name of Willie Nelson. The place had grown over the years and the outdoor patio could now accommodate two thousand people.

  Tony wasn’t there to hear music, though, which was a good thing as no one was strumming a guitar at noon on a Friday in August. He walked into the café side of the store and crossed the old wooden floor to a corner table.

  “Blake Goodwin. It’s been a long time.”

  “Tony.” Goodwin stood and shook his hand. Tony hadn’t seen him since his own retirement. Blake Goodwin had been a good detective and though they’d never become close friends, Tony respected the man and the way he had conducted his investigations during his time on the force.

  “Retirement looks good on you.”

  Goodwin was nearly six feet tall and had the tanned look of a man who spent his days golfing or fishing or both.

  Goodwin laughed and patted his stomach. “I’m enjoying it, if that’s what you mean.”

  A waitress appeared and they gave her their order—a turkey sandwich for Tony, burger and fries for Goodwin.

  “Quite the thing you’ve fallen into over there in Hunt.”

  “You mean Waynard’s buckle? You could have tipped me over with a coffee spoon when Agatha busted through her living room wall and there it was.”

  “All those years, and you never suspected it was hidden next door?”

  “Nope. I remember when that house was built. Camila and I had been living at our place for a few years. Best I can guess is that Waynard was on the work crew that built Agatha’s house—or rather what would become her house. There were a few owners in between. I can’t imagine why the thief put it inside the walls. Not the easiest place to retrieve something.”

  Goodwin straightened his silverware, then tapped the table top. “There was a lot of heat on whoever stole that buckle. Remember? Waynard was offering a huge reward. He wanted the person’s head on a platter.”

  “Yeah.” Tony had forgotten so much about those days, maybe because it was never actually his case. Possibly because he’d been focused on Camila and her cancer. “The Rangers are at the B&B now, x-raying the walls if you can believe that.”

  “I do believe it. Technology is a steam engine train, and it’s not going to slow down. The army has been using a similar technology to monitor movement within compounds and drug houses.”

  Their waitress dropped off their drinks—beer for Goodwin and iced tea for Tony.

  “It’ll be interesting if they find the rest.”

  Tony had just taken a large sip of the tea. He forced it down his throat, then swiped at his mouth. “The rest?”

  “Sure.” Goodwin shook his head. “Sorry. I forgot you were gone, which is the reason I received the tip from Sean Neal.”

  “It must have had some merit, for them to send you all the way to Huntsville.”

  “It did. Neal knew some of the details of the case that we didn’t release. But more than that, they’d managed to link the Waynard Buckle burglary to several others that happened in the area.”

  “Others?”

  “A diamond necklace worth a hundred grand, gold spurs, even a jewel-studded Stetson.”

  “This is the first I’m hearing about that. I might have been distracted by Camila’s illness, but I would remember gold spurs and a jewel-studded Stetson.”

  “Wasn’t advertised. The owners didn’t want the publicity. A timeline was established, and it pointed to the possibility that the thefts were connected. All were in central Texas, and in every case a remodel had been recently done.”

  “So they think it was a construction crew?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You know how it is with a remodel—there’s a lot of people in and out. We were able to establish that Sean Neal was on the burglary crew, maybe even leading it.”

  The waitress brought their food and both men dug in. By this point, Agatha’s orange cinnamon roll had worn off and Tony’s stomach was growling. When they were halfway through the meal, Goodwin picked up the story.

  “I was on the way to Huntsville to interview Neal when I received the call that he was dead.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I turned around and came home. All I knew after that was what I read in the paper. Neal was killed by another prisoner. Apparently, that’s not a rare occurrence.”

  “Nothing else that sticks out in your mind?”

  “There isn’t. I’m sorry. Hardly seems worth your drive down here.”

  “Any excuse to come to Floore’s is a good excuse.”

  They finished their meal, caught up on mutual acquaintances, paid, and walked out to their vehicles. “You look like you’re spending a lot of times outdoors. You should give me a call, and I’ll take you on a guided fishing trip down the Guadalupe.”

  “I golf more than I fish, but I just might do that.” Goodwin pulled his truck keys from his pocket. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in the department since I left. Seems like another lifetime now.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Two phone calls about a cold case in the space of a week.” He shook his head. “Guess I’m good for another five years of peace and quiet after this.”

  “Two calls? Who else called?”

  Goodwin shrugged as he unlocked his truck. “Huntsville PD. Someone in their cold case division.”

  Tony felt a lightness in his chest. His pulse ticked up a notch. “What did they say?”

  “Not much. Basically they asked the same questions you asked, and I told them the same thing I told you—which I guarantee wasn’t very helpful.”

  “Odd timing.”

  “Exactly. Apparently, they were considering whether to send an undercover cop down to follow up on the buckle.”

  “This was how long after Agatha found the buckle?”

  “Tuesday morning.”

  “Huh. She found it on Monday. Tuesday morning would have been before it hit the papers, so someone in Bannister’s office must have contacted them. Was it a man or woman coming down?”

  “Didn’t say. The person I spoke with was a man, but I had the feeling he was the one handing out the assignments, not going on them.”

  “If you think of anything else...”

  “I have your number.”

  Tony drove back toward Hunt, taking the scenic route since he had one more stop to make. He took Highway 16 northwest, passing through Bandera then up to Medina. The road gently rose and fell, curved one way then back again. He’d always thought best when he was driving. By the time he saw the first sign for Love Creek Orchards, he’d managed to compose a list in his mind of all the people who cou
ld possibly be the undercover Hunt officer. The list was a surprisingly short one.

  He felt good about that, was congratulating himself on fine detective work, when his truck lurched suddenly to the right. He fought the pull on the wheel, braked, and turned on his hazard lights. Getting out, he studied the back tire that had a nail poking out of the side. So not something he’d picked up on the road. Something someone had put there, and they must have done it while he was at Floore’s.

  Why?

  What was to be gained by a twenty-minute tire change?

  Unless...

  He pulled out his phone and called Agatha.

  Everything was fine at the B&B. He filled her in on the other lost treasures. “Explains why the Rangers became involved. This is about more than one stolen and found buckle.”

  “Be careful,” Agatha cautioned.

  “Always.”

  “THAT WAS TONY ON THE office phone.” She joined Minerva, Jonas, and Gina on the front porch. “He had a flat tire.”

  Jonas smiled sympathetically, then said, “Gut reason to own a horse instead of a truck.”

  “He had one more stop to make, then wanted to take the tire into town to have it fixed.” She waited for Gina to turn her attention away from the Texas Rangers who were packing up their mysterious x-ray machines.

  “Huh? What?”

  “Tony. He said he might be late getting back and that we should eat without him.”

  “Right. Okay.” Gina chewed on a thumbnail. She was nervous about something, but Agatha couldn’t imagine what.

  She was actually pleased with how the morning had progressed. It was only two in the afternoon, and the Rangers were driving away. They’d assured both Bannister and Agatha that no treasures were hidden in the walls of her house or barn—not that there were many walls in the barn, only the small room that had been an office for her brother, Samuel, when he owned the place.

  Minerva and Jonas stood, thanked Agatha and Gina for their hospitality, and walked out to their waiting buggy. Minerva climbed into the buggy, then popped back out, standing on the running board so she could shout to Agatha. “See you Sunday. Holler if you need us!”

  Bannister walked over to the group assembled across the road. As he spoke to them, Agatha passed out Minerva’s cookies. Gina glowered from the edge of the crowd. She didn’t approve of feeding lurkers—her word, not Agatha’s.

  “I’m pleased to report that the Texas Rangers have concluded their investigation. There are no additional finds of stolen items hidden within the walls of Agatha’s Amish B&B.”

  “How can they possibly know that?” A teen from the back of the group shouted, then took some ribbing from his friends.

  “The Rangers thoroughly checked the entire house as well as the barn with x-ray technology. I’m asking the public to let this story die its natural death, and allow Agatha to continue with her renovations so she can once again open her business.”

  Tamara Bishop pushed to the front of the crowd and shoved a microphone in front of Bannister’s face. “Will Agatha be offering treasure tours?”

  “There is no treasure.”

  “What will she do with the reward for Waynard’s buckle?”

  “That would be a question for Agatha.”

  “How does the Hunt PD plan to pursue the ongoing investigation into the original theft of Waynard’s buckle?”

  “There is no ongoing investigation.”

  “Will your officers continue pursuing the other Lost Western Treasures?”

  “No. We will not.”

  “What about the murder last night?” This question caused a hush to fall over the crowd. The folks waiting there practically leaned forward, waiting for any detail Bannister might offer.

  Agatha was surprised the news reporter hadn’t asked about Kolbe first. Wasn’t a man’s life more important than treasure?

  “That is an on-going investigation, which I cannot comment on.” Bannister didn’t wait for any additional questions. He thanked the group, then strode to his cruiser and pulled out onto the road.

  Tamara and her cameraman, Cooper Knox, followed Agatha back onto her front porch. Agatha shoved the last of the cookies toward Cooper, who looked as if he could use more calories, and politely said “No comment” to Tamara.

  “Now leave us alone.” Gina practically slammed the door in the reporter’s face.

  They both peered around the shade over the front window, watching as Tamara and Cooper practically ran for their news van.

  “Probably trying to make a deadline.”

  “I heard they’re going to have a special online edition, just to cover you, Agatha.”

  “Not me. Treasure.” The word felt odd in her mouth and a Bible verse from her childhood popped into her mind. Where your treasure is there your heart will be also. Somewhere in the book of Matthew, she thought. “Finally. They’re gone.”

  “And not a moment too soon.” Gina dusted her hands together, as if she could be rid of the entire problem.

  Agatha turned and studied her sitting room. Tarps draped the furniture, and tools were stacked in the corner along with cans of paint. “Do you think the Dewald work crew will return?”

  “Derrick left a message on the recorder. Said he’d be by later this afternoon.”

  Walking through the rooms, Agatha realized she might have to learn how to install drywall. Better not to borrow trouble, though. Perhaps Derrick was coming by to announce the work crew would resume the next day. It looked to her as if the most difficult part of the work was completed—the demolition was certainly done. Plus the workers had left everything as if they expected to return. There were even supplies stacked between the parking area and the front porch—drywall and more paint buckets, rollers, and additional tarps among other things.

  Instead of worrying over a problem she didn’t yet have, Agatha went to her bedroom, retrieved pen, paper, and an envelope, and set about writing a letter to her family in Indiana. She’d put a positive spin on things so they wouldn’t worry. But she wouldn’t keep them in the dark. She needed their prayers. Best to walk a fine line between alarm and denial.

  She managed to write the letter, do her laundry, and tidy up her bedroom by the time Derrick knocked on the front door. She invited him in, but he shook his head, so she stepped out onto the porch.

  “Derrick. Gut to see you. Can I get you something to drink? Or a snack?”

  “No, Agatha. Thanks.” Derrick Dewald was a man of few words. She already knew that about him. Still, he seemed at an unusual loss for how to proceed. He stared at the porch’s floor, shuffled his feet, then looked up at the ceiling.

  Agatha peeked around him to see his work crew spread out across her lawn. “They’re back,” she practically squealed, then lowered her voice. “It’s so gut to see the workers again.”

  Garrett Jackson was directing his outdoor crew, pointing to the right and left. José Gomez and Hunter Mathis were folding up the large extension ladder and loading it into their truck.

  “Why are they loading up that ladder? Are they leaving?”

  “Gomez and Mathis said they won’t work this job.” Derrick took off his ball cap, slapped it against his leg, then tugged it down tight over his head. “I’m sorry. But without a supervisor on this job, I can’t leave anyone here.”

  “Can’t you stay until the work is done?”

  “I wish I could, but that’s not what I do. I trust my work crews, of which there are several. My job is to manage them, make sure they have the supplies they need, that sort of thing.” His expression became suddenly resolute. “My job is to make sure the work site is safe.”

  “Kolbe wasn’t killed here, Derrick.” Gina popped out onto the porch as if she’d been lurking and listening. She probably had been lurking and listening. Now she waved a finger at Derrick. “Kolbe was killed down the road. You can’t blame Agatha for that.”

  Derrick raised both of his hands, palms out. “I’m not blaming anyone. I’m just explaining that,
for now at least, I’m pulling my work crew.”

  José Gomez walked up the porch steps. “Sorry, Agatha. I need to get the tools we left inside.”

  “Of course, José. No problem.” But it was a problem, and a big one at that. She turned back to Derrick. “When will you finish the job?”

  “I don’t know, Agatha. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  José walked back out carrying a toolbox and a battery-powered circular saw.

  “Is this about Debbie?” Gina crossed her arms and scowled. “Did she tell you to do this? I know we upset her...”

  “And we didn’t mean to do that.” Agatha glanced around at the departing work crew and the mess that was still her B&B. She looked left and right, then studied the man in front of her. She understood in that moment that the renovation on her home wasn’t the main thing they needed to be concerned about. “Are you and Debbie okay, Derrick? Because you can tell us whatever it is you’re not saying.”

  “It’s nothing.” He turned toward his truck, then pivoted back to face them. “Look. Debbie did tell me about yesterday, and yes, she was upset, but that’s not why I’m pulling out. I’d like to finish this job. You have a nice place here, and it would be a good reference for my business.”

  “But?”

  “But I can’t do it without workers, and those guys—” He cocked a thumb towards the trucks that were turning onto the county road. “They refuse to work here. Debbie will be sending a refund of your deposit. There will be no charge for the work done to date.”

  “Work done to date?” Gina’s voice rose higher. “All you did was knock out walls. All you did was make this B&B a place where people cannot possibly stay.”

  Agatha tugged on Gina’s arm.

  She shouldn’t have bothered. Derrick continued walking toward his truck, and Gina continued berating him. Agatha decided to save her energy. She sank onto the porch swing, and stared at the letter in her hand—the letter she was about to take to the mailbox. Perhaps she should rewrite it. Perhaps she should call. She didn’t know if she’d make it to Indiana or not. At this rate, she’d be replastering holes in her walls for weeks.