Nest of Vipers (9781101613283)

by Sherman, Jory

  Five hundred dollars was a lot of money, not only to Julio but to him as well.

  But, with Harry Pendergast, it would be blood money. And a bribe was a bribe, no matter who was paying it out.

  FIVE

  The sun rose in the sky and was near its zenith when Julio rode into the valley. Caesar looked around as he followed the other cow. He swung his head from side to side as he surveyed the pasture with its lush carpet of emerald grass shining in the golden rays of the sun. His stance and attitude were aggressive, but he saw no enemy, no bull to challenge him.

  Brad looked toward the house and the corral. He stiffened in the saddle when he saw that the corral was empty and the gate open.

  The door of the house was open, too, and there was no smoke rising from the chimney.

  “Where do you want these cows?” Julio asked.

  “Just let ’em graze,” Brad said. “They won’t go far.”

  “Nice spread,” Blaine said. “That your house yonder?”

  Brad didn’t answer. He felt a crawling sensation on his back, and his stomach filled with a swarm of winged insects. He glanced over at the barn and the bunkhouse, then saw the silent cabin where Julio lived with his wife, Pilar.

  Something was wrong. The air still held its morning chill as the breeze blew down from the snow-capped mountains high on the skyline beyond the valley.

  Julio rode up to the head of the cow and slipped the rope from around its neck. Caesar and the two cows began to graze.

  “Boy, Brad’s sure in a hurry to see his wife,” Blaine said.

  Julio looked in Brad’s direction. A look of puzzlement etched itself in the lines of his face. He saw the empty corral, the open gate.

  Then he looked toward his own cabin. It was beyond the barn and bunkhouse. Pilar should have opened the door and come out, but the door was closed. The door to Brad’s house was open, but Felicity was nowhere to be seen.

  “I think he has a worry,” Julio said. “It is too quiet and there are no horses in the corral.”

  Julio turned his horse and galloped toward his log cabin.

  Blaine sat his horse, bewildered. Then he put spurs to its flanks and rode toward Brad’s log house. Something was surely amiss. He braced himself for whatever unknown events were yet to come.

  Brad swung out of the saddle before his horse, Ginger, had come to a full stop. He hit the ground at a run and dashed through the open door of his home.

  He stepped inside to glimpse an unimaginable horror. Coals glowed a pulsating orange-red in the fireplace. On the floor lay Felicity, sprawled on her back, a gaping wound in her neck. Brad rushed over to her and kneeled next to her naked body. He touched her bleached face and it was cold to his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes and his body drained of energy as it went limp, as if all the muscles had suddenly vanished so that his body had become weak and useless.

  He sobbed as he lifted her head to his chest and pressed her cold white face against his chest. A darkness flooded his brain as he rocked back and forth, squeezing his wife’s lifeless body against his own as if he could infuse it with life.

  “Oh, Felicity,” he whispered. “What have they done to you?”

  Blaine stood in the doorway, blocking the light. He saw Brad rock back and forth with a dead woman in his arms. He stepped inside and walked over to Brad. He put a hand on his shoulder but knew that it was little comfort to a man in the terrible grip of grief.

  He lifted his hand and squatted next to Brad. He saw the slash in the woman’s neck, the dull frost on one open eye. The sight tore at him, and his throat constricted as bile roiled in his stomach and tears stung his eyes.

  “Joe,” Brad said. “She’s dead. My Felicity is dead.”

  Blaine could not bring himself to speak. His throat ached with every muscle in his neck taut and turning to cold iron.

  “I—I can’t let her go,” Brad sobbed. “I just can’t let her go.”

  Brad crumpled over, and Felicity’s head touched the floor. Brad fell across her naked midriff and let the tears rush down his face. She was ice cold and her body was turning stiff, and his nostrils filled with the smell of blood. Filled with the terrible aroma of death.

  Blaine saw the torn blue nightgown and the coagulating pool of blood on the floor. He could not look at the dead woman, nor at Brad. He was sick to his stomach and powerless to offer any comfort by either word or deed. So he stood there, like a mourner at a funeral. He did not know Brad’s wife at all, and he had just begun to know something about Brad himself. It was not a good start to a friendship.

  Brad got to his feet, bent over, and lifted the body of Felicity in his arms.

  “I’m going to take her to our bedroom,” Brad said huskily.

  Blaine nodded. “If there is anything I can do?” he said.

  “No. I’ll take care of her. I’m going to wash and dress her.”

  “Brad, I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  Brad choked and couldn’t speak. He carried Felicity down the hall. He saw the coffeepot and the spilled coffee that had stained the flooring.

  She must have been in the kitchen when they came in on her, he thought. He entered the bedroom and laid his wife’s body on the unmade bed. He closed her eyes with his fingers and began to weep softly as he looked at her frail naked body, the horrible gash in her throat.

  As he stood there, his grief slid away and a slow anger began to boil in him. The anger was on the verge of developing into full-blown rage, but he calmed himself and turned away and walked out to the hallway. He picked up the coffeepot and walked into the kitchen.

  He looked at the cupboard that was directly opposite the hallway.

  There was a bullet hole in the cabinet door. He walked over, opened it, and saw the shattered plates. There was another hole at the back of the cupboard.

  His heart chilled.

  In his mind’s eye he could picture Felicity in the kitchen, with a pot of coffee in her hand. She had walked down the hall and someone had fired a shot over her head. She must have been terrified. But she would have fought the man who attacked her. Man or men. She would have fought to the death, and that is probably what had happened.

  His anger boiled up again and he had to take a deep breath to keep his rage in check.

  He forced himself to pick up kindling next to the stove and open the iron door. There were coals inside, and he laid the sticks of wood over these, then bent down to blow on the embers.

  A lick of flame appeared and he blew on it some more until the wood caught and flames ranged over the entire stack of kindling.

  He found a pot in one of the lower cupboards and set it on the counter. He lifted the water pitcher and felt its weight. He poured some water into the kettle and set it on the stove.

  Just then, he heard a commotion in the front room. He peered down the hall.

  Julio stomped in with Pilar. Blaine rose to meet them, and Brad saw their shadowy silhouettes blend and separate. He heard Blaine speak in low tones to the couple.

  Then, he heard Pilar let out a scream of anguish.

  A moment later, she ran down the hall and stopped at the bedroom door.

  She went inside and then screamed again. Louder this time. Brad went into the room and clasped her shoulders in his arms.

  “I’m going to wash her up and dress her,” he told Pilar.

  She buried her face in her hands and deep sobs racked her small body.

  “I will do it,” she said. Then she dropped her hands and looked up at Brad. “Let me wash and dress her. Please.”

  “Yes, Pilar. She would like that.”

  “What happened?” She turned to look at him as he stepped back.

  “I don’t know. Horse thieves, I reckon.”

  “I have much sorrow,” she said. “My heart is broken. I had much love for Felicity.”

  �
�I know, Pilar,” he said and felt that his words were lame. He shook his head as she shooed him away.

  “You go,” she said. “I will make her look pretty again.”

  He began to sob then, and hung his head as he stumbled out through the door and walked down the hallway to the front room.

  Julio stood there dumbstruck, his face a bronze mask that seemed rigid with the sadness of centuries. A young face suddenly turned old and hard. Yet his eyes swam with tears and teardrops coursed down over the faint vermilion embedded in his flesh, a reminder of his Indian heritage and the grief of a race that had been mixed and maltreated for hundreds of years.

  “Cuanto lament lo que ha pasado,” Julio said in Spanish, in the tongue of his people, words that came from a deep place inside him. “I lament what has happened.”

  “Pilar is going to wash and dress Felicity,” Brad said.

  Julio rushed to him and threw his arms around him. He lay his head on Brad’s chest.

  “Yo tengo mucho dolor para ti y Felicity,” he said, and there were tears in his voice and Brad felt the sadness of the man as he sobbed against his chest.

  “Yo sé, Julio,” Brad said. “Estoy lleno de tristessa. I know,” he said. “I am filled with sadness.”

  “Pilar,” Julio said as he broke off his embrace and stepped back, “was in the barn. She milked the Guernsey cow and heard the men. She heard the screams of Felicity. She heard a gunshot. She had much fear and hid in the stall. But she saw them. She saw the men.”

  “How many?” Brad asked.

  “Three. There were three of them. When they came out of the house, they stole all the horses. They stole Felicity’s mare, Rose. She saw them drive the horses up the mountain. She had much fear. She has much fear now.”

  “Did she get a good look at the men?” Brad asked. “Did she hear any of their names?”

  “I do not know. She worried about Felicity and watched the house for a long time. She was afraid to go in the house. She ran to our house and locked the door and hid in the closet. When I shouted her name, she came out of the closet and unlocked the door.”

  Blaine cleared his throat, but did not say anything right away.

  Julio and Brad heard the noise and turned to look at Blaine.

  “Do you think . . .” Brad muttered to Blaine.

  “Likely the same bunch I was tellin’ you about, Brad,” Blaine said. “It’s just too bad that your wife was here, all alone. I’m deeply sorry.”

  Brad’s jaw hardened. His eyes slitted and he took a deep breath, held it for a second or two.

  “Joe,” he said, finally, “when I’ve buried my wife, I will ride with you to Denver and talk to Harry. This changes everything for me.”

  “For me, too,” Julio said.

  Blaine stood up from the chair he had been sitting in and folded his arms across his chest.

  “It’s your decision,” he said. “The offer still stands. And, I think you’d be a big help in solving these crimes.”

  “I will track down the bastards who killed my wife and stole my horses, if it takes me a lifetime,” Brad said. “I want to see them all hang for this, if for nothing else.”

  Blaine dropped his arms to his side and raised his head slightly.

  “I’m very sorry about the situation that has led to this. Though I know Harry will be pleased you’re coming on board,” he said. “And, so am I.”

  The three men stood there in silent communion, all feeling the grief that filled the house and thinking ahead to the time when they would confront the killers and send them all to the gallows.

  SIX

  Harry Pendergast, head of the Denver Detective Agency, sat behind his large cherrywood desk, toying with a lead pencil as he regarded the three men in his room. He had just finished listening to Brad’s account of the death of his wife and a dozen horses stolen. He winced when he heard about Felicity and was concerned when he learned of the stolen horses.

  “This could be a long trail, Brad. Have you made arrangements with the men tending your cattle herd?”

  “I have a good man in charge,” Brad said, “Pedro Alvarez. He found me a range for the Bramer bull and thirty head of Herefords. The two Bramer cows are quartered with one of my whiteface bulls. I gave him most of the money you sent down with Joe so he can buy feed and lumber if he needs it.”

  “Good,” Pendergast said. He was now a portly man with graying hair and a jowly face that reflected years of good living with both spirits and fine food. “Have you had a chance to think of how you will go about catching these horse thieves? I wouldn’t even know where to start. The horses seem to vanish into thin air. They don’t show up at any local ranches or at auctions.”

  “I have,” Brad said. “But first I want to meet the head of the Colorado Horse Breeders Association.”

  “Cliff Jameson should be here shortly. I’ve already sent for him. Lomax will bring him into the office the minute he arrives.”

  Byron Lomax, Brad knew, was Harry’s office manager, a most proficient and efficient man who was also as fastidious as any diligent housewife.

  “Joe told me something about the ground you covered before I came here,” Brad said. “Anything turn up while Joe was gone?”

  “No,” Pendergast said. “Not a thing. We’ve gone to ranches from New Mexico to Cheyenne, and even into Nebraska. No stolen horses at any of the ranches, none at auctions or sale barns, none turned up in stockyards. It’s a big mystery that frankly has me baffled.”

  “Maybe you’ve been looking in all the wrong places,” Brad said.

  “Oh? Maybe you have some fresh ideas you’d like to share with me and Joe.”

  “I have some ideas, but for the time being, I’m keeping them to myself. I want to know how much the breeders association is willing to pay, or how much you’re willing to pay Julio and me to do your investigating.”

  “Oh, I think this job is well worth your time, Brad. Cliff is willing to pay my firm a substantial sum to find out who’s stealing the horses, and more if we get them back. He’s a tough bird and he wants justice. And, he wants this case solved right away.”

  “He doesn’t want much, does he?” Brad said.

  Julio kept silent.

  Joe’s brushy moustache moved up and down like a push broom, as if he were struggling to keep his mouth shut and not say anything.

  Joe had been nervous on the long ride from Leadville to Denver as if afraid that Brad and Julio would change their minds and turn back. So he had held his cards close to his vest and didn’t say much about the job. But Brad knew that Joe had a stake in the outcome of the case. He was a member of the association of horse breeders, either as a member or a range detective. Joe had not been very clear about the way he made his living, but Brad figured he was somewhat at a loss to explain his own failure to find out anything about the horse thieves.

  There was a knock on Pendergast’s door.

  “Yes?” Harry said.

  “Mr. Jameson is here,” Lomax called through the door.

  “Show him in, Byron,” Harry said.

  The door opened and Lomax preceded a burly man with a barrel chest. He was wearing a woolen plaid shirt and a sheepskin-lined jacket that bulged at his middle. His face was florid from wind and weather, and when he took off his Stetson, he revealed a clumpy shock of curly blond hair. He wore a six-gun and a large knife on his gun belt. His boots were worn and made of sheepskin or antelope hide. His eyes were a clear blue that seemed to give off sparks. He carried a worn leather satchel that was bulging at the seams.

  “Harry,” Jameson bellowed, “I hope to hell you’ve got some good news for me. Or at least found someone more capable than Joe to help us out.”

  He glared at Joe when he said it. Then his eyes fixed on Julio, and Brad saw a cloud pass in front of his eyes. Finally, he looked at Brad, who was a head taller than h
e was, but twice as lean and wiry with muscles unlike Jameson’s, which had turned partially to flab.

  “Here’s the man I spoke to you about, Cliff. Shake hands with Brad Storm.”

  Brad held up his hand, but Jameson didn’t offer his. Instead, he shifted his gaze to Julio. And this time, Brad saw a look of contempt in his eyes and on his ruddy face.

  Lomax walked backward through the open door and silently closed it as if he wanted no part of the dealings in that august room.

  “And what’s the Mex doin’ here?” Jameson gruffed.

  Harry started to tell him. He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Brad spoke.

  “Julio Aragon works for me, Mr. Jameson,” Brad said quietly. “And, he’s not a Mex. He’s a Mexican.”

  “What the hell?” Jameson bellowed. “Harry, you hired a Messican. What in the devil’s name was on your mind?”

  “I hired two men to help us, Cliff,” Harry said. “Brad and Julio. If you don’t like it, you can just turn around and go back to your ranch and we’ll call it a day. Otherwise, sit down and shut up.”

  Jameson glared at Harry for a long moment. He seemed about to explode in a rage. He doubled up his fists, and his neck swelled under his collar like a bull in the rut. He huffed a breath in and out of his nostrils but clamped his lips tight and sat in a chair. He dropped his satchel and it clunked to the floor next to his chair.

  “Fine,” Harry said. “Brad, Joe, and Julio are going to be working on this case, and I would appreciate a little respect from you, Cliff.”

  “Something tells me you expect a lot more than respect, Harry,” Cliff said.

  Pendergast smiled. It was not a warm smile, but an indulgent, condescending smile that was from a man who knew he held all the right cards.

  “This is a big, complicated job,” Harry explained. “I’ll have three detectives riding all over creation to find the culprits and bring them to justice. They will need food for themselves, food for their horses, and will probably have to spend a lot of time in the open, without shelter. If you want results, you must pay for the process.”