Rasp Meadow Crossing

by Kieran York

  “So I’ll check Nita and Tony for motive and see if they have an alibi.”

  “Then tell them I want to see them at some point to take their statements. Interrogation rooms seem to squeeze all kinds of truth. Oh, and also, please ask them about their suspicions as to who might have been involved. I have a feeling we’re going to have many, many suspects. When Ben’s finished, I’ll update you on his prelim autopsy report.”

  “I’ll be in as soon as I’ve interrogated the wife and son.” He speculated, “Royce, my money is on your calculations of a boatload of suspects. As I recall, there’s no love lost between any of them. And Cal had plenty of customers claiming his prices were highway robbery.”

  “He had his detractors, that’s for certain.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket. Premature, but she knew there would be finger pointing. So many suspects that Calvin’s death could be a gang killing – of mostly relatives.

  She sighed. Greed for money. Greed for Calvin Wagner’s first mention in his Last Will and Testament. There was his lucrative weaponry business, and a thriving ranch. There were also multiple folks reaching for their share. Royce despised these cases.

  After a short chat with Grace, Royce suggested that both Grace and Emma be returned to Grace’s home. Royce had been correct. Grace was blaming Nita, and she was also blaming anyone else with whom Calvin might have been having an affair. Or perhaps it was their husbands seeking revenge. The sheriff didn’t expect too much anguish or grief.

  Mired down with too many suspects was often more disconcerting than having no one at all as a prime suspect. Winnowing the suspect list could be messy.

  ***

  Royce ambled back to the crime scene. Doc Ben had been Timber County’s M.E. for as long as Royce had been sheriff. She understood how to decipher his throat clearing and his mutterings. Photos had been taken. Trace evidence was gathered. Calvin Wagner’s body was being transported to the Coroner’s van. Ben gave Royce a nod. His steep tallness often appeared to add to his gaunt, expressionless face.

  He reported, “I should have more for you later. No prints on the weapon. The killer shot Cal twice, wiped the gun, and placed it on the desk. We’ll see if we get anything back from Forensics. Got all the prints and DNA in the room. A messy, bloody job. Ruined the finish on the antique desk. The second exit wound splattered. I had to carve the second bullet from the desk’s top.”

  “And you think the gun that was on the desk was the murder weapon?”

  “Yes. I’d bet my reputation on it. Gun’s old. Probably worth a fortune.” Ben squatted down to check the blood splatter on the floor. “No spent casings. No sign of a struggle.”

  Royce shook her head, “I can’t imagine someone killing him. Or anyone else,” Royce added.

  “Yep. I don’t get it,” Ben concurred. Then he dramatically stated, “Death takes everything you have or ever will have. No doubt about that.” He sniffed the gun’s barrel.

  “I could smell that it had been recently fired,” Royce said.

  “I’m betting ballistics will come back with a match.” Ben questioned, “I wonder why the killer didn’t take it. It’s beyond valuable. It’s one of those guns that’s irreplaceable.”

  Royce answered, “It doesn’t appear to be a robbery. And nobody would want to be caught with that gun, or trying to sell that gun, if it’s irreplaceable.” Royce knew that Ben’s hobby was guns, and he enjoyed collecting and studying rare guns. “Ballpark figure, Ben. What would you say the gun is worth?”

  “At least two or three hundred thousand. Maybe more. Could be half a million.”

  Royce repeated, “Half a million?”

  “If you could find one. I saw one at a gun show in Kansas City. It was in a showcase, and going for nearly half a million. I checked the murder weapon, and it was in precision working order. These old guns are touchy, need lots of repairs. I’m thinking this one was in for fixing. It wasn’t Cal’s. He would have bragged about finally acquiring it.”

  “You’re sure?” Royce questioned.

  “Absolutely. Cal lusted over this one. He would have bought it, but it wasn’t for sale.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It belongs to Otis Brull.”

  Royce had gleaned as much information as she could from the murder scene. But she added one more name to her list of people involved with the gun. Otis Brull, in his torn and worn clothes, and living in a cabin so small it was nearly a shack, owned a half-million-dollar gun. Otis with his twenty-year old, rusted truck had a treasure in his holster.

  ***

  Royce was guessing that Calvin was probably shot to death immediately after closing. He was known for closing late. She surmised that it was probably shortly after ten PM. He’d commented often that he wanted to get every last penny out of the market. Since the backdoor had been open, and there was no forced entry on the locked front door, Royce suspected that the killer entered an open backdoor. Another thing Cal often joked about when he was reminded by a deputy to lock his doors, was that he was better armed than Clint Eastwood. Royce recalled he’d spread his arms like wings, and admired all the guns covering the walls of his store. He’d bluster: “I got me plenty of protection”.

  Plenty, Royce understood, was not enough when someone is intent on killing. Royce swallowed. Although she didn’t know Cal well, she visited his shop to pick up Sheriff’s Department weaponry. Cal and his son, Tony, knew nearly every gun owner in town.

  Now, Royce thought selfishly, they would need to do business with Tony. Arrogant, the son in his late twenties, wasn’t liked by patrons, or town’s people. He was, however, the prized son of the equally arrogant father. Cal was accepted by most of his customers. They seemed used to his vibrato, and loud demeanor.

  One thing Royce felt solidly assured of was that Calvin knew his killer. Nobody would have snuck up on him. Pride in his manhood kept him safe. However, he wouldn’t have trusted someone behind him with a loaded gun. He was in his sixties, had money, had a beautiful younger wife, a son from his first wife, and a store filled with armaments.

  Royce pensively stepped out onto the sidewalk. Cal also had a daughter. But he never bragged about Emma. Royce searched her memory about ever having heard him say anything at all about Emma. Sadly, a father’s rejection could mar a woman’s belief in herself. Cal had done just that. He’d diminished her worth – in her own mind. Where he was concerned, his daughter wasn’t even a footnote.

  Royce sighed. She then patted her leg and called, “Come on, Chance.” The beautiful German shepherd quickly made her way to Royce’s side. Her stride matched Royce’s impatient walk across the street. She knew Gwen and Nadine would be waiting for her to give them more news to print. But first she went around to the alley.

  Questions took her to where she would most likely get information.

  Speaking through her teeth, Royce muttered, “Plenty amazing.”

  Chapter 4

  Plato Wallace was in the alley behind the Bell Ringer Saloon. Seated on a crate, Plato’s form slumped against the brick building. Glancing up, he saw the sheriff. His lopsided grin slowly lifted. He gave a crisp wave. The elderly vagrant had become Royce’s confidential informant. In his early seventies, Plato wore rumpled western clothing, and a cowboy hat and boots. He was short with thin arms and legs, and a protruding potbelly. His leathery, murky complexion was darker in the summer. That made his tobacco-stained smile appear somewhat brighter. “Sheriff,” he greeted Royce.

  “Plato,” Royce began, “I’ve been looking for you. We’ve got a murder case.”

  “Yep. I heard. Nothin’ goes by me,” he said. “It’s a heck of a surprise. I figured the way Cal always was playin’ with those guns, he’da shot somebody.”

  “What can you tell me about Cal? Everything you know about him, his family, and about Otis Brull.”

  “Somebody told you about the skirmish last evening?” Plato wobbled to a standing position. He corrected his stained tan hat as he stood.

>   Tipping her head intently, Royce asked, “What skirmish?”

  “Well, I was back in the alley behind the gun shop. I heard ‘em yellin’ their heads off.”

  “Who?”

  “Cal and Otis. It was around nine or ten last night. They musta been in the back room. I heard them fightin’. Well, nothing unusual about them two feuding. They hated each other.”

  “So what were they fighting about?”

  “I just heard patches of their talk. Seems Otis had his prize gun in the gun shop to be repaired. He was thinking Cal was pressing the scales and overcharging. I heard Cal sayin’ if he didn’t pay up, he was gonna keep the gun. Says Otis already owes him for years of upkeep on the gun.”

  “Did you know about Otis and his prize gun?”

  “Naw, well not much. He kept pretty buttoned up about his private life. I knew he had a gun that was worth some money. Well, that comes from Cal. Little remarks he said about wanting the gun. But last night he said he was gonna keep the gun. Didn’t go down very good with Otis. Cal is the loud one - the fighter. Otis seems to close up his emotions. But he’s got a temper on him.”

  “Did you see Otis leave?”

  “Naw. I was on my way over to the Bell Ringer. A beer was waitin’ for me since I cleaned up over there yesterday morning. Faye pays me in booze.”

  Royce knew that Otis worked around town for trade, or money under the table. Similarly, she slipped Plato money for information. “Did you hear a shot or two being fired?”

  “Nothin’ while I was there.” He cackled. “I was doin’ a little beer tastin’ by the time Otis left.”

  “So what do you know about the two men?

  “Everybody knows about Calvin Wagner’s dealin’ here in Timber County. It’s all over town havin’ to do with his family. Got an ex-wife hanging around the gun shop. Claims she owns half of it. She does the bookkeeping. Then he’s got his fancy new wife. Guess she stays out on the ranch. She’s got her some award-winning quarter horses.”

  “Nita likes the ranch life?”

  “Must. She rarely comes into Timber. She goes to Crystal to buy what she needs. Cal musta liked it that way. Cal’s wives wouldn’t be meetin’ up.”

  “Do you think either his current wife or his ex-wife might have killed him?”

  Plato chucked. “Either of ‘em would have probably liked to.”

  “Were there problems recently between the two women, or between them and Calvin?” Royce leaned back into her tall stance, crossing her arms. “Any disputes?”

  “I heard tell that Cal liked the women. Grace and him, they fought like wild cats when they were married. She finally left him. But his new missus must not have cared. She has the ring on her finger, and the ranch – spends all the money she wants.”

  “His womanizing – any names?”

  “Nobody since his new wife that I knew about. Hell, there was lots a women before then. Now his son’s the family playboy, and old Cal was maybe played out.” He snickered, throwing his head back. “I can’t rightly say about that part of it.”

  “And what else can you tell me about Cal’s adult children?”

  “I never got to know either of ‘em.” After a cough, and a snicker, Plato answered, “Either of ‘em would have probably liked to kill their old man.”

  Royce dug into her chest pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Thanks, Plato. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “You got it, Sheriff. I heard you saved some horses over at the fire. How’s that fire now?”

  “I think they’ve got it mostly contained,” Royce answered. “It took out nearly sixty structures, I heard. No human victims, but certainly wildlife, and pets.” Royce felt sorrow for the many forest casualties, as well as the domesticated animals that didn’t survive. “Those firefighters did an exemplary job.”

  “Well, it was nice you saved them horses. I’m happier if horses are saved than I am when people are saved. Some people anyways.”

  Royce wanted to say that she also felt that way sometimes. Yet she wanted horses and people saved. One of the citizens of her country hadn’t been saved. She took murder personally. “See you later, Plato. And good work on your C.I. job. Your information is helpful.”

  Royce paused, glancing back. Otis Brull and Calvin Wagner had a skirmish right before Calvin’s murder. That was important. “Plenty amazing,” Royce muttered to Chance. “I need a scoreboard to keep track of his potential enemies. The poem – yes Browning. How do they love him? Not in the least.”

  Chance cocked her head. She seemed to understand Royce’s words. There was a moodiness about them.

  ***

  “I’ve got to get to know more about the victim,” Royce sighed as she sat across Gwen Ives at the front office desk of Timber City Times. “Funny what a surface glimpse we get of people we’ve known all our lives. I’d gone into the gun shop with Dad when I was a little girl. He’d need to get his firearm fixed, or guns from the Sheriff’s Department. Dad wanted his deputies safe. Now I’ve got to make certain they’re wearing vests, and they’re special forces training ready. It’s become a dangerous world.” Royce’s words lingered in her thought.

  “When Grady Madison was sheriff, things were different. It’s a new world now. They’re making weapons for war. Not protection.” Gwen grimaced. “I’m anti-assault rifles.”

  “Me too. But the law won’t clamp down on the manufacturers. There’s enough crime with six-shooters. This case proves it. A Colt single action revolver killed a man. I guess it was a Custer Serial-Range Battlefield Revolver.”

  “An expensive antique gun. But we just went off subject, Royce. Calvin Wagner. Most of us knew him as a boisterous, sales oriented guy. I never had a problem with him. I didn’t dislike him, but I didn’t care much for him.”

  “Any reason in particular?” Royce quizzed.

  “For one thing, he treated Grace like a queen when he was wooing her forty years ago. They were both young. Grace was still in her teens, and Cal was in his early twenties. They got married, and then for the next ten years, they battled. Finally, Cal settled down a little from his gallivanting with other women. So Grace decided that she’d chance having a couple kids. Not long after Emma and Tony were born, things went into the freezer again. Guess she found out Cal was unzipping his wares every time any woman would give him the time of day. Finally, after the kids were of age, Grace divorced him. It’s never been clear which of them really wanted the break up. Cal married the bimbo Nita less than a year after that.”

  “As I recall, it was nasty, but the divorce eased into a partnership.”

  “Right. Well, Grace stayed on at the gun shop – doing the books. As partners he did the gunsmithing and sales. She watched the business and finance. He lived out on the ranch with his new sweetie, and Grace was set up with a home here in town.”

  “There wasn’t anything recently that might make her want him dead?”

  Laughing in spurts, Gwen answered, “Hell, getting dropped for a much younger woman was a start. If she’d wanted him dead, she probably would have shot him a few years ago.”

  Nadine entered with cups of tea. She placed them in front of the women. When Nadine sat, she gave a little groan. “Danged arthritis.” Nadine had grown more attractive as she aged. Her gray hair was combed back. There was a charm about her aquiline nose, strong chin, topaz eyes and slightly crooked teeth. Age had overridden her awkwardness. She was a confident mid-sixties senior, and wore it well.

  “Ah, your special blend of tea,” Royce said as she inhaled.

  Nadine beamed. She answered, “Yes and I take it you two are catching up on Grace. I talked with her yesterday. No love lost between Grace and Cal. She said she was already interviewing for someone to take over as a gunsmith. I asked about her children taking that over. She said Emma was pretty good at fixing guns. But Cal wasn’t certain the town would accept a woman smithy. And Tony – well, she said Tony had minimal to no interest in repairing firearms.”

  R
oyce questioned, “Did she mention Cal at all?”

  “Only said that the ditzy second wife could take care of the services. Oh, and they already had split the money and property early on after the divorce. Nita would get the ranch. Grace got the property here in Timber. After the death of either parent, the kids get a portion of the gun shop. Oh, and some property off to the side of the ranch.”

  Royce’s mind diagramed the area. To the east was Timber City. West was ski village and the growing tourist town of Crystal. Beyond that was the Wagner Ranch. Next to that would be the Rasp Meadow. Royce asked, “So Cal’s children now own the area west of the ranch. The area where the fire was threatening?”

  “Their property isn’t as far as the Crossing and the Rasp Meadow. And of course, beyond that is either government land, or maybe it still belongs to Native Americans. Northward, Bear Claw County adjoins Timber County. So the Wagner Ranch wasn’t in immediate danger during the wildfire.”

  “When I get time, I’m going back to see exactly what remains after the fire. Tanner is still there working with the fire department. I want to check in with him.” Royce frowned. She took a sip of tea.

  “So what else?” Gwen pried. There was a pronounced smirk as she raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you mention Hertha is returning?”

  Gwen and Nadine traded conspiratorial glances. “It’s just that the decision had only been made for a week or so, and you had the fire business. Now there’s a murder case.”

  “It would have been nice to have known.” Her blue eyes flared, and her jaw clamped.

  “We thought she might have told you,” Nadine inserted. “Royce, it’s difficult for you. Now it will be even harder. The woman you spent a decade and a half with is going to be working in her animal hospital directly across the street from not only where you work, but also where your mother’s business is.”