Jeep leveled her eyes on her beautiful niece’s lustrous ones. “Point taken.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
That Thursday, April 21, Jeep drove over to Howie’s to walk through his cattle. Her hidden agenda was to check up on him. Tito was on the tractor putting out large hay bales.
Zippy ran beside the two humans along with King and Baxter and Toothpick, who wore a knitted sweater as he didn’t have a lot of fur or fat.
“Hard winter. Spent an extra four thousand on hay.” Howie stood admiring his herd of Baldies.
A blush of green on the creek bed gave hope that winter was over.
“Money well spent. They look good. Should bring a good return.”
“Anything can happen, but I hope you’re right. An outbreak of cattle disease in Britain can scare off people here. They stop eating beef. You and I have seen the damndest things.”
“That we have.” She pointed to an especially well-made heifer. “You’re not selling her, are you?”
“Nope. She’s what I’m aiming for but I really have to buy another bull and tell you what, my neighboring goddess, those costs have spiked. Saw in St. Joseph, Missouri, where a bull went at private sale for forty-five thousand dollars.”
Jeep put her hand to her face and stroked her chin for a moment. “Well, that’s a hell of a lot of bull.” She smiled. “But if you do artificial insemination, sell those semen straws, you can make that purchase price back. How long it will take, I don’t know.”
“If I were younger I’d do it. But I’m not collecting semen at my age and besides, I’d need a special place to store the semen and I’d need a centrifuge, too, to separate the semen from the fluid. It’s a bit of work and a whole lot of know-how. I’m not hiring anyone to help me with my operation. Christ, the payroll taxes, the paperwork. Do you realize how much productivity is lost because of this crap?”
“Yes, I do.” This subject so depressed the old woman that she returned to the health of the herd. “You do a wonderful job all by yourself.”
Beaming from the praise, Howie shrugged. “Takes a cattleman to know a cattleman. And thank you again for sending Tito after I got out of the hospital. I resisted but I forgot what it’s like to have someone in the house. He’s a good worker. I owe you for his labor.”
“You owe me nothing. You’ve gotten jobs for some of the Spring Street people for the school bus expo. That more than covers it.”
As the humans talked cattle, prices, and chances for a better hay year on irrigated acres, the four dogs skirted the cattle.
One momma cow, coat gleaming, eyed them suspiciously, “Come near my baby and I’ll stomp you to death.”
“Marlene, these are my friends. We aren’t going to molest your beautiful calf.” Zippy trotted around her followed by King, Baxter, and Toothpick.
“What’s that little hairy thing?” Marlene indicated Baxter.
Stung, the intrepid wire-haired dachshund asserted, “I kill vermin. I don’t herd. You got a rodent problem, you call on me. I’ll go right down their hole. I’ll get them!”
Marlene appeared unconvinced.
“Come on, Baxter, before her two brain cells fry,” the energetic Zippy prodded.
Taking one more look over his shoulder at the large lady, Baxter picked up speed to catch up.
The four dogs ran over one ridge, then climbed halfway up another, very near where Howie had been found.
Toothpick, thrilled to be outside, to have friends, whirled around once out of happiness.
The humans turned to go back to the house.
Howie put his fingers in his mouth and whistled for Zippy.
“Damn.” Zippy pouted.
“Practice selective hearing,” King counseled.
“I will but only for a little bit. He gets so upset. He worries me. I mean he’s okay but he’s still not a young fellow,” Zippy stated.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” King agreed.
“Jeep’s got my mom. She’ll take care of her.” Baxter stuck his chest out.
“Come on, let’s take a peek then race back before they start bitching and moaning.” Zippy ducked behind the big rock outcropping. “Here.”
The odor of coyote filled the air.
“A den all right. Clever. Very clever.” King stood in front of one opening, other camouflaged openings dotted the hill a short distance from this one.
The coyote female had dug out under the big rock. Given the other rocks jutting around it—the opening faced away from the west, the Peterson range—it afforded protection and was not visible until one came right up on it. Even then, it could be missed.
“Vermin!” Baxter wriggled right in only to face a snarling mother with her cubs.
Toothpick, terrier blood up, stood behind Baxter. “Let me help.”
King heard the growl as did Zippy.
Baxter barked, “I will tear your throat out.”
The coyote opened wide her jaws, “You haven’t a chance.”
“Toothpick, get out of the way,” King ordered.
Hearing that, Zippy, smaller than King, put her head in the den, grabbed Baxter’s tail, pulling the enraged dachshund out of danger.
“I can handle it.” Baxter fumed.
“Me, too,” Toothpick declared.
“She’s bigger and she’s defending her cubs. Don’t be stupid, you two. Even I wouldn’t take her on alone and not in her den. Toothpick, you’re still skinny and weak. Don’t be brainless,” King said emphatically.
A shrill whistle pierced the air.
“Come on. If we go back we might get treats.” Zippy flew back down, little rocks flying up behind her paws. “If we don’t, no goodies.”
The three now ran alongside Zippy.
“Look happy. He likes it when you look happy when you come to him.”
“He can’t see that far. He’s a quarter mile away or more.” King laughed.
“Doesn’t hurt to practice,” the wise dog replied.
“There’s stuff in that den,” Baxter, recovering from his encounter, sang out.
“I saw numbers on the boxes,” Toothpick added.
King, a bit ahead, called back, “Must be more than one coyote.”
“Sure there’s nothing we can eat? She’s stashed food. They always do,” Zippy asked again hopefully.
“No food.”
“Well, then the hell with it.” Zippy reached Howie and jumped straight up in the air but not on him. “He loves this.”
As it turned out, Jeep and Howie had been discussing food.
“They say they’re willing to do it but their owners aren’t. Liability.” Jeep told him about her efforts to get more food from the casinos. “I did get a little cooperation from some of the local owners who saw the TV coverage of our Sunday food deliveries. The casinos owned by out-of-city companies are the most cautious.”
“Lawsuits. It’s the biggest waste in our country, not food. These guys are worried about lawsuits.”
“Time, money, emotion.” Jeep shrugged. “Mags has been researching foreclosure information. I’ve been researching foodstuff. The Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act, passed by the Congress and Senate, protects restaurants, orchards, and the like from liability. But they’re all scared. One thing stuck in my mind. I’ve been investigating state to state and our next-door neighbor, California, is estimated to have ninety thousand restaurants. Only a thousand of them donate food. I’m having a devil of a time getting information for Nevada.”
“It’s hard to believe there can be so much waste. Well, it’s everything, isn’t it? Paper, rubber, steel. I mean even something like old bed frames tossed in the dump, all those things can be refashioned.”
“I guess our worst waste is people. We toss them aside if they can’t fit into our competitive society the way we want. I’m no Goody Two-shoes, I think you have to work for a living, but when people tell you you aren’t good enough or demote your skills, such as viewing a carpenter as not as valuable as a computer w
hiz, that’s harmful.”
The two drank cups of coffee together. Tito walked in through the back door. “Boss.” He tipped his worn Stetson to Jeep, then turned to Howie. “Sir, another heifer gone.”
“Dammit!” Howie grimaced. “Wonder if I put up those motionsensitive cameras if we’ll see who does it.”
“If they pass by the camera, you will,” Jeep replied. “But it’s a big spread, Howie. My advice is you and Tito carry a sidearm. You know I usually do.”
“You’re right,” Howie grumbled.
Jeep looked at Tito. “Come on by later. I have an extra revolver. You’ll need a holster, but that long barrel sure helps the accuracy.”
Driving back to Wings Ranch, Jeep thought the chances of actually catching someone rustling one heifer to be small. Still, given events at Peterson Ranch, Howie should be armed. It bothered her that Pete and Lonnie hadn’t come up with anything. She knew they were good officers. Whoever was sneaking around on Howie’s ranch was either very smart or very lucky.
King, in the passenger seat along with Baxter and Toothpick, said, “I think Mom would like to know what’s in that coyote den.”
“How will we ever get her up there?”
“I don’t know. And how will we ever get the coyote out?”
“I’ll do it,” the thin black and tan dog piped up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Think UNR will sign that kid from Ely?” Lonnie asked Pete as they drove toward Reno from the south.
“Be great if they did. But a lot of other schools are looking at him, too. Be pretty tempting to go to Auburn or Oregon. Someplace far away.”
The kid in question led the nation in pass receptions and was being courted heavily by many schools. He would soon have to make a decision. This would be much publicized, with TV footage of the young man putting on the hat of the college as well as holding up a football jersey or T-shirt. Beaming smiles would fill the screen. Secretly, the coach would pray the kid would hold up through four years of football, not rape any coed or get caught stealing a computer, and take a car as a gift from an agent already scouting for the pros. Fortunately, most college players possessed enough sense to avoid these splashy scandals.
“Ever wish you’d gone into the pros?” Lonnie rubbed a quarter between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the outline of a cattle skull, for the back was emblazoned with an image of Montana.
“Sometimes. And I play league ball here. I never want to leave Reno.”
“I would. If a job opened up somewhere, a lot more money and a promotion, I would. Given the economy, that’s not going to happen.”
“Yep.” Pete considered Lonnie’s thoughts. “Do you want to work in a bigger city?”
“Well, if I got paid more. I mean, working on the Phoenix force would mean a lot more action than Reno. If it weren’t for your delightful company, I’d get bored.”
“Oh, geez.”
The dispatcher broke up this conversation with an immediate directive to Yolanda Street.
“You might regret using the word ‘bored.’ ” Pete hit the siren. They roared through traffic.
“The address is right next door to where we found Robert Dalrymple,” Lonnie noted.
“Yep.”
They screeched in front of the foreclosed home, windows broken. Yolanda Street seemed even more forlorn than when they had made their last call here.
Waiting at the front door was a worried but calm young man with the bad teeth that often indicated a meth addiction. “I didn’t do nothing.”
“No one’s accusing you.” Pete nudged the door, which was ajar, open with his foot.
Other sirens pierced the afternoon calm. Pete was glad for backup.
“You stay here,” Pete told the young man.
Lonnie followed.
Pete walked around Patrick Wentworth’s body. His throat had been slit. Blood covered the wooden floor. His fly was unzipped, his genitals exposed.
“Same M.O., sort of,” said Lonnie.
Next to him, stabbed through the heart, lay Tu’Lia, blood still oozing out of a deep wound. She wore provocative clothing: a shiny blouse, opened, and a miniskirt pulled up. Her panties had been thrown across the room.
“Son of a bitch.” Lonnie could never accustom himself to the sight of a murdered young woman. It invariably aroused anger and pity.
“Bring that kid in here,” Pete ordered.
Seconds later, Lonnie brought in the young man.
“Your name?”
“Bill Sandobar. I didn’t do this.”
“Mr. Sandobar, tell me how you found the bodies.”
Nervously, Bill, his black curls already dampening with sweat, spoke, words tumbling out. “I was looking for a place to stay. Just for little while. I checked out some houses down the street, but they were too close to dealers. So I walked this way. The place looked okay, I mean, the broken windows are bad, but the upstairs windows ain’t broken. I tried the door. It was open. There they were.”
“Quite a shock,” Lonnie murmured sympathetically.
“Yeah, but I used to work in the morgue. No sense of smell. Do they stink?”
“No,” Pete replied. “They haven’t been dead long enough. Why’d you leave the morgue?”
“Laid off. And there hasn’t been a lot of work. When summer comes the murder rate pops up, old people die in the heat. I’m hoping I get hired back.”
“Good luck, I think. You’ve seen people with their throats slit before?”
“Mostly gunshot wounds, but I’ve seen a few. There are worse things to see.”
“It doesn’t appear they defended themselves.” Pete spoke to Lonnie. “Doesn’t compute.”
“Does if he was on top of her,” Pete said. “The killer could just pull his head back, cut, then stab her through the heart. Here’s the thing, partner, we’re supposed to think they were having sex. Maybe they were. The real question is if they were, why would this woman consent, even for money, after what happened at Spring Street? She wasn’t a female Einstein, but I don’t think she was that stupid.”
“Possible but like I said, strange. Same with Dalrymple. No struggle.”
Backup arrived. This team involved a woman officer.
She blurted out upon seeing Patrick Wentworth: “That lying sack of shit.”
This attitude permeated Reno when the story of the double murders hit the six-thirty news.
At her locker at the Black Box, Lark was pulling out her costume when one of the other girls screamed in the main room.
Lark ran into the main room. When she heard the news about Tu’Lia, she sat on a barstool, put her head in her hands, and sobbed.
Soon all the girls were crying, some louder than others. Tu’Lia, although childish in her desperation to be a star, meant no harm to anyone. The owner, also shocked, had the tact to close business for the night.
Lark called Teton on his cell. This was the first communication initiated by her since he’d bailed on Spring Street.
“I’ll be right down.”
She ran to him when he came through the door.
“Come on, honey,” he said. “Come on home. I’ll make you a cup of the tea you like. You know, citrus mint.”
After collecting her things, she walked up to his apartment, drank the tea, and cried. He wound up crying, too.
“What an awful death,” Lark said over and over again.
“Try not to concentrate on that. At least she wasn’t tortured and it was fast.”
Jeep, in the kitchen with Carlotta, watched the news.
“Mags,” she called out.
When no answer came, Jeep grumbled something.
“I’ll find her,” Carlotta offered.
“You’ve got flour all over your hands. I’ll find her.”
“That’s some news.” Carlotta sprinkled out more flour.
“Stunning.” Jeep hurried down the hall, King behind her, Toothpick behind King.
“Baxter,” King called out.
&n
bsp; “Upstairs.”
King headed up the stairs. Jeep followed him, knowing his senses were better than hers.
“Mags!”
Towel wrapped around her, Mags walked out of her room. “Aunt Jeep, what’s the matter?”
Jeep repeated the news story almost verbatim.
Listening with surprise bordering on disbelief, Mags said, “Aunt Jeep, do you mind if Pete comes over for supper? If he’s free? He’s had a rough day.”
“Of course.”
Pete readily accepted the invitation. No one brought up the murders while eating but afterward, in the den, they discussed them.
“And you think this is connected to that other fellow’s death?” Jeep raised her eyebrows.
“I do, though I don’t yet know why. But I’ll find out. Well, that’s my job, isn’t it?” He patted Baxter, who sat on his lap. “Your orphan has put on a pound or two.”
“Suck-up.” King sniffed on the floor next to Jeep.
“No one wants to hold you, you’re too big,” Baxter said.
“Says you.” King curled his upper lip.
“You’re too big to sit on anyone’s lap.”
“You can be a real pissant.” King curled back his upper lip more.
Toothpick jumped on Mags’s lap, smiling down at King, now completely disgusted.
Baxter traded places with Toothpick. He wasn’t ready to share Mags.
“I don’t feel sorry for Wentworth. He showed his true colors when he kicked that poor girl. I feel sorry for his wife,” Mags said.
“First, she finds out he’s dead. Then she finds out he’s lying next to a young woman, both of them in a compromising situation. Poor woman, I wonder if she knew what he was when she married him?”
“Does anyone?” Mags fired back, then looked at Pete. “Regardless of gender.”
“Yeah, well, I guess marriage is one long journey of discovery. If you’re lucky, it’s a pleasant one.” Pete shrugged. “I’ll have more to go on when we get the toxicology report, plus the report on whether they’d had sex.”
“He barked up the wrong tree.” Baxter shrewdly assessed the situation.
“Yeah, but who’s tree?” King wondered.
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