Circles in the Snow

by Patrick F. McManus

  “I’m sure he does, but I don’t know it.”

  “Well, thanks for the info, Felix. I’ll talk to the judge tomorrow and see if I can get you sprung.”

  “Wow! I’d appreciate it, Sheriff.”

  “Now I’ve got to go find myself some supper.” He yelled for Bert to take care of Felix, then got up and left.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning Tully slept in and arrived at the courthouse an hour late, still munching the last of his Egg McMuffin. Daisy appeared to have already reached her frenetic phase. “So,” he said, “did you get me the information I asked you to track down?”

  Daisy heaved a sigh, perhaps of exasperation, and looked at a sheet of notes she had taken. “Yes, I did, and it wasn’t easy. The board for state prisons recently paroled a bank robber now living at 805 North Pine Street in Wister, Idaho, if you’ve ever heard of it. Does that work for you, Boss?”

  “It does indeed, Daisy. Now I have to get a flight to Wister.”

  “You think an airline flies into a burg as small as Wister?”

  “The airline I’m thinking of does. It also allows passengers to carry loaded pistols and pump shotguns.”

  “Good heavens! Tell me the name, so I never fly on it!”

  “Pete Reynolds.”

  “Oh, I should have known.”

  Tully smiled. “Yeah, but for this round-trip flight I think the county should at least pay Pete for the gas.”

  “How about something for Pete’s time and trouble?”

  “Oh, all right, Daisy, if you insist on throwing the county’s money around like a drunken judge.”

  “It was only a suggestion, Boss.”

  Tully walked into his office, flopped down in his chair, and dialed the number for Pete Reynolds. Mrs. Reynolds answered. “Pete? Yes, he’s still here, Bo. I suppose you want to talk to him.”

  “Yes, I do, Alice. I have a little chore for him.”

  “How did I guess? Hold on a sec.”

  Pete came on. “What now, Bo?”

  “I need you to fly me down to the little town of Wister. There will be just you and me going down and, with any luck, three of us coming back.”

  “And when do you want to do this?”

  “Tomorrow at noon, okay?”

  “Good to see you’re starting to plan ahead. And how much is the county willing to pay?”

  “Two thousand for the round trip.”

  “Dollars?”

  “Yes, dollars, Pete.”

  “All right then! Be out at the strip at noon. The county can buy you and me lunch at the Airport Café.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  After hanging up, he asked Daisy to find him the phone number for Viola Hilligoss up in Pine Flats. Sorting through her collection of phone books, she soon came up with the number. Tully dialed it.

  “Oh, Sheriff Tully! How nice to hear from you!”

  Tully leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. “The reason I’m calling, Viola, I just wanted to thank you for coming forward and clearing those two men of the crime of robbery.”

  “Oh, I was happy to do so, Sheriff. I’ve never been able to stand Clyde Parker anyway. But you know, the strangest thing happened. This nice young man who said he was a reporter for the Silver Tip Miner stopped by and interviewed me about the whole incident.”

  Tully’s head sagged. “Was the nice young man fat?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say fat. Maybe a little pudgy. But he was so nice. He had me get in his car with him. We drove down to the General Store and he took a picture of me standing in front of it. He treated me just like I was a hero of some kind.”

  Tully’s feet had hit the floor and he was now leaning forward with his arms pressed tensely against his desk. “Did the fat little man give you any indication of when he intended to print his story?”

  “Oh, in this week’s paper, I think. But that’s not all, Sheriff. I told him what you did for the three young men, getting them those jobs down at the sawmill, and he said he would stop by there and interview Hank Schmitt, the foreman, and maybe take pictures of the three young men at work on the green chain.”

  Tully shuddered. “Well, thanks for the update, Viola.” He hung up, spun around in his chair, and stared out the window. Two ice fishermen were sitting on wooden crates next to a hole in the ice. A year from now he would be out there with them. If August Finn showed up to interview him about how many fish he had caught, he would push him through the hole in the ice.

  At noon the next day, Tully parked his Explorer in the Blight City airport parking lot and walked over to the café. Pete was already seated at a table, a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up from the menu as Tully approached. “You know something, Bo, this little café here is one of the best-kept culinary secrets in all of Blight. The food is terrific.”

  Tully gave him a wary look as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “That would be a major secret, all right. Anything you recommend?”

  “It’s all good, but the California Scramble is my favorite—scrambled eggs, pieces of bacon, tomatoes, avocado, celery, and I don’t know what all. Take the cinnamon toast with it for your bread.”

  “Sounds perfect, Pete.”

  The flight to the Wister airport took exactly two hours. Fortunately, the operator of the tiny airport had two vehicles he rented out, one of them an older panel truck with single seats for driver and passenger. The back of the truck was empty, except for a rear seat scavenged from an old car of some kind. “The truck looks a little beat up all right,” the operator said, “but the engine is good.”

  “It better be,” Tully said. “I may need it for a getaway.”

  “I hope you ain’t planning on robbing something,” the owner said.

  “Naw,” Tully said. “Not unless we have to stay here overnight.”

  The man gave them directions to North Pine Street. Twenty minutes later they were parked next to a mailbox on a post, the number 805 hand lettered on it in white paint.

  “I hope you don’t need any help with this part,” Pete said.

  Tully gave him his cold stare. “You brought a gun, didn’t you?”

  “I always bring a gun when I’m out with you, Bo. I just don’t like having to use it.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the guy who lives here, his name is Colin O’Mera. He’s a bank robber who was released from prison not long ago. Now he could be charged with harboring an escaped prisoner and go back up for it. Do you get my drift, Pete?”

  “Yeah. I guess I should ask for more details before I go flying off with you on these little adventures.”

  Tully stared across the front yard of the tiny house. “I’m going to walk over there and pound on the door in a minute. You sit here and watch. If you see the guy shoot me, you drive off and get help. Don’t try to take him on yourself.”

  Pete stared at him. “You got to be kidding, Bo.”

  “I am. What I meant to say was, if shooting starts, don’t drive off without me.”

  “I’m way ahead of you on that, Bo. I’ll be a block away before the first shot is fired.”

  Tully shook his head, got out of the car, walked across the front yard, and knocked on the door. A tall, thin, fit-looking man answered. His hair was trimmed very short, as if still growing back in from a prison cut. He glared at Tully. “Yeah?”

  “Sir,” Tully said, “I was wondering if I might interest you in the purchase of a Handy Dandy vacuum cleaner.”

  The man’s glare softened. “Matter of fact, I could use a vacuum.”

  Tully relaxed his grip on the leather bag of buckshot in his hip pocket.

  “Actually, sir, I’m not a vacuum cleaner salesman. I’m sheriff of Blight County. I understand you have an escaped convict living with you. As a person just released from prison yourself, I’m sure you realize, Mr. O’Mera, you could be convicted again, this time of harboring an escaped felon. Now suppose you just turn him o
ver to me and we forget any involvement you may have.”

  O’Mera thought about this. Then he smiled. In a low voice, he said, “I like your suggestion, Sheriff, and would be very happy to be relieved of my freeloading visitor, not that I have any knowledge he’s an escaped convict.”

  “Of course not,” Tully said.

  “Wait here.”

  A minute later he dragged Fletch to the door, crammed an oversize hat on his head, and shoved him into Tully’s arms. After snapping cuffs on Fletch, Tully nodded at the man. “Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “You sure I won’t hear any more about this?” O’Mera said.

  “You definitely won’t. It’s the Blight Way.”

  “The Blight Way? What’s that?”

  “It’s a little too complicated for me to explain right now, but I assure you, sir, there’s nothing more for you to worry about—provided, of course, you give up robbing banks.”

  O’Mera smiled at him. “There’s always a catch, ain’t there, Sheriff?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  They landed at the Blight City airport, Tully and Pete sitting in the cockpit seats, Fletch crouched on the old car seat behind them, a chain around his handcuffs and attached to an eyebolt in the floor.

  Tully said, “It was thoughtful of you, Pete, to install that eyebolt. Saves me from holding a gun on our prisoner all the way back.”

  “The last time we made a flight, I figured I wasn’t done with you yet, Bo, so I made a few adjustments in the plane.”

  “Next time, how about a little heater for brewing hot coffee?”

  “Oh, by all means. I’ll get right on that. So, how about my two grand?”

  “No problem, Pete. The check will be in the mail first thing tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Who knows about these things.”

  Back at the courthouse, Tully turned Fletch over to the night shift at the jail and went up to his office. The place was empty except for Augie Finn of the Silver Tip Miner, who sat in a chair next to Daisy’s vacant desk.

  “Cripes, Bo,” Finn said, rubbing his eyes. “I thought you would never get back.”

  “Augie, if I knew you were here, I would never have come back. What do you want?”

  “I just want to know why you flew off to Wister with Pete Reynolds.”

  Tully pulled out Daisy’s chair and sank into it. “How on earth did you find out about my trip with Pete?”

  Augie thought for a moment, as if wondering whether he should divulge a secret or not. Then he said, “Any time the sheriff of Blight County splurges on California Scramble for himself and the only decent pilot in Blight City, it gets my attention. Something has to be going on. So what is it, Bo?”

  Tully’s shoulders sagged in surrender. He couldn’t even eat anything without Augie finding out what it was. He told him about the capture and return of Fletch to the Blight County jail. He filled the editor in on the criminal’s record, while Augie scribbled furiously.

  “Bo, this is the best story I’ve had since Fester’s murder.”

  Tully laughed. “You know I do everything I can, Augie, to keep the Silver Tip Miner in business. So I would think you might try to be less of a thorn in my side. By the way, how did you learn about the California Scramble?”

  Augie laughed. “I can’t reveal my sources, Bo, you know that.”

  “Has to be one of the waitresses at the Airport Café.”

  “Airport Café? Can’t say I’ve ever dined there and spread around major tips to the girls. Anyway, Bo, thanks for the story.”

  Chapter 19

  Tully arrived at the office at seven the next morning and was surprised to see his father sitting in the same office the old man had once run with an iron if somewhat corrupt fist.

  Tully walked in. “Pap! What are you doing here? Looks as if you’ve taken over the show and are running it.”

  Pap smiled. He was still handsome when cleaned up a bit. His gray hair curled up around his ears in a way that seemed to appeal to the ladies, even if he was nearly eighty years old. “I come to solve your murder mystery for you, Bo.”

  Tully grabbed one of the visitor chairs, spun it around, folded his arms on the rounded back, and stared at his father from in front of his own desk.

  “That must have been quite a feat, since you know practically nothing about it.”

  “I know plenty about it. I plied Lurch with drink last night and he brought me up to date on all the grisly details. Nothing I like better than a grisly detail. Plus, I had helped Lurch find most of his clues out at the Fester murder site. Then when I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.”

  Tully sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared up at his office’s ceiling tiles.

  Pap’s eyes narrowed into mean little slits. “You better be listening to this, Bo, because I ain’t repeating it.”

  “Promise?”

  “No. Now shut up and listen. Lurch checked every airline in the vicinity but never found one that claimed to have a Mrs. Fester on it in the last six months.”

  “I know that, Pap.”

  “Yeah, but somehow the lady Fester got herself to Mexico, because you talked to her there in Cabo San Lucas.”

  “This office leaks like a sieve,” Bo growled. “I’ll have to have a talk with my CSI unit.”

  “You leave that boy alone, Tully. He’s the best thing you got going for you.”

  “So, what’s your theory, Pap? I have lots of actual sheriff stuff to do today.”

  “Okay, but pay attention now, because I don’t want to run through this twice. According to everything we’ve found out, Mrs. Fester left for Mexico the same day Fester got hisseff killed. The snow Lurch and me turned up was the same snow that fell on Fester when he got shot with that arrow. Now follow me on this, Bo.”

  Tully sighed. “I’m following.”

  “Okay then. Someone from the ranch up here gets in a three-quarter-ton, four-wheel-drive pickup truck that belongs to Hillory Fester or is at least used by her as if it’s her car. It belongs to the ranch, so I guess in a way it is her car. Anyway, early in the morning long before Fester gets up to go eagle shooting, somebody drives Hillory out to the knoll and drives into the skid trail on the far side of the woods, stopping where the truck tracks ended, the ones Lurch and me found under the last snow. Hillory gets out with her bow and arrow and tramps through the snow to the middle of the woods, where she builds a fire to keep warm. The driver of the pickup backs out and returns to the ranch, maybe even climbs into bed for a quick snooze. All this is done at around four o’clock in the morning while the snow is falling. At about six a.m., Fester gets up, drives to the knoll, and turns around at the skid trail. Those are the tracks that show someone turned in a short ways and backed out. After he’s turned around, he drives back next to the knoll and parks his vehicle at the edge of the road. Then he gets out to shoot eagles. Hillory, let’s say, hears the truck stop. She kicks some snow over her fire and starts walking through the woods toward the knoll. After she sees Fester pass by, she waits a bit and then steps out and shoots him in the back with the arrow. As the tracks show, she then walks back through the woods to the skid trail where she meets the driver of her pickup, who has come back and stopped where the tracks end. They back out of the skid trail and drive to Morg’s truck. The accomplice gets out, climbs into Morg’s truck, and drives it back to the ranch. It’s snowing hard by that time and they expect the body will soon be covered up and won’t be discovered till spring. Hillory backs up into the skid trail, turns right, and drives her truck to Mexico. That’s why there ain’t no record of her flying on a plane and why there ain’t no truck at the Fester ranch matching the tire tread of the truck at the killing. So what do you think of that theory, Bo?”

  Tully blinked at Pap. Then he grabbed the back of his chair and pushed himself as far back from the old man as he could get. “That’s just about the way I’ve got it figured, Pap.”

  “I bet.”

 
The phone rang. Pap picked it up, listened, and then said, “Please hold all phone calls, Daisy. Bo will get back to them shortly.”

  Tully rolled his eyes. Pap got up and walked to the door, where he turned to Tully, who sat staring across his own desk at his empty chair. “Oh, one more thing, Bo. I don’t want Lurch getting into any trouble asking for my assistance. You understand?”

  Tully stood up and moved around the desk. “Gotcha, Pap. Many thanks for your help on this. I never could have figured it all out by myself.”

  “No problem, Bo.” Pap strode out through the office and down the hallway, the klocking of his cowboy boots fading into the distance.

  Tully settled into his office chair, the warmth of the seat making him shudder. He picked up the phone. “Daisy! Get your butt in here!”

  Daisy burst in, notepad in her hand. “I’m sorry, Boss. Your dad is just one of those people I can’t say no to.”

  Tully stared at her. “I realize that. Where’s Lurch? I want to have a word with him.”

  “He fled as soon as he saw your dad headed for your office. He may be on a bus on his way out of state by now.”

  Tully shook his head as if in exasperation. “Get him on his cell phone and tell him to get back to the office. He’s not in any trouble. I’m well aware of how imposing my old man can be when he wants to know something. As a matter of fact, I think he and Lurch have a pretty good idea of what went down at the knoll. Besides, I should have known better than to leave Lurch alone with someone like Pap.”

  Tully arrived at the office at seven the next morning and was surprised to see the Unit already hunched over his computer. “Hey, Lurch, get over here. I’ve got a theory to run by you.”

  Lurch followed him into his office, grabbed one of the chairs in front of Tully’s desk, spun it around, straddled it, and rested his arms on the back. “What’s up, Boss?”

  “I’ve got a theory about Fester’s murder.”

  “I love your theories. Run it by me, Boss.”

  “First, you never found an airline that would admit to flying Hillory Fester as a passenger.”