The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries)
Page 16
“And Pap set this up?”
“Yes, and now I have to take back all the nasty things I’ve said about him over the years, at least those I can remember.”
I would be glad to help your memory, Tully thought, but I won’t. He said, “Agatha, I have some news about the death of your dad and Sean O’Boyle.”
He heard her suck in her breath. “What, Bo?”
“We found the gun that was used.”
“Oh, dear! And it belonged to Jack Finch.”
“I am happy to tell you that it didn’t. It belonged to a man named Howard Blunt, who became a partner of Jack Finch a year or two after Blunt had started the mine that Jack Finch later named the Finch Mine. Oddly, Blunt disappeared without a trace shortly before Jack took over the mine. But since Blunt was the one who started the mine, it is very likely he was the one who discovered Tom and Sean’s mine down on the side of the mountain. We can tie the murder weapon to him, although we can’t say definitely who pulled the trigger. My guess is that it was Blunt himself.”
He waited. There was no sound at the other end of the line.
“Agatha?”
The old woman finally spoke, her voice teary. “Oh, Bo, I choked up for a moment. I knew all along you could solve this murder, no matter how long ago it happened. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“No problem, Agatha. If you have any other crimes you want solved, it would be my pleasure.” He said good-bye and hung up.
He called Daisy back into his office. “Pugh say anything to you about Kincaid before he left?”
She sat down across the desk from him. “No, was he supposed to?”
“Nope, I just thought he might have mentioned something to you. I’m just afraid . . .”
“He’s been pretty busy, Bo. He hasn’t come into the office for nearly a week. I know he was very upset over what that monster did to the old couple. Maybe Kincaid has given up trying to . . .”
She stared out the window behind Tully. He saw her eyes widen in either fear or horror.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Suddenly, Daisy came flying over his desk. He held up his hands to fend her off but was too late. His chair went over backward. Glass shattered. A rifle shot rang in his ears. Something hit him hard in the back of the head and he blacked out. He was engulfed in darkness. So this is what it feels like to be shot in the back of the head! He didn’t see a tunnel of light. This could be bad. Then he opened his eyes. Daisy was sitting astraddle of him, her face pressed against his. Pieces of glass were falling out of the window. His head hurt. Daisy was crying. “Bo! Bo! Bo! Are you hit?” She was kissing his face all over, smearing it with her tears. “Don’t die, Bo!” she cried. “Don’t die! Don’t die! I love you so much!”
Then Herb was hovering over them. He lifted Daisy to her feet. “That was close, Bo,” he said. “He nearly had you.”
Daisy ran back to her desk, threw herself into her chair, and put her face down on her arms.
Tully felt the back of his head for blood. It was dry. For that much pain, he was disappointed to see no blood on his hand. He deserved a little blood.
“Daisy saved your life, Bo,” Herb said. “There’s the bullet hole in the gun cabinet.”
“Something hit me in the head,” Tully said.
“Your head smacked the windowsill when you went over. That bullet missed the two of you by a good half inch.”
Herb took Tully’s hand and pulled him up. “The shooter is still out there in his boat, trying to get his outboard started.”
Tully looked out the window. A man was standing up in the stern of the boat, flailing away at his starter cord. A sheriff’s department’s launch was bearing down on him. A deputy stood in the open bow of the launch, a shotgun at his shoulder. The shooter raised his hands.
“Can you see if it’s Kincaid?” Tully asked.
“Not from this distance,” Herb said. “It probably is though.”
“It’s not Kincaid,” Brian Pugh said from the doorway. “It must be one of your other disgruntled criminals, Bo.”
“Brian!” Tully jumped up and hugged the startled deputy. Then he shoved him away, still holding him by the shoulders. “Where on earth have you been?”
“I decided to take a few days off and get my head clear. I went up to Worley and got a room at the Coeur d’Alene Casino Hotel.”
“You’ve been gambling.”
“Not as big a gamble as tracking Kincaid.”
Tully turned his chair upright and flopped down into it. He glanced at Daisy. She still had her head down on her arms. Her shoulders were shaking.
Tully said, “Herb, I’ve got to see Pugh alone for a minute. Go look after Daisy, will you?”
Herb left. Pugh shut the door. He walked over and examined the small round hole in the gun cabinet. “Heck of a shot,” he said. “That far away and from a boat.” He pulled up Daisy’s chair and sat down across from Tully. He set a plastic sack on the desk.
“You sure the guy out there isn’t Kincaid?” Tully asked the deputy.
“I’m sure. You were right about the ridge on Deadman.”
“Kincaid got off a shot and nearly hit me. I was surprised he missed.”
“He didn’t get off a shot.”
“He didn’t?”
“No. The shot you heard on Deadman wasn’t Kincaid’s. It was mine. Like you told me, I found a good spot overlooking the ridge two days before. Nothing the first day. I watched it until dark and afterward in the moonlight. Still no Kincaid. Sometime around midnight I must have dozed off. Suddenly I woke up. It was almost sunrise. I looked down and there was Kincaid, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the ridge, a rifle across his knees, still as a stone Buddha. I put him in the crosshairs. Just as the sun came up, you must have stepped out of the tent, because he suddenly whipped up the rifle. I squeezed off my shot. By the way, I brought you a little trophy for your wall.” He nodded at the sack.
Tully stared at it. He thought Pugh might have slipped over the edge. Probably should give him another two weeks off. He was afraid to look in the sack, wondering what grotesque trophy his deputy might have brought him. He reached over and gingerly opened the sack with two fingers. He stood up, bent over, and peeked inside.
It was a red-and-black plaid cap with earmuffs tied up on top.
Relieved, Tully sat back down.
“It was a nasty business,” Pugh said. “After I got the body disposed of, I took off all my clothes and buried them. Then I washed in the creek and put on some dry clothes. When I got in the tub at the hotel I ran it full of hot water half a dozen times before I figured I’d got the smell of Kincaid off me. Now he’s got a permanent resting place up on the mountain. Nobody will ever find him.”
“Old Lucas would like that.”
“Who cares?” Pugh got up and headed for the door.
“One more thing, Brian. How much did you lose at the casino?”
“Nothing, Bo. I won a hundred and fifty dollars. The county lost about four hundred, though.”
“A small price to pay.”
Tully walked out to check on Daisy. She was sitting up now, her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands. “You just saved my life,” he said.
“I feel so stupid!” she said. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
“For saving my life?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I think we both could use a good stiff drink. How about it, Daisy?”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “What about the office?”
“We’ll let Flo handle it.”
Tully got home at nearly midnight. For once in a long while, he didn’t bother to scan the ridge, even in the bright moonlight. He turned his key in the lock and went in. He was pretty sure his house would no longer feel empty. When even a miserable little beast like Clarence becomes company, you know you’re in trouble. Now, Tully thought, he would be okay. Sometimes just okay feels pretty darn good.
“What happened to the
big painting of Ginger?” Daisy said, closing the door behind them. “I love that painting.”
“I do, too,” Tully said. “And tomorrow I’m going to get it back.”
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication Page
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