We let that topic go and passed the next few minutes discussing the likelihood of Cruise and Porter’s involvement in the murder of Jeremy T. Lake. I also let him know Hollis had lifted prints from J.T.’s Volvo, where he also found the man’s police Glock.
“Back to the items found in that wrecked truck,” Bach said, returning to Whitey’s discovery. “It’s hard to believe the ear was retrievable.”
“Strangely, it was tucked inside the hat brim. I’m not even sure Whitey noticed.”
“But no sign of a knife in the wrecked truck?” he asked.
“Whitey’s solid. He would’ve brought it along if he’d found it with the rest of the stuff.”
“All right. And the team at the evidence lab in Bend will check the truck thoroughly, I suppose. If another weapon is there, they’ll find it. In the meantime, let’s reach out to Harry Bratton,” Al suggested. “His forensic work was really helpful last year.”
“Hollis had the same idea yesterday. I’ll put in a call right away.”
“Appreciate that. And thanks for emailing those names earlier,” he said wearily. “I know you had your hands full today.”
I’d barely had time to meet the deadline to send him contact info for everyone I’d spoken to between the time J.T. left my office yesterday and when his body was found.
“It’s a short list,” Bach added, “but I probably won’t make any calls until tomorrow. I had to circle back to La Grande this afternoon. I’m only just now headed your way.”
“That’s a long trip. Drive carefully, Al, you sound exhausted.”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall asleep, Maggie,” Ray Gattis broke in over the speaker.
“Glad to hear that, Doc, but I’m surprised you’re on your way back here, too.”
“Yeah, my number came up again after you dragged those two out of a canyon this afternoon.”
“All right, Maggie. We’ll see you in the morning,” Bach said, ending the call.
Hollis had quietly tidied up his desk and shut down his computer while waiting for me to wrap up my phone conversation.
“Did I hear right? Cruise and Porter were in possession of Lake’s belt buckle and hat? And the severed ear? Plus they also had a ghost gun on board?”
“Yep. Whitey brought me all the shit. It fell out of the battered F-150 when he winched it up to make room for both the Volvo and the truck to fit on his wrecker.”
“Murder solved?”
“An avenue to pursue, sure. But since they also had a gun—which I assume belonged to them and not to Dave Shannon—why kill J.T. with a knife?”
He shrugged. “Hopped up? Sick individuals? Out of bullets? All of the above?”
We sat in silence a moment. I thought back on this wild day, my second in a row.
“Hey,” I began, “do you know how we can identify the owner of cordoned-off private land in the midst of the Malheur National Forest? I drove by gated property with a No Trespassing sign while tailing the Oxy slingers this morning. It’s near the crash site.”
“County property tax records. Anybody can access those online,” Holly replied.
“That sounds too easy.”
“Might be hard to identify what’s referred to as the situs, which is essentially where the acreage is located according to tax records.”
“But I have a feeling you’ve done it before, Holly.”
“Yeah. You should give it a whirl.”
“You know how much I love a challenge.”
“Oh, I know. I definitely know how much you love a challenge.”
“Just so we understand one another, you’ll let me know when you figure out who the owner is?”
He tossed me a fake salute and turned his computer back on.
Within fifteen minutes, Hollis had it. “Edward Earl Muldaur. Owns ten acres of land along Forest Road 2170.”
“FR 2170, that’s the route, all right.”
“The place comes equipped with a small trailer house for hunters. Rents for two-fifty a night.”
“Two hundred fifty?”
“Yep. You can sit on the stoop and shoot mule deer wandering through—occasionally elk or bear, too.”
I smirked. “Nice of tax payers to foot the bill for the bordering wildlife area so assholes can readily bag game.”
“Welcome to America?”
“Oh, so you heard me mention to Al your use of that line?”
“Yeah. Don’t be stealing my material, okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “What else can you tell me about Edward Earl Muldaur?”
“Nothing in LEDS. DMV shows an old minor traffic infraction. And he goes by the name Sugar.”
“Sugar?”
He turned his computer screen toward me. “Mm-hmm. Here’s his photo.”
“Oh, I see. The man’s very fond of sugar.”
“Appears so.”
“And where does Sugar call home?”
“His legal residence is Condon, but he also owns cabins and rentals in Madras and La Pine.”
“He lives in Condon?” A curious coincidence, I thought. “The town the kids were spotted driving through?”
“By kids, you mean Mr. Cruise and Ms. Porter?”
I nodded.
“Not sure if that’s where their trip to our county started or if they just happened to be passing through Condon when someone ID’d them.”
“Play along with me here. What kind of property does Sugar own in Condon?”
“Uh, this dump.” Hollis pointed at the hovel pictured on his computer screen.
“My granddad once lived in Condon. Also in Jordan Valley, Paisley, and Arlington.”
“That’s quite a list of out-of-the-way hot spots.”
“They moved around a lot. His father worked for the State of Oregon building the first rural highways.”
“Well, that’s a thing, I’d say.”
“Yeah, because where would you and I be without them?”
“Unemployed?” Hollis responded while shutting down his computer again and locking his desk drawer. “I’m bound for home. I kind of promised Lil I wouldn’t work this weekend, murder case notwithstanding. That said, if you need me for any reason, just give a call.”
“Have a good night, Holly. I’ll see you tomorrow evening when I come by to babysit Hank.”
“Oh, right. I forgot to tell you, we decided to wait on our date night.”
“Really? You were looking forward to it.”
“I know, but something’s come up.”
I shrugged. “The offer’s still good if you change your minds.”
After Hollis and the rest of the gang had taken off for the weekend, I brought up my list of contacts and dialed up Harry Bratton. The phone rang through to voicemail, and I rattled off the particulars, including my cell number. Next, I texted Duncan at the Feed and Tack and reminded him about our picnic supper. And taking a hint from my departed crew, I signed out for the day.
Duncan arrived at my place about six o’clock, his Jeep loaded with cold beers on ice, roast beef sandwiches, and folding camp chairs. On a whim, I brought Louie along. We drove east to Prairie City and turned south on Strawberry Road, which took us through town and past the homesteads and ranches erected alongside wilderness. After parking at the trailhead, we carried Louie and our picnic supper the mile plus to the glacier-carved valley that held Strawberry Lake. The surrounding cobalt mountains and stands of lodgepole pine reflected obliquely across its plane of crystal water.
“I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” Duncan said.
“The last time I was here, I came with my best friend. A few days before we took off for different colleges. The next time I saw her, she was lying in her casket.”
“What was your friend’s name?”
“Alligator Paulus.”
He gazed across the lake. “Alligator?”
“Alyssa. But everyone called her Alligator.”
“I didn’t know her, I guess. She must not’ve been a friend of my si
ster’s.”
“Oh, no. Kat was always way further up the social ladder than Alligator and me.”
“Good thing none of that matters the older we get.”
“If you say so,” I mumbled sarcastically.
“You still care about that shit?”
“Part of me does, Dun. A teensy weensy part, but it’s still there.”
He put an arm around my shoulder. “What part?”
“The damn poverty part.”
Duncan brought me closer and kissed me.
“You’re right, though,” I said. “All that’s past history, and I pretty much made it out in one piece.”
“One sexy piece, I’d say.”
“Well, sure. That part was never in question.”
He smiled and began unbuttoning my cotton shirt, exposing my new lace bra. “Nice.”
I leaned into his chest. “If you think I’m going to fuck you out here where John Q. Public could show up anytime, you have another think coming,” I whispered and re-buttoned my shirt.
“You’re no fun.”
“Well, go get us a couple of beers, and I’ll conjure up a joke to tell you.”
I unfolded the camp chairs while he pulled two Terminal Gravity pilsners out of the cooler.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Let’s just sit for a while and watch the dowitchers forage.”
Duncan gestured toward my old tabby cat lounging on the sandy beach, oblivious to birds or humans. “I take it Louie’s not much of a hunter.”
“Well, he once stalked hummingbirds and barn swallows. But his hunting days are long over.”
“Poor old guy.”
“He’s lived a nice, long life. I’ll really miss him when he’s gone.”
“Me too.” And with that, Louie wandered over and climbed in Duncan’s lap. “How’s your investigation going?”
“Waylaid, I’m afraid. Between Detective Bach having to go back and forth between La Grande and Baker City, and a couple of miscreants plunging down an arroyo on Aldrich Mountain today, there hasn’t been much of an opportunity to launch an investigation.”
“I hadn’t heard anything about a crash in the mountains.”
“Sam Damon and the sheriff were there, so I’m surprised the scuttlebutt train’s not already chugging along.”
“Sometimes I’m just plain out of the loop. Did they survive?”
I shook my head. “Speaking of out of the loop, I haven’t heard much about your nephew this summer.”
Duncan’s nephew, Rain McKay-Ferlinghetti, and the boy’s friend Brady Larkin were key to solving the murder of the Nodine brothers last year.
“Well, I told you he decided not to come home. I guess Rain prefers college-town living. Can’t say as I blame him.”
“How’s his mother taking that?”
“I’m sure Kat hates it, but she’s not likely to share her feelings with me.”
Kat McKay had always been an enigmatic creature, a part of her character that both intrigued me and made me suspicious.
“I have something I want to ask you, Maggie.”
“What’s up?”
He stood and placed Louie on the seat of his chair and bent down on one knee in front of me.
“What the hell, dude?”
“I love you. I’ve never felt this connected to another person.”
“I love you too, but I’m still not going to have sex with you out here.”
He pulled a small box from a front pocket, opened it, and placed it in the palm of his large hand. “Marry me.”
“My god. Are those real diamonds?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never owned such a thing.”
He lifted the ring from its box. “Please tell me that’s about to change.”
“You really want to get married?”
“Yes, goddamn it.”
“I don’t know, Dun. We have a great thing going without all that other shit.”
“The other shit is the real test, Maggie.”
“And I’ve already flunked it a couple of times.”
“But this is me. You’re the woman I always wanted for a life partner. And I believe I’m the guy you hoped the first two would be.”
I once thought Morgan was the guy I’d always wanted for a life partner. Never had that feeling with J.T., but I knew in my bones that Duncan and I were good together. Too bad I was still hauling around a lot of baggage.
“Besides,” he nudged, “I know for a fact a long-lasting relationship can happen even after a bunch of trial runs. Your buddy Willie Nelson went through three wives before marrying his fourth. I’ve read they’ve been happy together going on twenty years now.”
Well, good for old Willie. “But married, really? We can be together for even longer without that.”
“Not me, not anymore. I want a commitment.”
“You and Casey were married. And theoretically, that was a commitment.”
“Just like Morgan’s to you, one that she couldn’t hold herself to in the end. But it’s more than staying true to your partner. It means being true to building a life together and holding it together no matter what comes along.”
“J.T. Lake ruined the notion for me, the living-happily-ever-after blarney.”
I tried to read Duncan’s expression. It was an unfamiliar look, one of fierce disappointment.
I lifted one hand and softly stroked the side of his face. “How about if Louie and I move in with you? Kind of a test run.”
“We’ve been having a test run for the last year and a half.”
“I’d call it a rehearsal for the test run.”
“Really? So what more do you need to know about me? Because I’d say you pretty much know everything there is to know.”
I backed away from that cliff, avoiding a fall into the valley of sharing dark secrets. Secrets I’d never share, not even with Duncan.
“Listen, we have fun together and get along. We have great sex. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else,” I said.
“Then marry me.”
“There are moments I crave being alone. No commitment to my job, to you, to Louie.”
“Who doesn’t, Maggie? It’s called being human.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay, if this is what you really want, we’ll get married. I’m telling you right now, though, I won’t quit my job, and we need to have an extended conversation about having kids. One other thing: promise me, the first sign of trouble—whether on day one or year twenty—we’ll work on it together. Or with help if we need it.”
“I promise.” He slipped the ring on my finger.
“But I want you to know it’s not just because you’re bribing me with diamonds.”
“Oh? Like what else?”
“For one, you have a nice house with a pretty decent view. And Louie seems to like you okay. Then, your skills in the kitchen are a major plus.”
He stood and gently lifted me from my chair. We held a long, quiet embrace.
“You won’t regret it, I swear,” he said.
I studied my new piece of jewelry. “All right, you drive a hard bargain. Find us a patch of soft grass and I’ll fuck your lights out.”
He laughed. “We’re going to have such a good time together.”
“Having sex or being married?”
“Both. But right now we’re going to eat our sandwiches and drink our beers. We’ll celebrate later at your apartment.”
I woke to the sound of Duncan’s keys clanging to the floor as he pulled on his jeans.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Sorry.”
“Where’re you going?”
“I know you. You need some space to concentrate on solving a homicide.”
I propped myself on my elbow. “In case you’ve forgotten, we first got together in the middle of another murder case.”
“Oh, I remember. I’m not talking about staying out of your hair for the duration. But Detective Bach and the ME will be showing up early tomorrow.�
�
He was right, but I wasn’t sure what that had to do with him sleeping over. “That kind of thing might happen again in the future, you know?”
He nodded. “I’ve made my peace with that. At least mostly.”
There was a time that remark might have thrown me into a tizzy, prompting me to call him a patronizing ass. But over the long haul, he’d generally kept any concerns about the possible dangers I might face as a cop to himself.
“Have I told you lately I love you?” I said.
“Good night, babe.”
7
Morning, August 15
I stared at the diamonds and debated whether or not to wear my engagement ring to work. People would notice. Well, Hollis and Sherry Linn would notice, but not until Monday when they were back in the office. Ray Gattis might spot it, though. Did I really care? Was I overreacting? Nah, I just wasn’t the diamond engagement ring type. Too froufrou. A woman who wore fancy gems didn’t punctuate her speech with profanity.
“Besides, it might get in the way if I have to use my service revolver,” I mentioned to Louie, stretched out across his cat pillow.
He shot me one of his “whatever…” cat stares.
“You’re right. Cops wear bling all the time.”
Dorie Phillips knocked at my door and called out.
“Come on in, Dorie.”
“Hey, girl. How’ve you been?” she asked, entering the studio apartment she rented to me for a pittance.
“I’m doing okay.”
We exchanged a peck on the cheek and sat at my little dining table. For the first time, I noticed Dorie was aging. Considerably, it seemed. The once lovely silver of her hair appeared tarnished, and the blue of her eyes had faded. Ostensibly, though, her spirit remained steadfast.
“I’d offer you coffee or tea, but I’m out of both.”
“That’s all right, Maggie. I just wanted to check on you. I heard about J.T.’s murder and that terrible wreck yesterday. All of it would be a lot for anyone to take in.”
I patted her hand. “You’re the sweetest woman in the world. And J.T.’s death…well, it’s rattled me some, but I’ll be fine.”
“What’s that?” she asked, my patting hand still on hers.
Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2) Page 6