Tripp put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Easy, buddy. Just yanking your chain a little. I know you didn’t off Everett. But the map didn’t help much. Maybe it eliminated Frances, whose caches were to the east. Jesse’s caches were at that end of the grounds, but the rest of the crew was close enough for a quick detour, if they knew he was there. Even Madrone could have driven her van to Everett’s campsite and killed him.”
“As you could have.” Gabe took a gulp of his now stone cold coffee. He took a breath and let it out. “Of course, the question is, why was he out there? And who knew about it?”
“I have no idea. It’s pretty clear he was spying on us, but hell knows why. We can speculate but I’m hoping the sheriff is better at it than us. Which brings us back to, what do we do about next week’s trip?”
Maybe Tripp was right that they should leave this to the sheriff. Certainly Gabe would get no more help from his partner. He nodded and sat down as Tripp continued. “Fortunately, I’d made the reservations months back and we’ve got a good crew of guests, a mix of newcomers and old-timers. Come to think of it, maybe we should send Frances instead of Madrone. Quite a few gray-hairs in the crowd.”
“The fewer changes now the better. Madrone and Jesse should make a good team. Do we need to add another guide?”
Tripp scrunched his face. “Nah. Too much overhead.”
“Rumors of this week’s events are sure to get out. We want our guests to feel safe and comfortable.” Gabe rubbed his jaw. “Maybe I’ll go along. I could learn more about the Utah red rock country. And while it’s great that you made all the reservations, I’m thinking we need to hire someone to do our bookings from now on. That’ll leave you more time for marketing.”
“Another employee means a bigger cash flow, my friend. You planning on investing more?”
Gabe had never told Tripp that his investment in the company constituted not only his life savings but a loan from his dear old dad. Dad had agreed despite reservations about his son’s new career direction and that ever ready reminder that Gabe could always just join the family firm. That was none of Tripp’s business. So now he simply told him, “Maybe we can move a few things around. Creative accounting.”
“You talking bilking the IRS? I’m not up for that.”
“Hell, no. I’ve been looking at the books you shared with me. We spend a bundle on magazine marketing. Maybe move more online and free up some cash.”
Tripp rose and moved to the edge of the sandstone. He spun around to face Gabe, his arms crossed. “Or you could invest a bit more in Adventure Calls. It would be a shame if Madrone and the other guides learned why you left a career in teaching to run a tour company. Morale and all that.”
Gabe’s gut and shoulders tightened and his fists clenched. “Goddammit. That sounds like a threat. I don’t like threats,” he growled. This was no way to start a partnership. Was it too late to back out?
Tripp smiled and opened his arms. “Not a threat at all. We’re friends. Friends keep secrets for friends. It’s something I learned I thought we should keep between us. As business partners. In a business that could do with a booster shot of lifeblood . . . cash.” He picked up his mug and frowned. “Like I could use some more caffeine.”
“Slimy, Tripp, really slimy. Given that one local businessman just got murdered for hell knows what reason, you really might want to rethink your venture into blackmail.” Tripp paled. Gabe saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. Gabe’s better side wanted to reassure Tripp his new partner wasn’t a killer. His evil angel urged him to let him think what he would. He smiled and took the low road. Some team.
Tripp sat beside Gabe. “You’re wrong about me. I’m no blackmailer. And I don’t believe you killed Everett. Come on, we’re partners. You can count on me, Gabe.”
So far he’d not seen any indication of that, but Gabe patted Tripp’s knee, pleased to see him flinch. “Good to hear it, partner. Good to hear it. In the meantime, why don’t you check with Sheriff Idle about our going on a cuckoo hunt?” He rose and went inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Madrone Goes to the Rodeo
R odeos have an aroma all their own—a blend of livestock manure, human and animal sweat, beer, cotton candy, popcorn, hot dogs, the nearly extinct scent of legal tobacco combined with that of marijuana—medical, of course.
Madrone entered the grounds of the Benson Butterfield rodeo wearing a pair of tight jeans and boots and a gingham shirt. She breathed in the various scents. Even closed to spectators and only open for cowboys to practice, the odors remained. She blinked at the powerful memories of trips to the annual Tucson rodeo to see her uncle and cousins compete. Brought to her either by memory or her nostrils came two distinctive odors, fear and anticipation. The cowboys, the rodeo groupies, the audience all shared a lust for the danger and possibilities of rodeo competition and the grounds themselves seemed drenched in that compulsion.
She passed the two first-aid stations, a small tent for visitors who encountered minor health problems such as sunburn or slivers, and an ambulance parked on a back access road blocked from traffic. Rodeo cowboys, especially bull riders and bareback bronc riders, risk broken bones, separated shoulders and broken collarbones for what is most often very little money. Her relatives said it was about the rush, not the money. Weird source of excitement, but then, some might say the same of mixing flour, yeast and water.
Glad she’d taken time to snap a few pictures of the crew before their scavenger hunt, she pulled the photos that had clear face shots of Ben from her backpack to show around.
She paused, thinking, then turned around. Ben had not only ridden broncs at rodeos, he’d worked as an EMT. First stop, first aid. She hoped that even on non-show days, there’d be a tech or two on duty.
Score. Two men and a woman were drinking coffee and trading insults inside the three-sided tent. Madrone strode up to the table and waited. Cleared her throat. Smiled. Said, “Excuse me.” Still ignored, she rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. “Hello.”
The woman, the youngest of the three, turned toward her. “Rodeo’s closed.”
“And if I need help?”
The older man, with long gray hair pulled into a pony tail, pointed a thumb in the direction of the ambulance. “There’s an ambulance for emergencies.”
“This isn’t an emergency.”
The younger man finally pivoted to face Madrone. She’d been enjoying the back of his head, where an image of a bucking bronco was carved into his closely shorn dark brown hair. He looked her up and down, ending at her chest. “Sweetheart, we’re off duty. But maybe I have the answer to your problem.” He grinned broadly.
“Maybe you do.” She handed him the top photo. “You know Ben Burtoff?”
“Oh, cripes,” said the woman. “What’s he done now?”
“If you’re a cop, you’re definitely off-duty, too,” Bronco Boy said. “Them jeans is too tight to hide a gun.”
“No gun, not a cop. Just a sucker doing her boss a favor. Background on some possible employees.” She focused on the woman. “Interesting you’d think Ben was in trouble. He have a history with trouble?” When all she got was silence, she added, “Ben will never hear where I got my info.”
Finally the older man moved closer to the table. “Ben’s a good kid. A little headstrong is all. Smart, talented, learns quick.”
“Headstrong. He get in fights?” Madrone asked.
Bronco Boy smiled. “No fights. Like me, he’s a lover, not a fighter. Want a demo?”
She smiled back. “Not right now, thanks. So he was an EMT and rides broncs. Lots of energy?”
“Energy? Yeah, lots of that,” said the woman. “But more like he’s driven. What can I say? The kid has goals and works hard to get there. Nothing wrong with that.”
The three gossips were on a roll, so she stayed silent and attentive, shifting her gaze among them.
Ponytail guy took the stand. “Ben worked hard here. When he realized he wasn’t gonna make bi
g bucks riding bareback, he started training as a clown. They get good pay and good tips. And of course, EMTs do pretty good and it’s not as dangerous. He was bustin’ his balls to save money. Sometimes it takes a hot temper to start a fire.”
Madrone raised an eyebrow. “Hot temper?”
The woman, about Madrone’s age with short-cropped blond hair, said, “Give the kid a break. And a job. He’ll grow up, mellow out, you’ll see. Nothing wrong with ambition.” She poked Bronco Boy in the arm. “Something you could learn, Walt.”
Bronco Boy/Walt clutched his heart region. “You’re breakin’ my heart,” he said to her. “I got plenty of ambition.” To Madrone he said, “But now we’ve been introduced, you wanna grab a beer with me? Coffee?”
“Much as I admire your hair art, I’m working, so I have to say no.” She paused to think. They knew more. “So Ben’s saving money for an important goal. Any idea what that might be?”
The gray ponytail waved with the old guy’s shake of the head. “Can’t say.”
Madrone looked at the woman, then let her eyes drift to the younger man. The woman folded her lips under. “I can’t speak to his whys, only tell you he worked hard.”
Bronco Boy shrugged, palms up.
“Thanks for talking with me.” Madrone headed for the stables.
As she walked off, she heard Bronco Boy saying, “See? I’m telling you, this hair art is a chick magnet. She liked it. They all do.”
“And yet,” said the older man, “She goes there and you’re still here. I see a pattern and it’s not just in your hair, boy.”
So focused was Madrone on listening to the words behind her, she didn’t notice the cowboy heading her direction. She moved forward, cocking her head, hoping to hear more. And walked into a large wall that smelled of smoke and male. And had large strong arms that grabbed her when she reared backward, stammering an apology.
“No apology needed. Not often gorgeous young women walk into my arms.” The man’s firm grip steadied her, but wasn’t intrusive. When Madrone pulled away, he kept his hands on her arms to steady her, but let her move back.
Madrone’s face heated. This man had obviously just dismounted his horse after rescuing several fair maidens and saving the west-bound stage. Whew. Not young, but definitely h-o-t. “Not sure where I was.”
He smiled, revealing one gold front tooth and another chipped. Even bad dental work didn’t detract from the guy’s charisma. Well, maybe a little. That and the cigarette smell brought Madrone to her senses enough to rebuff his next words. “I can tell you where I’d love for you to be.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but smiled back. “Oh, really?”
He laughed, an infectious, good-natured guffaw. “My wife would object, I’m afraid. But not to a cup of coffee with a sweet young thing.” He paused. “Just to make sure you’re okay after I almost bowled you over.”
“If you let me buy the coffee, it’s a deal. I’m the one who ran into you.”
He guided her to a smallish tent where an older couple, possibly Hispanic, possibly Native Americans, served coffee and delicious pastries.
After they’d finished introductions and chatted a few minutes, Madrone got out the photos of Ben and asked if Jerome knew him. “Sure. Ben Burtoff or Buttoff, something like that. Lot of us call him Ben Bitter, ‘cause the kid has an attitude.” He sipped his coffee. “When you rodeo, you can’t afford an attitude. Attitude gets you killed.”
“So you mean he was arrogant? Over-confident?”
Jerome shook his head with a small smile. “Nah. You see too much of that, sure you do. But with Ben it was all the anger bottled up inside him. Resentment.”
“Resentment?”
“That’s what I saw. What do those hoity-toity types call it? A sense of entitlement?”
Madrone stifled her smile. Tough and rugged and weather-worn as this guy looked didn’t make him illiterate. For all she knew, he was a psychiatrist or counselor who moonlighted as a bronc buster. Or he was a groupie. She recalled in their few first words she’d asked if he was a bull rider and he’d laughingly denied that, saying if he could still walk at his age, he wasn’t a bull rider. But he hadn’t mentioned his specialty. Maybe it was spectator. She wanted to say, “Could you expand on that theory,” but settled on, “Tell me more.”
“Don’t let this keep the kid from a job with your tour company. He’s sharp, and he has a way with people.”
“Both sexes.”
“Oh sure. He can be as charming as heck. Just don’t get him started on the family ranch. It’s his pet obsession.”
Madrone leaned forward, then worried that he’d think her move that classic feminine ploy of leaning forward to reveal her cleavage and make him reveal his thoughts. She sat up straight and gave him an attentive stare.
He smiled. “You look like our Aussie when she’s expecting a treat. So here you go. Ben grew up on a ranch somewhere in southeast Arizona. His grandparents, I think, homesteaded. His parents took over and had two kids, a girl and then several years later, Ben came along. All was great until the folks died in a monsoon flooded wash. Big sister ran the ranch and Ben helped, but I gather it got to be too much for her and she sold it. But as Ben reports it, some slick developer wormed it out of her with his charm and sex and what have you. Happened while Ben was off rodeoing and going to clown school. He didn’t know about it until too late to do anything except complain. And trust me, complain he did.
“I heard he was saving money for a big project. Think he hopes to buy that land back?”
Jerome fetched his cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. “Pipe dream, probably. These days only huge places can make a go of it. Or maybe a little boutique specialty spread. Maybe, come to think of it, that’s what the kid has in mind. More power to him.”
Madrone stood. “I am so grateful I ran into you today.”
Jerome rose as well and shook the hand she extended. “Hey, it’s not often I bowl over sweet things these days. It was a pleasure. Hope I didn’t share anything Ben wouldn’t. He’s griped to lots of cowboys about developers, I’m sure of that.”
CHAPTER FORTY: Adventures After Dark
A fter dinner that night, Gabe and Madrone spent a few fruitless minutes attempting to convince Frances that neither of them was investigating Everett Poulsen’s murder. Madrone had somewhat better success assuring her that Ben was recuperating well from his scorpion bite but not from the shame of the public revelation of his plans for seducing Kate. “Maybe, but he’s young and the young bounce back fast. I’m sure he’ll be hot on her trail by tomorrow afternoon, more’s the pity.”
Before she left the kitchen, Frances paused and turned back to them, left hand raised in a half-salute. “Just because I’m over sixty, don’t ignore me as a potential suspect. That would be ageism.”
Gabe shoook his head, smiling. “Not a chance, Frances,” he said to her back. “Not a chance. But we’re not investigating.” Once she was out of sight, he said to Madrone, “Let’s take a walk. Wear dark clothes and bring a flashlight. I’ll meet you by the front gate.”
* * * *
Gabe squatted and used his flash to observe a beetle while he waited for Madrone to join him. Probably a Teneb beetle, Epitragini. He’d been working to learn more about beetles of the Sonoran desert. The list was long. Out-of-state visitors would be surprised by the amount of flora and fauna flourishing in this desert. And many would enjoy learning more about them from Gabe and his crew. At least he hoped so. Anxiety tightened his throat. This company had to succeed.
“What’s up?” Madrone’s throaty alto broke into Gabe’s reverie.
Gabe leaped up, forced to straddle the beetle to avoid squashing it as he staggered forward, breathing heavily. “Holy shoe trees, Madrone. You do know how to startle a man.”
“Shoe trees? Original. Starting over, what’s the plan, oh master sleuth who is not sleuthing.”
Gabe turned his light off. “Yeah. I don’t think she believed us.”
“Like she said,everyone’s a suspect.” He squinted at her. “Everyone but thee and me.”
“And I’m not so sure about . . . me. He really was a prick.”
“I’m sure about thee. I have a plan.” He looked up. “Look at those stars. I love how they don’t allow many outdoor lights in this town.” Madrone leaned against him as they both gawked at the stars in the evening sky. Gabe spoke again. “Let’s walk while I fill you in. I had a good day of not-investigating in Benson and Bisbee. Ran into Sheriff Idle at a cafe in Benson. Following up on a hint from him, I learned that Lorraine and Tripp co-own a condo in Benson.”
“Left over from their marriage? No big deal.”
“The big deal is, they still use it. And I’m not talking rental property. Love nest. Nest with some pretty nosy neighbors.”
“Oh please. This is not Beverly Hills Housewives.”
“Don’t be so sure. My question is, if Everett was a schmuck, why’d Lorraine leave Tripp for him?”
“Maybe a question of which schmuck had the bigger . . . bank account.” Madrone smirked.
“Making Lorraine sound pretty mercenary. Odd that she’d be shacking up with her ex while married to Everett. How well do you know her?”
“Not well at all. She and Tripp divorced before he hired me. Yesterday was the longest I’d been around her. Seemed okay. Definitely a good driver.” After they turned the corner, Gabe using his flash to verify the street name, she added, “Where we going? You know, I had a good day snooping at the rodeo grounds. I want to tell you what I found out about Ben.”
“I want to hear it, after we do this. We’re going to Lorraine’s house. With Everett dead, there’s no need for the two of them to rendezvous in Benson. I want to see if we can get close enough to do some eavesdropping.”
Murder, Sonoran Style Page 18