“Good point.”
“I’m off duty until later. I have my badge and gun, but I think that a pack of goat-moving motorcycle riders might be more apt to talk to me if I’m not in uniform.”
“Another good point. Who’s driving?”
“I am. Come on.” She turned and walked to her old Bronco. She was not in a good mood and I knew why, but I also knew she would prefer to be grumpy than talk about it.
I hopped into the passenger side and buckled up.
“So, tell me about this goat relocation project,” I said.
Her grimace perked up to a look of tolerance. “It’s all about the ecosystem. Goats, wolves, hunter, prey. The project’s causing an uproar in some circles; other circles are pretty pleased. They are mountain goats and about fifty of them are being moved to the La Sal range down south a ways. Apparently, there used to be goats there, but there aren’t any longer and we have way too many roaming around Polygamy Springs Valley. They’re bringing other more vicious animals to the area. Specifically mountain lions.”
“The people living out there are upset?”
“The wildlife people are concerned that if the mountain lions go there, they’ll just keep moving closer to Star City. The canyon is a gateway canyon.” Jodie laughed at her own joke. She was coming out of her funk.
“Guess what?” I said.
“What?”
“I know something about the typewriter key bars that Creighton might not have discovered yet.”
“Oh?”
After I told her what I’d found, she pulled out her cell phone and called her brother.
“Take credit. Say you saw them when you were there yesterday and you just hadn’t put it in your notes yet,” I said.
Jodie smiled my direction and said, “Thanks, Clare, but I can’t do that. Creighton was right to be mad at me, but just letting him know about this will help even if I wasn’t the one to discover it.”
She didn’t take credit for the find but she also did what she could not to throw me under the bus. She told Creighton that I’d forgotten to mention the numbers to him because I’d been working late and my brain didn’t function well with so little sleep, especially after finding a dead body. I didn’t care much whether Creighton was mad at me or not, but I appreciated Jodie’s BFF loyalty.
“The numbers are interesting,” Jodie said after she ended the call. “Any idea at all what they mean?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’ve never seen such a thing before. Once, on an old Remington, I saw that someone had scratched their name on one of the key bars, but there was nothing cryptic about that.”
“No.” Jodie stared out the front window. “We’ll work on it. Creighton appreciated the call. He wanted me to tell you thank you.”
“He’s welcome,” I said flatly.
Jodie laughed again. “Still not ready to cut him a break, are you?”
“Oh, look, a motorcycle gang,” I said as we rounded a ridge that opened below to Purple Springs Valley.
There were probably a couple hundred people in the valley below us, and most of them wore denim, leather, and/or bandanas. Many of them had their names patched onto the back of their denim or leather, like they were members of a sports team. I thought that was an odd feature, but it probably helped with the simple task of remembering who was who. Their motorcycles were parked along the side of the road at the bottom of the curvy switchback we traversed. The line of bikes was even, all of them leaning to their right just like obedient but slightly off-kilter soldiers.
“Considering the attire—minus the name patch, which would have been helpful—you would think that our mystery murder victim/potential typewriter thief came from this group, wouldn’t you?” Jodie said.
“Or he wanted everyone to think that he came from this group,” I said.
“That’s right. Looks are often deceiving,” Jodie said. “Let’s go mingle.”
Jodie expertly steered the Bronco down and around the curves in the switchback. She parked at the end of the line of bikes and we got out of the truck. It was obvious we weren’t part of the group. I now understood why Jodie had worn what she’d worn, but her effort at dressing appropriately for the crowd seemed forced. I just stood out like a sore thumb in my khakis and girly pink short-sleeved shirt.
The valley was spectacular though. You could see part of the monastery’s walls and a few discrete houses around the perimeter, as well as the polygamy compound that sat in the middle and stood out even more than I did with its high gray stone walls and promises of the secret stuff going on behind them. I had come to the conclusion that there probably wasn’t much secret stuff going on, but it was impossible not to speculate. The motorcycle group was spread out just this side of the walled compound in the middle, leaving the other side open with a multicolored sea of wildflowers and tall green grasses moving every direction with the light breeze. It was storybook charming, even with the motorcycles, the riders, and a big truck with “Utah Division of Wildlife” emblazoned on the side of its cab.
Almost all of the goat relocaters looked our direction at once, their patched-on names disappearing as they faced us. Their faces were decidedly not friendly and welcoming, but suspicious and maybe a little mean.
“Hang close by me, Clare. We’ll be okay, but I’m not afraid to shoot if I have to.”
“You got it.”
6
Our initial hesitation—well, my initial hesitation; Jodie was secure with her solid, confident footsteps and loaded gun in her back waistband—proved to be a hasty and poor first evaluation.
The group was called Angels for Animals. They were all motorcycle riders in the strictest stereotypical sense of the word. Most of them were at least a little rough around the edges, many had tattoos, and some had cigarettes hanging from their lips. None of the cigarettes were lit, and though I wasn’t sure why, I didn’t think I needed to ask. As we moved toward them, Jodie briefly told me that many of them had arrest records, although the policy to join the group noted that no violent criminals were allowed to be a part of AFA.
The first person to approach us was a big guy with an eagle tattoo covering his entire right forearm. His long gray hair and beard must have prematurely taken on that color, because the rest of him looked to be in the buff thirtysomething range.
“Help you?” he said. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he didn’t smile right away.
“Yeah, we’re looking for someone who might know someone else,” Jodie said.
“I see,” the man said with raised gray eyebrows and a knowing half smile. He twisted his top half a little and pointed to the name on the back of his denim vest and then faced forward as he held out his hand. “I’m Mutt.”
“I’m Jodie, and this is Clare.”
He shook our hands and looked us both in the eyes so hard I thought I should feel a burn.
“Walk with me. We’ll see what we can figure out before we get others involved. I’ll be watching the fringe area though. You two reek of cop. Well, you do.” He nodded at Jodie. “If anyone here has done something wrong that they haven’t paid the price for yet, they might try to run. Keep your eyes open and check your six every now and then.”
“I thought this wasn’t a violent group,” Jodie said.
“That’s what’s in our mission statement, but we have enough members who’ve had enough run-ins with the law that we think it’s prudent to be careful,” Mutt said.
Jodie nodded but didn’t seem concerned. She did have her gun after all. I’d definitely stick close by her just in case.
We stepped away from the bulk of the group, most of which went back to their duties. From our lower valley bowl vantage point I could see that some goats were in what looked like a temporary pen of sorts. The dozen or so animals seemed content, not panicked because of the walls around them. Next to the pen were some large containers, and I watche
d as a goat was loaded into one container and then slowly lifted up and onto the flatbed truck. My animal-loving side wondered and worried about the whole operation, but Jodie had assured me that the goats weren’t being harmed and that they would end up happier with fewer predators where they were going. I wondered if she was just appeasing me.
“What’s up?” Mutt asked.
“There’s been a murder in town, over in Star City,” Jodie said.
“That’s never a good thing,” Mutt said, though he didn’t sound defensive.
“No, never. Some strange circumstances have brought me out here to ask your group about the victim. He was dressed all in leather. Frankly, he looked like lots of people here look. I’m wondering if anyone might know him.” Jodie pulled a picture out of her back pocket and showed it to Mutt. The picture was of leather man in my back walkway.
Mutt took the picture and inspected it closely. A moment later he shook his head. “I don’t think I know him. He’s dressed like we dress. And though most people here have their name on their back, not all of them do. He could have blended in, but. . . well, I hate to stereotype my own group, but he actually looks a little more clean-cut than the rest of us. Look at that haircut. It looks styled and coifed.” Mutt smiled then, right at Jodie.
She smiled back. Oddly, and probably inappropriately, the whole thing made me smile too.
“We’re all a bit scruffy. We like it that way,” Mutt added. He stopped smiling so brightly, but I’d witnessed his and Jodie’s momentary eye lock. Mutt was a big guy, tall with muscled shoulders that had tattooed arms attached to them. He was not Jodie’s type, but Jodie’s return smile made me wonder if that could possibly change. That’s the thing with a long friendship; lifetimes can be read in one simple smile.
“What do you do for a living, Mutt?” I asked unabashedly.
“Oh, I’m a computer programmer down in Salt Lake City. I do contract work, always moving from one company to the next.”
“Computer programming? That’s a pretty good living, huh?” I said.
Both Mutt and Jodie looked at me.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mutt said. “And I make enough money to be able to take some time off and do good works.” He winked at me.
Jodie rolled her eyes my direction. “Anyway,” she said. “I think I’d like to walk around and talk to some others too, if you don’t mind.”
Jodie didn’t care if he minded or not, but I understood she was easing her way into the group and she knew Mutt could grease the wheels.
“Don’t mind a bit. If anyone is uncooperative, just give me the high sign. I’ll straighten them out right away.”
“Thanks.”
“One more question before you leave, Mutt,” I said. “I’m just curious. Are you married? In a serious relationship?”
“Clare, you are an embarrassment to our gender,” Jodie said.
“I am not married, nor am I in a serious relationship. I have a four-year-old daughter and I get along with her mother very well, but we just couldn’t stay married to each other. Just in case you need to know.” Mutt smiled again and then walked back toward the group.
“Clare. Really?” Jodie said.
“There was a spark between you two. We’re way beyond being coy if there’s a spark,” I said, thinking about Seth and how I wished I’d asked him more questions about himself or at least had Jodie there to embarrass me like I’d embarrassed her.
“A spark does not always a flame make.”
I laughed. “That’s poetic of you, but still, there was a spark. I think you should ask him out.”
“Come on. Let’s go ask some questions to other people. Stick by me. We’re in because Mutt approves of us, but we still need to be on our toes. If there is a murderer in our midst, they will try to avoid us or run. We don’t want to put anyone, ourselves included, in a position to be harmed.”
We met Ingrid first. She wasn’t as friendly as Mutt, but then she didn’t seem to be attracted to either Jodie or myself, so she probably saw no need for an extra dose of polite. She had long brown hair and green eyes. She didn’t recognize the victim.
After many more conversations with many more bikers, no one said that the murder victim looked familiar in any way.
“That doesn’t mean they’re telling the truth, or that they aren’t in denial,” Jodie said in a side conversation to me. “People don’t want to recognize murder victims because they fear that someone may suspect they had something to do with the crime, even if they’re completely innocent. What I’ve been looking for is a quick reaction. If someone was close to the victim, it would be difficult to hide their emotions. I haven’t seen any of that, so I think that if anyone we’ve talked to did know him, they only knew him as one of the group, not as someone they were close to.”
We spent a lot of time talking to bikers and watching the goats being loaded up for transport. Everyone was very gentle and patient with the animals. I ended up taking a couple of cards from different members of the group. I had no idea why I’d need an Angels for Animals group in the future, but one never knew.
I found a pen in my pocket and started writing down names from the patches I saw on the backs of the cards. Jodie hadn’t ordered anyone to talk to us and she had done nothing to make sure we spoke to every single person there, but I wasn’t good at remembering names. It was almost a reflex for me to want to write them down.
As we were leaving three hours later, Mutt hurried to catch up to us. I stepped away from his and Jodie’s conversation and slid into the Bronco. They weren’t discussing the murder; the smiles on their faces made that clear.
“He asked you out, didn’t he?” I said when she got into the truck.
“None of your business.”
“He did. He’s sweet.”
“I’ll let you know.” She smiled at me.
“Yay,” I said. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it any further, and though that might not always stop me, I changed the subject. “Mirabelle bought her typewriter back in the day. Where might she have purchased it from?”
Jodie thought a long moment as she steered the Bronco toward the switchback road and then said, “O’Malley’s.”
“No, they own the bar on Main Street.”
“The family has been in Star City for a long time. They’ve owned lots of businesses. They used to own a popular appliance store in town. This was before both our times, but I’ve heard a little of the history. The bar’s only been around since the nineteen seventies.”
“O’Malley’s, huh? I don’t remember knowing about their previous business ventures. Haven’t a couple of the O’Malley boys been in prison?”
“Auto theft and check fraud.” Jodie knew her arrest records.
There was no way to connect the modern day O’Malley criminals to their ancestors who might have sold Mirabelle her typewriter, but I was still curious about the history.
“You want to go to dinner with me at O’Malley’s tonight?” I said.
“I would love to, but I’m on duty in a couple hours. Night shift tonight. Real duty. None of this plainclothes undercover stuff,” she said.
“Yeah, we’re kind of badass, aren’t we?” I said.
“I am. You, not so much.”
“Hey.”
“Okay, okay, you can be badass too if you want.”
“Oh, I want. I definitely want.”
7
The trip back to town took about fifteen minutes. We made some more small talk and got caught up on each other’s family member’s heath statuses on the way. When we pulled up in front of The Rescued Word, Seth, the geologist, was peering in the front windows. He’d changed clothes and brushed his still-too-unruly hair. He wore a nice but casual collared short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and funky green tennis shoes.
“Who’s that?” Jodie said.
“A custo
mer. I refurbished Tom Sawyer for him.”
“He’s adorable,” Jodie said with eyebrows raised my direction. “Shall I come with you and ask if he’s married and if he has a good job?”
“He’s a new geologist in town and I don’t think he’s married.”
“Ah, I see. Do you suppose he’s looking for you or Chester?” Jodie honked the horn, causing Seth to jump and turn toward us.
Jodie smiled and waved. Seth waved hesitantly, until Jodie pointed at me in the passenger seat. Then Seth smiled and waved back confidently.
“It’s a wonder anyone has ever wanted to date either of us,” I said without moving my lips from a smile.
“That’s true. You might want to go see if he has another book hidden in his pocket or something. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Thanks for letting me play cop today.”
“Don’t tell Creighton about any of this,” she said seriously as she sent another glance to Seth.
I hopped out of the truck and Jodie pulled away from the curb, revving the engine much more than I thought was necessary.
“Hi,” I said as I walked toward Seth. “Everything okay with the book?”
“Great. It looks really fabulous,” Seth said. He looked around uncomfortably. I had the sense that he felt exposed out in the open.
“Oh, good. Glad to hear it. You want to come in? We closed for the day, but my grandfather owns the place. He trusts me with my own set of keys.”
Seth smiled. “Well, I was just coming by to see if you wanted to go to dinner. Tonight would be great, but if that’s short notice, maybe some other night.” He looked relieved to get the words out.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I said. The day had gotten away from me and I wasn’t exactly sure what time it was. I didn’t want to look at my phone but a quick glance at the shadows along Bygone made me think it must be almost six. What had I said to Jodie—there was no longer any need to be coy? I knew that the best thing was to play at least a little hard to get, but I just didn’t want to. “Sounds great. I accept.”
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