Wounded Badge Vista

by Kieran York

  ***

  “Sheriff,” Debra called out into the hall from the D.A.’s Office. Royce entered and greeted Debra and Mike. “Your Gran told me about your encounter with that Newton man.” Debra closely examined the sheriff’s face. “I hope he gets life for hitting you. And maybe for what he did to his wife, he should be executed.”

  Royce shrugged. “You saw what he did to his wife.”

  Mike explained, “I showed Grandmother the photos. My plans are to make certain he has a long time to think it over. And an example is made of him. Newton’s like so many other perpetrators. Wives and partners often forgive them. They drop charges. And pay the bondsman. So, a few days in jail to sober up, and the rotating door swings them back out on the street. But now we are charging for example. Bart Newton has been charged, and he’ll be convicted. He will be sentenced. The guy’s never done hard-time. Now he’s going to be living among bullies that are far more frightening, and far more dangerous than he is. He’ll know what it means to be afraid.”

  “I don’t have one bit of sympathy for him,” Debra expressed, adding a dismissive wave of her arm. “I’m usually an empathetic person. But some cases make me lose my empathy.” She went to the doorway. “Okay, I’ve blown my top for the day, and I’m going to run home because Dora promised to make what she calls Frontier Hungarian Goulash for lunch. And I’m picking up some Colorado Chocolate Cheesecake from Molly’s Pantry.”

  Mike chuckled, “Royce, can you guess where I’m going to go when I leave here tonight?”

  “I’m guessing you’re going to visit your grandmother for dinner leftovers?”

  Debra smiled. “Mike, we’ll save you some goulash and cheesecake.”

  When his grandmother left, Mike pointed to Royce’s face. “I saw the police evidence photos of your face. They’ll be great for prosecution.”

  “It’s only a minor wound. I’m spending the day in the office searching to find the couple that not only wounded, but nearly killed an undersheriff. We’ve got the background information on Eisner. A dirty past. But I think we need to know more about girlfriend. We’re putting up the touched-up photos showing her natural look, alongside of the re-creations of her Drop-On Buy film, fully made-up versions. I’ve always believed that the more I know about criminals, the easier it is to find them, and interrogate them.”

  Mike shifted in his desk chair. “Forensics is searching the woman/girl’s records. Texas is searching the Sumner records, calls, et cetera. I’m wondering about the tie. Sumner. Buckley Eisner, and Mimic Maiden. Eisner was in prison and had contact with Sumner. He was transferred to Colorado. He might have met the Mimic Maiden here in Colorado.”

  “I’m hoping that the new photo – young Mimic Maiden – will get a strike. Someone will see her. If we catch her, we can find out answers. Our APB for Eisner is complete, but I wonder how it can be as relevant as it would be if we didn’t have an incomplete APB on Mimic Maiden. Someone should recognize her.”

  “Sheriff, if we don’t get a hit on her soon, I’m going to push for finding a phantom chaser. If Eisner and Mimic stick around long enough, they may shoot us all.”

  Royce stood. She tipped her hat. Her grin was one of enjoying his make-believe. “We’ll find them. Enjoy your dinner tonight.”

  “I’ve had lovely meals since my grandmother moved in with your Gran. And they are so happy with their living arrangements. I do, however, suffer for the good meals.”

  Grinning, Royce’s eyebrows lifted. “Suffer?”

  “I’ve got rap sheets on their bridge partners. I hear the story of every hand played. I listen to a regurgitated Sunday sermon at least twice. And Grandmother Debra’s shopping. I can tell you every sale in both Crystal and Timber. And the percentage off each blouse.”

  “Gran makes delicious goulash.”

  “I need to put a new hole in my belt.” Mike looked down at his stomach. He gave a slap across his midsection. “Some things are worth a waistline expansion.”

  Smiling, Royce left his office. Mike would give her a full review of the goulash and the pie.

  ***

  Chance ran ahead of Royce as they crossed Main Street. Chance knew that Molly had been busily making pasties, and always saved a sampling of the beef and vegetables, sans the seasonings.

  “Hi, Mom. Chance is impatiently awaiting her afternoon meal.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen.” Molly pointed to Chance’s special space. “Here, Girl,” Molly coaxed Chance. “And Royce, you take her out the back way. I don’t want the health department thinking I let a dog have the run of the bakery.”

  “I’ll pay your fine,” Royce joked.

  “Have you had the dentist look at your teeth. You have your daddy’s beautiful, perfect teeth. You need to be checked out.”

  “First break I get, Mom.”

  Molly neared her daughter. Her eyes scrutinized Royce’s mouth. “Good lord, you may need stitches.”

  “Hertha looked at it and said it will barely show when it heals. She calls it a non-bragging abrasion. I’m fine.”

  “Speaking of Hertha. She seems a little quieter than usual. I think she’s worrying about you and all this murder business.”

  Royce’s lips pursed. “Mom, she’s fine. She’s busy. And certainly, Nick’s being shot hasn’t helped. But she’s like one of the wives. She understands. You know how worrying it is to have an enforcer spouse.”

  “I surely do. You’re riding a tough race right now. We all worry.”

  Royce took Chance out the back way. “Chance, let’s keep you undercover, so the health department doesn’t arrest you.”

  Chance cocked her head. Royce wondered how much the German shepherd understood her conversations. She slipped a butterscotch candy into her own mouth. She quickly slid it to the other side. Hard candy isn’t meant to rub up against a mouth abrasion.

  ***

  Her office desk was covered with several little piles. Wanda had always tried to save the sheriff’s time by keeping her messages in order. Each pile had been sorted by importance, by time, and in order. On the left side was the pile of messages most consequential. The last little pile was the least significant. Wanda mixed unimportant messages into what she called the village kooks pile. They were moaners calling the sheriff to complain about their telephone bills, and how the folks from Crystal should be cut off from the country because there were too many strangers. Often those who were inebriated found the end stack. Many days, Wanda would suggest that Royce toss all the calls from that pile into the waste basket. Wanda called the trash basket the crackpot bin.

  However, Royce always felt it her duty to be polite, and understanding. She didn’t enjoy the rambling, incohesive rants with slurs and cursing.

  Royce plodded through callbacks, and an assortment of messages. Then she began making working calls to find the infamous woman of mystery. When Terry arrived, she worked her daily call reports, then began contacting more places to locate juvenile cases that may not be included in the lock-off of expunged files. Most were buried, but they just needed one that would tell them what they needed to know. Royce and Terry both had a feeling that since Wyatt’s lead about the woman being much younger, it might be an important clue.

  After three hours of searching, Royce poured herself another cup of coffee. “Can I get you some coffee?” she offered Terry.

  “Thank you. I feel like I’m swimming in a tsunami of juvenile delinquents. Juvies. They’re getting ready to take over the world. And when you look at the numbers, it seems like so many are pre-puberty criminals.”

  Royce handed Terry her coffee, then she sat on the edge of the desk. “I hope most of the young perps get their act together. I’m guessing we’ll be arresting some of them as time goes by. But I hope they make it.”

  “Royce, how much do you think is nature, and how much nurture? I mean, what kind of parents, families, circumstances are involved?”

  Casting her gaze downward, Royce answered, “I think a lot about that since I
have two children. I love those kids and it would break my heart if they got into trouble with the law. If anything at all happened to them. If you’re a concerned parent, the worry is always at the back of your mind, I guess. The fear that you’re not doing it properly.”

  “Your kids act great. They’re always polite,” she lauded.

  “They behave, but there’s so much to this parenting job.” Royce swallowed. “Gran said it was the hardest task in life – raising a child or children.” Royce sighed.

  Terry chuckled. “That was one loud sigh. I think Sam could have heard it from here.”

  “I think you and Sam would be wonderful parents. You balance each other.”

  “Well, you and Hertha balance great, too.”

  “She’s probably a much more involved parent than I am.”

  “Only one way to solve that. Take a couple hours off tomorrow morning and take those kids to pan gold. From what Hertha says, you’ll get all kinds of points for that.”

  “I shouldn’t. I’ve got so much to do.”

  “Royce, you haven’t had a day off since Nick was shot. Get out with the kids.” Terry added, “This will be great. You’ll be completely parent-trained by the time Sam and I are married and have children. I can send the kids over to Aunt Royce.” She paused while the sheriff considered her options.

  “Let’s see how my kids are behaving before you decide on entrusting them with me.” She laughed. “I shouldn’t leave the office. I’ve got so much to do.”

  “You know you want to pan gold tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll see if I can get it set up with Wyatt.”

  Royce contacted Wyatt, to see what his plans might be. She listed her problematic situations. A place remote enough that it would be secure. Above all, Royce didn’t want to endanger her family

  Wyatt said he knew the perfect location.

  Chapter 20

  Hertha had performed an emergency operation on a cat that had been run over. The owners brought the female tabby in at six in the morning. Hertha’s diagnostic skills were known throughout the area. She told the pet owners that she could save the lovely tabby. Grateful, they asked that Hertha do anything she could to keep the three-year old cat alive. Hertha warned that it would be a two-hour operation, and they would need to watch the kitty carefully as the sweet cat recuperated. It would take some home nursing, and care. And that there would probably be a couple follow up calls at the hospital. They agreed to watch after the cat’s care. Their children loved the little cat. Hertha asked her assistant to let Royce and the kids know she’ll be thinking of them, and to have fun panning gold.

  Getting the children up, and dressed, was an easy task. The two couldn’t hold back their anticipation. Royce decided to let Chance stay home with Hertha. Royce explained to them that the dogs might scare the fish away. And the children wanted to do a little fishing while they were out.

  Molly brought over some pasties for lunch, and also a strawberry cake. They loaded Hertha’s Jeep Cherokee Hawk. Royce, drove to the place off to the east of Wyatt’s cabin and it was lovely. And totally remote. Wyatt had set up the sluicing platform, and had all the gear ready to go. The place on the creek was a perfect for the outing.

  Water bounced as it fell, the kiddoes splashed, and gazed around at the nature’s beauty, and creatures. They named animals as she spotted them. They’d seen gray jays, a peregrine falcon, and a black-billed magpie. Across a meadow, they’d witnessed a mule deer, chipmunks, and a rabbit that was watching them.

  Royce had brought the kid’s fishing poles; Antero was obsessed with fishing. He was watching as fish jumped occasionally. He’d give a yelp each time he saw the splash.

  Wyatt instructed the children about gathering pay dirt, then putting a shovelful of dirt into their pans. He showed them how to swirl the pans. Then he started up his sluicing plant. The box was against the bank with water running over it. Shovel’s full of dirt were poured in at the top of the unit. A water pump was turned on and the flow of creek water covered the gold trap mats.

  As the process was going, Wyatt spun stories of mining, of huge strikes, and old prospectors. He also told them about when he was in his early twenties, how he worked at a large mine, and how he drove a dozer. His laugh was infectious. He admitted that driving loaders, and striping in an excavator, was hard work. And when a prized cut was tapped out, they had to move the huge, heavy plant to another area.

  However, he lectured, everyone was euphoric when the matts were filled with gold that collected in them. The tiny troughs, traps, separated the dirt, and what was left at the bottom was yellow. Gold.

  He also entertained the children, and Royce, with stories about old miners. When one boss would become angry if the workers weren’t going fast enough, he would yell, “I’ll be stepping on your tail if you don’t get to hurrying.” And, he’d threaten, “I’ll kick the mess outta you!”

  The laughter continued throughout lesson. And as the children panned their gold, they carefully examined the shiny specks of gold. Vannie stayed near the sluice box, hoping for a look at the precious gold – the mother lode.

  When the two youngsters decided to do a little fishing, they drug out their poles. With quiet waiting, they luckily each caught a fish. While the children fished, Royce put out the lunch, and Wyatt began the sluice cleanup.

  Suddenly there was a shadow. Royce whirled around and saw a mountain man standing beside Wyatt. His voice was rising. Both voices accelerated. Royce recognized the man. He was the difficult neighbor. Having been called several times to break up the ruckus, Royce knew the man’s name by heart.

  She interceded, holding out her hand to the man. “Mr. Hill. Duane Hill.”

  Duane Hill looked at her perplexed. He was in his early seventies, and his clothing reflected, what was called, a weekend mountain man. There weren’t enough holes and rips in his clothing, nor was there enough wear on his boots. He had been dubbed the gentleman mountaineer. He’d come from the city, yet loved fishing and hiking. When retired, he lived in his cabin fulltime.

  Wyatt burst out laughing, “Hill, you old so and so. You plan on mouthing off to the sheriff?”

  “Sorry,” Royce said. “Lots of people don’t recognize me out uniform. When I’m in my civvies. Sorry if we intruded on your property. Wyatt offered to show my children how to pan gold.”

  “Sheriff, sorry if I yelled.” Hill continued, “He’s trespassing, and I don’t want him on my property. He does it just to irritate me.”

  “I asked him to bring us.” Royce offered, “Hey, Duane, we’ve got some lunch here. You know my mother, Molly. She’s got some great pasties and cake. All the extras. How about if we all sit down and have some goodies, and then we’ll be leaving and all will be well.”

  “Don’t you want to haul him to jail, or even ticket him, for trespassing?”

  Royce said, “Sir, people up here that love the same things. Independence, our pioneer ways, and friendship. Well, you two men are made of the same stuff, or neither of you would be here. Wyatt takes a little gold dust. You weren’t going to use that gold dust, so it’s of no use to you. He’s on your property, but he’s treating it with respect. And you two fellas both live up here alone. I sometimes drive past and you’re half a mile apart, both wetting a line. Alone. Think how nice it would be for you to do a little boating, and fishing together.”

  “He dang well knew I don’t like folks on my property.”

  “Mr. Hill, Duane, he’s your neighbor. Wyatt doesn’t want to harm your property, or to harm you. What he does isn’t injurious to your land. He wants to be a neighbor. Isn’t that right, Wyatt?”

  “Yeah, I guess we got started out on the wrong foot, Duane. I didn’t mean harm. And I apologize for trespassing.” He held out his hand.

  Duane Hill suspiciously reached to shake. “Well, maybe we can stop harping at each other. I like goin’ up to Summit Lake with my little fishing boat. But now that I’m getting older, I don’t go much. Getting the boat int
o the water is a two-man job. But the center of the lake is where those big fish hang out. Maybe you’d like to go with me some time?”

  “Yes, and I’ll give you some of the gold I take from your side of the lake. And I’ll show you how to pan gold. It gets under your skin, and you can make money. These two children are now officially miners. I think you’d enjoy mining, Duane.”

  “I might,” Duane answered as he issued an embarrassed smile. “That food sure smells fine. And will you look at that cake. Looks like a danged mountain.”

  The kids laughed. Royce handed everyone plates, napkins, drinks, and they filled their plates.

  After the lunch had been eaten, and the two medium size fish packed in ice, the truck was reloaded. Wyatt took the two topped vials of gold dust and handed them to each of the children. “And for your amazing work, and your first day as a prospector, I’ve got a special treat. He had them close their eyes and hold out one of their hands. He dropped a small nugget into their hand. “You’re official gold prospectors. He saluted them.”

  Excitement, glee, they were having fun, enjoying. And perhaps Royce and Wyatt had the best time of all. Wyatt and Duane were actually acting like buddies. She knew when she told Nick about it, he’d be pleased.

  When packed up, Royce thanked Wyatt. He replied, “Your kids are great. I think you’re raising up youngsters you and Doc Hertha can be proud of.”

  Royce looked back over the landscape. Vannie and Antero had buckled up, and were ready to show off their gold and the fish to Hertha. They had Hertha’s Ute heritage, they loved the land and the wildlife that shared their world.

  ***

  It was about two that afternoon when they arrived home. Hertha hugged them, and announced that the injured cat was going to be fine. She always gave mini-reports on the condition of pets brought in. And also, Chance missed them, but she was well-behaved.