Mud Bog Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Where the hell are you? I got your messages, and I’m at the house, but there is no you. We found Darrel.”

  I ran over to Shelley, who still lay on the ground where Clay had thrown her. “I’ve got no time to explain, Frida. I need you here. Now!” I explained where we were and the situation with Clay. “I think Shelley’s in bad shape.”

  I assured Shelley help was coming.

  “Don’t leave me, Eve.”

  “Just for a minute, honey.” I ran back to the half-submerged truck and looked into the cab. Clay lay where I had left him. His entire body was submerged in the murky waters and vines. Water lilies, water cabbage, and water hyacinth had rushed in, green and yellow, purple and white blossoms. A macabre funeral wreath encircled his head where it still rested against the steering wheel.

  This wasn’t the mud bog experience Clay Archer had planned. I felt a momentary sense of regret at his death, but remembering what he had done to Jenny, Shelley, his wife and those other young women, I decided it was only right that he should die in the bog.

  Chapter 23

  I heard sirens and looked back toward the house. Frida’s cruiser pulled up near my car, and she jumped out. An emergency vehicle followed hers. My primary concern was Shelley, who lay on the ground without moving. I ran to her and kneeled at her side. Her skin was white and covered in perspiration. I worried she was going into shock and signaled the EMTs over.

  “I think her collarbone has been broken.”

  Frida had walked over to Archer’s truck, opened the passenger’s door, and crawled in. A few minutes later she backed out, shaking her head.

  She joined me at Shelley’s side. “Tell me what happened here. Why did you suspect Archer?”

  I told her the story in detail, paused to take a breath and then shared some of my feelings about Archer’s death.

  “Don’t waste a teardrop of grief on that man, Eve. Once we check his rifle, I’m certain we’ll find it was the one used to shoot your rig. He would have killed you, too.”

  I couldn’t think about that now. I wanted to focus on the living, even on Darrel, the little weasel. “You found Darrel at the house?”

  “Yup. Linc is with him.”

  “I guess Archer put Darrel up to those other pranks, right?”

  “Probably, but Darrel can’t identify who hired him. He only heard a voice over the telephone and picked up the money at a drop-off destination. At least that’s what he told us before he bailed out. I don’t think he was any threat to Archer, who wanted him out of the way just in case.”

  “I think he had another reason for wanting Darrel out of the picture.”

  Frida looked puzzled.

  “Shelley liked Darrel,” I said.

  “Right. And Archer was worried enough about leaving Darrel as a loose end that he gave Darrel Senior the money for bail so he could lure him out to the ranch and kill him. He targeted you and the shop because he saw you as Shelley’s protector. He wanted her to himself, but there you were playing mother hen.”

  “Darrel’s going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. I guess your arrival got in the way of Archer’s plans to finish him off. He gave him a good crack on the head, thinking that would do it, but Darrel seems to have an extraordinarily hard skull. I’ll bet he was hatching some kind of plan to make it look as if Darrel killed Shelley. What the next step was, I don’t know—maybe to put a gun in Darrel’s hand and shoot Shelley, making it look as if Darrel did it. Your timely appearance saved her life.” Frida shook her head. “Audra Archer was crazy to have covered for him all these years.”

  “She was in love with him. I think she still is. Something went wrong with Archer’s plan. I don’t think he wanted to kill Shelley, at least not originally. He wanted her to be his, as he did those other girls.”

  “We’ll question Shelley when she’s in better shape. I think she could use some therapy to get over this.”

  “Be back in a second,” I said. I walked over to where the EMTs were loading Shelley into the ambulance.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  She gave me a wan smile. “It hurts.”

  “I know, but they say you’ll be fine after they reset your shoulder.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever be fine.”

  “It’s not your fault, you know.” I wanted to ease her gently into reliving what Clay had done to her today. Recovering from all this was going to take time.

  “He wanted to sleep with me. He even said he’d marry me. He’s so old. What a creep!”

  Wow. I was shocked at her response—not horror but anger and disgust.

  “Did he force—” I couldn’t help asking.

  “He did not. He came to the house this morning and grabbed me, but I fought hard, kicked and screamed. He finally locked me in one of the bedrooms. He thought he’d wear me down. He placed flowers, candy, and other gifts outside the door and begged me to come out. That was even creepier, his begging. I told him he was a sicko, and I’d rather die than give in to him.”

  “You thought something was wrong with him, didn’t you? Or did your mother warn you?”

  “She told me he wasn’t what he seemed to be and to keep my distance. He was always touching me, trying to be friendly. It made my skin crawl, so I avoided him.”

  When he finally confronted her outright, Shelley had refused him, fought him off, and hate replaced desire. Shelley was not the naïve and compliant girl he thought she was or needed her to be.

  “He was a sick man,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know. And I think Mom guessed about him, too. I wish she would have said something more direct to me. People think I’m too fragile to handle the real world. I’m not.”

  From the way she threw herself against Clay to prevent him from shooting me, I knew she was a lot tougher than anyone thought. She was more like Jenny than I realized.

  I patted her hand. “I’ll visit you in the hospital once you settle in.”

  “Let’s go, guys,” Shelley said to the EMTs. “Shelley could use some big time pain killers. Chop, chop.”

  Hmm, ordering the EMTs around. Reminded me of her mother. If Darrel wanted to remain in her life, he would need to do some revamping of his character, especially with respect to his sticky fingers and his pushy attitude. On second thought, I guessed she’d soon reject an accused felon as poor boyfriend material.

  “I’ve got to leave,” I told Frida.

  “Maybe you should have a doctor examine you too,” she suggested.

  “For what?”

  “Shock maybe?”

  I laughed. “Not a chance. Given my past experiences with murderers, I think I’m getting used to them meeting with justice of one sort or the other. I expect it.”

  “But dying as he did with you right there? That’s not easy to deal with. Cops are used to these situations, and even we have trouble with the aftermath.”

  “Maybe it will be delayed. I’ll keep a lookout. I need to do something.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  I drove directly to Jay Cassidy’s place. The horror of what might have happened to Shelley and Jenny’s death, all related to this mud bog business, plagued me. I wouldn’t get beyond it until I took some immediate steps to remedy what I had been thinking was wrong with mud bog racing, and even what wasn’t right with our protesting it. Mud bog racing wasn’t going away, but the competition for the money it brought in had resulted in one murder and had led directly to the foreclosure on Tom Riley’s ranch.

  Jay welcomed me with a return of the warmth he had for Madeleine and me before we joined in to protest the mud bog event at Jenny’s.

  “Scotch?” he asked.

  I nodded. After my day, I could use it. I held up my fingers, indicating a double.

  “I’ve come to talk about mud bogging,” I said. “I know everyone finds the topic unpleasant, given Jenny’s death and the protest, but I think it’s time the community got together and worked something out, especial
ly now.” I explained about Clay Archer.

  “I’m shocked. Good old Clay. Are the police sure?” He watched me slug down the Scotch and added, “Are you all right?”

  “Just dandy, or I will be, once I’ve had another of these.”

  He poured me another, smaller than the first. I gave him a hard look before he gave it to me. He caved and added another shot.

  “So talk.” He settled back into the couch.

  “With Nappi I referred to it as crop rotation.”

  He laughed. “And what does that mean?”

  “Why don’t all the ranchers who like the idea of mud bogging get together, create a cooperative, and rotate from year to year where the event is held? Everyone makes out, each site goes back to its natural state for a number of years, and here’s the best part: if the cooperative pays the insurance, does publicity and arranges support services at the event, you can cut out the middle man—the bogger guy in West Palm.”

  He thought for a moment. “Sounds good. It might be worth a meeting with some of us. You want to be there?”

  “I absolutely do not.” I looked at my empty glass. “Time for me to go home. I’m beat.” I tried to get up from my chair and fell back. “Whoopsie!”

  “I think you’re too drunk to drive.”

  “I’m too drunk to move. Or think.” That was good. I didn’t want to think anymore. Maybe not for a few days. Maybe never. I nodded off.

  I awoke back in my own house, in my own bed. Grandy hovered over me, holding a hot cup of something.

  “How did I get here?” I asked. “The last thing I remember is being in Jay’s place.” I tried to sit up. “Oh, man. My head hurts.”

  “That’s what too many Scotches will do to you. Jay drove you here and carried you in.” She handed me the cup. “It contains hot chocolate. It’ll settle your stomach. And we need to get something solid down you.”

  “A big rack of ribs would be good.”

  “I’ll order take-out from the Biscuit.”

  “Where’s my cell? I owe a lot of people calls.”

  “I already took care of that. If you’re able, we can invite some of them over later. If not, it can wait until tomorrow. Your friends are concerned about you. Frida told us what you went through.”

  I remembered Shelley in the hospital. “I suppose I’m not in good enough shape to drive?”

  “Right.”

  “So could you drop me at the hospital while you get the ribs?’

  “You’re concerned about Shelley.” Grandy reached in her pocket. “Here’s you cell. Give her a call. She’s probably been admitted and has a room now.”

  “I owe her a visit.”

  “You owe yourself a break. Call her.” Her tone had a note of finality in it, and I knew better than to fight it.

  I was connected with Shelley’s room immediately. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to the hospital yet.”

  Her voice sounded groggy. “It’s okay. I just want to sleep. Come visit tomorrow.” She disconnected.

  I flopped back down onto the bed and fell asleep until I awakened again to the delicious smell of barbeque, fries, and creamy slaw wafting in from the other room. Grandy opened my bedroom door and stuck her head in.

  “Food and people?” she asked.

  “Yes to both.”

  I had just finished my ribs when folks began to appear at the door. First, Madeleine and David, then Sammy and Grandfather Egret, and finally Nappi and Jerry. Grandy told me Alex had called while I was sleeping to say he had wanted to drop by, but had a case in Miami and was on his way there.

  “Mom had to catch a plane back to Vegas,” said Sammy. “Otherwise she would have been here too.”

  Frida arrived last with news. “Is this a good time to talk about the case?”

  Everyone looked at me. I nodded.

  “We released Tom Riley, of course. He claimed the machete we found on his property wasn’t his and his son verified that, bringing the machete that did belong to his father into the station. There was a partial print on the handle of the one we found, and it matched Clay’s thumb, not Tom’s. We’re trying to expedite the DNA analysis of the blood on it. I’m sure it’s the blade Clay used to remove Jenny’s head.”

  Chapter 24

  A month went by before Frida got the results on the DNA. It was Jenny’s blood on the machete identified as belonging to Clay Archer.

  A lot happened in that month.

  Interested ranchers under Jay’s direction formed a mud bog cooperative. Shelley joined them and was able to rescind the contract she had signed with the firm in West Palm. The cooperative awarded her the location for later this year. She told me she would put the ranch on the market after the event.

  “Then what will you do?” I asked. Before she could answer, I asked her to consider what we had talked about earlier: “Finish high school, take evening and weekend fashion and design classes, and work at the shop as our seamstress, designer, and fashion consultant.”

  “Really?”

  “Madeleine and I have talked it over and we think it’s a great idea. We can use the help, and who knows, maybe eventually you can come in as a partner.”

  Shelley was excited at the proposal.

  I don’t know if she and Darrel ever talked about that awful time at Clay’s place right before he died, but whatever romance they’d had appeared to be over. I never heard of her visiting him after he had been charged with his gator and hand “pranks,” as he called them. Darrel Senior admitted that he got the money to bail Darrel out of jail from Clay. Where Clay found that money was never determined. I suspected Audra, not knowing what it was for, gave it to Clay. She wanted to let go, but as I said to Frida, she still loved him. If Clay were alive to face charges, Audra might have paid for his defense.

  The horses at Clay’s ranch were being boarded at Jay’s place, and when their schedule would permit, Grandy came up to ride them. The best she could do was get Max to lead one of them around. He said they were “getting acquainted.” Max wouldn’t talk about retirement, but he was feeling more and more at home fishing on the lake, eating ribs at the Biscuit, and talking with David about property for sale around Sabal Bay. For now, it was just talk.

  There was still the matter of cleansing the new shop. I hadn’t been into the location since I’d talked to the construction guy from the tribe who warned me away until I’d followed Grandfather’s advice. While others could enter the place with no immediate harm, Grandfather worried the foul spirits in the place might eventually build up and bring harm to them also. Grandfather was adamant that evil prowled its rooms. Madeleine and I weren’t convinced.

  “It was an alligator put there by Darrel,” I insisted.

  “What about all those plumbing and electrical problems?” asked Grandfather.

  “Shoddy workmanship from the previous owner,” I replied.

  “I’m free this Saturday,” said Grandfather. “I can do it for you then.”

  Madeleine and I shrugged. “I guess if we’re going to move anything in there soon, we’d better listen to him or he’ll post tribal members at the door and refuse us entrance,” I said. “And he could be right about the evil in there.”

  “This Saturday then,” Madeleine agreed.

  Saturday found all of us—Madeleine, David, Grandy, Max, Alex, Sammy, Nappi, Jerry, and me—waiting outside the front entrance to our shop while Grandfather roamed from one room to the other. He held a feather in one hand and a smoke bundle in the other.

  “If it’s so evil in there, why is he safe?” asked Jerry.

  “Shhh,” I said. “He’s got a special dispensation from badness or something.”

  We couldn’t hear much coming from within the shop, just an occasional whisper followed by low chanting.

  After several minutes, Grandfather stepped outside. “That’s about it for now. You probably need to reinforce it every year or so. I’ll send you my bill in the mail.”

  “You’re charging us?” I was shocked.
>
  “I may not be cheap, but I’m the best around here. Do you know of anybody else who would work on the weekend?”

  I thought I caught him wink as he turned away to usher everyone into the store.

  “He’s not serious, is he?” I asked Sammy.

  “Next time I could ask around to see if anybody can do it for you cheaper,” Sammy replied, his expression deadpan.

  We stepped into the shop. All the work had been completed—partitions, paint on the walls, and the air conditioner humming away quietly. Everything seemed to be working. I walked down the hallway and stuck my head into our small bathroom. No water, except what flowed out of the faucet when I turned the handle. Oddly enough, the place smelled sweet and clean, and I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness surround me. Hmmm, maybe this cleansing thing does work.

  Tom Riley came by the shop the following week to thank me for taking down Clay Archer.

  “I wasn’t responsible for ‘taking him down,’ Mr. Riley. He took himself out.”

  “Yeah, well, you did hang in there, and I thank you for exposing him. Whatever I can do for you, let me know.”

  I hesitated. “I understand you’ve moved back to this area, so you might spread the word around town that Madeleine and I are not such bad sorts, and that we do want to be part of this community. And you could send your wife in to shop here and bring her friends.”

  “Done!” he said.

  Alex’s words kept coming back to me, so as I returned from grabbing lunch that day, I took a quick detour and on impulse entered the shop next to ours.

  The sign over the shop door read, “Crusty McNabb, Private Investigations.” I pushed open the door and entered. The area was small, only a nine-by-twelve-foot space. It housed a desk with a chair in front of it. Behind the desk sat a man who had to be in his late sixties, dressed in a plaid shirt and khakis. His face, what I could see of it hidden behind a white beard and mustache, was ruddy. His bright blue eyes gave me a quick appraisal from head to toe.