by Jake Logan
He had to try to think like a lawman and figure out who Carl’s death would benefit. He couldn’t think of anyone other than Carl’s brother. What was his name? Arnie. That was it. Arnie Tipton. But then what the hell good would Carl’s death do Arnie? Carl was Arnie’s saviour. Arnie ran a sorry-assed little ranch, if you could even call what he did running it, and whenever he got himself into a financial bind, he went crying to his big brother. And from what it looked like, Carl always bailed him out. No, it didn’t make sense at all to look in Arnie’s direction. There had to be someone else. Slocum decided that first thing in the morning he would have another talk with Seth. Maybe Carl played poker, and maybe he had gotten someone mad at him in a game somehow or other. Such things happened. Maybe there had been some cattle deal or something like that. Seth should be able to fill him in on some of these things. There had to be a way to figure it all out.
22
Slocum hung loose around Breakneck for the next two days. He did have that long talk with Seth Willis, but he learned absolutely nothing from it. The rest of his time was spent in eyeballing every person he saw in town and in watching for any suspicious Sharps rifles. He went to the hardware store and showed the man the empty shell casing. He asked him if he had sold any of those to anyone lately. The man took it and rolled it around in his hand.
“Forty caliber,” he said.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Likely a Sharps.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“I sold some to someone a while back,” the man said. “Can’t recall just who it was bought them. It might could have been old Yancey Jones. Yeah. I believe it was old Yancey. Say, I heard someone murdered the crazy old coot here recently. You know anything about that?”
“No,” Slocum said, and he left the store. If old Yancey had owned a Sharps, it could be that the Beamers stole it when they killed him, but that didn’t get Slocum anywhere. All of the Beamers but Hump had been killed long before Tipton was murdered, and Slocum was right on Hump’s trail at the time. That didn’t help either. He felt like he was walking on a dead-end road and there was no place to turn off. There was an answer out there somewhere, though, and he meant to find it. He was about to walk into Harmony’s place when he realized that it was about time for the reading of the will. He changed directions and headed for the sheriff’s office. Along the way he saw Seth Willis, moving slowly with the help of a walking stick, but moving along on his own. He was glad to see Seth up and around, and he hurried along to meet him and to walk with him.
“Say,” Slocum said, “you look to me like you’re doing pretty well there.”
“I’m getting along,” said Willis. “You coming by for the reading of the will?”
“Yes, I am. Where are we going?”
“My office,” said Willis.
The walked the rest of the way to the office together, and when they got close they could see a wagon parked in front. Sure enough, when they went inside, they found the two Tipton women waiting in the office with Randy Self and Charlie Hope. Everyone said hello to everyone else. Then they each found a chair while the sheriff moved on around behind his desk and sat down, slowly and with a groan. He reached inside his vest and took a copy of the will out of his pocket. He laid it down on the desk and carefully smoothed it out.
“Mrs. Tipton,” he said, “this here is the copy of the last will and testament that Carl put on file with the county. Do you have another copy, one of your own that he left with you?”
“Yes,” said Myrtle. “I do.”
She stood up and walked to the desk and handed Seth her copy of the will. As she moved back to her chair, Seth laid out the second copy right by the side of the first and studied them together, comparing the handwriting and the wording. Finally he looked up at the small crowd gathered there in his office.
“They appear to be identical,” he said. Then he commenced to read from one copy out loud. There wasn’t much to it. It was as everyone had expected. The ranch and everything on it as well as all the money in the bank was left to Myrtle, and in the event that anything happened to Myrtle, it went to Jamie. Slocum felt guilty that he was even a little disappointed. But he was. He had cherished a slight and secret hope that the will would reveal something that would help him find the killer. Finished with the reading, Seth folded the papers up, put the one back in his pocket and held the other out toward Myrtle, who stood up to retrieve it. “That just about does it,” he said. “There shouldn’t be any trouble. Myrtle, I’m sure sorry about what happened, but it looks like Carl left you well taken care of. If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know. Will you, please?”
“Thank you, Seth, I will,” Myrtle said. Turning to Randy, she said, “Let’s go home.”
The whole Tipton crew got up and walked out to the waiting wagon. Randy and Charlie helped the women up, and Randy got in to drive. Charlie mounted a horse and rode along beside them. Slocum stayed behind in the sheriff’s office, sitting quietly in his chair.
“What is it, Slocum?” Seth asked.
“Nothing,” said Slocum. “I was just hoping that the will might tell me something.”
“And?”
“It didn’t. Not a damn thing.”
“Maybe something’ll turn up.”
“Well, there’s been nothing so far,” Slocum said. “A Sharps rifle. That’s all. I think it was a Sharps.”
“Yeah.”
“Sheriff,” Slocum said, “what could I be missing? Could it be that the Beamers had a friend or an ally of some kind? Another relative hanging around somewhere that we’re unaware of?”
“No one that I know about, Slocum. Course, anything’s possible.”
“If it is someone connected with the Beamers, then he’ll be after me, too. I been pretty conspicuous around town here the last couple of days. Maybe I’ll take some time to ride out by myself. See if I can smoke someone out.”
“You do that, you be careful,” Willis said.
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not looking to get myself killed, just to catch a skunk.”
By that time, Seth Willis was pretty well worn out. It had been the first day he had gotten up and out by himself. Slocum walked with him back to the boardinghouse and saw him up to his room. Then he went back outside and stood on the sidewalk for a moment. He let his mind wander, and suddenly it lit on something he supposed he had put out of his mind for some reason. It lit on Bonita. Not that he suspected Bonita, but Bonita might know something. In a relationship like that one, sometimes a man told all kinds of things to the gal that he kept to himself otherwise. Slocum walked back to the Hogneck. Goosey said that Bonita was still upstairs, likely still asleep.
“What’s her room number?” Slocum asked.
“I told you,” Goosey said, “she’s most likely asleep. She’ll be down here later on in the day. You can come back then and—”
Slocum reached across the bar and grabbed Goosey by the shirtfront pulling him halfway over. “All I asked you for was the room number,” he said.
“Six,” said Goosey.
Slocum shoved Goosey away and turned to walk to the stairs. He went upstairs and found number six. He knocked on the door and got no immediate reaction, so he knocked again louder.
“Who is it?” came a weak voice from inside.
“It’s Slocum. I want to talk to you.”
He was about to knock a third time when the door was opened and Bonita peered out. She looked much worse than normal without her makeup and with her hair mussed from sleeping. Her eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, and she squinted through them at Slocum.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Can I come in?”
Bonita stepped back, and Slocum walked in. He shut the door. Bonita walked back to the bed and sat on the edge looking at Slocum. She was still not quite awake.
“What do you want?” she asked him again.
“I want to talk about Carl Tipton.”
“What mak
es you think I know anything about Carl?” she said.
“Come on,” said Slocum. “You know a whole lot about most everyone around here. And I suspect you know even more about Carl than about most. It ain’t no secret about you and him. Unless maybe from Myrtle.”
“All right. So what?”
“Look. I’m not here to judge you or to cause any trouble. You know that Carl was murdered?”
For the first time the expression on her face softened, and for a moment, Slocum was afraid that she would start crying. “I know,” she said. “I heard.”
“All I’m trying to do is find out who did it. The Beamers were all dead when it happened. It had to be someone else. Can you think of anyone else who had a reason to kill Carl? Anyone at all.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I can’t help you.”
“What about his brother?”
“Arnie?” Bonita laughed. “Arnie couldn’t exist without Carl. I don’t know what’ll happen to him now. I don’t think that Myrtle will support him the way Carl did.”
“So Arnie’s a big loser in this deal,” Slocum said.
“He sure is. Oh, he’ll come around the ranch and beg Myrtle to help him out for Carl’s sake, but I think she’ll just turn him out. He’ll wind up selling his pitiful little ranch, spending all the money, and then—who knows what?”
“Did Carl ever say anything to you about anyone who—”
“Believe me, Slocum, if I knew anything, I’d tell you. I—liked Carl. I want to see you get the son of a bitch that killed him. I’d like to be there to watch. But I just don’t know anything that will help you.”
Slocum walked to the door and put a hand on the knob. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks. If anything should come to you, let me know. All right?”
“Sure,” she said.
Slocum opened the door and was stepping out into the hallway when Bonita stopped him. “Slocum,” she said.
He turned back to face her.
“Lots of folks might say that I had the best motive going. I knew that he’d never leave Myrtle for me, and you know what they say about a woman scorned.”
On his way down the stairs, Slocum thought about what Bonita had said about Arnie. He hated to turn loose of Arnie as a suspect. He did not like Arnie. But it sure made sense what Bonita had said. Arnie was a sponge on Carl, and without Carl, he had nothing. He guessed he’d have to quit thinking about Arnie.
Slocum rode out to the Tipton ranch that afternoon. No one bothered him along the way, but as he was approaching the main gate he saw Arnie Tipton ride away. He stopped and watched Arnie for a moment. Then he rode on in. Jamie came out onto the porch and met him.
“Howdy, Slocum,” she said. “I been missing you around here.”
“Thanks,” he said. He climbed down off his horse and walked up onto the porch. “Mind if I have a seat?”
“Please do.”
He sat down, and so did she. “So,” she said. “What’s brings you way out here?”
“I just thought I needed to get out of town for a while. Take a little ride. Couldn’t think of a better place, so here I am.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “Have you made any progress?”
“No. I’ve talked to Seth and to—well, a bunch of folks, but I haven’t learned a damn thing.”
“Was one of that bunch of folks a gal named Bonita?”
Slocum looked at Jamie, his brow wrinkled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, “I know all about Bonita.”
“Does your mother—”
“No. She doesn’t.”
“Okay. Yeah. I talked to her.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Say, was that your Uncle Arnie I saw riding away from here?”
“Yeah. He just called to say his condolences.”
“Nothing else?”
“If you mean did he ask for money, no, he didn’t.”
“Have you had any more thoughts on who it might have been?” Slocum asked her. “You or your mother?”
Jamie looked down at the boards of the porch and slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not a thought. I’ve tried and tried. I can’t come up with anything. It still just doesn’t make any sense, Slocum. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Slocum was still on that dead-end road. He had no idea where to turn or where to look or what kind of questions to ask or who to ask the questions of. He wrapped up the conversation as quickly and smoothly as he could and rode back to town. Again, he had no trouble. If anyone was watching him, the bastard had decided to wait a bit before making his move. But Slocum had given him a perfect chance and a perfect time. He had been clear and open about riding out of town, and he had gone out alone. If it was a cohort of the Beamers, then why didn’t the son of a bitch make a try for him? He made it back to Breakneck after dark, and he thought about stopping by to see Harmony. Her place was already closed. He decided to skip it. He took his horse back to the stable and walked the distance to the Hogneck.
Inside he ordered some whiskey and sat down at a table with bottle and glass. He looked at everyone in the place with suspicion. He was damn sure in the mood to do some killing, but he did not know who he should kill.
Then Seth Willis came walking in with his cane. He saw Slocum and headed for the table, stopping by the bar for a glass. At the table he held out the empty glass.
“Buy me a drink?” he asked.
“Or two,” said Slocum. “Sit down.”
Willis pulled out a chair and sat down. He was still moving slowly and carefully, and he moaned when the weight was lifted from his legs. Slocum poured him a drink and shoved the glass back over toward him. Willis lifted it.
“Thanks,” he said. He took a long drink. “Ahh. That’s the first whiskey I’ve had since I got shot.”
“You better watch yourself then,” Slocum said. “You don’t want to get staggering drunk the shape you’re in.”
“I’ll have those two like you said, and then I’ll quit. I still have to get myself back over to the rooming house. Just thought it was about time.”
“I’d say so.”
“How’d your day go?”
“Hell,” said Slocum, “I rode out to the Tipton spread. No one bothered me either way. I seen ole Arnie riding away just as I come up, and then I went on in and talked to Jamie for a spell. She didn’t have nothing new to add. I just wasted the day. That’s all.”
“The only thing I can think of to say, Slocum, is that if it was a Beamer partner that done the killing, like you said before, he’ll be coming after you, too. Keep giving him chances, he’ll show himself.”
23
For the next several days, Slocum rode out again, each time he rode alone. He rode in different directions. No one followed him that he could tell. No one shot at him. No one bothered him at all. He was ready to give up. The murder of old Carl Tipton would just have to remain a mystery. He wanted to find the killer and even the score for Tipton, but he had no intention of making this his life’s work. He thought that he would give it a couple of days more. Then he would just ride out and put it all behind him. He’d had a morning ride, gotten himself a meal at Harmony’s place, and was on his way back to the Hogneck for a drink. After that, he thought, he would just to go to bed and take a nice, long afternoon nap. As he was walking along the sidewalk, he was hailed by Seth Willis. He stopped and turned around.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Can you come over to the office with me?” Seth said.
“Sure.”
Slocum walked with Willis to the sheriff’s office. Along the way he noticed how much better the sheriff was doing. He was no longer even carrying his walking stick with him.
“You’re sure making good progress,” he said.
“I guess so,” said Seth. “It seems slow to me, but everyone’s telling me that.”
They reached the office and Willis opened the door and stepped aside. Slocum walked in firs
t. He waited for the sheriff to come in and shut the door, then get around behind his big desk and sit down.
“Pull up a chair, Slocum,” said the sheriff.
Slocum dragged a chair up to the desk to sit across from Seth.
“I had an interesting visit from ole Arnie,” Seth said, opening his desk drawer to withdraw a couple of papers.
“Arnie Tipton?” said Slocum.
“The one and only. He brought me this paper.” Seth tossed one of the papers across the desk to Slocum. Slocum picked it up and studied it. It was headed, “Last Will and Testament of Carl Tipton.” He looked up at the sheriff.
“Is this the same document you read to the family?” Slocum asked.
“It’s almost identical to it,” said Seth, “but read on down through it. You’ll see where it differs from the other one.”
Slocum read. Suddenly he looked up at Seth. “This one here says that the ranch all goes to Arnie,” he said.
“That’s what it says. It also says that it takes the place of any former will, and it’s dated real recent. When Arnie brought it in, he said that Carl had written it out at his place. He said that Carl was worried that Myrtle wouldn’t be able to hold the ranch together. He thought that Arnie had ought to do it, if he would promise to take care of Myrtle and Jamie, and Arnie promised that he would do that.”
Slocum looked back at the document. “What does it say about the money in the bank?”
“It goes to Arnie.”
“All of it?”
“Every damn cent. According to Arnie, Carl was worried that Myrtle and Jamie might spend it all foolishly. He thought that it would be better if Arnie had control over the funds.”
“Well, did Carl write this?”
“I ain’t no expert, Slocum,” said Seth, “but I compared the handwriting on this one to the handwriting on the other one, and they sure do look the same to me.”
“I can’t believe that ole Carl would do this to his own wife and daughter,” said Slocum. “He sure wasn’t no model husband, but I still can’t believe this.”