Death Pans Out

by Ashna Graves

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sun was well over the ridge when Neva woke up and went out to wash in the graniteware basin on the kitchen porch. Her body felt slow, and the rumor of a wine headache was whispering somewhere above her eyes. Instead of the usual splash of cold water, she used a cloth, wringing it out and holding it over her face. If she were careful, if she did everything right, the headache would fade out rather than get loud.

  She dried by patting her skin with the dark blue towel that hung on a nail above the basin, and then, rather than return inside to make coffee, she went around behind the cabin and walked the short distance up to the white plastic claim pipe. About four inches in diameter, it stood above the ground at waist level, with a smaller pipe wired to the top. With an easy twist, she removed the cap on the end of the smaller pipe and pulled out a plastic bag containing a single, rolled sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a claim deed, handwritten on a lined notebook page.

  “Jorgerson” it said at the top, and then, “That I the undersigned citizen of the United States over 21 years of age located one claim, the ground running down from this notice 1500 feet to Billie Creek in Elkhorn County, Oregon. Located this 13th day of August, 1898. Known as Billie Creek Mine, witness J. Parker and T.R. Davis. Filed for Record March 6, 1900 at 4 p.m., I.H. McCord, Recorder.”

  Neva rolled the paper, put it back in the bag, and returned it to its plastic canister. Continuing to stand next to the pipe for some time, she tried to imagine what the spot had looked like in 1898 when Johnny Jorgerson and his partner first sank a shovel into the ground, but the ghosts refused to be summoned in the bright morning.

  Contemporary visitors were not so shy, however. As she started back to the cabin, she heard a vehicle approaching along the lane, and walked faster to beat it to the dooryard. An official-looking SUV pulled in beside the woodshed, and Sheriff Tug McCarty boomed out the open window, “You got my message? I brought doughnuts.”

  He climbed out, stretched his arms overhead with a groan, then reached back inside the cab for a white box, which he handed to Neva. “I’m a jelly-filled man myself but I threw in some old-fashioneds for you.”

  “I beg your pardon. I’m not even half a century yet, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” the sheriff said, appearing genuinely abashed. “It’s just, I mean you didn’t look like you had much of a sweet tooth.”

  “Just teasing, Sheriff, just teasing. As it happens, you’re right. An old-fashioned was definitely the best choice. I did get your message but to tell the truth I’d forgotten, so I’m afraid the coffee isn’t ready.”

  Rather than follow Neva into the cabin, the sheriff wandered around outside while she put water on to boil, using her one-burner camp stove rather than the wood stove for greater speed. When the coffee was ready, she found him on the porch already settled in the white rocker.

  “Only time I was up here before was when we were looking for your uncle,” he said. “I was a deputy then. It hasn’t changed all that much, except for the garden going wild. A real nice spot.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I must have been born here, it’s so satisfying.” Neva took a doughnut from the plate she had arranged with the jelly-filled on one side and the old-fashioneds on the other. “I’ve been thinking a lot about landscape, and why some people love the mountains, some the desert, and others the ocean.”

  “And some never go outdoors at all if they can help it.” McCarty finished a doughnut in two bites and washed it down with coffee.

  Neva watched him almost warily, and did not try to keep the conversation going. She liked this large, straightforward man, and thought he was curious about her, but curiosity was not enough to get him up at dawn to drive the long road from Elkhorn, bringing enough doughnuts to feed a large family. The sheriff had a reason to visit, and the less she talked the sooner he was likely to spill the beans.

  The explanation came with the second round of coffee. Sitting straight and setting his cup on the railing, McCarty said, “I’m afraid I have bad news that’s best told without fooling around. Roy didn’t die in the accident. He was dead when he went over the top. Someone else sent the bulldozer over the edge of the pit after putting him inside. At least that’s the theory. I’ve got some boys down there now checking it all over again.”

  Neva simply looked at the sheriff, waiting for his words to make sense, but they refused to arrange themselves in an acceptable order.

  “I suspected from the first that something wasn’t right, so I wasn’t surprised when the report came back,” he went on with matter-of-fact efficiency. “He died from a blow to the head that couldn’t have been done by anything in the cab. The bloodstains were wrong too, but I won’t impose the details on you. Now the thing we have to do is go back over everything that happened when you found him. Take your time. I can see you’re taking it hard.”

  Taking it hard…she wasn’t taking it at all. It made no sense, not one bit. The murder of a cheerful young miner simply did not fit the world of Billie Creek.

  “I can wait,” the sheriff said, selecting a third doughnut and gazing out at the ridge as he chewed.

  “Does Reese know?” she managed at last.

  “Reese was taken into custody last night. At the moment, he’s at the top of my list.”

  “No, Sheriff! It wasn’t Reese.”

  “How so?”

  As a feather is wafted downward from an eagle in its flight…Reese’s voice came back clearly and she could see him looking up at the stars as he recited the fragment of Longfellow before launching the whiskey bottle into space. But she could not tell McCarty that she was being guided by instinct and a line of poetry. “I don’t know exactly, it’s a feeling. I don’t know him particularly but it doesn’t feel right. That’s all I can say.”

  “I trust feelings but only up to a point. Then you have to look at the evidence. People don’t always do what you expect them to. That’s one thing this business teaches you. I’ve had shocks both ways in my time, the good folks that turn to killing, the bad folks that risk their lives to help somebody. That’s what makes it interesting. I’ve known Reese Cotter since he busted all the windows in the high school gym when they benched him for swearing at the coach. Some folks thought the coach needed more than cussing, but that’s not here or there. Reese did community service for that one. He’s going to do a lot more for this one, I’m afraid.”

  Murder, in Oregon, is a capital offense.

  Neva could barely get the words out to ask, “Why did you arrest Reese? Is there some evidence?”

  “Let’s just say that when two and two add up to four it’s time to pay attention. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to go down with me and walk through it again. The guys from the special investigations unit in Pendleton are down there now, this being federal land. But as the first officer on the scene, I’ll remain involved. Before we head down I’d just like to ask a few questions, if you’re up to it.”

  She nodded even as she felt her initial regard for McCarty plummet. He was taking the easy out. Didn’t he know that the obvious person is never the one who did it? The thought of Reese’s restless vitality penned inside bricks and bars made her feel sick—but this was crazy. Why was she anguishing over Reese’s plight when it was Roy who had been murdered?

  “You said you spent the previous afternoon with Reese and he was in a wild mood because of Lance,” the sheriff pressed with sudden focus. “You drank a bottle of whiskey. Would you say he was drunk when he dropped you off?”

  ***

  Two hours later, following an hour of questioning and a trip down to the Barlow Mine pit, McCarty delivered her back to the cabin exhausted, depressed and in the grip of a full-scale headache. As they stood in the dooryard, the sheriff assuring her that she was not in danger as far as he could tell, while she assured him wearily that she hadn’t supposed she was, her second guest of the day arrived.

  “Oh, lord,” McCarty said as they watched Andy Sylvester pul
l his pickup in beside the sheriff’s rig. “What’s he want?”

  “For me to move out of here,” said Neva. “I think I told you I’ve been evicted.”

  Sylvester’s manner was excited as he shook hands with McCarty. “I saw your people down there. What’s up? More bodies? Homicide on Billie Creek?”

  “Just routine,” McCarty said. “How are things down your way?”

  “Just routine,” Sylvester said, then turned to Neva. “How’s the moving going?”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “What’s to think about? Frankly, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you understood the situation.”

  “What is the situation?” McCarty inquired flatly. He listened without expression as Sylvester explained, then looked at the younger man in silence for a long, thoughtful minute before saying, “There was a law on the books in Oregon until not so long ago. It said black people couldn’t get married inside state lines. Now, what do you suppose people did while they were getting around to changing that useless old law?”

  “Beats me.”

  “I can tell you what they didn’t do. They didn’t go arresting anybody. Nobody at all.”

  “This isn’t the same kind of situation, Sheriff. Nobody’s trying to arrest Ms. Leopold. This isn’t a state law, it’s federal government policy, and not about to be changed any time soon. All she has to do is move down to the creek.”

  “Well, son. This may be federal property but as the sheriff of Elkhorn County, I am the chief law enforcement officer in the area. It happens to be very important to me right now to have this little lady staying right here in this house. I don’t doubt you mean well, but you have to remember that things work different around here than out there in D.C. where they make these rules. I suggest you go on back to the office and stop troubling your mind over where she’s putting her head down at night.”

  Sylvester stood up straight and silent, facing the sheriff.

  Neva no longer cared whether she was in the cabin or camped on the creek. She loved the cabin but the weather was fine for camping and to be outdoors around the clock—and right on the creek—had its own appeal, although she was not about to say so until she was driven into a corner. If McCarty could put off her eviction for the time being, then this was fine and dandy.

  Sylvester gave in first. Dropping his gaze, he said to Neva, “Just remember, if it wasn’t for federal protection this creek would be torn to pieces by miners who don’t give a rat’s ass for the environment. I would have thought you could see that.” He strode to his truck, revved the engine high, and shot up the road.

  McCarty chuckled. “Well, I don’t suppose that was very diplomatic but it should calm the waters for a while anyway. Not a bad kid, just a little big for his britches. Some of my deputies have the same problem once they get that badge on them. This new breed of forest rangers all seem to have bees in their bonnets of some kind or other. If it isn’t spotted owls it’s frogs or butterflies. He’ll settle out in a few years and realize that folks have to live, too. Anyway, you should be okay in the cabin for now.”

  “Thanks for the defense but I don’t really mind moving down.”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, especially after making a point about no danger, but we don’t know that for certain, do we? Just as well to have doors you can lock at night. And I’d keep that little dog close by.”

  As he drove away, Neva wondered what McCarty would say if he knew that she didn’t close the doors at night, let alone lock them. Was there really a good reason for her to be more cautious? She shook her head. The day when she felt unsafe at the mine would be the day she’d pack her gear and leave. The killing of Roy DeRoos was a nightmare but it had nothing to do with her. Men had always killed for gold.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The day turned hot even for Billie Creek. Neva stayed longer than usual in the pond, floating on her back while trying to make sense of what the sheriff had told her. Miners are tough customers, everyone knows this. They fight, cheat, claim jump, tear up the landscape to get rich, and then lose everything on a roll of the dice at Diamond Lil’s. Western myths, like most myths, must contain some truth, although Gene Holland was no brawler and surely her uncle had been a gentle soul by all accounts. The Cotter brothers were colorful and tough, but this didn’t make them killers.

  She looked toward the dam where Juju lay waiting on the changing platform, as calm as a dog could be. She didn’t flinch if Neva made a sudden movement, she responded to subtle signals, and already she recognized when a walk or trip to the pond was about to happen. Dogs raised by violent owners are neurotic, not calmly observant. Reese had not been cruel to this little dog. Remembering his powerful, work-roughened hands gently cupping the nugget from the screening table, Neva could not imagine Reese killing for the sake of gold. The only thing that might trigger murderous violence in him would be discovering that someone had harmed his brother. Lance was his personal property to bully but let anyone else cock an eyebrow and Reese would be up in arms in an instant. Such is the weird world of families…Or could Reese have killed Lance in a drunken fury, then got rid of Roy out of fear that he knew the truth and would eventually spill the beans?

  No, no, no. This was all wrong. Had Reese harmed Lance, he wouldn’t cover it up, he’d most likely do himself in.

  Lance was alive somewhere, she was sure of it, and until he returned the cabins would stand empty, inviting the curious and greedy to look for Reese’s stash. Reese’s habit of saving nuggets was clearly known and likely to have been exaggerated enough to attract greedy interest. McCarty had said nothing about finding gold when the investigators searched the cabins, but would they have confiscated it? They were hunting for clues to a killing, not to Reese’s Midas tendencies. And an officer finding a collection of dull yellow rocks might well have reacted with as little interest as she had felt on seeing her first nugget.

  There was nothing she could do about Reese being caged like a beast, but she could make an effort on behalf of his hoard. That a portion of it might not be legitimately his was only a rumor, and not really her concern.

  She climbed out of the pond and stood in the air to dry without toweling off, gazing at the alluring top of Billie Mountain far up the canyon. Her lovely life on the creek was in serious danger of derailing, and to save it she must maintain a firm hold, which meant sticking to her routines and continuing to hike and do everything else that made the days here magical. She would carry out this one little errand on Reese’s behalf, now, before her walk, and then avoid any other distractions and interference.

  Neva put away her bathing things, drove down the mountain to the Barlow Mine cabins, and sat for a while with the windows rolled down, listening to silence. The quiet was not like the quiet of the woods. Here, where every sign pointed to a busy human presence, quiet was unnatural and uneasy.

  The silence was broken by a whine from Juju. Neva leaned across to open the passenger’s side door. The little dog leaped out and rushed up the porch steps, but Neva did not follow immediately. This morning when she had returned to the scene with McCarty they had gone back down into the pit, not into the cabins. She had seen no one here when they passed on their way up and down, but the investigators must have searched the young men’s living quarters. Even so, she felt like a trespasser, a trespasser on what now struck her as a fool’s errand.

  And yet, here she was. To go back up the canyon without at least looking around would be foolish in a different way, a pure waste of time.

  Although she knew that Reese’s cabin was empty, she knocked and listened before trying the knob. It turned and the door swung open on a dark interior reeking even stronger than before of old grease, smoke and sweaty clothing. Juju pushed past her legs, circled the room sniffing and whining, then jumped up on Reese’s bed, lay down, and pushed the tip of her nose under his pillow.

  Neva stood just inside the door, suddenly repelled by the prospect of looking through the young men’s possess
ions. Everything on the open shelves appeared furry with oily dust, and without having to touch anything, she knew that the kitchenware would be sticky. She moved to the middle of the room, using her eyes to search as she turned in a slow circle.

  Juju had withdrawn her nose from the pillow and watched Neva with her head up.

  “Okay, pal, where’s the gold?”

  The dog’s tail flapped once on the tumbled bedding.

  Under the mattress?

  Neva squatted for a better view, but could see nothing under the bed apart from dust and wadded socks. Shelves at the head of the bed held shaving gear, toothbrush, playing cards, magazines…Her scrutiny shifted to a single shelf that ran along the wall about four feet above the bed. A row of paperbacks, a quartz rock bookend, a dusty radio, a cigar box. She considered the cigar box for a moment, approached close enough to see the label, and smiled.

  Gold Tips. What a guy.

  Minutes later, driving back up the creek with the box beside her, Neva considered what kind of man would keep gold on an open shelf in this obvious container. It was only a small amount but the large, jewelry-grade nuggets were handsome even to her eye, and Reese evidently valued them. He had not struck her as naive. He must have had perfect confidence in Lance and Roy and this was reassuring. Those who trust are most likely to be trustworthy…Well, it sounded good at any rate.

  Back at the cabin she was faced with the question of what to do with the stash now that she had made herself its guardian without being asked. The sky was clear and bright. It was late morning already, and yet another day at the mine would slip away from her if she didn’t get on with it. Wasting no more time on thought, she went into the woodshed, made her way to the back wall, moved some splits, set the gold in the space that was created, and rearranged the wood. If necessary, she could direct Reese to the stash without having to be at the mine herself.