A Dead Man's Tale

by James D. Doss

  Which was fine with the Ute elder, who was busy reliving her delightful little adventure, recalling every word she’d said to the cheating married woman and that ridiculous young man with dark skin and curly blond hair. That was more fun than I’ve had since last year when I finished off that half-naked excuse for a man who tried to—

  But that particular felony (committed with considerable malice aforethought and substantial enthusiasm, that had resulted in serious and permanent physical and psychic injuries to a fellow human being) is best left in those not-so-dim mists of recent history. Let it simply be said that despite her well-deserved reputation for creative mischief, upon that occasion Daisy had truly outdone herself. Within a few days, she will upstage that singular accomplishment with another record breaker.

  But we must not anticipate; this eventful day is not yet over.

  With a clearing of her throat as a preamble, Daisy Perika said something that astonished her youthful companion: “I’m sorry about messing up. All I wanted to do was take a nice little walk with the dog.” She made a big show of patting the hound, who was resting his homely head on the seat between them. The astute old canine cracked his left eye to glare suspiciously at the elderly hypocrite. As she addressed the girl, Daisy smiled sweetly at the animal. “After we walked for a little piece, I got all turned around and couldn’t find my way back to the truck. And before I knew what’d happened, me’n this lop-eared old fleabag walked right up on that white woman and her boyfriend.” She added in a contrite tone, “I shouldn’t have poked my nose into your business.” Apparently overcome by her confession, Daisy wiped at dry eyes. “I should’ve stayed at the ranch this morning and let you take care of this spying all by yourself.”

  All this from a testy old woman who never, ever apologized. Sarah Frank was obliged to forgive Daisy’s multitude of trespasses. “Oh, that’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not.” The repentant sinner shook her head. “Except for almost getting us killed at that red light, you did a fair job today and you ought to get all the credit when you tell Charlie Moon what you found out about that married woman and her boyfriend.” Daisy shot the girl a sly sideways glance. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon my nephew didn’t know how I made such a fool of myself when I took the dog for a walk.”

  “All right, I won’t tell him.” But good-hearted as Sarah Frank was, and loath to attribute less-than-charitable intentions to another person, she could not help being just the least bit suspicious of the old woman’s motives.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sarah Makes Her Report

  But not during suppertime at the Columbine, when she was seated conveniently at Charlie Moon’s right hand. Though the tribal elder’s beady little black eyes sparkled with anticipation, Sarah Frank said not a word about what she had accomplished.

  Sarah also kept mum while drying the supper dishes that Charlie had washed.

  Daisy Perika took her time clearing the table, wiping imaginary spots off the red-and-white-checkered oilcloth and tending to any unnecessary task that would keep her within earshot of her nephew and Granite Creek County’s youngest private eye.

  It was not merely Daisy’s expectant hovering that unnerved the girl. During supper, Sarah had been thinking over her adventure. After considering the risks she had taken, how the pair of snoopy GCPD cops had almost spoiled everything, how close she had come to having a terrible automobile accident, not to mention (which she couldn’t) how Aunt Daisy had come within a hairsbreadth of turning her stakeout of Mrs. Reed and her boyfriend into a humiliating fiasco—the amateur detective began to feel very amateurish indeed. Sarah seriously considered concealing the entire matter from Charlie Moon. On the other hand…I did find out something that might help Mr. Parris. On the other other hand…Charlie might get upset if he finds out what I did.

  No matter. What it all boiled down to was—I have to do what’s right.

  Sarah waited until the man of the house had withdrawn to his upstairs office and shut himself inside to tend to some business. When she tapped a tentative knuckle on the door, Moon was busy copying receipts that documented operating expenses he would deduct on next year’s tax return. If there was a next year for his cattle operation. Leaving his Canon PC copier to shut itself down, he opened the door to smile at his favorite teenager.

  Avoiding his direct gaze, Sarah spoke barely above a mumble. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like some after-dinner coffee and something sweet.”

  “A cup of something hot will hit the well-known spot.” Moon winked at the winsome lass with long dark locks draped over her thin shoulders. “But besides yourself I don’t see anything sweet.”

  He thinks I’m sweet? Indeed he did, but the man she firmly intended to marry had never, ever paid her such a compliment. The confused girl glanced at the tray and felt her face burn. “Oh—I forgot the cookies. I’ll bring them to you later.”

  “That’ll be nice.” He reached for what she had brought.

  When Sarah refused to let go of the tray, Moon got the message. “You can put it on my desk.” When she did, and showed no sign of leaving, Moon got it again. “If you don’t have anything better to do, have a seat.” He pointed his chin at the ninety-year-old leather couch. “You can keep me company while I get some work done.”

  Sarah seated herself primly. Pointedly ignoring Moon’s curious gaze, she rubbed a barely perceptible wrinkle from her blue denim skirt.

  Figuring it was going to take some time for the girl to decide to say what she had on her mind, Charlie Moon restarted the Canon and copied a receipt from the company that had repaired the remote-control opener on the Columbine front gate for the fourth time in three years. If those guys would fix it right, it’d save me two or three hundred bucks a year.

  His pensive guest exhaled a long, wistful sigh.

  Moon ignored the signal.

  Sarah upped the ante with an “ahem.”

  The rancher copied a receipt for a $1,240 payment to a local veterinarian. Vaccinations get more expensive every year.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?” Unconsciously imitating his aunt, Moon shot the girl a sideways glance. She looks kinda nervous.

  “There’s something we need to discuss.”

  The rancher switched off his copying machine. “Okay, let’s discuss.”

  “I did something today.” Sarah repeated the wistful sigh. “Something that I suppose you won’t be pleased about.” The girl clasped her hands in prayerful fashion and offered up a hopeful big-eyed look that would’ve melted a glacier. “I hope you won’t be really, really mad at me.”

  He smiled. She’s cute as a spotted puppy.

  He doesn’t look mad. Sarah tried to smile back.

  Moon swallowed the smile and replaced it with a fair-to-middling scowl. “So what’d you do, run your pickup into one of my prime Hereford bulls and make a big dent in his fender?”

  “Oh, no.” Sarah shook her head. Recalling her close call at the intersection in Granite Creek, she felt her face warm again. I’ve got to tell him straight out. Getting started was the hard part. In preparation for her confession, the girl cleared her throat. “You remember how you and Mr. Parris were talking about Mr. Reed’s wife?”

  So you were listening outside the door. Moon’s phony scowl was transformed into a genuine frown. The kid’s picking up bad habits from Aunt Daisy. “Yes, I do.”

  “And how Mr. Parris said he’d like to keep a close eye on Mrs. Reed—if only he had the officers available?”

  “I remember that too.” Moon seated himself beside Sarah on the couch.

  “Well, I thought I might be able to…to help.”

  Sensing that she was about to burst into tears, Moon looped his arm around the slender girl’s shoulders. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  Her eyes moist, she turned to smile at this man she would gladly have died for. “You can guess what I did, can’t you?”

  “W
hen it comes to the ladies, I generally don’t have a clue. But let me try some wild speculation and see how close I can get.”

  Entranced by his light embrace, she waited.

  Moon “hmmed.” Scratched his head. Then: “I bet you turned on your snazzy little laptop and got on the Internet and did one of those searches to find out whether or not the lady has a criminal record—”

  Sarah was shaking her head.

  The tribal investigator “hmmed” again. Stared intently at a sizable knot on the pine-paneled wall. “Okay, how about this. When you and Aunt Daisy went pickuping into town this morning, you started talking over what you could do to amuse yourself. After considering one thing and other, you two decided it might be fun to follow Mrs. Reed and find out if she was up to something. And so you drove over to her neighborhood.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Lemme see now. What would’ve happened when you got there?” The Ute continued to gaze at the pine knot. “Okay, here’s how I see it. You decided to park your truck someplace where you could eyeball the Reed residence, but you needed some cover so if Mrs. Reed happened to zip out of her driveway, she wouldn’t spot you.”

  She nodded again. He is so clever!

  “Hold on a minute, I think I’m getting the picture.” It was evident that Mr. Clever was pleased with himself. “Right, I can see how the whole thing unfolded. You parked your fine Ford pickup on a vacant lot across the street from the subject’s home. And while you were waiting for Mrs. Reed to drive away in her pink Cadillac, a couple of GCPD blue-suits showed up in their black-and-white and tried to hassle you, and Aunt Daisy told ’em she had every right to be there because she was thinking about buying the real estate you was parked on and—Ouch!” (Sarah had elbowed him in the ribs.)

  “Oh—you knew all the time!”

  Despite the sharp pain in his side, Moon laughed.

  She glared at the fun-loving tribal investigator. “Those two gossipy cops must’ve told you.”

  “Not directly.” Moon gave her a quick hug before unfolding his lean frame from the couch. Now out of elbow-gouging range, he towered over the seated girl. “Eddie Knox gave the chief of police the lowdown and Scott called me on the phone. He said, ‘Tell Sarah she’d better leave police business to them that knows how to do it.’” Moon cocked his head. “He didn’t give me any advice to pass on to Aunt Daisy, because everybody knows she don’t listen to a single word I say.”

  This was so embarrassing. Sarah’s face felt hot as a flapjack sizzling in a skillet. “So what else do you already know?”

  “Only that Knox and Slocum followed you after you took off after Mrs. Reed, but they lost you when they got involved in an accident at an intersection.”

  Sarah went ice cold. “Accident?”

  “Nobody was hurt, but it was a close thing.” Moon grinned at his recollection of Parris’s narrative about how the hapless cops got a whole load of cement dumped on their unit. “I figure I’ve said about enough.” He grinned at the girl, who was particularly pretty when she was angry. “It’s your turn, now. Tell me what you found out about Mrs. Reed.”

  Sarah got up from the couch, smoothed her skirt again. “Oh, I don’t think I found out anything you’d want to hear about.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well…she has a boyfriend.”

  A frown found its way to Moon’s brow. “Is that a fact?”

  Sarah’s head bobbed in a perky nod. While Moon listened intently, the debut gumshoe provided a quick summary of what she had witnessed at the Sand Hills Country Club. Except, of course, for Aunt Daisy’s dog walk where the old woman had stumbled and practically fallen into the muscular young man’s arms. After pausing for a breath, she added, “I tried to follow—to tail Mrs. Reed’s boyfriend when he left the golf course, but I lost him.”

  Charlie Moon tried to think of what he should say. At the moment, there was no purpose in reminding Sarah of what she already knew. If there was no danger in playing at detective, it wouldn’t be any fun. Later on, when she was calmed down, he would have a long talk with her about how it wasn’t smart to mess around in other people’s private business. In the meantime, he would take it easy on the teenager. “You’ll need to tell Scott about this boyfriend.”

  “You two apparently like to talk about what I’ve been doing.” The girl lifted her chin in an impudent gesture. “Tell him yourself.” Sarah marched out of Moon’s office, closing the door behind her. It would be an exaggeration to say that she slammed it. But not by much.

  And despite the fact that Charlie Moon spent the next ten minutes on the telephone updating Scott Parris on what the Ute-Papago youth had found out about Mrs. Reed and her boyfriend—during which interval he could have benefited from a boost in his blood sugar—Sarah Frank did not bring him a single cookie.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Chief of Police Seizes the Day

  Scott Parris spent a mostly sleepless night wondering whether Sarah Frank’s titillating discovery was of any importance. Ten to one, the boyfriend will turn out to be a dead end. A waste of time. A snipe hunt. Like a gristmill waterwheel churning up stream-bottom muck, the questions would surface for consideration, sink into the murky depths—only to rise again and recirculate through his consciousness. Does Mrs. Reed’s romance with the golf-course groundskeeper have anything to do with Sam Reed’s conviction that he’ll be murdered on his wife’s birthday? June 4 was getting closer with every sunrise. If so, is Professor Reed aware—or at least suspicious—of his wife’s fling with this employee of the Sand Hills Country Club? The dapper scientist-turned-investor was something of an enigma to the down-to-earth cop, and also something of a plain pain in the butt. And if Reed does know his missus is messing around, why didn’t he tell me about it right up front? Because he was a proud man, and embarrassed to talk about it? Or does he want me to uncover the dark family secret on my own? Then, back to square one. One’ll get you ten, this boyfriend will turn out to be a dead end. With this gloomy assessment, the insomniac’s internal dialogue would start all over again.

  When the cold gray glow of dawn began to evict the darkness from his bedroom, Scott Parris rolled out of the brass four-poster, shaved his sunburned face, and showered while singing the lines he could remember from “Tennessee Stud” loud enough to wake up the neighbor’s dog. The man who was pushing the far side of middle age combed his thinning hair in thoughtful silence. After a breakfast of oatmeal seasoned with blueberries and walnuts, GCPD’s top cop called in to advise the dispatcher that he would be out of the office for most of the day. Before leaving his home, the ex-Chicago policeman paused at the hallway mirror for a last-minute inspection of his person. He started at floor level, admiring a new pair of Roper boots, approving the knife-edge creases in his black dress slacks, skipped the slightly bulging belly and homely face, and made his way up to the cherished brown fedora he had inherited from his father.

  Considering the nature of his destination, Parris fastened the top button of his white cotton shirt and straightened the glistening gold shield clipped to his morocco belt. Last, he checked to make sure that the beige nylon shoulder-holster harness was tastefully concealed under his powder-blue corduroy jacket. On most days, the longtime lawman was barely aware of his sidearm, which was merely part of his attire. Today’s business should be entirely peaceful, but on this particular morning the cop was oddly comforted by the cold, heavy presence of the snub-nose Smith & Wesson .38 nestled snugly under his left armpit.

  As Scott Parris watched the balding, somewhat overweight fellow in the mirror reflect a frown back at him, he knew perfectly well what his two-dimensional counterpart behind the looking-glass was thinking. Be careful out there, chum. A man in our line of work never knows what he’s liable to run into—or the day when he’ll draw his last breath.

  Not so very far away, another, younger man was also grabbing the day by the gullet.

  Granite Creek Municipal Building

  It was 8:02 A.M. when Chico
Perez strode though the door to find the office occupied by three employees who were beginning another day’s work. A sleepy little bureaucrat was setting up the coffeepot and mumbling something to himself about the damn rat race. An energetic lad of twenty had opened a white box of assorted doughnuts, turned on the copy machine, and was happily filling a half-dozen hardwood trays on the countertop with various and sundry forms to be filled out by citizens who had business related to the operation of motor vehicles. Perez headed directly for the third public servant, who was giving him the big-eye. Irene Reed’s boyfriend leaned his elbows on the Formica-topped counter and flashed a smile at the middle-aged woman. “Hello, Phyllis.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Perez.” The lonely woman stared through rose-tinted spectacles that magnified her eyes, giving the impression of one who has been frozen in a state of perpetual surprise. “So what brings you here—did you misplace your driver’s license again?”

  Goldilocks laughed. “I dropped by to see your pretty face.”

  “I bet.” She smiled. I wish. “So what’s on your mind?”

  “Official business.” Perez rapped his knuckles on the counter. “I’d like to buy me a dandy used pickup.”

  “Not a problem. Bring the owner with you, and make sure he’s got the registration and title—”

  “That’s the problem, Phyllis. I don’t know who owns this nifty little F-150—which is just what I’ve been looking for. I spotted it in the Smith’s supermarket parking lot, and there was a For Sale sign taped onto the rear window. I was on my way to get a closer look at the truck—and damn my bad luck—the guy drives it away before I can find out who he is.”

  “I don’t see how I can help you.” Phyllis tapped her ballpoint pen on a stapler. “There are probably a thousand Ford pickups in the county, and lots of them are red.”