The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  “She and her mom went shopping.”

  “Good, someone's with her.”

  Olly rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but they were both as nervous as two jackrabbits.”

  “They'll be fine.”

  “What's on your mind?”

  “I have questions about the lawsuit you and Al Wallace were involved in several years ago.”

  Olly furrowed his brows. “What's that got to do with Laura?”

  “I'm not sure. Wallace's got two rowdy boys who could be playing a dangerous game.”

  “Those fellows were just little tots when the court action took place. They wouldn't know a thing about it.”

  “Al could have griped for years about losing, and the boys have decided to retaliate.”

  Olly waved a hand in the air. “I doubt it. Al and I parted friends over the whole mess; a misunderstanding all the way around.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay, let's go for a walk out in the field and I'll show you what brought the suit on.”

  The two men headed out on foot across the pasture, passed Ed and Clay's home and crested a small hill. Olly stopped and pointed toward a fence line running as far as the eye could see before it disappeared over a knoll.

  “My property goes just a ways beyond the crest. One day I came out here walking my property line and discovered a homesteader sign on my land. I pulled it up and threw it away. Shortly afterwards I received a call from Al. He told me he wanted to homestead the property. I told him no way in hell was he squatting on my land.”

  “Did he argue about it?”

  “Yes, he told me the papers showed no one owned it. I told him I had the papers to prove I did. If you knew Al Wallace, he always thinks he's right. So I took him to court, brought my legal papers showing the boundaries of the land and the judge ruled in my favor. It miffed him for a while, but he soon got over it and eventually apologized for his mistake. This fence hasn't been there but about eight or ten years. I put it in right after the court case. I didn't want to go through it again.”

  “Were his boys present in the court room?”

  “I don't remember, but I doubt it unless their mom brought them. She was still alive at the time.” Olly shook his head. “Kids wouldn't have found the dry legal talk of any interest.”

  “Do you think Mr. Wallace would have complained in front of them?”

  “It's possible, but it's water under the bridge now.”

  “Those boys are ornery and might feel you cheated their dad.”

  Olly stared at Hawkman. “Are you saying they could be taking it out on me for protecting my land by harassing my daughter?”

  “I have no idea, just throwing some ideas around.”

  “I'd hate to believe that. Maybe I should talk to Al.”

  Hawkman raised a hand. “No, don't yet. Let me do a bit more investigating before we throw those boys to the dogs. However, from what I understand, they're not far from it.”

  “So I hear. It's a shame too, as they were good kids, but got off on the wrong track after their mother died. Al doesn't know what to do with them.”

  They started walking back toward the house.

  “How'd you find out about that law suit anyway?” Olly asked. “I haven't thought about it in years.”

  “Being a private investigator I've ways of finding out things that a layman wouldn't know about. Like I found out Clay's wife was Violet's sister.”

  Olly stopped in his tracks. “Why would that be of interest?”

  “It wouldn't, unless there was a problem within the family.”

  Olly grinned, and started walking again. “There's always a problem between sisters.”

  “Anything worth mentioning?” Hawkman asked.

  “Naw, just sibling rivalry, even after years of maturity.”

  “Nothing that would make Clay unhappy?”

  “Not at all. We used to laugh at the two women bickering at each other. I think Violet really misses it now with Edna gone.”

  When they reached the house, Hawkman lingered outside the back door. “You've answered my questions about the lawsuit. If I need to know more, I'll give you a call.”

  “Good seeing you. Don't hesitate to ring me.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hawkman watched as the truck continued around to the back of the house. The side windows were slightly tinted, but he could make out the silhouette of Joey Higgins, the neighbor's youngest son. Backing up, Hawkman could see the lad had stopped in front of the barn, and Olly was making his way toward the structure. It appeared they had some sort of deal or swap going on. King did hire the Higgins boys to do some of the hard labor on the ranch, even though Ed and Clay took care of most of the work.

  He drove down the driveway and onto the road. Checking the GPS, he could see Laura and her mother were headed for home. It appeared they were traveling at quite a rate of speed, which worried him. He didn't suspect Laura would drive fast with her mother onboard, unless something had frightened them. When he came to a broad shoulder in the road, he pulled off and waited. Sure enough, Laura's green Celica barreled past. Not far behind a black pickup came into view. Hawkman waited for the truck to get by, then made a U-turn and tailgated the truck.

  Two heads bobbed in front of the back glass, but he couldn't identify the occupants. Suddenly, at a crossroad, the black vehicle veered off to the right and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Hawkman decided not to pursue, as he needed to know from Laura what happened, if anything. He continued toward the King's ranch and pulled up behind Laura's car. She jumped out and ran back to his SUV as he climbed out.

  “Oh, Mr. Casey, I'm so glad to see you.”

  “What happened back there?” he asked.

  “Mom and I were coming out of the grocery store with our purchases when the Wallace brothers showed up.” Her voice shaking, she continued. “They began to shout about Dad hiring a detective to watch after his little girl. I didn't respond, but they kept getting closer, until Mom and I jumped into the car. We locked the doors, and when I tried to pull out of the parking place, they pushed a cart in my way, so I couldn't back out. A man saw what happened and moved the basket out of the way. I sped out of the lot, but I soon spotted their black pickup in my rearview mirror. Those guys really scare me. You don't know what they'll do. They have no respect for anyone. Here I had my mother with me.”

  “Did you get a call or message on your cell phone?”

  She whipped out the small instrument from her jeans pocket and studied it, then shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  Hawkman patted her on the shoulder. “Calm down, you're safe now.”

  Leaving Joey Higgins hoisting bales of hay into the bed of his truck, Olly came jogging toward the house. His face showed concern when he saw his daughter and wife leaning against the car. He glanced at Hawkman. “What's going on?”

  “Laura can tell you. Every thing's okay now, but she had a scare.” He turned toward the women. “Let me know immediately, if you have any more trouble with those two renegades.”

  Violet's hands dropped to her side, and formed into fists. “Don't worry, we will. I just might call Al Wallace and give him a piece of my mind about those two boys. He needs to know what they're doing for a pastime and rein them in.”

  Hawkman didn't comment and climbed back into his vehicle. It might be a good thing if Violet talked to Wallace, he thought. A call from a woman near his dead spouse's age, just might make a difference.

  As he headed back to town, he mulled over an odd thought that entered his mind. If the Wallace brothers were the harassers, why didn't they make a call to Laura on her cell phone. Instead, they approached her in person. It didn't fit the modus operandi of the tormentor. This could have been a coincidence, and knowing the Wallace brothers, they'd take advantage of any opportunity to make pests out of themselves. It didn't surprise Hawkman when they mentioned Laura's dad had hired a priva
te investigator. Probably the whole town knew by now. They just didn't know why.

  When he reached the outskirts of Medford, he pulled to the side of the road and took Laura's file from underneath the seat on the passenger side. Thumbing through the papers, he found what he thought to be the addresses of the two male students Laura had told him spoke of bow shooting. Today would be a good time to find them home.

  Al Wallace slammed down the phone, rose from the chair, and stormed to the hallway. “Steve and Greg, get your lazy asses down here immediately,” he roared. Receiving no response, he whipped out the cell phone and reached his sons. “Where the hell are you.”

  He listened for a moment. “I want you home immediately. We've got a serious problem to discuss.”

  Puffing on a cigar, Al walked the floor of the den until he heard the roar of the pickup coming up the driveway. He immediately sat down in a large leather chair and waited for them to enter the house.

  “Dad, we're here. What's so important?”

  “Get your butts in the den.”

  The boys came into the room and looked at their father with all the innocence of young boys who'd been caught stealing a popsicle from the store. Al pointed to the couch. “What the hell are you doing, running around tormenting older women and girls?”

  “What are you talking about?” Steve asked.

  Al straightened in the seat and glared at the two young men. “You know damn well what I'm talking about. I got a call from Violet King. This is a woman who used to be very close friends with your Ma. How could you upset her like that? She told me about your shenanigans. I've got a good notion to lock that blasted pickup in the garage so you don't have wheels for a while. How would you like that?”

  Both boys’ heads drooped. “We were just having some fun with Laura. Her old man has hired a private detective and we just kidded her about it.”

  Al raised his eyebrows. “Why would Olly hire a detective?”

  Steve and Greg both shrugged their shoulders. “Don't know.”

  “Then why the hell were you pestering her on something you're ignorant about. You want the detective to come after you? Think about it, you dummies. If there's something going on, you'd be the first suspects. You want to go to jail?”

  “Of course not, Dad,” both said in unison.

  “Who did Olly hire?”

  “Some big cowboy with a patch over his eye,” Steve said.

  Al slapped his forehead. “Lordy be, you know who he is?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Tom Casey. He used to be with the Agency before he retired. One of the best damned investigators in the county. You don't fool with him. Does that make any sense to you lunkheads?”

  “It does now,” Greg said.

  Al stood up. “I've come to a decision. You two have too much time on your hands, and I'm getting too many complaints on your behavior. You're heading down the wrong path. One of these days you're going to get into some serious trouble, and I won't have enough money to bail you out. Your mother has probably already rolled over several times in her grave due to your stunts. I can't stand such a thought. I'm giving you one month to either get a job or enroll in college. If you haven't accomplished this, I'm locking up the truck and kicking you both out. It's time you were on your own.”

  The boys looked up at him with their mouths open. “Dad, do you really mean it?”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Laura thought the two boys she'd mentioned lived in Medford, but wasn't positive. Hawkman hoped she was correct or he'd have to go to the school records and find their addresses, which wouldn't be easy without the help of law enforcement. Several minutes later, using the GPS to locate the numbers he'd found in the phone book, he parked in front of a well-kept, two-story middle class home. Walking toward the entry, he noted the red brick flower beds, void of flowers at this time of year, ran the length of the house. The unique oak front door with a beveled window shaped like a pentagon, but rounded at the top with straight sides, caught his attention. He flipped on his recorder as he waited for someone to answer his knock, and studied the intricate design of the wood, wondering where this piece of art had originated.

  A tall, thin, redheaded young man with blue eyes opened the door. “Yeah.”

  “Hello.” Hawkman flashed his badge. “I'm Tom Casey, Private Investigator, looking for a Jason Calderidge. Does he live here?”

  The boy's face turned pale and he glanced toward the inside of the house. “Yeah, I'm Jason. What do you want?”

  “I need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”

  “Why don't we talk out here in the yard.”

  “Sure, that's okay with me.”

  The young man stepped out barefooted onto the cement and closed the door.

  “Beautiful piece of art, I'm sure it didn't come with the house.”

  “No. Dad found it at a garage sale and Mom fell in love with it. She refinished it. They figured it was at least eighty years old and had been in a flood as there are water marks on the inside.”

  “It certainly is an asset to the entry.”

  Hawkman watched the nervous boy, shift from one foot to the other, then run his fingers through the mass of curly hair. “I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know a Cindy Brown?”

  “Yeah. We go to the same school and share some classes.”

  “How about Laura King?”

  “She's a friend of Cindy's.”

  “I understand you take a compound bow class with Ms. Brown. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you own your own equipment?”

  “No, but wish I did.”

  “What do you think of Laura King?”

  “She's okay.”

  “How do you mean, ‘okay'?”

  “Sort of prudish. You know, she doesn't date or go to the dances.”

  “Ever asked her?”

  Jason grinned shyly. “No.”

  “How about Cindy?”

  “Oh, she's with it.” He let out a wolf whistle. “Real upbeat on all the latest songs and dances. Real good humor, not to mention, a beauty with a bitchin’ body.”

  “You have a car?”

  “Can't afford it. I borrow my folks’ when it's available. Mostly, I hitch a ride with my friend, Blake.”

  “Is that Blake Russell? What kind of vehicle does he drive?”

  “Black Chevy pickup.” Then Jason frowned. “How do you know all these kids? Is someone in trouble?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe I shouldn't be answering all these questions without a lawyer.”

  “Why? Have you got something to hide?”

  He furrowed his brow. “I don't think so.”

  “Then you won't be the one in trouble.”

  “Hey, this is getting weird. Why are you asking me all this stuff?”

  “Someone who knows how to shoot a compound bow is launching arrows into the side of my office building and harassing my client. You know anyone who might be doing this type of thing?”

  The boy backed up and placed his hand on the door knob. “Hell, no. I don't think I want to talk to you anymore.”

  “Would you rather speak with the police?”

  “I don't want to talk to any cop. Who hired you, anyway?”

  “I'm not free to disclose that information at this time.”

  “Well, man, take me off your list. I don't harass anyone and I sure as hell don't go around shooting arrows at offices.”

  “I may want to speak to you again. So don't be surprised, if you see me coming.”

  Jason went inside and closed the door.

  Hawkman reached into his pocket, turned off the recorder, and left. He felt this boy was probably innocent, but scared to death of his parents. Next, he'd speak with Blake Russell. More than likely, Jason had called him the minute he got inside, so the visit
wouldn't come as a surprise. Then, he hoped to check out Cindy Brown before the day ended.

  It didn't take him long to locate the Russells’ home, which reminded him of the place he'd just left, except it lacked the charm of the front entry. When he rang the bell, he heard a male voice call. “I'll get it.”

  A young man with uncombed shoulder-length oily, dark brown hair, green eyes, standing about five foot, eight inches tall in a rumpled tee-shirt, holes in the jeans and tennis shoes without socks, opened the door. “Yeah?”

  “Are you Blake Russell?”

  “That's me.”

  Hawkman flashed his badge. “I'm Tom Casey, Private Investigator. I'd like to ask you some questions?”

  “What about?”

  “I'm sure your friend, Jason Calderidge, has already warned you.”

  Blake flushed. “How ya figure?”

  “Believe it or not, I was a kid once.”

  “Yeah, but bet you've forgotten what it's like.”

  Hawkman grinned. “I can still remember some things.” He pointed toward a couple of chairs on the lawn. “You want to talk out here, or go inside?”

  “The boy stepped out the door, and headed toward the corner of the yard.”

  Once seated, Hawkman turned toward him. “How's school?”

  “If you want to know about my bow classes, after this semester, I'm quitting. I can't get the hang of it, and am not doing well. I've decided to try a different sport.”

  “Do you own your compound bow?”

  “No. Those things are expensive and unless you want to really get into it, it's not worth the bucks. I pay a fee to use the ones at the school.”

  “Can you take them off campus for practice?”

  Blake shook his head. “No, you attend the practice sessions the instructor has listed. No one is allowed to take the equipment off the grounds.”

  “Is Cindy Brown a good bowman, or maybe I should say bow woman?”

  “There is no differentiation between the sexes; all are bowmen. Yeah, she's good. She amazes me with her accuracy; she's stronger than she looks.”

  “How many women are in the class?”

  He closed one eye and looked skyward. “I think there are three. Cindy's the best though; she can hit the bullseye three times out of five shots. Her arrows always stay on the target, even if she doesn't hit the center. Mine go bouncing all over the place.”