Murder in Calico Gold: A Cedar Bay Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  “Sounds wonderful, Agnes, but if you have time I’d love a quick tour of the property and the house. It’s one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Kelly said.

  “Of course. Let me know when you’re ready,” Agnes said as she opened a door that led to a suite of rooms on the second floor. “The bathroom is through that door, and there’s a television and couch in the room on the other side of that door. Interestingly enough, my grandparents put a financial provision in their Will that allowed future generations to keep up the house, so I’ve always been able to bring in the latest things, like these light dimmers. The bathrooms and kitchen have been upgraded several times, so I think you’ll be happy with your accommodations. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  Kelly opened the bathroom door. “Mike, I’ve only seen bathrooms like this one in pictures of five star hotels. Good grief! I can’t even imagine what this must have cost.”

  “Come in here,” he said from the room on the far side of the suite. “You’re not going to believe this.” The room was a mixture of early 20th century antiques and plush modern chairs and couches. A state of the art giant screen television was mounted on the wall. An antique roll-top desk occupied one wall and plaid club chairs flanked the large window which overlooked the back of the ranch.

  “I’m going downstairs. I’ve got to have the tour. Does it look different than you remember?” Kelly asked.

  “I thought it would be much smaller and none of these latest touches like the television or the jets in the wall of the tiled shower were here. I think I need to take the tour as well.”

  CHAPTER 8

  While driving back to town after ending his long meeting with John Wilson, Richard Martin looked at his watch and was surprised to see it was already 6:00 p.m. Richard had presented his offer to buy John’s ranch, and once again John had turned him down.

  Fool keeps hoping that old widow, Agnes Johnson, will open up her dam so he can get water. From everything I’ve heard, she has no intention of ever doing that. Probably wouldn’t be much fun to watch all your cattle die of thirst. Well, at least I’ll be able to get his property when that happens. What I need is the Robertson Ranch. If I could get that, I’d have some leverage over John, because he knows I’d develop it, and there never would be a chance for him to get water from that stream. I’d stock that lake with fish and make money off of it.

  Richard saw the neon lights of the Roadhouse Bar up ahead and decided to stop for a beer and a hamburger. He parked his car and entered the dimly lit cowboy bar that had served thirsty travelers, gold miners, and cowboys for over a century. An old-fashioned jukebox in the corner was playing a Johnny Cash song about prison life. Richard knew it was illegal to smoke in a place that served food, but from the hazy atmosphere, it was apparent nobody enforced the law.

  He sat down at the bar and stood out like a blinking red beacon in his three piece pin stripe suit and polished cordovan shoes. He looked around and decided this was not a place to order a Sauvignon Blanc glass of wine. The grizzled, bearded bartender, who had the muscled body of a bouncer, walked over to him and asked, “What’ll you have?”

  “Give me a Sierra Nevada in the bottle.”

  “Ya’ kiddin, right? Everybody here gets their beer in a bottle. Ain’t got none of them fancy what do you call ‘em, steins. We jes’ got bottles here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The bartender put the bottle of beer in front of Richard. “Don’t much look like ya’ belong around here. From Frisco?”

  “Yes.”

  “What brings ya’ out our way?”

  “I’m trying to buy a couple of ranches and develop them.”

  “Whose ya’ got in mind, if ya’ don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Don’t mind at all. I’ve been talking to John Wilson, and I’m trying to talk to Agnes Johnson.”

  “Long as Wilson has his cattle and he can get water, he won’t sell to ya’. Ranch has been in the family too long. As fer Agnes, ain’t no way she’d sell that ranch for developin’. She’s got more nerve than Carter has little liver pills, and she’s just as stubborn.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

  “Ya’ see that wild-eyed guy at the end of the bar? One with all the tats? Might wanna’ talk to him. He lives on her property.”

  Richard looked down the bar in the direction the bartender had nodded. A heavily tattooed man with shoulder length grey hair was seated at the end of the bar. Even though it was early in the evening, from the sound of the man’s voice, Richard could tell it wasn’t the first beer he’d had. He looked back at the bartender, “Does he come here often?”

  “Every night. Sometimes in the afternoons if he’s not workin’. Today’s one of those times. Been here for a few hours. Coupla times had to kick him out. Always stays ‘til closin’ time if he’s got any money. Sometimes the brewskies make him real mean. Been in a few fights I’ve had to break up.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the kind of man Agnes Johnson would have living on her ranch. Is he a relative or something?”

  “Nah. Everyone knows she’s got a soft spot for vets that served in Nam. Her son died in the Vietnam War, so a lot of them have lived in that shack over the years. Gary,” he motioned to the man at the bar, “is jes’ the latest one. His mother was a friend of Agnes’.”

  “How does he support himself?”

  “Doin’ anything he can. Gets a little money from an odd job here and there, and then comes in here and drinks ‘til it’s gone. Always needin’ money. Spends what he makes, but he don’t make much.”

  A plan began to take form in Richard’s mind. “I think I’ll go over and talk to him. Had a brother who was in Nam. Thanks for telling me about him, and you can bring me another beer and give him one as well.”

  He walked to the end of the bar and took a seat on the bar stool next to Gary, as the bartender put beers in front of Gary and Richard.

  “Whoa. Better put that one back in the cooler. Didn’t order it. I’m out of money for tonight,” Gary said.

  “It’s on me. My name is Richard Martin. Bartender says your name is Gary. Got a last name?”

  “Thanks. Yeah, last name’s Sanders. How come yer’ buyin’?” he said, slightly slurring his words and looking warily at Richard.

  “I had a brother who was in Nam. Any time I can do something for a vet, I do it. Shame what this country did to you and yours.”

  “Yep. You can say that again. Where did your brother serve?”

  “He was in Da Nang. Bad place to be.”

  “Yeah, know it well. Too well.”

  “I understand you’re living on the Robertson Ranch. Isn’t that owned by some old woman?”

  “Yeah, but I gotta find somewhere new to live when I get a little money. Old broad told me I had to leave. Problem is, I don’t have anywhere to go. Just wish I had some money.”

  “So, what’s she like? I hear she’s pretty old.”

  “She’s old, and she owns that ranch and that big house. More house and property than anyone should have. I don’t know why she’s kicking me out. Never did nothin’ to deserve it, and I got nowhere to go. Old as she is, probably time for her to die.”

  Could be, my friend. It just could be.

  “Maybe I can help you, and you can help me. I really don’t want to talk business here, but how about if I meet you at your place tomorrow morning? I’d just as soon Agnes didn’t see us meeting. Let’s do it really early, say 5:00 a.m. I’ll make if financially worthwhile for you.”

  “If I can make some money, I’ll do it. There are two roads that go onto the ranch property. The first one goes to the Robertson House. Take the second one and go to the end. You’ll see the shack I live in, and you can walk to it from there.”

  “Thanks,” Richard said putting a twenty dollar bill on the bar and motioning to the bartender. “Keep the change and give Gary another beer,” he said. He turned to Gary, “See you in the morning. I’m bringing someone with me. I’d just
as soon you keep our meeting between us, so don’t tell anyone about it. Need a ride home?”

  “Nah. Got my wheels out in the parking lot. Old Bessie. She’s a trustworthy hog. We’ve gone down a coupla times but always manage to stand back up. Wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

  “Well, after our talk, you might be able to afford a new Bessie. Good night Gary, see you in the morning.”

  Richard got in his Lexus and made a U-turn in the parking lot while he called Susan Lane. “Susan, I’ve had a change of plans. I know when we talked earlier I said I had to get back to San Francisco tonight, but I’ve decided to spend the night. By the way, we have an appointment at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. I think I’ve found the answer to our problem with Agnes Johnson. See you in a few minutes.”

  He ended the call and smiled, thinking how clever he was to find the answer to the Agnes Johnson problem.

  CHAPTER 9

  Following the directions Gary Sanders had given him the night before when he met Gary at the Roadhouse Bar, Richard Martin quietly eased his silver Lexus down the lane that led to the shack where Gary lived. He’d spent the night at Judge Susan Lane’s home, and as the new day dawned, he felt optimistic and refreshed. The plan he wanted to put into motion seemed like an ideal solution to the problem he was having with Agnes Johnson, the owner of the Robertson Ranch.

  One way or the other, I’ve got to get rid of that old woman. Given the right inducement and a little encouragement, I’m sure Gary Sanders might just be my ticket to success, Richard thought as he brought the Lexus to a stop at the end of the lane.

  It was 5:00 a.m. in the morning, and sunrise was only minutes away. The predawn sky was slowly turning to light grey from the deep darkness of night. Visibility was somewhat limited, but Richard could easily see the shack and the outhouse which stood next to it.

  Susan was sitting in the front seat next to him. He turned to her and said, “There’s the shack, right where he said it would be. I can see a glimmer of light coming from the only window in the place. Let’s walk down there and see if we can convince Gary to do us a little favor. Remember what I told you last night about letting me do most of the talking. Your presence here is simply to convince Gary that if anything goes wrong with my plan, you’ll be able to help him if he winds up in court.”

  They walked down the narrow dirt path that led to the shack, and Richard knocked on the door which was immediately opened by Gary. “Well I see you found my place and you’re right on time,” Gary said as he stepped aside and motioned for his two visitors to enter the shack.

  The scene that met their eyes when they entered the shack was surreal. The shack was illuminated by a single Coleman lantern that sat hissing and sputtering on a makeshift bench that apparently served as a desk, work bench, and dining table, all rolled into one. Empty beer bottles and cans littered the floor and table. Fast food containers were scattered on the floor and everywhere else in the shack. In one corner was a small iron bed frame covered with a thin mattress and several filthy blankets. The shack had no electricity, running water, or a bathroom. A plastic five-gallon water bottle was propped up on a shelf on the far side of the shack and was evidently used to provide water for drinking and personal hygiene, the latter of which was completely lacking based on Gary’s personal appearance.

  Noticing the look of disbelief on the faces of his two visitors as they looked around the simple one room shack, Gary said, “Yeah, I know it ain’t much of a place to live in, but it’s all I got, and if things go as expected, this time next week I won’t even have this ‘cause the old lady who owns the ranch wants to kick me out. Claims me, my motorcycle, and my friends are all undesirables. So, Mr. Big Shot moneyman, what’s so important that it brings you out here to my little ‘ol run-down shack at this ungodly time in the morning? This better be good, and it better involve me gettin’ some money out of it.”

  “I think it will, Gary, I think it will,” Roger said, “but first let me introduce you to a good friend of mine, Judge Susan Lane.” Susan extended her hand and she and Gary shook hands. “Susan’s jurisdictional area includes Calico Gold and all the surrounding area. Any type of legal case, whether it’s civil or criminal, eventually winds up in her courtroom. As I said, she’s a good friend, and someone who can provide a huge amount of help if a person has a little run-in with the law.

  “Before I get into the details of how we might be able to help each other, and at the same time make some serious money for you, I’d like to know a little more about you. I know you served a tour of duty in Vietnam, and I’m particularly interested in what you did while you were there. How about filling me in with some of those details?”

  “Sure, I don’t mind telling you about my time in Nam, since it totally screwed up my life and left me living like a dog in this disgusting little shack with no money and nowhere to go. I think about Nam and what it did to me every single waking moment of every day, and it makes me depressed and really angry. Added to that is the fact that the Veterans Administration won’t do a thing for me and has left me high and dry with no benefits whatsoever. Suppose that’s why I drink so much and get into fights. It’s like I’m trying to wash away all those terrible memories of my time in Nam. So yeah, here’s a quick sketch of what went down when I was there.

  “When I arrived there I was assigned to the 4th Infantry Division in the central highlands. I was a combat infantryman, and my unit’s job was to seek out the enemy and destroy him. We went into the field for weeks at a time carrying out what were called search and destroy missions. When we’d find a village where we thought the Viet Cong were being hidden, we’d shoot and kill every man, woman and child in the village and then burn it to the ground. Know it sounds pretty brutal, but it’s what we did. All the brass hat generals and colonels in headquarters wanted to know was whether or not we’d cleared the area of the enemy and secured it. They didn’t care how we did it, and they didn’t ask any questions. I’m not proud I did it, but I sort of enjoyed it while I was doing it.

  “All my life I’ve heard voices in my head telling me what to do, and when I was in Nam they told me what I was doing was the right thing to do. I probably killed more people in Nam than are buried in Calico Gold’s cemetery. When I got out of the Army and came back here to Calico Gold my depression and anger started to get really bad. The little voices in my head liked it when I was killing innocent people in Nam, and they started urging me to do the same here in the States. It’s pretty hard to control what the voices tell me to do. That’s the background on me, and a little bit about what’s going on in my head. Now why don’t you tell me about yourself and most importantly, how I can make some money.”

  Richard paused for a moment and then slowly started to speak, “Gary, you and I each have a problem with Agnes Johnson, the owner of the Robertson Ranch. I’m a developer and want to buy the ranch and convert it into a golf course, but Agnes won’t sell it to me or for that matter even talk to me. Your problem with her is she wants to kick you out of your home and turn you out on the street. I think it would be to our mutual benefit if something nasty happened to her. If she was gone, I’d be able to buy the ranch, and if I did, I guarantee you that you could continue to live here in the shack as long as you want. Everybody knows that working on a ranch can be dangerous and it seems like accidents on ranches happen all the time. A person can get kicked in the head by a horse or fall out of the hayloft in the barn and fracture their skull. You name it, but the fact of the matter is that serious accidents happen a lot around ranches. I’m thinking it would be nice if Agnes Johnson had a really serious accident. If she did, you and I would both benefit from it.

  “I’ll leave it up to you to think about what I just said and decide if there’s anything you can do about it. Thanks for taking the time to meet with Judge Lane and me this morning. I promised you last night I’d make it worth your time if you’d meet with me, so here’s an envelope that has $500 in unmarked small bills in it. It’s yours to keep, no questions
asked. Once I get ownership of this ranch, I’ve got another envelope with $5,000 in it that has your name written on the outside.

  “It’s almost light outside, and Judge Lane and I have to be going before someone spots us here. Again thanks for meeting with us. I think this may be the start of a profitable relationship for both of us, and remember, if anything goes wrong, Judge Lane will be able to help you out.”

  Roger and Susan left the shack and walked back to his car. As he drove back to the highway Roger failed to notice someone walking along the side of the lane.

  CHAPTER 10

  There was a knock on John Wilson’s office door, and it was opened by Les Scott, his ranch manager. “Les, how was your day? What’s new?”

  The weathered lean, lanky cowhand stood in front of John’s desk, twirling his worn grey cowboy hat in his hands, a piece of chaw puffing out his right cheek. “John, we’ve been together a long time, but I gotta tell ya’ I’m really worried. Had some guy come out today and measure how much water we’ve got left. Ain’t good. He figures there’s about enough water fer the cattle fer another three months. After that, unless there’s a huge storm or we get water from somewhere else, we’re finished. There won’t be no more water.”

  John sat quietly for a few moments, his head in his hands. He looked up at Les. “I don’t know what to do. Do you have any ideas?”

  “None that we ain’t already discussed. Best bet still seems to be from the stream that’s on the Johnson property right next to us. Ya’ gotta convince Mrs. Johnson to either open the dam she and her husband built quite a few years back or else sell the property to us. Don’t think there’s anything else we can do. Don’t much believe in prayin’, but this sure might be the time to do it. Also don’t believe much in divine intervention, but maybe it’ll happen. Maybe pigs’ll fly to. That’s where we’re at.”