Knowing his man, the Ute spooned out a double dose of dead silence.
Blinkoe gazed at the lake. Finally, he sighed. “Oh, very well. ‘It’ is my doppelgänger. My spirit-twin.”
“Run that by me again.”
A searching look from the white man. “Don’t you know what a doppelgänger is?”
“Sure I do—same thing as a spirit-twin.” Moon leaned toward the orthodontist. “You say you saw this whatsit at Phillipe’s right before the woman was shot, and again in the mirror at Harriet’s bookstore. But if your ghostly twin showed up right here and now, sat down in your lap—I wouldn’t see him?”
“No.” The haunted man shook his head. “You certainly would not.” At most, you might see his shadow….
The Ute played out his hand. “But Harriet saw him. She said your look-alike was just outside the store, looking in the window. That’s why you spotted him in the mirror behind the counter.”
Blinkoe ejected his portly self from the deck chair. “But the silly woman could not have seen my doppelgänger—besides myself, no one has ever seen him!” He paced up and down the deck, pulling at the left fork of his beard. “This report is truly irksome.”
“I’d say it’s truly bothersome.”
Blinkoe stopped to regard the Ute. “Bothersome?”
“There was no ghostly doppelgänger, Dr. Blinkoe. There’s a small chance it was some guy passing by who just happened to look a lot like you.” He made a careful inspection of the orthodontist. “But since it’d happened just a few days earlier at the restaurant, it’s a lot more likely that some knot-head glued a two-pointed beard on his chin, made a point of letting you get a gander at him.”
“But why on earth would anyone—”
“Besides me and you, who else knows about your doppelgänger?”
Blinkoe hesitated. “Hardly anyone. My wife, of course. And over the years, I suppose I might have mentioned the phenomenon to one or two close friends.”
“It makes an interesting story—and interesting stories have a way of making the rounds. Maybe some wise guy decided he’d have a little fun with you.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I won’t believe anything till I’ve got all the facts lined up in a row.” Moon glanced at the house. Pretty Pansy had vacated her post at the window. “I came out here because of the bothersome possibility.”
“Which is?”
“The look-alike that’s stalking you might not be pulling a prank. He might be a serious nutcase.” The Ute watched a small flock of black ducks skim the surface of Moccasin Lake, land with a muttering flutter of wings. “He might even be seriously dangerous.”
Blinkoe shook his head stubbornly. “You didn’t see what I saw. The image in the mirror was exactly like me! As for Harriet seeing him, it is possible that she is a sensitive who has the remarkable ability to discern what not one person in a million is able to perceive.”
“Those are pretty long odds,” Moon said. “I’ll lay you ten to one that what we’re dealing with is no ghost. Your ‘twin’ is flesh and bone.”
Blinkoe stared at the ducks without seeing them. “I appreciate your practical, down-to-earth approach, Mr. Moon. You might even be right.” The troubled man jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, fumbled around as if his fingers were seeking loose change. “There are, according to accounts I have read, cases where unrelated persons may hear the doppelgänger’s voice or see his image. There are even very rare instances where the doppelgänger reportedly takes on substance—replaces the original person.” An uneasy pause. “Not that I can vouch for such tales.”
“Even if you did, I wouldn’t believe ’em.”
Blinkoe cleared his throat. “In any case, I believe that I am in danger of losing my life.”
“I won’t dispute that.”
“Then what shall I do?”
“Tell me who wants you dead.”
The pale man shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Let me put it this way—I don’t know his name. But he’ll be a professional.”
“Professionals work for money. People who pay hard cash for killings generally have a serious reason to want someone dead.”
Blinkoe heaved a heavy sigh. “Before I settled down to a respectable life, I was involved in two or three rather reckless adventures.”
“So was I.” The tribal investigator watched a sleek duck take a dive. By the time the waterbird reappeared, he had counted to five. “But as far as I know, nobody’s gunning for me.”
Blinkoe opened and shut his mouth three times before he spoke. “I am suspected of taking part in a very rash act. Those who consider themselves to be the injured parties have evidently decided to even the score. I need protection from a ruthless, powerful organization that is international in scope, but I cannot turn to the federal authorities.” He turned to stare at the Indian. “The feds—how shall I say it—have no particular sympathy for me.” He shifted his gaze back to the carefree waterfowl. “They would like to lock me up.”
“Sounds like a knotty problem. Why’d you come to me about it?”
“Because you have a remarkable track record for getting results.” He skipped a shiny half-dollar across the water, watched the ducks take flight. “Apparently, your reputation is overblown.”
Moon grinned at the extravagant man. “I could’ve told you that.”
Blinkoe fell back into the deck chair. “Let me summarize the situation. While I was dining on Phillipe’s patio, a hired assassin attempted to shoot me. For whatever reason, he missed. But he has not given up. He will be back. I am convinced of this because my doppelgänger only visits me when I am in mortal danger. What I need is professional help. Because I cannot turn to the conventional authorities, I came to you.” He gave Moon a hangdog look. “Is there anything you can do to help me stay alive?”
“I’ll talk to Scott Parris, give him a heads-up about your look-alike so the local PD can be on the lookout.”
“Is that all?”
The tribal investigator gave it some thought. “You could drop out of sight until things get sorted out. Or hire yourself some professional bodyguards, keep ’em on duty twenty-four/seven. Or both.”
“I see. Not particularly original ideas.”
“That’s because they’re tried-and-true. Keep a low profile. Hire yourself some knuckle-draggers to stay between you and the shooter.”
“Very well. I will consider your recommendations.”
Moon took a step toward the gangplank, paused. “There is one other thing you should do.”
“Tell me.”
Moon told him.
As Blinkoe listened, he blanched. After Moon had made his solemn recommendation, the orthodontist shook his head. “You don’t know what she’s like—the unadulterated hell she’s put me through.”
Moon watched the man’s face. “Will you do it?”
“If I can muster up the gumption.” Blinkoe stared at the lake’s lime-green surface, then stuffed the roll of hundred-dollar bills into the Ute’s shirt pocket.
“What’s that for?”
“A retainer. Against future contingencies.”
“I’d better be going.” Before you change your mind. On the way to his car, Charlie Moon looked out of the corner of his eye, saw the face in the apartment over the garage. According to the merry Ute’s view of life, every day should have at least a small measure of fun. On an impulse, he mounted the outside stairway three steps at a time, pounded on the door.
It opened almost instantly, framing a tall, slender young man with bushy blond hair. He wore baggy U.S. Army surplus fatigues, scuffed combat boots. “What?”
You don’t look sick to me. The tribal investigator flashed his badge. “You Clayton Crowe—Mrs. Blinkoe’s brother?”
There was a spark of alarm in the young man’s brown eyes. “Uh—why yes I am.”
“This is a fine day—the kind of day that makes me feel re
ally good.” Moon frowned at the man in the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”
“Just fine, thank you.” He eyed the eccentric stranger from head to toe. “What exactly do you want?”
The Ute pointed down at the muddy motorcycle. “That fine Suzuki machine—is it for sale?”
The young man shook his head.
Moon showed no sign of being discouraged by this negative response. “Would you take a hundred bucks for it?”
The owner of the fine Suzuki machine set his jaw. “I most certainly would not!”
“Okay, then.” Moon tipped his hat. “Guess I’ll have to keep on looking.”
13
The Lady Comes Calling
Charlie Moon was crouched behind his aunt’s ancient television. Having removed the rear panel, he was probing around with a screwdriver. The was a crackling noise, followed quickly by an “Ouch!”
Daisy Perika scowled at her nephew. “What’d you do to my TV?”
“I didn’t do nothing to the danged thing. It was the other way around—it bit me!”
“TVs don’t have teeth—what’d it bite you with?”
He gave the flyback transformer a dirty look. “With about twenty thousand volts.”
“It’s your own fault. You should’ve turned it off.”
Moon gave her a hopeful look. “How about I bring you out a new one?”
“I already told you, I don’t want no new one—I like my old one.” She got up from her chair at the kitchen table, cupped a hand to her ear. “I think I hear a car coming.”
“It’s a full-size pickup,” the young man said. “Got a shock absorber about to go.” This much he could tell from the sounds made on the rutted lane. He smiled and added: “It’ll probably be a Chevy.”
Daisy watched the big Chevrolet pickup brake to a rocking stop behind her nephew’s Expedition. “You think you’re so smart. Tell me what color it is.”
He studied the dusty innards of the TV set. “Sounds like a gray truck to me.”
“You cheated,” she shot back. “You was expecting somebody.” A thoughtful pause. “Who’s driving the truck?”
Moon scowled at a selenium rectifier. “It was going awfully slow. So I’d guess it was a woman.”
“What kind of woman?”
“Don’t know for sure.”
“Make a guess.”
“Okay. She’s a good-looking young lady. Yellow hair. Big blue eyes. Nice smile.” Very nice smile.
So he’s met her before. But there are some things men don’t notice. “What color’s her purse?”
“Uh—black?”
“Red. And you think you’re such a hotshot detective.” Daisy opened the door, stepped out onto the rickety wooden porch. The young woman wore faded jeans and a white blouse that—in Daisy’s view—was two sizes too small. The tribal elder sniffed her disapproval. “Who’re you looking for?” As if I didn’t know.
The woman glanced hopefully at the Columbine’s Expedition. “I’ve been searching all over the county for Mr. Charles Moon.”
“You’ve found him. Come on in.”
Pansy Blinkoe squinted her big blue eyes at the mean-looking old Indian woman. “Uh—thank you kindly, ma’am. But I’ll wait out here.”
Daisy smiled. “Personal business, huh?”
The pretty young lady flashed a smile that raised the temperature several degrees. “Yes ma’am.”
She is going to ma’am me to death. The grumpy old woman squinted at the offender. “You one of them Texans?”
“No ma’am. I’m originally from Tennessee.”
Ma’am-ing must be spreading all over the country. Daisy turned away from her visitor. “Charlie, come on outside and talk to this sweet little matukach girl.”
After they had walked a dozen paces from the trailer, where the strange old woman was watching through a little window, Mrs. Blinkoe was ready to speak. She had a hard time looking the Ute in the face. “I called your ranch, talked to Mrs. Bushman. She said you were probably at your aunt Daisy’s place, fixing something or other. She gave me directions on how to get here, but I’m afraid I got lost over and over.”
Moon stuck his hands into his hip pockets, smiled down at the doll-like figure. “This is a hard place to find.”
“And you didn’t answer your cell phone.”
“I keep it turned off most of the time.”
“Why?”
“I’ve noticed that when it’s turned on, it’s more likely to ring.”
“Oh.” She almost flashed the pearly smile, unconsciously put a hand over her mouth.
Let’s get this over with. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“You don’t really know?”
“If I did, would I ask?”
She searched his dark eyes, could see nothing there. “It’s about my husband.”
“Dr. Blinkoe all right?”
Her blond head made a jerky nod. “Oh yes, Manny’s just fine. In fact—he’s been awfully nice the last few days.” She blushed a rosy pink. “He promised never to—” This is very hard. “You remember all that bad stuff I told you?”
“Mrs. Blinkoe, if I happen to hear anything unpleasant, I make a serious attempt to disremember it. Especially when it’s none of my business.”
She looked at her red shoes. “I mean about what Manfred might tell you about the bad things I did when I was in Reno.”
Moon did not reply.
“Did he tell you any of those awful things about me?” Please, please, say he didn’t.
“No ma’am. He certainly did not.”
Pansy took a deep breath.
Moon thought she would hold it till her skin turned the same color as her eyes.
She let it out. “Well, it’s all true.”
“Look, it don’t matter a smidgen to me what—”
“No, please. I’ve never told anyone about it. But I want to tell you.”
He waited, braced himself for the pain.
Now she looked him right in the eye. “When Manny met me in that restaurant in Reno, my teeth was ugly. I couldn’t help that. But to make ends meet—I did some things a nice girl shouldn’t do. But only twice, that was all. And it’s true I married Manny mostly for his money, and because he made me these new teeth.” She smiled, exposing the merchandise. “The denture comes out. You want to see what I look like without it?”
He shook his head.
“Mr. Moon, I want you to tell me the truth about something.”
I know I’ll regret this, but…“Okay.”
“Do you respect me?”
That’s easy. “Yes I do.”
“Do you like me?”
That wasn’t hard either. “Yes ma’am. I certainly do like you.”
She reached out to touch his sleeve. “Can I call you by your first name?”
He nodded.
“Then you can call me Pansy.” She hesitated. “Charlie—if it was a couple of years ago, and you met me before I went to Reno—before I married Manny—before he made me my pretty new teeth…before I—” She could not go on.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes I would.”
Tears filled her eyes.
He looked away. I hate it when they do that.
“Right after you left, Manny came inside. He sat down by me and held my hand, and—”
“Mrs. Blinkoe, this doesn’t sound like it’s any of my business—”
“Hush!”
He hushed.
“And he apologized for all the bad things he’d ever said or done.” She sighed. “And you know what else he did?”
He shook his head.
Pansy fumbled around in her purse, produced a large platinum compact. On its face was a five-pointed star—fashioned of tiny diamonds and rubies. “I saw it in Denver last year, just drooled over it. I thought Manny’d get the hint, but my birthday came and went, then Christmas, and then our anniversary, so I figured it was
a lost cause. Then, last night, he drops it in my lap. ‘Pansy,’ he says, ‘this is for you.’” She stuffed it back into her purse. “Ever since you paid us a visit, Manny has been very sweet to me.” She aimed the Big Blues at him. “And I think you had something to do with it.”
This was extremely embarrassing. Moon looked off toward the yawning mouth of Cañón del Espíritu, tried to think of something to say.
“Of course, I don’t expect you to admit it.”
Good.
“Charlie, would you answer me one last question?”
He shook his head.
“But you don’t even know what it is!”
“Sure I do. You still want to know what my business is with your husband.”
“But you won’t tell me?”
“Nope.”
She sighed. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I respect you for keeping Manny’s confidence.”
Uh-huh. Like she-cougars respect jackrabbits. His dark face split into a wide grin. “Then you’re not mad at me?”
“I am very, very mad at you.” A slow smile parted her lips. “But since you’re so nice to me—I’ll get over it.” And then I’ll be nice to you.
After the chevrolet pickup pulled away, Daisy watched Charlie Moon mount the porch in a single step. “Who is that white woman?”
Moon was beginning to wonder about that himself. “Mrs. Pansy Blinkoe.”
The Ute elder searched her memory, made the connection. “She related to that funny man with the two-pointed beard?”
“She’s his wife.”
“Well if you ask me, she’s a good twenty years too young for the likes of a goggled-eyed old geezer like that.” A suspicion grew in her mind. “Is Mr. Fork-Beard rich?”
“He’s pretty well off.”
“Hah—that explains it.” She gave her nephew the gimlet-eye. “Is that married woman sweet on you?”
The tormented man closed his eyes, imagined a happier land. I think maybe I’ll move to Alaska. Build me a little log cabin on one of them offshore islands. One with no telephone. No mail service. No relatives.
Daisy read much into his silence. “You know what—I kind of like that FBI woman you’ve been hanging around with. You know, Lola Fay McPig.”
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