Shadow Man

by James D. Doss

  She felt her face getting warm, but refused to blush. “But you’re just champing at the bit to blackmail me—”

  “Oh, no. Kick the horsy metaphor out of the saddle. The stuff about songs and TV movies and such was mere whimsy. I do not intend to utter a word about my delightful little charade as Scarf.” Blinkoe blinked behind the thick spectacles. “Unless I should be forced, under oath, to tell the truth, the whole truth, et cetera, and so on and so forth.”

  McTeague got to her feet. “Tell me one thing.”

  He popped off the bed. “Anything, m’lady.”

  “Where did you hide the bags of money you took from the DC-3?”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head. “Anything but that. Ask me something else.”

  Having run short of relevant questions, she pointed her nose at the black armband. “Is that for your wife?”

  “Of course.” Manfred Blinkoe’s eyes moistened. “Poor little Pansy. Though somewhat of a shrew, she was such a pretty thing. I shall miss her all of my remaining days.” He smirked at the FBI agent. “Is that all?”

  “No, it’s not all.” McTeague fixed him with a look that would have shaken a lesser man. “You can tell your story about making a fool of me wherever you want. Buy a megaphone and shout it from the rooftops. Get an interview on 60 Minutes. It doesn’t matter to me, not one whit. I’m going to spend the rest of my career, however short or long it may be—nailing you.”

  His bow was low, this time, and earnestly solemn. “Dear lady, I would have been disappointed if you had chosen any other course. And even if you hound me to the ends of the earth, I will never mention my harmless little prank. Indeed, I have decided that even if I am cross-examined under oath, I shall not admit to having hoodwinked you so thoroughly.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. It shall be no strain upon me to deny the facts.” He gave her a prideful look. “I am a congenital liar of the first order.”

  Having heard the hinges squeak, Charlie Moon met McTeague at the door, closed it behind her. She looks rattled. Cap must’ve dropped the bomb. “You all right?”

  She nodded, took note of the empty room. “Where has Scott gone—and your remarkable county agent?”

  “I sent ’em out.” He turned to look out a window. “They’re down by the horse barn, looking at a frisky mare.”

  She smiled, though wanly. “Sweet Alice?”

  The Ute shook his head. “After giving the matter some thought, I turned her loose.” He nodded to indicate the west. “She stays over there amongst the canyons and mesas, with the wild ones. From what I hear, she’s found herself a feller.”

  Me too. She reached out to take his hand. “Charlie, are you inordinately fond of me?”

  It took him a moment to swallow the rock in his throat. “Yes ma’am, I am.”

  “If I was to go far, far away—would you miss me?”

  “Nope—wouldn’t be any time for that. By the time you’d crossed the county line, I’d be right on your trail. And I’d hunt you down.”

  “You aren’t angry with me for…for paying one of your employees to inform on you?”

  “Oh, sure I am. I’m mad as a dog with porcupine quills in his nose.” He pulled her into a gentle embrace. “But by and by, I’ll get over it.”

  She hugged him back. “I have some quills in my nose too. About your cook.”

  “Yeah. I know. He’s given me some heartburn too.”

  “I’d better go now.” She glanced at the closed door. “Take good care of…Cap.”

  “Ah, don’t worry yourself about that rascal.” Moon laughed. “He can take care of himself.”

  “Yes. I daresay he can.”

  He felt her slip away. Watched her go.

  62

  You can go Home Again

  Charlie Moon was up at the cold crack of dawn, working hard to make an honest dollar. The rancher was in the Columbine headquarters kitchen, where all important business was conducted. A cup of sugary black coffee in one hand, he thumbed through the expenses ledger with the other, trying to make sense of Pete Bushman’s scribbled entries. He turned a page, read a long column of costly necessities. Fifty bushels of feed corn for the horses, sixteen bushels of oats, a twelve-hundred-watt portable electric generator, two sacks of alfalfa seed, a rebuilt transmission for the John Deere tractor. On the following page there was a list of two-by-fours, two-by-sixes, dressed pine logs, five pounds of ProPanel screws, the same weight of tenpenny nails, ten bags of cement, and on and on and on. In that grim race between income and expenses, the dark horse was leading by a nose. In the stillness of the big log house, Moon heard footsteps in the hallway. He glanced at his watch. What is she doing up so early? He got up, pulled a chair out for his elderly relative. “Good morning.”

  Daisy Perika padded into the kitchen, passed by her nephew without so much as a grunt. She went directly to the cabinet over the sink, found a mug, poured herself a cup of strong coffee.

  Having noticed that she had that look, he waited.

  Ignoring the offered chair at his elbow, Daisy seated herself across from Charlie Moon, banged the coffee mug on the table.

  He eased himself into his chair, waited.

  Daisy took a sip of the scalding liquid. “We have to talk.”

  Moon closed the ledger. “What about?”

  “I’ve been hearing some tales.” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Word is, the tribe has put a gate on the road to Spirit Canyon.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Not from you.” Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Louise-Marie called me last night while you were out punching cows or whatever it is you do.”

  Moon put on his best there’s-nothing-to-worry-about expression. “The tribal chairman put the gate up to keep people from wandering around where your home used to be—”

  “Oscar Sweetwater never did me a favor in my life.” She scowled at him. “You know what else Louise-Marie told me?”

  He pretended to think about it. “Hard as I try, I can’t imagine.”

  “She heard from Alice Pink, who was told by Judson Cedar Bear, that the tribal council has already set up a house trailer on my property!”

  “Well, I can explain that,” Moon said. “Oscar had a little camping trailer put there temporarily. It’s for tribal members who volunteered to guard the site against sightseers and looters and—”

  “Guard my hind leg—they’re nothing but squatters that hope I’m not coming back! First thing you know, Oscar’ll have half of his good-for-nothing relatives living out there in canvas tipis and tar-paper shacks and I won’t be able to elbow my way in unless I shoot every last one of ’em between the eyes!”

  “Look, nothing like that’s going to happen. I’ll see to it that—”

  “Shut your mouth and listen to what I’m telling you.” She banged her fist on the table five times, once for each word: “I—am—going—home—today.”

  Moon frowned across the table at the wrinkled face. “You don’t like it here?”

  Daisy lowered her gaze to the red-and-white-checkered oilcloth. “This place is all right. But it ain’t the same as being in my own place.”

  Moon reached across the table to cover her gnarled little hand with his big paw. “Why not wait for two or three more weeks until—”

  Daisy jerked her hand away. “I’m going home.” She aimed a trembling finger at her nephew’s nose. “If you don’t drive me there, I’ll call Louise-Marie to come get me.”

  He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Since you two had that bad run-in with the police in Granite Creek, Louise-Marie’s been having some difficulties. In the transportation department.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Moon tried not to grin. “SUPD and the Ignacio town police are keeping a close eye on her. If she’s spotted on a public highway in that old Oldsmobile, she’ll be fined for driving without an operator’s license. And for not having current plates.”

&nb
sp; Daisy snorted. “None of that’s ever stopped her before.”

  “Well, there’s something that will. Louise-Marie’s motor vehicle won’t start.”

  The tribal elder thought this sounded suspicious. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “From what I hear, there’s some kind of problem with the ignition system.” The chief of the Ignacio town police had the Oldsmobile’s distributor rotor locked in his desk, and such antique parts were hard to come by.

  The determined old woman dismissed the Louise-Marie plan with a flippant wave of her hand. “Then I’ll call somebody else to come get me. And if that don’t work, I’ll stick out my thumb and hitchhike. And if nobody’ll pick me up, I’ll walk.” She fixed the beady black eyes on her young relative. “But one way or another, I am going home today. If you don’t believe it, you just stand out on the porch and watch me get smaller.”

  Moon knew she meant it. “After we have a good breakfast, and I get a few things done, I’ll drive you down there.”

  Daisy drained her cup, slammed it down. Flushed by victory and caffeine, she grinned wickedly at her nephew. “I knew you’d see it my way.” It was great fun, pushing him around.

  Moon watched his aged aunt hobble down the hallway toward her bedroom, where she’d be getting her “stuff” together.

  It was close to sundown as Moon maneuvered the Expedition along the dirt road that would eventually be swallowed by the mouth of Cañón del Espíritu.

  Daisy knew every arroyo, hill, and ridge—practically every tree. As they approached the spot she had called home for most of her life, her heart began to race. “I wish we could’ve come when there was still good light.”

  “Sorry,” Moon said. “I had some business to attend to before I could leave the ranch. You’d be surprised how much work there is running an outfit the size of the Col—”

  “I probably would, but I don’t want to hear about it right this minute.”

  The amiable man held his silence.

  With an unnerving suddenness, Daisy demonstrated her capability to astonish him. “Charlie, do you think God really loves people like Mr. DeSoto?”

  Moon smiled. “Yes. I do.”

  Having no doubt that her kindhearted nephew was right, the old woman sighed. The way the universe worked was an inexplicable mystery.

  A few minutes passed. They were much closer now.

  Eager to see even the faintest remnants of her former home, Daisy began to fidget. Unaware that she was patting her hands on her thighs, she leaned forward to look through the broad windshield. It’s just around this bend….

  Charlie Moon slowed as he made the turn, braked to a stop at the new steel gate. The obstruction featured a large NO TRESPASSING sign. A massive brass padlock secured the gate to a sturdy post.

  Daisy shook her head. “My family has lived on this land for five generations. The tribe’s got no right to lock me out of here.”

  He showed her a key, got out to remove the padlock.

  When they were a few yards farther down the road, a tribal member emerged from a pale green camping trailer that was almost hidden in a cluster of junipers. He was a short, stocky man in faded jeans and a red felt shirt. “That’s Eddie Tipton,” Daisy muttered under her breath. “I knew it’d be some of the tribal chairman’s no-account kin.” She shot a dark look at her nephew, whom she suspected of not keeping up on the all-important issue of who was related to who. Or whom. “In case you don’t remember, Eddie Tipton is Oscar Sweetwater’s second cousin.”

  Moon could not resist the temptation. “In case you don’t remember, you’re Oscar’s first cousin.”

  She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  Eddie glared at the Expedition until he recognized it. The guard’s face broke into a big smile, he waved at the tribal investigator.

  Moon stopped by the small trailer, cut the ignition.

  Eddie nodded politely at Daisy before coming around the car to say a big hello to Charlie Moon.

  They exchanged the obligatory greetings, moved on to a discussion of crops and cattle and the urgent need for moisture. Though there was not a cloud in the sky, Eddie claimed he could smell a good rain off to the northwest. He predicted it would show up over the res well before midnight.

  Daisy would glare first at the guard, then at the ugly little camp trailer the tribal chairman had put on her allotment without even asking her permission, then at Eddie Tipton again, then back at the trailer and so on. Eventually, she got a painful crick in her neck and settled on the compromise of scowling at a black moth that had settled on the windshield.

  When Eddie had exhausted his supply of words, he advised Moon to “take it easy,” tipped his hat at the curmudgeonly old woman, and withdrew inside the miniature trailer.

  Moon turned to his aunt. “Now you can see why there’s a gate on the road. And you don’t have to worry about Eddie squatting on your land. He’s got a brand-new three-bedroom, two-bath house a mile south of Ignacio. And Eddie’s wife’d never want to live out here in the sticks.”

  Daisy grudgingly admitted that there was probably no danger from this quarter. But who knows about Oscar Sweetwater’s other relatives. Let one of ’em in to guard the place, next week there could be a dozen more camped out here.

  Charlie Moon was backing the Expedition into a space between a pair of century-old ponderosas, when his aunt punched him on the arm.

  “What d’you think you’re doing?”

  “I think I’m turning the car around, so we can head back to the Columbine.”

  “Not till I have a look at my place, you’re not.” She opened the door.

  “Look, it’s getting late. Soon as there’s something ready for you to move into, I’ll bring you back and—”

  She slammed the door in his face. Without a word, Daisy was off, thumping the dirt road with her oak walking stick.

  He shook his head, shifted down to Low.

  A few yards behind the hobbling pedestrian, he tooted the horn, called out, “If you’re bound to go, get in.”

  She raised the stick in the air, yelled back over her shoulder. “I may be old as sin, but my legs work just fine.”

  Defeated, he parked the car, got out to walk beside her.

  Daisy was only dimly aware of his presence. The sun had fallen behind Three Sisters Mesa; the land was immersed in a diffuse pinkish blue twilight. As the tribal elder trod along, she thought she could hear the mutter of ghostly voices on the sweet evening breeze. The shaman smiled. Though she had seen only three human ghosts on Charlie’s ranch, there were dozens of ancient spirits inhabiting this sacred place. She heard the voices again. Some of ’em must have come up from the canyon to welcome me home. Except there’s no home here for me anymore. After I look at the cinders the fire left behind, I’ll go back to the ranch with Charlie. But tomorrow, I’ll start making some calls. Somebody must have a used trailer home I can afford to buy, and I’ll badger Charlie till he hauls it out here and hooks it up to the electric and a new propane tank.

  Daisy came into the clearing.

  The ghostly voices fell silent.

  There was no sooty debris left from the fiery explosion. Not a cinder in sight.

  But the clearing was no longer clear.

  There was something directly in front of her. A redbrick walk. It led up to a new house, expertly constructed from a dozen varieties of local stone. It was capped with a peaked red metal roof that had a stone chimney on each end. A front porch ran the entire length of the dwelling; there were half a dozen flower pots on the redwood planking, and a fine rocking chair. It was her worst nightmare. Oh no…they’ve fooled Charlie Moon. One of Sweetwater’s kin has already built a house here! For a terrible moment, her heart almost failed her.

  Then, the delusion vanished. She understood. Daisy could not speak.

  Moon’s tone was apologetic. “Sorry it’s not quite finished. I’ve had men from the ranch working here every day I could spare ’em. The electricity is on and the new well pum
p is working, and the gas is hooked up. We’re going to have a phone line run in, but that won’t be done till sometime next week.” He had hoped to delay her return until a surprise housewarming party could be organized. Her patted the mute woman on the back. “You want to go inside?”

  She wiped away the tears, nodded.

  In a trancelike state, Daisy followed her nephew through the glistening kitchen, which had a massive sandstone fireplace with a black iron pot hanging on an iron hook. Charlie Moon described the features of each new appliance. He took her through the empty dining room, into the large parlor—which had a couch long enough for her seven-foot nephew to nap on and a magnificent fireplace with a stack of split pine all ready for lighting. The tour ended in her bedroom, where a sturdy cedar bedstead had been placed by a window with a fine view of Three Sisters Mesa and the mouth of Cañón del Espíritu. Worried that she would awaken from this wonderful dream, Daisy peered into a large, empty closet, then inspected a gleaming blue-and-white bathroom that was several times as large as the cramped facility in her former home.

  Finally, the old woman could take no more. She sat down on the couch and wept.

  Embarrassed, Moon went outside to unload the car of her “stuff.” Just in case he could not prevent his aunt from discovering her new home, he had brought along a supply of food and a few other necessities. He took his time putting these things away.

  Not many words were needed to express her gratitude, so she used only a few. But she hugged the breath out of her nephew.

  It was an hour after dark when Charlie Moon said good night. He expressed the opinion that she would be quite safe here with Eddie Tipton on guard.

  Daisy reminded him that she had lived by the mouth of Cañón del Espíritu all of her life, and had managed to take care of herself. She didn’t need any of Oscar Sweetwater’s pushy, land-grabbing kinfolk looking after her.

  She stood outside and watched him drive away. A delightful rain was beginning to patter in the dust. This was perfect. She yawned. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. The weary woman closed the heavy front door, turned the deadbolt latch, padded off to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, didn’t bother to remove her clothes.