Books by Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown
Wish You Were Here • Rest in Pieces • Murder at Monticello • Pay Dirt • Murder, She Meowed • Murder on the Prowl • Cat on the Scent • Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery Lovers • Pawing Through the Past • Claws and Effect • Catch As Cat Can • The Tail of the Tip-off • Whisker of Evil • Cat’s Eyewitness • Sour Puss • Puss ’N Cahoots • The Purrfect Murder • Santa Clawed • Cat of the Century
Books by Rita Mae Brown with “Sister” Jane Arnold in the Outfoxed series
Outfoxed • Hotspur • Full Cry • The Hunt Ball • The Hounds and the Fury • The Tell-tale Horse • Hounded to Death
Books by Rita Mae Brown
Animal Magnetism: My Life with Creatures Great and Small • The Hand That Cradles the Rock • Songs to a Handsome Woman • The Plain Brown Rapper • Rubyfruit Jungle • In Her Day • Six of One • Southern Discomfort • Sudden Death • High Hearts • Started from Scratch: A Different Kind of Writer’s Manual • Bingo • Venus Envy • Dolley: A Novel of Dolley Madison in Love and War • Riding Shotgun • Rita Will: Memoir of a Literary Rabble-Rouser • Loose Lips • Alma Mater • Sand Castle
A Nose for Justice is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Rita Mae Brown
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Illustrations: Laura Hartman Maestro
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brown, Rita Mae.
A nose for justice : a novel / Rita Mae Brown; illustrated by
Laura Hartman Maestro.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52310-5
1. Country life—Nevada—Fiction. 2. Corporations—Corrupt practices—Fiction.
3. Real estate developers—Fiction. 4. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 5. Dogs—Fiction.
6. Nevada—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3552.R698N67 2010
813′.54—dc22
2010031313
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Dedicated with Bombastic Affection
to
Mrs. Gayle Horn, MFH, and Miss Lynn Lloyd, MFH,
each of whom showed me why they cherish the ways of Old Nevada
Contents
Cover
Other Books by this Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Magdalene Reed, “Jeep”—Born in 1924 to a poor, hardworking couple in Reno, Nevada, Jeep was bright but could not afford higher education. While serving as a WASP (Women Airforce Service Pilot) in World War II, she acquired the skills that would make her one of the richest women in Nevada. To her credit, she never forgot her beginnings nor does she ever forget a friend or an enemy.
Magdalene Rogers, “Mags”—She’s the great-niece of Jeep. When Mags’s parents were killed in an automobile accident, Jeep raised her and her sister, Catherine. At thirty-two, the beautiful Mags has learned some painful lessons as she saw her profession and income disintegrate as a Wall Street broker. She carries great guilt about this although she is hardly to blame for the grotesque irresponsibility of her superiors.
Catherine Rogers—While Mags is beautiful, Catherine is drop-dead gorgeous. She’s also a loose cannon, having bounced from being a character actress in Hollywood to an infamous porn star. Jeep could tolerate that. What she couldn’t bear was when Catherine tried to force her to disinherit Enrique, Jeep’s adopted son, a man in his fifties.
Enrique Salaberry—A Basque by blood, he carries the toughness of his people. He now runs the ranch day-to-day, and loves it. Thanks to Jeep he attended college, where he studied agriculture. He’s always open to new ideas about ranching and equipment and has the enthusiastic support of his adoptive mother, whom he loves deeply.
Carlotta Salaberry—Enrique’s wife is over the top. Bedecked with bright colors and many adornments if she’s going out, she is warm, gregarious and keeps house for Jeep. She loves the old lady for many reasons, one being that when Enrique fell in love with her, Jeep encouraged the match instead of opposing it. That was thirty years ago and most WASPS would have been horrified. Without being obvious, she keeps a close eye on her mother-in-law, who while strong, is still a woman in her mid-eighties.
Deputy Peter Meadows—Although young to be a deputy, the sheriff of Washoe County recognized Pete’s ability and his gift with people. In his mid-thirties, Pete is a native of Washoe County, which he loves about as much as Jeep Reed does. Two years ago he suffered a painful divorce, but aren’t they all painful? He’s getting his feet under him but is still a bit wary of women.
Officer Lonnie Parrish—Pete’s sidekick is in his twenties and full of energy. He’s got good instincts but needs some seasoning. He’s transfixed by the opposite sex.
Jake Tanner—Usually disheveled, Jeep’s neighbor, who lives a few miles north of her ranch, has a small business using his heavy equipment to help ranchers. The word nosy was coined for Jake, and one is never quite sure what will fall out of his ever-running mouth.
Twinkie Bosun—In his mid-forties, he works for Silver State Resource Management (SSRM) repairing equipment. There’s nothing the man can’t fix. Good-natured and responsible, he’s one of those wonderful men who just knuckles down and gets the job done.
Bunny Matthews—A year or two younger than Twinkie, he’s Twinkie’s partner. As much of the work is heavy, and sometimes in unpleasant conditions, the repair teams usually go out in twos, unless it is a massive problem. These two are the number one team.
Oliver Hitchens—He’s the head of equipment purchasing and also knowing what kind of pump to put where. He keeps an eye on all repairs and is so good at his job of keeping company costs down that he is endured by his superiors and loathed by those who work under him. He is
one of those men who must establish his authority with other men but is a devoted husband who doesn’t have a need to be authoritative with his wife. Perhaps like most smart men he realizes it doesn’t work anyway.
Darryl Johnson—The president of Silver State Resource Management believes that Reno, now at 410,000 people, can sustain a population of 620,000 people. This is in direct opposition to what Jeep and those concerned with the environment believe. They believe that water will run out. His vision for the future is different from Jeep’s, but he is a good man.
Craig Locke—As Director of Acquistions for SSRM, he, too, believes Reno can sustain an extra two hundred thousand people. He’s a master at acquiring water rights and could probably sell ice to Eskimos.
George W. Ball—His understanding of equipment, the demands of various terrain, and his ability to identify people who can perform difficult work under tough conditions has earned him the cumbersome title of Director of Internal Resources. George W. cares nothing for titles. He loves his job and gets along well with the guys, like Twinkie and Bunny, who get down there and do the dirty work. He endures Oliver Hitchens with a smile, when possible, because Oliver’s ability to save a buck for SSRM benefits the whole operation.
Teton Benson—He’s made many mistakes and paid for them. Other people have paid for them, too. He lives in a seedy part of Reno and has a crush on a waitress at the topless bar next to his walk-up apartment. Her assets are considerable.
The Deceased
A Russian solider—He died in the late 1800s. Part of this story involves finding out exactly when he died and why.
Dorothy Jocham—Jeep’s life partner departed this world at the turn of this century. Her influence on Jeep, Enrique, and the ranch remains as she remains in the hearts of all who knew her.
Daniel Marks—Jeep’s other life partner died in 2001. Dan flew fighters in World War II. He and Jeep went into the salvage business together after the war. How Jeep juggled two lovers is a feat as remarkable as how she made her fortune, but one she has no desire to share. People didn’t ask such things back in those days. If they had, she would have been truthful. If someone is worth loving, they’re worth honoring.
The Ford brothers—Back when Reno was no bigger than a minute, these two far-sighted and enterprising men built the ranch that would eventually come to Jeep. They built a house and a barn to last for generations and so they have. They will last for many more.
Wings Ranch—Of course, it’s not deceased and could be considered inanimate. I believe places have a personality and may even contain spirits. This ten-thousand-acre spread in Red Rock Valley, just north of Reno, is such a place. It is, itself, a character. Places define us more than we know.
The Saviors
King—This four-year-old shepherd mix possesses intelligence and physical power. He will protect his humans. When Baxter comes into his life, at first he can’t take the little guy seriously.
Baxter—A three-year-old wire-haired dachshund, he kept Mags together during the Wall Street meltdown. A dachshund is a hound trained to hunt vermin by scent. If a hound sees his quarry, he might chase it if he recognizes it. But a dachshund will follow the scent regardless of conditions and only give up the chase when the scent disappears. Many people see a dachshund only as cute, but they are far more than that—which King finally, grudgingly, accepts.
CHAPTER ONE
A steady, increasing wind blew dust and sagebrush across the path of Magdalene Rogers. The graceful curving skeleton of a snake long ago disturbed from its resting place formed an S, straightened out, then broke up, its delicate white head carrying four vertebrae with it.
Mags, as she was called, looked down and hoped this wasn’t a portent. Putting her hand palm inward to the left of her left eye, she craned her neck upward. Pieces of debris flew harder now. She watched as one small, crooked slip of sagebrush fastened itself to the P-47 propeller in the middle of the high crossbar forming the entrance to Wings Ranch. Just as quickly the brush dislodged, sailing farther into Red Rock Valley. Great sheets of Confederate-gray clouds interlaced with charcoal ones crested the Peterson Mountains, which in essence divided Nevada from California.
Looking west toward that range, Mags saw that the ridgeline at its highest point—2,250 feet—was already engulfed in snow. Within ten to fifteen minutes the snow’s advance guard would be swirling through the Wings Ranch gate.
Baxter, her three-year-old wire-haired dachshund, sat alert in the passenger seat of the rental car. Better Mags stand out there in the cold wind than himself. It had been a long day for the fastidious, very proper canine and he’d hated every last minute of it. The worst was the flight from JFK Airport to Reno. At least that was over—never to be repeated, he hoped fervently.
She flipped up the collar of her shearling jacket—a long-ago Christmas present from her great-aunt who owned this sprawling, 10,000-acre ranch located about twenty-two miles south of Reno.
The first snowflake tentatively appeared as Mags stood under the propeller blade. Aunt Jeep never did anything halfway, so her western entranceway was wide and high. Each spring, the old prop blade would be lovingly cleaned, touched up if needed, and a sprig of evergreen was tucked behind its nose for good luck.
Magdalene was named for her aunt. As Magdalene is a three syllable name, Americans shortened it. Who wants to say a mouthful? Hence, Mags. Aunt Jeep earned her nickname in 1941 when she first began driving Jeeps. She still had an old war issue that ran like a top. If you had any sense, you ran when Aunt Jeep took the wheel. The old lady craved speed whether driving or flying—both of which she had always done with sangfroid.
In the time it took her to fondly recall the sight of her small but imposing great-aunt blasting down a dirt road leaving a plume of dust behind her, Mags was wearing a shawl of snow. Since she wasn’t wearing gloves, she rubbed her cold hands together and climbed back into the Camaro. She might be flat broke but damned if she was going to rent something that didn’t possess some style. And power.
Closing the door, she reached over to rub the dachshund’s russet head. “Buddybud, home. I hope.”
“I’d like to eat.”
Mags smiled as she heard what sounded like a muffled bark. Then the tears came.
“Oh, Momma. Everything will be all right.” Baxter stepped over the center console to lick her tears.
She hugged him. “Damn if I’ll let anyone see me cry. Just you.” She took a deep breath. “You’re the only one who loves me. Well, maybe Aunt Jeep does, too. In her fashion.”
She popped the transmission into drive. GM products, while possessing virtues, often had an off-center feel to the steering wheel, a numbness, slowness to respond. The silver Camaro surprised her; its steering wasn’t as crisp as a Porsche’s, but it was much improved from prior models. She took pleasure in it. Just like her great-aunt, if it had an engine in it, Mags liked it. These days she needed a dash of pleasure.
“Damn, I can barely see the road,” she said peering over the wheel. “Everything’s different here, Baxter. Everything. You blink and the weather changes. We’re in the high desert, but we’re in it together.”
Poking along at twenty miles an hour she finally reached the old white rambling ranch house. Its first section had been built in 1880, a long time ago in these parts.
Cutting the motor, she sat for a moment, took another deep breath, then brightened. “Hey, I’m not doing great, but at least I’m doing better than my lying, cokehead of a sister.”
With that, she jumped out and popped the trunk. Hoisting one bag onto her shoulders, she dragged the other up the steps to the wraparound porch. Returning, she shut the trunk lid and opened the passenger door.
“At your service.”
Baxter nimbly negotiated the distance to the ground as snowflakes dotted his wiry fur.
Mags opened the front door, which was never locked, threw in the biggest bag, then set down the other. “Aunt Jeep!”
“In the kitchen,” answered a res
onant, deep alto voice.
“Who goes there?” King growled as he hurtled himself out of the kitchen to draw up short in front of Mags, whom he knew—although not well—from her infrequent visits.
But what was this low-to-the-ground lowlife with a trimmed Vandyke?
Faced with the shepherd mix, Baxter stood his ground, saying nothing.
Jeep Reed strode out of the kitchen, her slight limp apparent but in no way impeding her progress. “King, he’s your new best friend.”
“That?” The much bigger dog was incredulous. With a handsome black face with brown points and a regal bearing, he had no patience for what he thought of as inferior breeds. “I’ve seen snakes higher off the ground than that.”
Baxter curled back his upper lip. “And I can strike just as fast, you ill-bred lout.”
“All right, boys. Get along or I’ll get out the bull whip.” Aunt Jeep wagged her finger at the two dogs as she walked toward her beautiful, thirty-two-year-old great-niece. “Mags, sweetheart, welcome home.”
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