“No! Stop!”
“I think what happened was, Grady towed her across the river in a rubber raft.”
“How would she get a rubber raft? She couldn’t carry it out with her.”
“Grady had it on the other side. You remember when Pap found that arrow near the river? Well, Grady shot it across from the other side. It had a string tied to it. Then Lois pulled a rope across the river with the string. Then she pulled the raft over with a rope.”
“Stop! I can’t stand this!”
“Finally, she got in the raft and Grady pulled her back across the river with another rope attached to the raft!”
“So we risked our lives for nothing!”
“We found Mike’s body, didn’t we? That’s something. But at least we know now Grady isn’t totally stupid. He didn’t try to run up the river in a jet boat.”
“Yeah, we know that!”
“I do hate to send you back up to the West Branch Lodge, Lurch, but I think you may find Lois’s fingerprints on the raft. It’s rolled up in the lodge’s equipment rental room.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Get some sleep one of these days, Lurch. You look terrible.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want me to do Clarence in my spare time.”
“I can do Clarence myself. He and I are taking a ride out into the woods right now.”
“Men!” Daisy said. “I’m the only one who cares about you, Clarence!”
Clarence, sitting on his hindquarters, glanced casually around, probably for some ankles to bite. Tully walked out the briefing-room door. The little dog slid along behind him.
“So long, Clarence!” Herb yelled after him.
“Bo is so cruel!” Daisy said.
Herb sat down on the edge of her desk. “Yeah, he is that all right.”
“Shut up, Herb!”
55
THE CLARENCE SITUATION HAD BOTHERED him a lot more than he had expected. He had killed men without losing a wink of sleep. Clarence still gnawed at him. The little dog had sat there, staring up at him with those defiant big brown eyes. Tully hated the whole concept of cute even more now. It kept men from being men and doing what they had to do. To clear his mind, he finally decided to pack up his watercolors, his tent, and his sheepherder stove, and head up the West Branch for a few days of painting. Maybe it was time for him to devote himself full-time to art.
He called Susan and asked her if she wanted to go along, even though it was February. Surprisingly, she seemed receptive. “Let me think about it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but camping out with you in February almost sounds like fun.”
Then Janice called from Boise. Another of Tom’s relatives had died, this time up in Idaho Falls. She was all alone, she said. He knew Janice was definitely an outdoor type, and he still hadn’t recovered from that last kiss. Just talking to her brought back some delicious memories from their college days. While he was pondering Janice, Lindsay called from her dorm at Washington State University. She said she couldn’t keep her mind on her math, thinking about him. “Since we’ve already been intimate once,” she said, “I don’t think it would hurt if I came down to Blight for the weekend.”
“But I’m going camping up the West Branch,” he said.
“Perfect!” she said.
Tully wasn’t quite sure what to do with this embarrassment of riches. Life could get so complicated. Aside from other matters, the weather along the West Branch turned out to be perfect for painting: no snow or rain, and a nice mist hung over the river for days. The sun occasionally broke through and created whole new dimensions in the landscape. In three days, he did almost a dozen watercolors, some of them excellent. He believed every watercolor attempted was a gamble, but the more you painted the better the odds a few would turn out first-rate.
He took the fourth day off and waited up on the road for Jennifer and her bookmobile. He stood in the middle of the road and flagged her down.
“Hi, I’m Bo Tully, sheriff of Blight County,” he told her.
She seemed a bit surly. “I know who you are. What do you want?”
“I need a ride,” he said. “What do you think?”
He climbed into the seat alongside of her. Rather irritably, or so he thought, she stepped on the clutch and shoved the stick shift into low gear. The ancient transmission bucked up in the floor every time she shifted. Tully wondered vaguely if he could still drive a stick-shift. Obviously, if a woman with streaks of gray in her straight brown hair could handle such a machine, he was pretty sure he still could. To be kind, Jennifer was plain. He wondered about Hoot’s fondness for her. Probably all those years alone in the woods, he thought.
“You read books, Sheriff Tully?” Jennifer asked.
“I read one once,” he said. “But I got pretty sick of the stupid dog, the one they called Spot.”
Jennifer smiled. “I suspect you’ve read more than that.”
“Let me put it this way, I don’t have a TV. My evenings are pretty lonely.”
“I doubt they’re all that lonely, from what I hear through the gossip mills.”
“My mother is in charge of the Blight County gossip mills,” he said. “No rumor makes the rounds unless Ma approves it. She has single-handedly raised my reputation as a ladies’ man to astronomical levels. So, you married, Jennifer, or do you just wear that ring to keep strange men like me from hitting on you?”
“Yes, I got married right out of high school. His name is Jesse. He’s a mechanic.”
“Why, I know Jesse. He’s not even a lazy oaf.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“He’s fixed my car a few times. He did an excellent job, but charged me for it, apparently not realizing how things are done in Blight.”
She laughed. “I didn’t say he was perfect.”
“I have to admit that you found yourself a good one, Jennifer. So are you and Jesse happily married?”
“I hope so. We do okay. Our boy is a freshman at the U of I. So what do you want with Hoot?”
“Hoot who?”
“You know Hoot who. There’s only one Hoot, and I can tell you right now, he won’t be happy to see you.”
“Probably not, but that’s the reason I’m riding along with you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t see Hoot at all.”
“I hope you’re not thinking of arresting him. If so, you can get out right now.”
“I’m not going to arrest him, Jennifer.”
A couple of miles past the West Branch Lodge, Jennifer pulled into a turnout and shut off the engine.
“What now?” he said.
“We wait. He may not show up, if he sees you here. And there’s no doubt he’ll see you. Open your door.”
Tully opened his door.
They waited in silence for many long minutes. Suddenly, Hoot was standing next to Tully. He had his rifle cradled in his arms, one finger resting against the trigger guard.
“What are you doing here, Bo?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Hoot. I brought you a present.” He handed the mountain man a package.
“A present?” he said, leaning his rifle against the bookmobile. “I don’t need a present. I don’t want one, either.”
“Open it,” Tully said.
Hoot tore off the wrapping and stared at the gift. He smiled. “Two leather-bound volumes of Willy’s plays! You shouldn’t have, Bo.”
“I figured I owed you something, Hoot. It certainly isn’t an award for your marksmanship, but I have to admit, you shoot well enough.”
Hoot was silent, staring at the two volumes. Then he said, “These old eyes aren’t quite what they used to be. But I understand what you’re saying.’
“Well, I don’t!” Jennifer said.
“The books aren’t an expensive gift, Hoot. I got them cheap, at an English professor’s estate sale. I understand he was a major Elizabethan scholar and had scribbled little notes all through them. Otherwise, they’re in pretty good shape. I didn’t think you would mind
, having them all marked up like that.”
Hoot laughed. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
Jennifer said to Hoot, “I guess you won’t be needing my Shakespeares again, Ben. Can I interest you in something else?”
“Actually, that’s why I came down, Jenn, even with Bo here. I’m moving on.”
“Moving!” she gasped.
“Yep, the mountains and the winters are getting too hard for these old bones. I’ve got myself a nice remote island in the Caribbean picked out. Figured I’d spend the rest of my days lying on a warm, sandy beach, reading my Willys, of course.” He smiled.
“The Caribbean?” Tully said.
“Don’t expect a postcard, Bo.”
“I won’t. At least not from you.”
Hoot stared at him for a moment. Then he winked.
That night Tully cooked a nice dinner for two on the sheepherder stove. Then they turned in early. Bit by bit, all the mental and muscular knots loosened and finally disappeared. His painting couldn’t be going better. He was even starting to think of himself as an artist. For the first time in years, he was beginning to relax. He was almost asleep when he felt the soft warm body snuggle up against his back. Then the wet tongue was in his ear. Teeth brushed against his shoulder.
“Nibble, Clarence, nibble!” he shouted. “Don’t bite!”
Avalanche: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) Page 20