Zeb Hanks Mystery Box Set 1

by Mark Reps

  "There's your answer. It's an emergency meeting."

  "I asked him about that. It's not."

  "Hmm. Did you ask him why he didn't want you telling anyone?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did."

  "What did he say?"

  "He was as vague as a politician during election season. He claimed the meeting had to do with something that was going to be good for the county. He said if the commission wasted any time the so called 'good thing' might not happen."

  "Did he tell you what this 'good thing' was?"

  "He wouldn't say. He kept taking the subject somewhere else whenever I brought it up."

  "What are you telling me all this for, Jake? What do you want me to do? It isn't like he's committed some sort of crime. Everyone knows he's a sneaky little varmint. I'm certain if anybody asks about the meeting, Farrell will say it was an emergency. He knows the ropes and exactly what he can get away with."

  "You're not telling me anything I don't already know, Zeb."

  "Then what do you figure I can do?"

  "I don't figure you can do anything, other than attend the meeting to witness the groundwork for whatever the hell is going to go down."

  "Anybody to do that. Why do you need me?" asked Zeb.

  "I smell a rat. Call it an ex-lawman's uneasy hunch. I suspect somebody is trying to pull a fast one. I need you because I'll need somebody with a whole lot of respect in the county to back me, in case I'm right."

  "You need me to cover your ass at a county commission meeting? When I was your deputy, you wouldn't call for back up unless...come to think of it you never called for backup," laughed Zeb. "Jake, you aren't as tough as you used to be."

  "Zeb, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If somebody is up to some sort of shenanigans, I want a second set of eyes and ears backing me up. I need a respected member of the community to bear witness."

  "Jake, you wouldn't be here asking me to cover your ass unless you suspected a whole lot more than you're letting on. Let's have it."

  "You were a good deputy under me, Zeb. And I'm beginning to believe you're an even better sheriff."

  Ex-sheriff Jake Dablo looked beyond Sheriff Hanks toward the partially opened office door. Outside the door, Helen Nazelrod, as usual, was all ears. Zeb got up and closed the door. Helen cleared her throat and harrumphed loudly.

  "Some things never change, do they?"

  "Go on now, Jake, let me have it. What do you really think is going on?" asked Zeb.

  "Eskadi Black Robes stopped by the other day to talk. It was sort of off the record, sort of in his official capacity as tribal chairman. This was shortly after your deputy, Kate Steele, delivered a foreclosure notice to Beulah Trees last week out on the San Carlos Reservation."

  "Sure, I remember."

  "Beulah's nearly a century old. Since she can't see so good even with her glasses, she had one of her great-grandchildren give her a ride over to the tribal council building to have someone read it to her and explain what it all meant.

  "I hear she's a feisty old gal," said Zeb.

  "You can say that again," said Jake. "She marched right into Eskadi's office, laid the notice down on his desk and told him she wanted to know what it meant. She plopped down in a chair and told him she wasn't moving until he explained it to her in a way she could understand."

  "Eskadi's been doing a decent job as tribal chairman. He keeps an eye on those that can't look after themselves. He's a touch on the radical side, but with all those educational programs he is starting out on the San Carlos, I can put his politics aside for the most part. He's a good man all right. I believe I can trust him."

  "Anyway, he read the foreclosure notice over once. Then he read it out loud from start to finish for Beulah. According to Eskadi, all the legal mumbo-jumbo nearly put old Beulah to sleep."

  The thought of Eskadi reading the elderly Beulah Trees to sleep brought a smile to the sheriff's face.

  "When he was done, he explained to Beulah the notice appeared legal enough. He told her maybe the tribe could apply for a tax abatement for her since she had never gotten a proper tax assessment, according to her recollection anyway. But old Mrs. Trees wouldn't have any part of it. She told Eskadi no one had any right to own a piece of the Sacred Mountain, including her."

  "What's any of this got to do with the price of peanuts in Poland, or for that matter John Farrell calling a special planning commission meeting you want me to witness?"

  "Hang on for a minute. Let me finish my story and you'll find out. Once Eskadi made a copy of the foreclosure notice, he gave Beulah a ride back home. On the road back to her house they got to talking about the old ways, traditional ways. Eskadi is interested in that sort of thing."

  "Do I ever. He's always trying to teach me about how things were and how they ought to be that way again. He believes the world won't ever be in harmony until the Apaches reclaim what is rightfully theirs."

  "Beulah started wagging on about the old days. She told Eskadi when it got hot during the summer, practically everyone from the entire San Carlos Reservation would go up to the top of Mount Graham because it was so much cooler. When she was little, whole villages would go up there for two or three months at a time. She told Eskadi about lying under the stars and how the old wise ones would tell the Apache creation story."

  "Knowing Eskadi, I bet that sort of reminiscence touched a soft spot in his heart," said Zeb. "And five will get you ten that with your interest in mythology and the stars, not to mention storytelling, I'll bet you didn't hesitate to sit back and suck it all in."

  "It touched me all right, but that's beside the point. When Eskadi got back to his office, he read Beulah's letter again. He told me the notice was fine from a legal point of view, but something made him very curious."

  "What lit the fire under his ass this time?"

  "A great big law firm from up in Phoenix was handling the case."

  "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "Eskadi thought it was odd that a large law firm from Phoenix would be handling a foreclosure on such a small property in rural Arizona. He called it a one-sided shootin' match. A big city law firm putting the hammer down hard on a poor, little, defenseless, century-old Indian woman reminded him of how it took damn near the entire US Cavalry to capture Geronimo."

  "Now that sounds like Eskadi."

  "He decided to do a little investigation of his own. He started out by giving the law firm a call."

  "I'm telling you when Eskadi Black Robes gets a burr under his saddle, he doesn't rest until he finds the source of the irritation. I've said it to his face so I can say it to you. That education he got out there in California is as much of a curse on him as a blessing."

  "I know it, but you must admit that he has mellowed a bit"

  "Thank the lord for small favors," replied Zeb.

  "When you think about it, what chance does a hundred-year-old Apache woman stand against a big corporate attorney? You can't hardly call that an even shake of the dice."

  "I won't argue with you. What did Eskadi find out when he called the law firm?"

  "Eskadi's always been a bit on the cagey side. I don't mind saying that a part of me admires his tenacity," said Jake. "But, in this case, his tricky ways may have just landed his nose into a much larger can of worms."

  "Go on now, Jake, you've got my curiosity roused."

  "The law firm specializes in large real estate deals, development of housing and business properties. From b.s.'ing with somebody, Eskadi discovered the law firm has been handling a significant number of land deals out on Mount Graham."

  "Did Eskadi find out why?"

  "Not directly from the law firm itself, but he finagled information from John Farrell's secretary, Darla Thompson, over at the real estate office."

  "You're jumping ahead of yourself, Jake. How is Farrell's secretary involved with all this?"

  "Sorry. When Eskadi got done talking to those folks up in Phoenix at the law firm, he decided to ca
ll Rodeo Real Estate to see if they knew anything about land sales on Mount Graham. He told me he chose Farrell's office because he had the largest ad in the phone book. Eskadi proceeded to butter up the secretary. She sang like a caged canary. Apparently in the last three years Farrell has sold thirty or forty parcels of land, mostly small ones, a couple of acres here, three or four there, up on the mountain."

  "Holy cow, that is a lot of deals. I haven't heard anything about it."

  "Neither had anyone else around town, except Farrell and his secretary."

  Outside of the sheriff's door the wooden floor squeaked. Both men knew Helen Nazelrod's modus operandi included finding a reason to press her ear against the keyhole. Crafty but caught, Helen knocked on the door.

  "Yes, Helen," shouted the men in unison.

  "Coffee?"

  Helen burst through the door acting as innocently as a guilty person could.

  "Can I bring you men some coffee? A sweet roll maybe?"

  The men nodded in the affirmative. One minute later Helen returned with the coffee and rolls. She set them down in front of the men and turned to leave without saying a word. As she slowly closed the creaking door, she gave it a little extra tug, sending a reverberation throughout the office.

  "Better get Helen a couple of blueberry muffins next time you're over at the Town Talk, or she's likely to stay huffy with you for a day or two."

  "I know the routine. For what it's worth, Jake, you are right when you say some things around here never do change. After this much time of working with Helen I think I'm onto something."

  "You think you've got Helen figured out?"

  "Yup," replied Zeb proudly. "Blood sugar."

  "Blood sugar?"

  "You know how she gets a little ornery and the slightest thing you do can get her undies in a bunch?"

  "You mean like not letting her snoop in on private conversations?"

  "You saw it for years when you were sheriff. What's the one thing that always puts her back into your good graces?"

  "A blueberry muffin."

  "Exactly. Her blood sugar gets a little low, she eats a muffin and she's fine."

  "Is this something Doc cooked up?"

  "Nope, I read about it in the Inquirer. You should pick it up some time. That paper is loaded with great information."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "Now what were you telling me about Eskadi and the Phoenix real estate agency? Who the hell is interested in that much land up there anyway?"

  "I'm glad your inquiring mind wants to know. Eskadi claims all of the purchased land was put into a land trust for a foreign corporation."

  "What would a foreign corporation want with land on top of Mount Graham?" asked Zeb.

  "Beats the heck out of me, but I think the planning commission meeting tonight has something to do with it. That is why I want you there."

  "What do you suspect is really going on?"

  "I'm not really sure, but, like I said, the whole damn thing has been shrouded in so much secrecy, it stinks. I suspect Farrell's involved in some kind of mischief. He's sold all that property up there and not crowed about it to anyone. Damn strange for a man who never misses an opportunity to brag about what a great salesman he is."

  Sheriff Hanks knew Jake Dablo wasn't prone to exaggeration or paranoia. But somehow his hunch, which lacked any cold hard facts, seemed a little far-fetched. Jake Dablo had given up the booze and straightened his life out since he had lost nearly everything after the brutal murder of his granddaughter. Nevertheless, all those years of hard living and carrying around a heart full of hate may have taken a toll on his reason. On the other hand, during the years they worked side by side, Jake was more rational and logical than anyone Zeb had ever known. It did seem odd that a bunch of foreigners were buying land on Mount Graham through a law firm in Phoenix. If this did turn out to be a swindle, then it would be sheriff business. Zeb thought about it. When truth crisscrossed the bottom line, the least he owed Jake was a couple of measly hours at a commission meeting.

  "What the hell. I'll see you at the meeting."

  "Thanks, Zeb. Hopefully, it won't turn out to be anything."

  Jake pushed his way up out of the leather chair. He reached over to shake the hand of his longtime friend.

  "Tonight, around seven?"

  "Seven o'clock sharp it is."

  Sheriff Hanks plopped down in his chair and started in on some overdue paperwork. The tasks at hand didn't prevent his mind from wandering to Doreen Nightingale. How long before she gave him an answer to his marriage proposal? A day, a month, a year? Though the anticipation was uncomfortable, he knew he would be a darned fool to try and influence her decision by forcing a timetable. He would remain patient.

  Zeb placed his pen on top of his work. He imagined Doreen as a beautiful bride wearing a white wedding gown, floating down the aisle of Saint Barnabus Catholic Church. He chuckled as he thought of himself looking like a penguin in a rented tuxedo, but it would please her. Standing at the altar of Saint Barnabus Catholic Church, they would be married by a Catholic priest.

  The lightness of the moment became gray and dim with the thought of Father Michael McNamara. It had been a month since Father McNamara's death. Doreen's ever fervent insistence that it was something other than suicide was creating a rift between them. Her explanation, however, was understandable. She had been seeing Father McNamara about reconstituting her faith. In the process they had talked about mortal sins. One of the mortal sins was suicide. Father McNamara and Doreen had deep and lengthy conversations on the subject. Why they talked so much about suicide was not something Doreen had yet shared with Zeb.

  Zeb tapped his pen nervously atop the pile of paperwork. The strange death of Father McNamara weighed heavily on his mind. He could not shake the image of the priest sitting in his rocking chair, in the middle of a highway, patiently waiting for the Angel of Death to greet him in the form of an eighteen-wheeled semi-truck. How strange that Father McNamara should have been struck so forcefully, flung through the air, body crushed against the windshield and yet his Bible remained clutched tightly in his hand. Lost in thought, Zeb didn't hear Helen creep into this office.

  "Sheriff, Jake Dablo asked me to give you a message."

  Helen Nazelrod's voice was a welcome break from the ugliness he had conjured up in his mind.

  "Yes? What did he want?"

  "He told me to tell you the county planning commission meeting was canceled."

  "Did he say why?"

  "No. He told me to tell you the meeting was canceled."

  "Thanks."

  Sheriff Hanks glanced at his wristwatch and reached for the phone.

  "Town Talk, home of the one and only red-hot Tex-Mex burger. Come on down, immediate seating available."

  "Doreen, this is Zeb."

  "Hey, sunshine. Did you call lil' ol' me just to brighten up my day?"

  "Maybe. How'd you like to go for a little spin around sunset?"

  "Well, honeybunch, I got a business to run, but I suppose I can sneak out for the likes of you. That is, if I can have Maxine close up for me."

  "I'll pick you up around quarter to eight. Can you be ready by then?"

  "For a handsome fella' like you, a gal like me can get herself ready in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Out of curiosity, where are you planning on takin' me?"

  "I thought you might like to watch the sunset from up top of Mount Graham."

  "You are the romantic one, aren't you, sweetums?"

  He didn't mention the trip was mostly business.

  5

  Zeb's heart quickened slightly as he turned down Main Street. Standing on the sidewalk, primping her hair in the diner window, stood the woman his heart had fallen for.

  Eyeing the superimposed reflection of Zeb's truck in the glass, Doreen spun around and waved happily. Zeb returned the gesture as he parked the Dodge Ram pickup in front of the Town Talk.

  "Hello there, snooky-ookums! How shines the love-light of my
life?"

  Doreen's dramatic public display of affection always managed to embarrass him but not today. He smiled as Doreen bounded down from the curb. Sticking her head through the driver's window, she gave the startled sheriff a big smooch on the lips.

  "Don't act so surprised when your sugar gives you a little sugar," admonished Doreen.

  A goofy grin spread across Zeb's face as Doreen turned and sashayed in front of the car. In a moment of levity, he wiggled his fingers and winked at her from behind the wheel of his truck. His greeting was met with a tossed kiss. He put his fingertips to his lips and returned the lovebird gesture. Watching all of this from a window booth in the Town Talk was a coffee klatch comprised of some of the town's most respected senior women. In unison, they returned his flying kiss with one of their own. The sheriff's face flushed with embarrassment. Doreen slid in across the front seat, snuggled up next to her man and planted a second soft, sweet kiss on his lips.

  "What's going on here?" asked the sheriff suspiciously. "I feel like I'm on public display."

  "Those lil' ol' sweeties in there." Doreen nodded to the window. "All four of 'em are widows. They were in the middle of givin' me some advice when I saw your truck comin' down the street. Them gals and me got an understandin' of each other."

  "And exactly what sort of advice were you taking from those gals?"

  "Shucks, Zeb, they know we're datin', so I told them you was takin' me up on Mount Graham for a sunset serenade."

  "Is that right?"

  "Sure enough is. When I told 'em what a romantic fella you was, they started to cackle and haw. The excitement spread around the table like wild brush fire. Next thing I knew, they were teasin' me like there was no tomorrow, especially the Widow Kemper."

  "She's been married three times and all of her husbands died in bed," said Zeb. "I've heard plenty of stories about her."

  "She bet me a plug nickel I couldn't steal a pair of kisses from you inside of thirty seconds of layin' my eyes on ya'."

  "I think you won the bet."

  "I surely did, and you know what?"

  "What?"

  "I can double my winnings if you throw your arms around me and give me a coupla more wet ones."