by Mark Reps
"Scratch someone?"
"Didn't you notice his fingernails? They were long, manicured like he was fresh from one of them fancy makeovers the rich women have."
"I missed his nails, but there was something that made me wonder about him."
"You think that skinny little egghead looked suspicious? What kind of trouble could he be? He looks like a man who couldn't kick his way out of a wet paper bag even if he was wearin' pointy-toed boots. Land sakes alive, he was about five foot six and couldn't have weighed more than a hundred forty pounds drippin' wet in his undies. That lil' ol' boy couldn't hurt a flea if he tried."
"I suppose you're right. He is a bit of a flea flicker, but he had a firm grip."
"Zeb, if I decide to marry you, would you promise to shut down the sheriff's side of your brain every once in a while, and give it a rest?"
Overhead a full moon floated over the desert floor, suspended between heaven and earth.
"All you have to do is say yes," he said.
7
"Sheriff Hanks."
The stern vocal intonations of his strict Mormon secretary perked Sheriff Hanks' ears. Helen Nazelrod came huffing into his office with an oversized armload of paperwork.
"Why, come right in, Helen."
The sheriff's semi-sarcastic response was lost on his secretary who had already scooted five feet past the doorway and was now standing in front of his desk.
"What's on your mind?"
"It's not what's on my mind. It's what's not on yours."
Sheriff Hanks scratched his head as he looked at the stack of papers his exasperated secretary had slapped on his desk.
"What's all this?"
"Well, Romeo, ever since you took that trip up the mountain last week with your girlfriend, you've forgotten about your job."
With the recent increase in his social activities, Sheriff Hanks couldn't deny he had been letting his record-keeping lag. But he knew it was not the paperwork that was bugging his secretary. It was the simple fact he was dating a Catholic woman, a Catholic woman who spent little time inside the church. To Helen mind he was betraying a fundamental Mormon tenet by dating outside the faith.
"These all need your signature."
Helen harrumphed as she took the top third of the stack and smacked it down on his desk.
"And these are from the courthouse. They need to be delivered to various offices. I'm sure you can figure out where."
A second pile stood stacked on the sheriff's desk.
"These, well, these I don't know what you want done with. Some things you're going to have to figure out on your own."
Helen pulled an envelope seemingly out of midair. She dropped it atop the pile.
"Doc Yackley sent this over."
Zeb fingered the envelope. Helen stomped toward the door. Halfway out she turned to say one more thing. Her voice was somewhat calmer.
"Jake Dablo called to remind you about the planning commission meeting tonight. It's at seven."
"Thanks, Helen," replied the sheriff. "I think."
Sheriff Hanks rotated his wrist eyeing his watch. Five o'clock. He could probably reduce the work to a reasonable level by quarter to seven if he skipped his intended dinner at the Town Talk.
Outside his door Helen drummed her fingernails loudly, impatiently waiting for him to return some of the work so she could complete any follow-up.
Sheriff Hanks picked up the phone and dialed Doreen.
"Town Talk, home of the world-famous Tex-Mex burger. If you like 'em in singles, you'll love 'em in pairs. And don't forget, we do the dishes."
"Doe, its Zeb."
"Hello there, sugar dumplin'. My vibes was just wanderin' in your direction."
"Really?" said Zeb hopefully.
"You bet yer bottom dollar."
"What kinds of thoughts were crossing your mind?"
"My head was tellin' me that you ain't stayed late at the office for weeks. Are you takin' the job of sheriff of Graham County seriously, or are you not?"
"Did Helen call you?"
"Let's just say it don't take long for the prattle of wiggle-wagglin' tongues to land itself upon my ears."
"It sure doesn't."
"Just cuz' you got your mind on little ol' me doesn't mean you should be slackin' off everywhere else. You gotta remember always that you're a duly elected official."
"But you're forgetting one little thing, Doe."
"Not likely."
"You're the one who told me not to work twenty-four hours a day."
"But, honey bun, if you spend your time tom cattin' around like some ol' stray sniffin' heat and don't get your work done what are folks around here gonna think of me?"
"Well, actually, that's what I'm calling about. I've got a mountain of paperwork to do, and I promised Jake I would sit in on a county commission meeting tonight. So, I won't be able to get by to see you until way late."
"Good enough by me, but don't think for one minute that I won't sure enough miss you ‘til you're layin' by my side. Say, what's old Jake need you at a meeting for? Somebody expecting some trouble?"
"Nothing that exciting."
"What is it then?"
Zeb could tell Doreen was on a fishing expedition for a new round of gossip fodder.
"Aliens. We're expecting little green men from outer space to land on Mount Graham. You have to promise not to tell everyone."
"Hush your mouth, Sheriff Zebulon Hanks. If you don't watch your tongue, you might find yourself lookin' for a new piece of arm candy."
"Hey, come on, Doe. I was only kidding."
"You go on and take care of your business. And if any of them Martians show up at the commission meeting, send 'em on over to the Town Talk. We could use a little excitement around here tonight."
"You're too cute."
"You only say that cause you're sweet on me."
"Like frosting on cake."
"Now I could sit here all night listenin' to that kinda talk but I gotta run, hon'. There's a lotta' hungry cowboys chompin' at the bit for some homemade chow."
"Doe, before you go. I just got a note from Doc Yackley on the post mortem blood tests on Father McNamara."
"Yes?"
"The preliminary tests are normal, but something Doc called a generic marker for toxins was off a little. He's checking into it a bit further."
"What's that mean?"
"I don't know. Maybe nothing."
"But maybe something?"
"Maybe. I can't really say."
"I know he didn't kill himself. I wish I could get you to see it through my eyes. Then you would know," said Doreen.
Zeb got some work done and hustled to the meeting. John Farrell had already called the gathering to order by the time he arrived. Jake caught Zeb's eye. They exchanged slight head nods as he sneaked in the back and took a chair. Force of habit led Zeb to survey the room. Besides the five commissioners two other people were present at the open meeting. One was the widow, Norma Jane Jertson. Everyone knew her as a notorious busy body who made it her personal business to attend all the commission meetings in homage to her dead husband, Earl. Earl had served on the commission for the better part of the past four decades. The gossipy widow, a controlling woman, had never let poor Earl out of her sight. Jake had joked that Norma Jane attended the meetings because she had it figured if old Earl was to come back from the dead, it would be the first place he would show up.
The other attendee was a short, thin, middle-aged man with a rounded back. From where he sat, in the shadowed corner of the room, Zeb couldn't see the man's face. Something about the small man appeared vaguely familiar.
"The first order of business is."
John Farrell started the meeting with his usual air of pomposity. As the board chairman droned on, Zeb absent-mindedly looked about the room. It took his best effort to pay attention to the long-winded Farrell. He found himself wondering what Mrs. Jertson would do if her former husband did come back from the dead.
; After a time, his eyes landed on the round-shouldered stranger. He appeared to be taking notes. The man began to look vaguely familiar. It dawned on Zeb the visitor was none other than Dr. Venerable Bede. When Bede reached back and rubbed his neck, Zeb noticed the manicure job and long fingernails Doreen had earlier pointed out to him.
Bede must have sensed the heat of the sheriff's stare. He turned and looked directly at Zeb. Caught in the act, Zeb returned the doctor's gaze with a crinkled smile and a slight wave.
"The last order of regular business shouldn't take more than one or two minutes of our time. Then we can all go home and call it a night," said Farrell. "The final order of business is a request for a conditional use permit for thirty-five acres of land. This land is officially designated by the county as plat six-one-six-six. The owner of the land is a public non-profit corporation known as AIMGO. They request permission to place the land in question into an Arizona Land Trust in perpetuity. In order to assure the county and state of its good intention as owner of the property, the corporation agrees to assign all rights of trust to the Forest Service of the United States of America of an additional one hundred acres that immediately surrounds the aforementioned thirty-five acres. If there are no objections, would someone care to offer up a motion?"
Jake cleared his throat loudly. A hushed quiet came over the room as all eyes turned to the ex-sheriff.
"Yes, Jake, what is it?"
The tone of the chairman's voice was clearly that of irritation.
"I was wondering where county plat six-one-six-six is? Exactly, I mean."
"It's one of those plots of unused land. My guess is that the organization probably wants to use it for a camp. One of the owners is the Catholic Church. For God's sake, what harm can they do?"
The immediate overreaction by Farrell raised the hackles on Jake's neck.
"I'm not suggesting any intended harm. I just want to know where plat number six-one-six-six is located before I vote on the resolution."
"Jesus, Jake, it's a large county..."
"I know, John, lived here all my life."
Jake shot a sideways glance toward Sheriff Hanks. Zeb got the message.
"Let me see here," mumbled Chairman Farrell, shuffling some neatly stacked papers in front of him into disarray. "This may take a minute."
"Take your time. A few more minutes on a long night won't harm any of us."
Jake crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair and waited. Several long silent minutes passed before the exasperated Farrell finally grumbled sharply.
"It's near the top of Mount Graham. Does that answer your question?"
Jake's suspicions were confirmed. The other commissioners who seemed to have been paying little attention suddenly became alert. Norma Jane Jertson placed her knitting needles in her lap and took out a notepad. Even Doctor Bede seemed to shift side to side in his seat with apparent increased interest.
"You say the group of people who own this property, including the Catholic Church, have made it clear they want to use the area for a camp? Did I understand that to be part of the resolution?"
"Something along those lines. They haven't said exactly. But, like I said, what trouble can the Catholic Church possibly bring us?"
The smug, condescending tone of Farrell's voice irritated Jake.
"Besides the church, who else is named on the deed of ownership?"
"I don't know. The permit request stated there were multiple owners incorporated under the name of AIMGO."
"How do you know the Catholic Church is one of them?"
"I sold one of the tracts of land to a representative of the Catholic Church. The check for the property was from the local Catholic Diocese. It's all a matter of public record."
Sheriff Hanks observed the small audience. Mrs. Jertson was taking notes at such a furious pace she knocked her knitting needles onto the floor and didn't even bother to stop and pick them up. The board members fidgeted uncomfortably. But it was Dr. Bede's bulging neck veins that gave Zeb pause.
"Don't you think it would behoove us to find out who the other owners are before we give them the use permit?" asked Jake.
"I trust the Catholic Church. Don't you?"
"Can't say as I do. Can't say as I don't. But any one person's trust in the church is hardly what this is all about."
"Well then," proposed Farrell. "I move we vote on the resolution. Does anyone second the motion?"
A mouse scurrying across the floor would have sent an echo through the quiet room.
"Since there are no seconds to the motion, I move we table the motion until we gather further information," stated Jake.
His motion was quickly seconded and voted on. The vote was four to one, Farrell in the minority.
"I volunteer to look into AIMGO and find out who the other members are," explained Jake.
Heads nodded in agreement.
"You're wasting your time, Jake," said Farrell, gavel in hand. "Take my advice and leave it alone."
"I'll have a full report for the next regularly scheduled meeting," replied Jake.
Farrell angrily banged his gavel.
"Meeting adjourned."
8
Outside the meeting Sheriff Hanks called out to Dr. Bede. He was making his way toward a massive pickup truck that was out of character for someone like him.
"Dr. Bede," hailed the sheriff.
"Sheriff Hanks? I didn't recognize you in your uniform."
Dr. Bede squinted through the thick lenses of his bifocals.
"What brings you around to a planning commission meeting?"
"Sheriff, this may sound a little strange, but I was bored so when I came across a notice in the paper about a public meeting, I thought I'd attend. Kind of a hobby of mine."
"A hobby?"
"Yes. My work keeps me from home quite a bit of the time. I'm not much for sitting in front of the television. The movies these days are too violent. I've made it a hobby to attend local meetings wherever I go. It helps pass the time."
"That is, uh, interesting."
"You'd be surprised what you can learn about a community from attending meetings."
"Oh, I'm sure. Did you enjoy the meeting?"
"It got a little testy at the end. That made me a little nervous."
Sheriff Hanks looked up to see Jake Dablo coming toward them.
"Jake, I've got someone here I'd like you to meet."
"Zeb, thanks for coming to the meeting. Who's your friend?"
"Jake, this is Dr. Venerable Bede."
"Pleased to meet you."
Zeb eyed Jake's facial expression as Bede's soft hand disappeared into Jake's gnarly fingers.
"I saw you at the meeting. It was nice to have someone other than old Mrs. Jertson around. I swear to God I've seen her knit enough booties to cover a family of octopuses."
"Octopi," corrected Bede.
"Dr. Bede makes it his hobby to attend local town meetings," said Zeb.
"Interesting way to pass the time," said Jake. "What do you do for real work?"
"Actually, I'm a botanical consultant. I've been doing some work for the Forest Service on the upper elevations of Mount Graham."
"A botanical consultant? I can't say as I've ever heard of that occupation before. But I guess it figures a federal agency would have a few on staff."
Jake's humor was lost on the doctor.
"What sort of botanical consulting are you doing up on Mount Graham?" asked Jake.
"Surveying, identifying and cataloging unusual and rare plants. Mount Graham is quite a natural wonder."
Jake and Zeb listened politely as Dr. Bede recited a litany of minor subspecies of plants unique to the area. He explained how the unusual proximity of the five distinct ecological life zones on the mountain created a rare opportunity for plant cross-pollination. This combination of circumstances led to entirely unique breeds of plants that likely existed nowhere else on the planet, a planet Bede was apparently bent on saving.
"You know, D
oc, if you want to learn some traditional lore surrounding Mount Graham, you might want to head out to the San Carlos Reservation on Saturday night. Jimmy Song Bird, an Apache Medicine Man, is giving a little educational talk on how Apaches view the mountain. It's mainly for the tribal members but open to the public."
"Well, thank you. I think I'd enjoy that a great deal. Sounds fascinating."
"Put it on your calendar."
"I will and thank you for telling me. I should be on my way now. I'm camping up on Mount Graham. I don't much like to drive too long after dark if I don't have to. I bid you gentlemen goodnight."
Jake and Zeb watched as the doctor stepped up into the large pickup with dual tires on the rear axle.
"What do you think?" asked Jake.
"About Farrell's little tizzy when you questioned his plan of action?"
"Yup."
"He seemed a little upset. Maybe a little more than he should have been," replied Zeb.
"I suspect he's not used to anyone questioning his authority," said Jake. "Since I've been on the commission, no one ever has had any reason to stand up to him."
"Maybe this deal is a moneymaker for him," said Zeb. "With him it's all business."
"Is it strange to you the Catholic Church and its cohorts would quietly buy a bunch of land through foreclosures using a dummy corporation?" asked Jake.
"I don't know. Why not? The Catholic Church is like any church. Just like the Mormon Church. They own a lot of land. Nothing illegal about that."
"Damn it, Zeb. Doesn't it seem strange that a religious organization would do the whole deal so quietly? Almost like they're trying to sneak it by someone?"
"Like they had something else in mind for the land?"
"Exactly," replied Jake.
"You're a lawman, Jake. Some sort of proof wouldn't be such a bad idea."
"I'm working on that. You must admit, it was odd how Farrell got all worked up when I questioned him about what was going on with the property. He took it personally."
"You might be reading a little too much into this, Jake. Look at it from his point of view. Maybe he thinks you're up to something. Maybe he thinks you are trying to cut him out of a real estate commission."