Zeb Hanks Mystery Box Set 1

by Mark Reps

  “Three more stolen vehicles were reported, a little car, an old Chevrolet Vega--”

  “A Chevy Vega? I don’t know one Latino worth his weight in tamales who would be caught dead in one of those babies. I thought they were all on the scrapheap.”

  “At least one of them is still out there. It looks like you are going to get the opportunity to look for it.”

  “It’s probably better off lost. But, it does tell us one thing.”

  “What’s that, Sheriff?”

  “The thief is probably a gringo.”

  “That kind of talk isn’t politically correct, Sheriff.”

  “Neither is car theft. What’s the second vehicle?”

  “The second vehicle is a monster truck?”

  “What?” He knew what she meant but was surprised that Helen knew.

  “A monster truck. One of those that sit way up high.” Helen held her hand up as high as it would go. “It has those great big tires. The owner uses it for going into remote hunting areas. He also said one of the taillights glows like a halo. He thought that might help you spot it.”

  “That’s what I call a conscientious citizen,” said the sheriff.

  “All told that makes for a total of six stolen vehicles, county wide, in the last week.”

  “Not exactly a crime wave, but it’s more car thefts than we’ve had in a month of Sundays. What about the third car?

  “It’s a 1987 candy-apple red Corvette. It was stolen right off the lot. It seems as though somebody came in for a test drive and decided to keep it.”

  “What kind of a jerk would do that?” asked the sheriff.

  “The guy at the car lot says it was your brother, Noah.”

  The sheriff rubbed his knuckles deep into his forehead. Zeb’s older brother was the polar opposite of the law enforcing sheriff. He had an embarrassingly long rap sheet, which included multiple car theft charges. He had even done time in the state prison.

  As far as Zeb was concerned Noah was nothing but trouble. If blood wasn’t thicker than water, he would have cut all ties with him years ago.

  “Noah, Noah, Noah.”

  “A state trooper gave him a speeding ticket on the interstate just outside of Tucson.”

  “Did the officer arrest him?”

  “No. He wasn’t aware the car was stolen until after the fact.”

  “Noah has some drinking buddies up there. I’ll contact the locals to be on the lookout for him.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” said Helen.

  Sheriff Hanks leaned back in his chair. There were many things worse than his brother Noah being a car thief, but at the moment Zeb was having trouble figuring out what. Thank God his parents weren’t around to know of this.

  “Go ahead, make my day.”

  “One of the vehicles stolen last week--Lorenzo García’s classic 1982 powder blue LUV pickup--was found in Tucson. The Pima County Sheriff’s Office called about a half an hour ago. They are sending over a report for you.”

  “Did they say when they were going to release it back to the owner?”

  “I don’t think that is going to be possible.”

  “What? Why not? Lorenzo has been calling me every day. He is going to want to know when he can get it back. I just bet it’s going to get caught up in some big city paperwork mess.”

  “It’s worse than that. There is no more truck. There is only a pile of melted steel.”

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody torched it.”

  “Lorenzo is not going to be happy about that.”

  “The truck went up in flames. To make things worse there were three five-gallon cans of gas in the back.”

  Among his brother’s laundry list of crimes was arson. Could it be that Noah was involved in this one too? Zeb made a mental note to call Noah’s parole officer.

  “So the car thief was an arsonist as well?”

  Helen’s expression turned dour. Her voice became deadly serious.

  “There was a dead body inside it…burned beyond recognition.”

  “Was the victim ID’d?”

  “No. Oh, and there was one more thing.”

  “It just never ends around here does it? What other bad news do you have for me?”

  “They found Lorenzo García’s truck in a part of town called “The Village”. The officer who called here seemed to think “The Village” might mean something to you. He told me to be sure and mention it.”

  “Did he leave his name?”

  “Detective Maximilian Muñoz.”

  Sheriff Hanks had not heard that name in years.

  “He said you might remember him by his nickname, Shotgun. Is he a friend of yours? ”

  “Yes he is. He was my first partner when I worked on the Tucson police force. I haven’t talked to him in years. How did he sound?”

  “He was arrogant and long-winded. Just like you would expect a big city cop to be.”

  “Now that is funny.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “He’s from the booming metropolis of Double Adobe.”

  “Double Adobe?”

  “Heard of it?”

  “No,” replied Helen. “Should I have?”

  “It’s a little watering hole on the southern Arizona border, half way between Bisbee and Douglas. Max used to say, if you count the dogs, cats, skunks and coyotes, it had a population of a hundred and six.”

  “I never heard of it.”

  “No, I don’t suppose. Max Muñoz. Detective Maximilian Muñoz. Talk about a blast form the past.”

  “A shotgun blast, maybe?”

  “You mean his nickname? He’s a funny guy, full of baloney. He tells one story right after another.”

  “I gathered that from talking to him on the phone.”

  “He liked to say that he and his brothers were the best shots in all of Cochise County. He claimed they would sit on their front porch and practice shooting by holding a rifle barrel between their toes. They took pot shots at a ten penny nail pounded sideways into a board. He claimed he could clip the heads off nine out of ten of them at a hundred yards. He also claimed he could wing a house fly in mid-flight at fifty feet.”

  “You believed that?”

  “He’s a funny guy.”

  “It sounds like he’s a little funny in the head.”

  “Being a little bit loco is a prerequisite for becoming a homicide detective.”

  Helen gave him a look that said she had no more time to listen to tales of days gone by and that perhaps the sheriff’s brief stint working with a man who became a homicide detective had made him a bit loco.

  “Do you have any antacids?” asked the sheriff.

  “Is your stomach acting up again? Look in the middle drawer of your desk. I put two brand new rolls in there yesterday. I told you. Remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right. I guess I forgot about them. Thanks.”

  Helen knew he had not been listening. The sheriff reached into his desk and popped three of the tablets.

  “Deputy Steele is interviewing Principal Newlin up at the school.”

  “Hoping to find a bad egg?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “Did you get a recording of the bomb threat?”

  Helen held up a cassette tape for the sheriff. She handed it to him without saying a word.

  “Make a copy and give it to Deputy Steele. I’m sure she is going to want Principal Newlin to see if she recognizes the voice.”

  “Here.” She handed the sheriff a duplicate. “I listened to it again myself. Sheriff, it sounds like someone much older than a high school student.”

  “That’s all I need, an adult with the brain of a juvenile.”

  “Criminals are like relatives,” said Helen. “You can’t pick them.”

  Being second cousin to Helen, her thinly veiled remark did not help his burning stomach. She had made it clear from the start that she did not approve of his upcoming marriage
to a woman of Catholic upbringing, even though Doreen was no longer active in the church. He chose to let the snide comment pass. He had enough trouble as it was. Besides, she was right. You can’t pick your relatives.

  “When Delbert gets back, have him go out and tell Lorenzo in person about his truck. Old man García loved that truck. For him it was sort of like living his youth all over again. He saved up for years to get it. He told Delbert it took all his money to get the truck and because of that he didn’t have insurance.”

  “It seems like bad things always happen to those who can afford it the least.”

  “Delbert’s Uncle Donnie lives a few miles north of García’s place. Tell Delbert to stop there and ask around to find out if Donnie or any of the neighbors have seen anything suspicious going on. If anyone has, the word would have gotten around by now.”

  “Are you sure you want Delbert doing investigation work? You never know what kind of rumor he might accidentally start. Don’t you think it would be better if Mr. García heard it from you?”

  “Lorenzo García is country folk. Delbert’s a country boy. He understands folks up that way. He speaks their language. Delbert can get better information and get it quicker than either Deputy Steele or me. A friendly face is always a better bearer of bad news. Besides, my belly is aching from too much coffee and not enough food. I’m going down to the Town Talk and grab a quick bite. If I’m not back by the time Deputy Steele is done talking with the principal, have her wait for me.”

  Sheriff Hanks glanced over his shoulder at his secretary as he headed for the door. The look of disappointment covering her face gave him pause.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  It was mid-morning and Helen’s blood sugar would be acting up. He should have remembered to ask if she would like him to bring her a muffin. It was a matter of kindness. How could he have forgotten, especially after how well she handled the bomb threat? The pain in his gut was confusing his thinking, but the sheriff knew a little bit of gut discomfort was no excuse for bad manners.

  “I was just thinking,” he said. “Do you like blueberries?”

  “I love them.”

  “Doreen told me last night she was going to use fresh blueberries when she baked this morning. I was going to surprise you. I kind of figured you must like blueberries, but I wanted to make sure.”

  “Shame on me,” said Helen. “I thought you were going to forget about asking me. I’m glad Doreen is finally teaching you some decent manners. If she says the blueberries are good, well then that is what I will have.”

  Zeb pulled his cowboy hat snug onto his head preventing the gusting wind from giving it a free ride down the street. If he lived to be a hundred, he might never have a handle on the way women think. God help me, he mused, if women ever become as criminal minded as men are, I won’t have a chance.

  4

  “I was wonderin’ when you was gonna show up. Ya’ didn’t even wake up to kiss your best gal good-bye this mornin’. Just because we’re gettin’ married at Christmas time doesn’t mean you can treat me like some sort of strumpet--which, by the by--I ain’t no such thing.”

  Sheriff Hanks glanced around the cafe. Between the small number of late breakfast and real early lunch diners, the main part of the cafe was mostly empty. In the back part of the café, within earshot of Doreen’s sassy remark, the town ministers of Safford were gathered for their monthly association meeting. They stopped a quiet discussion to hone in on Doreen’s quip. Zeb could practically see their ears burning as she blurted out strumpet. Now she was almost advertising that the two of them were living in what the churchmen would certainly consider sin.

  “I was out like a light. Maybe it was you who should have kissed me goodbye?” said Zeb, keeping his voice low. His personal business was of no concern to the gathered preachers.

  “Shucks almighty, you was sleepin’ like an angel. Wakin’ you up woulda’ just been plain wrong.” Doreen bent down towards Zeb’s ear and whispered. “I suppose then that you might not be able to give me all the details about the bomb threat that forced all them poor kids out onto the football field this mornin’?”

  It never failed to amaze Zeb how Doreen got the buzz on whatever happened in town damn near before it happened. It always seemed to be telephone, telegraph, tell Doreen and tell the world. Not that it mattered, but once again he asked how she knew what she knew and once again he got a convoluted answer, which seemed to be nothing less than perfectly logical to Doreen.

  “Every day Maxine Miller, you know Maxine who worked here on and off for years, she works up at the school now, I don’t blame the girl, she gets health benefits and all which I could not afford to give her and God knows she needs them bein’ with child and all. Anyway, she works in the principal’s office and every mornin’ after they get the attendance, that’s one of her jobs, which sorta surprises me because she was never very organized, they send her down here for donuts for the teacher’s lounge. I swear teachers eat more donuts than anyone. Don’t you think?”

  The rat-a-tat machine gun answer gave Sheriff Hanks a reason to smile as he glanced down at his protruding belly. Doreen kept firing away.

  “Well, almost everyone that is, present company excluded, when it comes to donuts. So when she didn’t show up on time, she’s always here at eight fifty-five on the nose, always on time that gal, never organized but always prompt, even knew exactly when her monthly was coming, that’s why I’m surprised she got knocked up. Now that I think about it, she musta’ wanted a baby with or without a daddy that might hang around for the duration. That Schmid boy, he’s the father, I hear tell he’s already outta the picture. Joined up with Uncle Sam is what I heard. Well, when she didn’t show, I called up there and no one answered the phone in Principal Newlin’s office. That seemed sort of strange, dontcha’ think?” Zeb nodded. “Why wouldn’t anyone be at the school? Well, I put the phone down and called again, figurin’ maybe the attendance was takin’ longer than usual or the phones were tied up callin’ parents about kids who didn’t show up to see if they were really sick. That’s one of her jobs too. She does a bunch a weird stuff. No answer agin’. So I got to thinkin’…”

  “Uh-oh, thinking might mean trouble,” interjected Zeb.

  “Oh hush up yer mouth. I got to thinkin’ maybe I got the wrong number? I knew I didn’t but I looked it up in the phone book anyways. Funny how when somethin don’t feel right we stop trustin’ ourselves first, ain’t it Zeb? I mean why on God’s green earth would I think I had somethin’ screwed up?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it quite like you just explained. But, I suppose you’re right.”

  Zeb beamed with a new found personal pride. He might have finally learned to never disagree with a woman when she is making a point. Just maybe he was learning about women in general, Doreen in particular.

  “Anyway, then I got to thinkin’ that about five minutes earlier I seen ol’ Josh Diamond in his pickup truck, with them bloodhounds of his, headin’ up the school road. Right away I got to thinkin’--bomb threat.”

  “Hold on a sec, Doe. That’s some mighty fast figuring. How come you thought that? You know he trains those dogs out toward the Mount. He could have just been on his way out there.”

  “Nope. For sure nope. When he’s headed up trainin’ on the Mount, he always stops by for a large coffee and some meat scraps for the dogs. Besides he was speedin’ and that good ol’ boy never moves that fast.”

  “You got him pegged on that one.”

  “Both you and Jake told me Josh was a dog and demolitions expert durin’ both his military and border patrol time. All hell and tarnation should become me if I couldnta’ put something that obvious together. What do I look like anyway? Some sort of ditzoid lamebrain?”

  Zeb looked at the lovely, crazy women who would soon be his wife. He knew of no other human being who so succinctly verbalized what went on inside her head. Not even a child could do it so well.

&nbs
p; “Then about five minutes later ol’ Mrs. Cordoli comes in and tells me every kid at the high school is standin’ out on the football field. She says she seen your car is up there too. She seen it pull up with yer’ cherry spinnin’ and yer siren whoop whoopin’ away. Coffee?”

  “How about a Pepto Bismol, straight up?”

  “Yer stomach still barkin’ back atcha? I thought you said it was all better. You been holdin’ the truth back on me?”

  “Too much coffee on an empty stomach...”

  “Hell’s bells, sweetie pie. I got just the thing for that. Chamomile tea to calm the tummy ache, a few biscuits to sop up them nasty digestive juices and you just might be feelin’ better.”

  “…and a few too many crimes for a county this size.”

  Doreen paused. She looked her man in the eye and could see that things were really bothering him. She made an attempt to cheer his obviously dampened spirits.

  “Can’t do nothin’ ‘bout that crime wave, unless you deputize me. Say, that reminds me. After we get hitched up am I automatically made into a deputy by the law? It seems I oughta’ be. In fact there must be a law regardin’ such things.”

  “There is.”

  “There is?”

  “It’s called the Zeb Hanks law. It goes exactly like this. My wife can never have anything to do with anything about the law and should a time come when she thinks she can, I am no longer to be considered her dearly beloved husband.”

  “Hon, I’m sorry. What’s botherin’ you? I mean what’s really chewin’ away at yer innards?”

  “Something Helen said to me this morning…”

  “Did she shoo you away from her desk agin’?”

  “Nothing like that. “

  “Snoopin’ in on yer private phone conversations?”

  “Always. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, hell’s bells and buckets a blood spit it out Zebulon Hanks.”

  “I am trying to.”

  “Well zip my lip,” Doe made the universal symbol of someone zipping their lips shut. Zeb rolled his eyes and smiled.

  “After we got the bomb threat Helen asked me, “What’s wrong with people anyway?” You know, I got to thinking about it. It sure seems like people are changing. I mean we have had more car thefts, robberies, petty theft and harassment in Safford in the last six months than in the last two years. Now with this bomb threat at the school--well--it just makes you wonder where in the world things are headed. Next thing you know people will be thinking they have to lock their doors at night. Already I see more and more people locking up their cars just to run into the store for a couple of things.”