"Uh," Max grunted. "Could be. They're birds of a feather. No good. Lorenzo must have a partner of some kind. Norquist could bring money to a partnership."
"If Ivar's in with Dan, then Pussyfoot wasn't working for him, because he was trying in the worst way to get a look at the two hills where the dirt works are. I got the impression that snooping was the main reason he was out there. What do you suppose he wanted to talk to you about?"
Max didn't have a clue, and neither did I. "I don't know what to think about Ivar. I know that something about her father is bothering Charlotte, but I don't have any idea what it is. Maybe she knows or suspects that he's mixed up in something shady."
I kept talking, mainly, as before, to keep Max awake and alert, but also to hold at bay the thought of another dead body. I didn't like the man, but I wouldn't wish that kind of death on anyone. So I shoved the thought away by marshaling the bits and pieces of information that had come my way and trying to put them in order.
"Before we talk to the sheriff, Max, I think you should know that Jennifer more or less implied she has some kind of 'thing' going with Rusty. It kind of worried me. What do you think?"
"No way."
"Are you sure? Maybe he already knows about this diamond find, or wants a part of it himself. Charlotte said Ronnie Mae had accused Rusty of snooping around their land."
"I'd stake my life on his honesty, Thea."
"Then how about Jennifer and Dan? Jennifer hated RonnieMae. And she knows something about her death. She nearly fainted when I told her that someone had tampered with Ronnie Mae's medications. I guess they got in a knock-down drag-out not too long ago."
"I was there," Max said laconically. "Stupid brawl. Far as I could tell, Jennifer provoked it." After another long pause, he moaned, "I don't know about any of this stuff, Thea." And I, too, knew these weren't the kinds of things Max spent any time speculating about.
Max said, "Jennifer likes men. She'd come on to a tree if it wore pants."
And, I thought dryly, the tree would probably respond.
We hit the outskirts of Rock Springs and I followed Max's directions to the hospital. It was a slow night in the emergency room so we got excellent, fast service. Even the paperwork went quickly, then they whisked Max away for x-rays, cleanup, or whatever it is they do. I settled in on a relatively comfortable chair with the folder of information Max had gotten at the college. I read one rather dry report on lamproite deposits in this area, then began a far more entertaining paper about the great diamond hoax of 1872. The story was vaguely familiar to me. Western True Adventures had run a couple of articles about the two enterprising prospectors who had claimed to find a mountain where diamonds, rubies and sapphires could be scuffed up from the dirt with the heel of your boot. Actually, they had themselves liberally sprinkled the gems on their site, salting the area effectively enough to bilk some of the top financiers of the day out of millions. I was about halfway through the article when Rusty showed up.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"I don't know, I haven't heard anything yet."
He cozied up to the receptionist, exchanged a few quips that had her roaring with laughter , then spoke quietly for a few minutes more. He came back and said, "Do you like coffee?" I nodded and he got a couple of steaming cups from a vending machine down the hall. "Come on, we can talk in here, it's more comfortable."
I followed him into a small room decorated like a miniature living room with cushioned chairs, sofa, coffee tables and two telephones. A box of tissue sat on every end table. A quiet place for loved ones to hear bad news and shed tears with a modicum of privacy. I wondered suddenly if Pussyfoot had loved ones. Did the aging itinerant hustler have family somewhere, or did he die alone? Who would grieve for him?
The sheriff left the door open, put the cups on the coffee table, and sat in a chair. Leaning back, he closed his eyes for a moment, then stretched mightily. "What a day." He placed the ever-present tape recorder on the table with the cups, and nodded toward the receptionist's area. "The gal said the nurse would come by and tell us what's going on. The x-rays aren't finished yet."
He wiped his hand across his face, but it didn't erase the weariness. Even his freckles seemed washed out. His uniform was still crisp, but he wasn't. He seemed more human somehow in this physically rumpled state.
"Okay," he said, rubbing his hands. Back to work. "While we're at it, why don't you tell me again what you said about Pussyfoot. It looks like a cut and dried case of drunken driving, but the way things have been going around here lately, you never know."
"You mean it might not have been an accident?"
He rubbed his hand over his face. "At this point I know next to nothing. You said you saw him earlier today, right?"
"Yes." I repeated what I'd told him before, and gave a description of the two lay brothers who had been with him. "I think they said they were from Michigan."
He made a few notes then reached over and turned on the recorder. "Now, why don't you tell me about that diamond."
It was like releasing a dam. I not only told him everything about how we found the diamond, but all the different theories we'd devised about what it could mean, why all the evidence seemed to point to Dan Lorenzo, including Dan's insistence that Pussyfoot and the monks should not go near the hills in question. No one was safe from my mouth. I unloaded all the other theories I'd toyed with, as well as odds and ends of suspicions about peripheral characters, who I hadn't yet been able to connect with a theory. Surely with this overload of information he could find someone other than me to focus his attention on. Somewhere in the middle of my discourse we stopped to hear a report from the nurse.
"He has a broken fibula," she said, "that's the small leg bone on the outside of the lower leg that goes from the knee to ankle. He's lucky it didn't break at the ankle, but it's higher, and a clean break, so he'll do fine. We're getting ready to cast him now. It won't be too much longer."
Rusty and I got more coffee, he threw in some questions, gave me a stern lecture on the consequences of withholding evidence as well as information—which I was humble enough to take with good grace—and let me continue my spiel. By the time I was finished his eyes might have been glazed, but he hadn't gone to sleep.
Of course, I thought with a sigh, I didn't tell him everything. For the sake of prudence, I left out my speculation about his own motives, though I guess they could rightly be called points of curiosity rather than suspicions, nor did I mention Ivar Norquist either for the same reason, or because I wanted to save Charlotte some grief. But I didn't spare Jennifer, starting with, "And Jennifer definitely knows something about Ronnie Mae's death," probably the one most important piece of information I had.
Was I being despicable, casting suspicion on people just because they said or did something that piqued my morbid imagination? Or was it justifiable self-preservation? Actually, I thought it was dammed despicable, but the orange jumpsuit weighed heavily on my mind. Compared to that I didn't really care about Elton Rydell, or Jennifer, or Twila Pettigrew and her crazy chicken, and I truly believed Dan Lorenzo was guilty as hell.
I finished by telling him my part in Max's latest adventure. And pleading his case. "He was only trying to gather more evidence for you."
"On posted land," he said, dryly. "That's breaking the law."
On that bright note the nurse wheeled Max into the room. His color was much better, but his disposition had deteriorated into impatient and cranky.
Rusty jumped to his feet. "How're you doing, old man?" They shook hands vigorously. There seemed to be real regard in their feelings for each other.
"Just get me out of here, and I'll be fine," Max said with a dry grin. "Bunch of damned fussbudgets."
"Looks like I'll have to find me another ropin' partner."
"You do and I'll break your leg." Rusty squeezed Max's shoulder, and Max punched Rusty's arm lightly in a typical show of male friendliness.
After the official dismissal process with
the nurse and front desk, Rusty turned serious again and we returned to the solemn little waiting room. He took Max quickly over some of the same ground he and I had covered, then brought him up to today's events.
Max said, "We wanted a positive ID on the stone, which I got. It is a diamond, middle grade, around four carat weight. I checked the records and plat books at the courthouse. Ronnie Mae Lorenzo is the landowner of the section of land where the two hills we're interested in are. Opal deeded it over to her a year ago. The minerals are federal. I called the BLM office in Cheyenne and they said a mining claim was filed ten days ago."
"Who filed it?"
"A corporation called Rodan, Inc. Diamonds weren't mentioned in the claim, but that's not unusual, they never are. It was filed for all minerals found. I wanted to get some samples from the site, to prove that it is a lamproite area, a viable diamond-friendly area. I wasn't sure how much credit you'd give to our ideas and wanted to reinforce them with as much evidence as I could gather quickly."
"And figured I'd be more interested in an easy solution, like railroading—I believe that's the term your friend here used—than in doing any real investigating?"
The two men stared at each other, bristling like a couple of pit bulls.
"Not so," Max said. "You've got a small crew that's been running their tails off. Tell me that two murders, a break-in, this new fatal accident, and who knows what else within the last three days, hasn't overextended your office." He waited for an answer, but none was offered. "I thought I could do some quick leg work that would save you time. And also help to clear Thea."
"So you went out on posted land to gather samples."
"My property abuts this area. It was just a matter of stepping over the fence. I thought I could do it quickly and get out. I was taking a sample from an anthill when someone took a shot at me. With a rifle. I ran for cover. Dropped into a gully."
"And broke your leg."
"No, not then. I wanted to see if I could get a look at this guy. We played cat and mouse for the better part of an hour."
"Did you get a look at him?"
"No. Evidently, he had the advantage of a scope on his rifle and could track me from a distance."
"What about a vehicle? Or do you think he's camping out there?"
"I'm pretty sure he's got a vehicle, in fact I think he drove in while I was there."
"Well, did you get a look at it?"
There was just the slightest hesitation before Max said no. I wondered if Rusty noticed it, but thought not. At least he didn't say anything.
"He took another shot at me while I was trying to move back closer to my property line. I'd gotten too far east in the process of our little game. That was when, making another jump for cover, I twisted my leg and hit a rock. I heard the bone snap. For a minute I thought it was another rifle shot." He shifted uncomfortably in the wheelchair. "Man, I've got to get out of this thing."
"We're about finished here."
"In all honesty, Rusty," Max said, wearily. "I'm not sure whether the guy was shooting to kill or to scare me away."
Rusty rose, stretched, and shut off the recorder. "With two murders on our hands already, I don't think we should argue the point. I'm going to let you two go now, but I want it understood that you're not to do any more investigating. I'd appreciate it if you'd give me credit for knowing my job and being damned good at it." He pointed a finger at Max. "I'm cutting you a lot of slack, friend, but if I find you've been on that posted land again, I'm going to rack your butt. And you," it was my turn, "are still under suspicion. If you're as innocent as you claim to be, you have nothing to worry about." Again, he put his hand on Max's shoulder. "Go home now, rest your leg, and let me do my job."
He looked as if he were going to say something more, but decided against it, nodded in a goodbye gesture and left.
The receptionist helped Max out of the wheelchair and on to the crutches. While he was getting the hang of his new method of mobility, I brought the car around to the door. Together we got him and the crutches stretched out on the back seat where I thought he'd be most comfortable.
"Don't go to sleep yet, Max," I said when we'd left the outskirts of Rock Springs and were on the road back to Garnet Pass. "I want to ask you something. Did you, or did you not, see a vehicle of some kind out there this afternoon? There was a hesitation in your voice when Rusty asked the question."
I didn't think he was going to answer, or maybe he was already asleep. Then finally his voice rumbled across the seat. "Yeah, I saw a truck. From a distance. Too far for a positive identification."
"Well," I prodded, "whose was it?"
Again the answer was a long time coming. He sighed heavily. "It looked like Monty Montgomery's."
Chapter 23
I slept in until nine the next morning. Even at that I was up before Max, probably because I chose to sleep on the sofa to spare his injured leg any more grief. I made a big pot of coffee and finished reading the article I'd started in the waiting room last night about the old-time diamond scam, and thumbed through several others about lamproite deposits in the Green River Basin.
When I heard Max clumping around, I put the papers back in their folder and went to see if he needed any help. He was grumpily determined to do everything himself, so I left him to it, and scrambled up some breakfast from my meager supplies, sure any kind of food would lift his spirits.
"Well," Max said, polishing off the scrambled eggs, "this is the big day, isn't it?"
"That's right. The business fair, and the Rendezvous."
"And don't forget the free barbecue."
"What about your house, Max? Do you have to do anything with it?"
"No, Jennifer's got some kind of committee rigged up that's going to show all the homes. I don't have to do anything. I promised Chet I'd look in on the business fair. Maybe we can just relax and enjoy the day. Lord knows you deserve it, Thea." He reached across the table and took my hand. "You've been put through a little bit of hell ever since you got here."
And it's not over yet, I thought dismally, but a respite would be nice.
"I didn't mean it to be this way, Thea. I wanted your move to Wyoming to be a special time for us."
I squeezed his hand. "I know you did, Max. It would be lovely to forget about all my problems even for a few hours. Let's take in all the events. I particularly want to go to the Rendezvous, some of the costumes and rigs I've seen look fascinating." Max's face darkened. "You're thinking of Monty, aren't you?" I asked.
He pushed away from the table and grabbed the crutches. "I can't believe he's involved in this mess, Thea. He's a good guy. We're friends. I knew him before he got into this reenacting stuff. We spent a couple summers working in the oil fields years ago. I can't believe he'd take potshots at me. He's the most nonviolent person I know."
I let him vent, having had my own struggles with not being able to believe people I knew and liked could be capable of any serious wrong.
"Maybe it wasn't him, Max."
"It was his truck."
"Maybe someone else was using it. Besides wouldn't he have been working with his reenactors yesterday afternoon?" I suppose I said all of this to make him feel better. What I was remembering was Monty's intense reaction to Opal's death, and the hurried trip he'd taken to town afterward.
"I can ask around, find out where Monty was yesterday," Max said without much enthusiasm. And I thought he might be thinking the same thoughts I was: maybe not murder, but complicity of some sort. Like my own secret worries about Clyde Bodie.
"It seems like a lot of people might be mixed up in this, Max, but only one person killed Opal, and Dan still seems the best candidate for that nasty job. Do you think the sheriff gave any weight at all to what we told him last night? After all, it was all theories and suppositions on our part."
"The diamond is real."
"But what if Dan claims to know nothing about it?"
"The mining claim is real. It's a matter of public record."
"But it doesn't indict Dan Lorenzo for murder."
"No, but you can be damned sure that Rusty is extremely interested in it. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't pulled Dan in already for more questioning."
"I hope so. I won't really be off the hook until Opal's murderer is found. If we knew Dan's motivation we'd have a much better case against him. He had to have been desperate to do such a thing. Our idea that Opal was killed simply because she found out about the diamond discovery isn't very compelling. What real harm could she do to them?"
"Right. Even if Opal thought Ronnie Mae had tricked her into selling her a piece of land that was more valuable than it appeared to be, or even if Opal was demanding a piece of the action, what could she do to them other than be madder than hell, or tell the world what rotten people they were? Why risk murder and the chance of losing everything you've worked for if you're caught? There had to be something else involved that we don't know about."
"And if you throw Ronnie Mae's death into the mixture, it becomes too confusing to contemplate," I said dispiritedly. "I just don't want to hang for something I didn't do."
"Hey," Max said. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this anymore. We're not being very good about putting this aside for awhile, are we? Let's drop it. We gave everything we know to the sheriff. He can take it from here. Come on, let's go have some fun." He picked up his dishes to carry to the kitchen.
"Here," I said, taking them from him. "I'll do it. Sit and rest your leg." I handed him the folder of articles that he'd gotten in Rock Springs. "Read the one about the diamond hoax. It's great, had a lot of information I hadn't heard before."
He leafed through the papers and picked it out. "It's written by the same geologist who wrote one of the papers on lamproites, that's why the guy threw it in with the others. Thought I might find it interesting."
Dead in Hog Heaven (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Three) Page 19