Frogskin and Muttonfat (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Two)

by Carol Caverly

  Crouching at the end of the gully, I stopped to listen again, but heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, I stood slowly until I could see over the edge.

  I was north of the old house; I could clearly see its side and the yard where we’d been digging. The Bronco had been moved from where I’d parked it, into the large open space between the house and the cement pad where the trailer once stood. The driver’s-side door and the tailgate were open, but no one was around. The area seemed deserted. Where was the Kid? What was he doing?

  Silence hung heavily in the air. I crept up and out slowly, following the lip of the gully back the way I’d come, heading for the protection of a small grove of cottonwoods. Reaching a tree, I collapsed against the rough bark, huffing for breath. From here I could see the point where I’d been dumped in the gully—it was about twenty yards from the house. How had the Kid gotten me here? He didn’t have the strength to drag me that far, and the weed and scrub covered ground didn’t show any signs of tire tracks.

  My eyes hurt and the blurred vision made me dizzy and nauseous. All of the pain had coalesced into a giant body-wide agony. I had to get out of here and get to a phone. The Bronco was my only chance. I peered out from behind my hiding place: still no sign of life. I wanted to make a run for the Bronco, but didn’t think I could make it.

  The Kid had to be in the house, or in one of the outbuildings, but you’d think he’d make noise of some kind. The silence was palpable.

  So I just did it. Stumbling and weaving, but moving as quickly as I could, I headed for the next point of protection, the house. Sticking close to the wall, I moved to the front, where I could see the Bronco. Again, I’d raised no alarms. Nobody yelled, nobody popped out from behind anything. So what the hell. I wrapped my good arm around my injured one, ran for the car and threw myself onto the front seat.

  I nearly screamed with the pain of landing on my injured arm, but struggled to get upright. Slamming the door shut I reached awkwardly with my left hand for the keys. They weren’t there.

  I scrabbled around frantically, tears of frustration running down my face. My purse was on the seat; I dumped it out. No keys. I searched the glove compartment, the dash, the floor. Nothing. Cautiously, I re-opened the door, craning around to see if the Kid had appeared. Nothing. None of the racket I’d made had roused anyone. If the Kid was around, he wasn’t nearby.

  Less frightened of being caught, I searched the ground under, around and back of the Bronco. The jade was gone, too. Damn the Kid! I thought, he’d taken the keys with him. But where had he gone? And how? I couldn’t think, couldn’t sort anything out right now.

  But I needed to get to a phone. The police. Buster Brocheck’s ranch was around here somewhere; Max would be there. For the first time I thought to check my watch. Between the badly scratched crystal face and my uncertain eyes, I could barely make out the time. I thought it said something past four o’clock. If that were true, Max would be in town looking for me, or maybe even on his way out here. I would walk to meet him. Yes, I thought, struck by the perfect logic of it all, that’s what I would do. I might even be able to hitch a ride. I refilled my purse, grabbed it out of the car and slung it over my good shoulder.

  I looked back at the old house. The empty, staring windows reminded me of the awful feeling I’d had inside. The feeling of being watched, not alone. What if someone had been in the house? What if someone had been there all along watching the Kid and me? What if it wasn’t the Kid who’d hit me with the shovel? Maybe the Kid had been attacked, too, and was lying in a ditch somewhere. Fear wound around my belly. Maybe I should go look for him.

  I hesitated for a moment, uncertain, but only for a moment. Nothing could make me stick around this horrid place. I needed to get help. Propelled by apprehension and the dizzy certainty that this was my best chance, I stumbled off, headed for the county road. At least there I had the chance of meeting a car.

  Once there, I quickly realized that I was in much worse shape than I’d been aware of. I felt sick, disoriented and frightened. Walking in the thick gravel became a problem of enormous proportions, and every stagger sent my head reeling with dizziness. I could no longer distinguish the pain from my injuries from the raging headache that beat my brain to mush. I didn’t even hear the approach of a car behind me until the short blast of the horn shocked me into a whirling lurch that sent me to my knees.

  The vehicle pulled to a stop beside me; it was a wonder I didn’t get run over, flopping around in the middle of the road. Shakily I got to my feet while the driver burst out of the car and ran to me.

  “Hello there!” she said. “Are you all right?”

  It was…what’s her name. The jade lady. If I closed one eye and squinted through the other, I could see her fairly well.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, peering at the side of my face. She took my arm, opened the door, took a few things off the seat, threw them in the back, and helped me in, clucking like a mother hen.

  “Can you take me to town?” I asked, as we drove off. “I think I need to see a doctor.”

  “You need a hospital, young lady.”

  “Just hurry. I don’t feel so good.”

  “We’ll get there in a flash. Don’t worry.” She gripped the steering wheel intently, sitting on the edge of the seat so her short legs could reach the pedals. “What were you doing out here in the middle of the road?”

  I tried to talk, afraid of dimming out. “Brought the Kid. Kid Corcoran…to see his old home.” And I’d seen the King of Swords, I thought woozily, riding a pale horse.

  “He did this to you?” she asked, wide-eyed with interest.

  “The King…?”

  “What? The Kid. Did he do this to you?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” I tried to keep my eyes open, closing them sent me off on a wild, spinning carnival ride. Nausea clutched my belly and rose threateningly up and down my throat like an out-of-control elevator. I held myself tight, fighting the pain from the jostling, bumpy ride.

  “I told you he was dangerous,” she said. “He killed that girl last night. Why in the world did you take off with him?”

  “Don’t know where he is. He’s gone. Lost.”

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “Looking around,” I said. I heard my words slurring together. Mushy, to match my brain. I squinted at her. Hildy, I thought, snatching her name from the ooze. The jade lady, but I shouldn’t talk about the jade, not until I could think better.

  “You found that girl last night, didn’t you?” she asked. “I told everybody something like this would happen if they let that man stay in town.”

  “He didn’t kill…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He couldn’t have killed her…I saw him.”

  “Saw him where?”

  But I couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember why I’d been so sure the Kid hadn’t killed Phoebe.

  “What did he talk to you about? Did he say anything about jade? Everyone knows he has jade hidden around here someplace.” She chattered on and on, throwing questions at me. “Were you trying to find out where the jade is? What did he tell you?”

  I couldn’t think. She frightened me. Where was Max? Why hadn’t he come looking for me?

  My mind spun out. Hands, I thought with a rush of panic. I dug up hands, clammy dead hands tied together at the wrist with…something. I jerked alert. A hurricane cloud billowed towards us. No, a pickup.

  “Stop!” I said, grabbing on to the dashboard. “Max. He’s looking for me.” But we barreled on. “Slow down!” I screamed, totally losing it. She gave me a furious look, and stomped on the brake.

  The two vehicles came to careening halts in the loose gravel. The pickup backed with a roar to parallel the car.

  Max! Thank you. Thank you.

  He ran to me and opened the door. “My God,” he said after one look. He raised a questioning glance at Hildy.

  “She’s got to get to a doctor. I’ve been t
rying to keep her talking, poor dear,” Hildy said. “Follow me.”

  Max kissed my cheek. “I don’t want to move you. We’re almost there, just hang on.” Slamming the door, he ran back to his truck. With a spray of gravel he turned and followed us into town.

  I concentrated on not passing out, not throwing up. Through the haze that covered my eyes, I could see Hildy hunched over the wheel, grimly silent, intent on driving.

  I wondered. Could the King of Swords be a woman?

  Twenty

  Max carried me into the hospital, which I thought a bit much, but kind of nice anyway. They put me in a large open examining area that could be divided into cubicles by curtains. The place was empty, so they didn’t bother with any curtains, just laid me out on an examining table.

  The nurse was a large woman with a broad smile and a straight no-nonsense haircut. She held out a clipboard, glancing from Hildy to Max. “Who wants to fill this out?” Max took it. “Whooee,” she said, turning her attention to the goose egg on the side of my head. “What happened to you?” She probed the wound gently. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Thea,” I said, wincing as she began cleaning the area. “Thea Barlow.”

  “No kidding?” She stopped to give me a look of delighted curiosity. “You’re the one who found the dead girl, aren’t you? And now somebody’s rung your bell, huh? What’s going on around this town?” She worked quickly and precisely, talking all the time.

  “I found her staggering around in the middle of the road,” Hildy said, bustling from one side of the table to the other in an exaggerated mixture of excitement and concern.

  “I don’t know the answers to half of these questions,” Max said, tossing the clipboard on the chair in disgust. “And she doesn’t need to be bothered with them now. There’s enough information on there to get her admitted. We’ll fill out the rest later.”

  “You have a headache, honey?” the nurse asked me.

  I nodded, then wished I hadn’t.

  “Doesn’t surprise me none. What did you get hit with?” The nurse held two fingers up in front of my face. “How many do you see?”

  “Two, fuzzy.”

  “Sounds like a concussion to me. And you’re in luck. The doctor’s here delivering a baby. We’ve had a rash of them recently. Generally he’s only here two, three days a week. I’ll go get him so’s we can get you started on some painkillers. Be right back.”

  “That outlaw Kid Corcoran did this,” Hildy announced to no one in particular. “Didn’t I say this kind of thing would start happening when he came to town? First that girl last night, and now this. They ought to run him out of town.”

  Max stepped close, jostling Hildy away from the bed. “Max,” I said, clutching his hand, trying to gather my wits. “Call the police. The Kid is missing. I don’t know where he is. I thought he hit me, but maybe someone else was there. He might be lying in a ditch somewhere. And your car, Max, it’s at Corcoran’s place, but I lost the keys. I think I left the door open too, and I need to tell the police—”

  “Hey, slow down. The police can wait. We’re going to get you taken care of first.”

  The nurse came back with a glass of water and some pills. She was followed by a nurse’s aide and two other women who looked like office help. They stood around the perimeters and stared at me. I heard one of the office types ask Hildy, “Is she really the one who found the body?” That was all she needed. Hildy had found her audience.

  “You’re a celebrity,” Max said dryly, squeezing my hand.

  “Here we go, honey.” The nurse handed me a tiny paper cup of pills. “We’ll start cracking that headache. I bet it’s a doozy.”

  She and Max helped me to sit up. I swallowed the pills obediently.

  “Let’s take a look at that shoulder, now. Okay, people, time to get out of here.” She jerked the curtains closed.

  The doctor came and went, I was poked and probed and cleaned and daubed and finally put to bed in a dimly lit hospital room, which was fine by me. I passed in and out of sleep, barely aware of what was happening. Others came and went, but all that mattered was that Max was usually by my side.

  Four or so hours later, the nurse woke me to take vital signs and give me another dose of painkillers. I stretched cautiously. The headache still pounded, but feeling had returned to my arm and hand, and, thank goodness, my eyes had cleared. I was really hungry.

  As if on cue, Max came through the door with a bundle of clothes in one arm and insulated food carriers in the other. A rose stuck out of his shirt pocket.

  “Hi,” he said. “Clean clothes for you.” He dumped them in the closet. “And,” he cracked open one of the carriers, wafting it under my nose, “Sheila Rides Horse sends her best wishes.”

  I sucked in the heavenly aroma with the eagerness of a puppy at his food dish. “Umm. Wonderful.”

  “You’re looking much better,” Max said, more seriously. “How’s the headache?”

  “Still there, but much better.”

  He checked out my head wound and the colorful assortment of Band-aids, cuts and bruises on my arms. He kissed me lightly, then took my hands in his. “Before we get to the food,” he said, “I need to know if you’re up to seeing some visitors.”

  “Who?” I asked, surprised.

  “Phoebe Zimmerman’s parents. They’d like to see you, if possible. They’re in the lobby talking with the doctor. He helped with the autopsy.”

  I must have looked stricken.

  “You don’t have to. The doctor said it’s entirely your decision.”

  “Oh, Max, of course I’ll see them.”

  “Good girl.” He patted my hand. “I think they need to talk to you. They seem like nice people.”

  He rolled up my bed, then left, and returned shortly with the couple in tow.

  I saw immediately why he’d championed them. They were older, an average-looking couple, neat, trim and prosperous. Bereft was the only word to describe the lost expressions on their faces. I ached for them.

  “I hope we’re not bothering you,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.

  “Of course not,” I held out my hand. “Please come in.” Max offered them the two chairs in the room, but they waved them away.

  “No, we won’t be staying but a minute,” Mr. Zimmerman said.

  What does one say? “I’m so terribly sorry,” I began. “Phoebe was a beautiful girl, so full of life and laughter, it must be a terrible loss for you.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe’s mother reached for her husband’s hand and clung to it. “She was our only child. It’s…been such a shock.”

  And I could tell it was; there was a bewildered look to them, as if they couldn’t quite accept reality.

  “We were told you were the last person to talk to her, so we wanted to meet you. I suppose it’s silly.”

  “Of course it’s not silly.” I could understand their hunger for connections of any kind.

  “And we understand you helped her in some way that night,” her husband carried on his wife’s train of thought as if it were second nature for them. “We wanted to thank you for that.”

  “I didn’t do much. I didn’t know Phoebe well, I’d just met her. She’d…she’d hurt herself some way and I helped her, well, to my room, is all. I just wish I’d done more.”

  “She’d had way too much to drink,” Mrs. Zimmerman said with an understanding look. “They told us that.”

  “She was a headstrong girl,” her husband chimed in. “A handful sometimes, but she was a hard worker and full of ambition. I admired her for that.” He paused, his eyes filling with tears.

  His wife stroked his arm. “She was so excited about this new story she was after.”

  “Oh?” I said, interested. “Did she talk about it? What did she say?”

  “Nothing much, actually, just that it was going to be another one about the Nickel Kid. I guess he’s called Kid Corcoran around here.”

  “But there was more to it than that, dear. She claimed s
he was going to get another by-line, bigger than the first. She got phone calls from somebody, making inquiries; made her perk up her ears; said she was sharpening her newshound nose.”

  So, she had had some kind of lead before she came here. She was onto something more than just the jade stuff and gossip she’d come across here. What? I wondered. And how much a part did that knowledge play in her death?

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Just two, three weeks ago. Shortly after the first piece was rerun in the San Francisco paper.” His voice rang with pride for his daughter. “Teased me to death, said she was on to something big, if I’d just help her get out to Wyoming. So, of course I paid for her ticket.” His shoulders slumped and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Wish I hadn’t now.”

  “It’s not your fault, dear,” his wife consoled him, probably not for the first time. Then gently to us, “She could always wheedle her daddy out of anything.”

  There was one of those self-conscious moments when nobody knew what to say, until Phoebe’s father filled the void.

  “Well, thank you for letting us intrude on you.”

  We exchanged some more words of sympathy and they left.

  “Oh, Max,” I said. “How heartbreaking for them.”

  “Yes. I noticed they didn’t say anything about murder.”

  “I think they’re still trying to accept the fact that she’s gone. The horror of the rest will come later.”

  I wanted to get up and sit in the chair, in fact I was ready to put on my clothes and get out of there, but Max insisted I stay in bed.

  “Give yourself a chance. The doc says you’re doing great and he’ll release you in the morning, but they like to keep concussions overnight.” He rolled the bed back down a bit, and sat on the edge.

  “What’s happened, Max? Have they found the Kid? Did you see Florie? What did she say?”

  “They haven’t found the Kid. I did talk to Florie, and I’m going to stay in Madam Juju until you get out of here. Remind me to get a key from you before I leave.”