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

by Carol Caverly

  “She might have told Garland Caldwell; she was talking to him before she left Racy Ladies,” I said, trying to remember. “She was full of herself, believe me. Flirting and putting the moves on Garland, big time. His wife was furious. Phoebe didn’t stay for dinner at Racy Ladies. She had already left when I came back down to the lobby at eight o’clock to wait for Jimmy.”

  “Chin?” Max asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes. He took me to dinner at The Lotus Cafe. That’s how I met his aunt and uncle, Patrick and Auntie Lee. Tell me about Jimmy, Max. What does he do? I thought he lived on a ranch, but he said no.”

  “He’s a hell of a steer-roper, I can tell you that. I understand that the Chin, O’Donnal and the other branches of his family are a real close-knit clan. Jimmy’s an insurance broker and real estate agent. Handles ranch properties, probably knows all the ranches in the county better than anyone. His family was in business, so he was raised in town, but I know he spends a lot of time out at the ranch helping his cousins, and Buster, too.”

  “Wait a minute, Max,” I broke in. “I know where Phoebe went: the rodeo dance. She told Kendall she’d see him there. He stopped by Racy Ladies to give her a ride, but she’d already gone. We can ask Kendall if he saw her there and who else she might have met.”

  “The police have probably already asked him, Thea. We don’t have to figure this out, they do.”

  “I know, but I can’t help wondering. Something happened to Phoebe that night other than getting drunk. She could have told someone else about the vase. The wrong person. Maybe that’s who murdered her, and was the third person at the Kid’s place. He could have gone there the next day to look for more jade, and hidden when the Kid and I got there. After we dug it up he tried to get rid of both the Kid and me, and took off with the jade.”

  “Possible, possible,” Max said considering. “Tell me again why you were so certain the Kid couldn’t have killed Phoebe.”

  “Well, it was this light thing, Max.”

  Twenty-Three

  Max listened patiently as I told him again about having spoken to the Kid downstairs at about the time when Phoebe was being murdered.

  “The killer was still upstairs when I found the body, because between the time I ran downstairs and Rocky ran back up to check on what I’d said—and we’re talking about a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds—the light I’d left on in Phoebe’s room was turned off.”

  I’d no sooner spoken the words then my mind began to buzz with reconsiderations. What I’d once thought so sound now seemed shakier than California. Damn, damn, I thought. I had even risked my life on my belief of the Kid’s innocence. Where had my brain been?

  I must have looked like a guppy. “What’s the matter?” Max asked.

  “I hate to admit it,” I said, disgusted with myself, “but my pet theory is unraveling like a poorly knit sweater. It didn’t have to be the killer who turned the light off, but it still couldn’t have been the Kid.” A picture of Sheila Rides Horse, gliding swiftly into Phoebe’s room to retrieve the Tarot card, popped instantly into my mind. “I didn’t think two different people could have been upstairs and not run into each other.”

  “And now you do?”

  “Yes. Chance would have to have had a part in it, but it could have happened.” Particularly, I thought, if one of the people involved were Sheila Rides Horse with her psychic impulses.

  “So what’s your conclusion now?” Max asked.

  I sighed. “That you could be right. The Kid could have killed Phoebe. When I met him in the hallway that night, I assumed he was coming back from a last smoke before going to bed, but he could just as easily have been coming from the back staircase, returning from the scene of the crime, as it were. He looked exhausted.”

  “Then who turned out the light in Phoebe’s room?”

  “Sheila Rides Horse. I know she took the Tarot card from Phoebe’s room, she as much as said so. I just wasn’t sure of the timing. She’s a psychic, Max. Don’t laugh, but I think she sensed something had happened upstairs and went to investigate. She might even have been up there when I discovered Phoebe’s body. Anyway, I believe she took the card from Phoebe’s room and turned the light off when she left.”

  “But she didn’t kill Phoebe?”

  “No.”

  “Proof?”

  I shook my head. “Hunch, instinct.”

  “Budding psychic?”

  “Right.” I smiled, glad for his light tone.

  “I didn’t realize Sheila was involved in this mess, too.”

  “It’s complicated, to say nothing of confusing. I’ll tell you all about it, but not now. After we look for the Kid. I guess the truth is that I don’t want anyone I know to be a killer. If your speculations were right, Max, and the Kid caught Phoebe stealing from him, he could have been waiting upstairs for her to return, ready to confront her.”

  “Or ready to kill her. I doubt he’d have gone back downstairs to get a knife from the kitchen. He probably armed himself first.”

  True, I thought bleakly. I couldn’t bear to think about it. Couldn’t believe how quickly, how thoughtlessly, I’d let him assume the role of Gramps in my life.

  Perceptive as always, Max wrapped his hand over mine and held it. “I’m sorry, Thea. But the Kid is the most likely suspect. I mean, I can see how someone might get steamed because their family got robbed of valuable property forty or fifty years ago, and even want to wreak some revenge on the Kid, but he isn’t the one who got hurt. What happened to Phoebe was a vicious, calculated murder by someone who knew exactly where to plunge a knife to cause instant death. The attack on you was no light thing, either. The results could have been just as deadly.”

  “You think he did that, too.”

  “I think the chances are likely that he did.”

  “But what happened to Phoebe at the dance, or afterwards? And where is the Kid now?”

  “Lots of unanswered questions.” His thumb rubbed the back of my hand tenderly. “But there has to be more to this than just the stolen jade you dug up, Thea. One person killed, another missing, one seriously injured. That’s a lot of damage done for—how many pieces did you dig up?”

  “Ten, maybe more. Some were quite small. All were top gem quality, according to the Kid.”

  “Even at that, there doesn’t seem to be enough money involved. I don’t know anything about the value of rough jade, and I’m sure the market fluctuates with demand, but if each piece were worth a thousand dollars, that would hardly be enough to get the kid set up in the country, if that’s what he truly intended to do.”

  “Oh, Max, I’ve wondered about that, too. A lot of what he said was his way of manipulating me into doing what he wanted me to do. But poor old Kate has her heart set on ‘going home.’”

  Max rested his hand against my cheek. “So now you’re going to bleed for Madam Juju?”

  I laughed. “I guess I’m a lost cause.”

  “I like you that way. Back to the jade. Even if it were worth much more than ten or twelve thousand…”

  “I suspect the real value comes when the stone is turned into a work of art. But I don’t think there’s a top price for violence, Max. People have been killed for much less.”

  “Sure, but I don’t think we’re dealing with stupid kids, here, or crazed drug addicts either. I find it puzzling is all.”

  The radio crackled, cutting through an excited voice. Max fiddled with the dial and turned the volume up. Even he couldn’t understand what was said, but we both picked up on the urgency. He grabbed for the phone, dialed twice unsuccessfully, then finally got through.

  “What’s going on out there?” He listened for long tense moments. “Damn. This is Max Holman, we’re about fifteen miles out, headed your way.” He hung up. “That was Brocheck’s. Fire’s jumped a bunch of breaks. Took them by surprise. They need all the hands they can get.”

  He contacted the rig again. “You can see it? What in hell happened? Shut the rig
down and get out of there. Don’t worry about that. Get the crew out, you don’t want to get cut off. We’ve got a deep enough dirt perimeter; it’ll probably burn around us.”

  Max skidded to a stop and turned the truck around. We had passed the turnoff to Brocheck’s ranch and were headed to Corcoran’s. “We have to go to Brocheck’s first, Thea. I’m sorry. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s freaky, almost like some goon’s out there setting fires.”

  “I understand, Max. Is the fire closer to Corcoran’s now, too?”

  “No. It’s still north of Buster’s place. Look, as soon as we get a chance, we’ll go look for the old guy. Okay?”

  “I have to, Max, even if he turns out to be a murderer.”

  Once again we lurched past the flat-bed truck carrying the ‘dozer. This time we were going in opposite directions.

  “That truck didn’t turn in at Brocheck’s either,” I said.

  “They’re probably coming at the fire from a different direction. Or they’ve found a new hot spot.”

  We went back to the Brocheck turn-off and a few minutes later pulled into the drive in front of Buster’s ranch house. It looked like a used car lot. A water tank truck was right behind us. It pulled off to the side and a group of men with two-way radios immediately gathered around the cab.

  “Come on,” Max said. “Let’s see who’s inside.” He looked longingly at the group around the tanker, but was too polite to turn me loose amongst a group of strangers.

  Three women stood at an island in the middle of the kitchen manning a sandwich assembly line. Hildy Gilstrom emptied the contents of a large coffee-maker into an assortment of thermos jugs and prepared to brew another pot.

  Hildy looked at me with surprise and suspicion. She pointed her finger at me and waggled it. “I thought you were in the hospital. You all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, Hildy.”

  “Where’s Elizabeth?” Max asked.

  “In the other room, I believe,” Hildy said, prissy with disapproval.

  “Someone calling me?” A tall, heavy-set woman bounded energetically into the kitchen. “Max! Good to see you. And is this your sweetheart?” She took my hand, engulfing it between both of hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “Thea, this is Elizabeth Brocheck, Buster’s wife.”

  Elizabeth dropped her voice and turned her back on Hildy. “Have you seen Buster, Max?”

  “No, we just got here. Is he out on the fire line?”

  “I don’t know. I’m worried about him.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I wish I knew.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Hildy and drew us farther away. “He’s been nervous as a cat, can’t sit still. All riled up about Kid Corcoran and this old jade. Lordy, I wish that man had never come back to Rawhide. I’m afraid they’re going to do something real stupid.”

  “They? Who’s they?”

  “I don’t know, but that Hildy Gilstrom is egging Buster on. He’s been going to town every night. If he were ten years younger, or twenty,” she amended wryly, “I’d think he was having an affair.”

  The back door swung open again, and more people filed into the kitchen led by the old Chinese couple, Patrick O’Donnal and Auntie Lee. I wondered if Jimmy Chin had come with them.

  “Come on in,” Elizabeth called, rushing to help the old couple with the load of supplies they carried.

  “What’s this, Patrick? Are you going to make us some of that marvelous Moo Goo Gai Pan?”

  “No. I got the fixin’s for Sloppy Joes. These guys are going to need something more than cold sissy sandwiches to tide them over,” he said with a cackle, hoping to get a rise from the women slathering mayo on bread, and delighted when he did so.

  Elizabeth hooked her arm into Max’s and drew us aside again. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him, Max. He promised not to go to the fire line, but you know Buster. Thinks he’s still a kid.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Elizabeth,” Max said. She thanked him and went off to help Patrick get the pots and pans he needed. I noticed that Auntie Lee and Hildy were in a corner talking quietly.

  Max turned to me. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m going outside to see if I can find Buster. Do you want to go with me or stay in here for awhile?”

  “I’ll stay here and help out for a bit; just keep me posted.” Though I didn’t say so, there were several things I wanted to pump both Hildy and Auntie Lee about. Max would surely advise keeping my nose out of things, but curiosity is indeed an abiding sin. And incurable.

  I wandered over to where Hildy manned the coffeepots. She had to stand on a stool to pour water into the tall pot. “Hi,” I said. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Sure. There’s two more thermos jugs over there that somebody brought in. Let’s get them filled and ready to go.”

  I squeezed by Auntie Lee, who stood at the counter chopping onions. “Hello,” I said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  She nodded. I grabbed the jugs, and went back to the pots. Auntie Lee eyed the cuts, scrapes and assorted Band-aids on my arms. “Looks like you wrestled a pole cat.”

  “It felt like it, too,” I said with a laugh.

  “What happened anyway? Do you remember?”

  “I fell into a pile of brush, weeds and stickers,” I said, dreading another barrage of questions.

  “Before or after the Kid rang your bell and high-tailed it out of town? What were you doing out there with him, anyway?”

  I gave her the brief sanitized version without, of course, any mention of jade. I wanted to question both her and Hildy about the price of rough jade, but couldn’t think how to do it without rousing suspicion.

  Trying to lead in at a different angle I said, “I was fooled by the jade imitations I saw at the Lotus Cafe. I thought they were genuine until you told me differently. They’re quite beautiful, anyway.”

  She eyed me with the disdain of a true connoisseur, and made a disparaging noise. “You would not think them beautiful if you had seen the real thing.”

  “What were the original pieces like?”

  “The one called Buddha’s Fingers looked much like the replica in the case, but the artistry…” She shook her head and raised her palms, unable to find the proper words.

  “The other piece was a bowl, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t find anything even close to the original piece,” Patrick broke in brusquely, browning chunks of hamburger in a large pot, “so I bought that bowl instead, and the lotus bud. Thought they’d look nice in the restaurant, give it a touch of the old world, but it just made this one,” he jerked his head at his wife, “mad.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Every time I see them I get mad at that Corcoran kid. He stole them right out of my parents’ home. Family heirlooms.”

  “Loot, you mean,” Patrick said triumphantly. “You can bet that jade came from the sack of the Imperial Palace.”

  “You don’t know that,” Auntie Lee said with a sniff.

  “How else would a poor peasant who crossed the ocean to work as a cheap laborer come up with a piece of jade? Ha!” He banged the pot with the wooden spoon he was using.

  Hildy rolled her eyes expressively at me and the others and hid a little smile. Evidently the argument was familiar to everyone.

  Patrick wasn’t finished. “Corcoran stole the jade from us, our relations stole it from the Emperor. What difference does it make? I like my fakes better, anyway.”

  “What did the other piece look like?” I jumped in again, hoping I wouldn’t stir the flames, but needing to know, anyway.

  “Ahh,” Auntie Lee rhapsodized. “Beautiful, beautiful. A tall green vase with dragon handles. When I was a child I used to stare at the dragons until they seemed to move. I was afraid to touch it. I thought it was alive.”

  My heart began to thud; the description fit the vase hidden in Kate’s room. “It sounds lovely. Do you have pictures of the pi
eces? I’d love to see them.”

  She sniffed disdainfully again. “No. Why would you take pictures of jade? You must hold it in your hands, lose yourself in the depths of color, examine the artistry from every angle. The true beauty of jade wouldn’t show up in a photograph.”

  The door opened, accompanied by a burst of wind that riffled everything loose in the room. More people filed in to join us in the crowded kitchen. Florie was among them, lugging another giant coffeepot. She nodded curtly to everyone.

  The conversation changed subtly. Hildy and Auntie Lee turned back to their respective jobs. Onions tossed into the old Chinese man’s cooking pot sizzled and filled the air with a tantalizing aroma. I wondered where Max was.

  “Here,” I said to Florie, “let me help you with that.” We hefted the coffee-maker onto an open countertop at the far side of the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” she said, with a timid smile.

  “Have you got anything else?”

  “A couple of bags by the door.” I brought them in. Whether I liked her or not, I thought I owed her some kind of explanation. “I’m sorry about your grandfather, Florie, and if some of the blame for his disappearance rests on me, well, I apologize.”

  She looked surprised by my words. “Believe me,” she said, “I’m sorry if he hurt you. I…I just haven’t handled this situation well. Mom was always so loyal to him, until…but I hated his guts. I didn’t know what to do when he showed up.” She began to take sandwich-makings from one of the bags. “Did he go into Mom’s old house out there?” she asked, casting a sideways glance at me.

  “No, but I had the feeling he’d been in there the day before.”

  “You think the Zimmerman girl took him to the country, too?”

  “I’m pretty sure she did. Why?”

  “Did he seem mad about anything?”

  “No,” I said. At least not until he hit me over the head with a shovel. “Why do you ask?”

  For a moment I thought she was going to tell me, then her face closed and she said, “Oh, nothing important. I was just wondering.”