Champagne for Buzzards (7 page)

Joey bolted. Any man trying to run us down was going to have his work cut out trying to outrun Joey. We flew along the narrow lane. Palm fronds and other green stuff slapped us, probably adding to Joey's speed. I bent lower in the saddle to keep from being swept away by a branch, glued to his back by panic.

At the edge of the forest I saw Tully and Ziggy careening towards me in Tully's beat-up old wreck. Joey saw it too. He came to a stop and shook his head, spraying me with lather.

“Take it easy,” I said, hoping he wouldn't turn around and bolt back into the forest. “Take it easy.” I wasn't sure if it was meant for Joey or me. I pulled Joey up close to the board fence of the pasture as the old pickup slid to a stop beside us.

Tully had a rifle across his lap. Ziggy had a shotgun, with the butt planted on the seat, in his left hand. They were looking like this was an everyday occurrence for them, a scary thought.

I panted, “Fun's over, gentleman.” I reached down and patted Joey's neck.

“What happened?” Tully asked.

“Met some bad news guys out there, but this fellow finally did something right. He bit the hand that needed it.”

Tully said, “We'll just go on out there and have a little talk with those boys.”

“Naw, everything's cool.”

Tully's mouth was pulled tight into a thin angry line. “Those guys need a lesson in manners, need to be told about trespassing.”

“Waste of time,” I said, nudging Joey into a walk. “They've already gone.”

Tully got his old truck turned around while I walked on with Joey. I was shaking all over with shock. Boomer was nasty but a known threat, at least I was stupid enough to think so. I'd dealt with a hundred guys like Boomer in a dozen different bars. Discouraging dickheads is part of the job for any woman tending bar and most of the grungy places I'd worked in abounded in fools just like Boomer Breslau.

At the moment it was the dark face in the palmettos that was scariest for me. I couldn't quantify it, didn't know what he threatened or why that guy was out there, unless he was a criminal or a crazy person. Any man hiding out in all that wilderness had to be one or the other. It wasn't an easy place to get to. There was only a narrow track, through deep jungle of vines and underbrush, running into the back two hundred acres of Riverwood. There were about a hundred acres of cleared land up near the house but the other two hundred acres had gone back to slash pines and palmettos and was home for gators, wild pigs, panthers and bugs — not a place that most people would find hospitable.

To get there he would have gone in from the lane behind the barn or have followed one of the waterways into the jungle from the surrounding farms. Those waters teemed with gators.

This much I knew: he definitely didn't want to be seen. He was hiding, and there was a murderer about. Had I just looked into the eyes of the man who killed Lucan Percell? It couldn't be a coincidence that this man had shown up the same time Lucan's body had. What had the sheriff said about looking for a stranger? That guy definitely qualified as a stranger.

I tried to think it through. Had the man in the woods been at the Gator Hole, killed Lucan and hid the body and himself in the truck?

I tried to imagine climbing into the bed of a truck with a dead body, snuggling up real close, and not screaming the place down. Then, while I was hiding there under the tarp, someone gets in the truck and drives me and the body to God knows where. It took a lot of imagination. I couldn't really come up with another scenario that put the murderer at Riverwood. It didn't make sense, but then nothing made sense.

Maybe Howie surprised the murderer when he was bashing in Lucan's head. That's why the man got in the back of the truck, to hide, and that's why he was now out in the underbrush. It was the only situation I could come up with to put both Lucan's body and a man in the truck.

It seemed sensible that when Howie brought Big Red back to Riverwood, the killer had come with him, trapped under the tarp with the body. After Howie parked the truck and went home, the murderer had taken off for the jungle out behind the farmhouse. But why hadn't he headed back to town? It wasn't that far to walk.

I didn't want to get involved with the guy in the woods or the police and I didn't want any of it to end up in the papers with my name attached. I was hoping it would all just disappear with no help from me. Self-interest is a wonderful motivator and leads to all kinds of sins.

I'd invited seventy-five people to a party, and the number one thing on my dance card was creating a fantastic evening for Clay and his friends on his birthday. Nothing else mattered.

When I got back to the barn Marley was walking Wildflower up and down outside the barn, worrying and waiting.

“Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed lift of her left shoulder.

“What for?”

“For running out on you. Those guys scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too, thanks for getting help.”

She frowned.

“Yeah, well…”

I was more concerned about Joey than Marley. I slid to the ground and checked him for damage. There were raised ridges of scratches along both of his sides and when I wiped my hand across his flank it came away with blood on it.

Tully pulled his old truck up in the shade of the barn and creaked his door open.

“He doesn't look too bad,” I said when Tully ambled over. Tully took Joey's bridle and said, “We'll rub the horses down and put them out to pasture. You two look like you could do with a coffee.”

“Do you think he's all right? Think maybe I should get a vet?”

“This horse is tougher than he looks.” He ran his hand over Joey's side. “Clay says he was bred for country like this — a little scratch won't harm him none.”

Marley and I walked in silence back to the house. Now was the time to tell Marley about the man I'd seen. I owed it to her.

And I should phone the sheriff so they could begin the manhunt. But something didn't seem right with this scenario. I was left with one nagging thought. If he was the murderer, why was he hanging about? Why was he staying? And what was Boomer Breslau doing out there? Looking for someone would be my guess.

Marley held the screen door to the kitchen open. “If you're not mad, why are you so quiet?”

“What?” I thought we'd already covered this conversation.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“What? Why?”

“I ran out on you.”

“No you didn't; you did just what I wanted you to do.”

“You sure?”

“Didn't I tell you to go for help?”

“Yeah, but…”

“You did exactly the right thing.”

“I'm not very brave,” she said, following me into the kitchen and letting the screen slam shut behind her.

“That makes you smart.” Her words were another good reason for not mentioning the face in the woods. “Brave is just another word for stupid.” If I told the sheriff what I'd seen, Marley would have to be told, that was for sure. I couldn't keep a search party quiet. And if Marley knew there was someone hiding in the woods, she'd take off for Jacaranda and there would be no one to help me. See how selfish I am?

I headed straight for the shower, distance being the best aid to silence. It would also give me time to think things over.

I wanted to present Clay and myself as a real couple. Nothing too fancy, just down home and settled. I was even going to have family present. Although Tully and Ziggy were a risk, I was trusting them to be at their most charming. I'd even bought them both new shirts to wear.

Having the sheriff's men around would interfere with my plans. And, after all, there was nothing to bring the murderer back to Riverwood, was there? That was the last place he'd want to be.

Whatever was happening way out back of beyond, it had nothing to do with me. Just as in Jacaranda what happened a block away was none of my business, same thing in the country. If it happened way out there, it was none of my business.

After my shower, I'd checked all the doors and windows in the big old house, thinking I could lock it up and make us safe. It was a crazy hopeless chore, with five entrances and double that number of windows on the ground floor, some of which couldn't be locked.

And it didn't stop there. The house had porches, the true living space, all around it. Anyone could climb up on the roof of the porches and get to the second floor that way. Any idea I had of keeping intruders out was quickly evaporating. No way could you secure this house. We were sitting targets for anyone wanting in.

I knew Clay kept a handgun in the closet of our bedroom but if I started carrying it around with me it would take some explaining. Besides, my record with firearms wasn't good — they always ended up in the wrong hands. Best not to go armed.

In the kitchen Marley announced, in a tone of disgust, “She fell off again.” Seemed she'd gotten over her worry about deserting me.

Tully shook his head in disappointment. “You used to be so athletic, always winning things in school, what happened?”

I poured a cup of coffee. “Well, you see, back then there was no horse named Joey involved.” I took my coffee with me and went to try the bolt on the back door. “That horse is a waste of space.” The lock had been painted over multiple times and probably hadn't been used in years. “What are you doing?” Tully asked.

“There's a murderer around, best to be safe. I figure we should keep the house locked for a bit.”

Marley's eyes grew wide. “I hadn't thought of that. Do you think he's still here?”

“Naw.” Tully waved the thought aside and clomped over to get a coffee mug off the rack. “Never was here. It happened in Independence, and he's long gone from there.” He poured his coffee and took a seat at the old enameled table. “'Sides, you gals got Ziggy and me. Don't worry.”

Ziggy and Tully didn't actually look like the dream team when it came to home safety and Marley's face was showing her concern. “I'm glad you're here looking after us, Mr. Jenkins, but it can't hurt to keep the doors and windows locked for security.”

“Honey, I keep telling you, call me Tully.”

“That's awfully hard to do…” she smiled at him, “…after all these years. But I think Sherri is right, we should lock up until the sheriff gets it sorted out.”

“'Cept you'll die of heat, without a breeze going through. And how are we going to get in and out?”

“Right, I forgot.” I sipped at my coffee. “You and Uncle Ziggy will expire without access to the kitchen. An interesting side advantage, my two favorite mooches will have to stock their own fridge. You do have a fridge out there, don't you?”

“Got a fine fridge. Trouble is it's full of beer, no room for food. That's why we come here. Tell you what, leave the door unlocked when we're here and we'll make sure we lock it if we go out. How will that be?”

It would have to do. But still that face was shimmering in my worry zone.

When Marley went off for a shower, I asked Tully, “What do you know about Howard Sweet?”

He rubbed his right temple with gnarled arthritic fingers. “His family was rich people who used to winter in Independence. Bought this property for the future but never really lived here. His daddy come down to Florida back in the thirties. Had some kind of big dream, you know how it is with Northerners, always got some get-rich scheme, but it didn't work out. Howie, he was borned here and never knew no other place but he wasn't any better at making things turn out than his old man. He had those two big guys living to the east and west of him, both trying to get his land to fill out their own and get control of his water. He couldn't fend them off. There was some problem with disease in his stock. Old Howie seems a bit paranoid on the subject, thinks it came from unnatural causes, thinks someone was trying to drive him out. If so, it worked. Howie went into debt to restock. Sweet Meadow Farm bought about three hundred acres to the west to get control of the water, but Howie Sweet was still way over his head in debt, that's why he sold out to Clay.”

“Was the debt just from restocking or did Howie have other needs?”

“Not sure, but I bet there wasn't much left after Clay bought this place and Old Howie paid off the banks. He let's on he's doing Clay a favor by working at Riverwood but I think he needs the money.” He rubbed the back of his neck and added, “And working here gives him a chance to hide from his wife.”

“Why didn't he just sell to one of those other ranchers?”

“'Cause he hates them both. Breslau tried to ruin him and…well, it goes way back. I don't rightly know the ins and outs of it, except Lucan worked for Breslau, did his dirty work, and you know of course that Lucan was the father of Lovey Sweet's baby?”

“What?”

Tully nodded. “All that didn't make for good relations between neighbors.”

“So Clay coming along and buying Riverwood solved everyone's problems?”