The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) (20 page)

“You’ve been gambling.”

“Not as big a gamble as tracking Kincaid.”

Tully turned his chair upright and flopped down into it. He glanced at Daisy. She still had her head down on her arms. Her shoulders were shaking.

Tully said, “Herb, I’ve got to see Pugh alone for a minute. Go look after Daisy, will you?”

Herb left. Pugh shut the door. He walked over and examined the small round hole in the gun cabinet. “Heck of a shot,” he said. “That far away and from a boat.” He pulled up Daisy’s chair and sat down across from Tully. He set a plastic sack on the desk.

“You sure the guy out there isn’t Kincaid?” Tully asked the deputy.

“I’m sure. You were right about the ridge on Deadman.”

“Kincaid got off a shot and nearly hit me. I was surprised he missed.”

“He didn’t get off a shot.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. The shot you heard on Deadman wasn’t Kincaid’s. It was mine. Like you told me, I found a good spot overlooking the ridge two days before. Nothing the first day. I watched it until dark and afterward in the moonlight. Still no Kincaid. Sometime around midnight I must have dozed off. Suddenly I woke up. It was almost sunrise. I looked down and there was Kincaid, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the ridge, a rifle across his knees, still as a stone Buddha. I put him in the crosshairs. Just as the sun came up, you must have stepped out of the tent, because he suddenly whipped up the rifle. I squeezed off my shot. By the way, I brought you a little trophy for your wall.” He nodded at the sack.

Tully stared at it. He thought Pugh might have slipped over the edge. Probably should give him another two weeks off. He was afraid to look in the sack, wondering what grotesque trophy his deputy might have brought him. He
reached over and gingerly opened the sack with two fingers. He stood up, bent over, and peeked inside.

It was a red-and-black plaid cap with earmuffs tied up on top.

Relieved, Tully sat back down.

“It was a nasty business,” Pugh said. “After I got the body disposed of, I took off all my clothes and buried them. Then I washed in the creek and put on some dry clothes. When I got in the tub at the hotel I ran it full of hot water half a dozen times before I figured I’d got the smell of Kincaid off me. Now he’s got a permanent resting place up on the mountain. Nobody will ever find him.”

“Old Lucas would like that.”

“Who cares?” Pugh got up and headed for the door.

“One more thing, Brian. How much did you lose at the casino?”

“Nothing, Bo. I won a hundred and fifty dollars. The county lost about four hundred, though.”

“A small price to pay.”

Tully walked out to check on Daisy. She was sitting up now, her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands. “You just saved my life,” he said.

“I feel so stupid!” she said. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

“For saving my life?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think we both could use a good stiff drink. How about it, Daisy?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “What about the office?”

“We’ll let Flo handle it.”

Tully got home at nearly midnight. For once in a long while, he didn’t bother to scan the ridge, even in the bright moonlight. He turned his key in the lock and went in. He was pretty sure his house would no longer feel empty. When even a miserable little beast like Clarence becomes company, you know you’re in trouble. Now, Tully thought, he would be okay. Sometimes just okay feels pretty darn good.

“What happened to the big painting of Ginger?” Daisy said, closing the door behind them. “I love that painting.”

“I do, too,” Tully said. “And tomorrow I’m going to get it back.”