The Tamarack Murders (6 page)

Shanks leaned back in his chair and peered up at the ceiling as if the names might be written there. “Oh boy, I'm terrible at names. Let's see, the big one was Beeker and the shorter one, Dance. Horace Beeker and Ed Dance.

Tully helped himself to another piece of banana bread.

Gridley smiled. “I heard some talk today about the robbery, but it never occurred to me I might be involved. I try not to think too much about things that don't involve me.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Tully said. “Seems as if just about anything that happens in Blight County involves me.”

“That's what you get for being sheriff. Now me, I hang out mostly with lowlifes. Hear lots of chatter about what's going on in the criminal world. If ever I can be of any help, Bo, just let me know.”

“Thanks. Any help you can give me will be much appreciated. By the way, Grid, I understand from Sil you two are quite the birders.”

Shanks face lit up. “I can't tell you how much I hate that term ‘birder,'but I guess I am one. I love it. We've traveled all over the country looking for the little rascals, and I've life-listed every one in the country except, I think, the ivory-billed woodpecker. It's supposed to be extinct, but a couple of fellows down in Arkansas claim to have seen one. One of these days we're going to head down to Arkansas, Sil and me, and see if we can find one. You a birder, Sheriff?”

“Sort of. I go through periods of enthusiasm and even have a life list.”

“Any other hobby?”

“Yeah, I do, but I'm afraid it doesn't involve birds.”

Shanks laughed. “Enough said.”

Tully thanked Sil for the coffee and banana bread and stood up. “It's already getting pretty late. How about if I see you at Slade's about ten tonight, Grid?”

“You bet, Sheriff.”

Angie got up and joined Tully at the door. She thanked Sil and shook Gridley's hand.

“By the way, Mr. Shanks,” she said, “what do you do for a living?”

Gridley thought for a moment. “Not all that much, ma'am. I'm what folks around here call a hustler. I buy cheap and sell cheap and pick up everything free I can. But I don't steal, at least if there's any other way. I get old cars and fix them up with parts from other old cars. Make a little profit. Mostly, I try not to need money. An awful lot of life is wasted in the pursuit of money, and I try to avoid that. Someday, though, I'm taking Sil on a trip around the world.”

Angie smiled at Sil and said, “I'm going to cruise around the world someday myself, Sil. Maybe we'll meet up out there.”

Sil smiled back at her. “I hope so, Angie.”

As they stepped outside Tully noticed that Grid had parked a bright red Cadillac sedan next to the Sheriff Department's battered Ford Explorer. It had been a long while since he had seen tail fins.

“I see you're admiring my Caddy,” Grid said from behind them.

“Yes, indeed. Haven't seen one like it in thirty years.”

“Yep, not many of them around anymore. I picked it up from a classic little old lady who got herself too old to drive. It wasn't in much better shape than she was, but I restored what wasn't. On the car that is. Less than ninety thousand miles on her—the car, not the old lady. Come to think of it, she's probably got at least that much on her too.”

Tully smiled. “I bet gas was about twenty-five cents a gallon when the Caddy was new.”

Shanks laughed. “You got that right, Sheriff. It now costs me five dollars in gas to get to the end of my driveway. I don't drive it much, except when I want to impress somebody, like a school principal.”

“That work?”

“Like a charm. He thinks I must be rich to drive a car like this. Rich people can cause a school principal lots of grief.”

“They cause sheriffs lots of grief too,” Tully said.

Shanks smiled. “I expect so.”

Tully glanced into an open-sided structure that Shanks apparently used for a woodshed. Parked near the rear between two neat stacks of firewood—buckskin tamarack, Tully was willing to bet—was a red four-wheel-drive all-terrain vehicle. He knew it was a four-wheel-drive because he had been drooling over ads for the exact same vehicle. “I see you do some offroading, Grid.”

“Actually, not all that much. I got that one at a great price. It's for sale. Everything I own is for sale. If you're interested, we could go out for a run sometime.”

“I may take you up on that.”

As they were driving out, Tully noticed scattered among the trees, several old vehicles including a pickup truck, and most in various stages of disrepair. What bothered him the most, the truck had two bales of hay in its bed. Then Angie pointed to a blue car door leaning up against a tree. “What do you suppose that's doing out here?”

Tully hit the brakes and backed up. He checked his rear- view mirror to see if Shanks had gone back inside. He had. “I think I'll take a look at this.” He got out, walked around the Explorer, squatted down and looked at the door. A patch of rust the size of Tully's hand coated the door where the paint had been knocked off. In the middle of the rust was a hole the size of a dime. He ran a finger around the edge of the hole, then stood up and looked back at the doorway of the house. Shanks had opened the door and stood there watching him. “Exactly twenty-five yards, Bo!” he shouted. “Did it from this doorway with a .45 automatic!”

“That's pretty fair shooting, Grid!”

“Yeah, I thought so!”

“Mighty impressive!”

Shanks waved and went back in the house.

When Tully climbed back in the car, Angie said, “What's so impressive about hitting an old car door at twenty-five yards?”

“He hit the same hole three times.”

“Three times! How could you tell that?”

“Because there are two little crescent shapes taken out of the sides of the hole, each about the size of a fingernail clipping.”

As they turned back onto the highway, Tully glanced at the FBI agent. “Well, Angie, what did you think of Gridley Shanks?”

“To tell the truth, I was overwhelmed. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like him.”

Tully smiled. “He's probably an original, all right. Oh, maybe if you go back a couple hundred years, you might find the likes of him. What did you think of Sil?”

“She was absolutely gorgeous. I don't think she had a stitch on beneath that housecoat.”

“Really? I can't say I noticed.”

Angie laughed. “Yeah, right!”

“Well, I may have suspected, but that's not the sort of thing I ponder on.”

“I'm sure. You think Grid had anything to do with the robbery and murder, Bo?”

“I don't like to think so, but I wouldn't rule him out. It's odd to find a single fingerprint, even a partial one like that, on a strip of flagging tape, unless the tape has been wiped. Then you have to ask yourself, why would anyone wipe a strip of flagging tape? Maybe I'll have a better idea after I talk to the two fellows he let hunt on his land. They may have been up there hunting at the time of the shooting and maybe they heard or saw something. You think Grid was involved in the robbery, Angie?”

“He's probably capable of just about anything. But I really liked him, Bo.”

“Let me tell you something, Miss FBI. You will never meet a confidence man you don't like.”

“You think he's a con man?”

“The best I've ever run into.”

T
ully and Angie grabbed an early dinner at Crabbs. Lester Cline, the manager, seated them at their usual table. Tully dined with so many women he was amazed Lester could keep track of them all, matching each couple to a certain table. Maybe he had them all on computer: Bo and Susan: Table 8. Bo and Daisy: Table 12, Bo and Etta: Table 4, Bo and Angie: Table . . .

Angie said, “Why, Lester, this is the same table we ate at the last two times!”

“Yes, it is,” Lester said. “I just thought it would be nice if you and Bo had a regular table, now you're back in town for a while. I keep certain tables open most nights depending on . . .”

Tully interrupted him. “That's very nice of you, Lester. Now how about some menus?”

“Coming up, Bo. I was just saying to the agent . . .”

“And a couple glasses of wine. What would you like, Angie?”

“I'll have Pinot Grigio.”

“Make that two,” Tully said.

“Good choice. And what kind of dressing with your salads?”

They both took blue cheese on the side. Lester went to get the wine, then stopped and returned to the table. “Oh, I forgot to ask. What kind of bread? The rolls are particularly nice.”

Tully shook his head. “No matter how carefully you give your order, the waiter always has one more question. We'll both take the rolls, Lester.”

“Good choice, Bo.”

Angie said, “It must be nice to be known everywhere you go, Bo.”

“Not that nice, actually. You may find this hard to believe, Angie, but there are people around the county who are not fond of me. I know that seems crazy, but it's true.”

Lester brought their wine, left, and returned with the rolls and salads. Angie took a sip of her wine. She pursed her lips and blinked. “Where do you get your Pinot Grigio, Lester?”

“Would you believe we make it ourselves?”

“Yes, I would,” Tully said.

“Well, actually we don't. We get it from a local winery that just started up. It's owned by a lady who gave up the cow business for the grape business.”

Tully took a sip. “I have to say, it's interesting. You sure she gave up the cow business?”

“Pretty sure. Let me know if you get a sharp pain behind the eyes. There will still be a chance we can save you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Lester went back to the kitchen.

Tully said, “You asked about my suspects. Right now Gridley Shanks is one of them.”

“Suspected of what?”

“I don't know. Just a suspect. Maybe he's involved in the bank robbery. Maybe he's the shooter. We're not all that picky in Blight County law enforcement when it comes to suspects. I'm sure the murder is connected to the robbery. Maybe the flagging tape is too. Maybe it was the signal where our victim was to dump the getaway car and head up the mountain to make his escape. And to be shot.”

“But if Shanks was involved, why would he offer to introduce you to the two hunters who might be involved too?”

“Because it would have been awkward not to. He had to have some reason for hanging up the flagging tape, and he couldn't think of a lie. So he went with the truth, kind of the truth anyway.”

Lester returned to take their orders. Tully went with the garlic steak and Angie the wood-grilled shrimp.

“I'm surprised they have a wood grill at Crabbs,” Angie said.

“They don't,” Tully said. “They fake it. The grilled shrimp are still pretty good, though.”

“So they cook the Blight way?”

“You're starting to catch on, Angie.”

Tully dropped Angie off at her hotel. She said, “Please come in for a drink, Bo. They have a very nice bar.”

“I would love to, but I may have to do some serious drinking later tonight.”

“Ah yes, work, work, work.” She laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. Tully wiggled his toes to see if they had uncurled. There are pecks on the cheek and then there are pecks on the cheek. This was one of the latter.

T
hat evening Tully parked three blocks away from Slade's on the other side of the street. As he approached the entrance he could tell it was packed with a rowdy bunch, including the local motorcycle gang and numerous other Blight City characters. If he was ever to meet the person who murdered Vergil, he suspected it would be at Slade's.

The roar of the crowd diminished slightly when he walked through the bar's front door, but only for a brief moment. Then it picked up, the brave music of a local blue-grass band barely audible above the roar of the crowd. A big-bearded biker slapped Tully on the shoulder.

“What brings you to this dive, Bo? Out slumming?”

“Looking for bad guys, Mitch. Seen any around?”

The biker laughed and made a circular motion with his hand to indicate the entire crowd. “Take your pick.”

Tully shoved his way through to the bar and found Grid sipping a beer, his hat resting on an empty stool next to him.

“I saved one for you, Bo!” Grid shouted above the roar. “A stool is pretty hard to find in here this time of night!” He lifted the hat and put it on. Tully sat down on the stool. Shanks jerked his thumb in the direction of two men seated next to him. He shouted above the roar: “Horace Beeker and Ed Dance!”

Beeker loomed over the smaller Dance. Both men reached around Shanks and gave him limp handshakes.

Tully turned to Shanks. “I know a bunch of the crowd in here, Grid, and they're pretty tough. I'm surprised one of them didn't just swat your hat off the stool and sit down!”

Grid shouted back, “Oh, that happened once before, when I was saving a seat for a friend of mine. Since then, nobody has bothered my hat a single time! Don't know why.”

“Well, maybe Slade's is drawing a more civilized crowd these days. You think?”

“Could be. Hey there, bartender. Give my friend here a drink!”

The young bartender ignored him and continued talking to a couple of scruffy individuals across the bar.

“Service in here isn't what it used to be,” Tully said. “It's always been awful, but it's worse now.” He yelled at the young bartender. “Hey, bud, we need a little service here.”

“Hold your horses!” the bartender snapped back. He went on chatting with his friends.

“Excuse me a second, Grid. Oh, you and your friends might want to lift your drinks off the bar for a few seconds.”

Grid and the men next to him picked up their drinks and leaned back. Tully grabbed a hinged section of the bar, picked it up and slammed it over with a crash. The crowd went silent. Tully walked behind the bar, gave the bartender a hard shove, then stood there studying the bottles of liquor on a set of shelves. Picking up the most expensive bottle he could see, he grabbed four glasses, walked back, gave the hinged section a flip, banged it back into place, and sat down next to Grid. He filled the four glasses, then set the bottle on the bar in front of them.