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Authors: Bill Crider

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BOOK: A Mammoth Murder
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“What if he really did see something?”
Rhodes started to say that was impossible, but Jan held up her hand. Rhodes wondered if that was how she got people to be quiet in faculty meetings.
“Maybe
something
is putting it a little strongly. But what if he just saw a shadow or saw something move?”
“I don't think he did.”
“But he might have,” Claudia said. “We're not saying it was Bigfoot. But what if someone is in those woods posing as Bigfoot?”
“Why would anybody do that?” Ivy asked. “Those woods are full of feral hogs. Hanging around there would be dangerous.”
“There must be something there besides the hogs,” Jan said. “Something someone's protecting or hiding or looking for.”
“For example?” Rhodes said.
“A meth lab,” Claudia said. “We think the woman at the store was killed by someone who was stealing ammonium nitrate fertilizer to use for making methamphetamine in an illegal lab. And he's posing as Bigfoot to keep people away from the lab that's hidden in the woods.”
“That's not bad,” Rhodes said, “except for the fact that Louetta didn't sell fertilizer. Just cattle feed. And there's no meth lab in those woods.”
Rhodes had dealt with meth labs before, and he knew how easy they'd become to set up, hide, and move around. Nobody would
set one up in the woods where the feral hogs were a problem. There were too many other places.
“It's a good try,” Rhodes said. “But I'm afraid it's not quite right. What's your next theory?”
“We don't have one. You'll have to come up with something better if you want one.”
“What if I can't?”
“You will,” Claudia said. “That's why they pay you the big bucks.”
Rhodes didn't have a response to that, but he didn't need one. Mary Jo arrived at the table bearing food.
Mary Jo was professional and efficient, but Rhodes thought she seemed preoccupied. When he mentioned it to the others, they agreed.
“Maybe she just needs a cigarette,” Rhodes said.
“Or maybe she's just realized that Larry's really dead,” Ivy said.
“I don't think it really bothers her that Larry's dead,” he told them.
“You mean she didn't care about him?” Jan said.
“Not much, or so she says.”
Claudia and Jan got very interested in Mary Jo as a possible suspect. They told Rhodes that they were going to ask her for an interview.
Rhodes said that would be fine with him. He was beginning to wonder if Mary Jo might have lied to him, too, the way Karen Sandstrom had. Mary Jo's number hadn't shown up on Colley's cell phone, but they might have met and talked in person.
“She's a big woman,” Claudia said. “Big enough to kill somebody, if she hit him hard enough.”
“I don't think Mary Jo is the kind of person who'd be hiding out in Big Woods,” Ivy said. “Not for any reason whatsoever. And certainly not posing as Bigfoot.”
“Well, somebody took her ex-husband there and killed him,” Jan said. “Maybe she's the one. It's nearly always the ex-wife or the ex-husband that the police suspect. They never admit it, though. They just say something like ‘Naturally we want to ask him some questions.' Or ‘her.' But in the end it turns out that the ex is the one who did it.”
“Nearly every time,” Claudia said. “Isn't that right, Sheriff?”
Rhodes said he never excluded anybody from an investigation.
“A typical nonanswer,” Claudia said. “But I think the article in the paper said that there were two ex-wives. Isn't that right?”
Rhodes said that it was.
“Makes it a little harder for the handsome crime-busting sheriff,” Ivy said, grinning at Rhodes. “He has to make a choice.”
“That's why they pay him the big bucks,” Rhodes said.
THE STEAKS WERE EXCELLENT, OR AT LEAST RHODES'S WAS. HE carefully trimmed off the excess fat, but the meat was marbled with plenty more.
All the time they were eating, the noise from the private room rose in volume. It had been hardly noticeable at first because of the other noise in the restaurant, but it finally became something of a distraction. Sam Blevins went into the room several times to quiet things down, and the other diners occasionally gave it a curious glance when there was a particularly loud burst of laughter or yelling. The two waitresses who were working the tables for the Bigfoot hunters came out looking harried.
“The handsome crime-busting sheriff is going to have a word with those people shortly,” Ivy told Claudia and Jan.
“About the noise?” Jan asked.
“No. He's going to tell them that this town isn't big enough for them and him.”
Jan's eyes lit up. “Is there going to be trouble?”
“No,” Rhodes said. “And it's not quite as dramatic as Ivy makes it out to be. I'm just going to tell them that they need to leave because there's no Bigfoot in the woods, that they'd be trespassing if they went to look for the Bigfoot that's not there, and that they're going to cause themselves more trouble than they need to if they don't leave town.”
“Just like in the movies,” Claudia said. “
High Noon
. Or maybe
Shane
.”
“Or
Dirty Harry,”
Jan said. “‘Do you feel lucky, punk?'”
It was possibly the worst Clint Eastwood impression that Rhodes had ever heard, but then Claudia said, “Come on, punk. Make my day,” and that was even worse.
“It's not anything like that,” Rhodes said. “Mainly because there won't be any shooting and there won't be any fighting.”
“Speaking of no shooting,” Jan said, “I don't ever see you with a gun or in uniform.”
“The sheriff is the only member of the department who doesn't have to wear the uniform when he's on duty,” Rhodes said, “and I'm on duty twenty-four hours a day. I do carry a sidearm, though. You just can't see it.”
“Is it under your shirt?”
“It's in an ankle holster,” Rhodes said.
He'd just started wearing the ankle holster a week or so earlier, and he wasn't fond of it. It did, however, keep his .38 out of sight, and it was secure. He'd read about people in other departments who'd had trouble with various sidearms and holsters, including a couple of cops in Houston, one of whom had accidentally released the safety slide of his automatic when he slid into the seat of his car. The pistol fired a bullet into his foot. Rhodes didn't like
automatics in the first place, and he also didn't like having his weapon out for all to see, so he'd decided to give the ankle holster a try. The disadvantages were that it put the gun out of easy reach and it was uncomfortable. Rhodes told himself that he'd get used to it sooner or later.
“If you have to use the pistol, I hope you can grab it before someone shoots you,” Ivy said.
“No one's going to shoot me, and I'm not going to have to use the pistol.”
Rhodes finished his steak and stood up.
“Now, if you'll excuse me,” he said, “I'll go have a talk with those Bigfoot fellas.”
“Be careful,” Ivy said.
Claudia and Jan didn't say anything. Rhodes thought that they were rather hoping he
wouldn't
be careful. They might be hoping for some untoward action to spice up their article.
Rhodes was determined not to give it to them. He'd go in, make his statement, and leave. Simple as that.
Except that it didn't quite work out the way he'd planned.
 
 
Sam Blevins met him as he reached the big double door that went into the private room.
“They're a little bit rowdy in there, Sheriff,” Sam said. His voice had a nervous edge. “I just want you to know that I don't serve any beer or liquor here. If they have it, they didn't get it from me.”
It was illegal to sell hard liquor in Blacklin County, but restaurants could serve beer if they had a license. Blevins liked to think he ran a family establishment, and he had never applied for a license, as far as Rhodes knew.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Rhodes said.
“Yeah.” Blevins avoided Rhodes's eyes. “I think some of those fellas are drinking liquor, but every time I go in, they hide it. One of the waitresses said she saw a flask or two. Are you gonna make any arrests?”
“I just want to talk to them for a minute. I'm not working for the Alcoholic Beverages Commission tonight.”
Blevins relaxed a little. “I just wanted you to know that if they have it, they didn't get it here. If they brought it with them, I can't be responsible.”
Rhodes said that he understood and went into the room. The Bigfoot hunters were laughing and talking and shouting to one another up and down the long tables that seated six on a side. Rhodes saw glasses of iced tea, water, and sodas, but he didn't see any flasks, and he didn't see anyone spiking the soft drinks. The nearly empty plates in front of the men were smeared red with ketchup, barbecue sauce, and steak sauce.
Rhodes's entrance didn't disturb anyone for a while. The talking and laughing went right on as it had before he'd come in. Then Bud Turley, who was sitting not too far from the door, noticed him and stopped talking to the man next to him.
The man turned to look at whatever had caught Bud's attention, and Rhodes saw that he was Jeff, and sitting next to him was Charlie, who also turned toward Rhodes when Jeff jabbed him with an elbow.
They were still dressed as they'd been earlier that day, even including the caps. For that matter, practically everyone in the room except Rhodes had on a cap. Rhodes could remember when men removed their head coverings when going into a building, and they certainly would never have worn a cap or hat inside a restaurant.
Now, hardly anyone took off his cap, no matter where he was. Rhodes didn't know for sure, but he suspected that some men must wear their caps to church. Maybe they even slept in them.
Charlie nudged the man next to him, and in a short time everyone had been nudged, poked, or kicked under the table. The room became very quiet, and Rhodes could hear the piped-in music clearly for the first time that night. It was some current country song, he supposed, since he didn't recognize either the tune or the singer. He'd stopped being interested in country music when it got taken over by the hat acts, and he hadn't gone back to it.
Bud Turley was the first one to speak. He said, “Hey, Sheriff. Glad you could join us this evening.”
He didn't look glad to Rhodes. He looked as if a skunk had just come into the room and filled the air with his spray. Turley stood up, looking a little unsteady on his feet, and waved an arm in Rhodes's direction.
“Boys,” he said, “I want you all to meet Dan Rhodes, high sheriff of Blacklin County. I expect he's come to welcome you to Clearview and then to tell you to get your sorry butts out of town.”
People started talking in low voices. Rhodes couldn't make out what they were saying. He had a feeling that it was about him and that it wasn't complimentary, but maybe he was being paranoid.
Bud sat down, and most of the men in the room looked at Rhodes as if they wouldn't mind if he disappeared or if his head exploded, with a slight preference for the latter. So he hadn't been paranoid, after all.
“I'd like to welcome you all to Clearview,” he said.
Jeff and Charlie looked at each other and laughed. After a slight pause, the others joined in, except for Bud, who didn't seem amused.
“But I'm not here to tell you to get your sorry butts out of town,” Rhodes continued.
The laughter died down. Rhodes thought he had them a little off balance.
“What I do have to tell you is that you'll have to stay out of Big Woods. Besides the fact that it's the scene of an ongoing investigation into a murder, it's owned by a man here in town. His name is Gerald Bolton. He's told me that he doesn't welcome trespassers, and he'll be obliged to press charges if I catch any of you out there.”
Bud Turley muttered something under his breath.
Rhodes pointed in Bud's direction. “Bud is likely to say that he's been hunting arrowheads on that land since he was a kid, and that's a fact. Mr. Bolton didn't mind that. But he doesn't want a lot of people trampling over his property, and I don't want anybody messing with my crime scene.”
Rhodes was exaggerating Gerald Bolton's wishes a little bit, but he didn't think anybody in the room was going to check up on him.
“So the deal is this,” Rhodes said. “You're welcome to stay here in Clearview, have your meetings, enjoy the hospitality of our fine business and eating establishments like the Round-Up here, and generally have yourselves a good time. You can even look for Bigfoot in our parks or any public land. But you're not welcome to go messing around in Big Woods.”
Bud Turley muttered again, and this time Rhodes didn't let it go. He knew he should have, but something in him just wouldn't allow it.
“You have something to say, Bud?”
Bud got up again, not a bit steadier than he'd been the first time
he did it. He stepped over to stand near Rhodes, who got a whiff of liquor.
“Maybe you'd better not say anything, after all,” Rhodes told him.
Rhodes left him and went to the table. He picked up the glass that Turley had been drinking from. It was about half full of what looked like a soft drink. Rhodes sniffed it. It might have started out as a soft drink, but something definitely had been added to it.
Rhodes put the glass back on the table as Jeff and Charlie poked each other and snickered like a pair of high school Harrys. They reminded Rhodes of an aging Beavis and Butthead. In fact, if Beavis and Butthead were still around, they'd probably be hunting for Bigfoot on weekends. It was for sure they wouldn't be having dates.
“Bud,” Rhodes said, “it might be time for you to go home.”
Bud gave him a defiant stare. “Not going anywhere. You let that professor stay out there on Bolton's land. No reason we can't go there.”
“Dr. Vance isn't in the woods,” Rhodes said. “You can visit him at his dig if you want to, but that's all.”
Jeff spoke up. “How about us? Me and Charlie, I mean. All right if we visit that professor?”
“No, it's not all right,” Rhodes said. “We can't have too many people trampling around the dig. It would mess everything up.”
He wasn't sure just what would be messed up, since people had been trampling up and down that creek for a lot longer than anybody could remember, but Bud Turley seemed to have some ideas on the subject.
Bud got a panicked look on his face at the mention of the dig.
He said, “The Sheriff is right. That dig's important. Don't want anybody out there causing problems.”
Rhodes hadn't expected Bud to agree with him, but it made sense that he would. There was no Bigfoot in the woods, and nobody was likely to find a trace of one, but the mammoth was real, and the person who'd found it was Bud Turley. He wouldn't want anybody to mess up his claim to fame.
“Bud,” Rhodes said, “I've been visiting with two women who say they're going to write a magazine article about that mammoth. They'll be wanting to interview you and take a picture or two to put in the magazine.”
“See?” Bud said to Jeff and Charlie. “You can't go making trouble. This's too important for that.”
“Who's more important?” Jeff said, standing up. “You? That mammoth?” He paused and looked around the room. “Or Bigfoot?”
The men at the tables stared at Bud and started muttering to each other. Rhodes couldn't make out all the words, but it was clear that some of them thought Bud was a glory hog who'd gladly sacrifice their chance to find Bigfoot just to get his picture in some magazine.
Bud struggled to say something to refute them, but the words didn't come out, and nobody was listening to him anyway. So instead of saying what he wanted to say, he pushed Rhodes aside and shoved Jeff hard in the chest with both hands.
Jeff fell backward, overturning his chair and kicking the bottom of the table as he flipped over. Plates, glasses, and silverware rose in the air and clattered back down onto the wooden table. One plate missed the table and shattered on the floor. Men pushed
out of the way as water, tea, and spiked soft drinks flowed across the tabletops and dripped into their chairs and onto the floor.
Charlie didn't even look at his fallen friend to see if he was hurt. He jumped for Bud, but Bud was too quick for him. He grabbed hold of Charlie's neck with both hands. Charlie's eyes bugged out, and his face reddened. He didn't try to break Bud's grip, however. He clapped his hands around Bud's neck and started to choke him in return.
BOOK: A Mammoth Murder
5.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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