Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) (15 page)

Thirty-Three

As we drove through the gate, Sam looked at his watch. “We have a couple of hours before dinner. You said Wayne Rickoff spent time at a VA hospital? Let’s see if he’s at the firing range.”

“Good idea.” While I pictured the bleeding elk Rickoff had shot, Sam and I walked toward the range. We heard the veteran blasting away.

We sat and watched him shoot from an observation bench until he noticed us and walked in our direction.

“You’re really a good shot,” Sam told him, producing a friendly smile.

“Yeah.” Rickoff smirked. I wished he’d put down his gun. “That was one thing about being rehabbed up there,” he said. “That north country’s just lousy with them trophy elk.”

“Sounds like Wisconsin. I hunted up there with a friend a couple of times. It was only five hours from my home in Chicago.”

“Sure ’nuf?” He leaned conspiratorially toward Sam. “After I got out of the VA hospital, I stuck around just for the hunting. Had a buddy who worked on a private ranch… said we should hunt up in the Northwoods.”

Before he could repeat the details of his bloody, unlawful hunt, Sam interrupted. “Were you ever at that VA hospital in Milwaukee? Zablocki? Something like that?”

“Yeah. Zablocki Medical Center. It’s an okay place. They had a lotta entertainment for vets.”

“Aren’t there a lot of horse shows and rodeos around there?”

Rickoff stepped back. His face turned sour. He gave us a hard look. “Yeah,” he said. “Among other things.” He whirled around, still holding his gun, and stomped back to the firing area. “I gotta practice before dinner.”

“See you at the campfire, Wayne.” I waved at his back but didn’t expect an answer.

“That’s one angry man,” Sam said.

When we were far enough from the shooting range, Sam slipped into the brush and clicked open his cell phone. I dawdled around on the road picking up rocks and pretending to find them fascinating in case somebody joined us.

Sam emerged from the thicket. “I called the Landsdales. They’re in Vicki’s room. She’s still unconscious. Marcia was crying in the background, and Steve could hardly talk. He confirmed that the Zablocki VA Medical Center was where Vicki went with her no-good boyfriend to pick up vets and take them to rodeos.”

I remembered how Vicki had stared at the vet before leaving the dining hall. “I wonder if Wayne Rickoff and Vicki recognized each other.”

“Could be.” Sam fingered his gun. “You need to stay away from the firing range. That man is dangerous. And Aggie…”

“Yes?”

“Try to stay out of trouble. At least until dinner. I’m going to go clean up. See you at the lodge.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’ll go find Meredith,” I replied sweetly. “She went horseback riding this morning. We’ll see you later.”

If I concocted a plan, I’d probably have to postpone it until after dinner anyway. In the meantime, I thought I might be able to learn something.

Thirty-Four

Once Sam was out of sight, I doubled back toward the shooting range. I wasn’t going to put myself in danger by letting Rickoff see me. I was just curious about what he’d do next. Sam’s admonishment had made me eager to snoop before dinner. I walked close to the brush in case I had to scoot into the thicket and hide. I was pretty far from the range, but I spotted Rickoff.

The shooting stopped. I froze and angled deeper into dense growth. Peeking through mesquite, I saw Rickoff walk away from the practice area and enter a storage building near his cabin. He came out without his gun, thank goodness.

Instead of turning right to enter his cabin, he started heading toward the lodge. I stayed hidden in the bushes. When he was almost to the lodge, he took a sharp right on to the trail that ran around the side to the back of the building. I knew there was a trail behind the lodge, but I’d never been on it. I strolled casually down the main road in front of the lodge. As soon as I passed the building, I hid in the brush again. Rickoff reappeared on the main trail, then veered right to cut though low brush. He was walking in the general direction of Sunny Barlow’s cabin. Naturally, I followed.

I was doing a good job of hanging back and walking soundlessly like an Indian until I stepped on a twig. Hopefully, Rickoff was too deaf from shooting to hear me. I crouched down and listened, still as a stump. My heart thumped. Rickoff didn’t break stride and was definitely headed toward Sunny’s cabin. I bent over and walked on all fours to make sure I didn’t inadvertently step on crackling undergrowth. I probably looked like a grubby, prehistoric mammal.

Moving in a wide swath, I circled around to the back of Sunny’s cabin. By the time I got there, I’d managed to tear my sleeves and scratch my arms. My hands quivered from supporting my weight.

Sunny’s windows were open. He was apparently taking advantage of fresh air after the storm. When I heard Rickoff knock on his front door, I skittered closer to the back of the cabin to eavesdrop.

As soon as Sunny opened the door, Wayne accosted him.

“You followed me to this dude ranch, didn’t you? You wanted to get even for when I attacked you at the rodeo.”

“Hold on, Rickoff.”

“I saw Vicki Landsdale recognize me. She must’ve told you I was the vet who clobbered you. Are you trying to send me back to that damn hospital?”

“Nah, Wayne. You’re way off. But you’re right that Vicki saw you attack me when I clowned at the rodeo. I already knew it was you. I recognized you when I first came here—even before you shaved off your beard. I admit I kept hoping you might decide to work somewhere else, but I’m way past holding a grudge. I understood why you vet guys lash out. By the time you whacked me, I’d grown up. I wasn’t a teenager anymore.”

They grew silent.

Why didn’t one of them say something? The silence was creepy. Did Rickoff have a gun hidden on him?

I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there without making a sound. I finally heard Rickoff’s gruff baritone.

“Okay, Barlow. If you say so. But I’ll tell you one thing: don’t start getting any ideas, or you’ll wish you hadn’t. I’m damn sure not going back to that hospital.”

“No problem, Rickoff. It was a long, long time ago.”

“Yeah.” When I heard Rickoff shuffle off, I waited for Sunny to shut the door and used the sound to muffle my sprint back to the brush. I meandered in a wide circle back to the lodge. When I got near the building, I rolled my sleeves down to cover my scratches and sauntered around from the back to the far side, trying to act like I was out for a casual stroll. When I was sure there was nobody around, I hustled back to the main road to our cabin to clean up.

Rickoff must have scarred Sunny’s face. Had Sunny really forgiven him, or was he just playing it cool until he found the right time to get even?

Were we going to have another catastrophe at the BVSBar? I doubted Sunny could shoot nearly as well as Rickoff. I was halfway to the cabin before my heartbeat returned to normal.

Thirty-Five

When I got to our cabin, Meredith was dressed for dinner and bursting to tell me what she learned at the stable. When she noticed my grubby shirt and scratches, I told her not to worry; I’d walked through some brush and had another long-sleeved shirt to wear.

“I’m dying to hear what you learned this morning,” I told her. “Will you wait for Sam while I clean up and answer letters to Dear Aggie? Then you can tell Sam and me both on our way to the lodge.”

“Sure,” she said, and headed for the bench under the oak tree to wait for Sam.

I set a record freshening up for dinner and plopped down at my computer to research Wayne Rickoff’s service records, especially his medical history. What if he’d been discharged for anger issues? Were we sitting on a time bomb?

I searched Ask Jeeves for the National Archives and Veterans Service. Veterans and next of kin could obtain free copies of a record of their military service called Report of Separation to obtain post-service employment or verify their qualification for military benefits and retirement. Even if I could obtain Rickoff’s service record, which I couldn’t, it apparently contained general information such as duty stations, assignments, training, awards, medals and administrative remarks.

The only revealing data on the report might be disciplinary actions taken against Rickoff, which wouldn’t necessarily equate to PTSD anger issues.

I tried the National Personnel Records Center, which stored records of mental health treatment of military retirees. The site looked promising, until I read, “Before sending a request to NPRC, contact the last medical treatment facility to determine if a patient’s records have been retired to the NPRC.”

This was a dead end. The patient protection act, HIPAA, precluded medical facilities from releasing medical information except to veterans and next of kin. NPRC’s information was available to a third person only if the veteran authorized them to receive it. That would never happen. Strike two.

My last option was the Freedom of Information Act. Some military service information could be obtained without the veteran or next of kin’s authorization, like the transcript of a trial if the veteran had been court-martialed.

The information might not relate to a service man’s mental health, but I typed in “Wayne Rickoff.” No record of court-martial. Strike three.

It appeared that Meredith, Sam and I would have to plow through our remaining time at the ranch suspecting and fearing Wayne Rickoff, but knowing little about him. If we left the ranch without learning more, I supposed Sam could share what little we knew with local authorities.

I shut down the laptop and peered outside the cabin door in time to see Sam marching toward Meredith in detective stride.

The girls came out of their cabin, giggling, except for Millie, who still looked pale. Meredith told them to go ahead to the lodge without us.

When I joined Meredith and Sam, his furrowed brow told me our vacation days were coming to an end. “I heard Selma tell George they should leave the ranch,” he said, “that the wild-eyed vet who shoots everything in sight gives her the creeps.”

“I think we agree with Selma on that one,” I said. “I searched online for Rickoff’s service records, but they’re not available to the general public.”

We started walking toward the lodge.

“Selma said if Vicki could get thrown, she wondered how safe the other horses were,” he said.

I pictured Marbach, swiveling his rear in position to kick me to kingdom come.

“George agreed that if Vicki died,” he said, “guests would scatter like mice. If everybody left, Selma said, at least George wouldn’t have to suffer at the dude ranch anymore.”

He stopped and frowned. “The funny thing was, just before I left the cabin, I heard George tell Selma to call the Nature Conservancy. She had a friendly conversation with whoever answered. George kept prompting Selma to ask questions. I couldn’t hear all they said, but I thought I heard them mention Bertha Sampson.”

“That is strange,” I said. “Selma’s into conservation, but from what I can tell, George rejects the whole concept.”

Sam agreed. “Why would George Tensel encourage Selma to discuss Bertha with the conservancy?” We inched toward the lodge comparing notes.

Sam and I dreaded it, but we knew we had to tell Meredith that Vicki might die and that we thought somebody at the ranch had tried to kill her. When Sam told her, she stopped dead still.

“What kind of monster could kill that young girl? Why?”

“That’s what we have to find out,” he said.

When Meredith asked how we concluded someone caused Vicki’s fall, we described the clues I’d found on the trail.

“Animal hair, rope, and wire wouldn’t be accidentally lying near where Vicki fell,” Sam said. “We think somebody used those items to spook her horse.”

I also had to tell Meredith the crime lab scientist said that paint on the rock I found matched Sunny Barlow’s face paint.

She was stunned. “Not Sunny…”

I switched the focus back to Rickoff. “Any noise might have spooked Vicki’s horse,” I said, “like a shot from Rickoff’s gun. Vicki told me that when Rickoff was angry about something once, he sighted her for a few seconds through his gun scope.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sam said.

“I forgot to tell you,” I said. I decided to reveal I’d had a brief talk with Sunny. “Years ago, Rickoff cut Sunny’s face at a Wisconsin rodeo. Sunny said when Vicki accompanied her boyfriend to the rodeo, she witnessed the attack.”

Sam gave me a questioning look. “Sunny told you that?” he said.

“He let it slip.” I wasn’t about to tell Sam I’d followed Rickoff to Sunny’s cabin to eavesdrop.

Instead, I told Meredith how the Landsdales described Vicki’s brother Trey and why they sent him to the ranch. “I suspect he has a major drug problem,” I said.

“Why would Sunny or Rickoff or brother Trey want to kill Vicki?” Meredith said.

“We don’t know that any of them wanted to kill her, only that each one had a connection to her,” Sam said.

I didn’t mention the note from Vicki I’d found in Sunny’s cabin. I couldn’t admit I’d been in there, and I wasn’t sure what the note meant.

“We’ll catch the bastard,” Sam said, “whoever he is.” He hesitated. “I called the hospital again this morning,” he said. “Vicki’s still in a coma.”

“Oh, no…” Meredith said.

Sam looked pointedly at Meredith and me. “Don’t forget that whoever tried to kill Vicki Landsdale is probably still here. Don’t forget to watch your backs.”

Trying to absorb everything she’d just learned, Meredith took a deep breath before she spoke. “I learned a few things at the corral this morning. I was petting Vicki’s horse and noticed a mark on its back. I wondered if somebody’d put a burr under the saddle to make it pitch. When I moved closer to study the sore spot, Ranger Travis slipped up behind me and barked at me to leave the horse alone.

He said the horse was still nervous from the storm, sirens and helicopter and might hurt me. The horse didn’t look skittish to me. I think Ranger wanted to scare me away from investigating anything involving Vicki’s fall.”

“I’d noticed earlier,” I said, “that when Ranger tried to flirt with Vicki, she gave him the cold shoulder.”

Sam shook his head. “I should get you two out of here before you get hurt.”