Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) (16 page)

Thirty-Six

I hated hearing Sam talk about leaving. We’d learned so many new facts and needed time to fit the pieces together. We kept walking toward the lodge.

“More happened at the corral,” Meredith said. “After Ranger shooed me away from the horse, I saw Monty talking to a cowboy that I’d never seen before. His hat hid most of his face, and his hair hung longer than his chin, so I couldn’t see his features.

“He glowered down at Monty,” she said. “‘I’m riding with you,’ he told Monty. They walked into the barn. I ambled closer, petting horses as I went, so I could eavesdrop. I couldn’t hear much, except when they talked loud.”

“Monty said, ‘Ranger’s got enough wranglers. He can’t hire you.’

‘If he don’t, you’re going back to jail,’ the cowboy said.

‘Nah. That can’t happen…’

‘Sure as hell can,’ the cowboy said. ‘You probly told the boss you just cut a gang member. I heard that kid died. Bet your boss don’t know that.’

“Monty looked real worried. When they came out of the barn, I turned my back and pretended to be totally engrossed in my horse. But I could still hear them.”

“‘Got me a sweet deal here,’ Monty said. ‘Might be head wrangler someday. I can’t go back to that jail.’

“‘Then cut me in on your deal,’ the guy said. ‘If anybody here gets suspicious… get rid of ’em.’

“They were walking toward me, so I fiddled with my horse’s cinch. Monty came over and introduced the cowboy as Currin Dowdy, a guy from his rodeo days. Dowdy looked at the ground. Just then, Selma showed up and said she’d try to ride because she didn’t want to get back in the river. Ranger saddled a horse for her that looked like it was asleep, and we mounted.

“Nobody talked during the ride,” Meredith said. “Selma was too scared of her horse to say much. Dowdy’s a big guy, and he rode right behind Monty the whole way, like he was trying to intimidate him. When we got back, Selma and I dismounted, and Ranger started talking to Monty and the cowboy in low tones. I couldn’t hear what they said.”

“Sounds like Dowdy and Monty might have been jailbirds together,” Sam said. “Monty’s hiding information he didn’t tell Ranger.”

When we neared the lodge, Sam stopped and turned to us. “I think you and Meredith should make some excuse about a sick relative and go back to San Antonio.”

She and I exchanged glances.

“If you take us home and come back,” I said, “it’ll blow your cover. Somebody’s bound to figure out you stayed to investigate and will check you out.”

“We can help you, Sam,” Meredith said. “We can pick up tidbits without the killer having any reason to suspect us.”

I loved Meredith’s logic. Since we were all famished, she and I had a reprieve, at least through dinner—maybe through the next day—while Sam decided what to do. If I stepped up my investigation, maybe I could flush out the killer before Sam decided we should leave. At the right time, I’d tell him what I’d learned, and we could work together. I realized my curiosity was trumping my judgment, but we were so close to learning what happened. It might help Vicki.

Hunger and necessity sharpen one’s mind. The bud of an idea took shape.

In the dining hall, everybody shuffled around in silence while Maria put dinner on the serving bar. There wasn’t even much chatter in the food line or after everybody sat. Once guests were settled, Bertha stood.

“I know you’re all concerned about Vicki. I’m happy to tell you she’s recovering.”

The group uttered a collective sigh. Sam, Meredith, and I sliced glances at each other.

“Her parents are with her at the hospital in San Antonio. I’m sure we’ll find out more details later. Until then, enjoy your dinner.”

Bertha was lying to keep guests from leaving the ranch. My imagination raced. Maybe Bertha and Vicki had argued. Vicki discovered something Bertha didn’t want her to know about the Vernons’ deaths or the water well. In her anger, Bertha spooked Vicki’s horse. Bertha couldn’t let everyone know how critical the girl was. If Bertha had caused Vicki’s fall and the girl died, she’d be ruined.

I glanced at the elk positioned high on the wall with his brown eyes surveying the room. If only trophies could talk. I noticed something different about the smaller animals hanging from the ceiling. Were wires holding them the same kind Ranger used for sculptures? The same type of wire I’d found where Vicki was thrown? I needed to examine those specimens up close.

Nobody seemed sufficiently motivated to move outside to a campfire. Sunny sang a few songs in the lodge dining room, sad songs. It was nearly dark when we left the lodge to return to our cabins. We three kept to ourselves, speculating about Bertha’s announcement and how the others had reacted.

With my feet itching like crazy, I crystallized my plan.

After dark, I’d sneak back to the lodge.

Thirty-Seven

When I was sure everyone was asleep, I popped upright and reviewed my plans. My actions might prove dangerous. I didn’t want Meredith involved.

I slipped into baggy jeans, tennis shoes and the pigeon vest I’d stuffed under my sheet. The vest had a pocket for my flashlight in case the moonlight wasn’t bright enough for me to see clearly. I crept out the door and stood on the stoop, adjusting my eyes to the darkness. The moon was barely visible, but I could see the path to the lodge well enough not to need my light, so I zipped it in my pocket so it wouldn’t fall out. I didn’t want to attract attention, especially if a murderer was out prowling.

I’d taken a few steps down the path when I heard something whistling. Sliding into shadows at the path’s border, I stood stock-still and listened. The sound came from above me. I looked up. High in a tree, a bird with an owl-shaped head trilled a whistle. A Whippoorwill? Exhaling, I inched forward, still moving close to the brush. The sound of unidentified animals scurrying close by propelled me back onto the path.

When I neared the lodge, I stayed on my side of the path, hiding in shadows, my eyes searching in all directions for movement or sound. Fortunately, the outside of the lodge wasn’t lighted except for a tall overhead light on a pole behind the building that cast a soft glow.

When I felt safe, I crossed the path and tiptoed up the steps to the lodge. Squinting between the door and frame, I saw the glow of a nightlight. I turned the knob a smidgen and was surprised to find the front door unlocked. Twisting it with painstaking slowness so it wouldn’t squeak, I edged the door open and slipped inside. If Bertha was a killer, I doubted she’d be worried about anyone else coming into the lodge. On the other hand, I might find myself trapped in there with her. I made sure the front door didn’t lock behind me, in case I needed to escape.

I knew Bertha’s bedroom was to the left of the reception desk. I peeked in the room to make sure she was there. She snored like a bear.

Retrieving the flashlight from my pocket, I covered half the glass with my hand before turning it on. On tiptoe, I crept though the dining room toward the kitchen, thankful to be walking on stained concrete that didn’t creak. I found a stepstool in the kitchen, hauled it back to the dining hall without making a sound, and set it beneath the pair of suspended bobcats. When I climbed three steps up the stool, I was high enough so that moonlight streaming through the windows lit the creatures well enough for me to see details. I zipped the flashlight back in my pocket.

Both cats had brown and gray fur, but the reddish cast of fur down their backs was most distinctive. Black spots ran through the fur. The larger cat, probably the male, was three feet long and looked like he weighed around thirty-five pounds. The smaller female, about thirty inches long, probably weighed close to thirty pounds. She was twice the size of an average house cat.

I was close to their round pixie-like faces and black-tufted ears. Their “bobbed” tails had black points marking the tips, as though they’d been dipped in ink. I ran my hand from the top of the female’s head to the tip on her tail. Her fur was coarse. I expected the white fur that ran under her chin down to her stomach to be soft, but when I rubbed the fur between my fingers, it felt stiff.

I fingered the wire suspending the female cat.

It appeared to be the same kind Ranger used to sculpt his creatures. Several strands of new wire had been twisted together for strength, as though somebody had recently re-hung the cat. Was the old wire I’d found on the trail formerly used to hang these cats?

I reached up to re-position the smaller bobcat, making its tail higher. Now it appeared to look directly down toward the dining room. I wondered whether Vicki’s attacker would notice.

I studied the larger cat. Its wires were old and rusty.

“What are you doing in here, girl?” Bertha’s gravelly voice nearly knocked me off the stool. When I grabbed the wire to steady myself, I cut my hand. She stood flatfooted in long faded pajamas, her hair shooting broom-like from her head. She pinned me with beady eyes.

“I noticed this bobcat at dinner,” I stammered, holding my bleeding hand. “I…I think somebody re-hung this one with the kind of sculpture wire Ranger Travis uses.”

To my amazement, Bertha folded into the nearest chair and collapsed into tears. I eased down the stepstool and went over to pat her arm with my non-bleeding hand.

“I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?” She was in no condition to kill me, at least not yet.

She rose with effort and padded back to the reception desk, where she snatched a tissue and blew her nose. I followed, not too close, making sympathetic sounds.

I grabbed a couple of Kleenexes and pressed them to my wound to stop the bleeding, stuffed a couple more tissues in my pocket and sniffled with Bertha.

She pointed to the row of wire animal sculptures on a shelf behind the reception desk. “See those?” she said. “They’re some of Ranger’s finest work.”

I’d only glanced at them before. “Those really are good,” I said. “I didn’t know he was so versatile…talented…flexible.” Recalling Ranger’s hasty exit with Jangles after dinner, I struggled to find the right word.

“I’ve got more of his work in my bedroom,” she said, motioning me to follow.

Pausing at the threshold, I saw wire sculptures lined up like prizes on the shelf above her bed. Front and center among them was a photograph of Bertha when she was young, thin and gorgeous, standing beside Ranger Travis. Amazing.

“That’s how I used to look,” she said. “Sometimes age sneaks up too fast.”

That was a scary thought. I’d work out at the health club the instant we returned to San Antonio and get serious researching the anti-aging properties of telomeres.

“It’s a hard job, running a ranch like this by myself. Ranger used to help me. Until Vicki came.” I frowned at her. Had she spooked Vicki’s horse out of jealousy? She started crying again.

“I didn’t hurt Vicki, if that’s what you think. We have our disagreements, but her accident means I could lose this ranch. People might be afraid to come here…afraid of the horses…afraid we’re careless… whatever. This here ranch is all I’ve got. It’s my home and I love it.” She was crying so hard, I began to believe her. She settled down.

“I found out Vicki was about to leave the ranch,” she sniffed. “I went into her cabin the other day, just to check things out. I found maps.”

“What kinds of maps?”

“Of a bunch of islands somewhere down past Florida.”

Vicki’s having the same maps of the Caribbean that Sunny had confirmed it. She really intended to go there. She’d apparently discussed her departure with Sunny, and Bertha found out. Maybe Bertha spooked Vicki’s horse so she couldn’t leave. Maybe she just wanted to delay Vicki’s departure, but the girl’s injuries turned out to be serious. Was it possible Bertha didn’t know how critical Vicki’s injuries were?

Was it conceivable Sam had asked EMS, SAPD, the hospital and Vicki’s parents to keep her condition quiet long enough for him to investigate at the ranch? Had Sam conspired with the Bandera sheriff?

Maybe I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

If the ranch hands knew Vicki was dying, they might figure they were suspects and flee, especially if they had criminal records or histories of mental instability. That would really stymie ranch operations.

It was more likely Bertha knew the truth about Vicki’s condition. Even if she’d caused Vicki’s fall, Bertha would try to maintain normality as long as she could.

I knew one thing for sure; I shouldn’t contest Bertha’s assertion that Vicki was on the mend. It was better for me to feign ignorance and try to calm Bertha.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” I said. “We can try to find out what happened without upsetting everybody. I’ll try to help. I’m sorry I came in here and startled you. Do you have a flashlight I can borrow to see my way back to the cabin?”

“There’s a good moon out. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting back,” she said, “but you can take this one.” She sniffled and handed me a flashlight. “I’m glad to have somebody to talk to. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

When I stepped outside, the moon was brighter. Two Texas toads jumped sideways off the lodge porch. Mexican tree frogs honked in response. Uncomfortable with the noise, I slipped across the path and started down the other side, trying to stay in the shadows. The moonlight made me feel vulnerable. I didn’t know whether anyone had followed me to the lodge, or who might be outside waiting. I wrapped Bertha’s flashlight in Kleenex and held it tightly in case I needed it for a weapon.

Invisible animals scurried close by through the brush. I imagined small creatures—mice, rabbits and squirrels—trying to escape larger ones like raccoons, skunks and coyotes. I preferred to think the javelinas were someplace else. Thinking about critters kept me from contemplating which human nocturnal hunters might be watching.

I heard, “Whoo whoo whoo whoo, whoo whoo!” and froze. When I looked up, a barred owl with a round monkey face and dark eyes stared me down. His yellowish bill stuffed in his circle of neck feathers made him appear all-knowing. I could imagine him thinking, “I know what you’re up to, whoo whoo.” I’d read somewhere the Romans believed barred owls warded off evil spirits. My protector was watching. I felt calmer.

When I finally reached our cabin and slipped in, I put Bertha’s flashlight in a plastic bag with the tissue still wrapped around it. If we needed the forensics lab to extract her prints, I’d give the flashlight to Sam.