Authors: Craig Johnson
Junkyard Dogs (32 page)
He laughed, picked up his goods, and departed.
I began lowering my head back onto the pillow, but the little red light on my phone began buzzing and blinking again. I punched the button, my blind hand educated by practice. “Yep?”
Ruby’s voice rang through the tiny speaker. “I’ve got Comox, Vancouver Island, on line one.”
“Got it.”
I started to punch the button, but she continued speaking. “Also, I thought I should point out that Felix Polk’s thumb is still in the commissary refrigerator.”
“Do me a favor and ship it up to Billings with the rest of him.”
“Also? John Muecke wants to know why you had him transfer funds to buy a house over on Kisling just so you could sell it through the bank.”
I thought about my Valentine’s gift that hadn’t come with any card.
“Tell him to mind his own business.” I raised my head a little and looked at Henry. “What?”
He smiled. “Nothing.”
I punched line one and the speakerphone button. “Mr. Cook?”
The connection wasn’t great. “Kingfisher Lodge.”
“Is this Pat Cook?”
“Speaking.”
He sounded old. “Mr. Cook, this is Sheriff Walt Longmire, and I’ve been trying to track you for a few days.”
The line was quiet for a moment. “Concerning?”
“Well, I’m the sheriff of Absaroka here in Wyoming.” It was silent as I studied the phone and pulled the base in closer. “Mr. Cook, were you a deputy with our sheriff ’s department in 1970 when Lucian Connally was sheriff ?” He didn’t say anything, but I could hear him breathing on the other end. “I know that it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for you.”
“What is this about?”
“Pat, do you remember a man by the name of Fred Poulson?”
Another pause, but his voice became stronger. “It’d be a hard name for me to forget.”
“I’d imagine so.” I rested my forehead in the palm of my hand and ignored the pain in my eye socket. My other hand drifted down and petted Dog—I was careful to avoid the taped-up ear. “I just thought I would give you a call that might help you to sleep a little better at night. . . .”
I glanced at the Cheyenne Nation with my one eye, and things didn’t look half-bad.
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