The Blight Way (21 page)

Tully parked in his reserved space in the parking lot and headed into the courthouse. Some jail inmates were out in the cage playing basketball. They stopped to look at Tully. He looked back. For the first time, they all looked innocent to him. He held up his hand in greeting. Several of them returned the gesture. Those, of course, would be the sociopaths. Normal people remain angry at being put in jail. Still, it was nice to get a polite response for a change. Thank goodness for sociopaths.

Even though it was Sunday, several of his deputies were waiting in the briefing room when he arrived. He had told both Daisy and Eliot that he wanted them to work over the weekend. Neither seemed to view it as a hardship.

“How's Buck?” Deputy Chet Mason asked.

“Fine,” Tully told him. “Plus, he gets to spend a few days in a hospital bed with pretty nurses making a fuss over him.”

“Sounds good,” said Deputy Brian Pugh.

“How come you fellas aren't out hunting for criminals?” Tully asked. “I don't recall reading that criminals take Sunday off.”

“Just wondered if you might know why somebody is out there shooting deputies,” Mason said.

“Anyone afraid of getting shot can quit right now,” Tully said. “The possibility of getting shot comes with the job.”

“We know that,” said Mason, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group. “It's just that we'd like to know if some nut out there is randomly shooting deputies.”

“I'm not sure,” Tully said. “But I don't think so. I don't want to have myself quoted in the media about this, but I'm pretty sure Buck was a case of mistaken identity.”

“You mean somebody thought Buck was you?” Mason said.

“That's my guess.”

“That's a relief,” Pugh said.

Tully gave him a look.

Pugh grinned broadly. “Only kidding, Bo.”

“Anyway,” Tully said, “there's nothing I can tell you now about who shot Buck or why. It's probably got something to do with the mess up in Famine. I don't think you boys have anything to worry about, at least nothing more than you usually worry about. So now I would like you all to hit the pavement. Or your SUV seats.”

The deputies trooped out, grousing among themselves. Ah, back to normal, Tully thought.

“You been feeding Wallace?” he said to Daisy.

“Yes, sometimes twice a day, if there's a fly handy. But I hate that spider and he hates me.”

“Hold on for a couple more days. We may get this thing in Famine wrapped up soon.”

“Really? I sure hope so. It gets lonely around here.”

Tully was going through the door of his office. He stopped and looked back at Daisy. “By the way, how are you and Albert getting along?”

“Great.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah, he moved out a week ago, and there hasn't been a cross word between us since.”

“You're getting divorced?”

“Looks that way.”

“Sorry I brought it up. Would you get Paul Cooper over at Central Electric on the phone for me? You'll have to reach him at home.”

“You bet, Sheriff.”

Tully had known Paul Cooper for more than thirty years. He'd been a pretty decent fellow at one time, but then he'd seen the movie
A River Runs Through It
. A day later he was out buying six-hundred-dollar fly rods and the flies and tackle to go with them. He ordered a top-of-the-line fly-fishing vest, hat and waders from Orvis. Suddenly, and for once in his life, Cooper had style. He looked perfect out fishing Henry's Fork. But he was about the worst fisherman Tully had ever seen. He should have taken one of Orvis's fly-fishing clinics, too.

His phone buzzed. Tully sprawled out in his chair
and picked up the receiver. “Paul Cooper on One,” Daisy said.

Tully punched the One button.

“How you doing, Paul?”

“Fine, Bo. You?”

“Excellent.”

“Does this have anything to do with those murders up in Famine?”

“Can't talk about that. Of course, I could subpoena the info from you if I figured you would put me to all the trouble.”

“Tell me again, how big were those cutthroat?”

“About twenty inches, maybe a little more.”

“Okay, Bo, tell me what you want to know.”

Tully told him.

“You be in your office?” Cooper said.

“Yeah.”

“I'll call you right back.”

Chapter 41

While he was waiting for Paul Cooper to call him back, Tully wandered out into the briefing room. Herb Eliot was sitting on the edge of Daisy's desk. Daisy was laughing at something he'd said.

“I hate to interrupt, but could I have a few moments of your precious time, Herb?”

“Sure, boss. My place or yours?”

Daisy laughed even harder.

Herb grinned at her. “I'm really on today, aren't I?”

“Yours,” Tully growled.

After they'd entered Herb's glassed-in cubicle, Tully closed the door behind them.

“You don't have something going with Daisy, do you, Herb?” he asked.

“What? No, I'm happily married. Let me rephrase that. I'm married. I was just having a little fun with her.”

“You know that Daisy and Albert the Awful are separated, getting a divorce?”

“No!”

“It's true. She just told me.”

“You want me to cool it, Bo, I'm already cool.”

“Okay, Daisy's problem is just between you and me. I don't want it to become briefing-room gossip.”

“Not a problem.”

“Anyway, the main thing I wanted to talk to you about is I think this thing up in Famine may go down Tuesday night, day after tomorrow.”

“Really? I didn't know you were this close.”

“Maybe I'm not. But if it does go down Tuesday, I want you and three deputies with me. Pap will be there, too. The deputies should know how to handle guns pretty well.”

“Sounds serious. Well, how about Brian Pugh and Chet Mason?”

“Mason is kind of a loudmouth, but I guess this isn't going to involve a lot of talking. Okay, those two and find another good one.”

“The new guy, Thorpe, Ernie Thorpe. He's sharp.”

“Good. Those three then. You tell them we have serious business and there may be shooting. You shouldn't have to tell them to wear their vests, but tell them anyway. They can bring whatever handguns they prefer. Tell them to keep their traps shut. This means around wives and girlfriends, too. Particularly the girlfriends.”

Eliot's phone buzzed. He picked up the receiver.
“Yeah?” He listened, then turned to Tully. “Daisy says your call is on Line One.”

“Tell her I'll take it in my office.”

He walked back to his office, closed the door. He punched One and picked up. “Paul?”

“Yeah, it's me. I got you the information you wanted, but I think I should make you get that subpoena.”

“C'mon, Paul, that's not the Blight way.”

“I suppose not. Anyway, here it is. You got a pencil?”

“I don't need a pencil.”

Chapter 42

Tully found Susan in her office. She was frowning as she sorted through a stack of papers. She was wearing her dark-rimmed glasses. She looked very good in glasses.

“How about dinner at my house?” he said.

She took off her glasses and peered up at him. “Your house? You cook?”

“Sure. Sort of.”

“Actually, I'm really beat. I wouldn't be much fun.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Tully said. “Listen, I'll put you in my big fat easy chair with your feet up on the cassock, and I'll give you a foot massage. Then I'll mix us a pitcher of martinis, with a whole bowl of olives on the side, my special anchovy-stuffed olives. And really good gin. Do you know really good gin?”

“No.”

“Good. And then I'll roast us each a grouse. I took two out of the freezer.”

“We each get a whole roasted grouse? I've never had grouse before. Where in the world did you find two grouse? Don't tell me you're one of those people who go around shooting little birds?”

“Who, me? No way! I found them badly injured alongside the road and was rushing them to the vet when they expired on the front seat.”

Susan smiled slightly. “Okay, as long as you promise you had no part in their murder.”

“Cross my heart.”

Susan smiled a bit more broadly. “Men are such liars.” He could tell she was exhausted.

“Actually,” she continued, “it was the martinis that won me over.”

“I wish I'd known. You're a lot easier than I expected.”

“Your expectations better not go beyond martinis and grouse. And the foot massage.”

“I give a great foot massage. What time can I pick you up? As soon as you get done here?”

“I'll never get done here. How about five? Or I can just drive to your place.”

“It's impossible to find,” he said. “I'll pick you up at five.”

On his way back to the office, Tully stopped by the florist's shop at the hospital. He ordered a dozen long-stemmed red roses to be delivered to Buck's hospital room.

“And whom should I say they are from?” the clerk asked.

Tully thought for a moment. “Just write ‘From a Secret Admirer.'”

When he got to the office, Herb Eliot was again sitting on the corner of Daisy's desk. “Looks like I have to find more work for you, Herb,” he told the under-sheriff.

“Just dictating my last will and testament,” Eliot said.

“Good. Your family may have need of it.”

He walked into his office and stood looking out the window. A wind had come up and there were a few whitecaps on Lake Blight. A boat bobbed about a couple hundred yards offshore. Tully tugged on the corner of his mustache. After a moment, he opened the top drawer of the gray file cabinet next to the window. He took out a pair of binoculars and trained them on the boat. Two people were seated back under the canvas top. He could see only their legs. A fishing rod was in a rod holder on each side of the boat. The boat appeared to be well used. Obviously, the occupants were a couple of fishermen who must have known what they were doing. So why were they trolling there? No one ever caught any fish trolling off the city beach.

“Daisy, get in here,” he yelled out the door.

She scurried in, perky as ever. “I don't care what he tells you, Bo, I've been feeding him every day!”

“Who?”

“Wallace.”

He had forgotten all about his spider. “Oh, Wallace. Good. But it's not about that. I want you to get somebody up here and have this window painted.”

“Paint the window? But that will ruin your view of the lake.”

“I know. But get it painted anyway.”

“Are you afraid somebody might take a shot at you through the window?”

“It's possible.”

“But they would have to be in a boat out in the lake in order to hit this window. It would be a really difficult shot even then, bobbing around in a boat.”

Tully turned and looked at her.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll get it painted.”

“Another thing, I'm going up in the Hoodoos tomorrow and fetch that rotten little Cliff kid home. Call Pap and tell him I'll pick him up at seven Tuesday morning, just in case he's forgotten.”

“Can I tell him not to bring a gun?”

“No. This time I want him to bring his twelve-gauge pump shotgun without the plugs and a box of double-ought buck shells. And a pistol of his choice.”

“Holy cow!”

“This is all secret stuff, Daisy. It may turn out to be nothing. And I don't want to look too much the fool if it does. So don't blab anything to the deputies. Those who need to know will know.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

“One more thing, Daisy.”

“What's that?”

“You're the best darn secretary I've ever had.”

Tears welled up in Daisy's eyes.

“Thanks, boss.”

People lead hard lives. If there was one thing Tully had learned in his ten years as sheriff, it was that.