The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (12 page)

Angie stuck her hand out the open window and let it glide up and down in the wind as if it were a bird. “Where are we going now?”

“To see a fellow who probably knows that swamp better than anybody else.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Sort of. I’ve locked him up a few times for poaching. He enjoyed the room service so much I could hardly keep him out of jail. I finally told the judge I’d had enough of Poke and we’d forget the bit of poaching he does to survive. I didn’t get any complaint from the game warden either.”

She pulled her hand inside. “Poke?”

“Yeah, Poke Wimsey. I think his actual first name is William, but Poke is all I’ve known him by. He told me one time he got the nickname when he was a young boy, because he was always late. Poke is never late anymore, because he never does anything he can be late for.”

“He sounds like your kind of guy.”

Tully ran up the windows. “He lives in a little log cabin back in the woods. I think it’s on about a hundred acres of forest. He got the land by trading the old family homestead to the Forest Service. Most people around here are scared to death of him, the sensible ones anyway.”

“He must be a real mountain man.”

“Yeah, sort of. But he’s a mountain man like you’ve never seen before. I doubt there’s an ant or a spider or a wild plant in all hundred acres he doesn’t know personally.”

He turned off the highway onto a gravel road. There were farms on both sides. Presently, the forest started again and there were no more farms. The road turned into rutted dirt. Tully could see in the rearview mirror the dust curling up
high behind them. After a couple of miles, he shifted into four-wheel drive.

The Explorer swerved in and out of the ruts. Then they came to a tree lying across the road. It was obvious the tree had been cut down so it would block off any stray traffic. Since nearly everyone in Blight County owned a chain saw, it was unusual that the tree had been allowed to remain where it was. Tully drove in and out of the ditch and into the woods, whipping the vehicle this way and that, and finally back to the road on the other side of the tree. Tracks indicated he was not the first to do so.

Angie turned and looked back at the tree. “Explain to me again, Bo, why the authorities allow someone to block a county road like that.”

“It’s simple enough. Beside the fact he doesn’t mind in the least going to jail, Poke doesn’t have any money, so it doesn’t do any good to fine him. Furthermore, just about everybody in the county is afraid of him. No sensible person sees any reason to make an enemy of Poke. If you think about it, you realize people like him are about the only ones who achieve a complete state of freedom in modern society.”

Angie shook her head. “I take it you’re not afraid of this Poke.”

Tully laughed. “You must think I’m stupid, Angie! Anybody with any sense is afraid of Poke!”

“I see. And exactly why is it we’re going to visit him?”

“To see if he will guide us out into the swamp. The trick is not to give him any reason to kill us, pile some stones on
our bodies and sink them somewhere out in a pool of quicksand, and let the water critters take care of any remains.”

She gave a little shudder. “I’m so glad you eased my mind.”

Tully turned off what remained of the road. The Explorer bumped and twisted through the woods until it came to a small clearing. Dozens of tree stumps dotted the clearing, in the middle of which sat a small log cabin. A man sat in a chair on the front porch. A rifle rested across his knees.

Tully stopped the Explorer and stared out the windshield at the man. “Sit here for a bit. I don’t want to overwhelm him with company. I’ve left the motor running. If he kills me, whip the vehicle around and get out of here as fast as you can.”

She heaved a sigh. “Great!”

“Oh, he isn’t that bad. He used to be my high school biology teacher. It was the only class I ever got an A in. He told us he would kill any students who got less than a B, because they were too stupid to live and would eventually destroy the country. I’ll give you a signal to come up to the porch.”

“Wonderful. I can hardly wait.”

He got out and walked toward the cabin. He could feel Poke watch him come, although Tully couldn’t see the man’s eyes under the brim of his faded and shapeless old felt hat. Poke had told Tully once he always liked to see a man’s eyes. The old man stood up and grinned at him.

“Well, I’ll be! Bo Tully! What brings you out this way?”

“A business proposition, Poke.”

“Business? I ain’t done a lick of business in fifty years. Who’s that you got hiding in your rig? Tell him to show himself. I don’t like folks hanging round I can’t see.”

Tully motioned for Angie to join him. She got slowly out of the vehicle, displaying no enthusiasm for the meeting.

“Gol-dang, Bo! You brought a woman! A mighty fine-looking one at that.”

“You know me, Poke. That’s the only kind of woman I hang out with. She’s what you might call a gentlewoman. So watch your language.”

Tully noticed Angie was carrying her shoulder bag, with the flap unsnapped and her right hand resting on top of the bag. She gave him and Poke a faint smile as she came up.

“Angie, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Poke Wimsey. Poke and I have known each other all my life. He’s taught me everything I know about the woods and a bunch of other stuff too.”

Poke removed his hat and gave Angie a shy grin. “Pleased to meet you, m’am. Not often I get to meet a pretty lady like you.”

Tully thought Poke had probably learned his manners from Gene Autry movies.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Wimsey,” Angie said, obviously relieved.

Poke pointed to the chair. “Have a seat.”

“Oh, I can’t take your chair.”

“I can’t have a lady standing while Bo and I sit here jawing. He claims he’s got me a business proposition.”

Angie sat down in the chair, leaning slightly forward, her hands on her lap, looking unbelievably prim.

“I do indeed, Poke,” Tully said. “I want you to guide us out into the swamp.”

“Oh, I can’t do that. The swamp is dangerous. Folks go out in it and are never seen again.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the stories, mostly from you and Pap.” He turned to Angie. “Pap is my father. He isn’t at all the gentleman Poke is.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve read his file.”

“File?” Poke said. “What file is that?”

“The newspaper file,” Tully said. “So what I’m offering, Poke—the county will pay you a hundred dollars a day to guide us around in the swamp.”

“A hundred dollars a day! That’s a powerful lot of money, Bo.”

“There’s a reason it’s a lot of money. It could be dangerous.”

“That’s what I just said. It’s dangerous. I reckon you’re looking for those men who have been messing around out there all summer. They’re a nasty lot. Met up with two of them once when I was out fishing and thought they were gonna kill me for the fun of it. I got out of there fast. I think they left a week or so ago. So I’ll take you up on that hundred dollars a day.”

Tully smiled. “Actually, Poke, the hundred dollars is for day. We want to go out only during the night. It’s fifty dollars a night.”

“Fifty dollars! I lost fifty dollars just like that!” He snapped his fingers.

“Excuse me, Mr. Wimsey,” Angie broke in. “Sheriff Tully is a little confused. Nights are twice as dangerous as days. So I believe the rate per night is two hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred!” cried Poke. “That’s more like it. I knew Bo was joking. There isn’t any way I’d go out at night in a dangerous swamp for fifty dollars!”

Tully frowned at Angie. “Yes, I must have been confused. You see, Poke, Angie doesn’t have to deal with a bunch of corrupt and vile and stingy county commissioners, so she can be much more generous with the county’s money.”

Angie ignored Tully and turned her whole attention to Poke. “Tell me more about the swamp’s being dangerous, Mr. Wimsey.”

Poke pulled over a block of firewood and sat down on it. “It started a long time ago. Some fellows were running a whiskey still out on one of the islands in the swamp. My popper was one of them. He was a young fellow back then, and his job was to sit out on the end of a dock and watch for revenuers. The head moonshiner gave him a shotgun and told him to shoot anybody he saw headed for the island. They worked only at night. So this night there was a moon out and it was pretty bright, but a fog was hanging low over the water. So Popper is sitting there, his legs dangling off the end of the dock, and he’s bored to death because he never sees anything at all, let alone revenuers. All of a sudden he sees two boys gliding along on top the water. He knew right
away they were ghosts, riding along on top of the water like that. He had never seen a ghost before and dropped his rifle right off the dock! Later, some of the moonshiners told him two boys had disappeared into the swamp and were never seen again, except for their ghosts that floated around the swamp from time to time. The current from Scotchman Crick flows right by the island, and that’s what the ghosts were gliding along on.”

“Good heavens!” Angie said. “Have you ever seen the ghosts yourself, Mr. Wimsey?”

“No, m’am, I haven’t. And I don’t want to either. But for two hundred dollars, I can chance it.”

Tully was still scowling at Angie. “I bet you can, Poke. So when do we start?”

“Tonight’s good for me.”

“Can’t do it tonight. I’ve got to drive into Spokane tomorrow, but I’ll be back early in the afternoon. We could do it day after tomorrow. At night, I mean. That all right with you, Poke?”

“I’ll have to clear my busy schedule, but sure.”

“Great!” Angie said. “What should we wear, Mr. Wimsey, hip boots or chest waders?”

“Shucks no! You wade around in that swamp, you’ll get sucked down by quicksand!”

Angie looked at Tully and returned his frown. “Quicksand. I never would have thought of that.”

“No, m’am, we won’t be doing any wading. I’ve got a log raft, a nice deck on it made of planks. We’ll go in comfort. I
pole around out there a bit, fishing for bass and perch and crappies and checking out the smaller wildlife. Fishing is good but I don’t go out until the folks leave. Here’s an odd thing. The mosquitoes have been gone all summer. Last spring I started chewing up and swallowing a clove of garlic every morning to keep the skeeters off me and it worked like a charm.”

“I noticed that,” Tully said.

“You wouldn’t think that would clear all of the skeeters out of the swamp, too, would you, Bo?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” Tully leaned back against the cabin wall. “You mention that the folks were gone from the swamp. What kind of folks?”

“Mean ones, at least the two I ran into last spring. After that I made a point of not running into them again.”

“How many altogether, you guess?”

“Maybe a dozen. They seemed to be scattered about on the two islands. Some of them went back and forth to land with a big boat powered with a jet outboard the size of a hog. There’s a short road into the swamp up where Scotchman runs in. They must haul the boat in and out with a trailer up there, but it’s got to be one heck of a backing job. That road’s as narrow and winding as the minds of our local politicians. No offense, Bo.”

“None taken, Poke. A boat, hunh?”

“Yeah. Some of them stayed out on the island all summer.”

Angie stood up and held out her hand for Poke to shake. “Thank you, Poke. Is it all right if I call you Poke?”

“Yes, m’am. A pretty lady like you can call me anything she likes, but Poke is fine.”

“Good, Poke. And you call me Angie.”

His grasp swallowed up her hand. “Mighty proud to know you, Angie. I hope you’ll be coming along on our little adventure.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. It’ll make me feel just like Huck Finn, the log raft and all.”

Tully got up and shook Poke’s hand. “We definitely need to take Angie with us. She might turn out to be useful. We could throw her overboard if something leaps out of the swamp and attacks us. Anything you want us to bring?”

The old man screwed up his grizzled face in a thoughtful expression. “Just the money. Oh, some big flashlights would be good. And you might want to bring a rifle, Bo, if you’ve got one with iron sights. You can shoot a lot better and faster at night with iron sights than you can with a scope.”

Tully frowned. “You think we might run into some bear or moose?”

“Oh, them, too. Just bring the rifle. A bottle of whiskey would be good too.”

“Whiskey helps you see at night?”

“Not that I know of.”

Driving back to town, Tully turned and grinned at Angie. “Well, what do you think of Poke?”

“I like him.”

“You seemed to have fallen for his act.”

She frowned at him. “What act is that?”

“That Poke is ignorant as a post.”

“I didn’t think any such thing.”

“Well, it’s all an act. He’s written and published three books of poems. Besides that, he has hunted down and inventoried practically all the species of flora and fauna in the state. Recorded most of it on film.”

“Actually, Bo, I did think he was wonderful, but I had no idea from talking to him that he was capable of such things. Never before in my whole life have I met anyone like Poke.”

“He was some terrific high school teacher, I can tell you that.”

“Is that why you’re still afraid of him?”

“No! Didn’t I tell you he’s written three books of poems?”

They came to the log on the road and Tully bumped the Explorer out around it. “I’ve got a couple things I need to check out. One, I want to find the boy who escaped getting murdered up in the huckleberry patch. We find him, we’ve solved the murders. The other thing is I’ve got a missing person who also may have been murdered. His name is Orville Poulson. My only suspect in the case is his ranch caretaker, Ray Porter, aka Crockett. Tomorrow I want to check out the area in Spokane where Orville has his post office box.”

“Check out the area where he has a post office box? That should be a big help.”

“Yeah, well, you just wait and see, FBI person, what a cracker sheriff can come up with. And since you like odd
characters so much, Angie, tomorrow I’ll take you around to meet another really odd one. We may even take him along on our swamp excursion.”