The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (16 page)

“Anything else, boss?” Pugh said.

“Yeah,” Tully said. “I just wanted to tell you, if I don’t show up around here in the next day or so, go look in the swamp.”

“Right, boss,” Pugh said. “We’ll drop everything and rush right out there.” He and Thorpe got up and left.

Daisy said, “Mrs. Poulson is coming in this morning. Do you think we should tell her about the search warrant?”

“I don’t know. What do you think, Daisy?”

“She’s pretty tough. It can’t be any worse than what she’s been going through, not knowing what’s happened to Orville.”

“Suppose we don’t find anything under the house?”

Daisy thought for a moment, tapping her pencil on her stenographer’s pad. “Then we bring in some cadaver dogs and search the property, square foot by square foot. I don’t want Orville’s wife to go through any more torment.”

“Ex-wife,” Tully corrected. “Besides, Daisy, we only have a warrant for the house.”

Daisy smiled. “I lied, boss. I got the warrant for the whole property. And I notified the cadaver-dog guy we may need his services.”

Tully erupted in exasperation. “Sometimes I wonder if
I’m even needed around here! Daisy, that property is a thousand acres or more. It will cost the county a fortune to search the whole thing with cadaver dogs.”

Daisy stood up and said calmly, “Well, if that’s what we have to do, that’s what we have to do.” She turned and walked out.

Tully stared after her with a mixture of irritation and admiration. Who’s running this outfit anyway? He shook his head. What would he do without Daisy? Might be nice to try, though. He picked up his phone and dialed Etta Gorsich’s number.

TULLY WAS LOUNGING against the front of Crabbs when Etta drove into the parking lot. He thought it was too bad he didn’t smoke cigarettes. That would give him a whole range of gestures. He could take the butt from his lips, snap it under a car with his fingers, exhale a stream of smoke, and squint at her through it. Now all he could do was stand up straight.

Walking up to him, Etta said, “You don’t smoke, do you, Bo? That’s one of the many things I like about you.” She took his arm and led him toward the entrance. “Persons in your line of work usually inhale one cigarette after another. I don’t blame them. The stress of the job must be awful.”

“Nope, I don’t smoke. Odd you should mention it. I guess the stress just comes and goes, Etta. Hey, it’s good to see you.
As always, you look fantastic.” Tully had been working on attentive. She was wearing a white dress with a bright red scarf around her neck. She actually did look great. Etta was dynamite, even if she sometimes did give him the creeps. Like bringing up cigarettes just now.

The manager, Lester Cline, showed them to a table himself.

Etta said, “Why, this is the same table we sat at last time.”

“Yes,” Tully said. “It’s now our special table. Right, Lester?”

“Indeed it is, sir.” He gave a little bow. “Would you like your regulars?”

Etta laughed. “Actually, Lester, I would prefer something that doesn’t require a bib.”

“Indeed, madam! Perhaps our honey-basted chicken breast, potatoes au gratin, and a salad. What kind of dressing, madam?”

“Blue cheese, please.”

“And you, sir?”

Tully scowled at him. “Lester, if you don’t drop the phony maître d’ act, I’ll have to stand up and knock you down.”

“Jeez, you’re such a peasant, Bo. How can I elevate the sophistication of Crabbs with patrons like you?”

“Maybe by elevating the taste of the food. I’ll have the same as Etta.”

“Thank you. I should go off in a huff, Bo, but I’m still working on my huff.” Lester stomped toward the kitchen.

Tully said, “I liked him better when he was boosting cars.”

Etta laughed and shook her head. “Blight seems such an unusual place. I guess that’s why I like Idaho so much.”

“You apparently haven’t seen much of Idaho, Etta. Most of it is nothing like Blight.”

“I suppose that’s true. One of these day I’m going to get in my car and drive around the state for a whole month. Like to come along as a tour guide?”

“Sounds wonderful, Etta.”

Lester returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “This is on the house, the best wine in Crabbs’s cellar, I’m sorry to say.” He nodded to Etta. “It’s in honor of you, my dear, for having to put up with such a grouchy lunch guest.”

Tully smiled. “Thank you, Lester. I’m sorry I was grouchy. Although I may try it again next time, if it gets us free wine.”

Lester patted Tully on the shoulder. “Don’t count on it, Sheriff.”

“My goodness, Bo,” Etta said. “A whole bottle of wine for just the two of us. You may have to drive me home.”

Tully was pouring wine into one of the glasses and some spurted over the side, making a small red stain on the tablecloth. He poured the other glass and then set the bottle down so that it covered the stain.

Etta said, “Well, what did you think about my idea of exploring Idaho for a month?”

Tully smiled at her. “I’m still stuck on your suggestion that I drive you home.”

Etta smiled back. “First things first, of course. This is actually very good wine, don’t you think, Bo?”

“I think it may be the best I’ve ever had.”

He felt Etta’s foot slide up his leg. She must have slipped her shoe off. And here he had a ton of work to do this afternoon. But, as Etta said, first things first.

Lester came rushing back to the table. “Bo, you must have your cell phone shut off. Daisy’s calling you. She says it’s urgent.”

It better be, thought Tully. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed the office. “What’s up?”

“We just had a fatal accident on the Cow Creek bridge. A car crashed through the side rail and went into the creek.” Daisy sounded out of breath.

“That’s quite a drop.”

“Yes it is. Brian is out there and he says it’s very suspicious. He wants you out there as soon as you can make it.”

Tully stood up. “Tell him I’m on my way. Has Brian identified the victim?”

“Marge Poulson!”

He winced. “Oh, no!” He beeped off.

Staring blankly at Etta, he said, “I’m so sorry, but I have to run. We have a fatality out by the Cow Creek bridge.”

“Good heavens!” Etta seemed almost in a trance, as if she were watching a tiny horror movie projected on a screen he couldn’t see. Her face had turned pale.

“Etta?”

She blinked her eyes and stared up at him, as if for a moment
wondering who he was. “Oh, Bo, go! Quickly! Don’t worry about me.”

What a crappy job, he thought, rushing out the door.

•  •  •

Ambulances, wreckers, fire-station and law-enforcement vehicles lined the road on both sides of the bridge, a section of which had been taken out. The pavement showed where a car had skidded toward what was now a break in the railing. Tully pulled up in front of an ambulance and got out. He walked around to the rear of the vehicle. The doors were open. He climbed in, having to stoop as he did so. The body was on a stretcher, covered by a wet white sheet. Two feet protruded from under the sheet, one wearing a black high-heeled shoe, a style his mother would have referred to as “sensible.” The other foot wore only a stocking. Water dripped from the feet to a puddle on the floor. The attendant stared at him. Tully said, “Pull the sheet down so I can see the face.” The attendant did as he was told. It was Marge, all right. “Pull it back,” he told the attendant. Climbing out of the ambulance, he almost bumped into the medical examiner. “Susan,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

She was tucking her long blond hair up into a cap of some sort. “You knew her, Bo?”

“Yeah. She’s Orville Poulson’s ex-wife, Marge.”

Susan said, “I talked to Brian and he said this was no accident. She was deliberately killed, according to the skid marks. Her car was forced off the bridge. Why would someone
want to kill a little old lady? She couldn’t do anybody any harm, and it doesn’t look like she had much money or anything else.”

Tully shook his head as if at a loss for any explanation. “Pap says people murder for two things, money and to shut someone up. In Marge’s case, it had to be the latter. She has been hounding me for months to find her husband’s murderer. So far we have no evidence he’s been murdered or is even dead. We don’t have a body.”

Pugh had climbed up the embankment next to the bridge. He walked over to Susan and Tully. He was wet up to his waist.

Tully asked, “What do you think, Brian?”

The deputy wiped his brow. “Somebody killed her. The car was rammed from behind by a much larger vehicle. It hit her on the left rear corner and spun her around.” He gestured toward the missing guardrail. “Then it pushed her car off the bridge backwards and it landed upside down in the creek. The car filled with water instantly but I think she probably was killed from the drop. I helped get her out of the vehicle and she felt like she was all broken up inside. Might even have been killed from the impact of the other vehicle hitting her.”

Susan turned to Tully. “Any suspects, Bo? She’s been talking to you about her missing husband, right?”

“Ex-husband. Yeah, I’ve got one suspect. He’s someone she could cause a lot of trouble for. On the other hand, he doesn’t seem the type to murder someone.”

Susan frowned at him. “You think there’s a type for murder?”

“I don’t know. Given the right circumstances, I suppose just about anybody could kill somebody else. People are full of surprises. To kill a person like Marge, though, is pretty cold-blooded. My suspect is the only person I know who could profit from her death. He’s not stupid, though. I’ll bet you anything he’s got an airtight alibi. If he does, you can be sure he had a hand in this. Knew it was going to happen. Maybe he even hired somebody to do it.”

He turned to Pugh. “She was driving away from her home. You got any idea where she was headed?”

Pugh said, “I’ve got Ernie checking with her neighbors, to see if she had friends out this way or what. One of the neighbors said there was a big old farmhouse a few miles down that Marge rented out. She might have been headed there.”

Tully tugged thoughtfully on the corner of his mustache. “I know who the renters are, Brian. Don’t go near the place, except to drive by and see if a big white dual-tired pickup truck is parked there.”

Pugh said, “You think . . . ?”

“It’s possible, but don’t do anything until I get back. I’ve got to go. I’m still pursuing the swamp thing. I’ll meet you all back at the office in the morning.”

TULLY DROVE TO his place. Bouncing down across the meadow toward his log house, he thought about how he and his wife, Ginger, had built it to become self-sufficient artists, he a painter and she a potter. After Ginger died, that dream evaporated, and he became one of a long line of Tullys to enter law enforcement. Eventually he became sheriff. He never locked the door on his house, even though his office often received reports of burglaries in the county. He opened the door and walked in. The huge painting he had made of Ginger hung on a wall by the door. It portrayed her coming through that very same door with a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in her hand, blond hair bobbing about her head as she smiled at him with the glee of a small child.

He went into his bedroom and changed into jeans, a
work shirt, and hiking boots. He took a small bottle of OFF! from the medicine cabinet and rubbed the repellent into all exposed parts. He slipped his shoulder holster on, shoved in his Colt Commander, and snapped the retaining strap across it. Finally, he took his khaki vest out of the closet and put it on, mostly to cover the gun and shoulder holster. As always, the pistol gave him a certain sense of security. Then he drove over to the hotel and picked up Angie, who was waiting for him out on the sidewalk. She was dressed pretty much as himself, including a vest.

Climbing into the Explorer, Angie said, “I heard on the radio about Marge Poulson. That’s really sad. The newscaster said officials believe it’s a homicide. Any suspects?”

“Several,” he said. “One is the sociopath Ray Porter, alias Crockett. As far as I know, he’s the only one to profit from Marge’s death. Maybe he did it. I’ve known a lot of murderers, though, and for some reason he doesn’t fit. On the other hand, she was drawing a lot of attention to him. You never can tell. So are you ready for our great adventure?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve soaked myself head to foot in mosquito dope, just in case. And I’ve stuffed the mosquito netting in my bag.”

He laughed. “Maybe Poke’s right about the mosquitoes, that they have simply disappeared.”

“He should know. We certainly weren’t bothered by them. But maybe they rest in the middle of the day.”

“Mosquitoes never rest.”

They picked up Pap. The old man climbed into the Explorer’s
backseat and laid his 30-30 rifle in the cargo section.

Tully said, “I see you brought some heavy artillery, Pap.”

“Yep. I ain’t shot that rifle in years but I nailed a paper plate to a tree out back of the house and put half a dozen rounds in the center of it. Made me think maybe I should go back to hunting with it. Killed my first deer with that rifle when I was eight years old.”

Tully said, “Well, I hope you won’t have need for it tonight. I’ve had enough killing for one day.”

Pap tossed the seat belt to one side. “Yeah, I heard on the radio about the accident. Marge was a mighty nice woman, always helping somebody out.”

“I don’t think it was an accident, Pap.”

“What! You think somebody deliberately killed her?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well, if I ever found the—”

“Careful, Pap. We’ve got an FBI agent in the car. You don’t want to give Angie the impression we have loose laws here in Blight County.”

“Loose? We have a bunch of sissy laws around here anymore. You wouldn’t believe the way it was in the old days, Angie.”

“Oh, yes I do. Remember, Pap, I read the file on you.”

He grinned. “You’re so pretty, Angie, I keep forgetting you’re an FBI agent.”

Bo nudged her with his elbow. “Did his file say anything about his being a flagrant womanizer?”