The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (5 page)

“I think your hunch was right, Bo. I did find a few tracks. And a couple of these.” He held out a leaf with a spot of dried blood on it.

“That all the blood you found?”

Dave nodded. “There might be more, but there’s a lot of brush and I had a hard time staying on his track. He did cut over to the road right here. Stood back behind a tree over
there, as if watching for someone.” Dave pointed to the tree. “My guess is he was just nicked by the bullet. There’s quite a few drops of blood at the base of the tree.”

“You think he got a ride with someone?”

“I don’t know. He was probably waiting for the shooters to go by. There were signs they had walked down the mountain a ways looking for him but then gave up. Maybe they figured he was hit hard enough he’d die out there in the brush.”

Tully walked over and looked at the ground behind the tree. There were faint scuff marks in the pine needles and several tiny dark spots. “You call this ‘sign,’ Dave—this little disturbance?”

“Yeah, that’s what I call it. You want something with his name and address on it? I’m not surprised you don’t notice much, Bo, because you have to be Indian to know sign when you see it.”

Pap had his cigarette going by now. Tully sighed and stepped upwind of him. “You going back with me, or Dave?”

“Depends on what you’re planning to do.”

“I’m walking back down that little road we were on until I find some fresh huckleberries. Then I’m going to take a picture of them, if there’s still some light. I thought I’d pick enough berries so Ma could make us a couple of pies.”

Pap took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Much as I prefer Dave’s company to yours, Bo, the mention of huckleberry pies has caught my attention. I think I’ll come along and help you pick.”

Pap climbed into Tully’s pickup and they drove back up to
the old logging road. Tully drove in as far as the downed tree and they got out. “How far we got to walk?” Pap said.

“Only about half a mile from here. You tell anybody about my secret patch, you’re a dead man.” He handed Pap his extra gallon bucket.

“You got to be kidding me, Bo! A secret patch! About ten thousand people roam about this mountain picking huckleberries every year, and you think you’ve got a secret patch!”

“Actually, Pap, they don’t roam about the mountain. They roam about the roads. There isn’t one huckleberry picker in a hundred goes off the road more than fifty feet. If they can’t see the road, they think they’re lost and start to panic. When you see my secret patch, you’re not going to believe it.”

“I don’t believe it already.”

They hiked along in silence for a few minutes. The road had deteriorated into scarcely more than a wide trail. The uphill side, thick with young fir trees, rose steeply up the mountain, and the downhill side dropped off sharply into a heavily logged area. Pap scuffed some dust into the air with his boot. “Dry as a bone out here.”

“Yeah, the whole mountain could go up like a box of tinder if we get lightning. If it wasn’t so dry, you’d see mushrooms along the road this time of year.”

“What kind of mushrooms?”

“Shaggymanes. Giant puffballs.”

“I could go for a batch of shaggymanes,” Pap said. “I ain’t going to touch another puffball, though. I ate one about five years ago and it nearly killed me.”

“I bet it had some yellow in it. It was too old. It has to be pure white all the way through.”

“It
was
pure white all the way through! You must think I’m stupid, Bo.”

“Then you were drinking.”

“A glass of Jack Daniel’s before dinner, that’s all.”

“You should know better than to drink alcohol before eating wild mushrooms! What was that you said about stupid?”

Pap stopped and took a deep breath. “I always drink before dinner, and afterwards, too. I’ve eaten a ton of wild mushrooms in my life and I never even once before had an attack like that. Anyway, Bo, you picking with your fingers, or did you bring a picker?”

Tully paused and looked down into a drainage dropping sharply below. He had fished the tiny stream years ago. The fish had been small but hungry and plentiful. Back then the trout limit was all you could catch plus one fish. He said, “A picker. I got one for you, too, Pap.”

“Good. You buy them from Pinto Jack?”

“Who else? Pinto makes the best huckleberry pickers in the world.”

“I have to agree, Bo. I have a whole collection of pickers and not a one comes even close to Pinto’s. You know those prongs on the front? He makes them out of bedsprings. They got just the right amount of flex to pop a berry off a bush and not crush it.”

They walked along in silence for a ways.

Tully stopped. “This is it.”

“What’s it? I don’t see nothing.”

“If everyone could see my secret patch, it wouldn’t be secret, would it?” He pointed. “We have to climb up to the ridge there and walk down it a ways.”

“There’s actually work involved? Now you tell me!”

Tully shook his head. “It’s uphill no more than fifty yards. You’re always bragging about what good shape you’re in, I’m pretty sure you can make fifty yards!”

Pap uttered an expletive. “Of course I can make it! I just like to be warned, that’s all. I don’t like you sneaking actual work on me without no warning!”

When they reached the top of the ridge, Pap wasn’t even breathing hard. Tully once again thought they should put him in ads promoting the use of tobacco and alcohol.

“So where’s the secret patch?”

Tully said, “See that little bench going off to our right? We need to hike down it a ways and I’ll show you.”

Mumbling obscenities, Pap followed Tully down the bench for several dozen yards. “How much farther, Bo?”

“This is it,” Tully said.

Pap looked at the huckleberry brush rising almost to his shoulders on both sides of them. He gasped. “I’ve got to tell you, Bo, I’ve never seen anything like this!”

Huckleberries the size of grapes hung in huge clusters from the bushes and in some cases dragged the bushes to the ground. The patch stretched all the way down the bench.

“You tell anyone about it, Pap, I’ll have to kill you and him.”

“Don’t worry about me, Bo. I’m amazed the commercial pickers haven’t found this and cleaned it out.”

“I am too, actually.”

Tully hated that there were so many commercial pickers out in the mountains now. They ruined it for everybody else, and some of them were pretty threatening, too, as if they thought you were depriving them of a livelihood by picking a gallon or two. It seemed as if there were more of them every year. He said, “Maybe there are more commercial pickers every year because there are more poor people every year.”

“I hate poor people,” Pap said. “Most of your criminals are poor. If we’d do away with poor people we’d do away with most of the crime.”

“How about bankers and politicians, Pap? And how about you, speaking of corruption?”

“I may have engaged in a little innocent corruption, but I did it so I wouldn’t be one of the poor people I hate.”

Tully smiled and shook his head. “I see.”

He took out his digital camera and shot close-ups of several clusters of huckleberries. Then he raced Pap to fill his bucket first. Within minutes Pap uttered the classic huckleberry boast: “I’ve got my bottom covered, Bo!”

“That’s one thing I can be thankful for.”

•  •  •

Driving down across the meadow to his log house that evening, Tully became aware for the first time how much shorter the days were. It wasn’t eight o’clock yet and was already
getting dark. He had dropped Pap off at his mansion on the hill and chatted for a while with his gorgeous housekeeper, Deedee, whom Pap had rustled from Dave’s House of Fry the previous year. How Deedee put up with the old man, he couldn’t fathom, but all signs indicated she was the one in charge. After dropping Pap off and flirting with Deedee, he had driven over to his mother’s house and dropped off two gallons of huckleberries. Rose had been thrilled. She tried to talk him into eating something for supper, but Tully was too tired.

When he reached his house he turned the truck off and had a look around his front yard. The grass had all turned brown, probably because his well had dried up. As soon as he had time, he had to dig a new one. He walked in the front door, which he seldom bothered to lock. The large oil painting of his wife greeted him. Ginger had died over ten years before, but the sight of the painting never failed to lift his spirits. He heated a frozen Hungry-Man turkey dinner in the microwave, flipped on the TV, and sat down in his glider to eat and watch a crime show episode he’d seen only twice before. But he had barely begun to eat before he dozed off. The phone rang about twenty minutes later. Reluctantly, he answered. “Sheriff Bo Tully.”

“Bo,” a man’s voice said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“At this hour? Not a chance.”

“This is Pete Reynolds. You told me about the murders up on Scotchman Road earlier today.”

“Right, Pete.” Tully rubbed his eyes and tried to wake up.

“I talked to some of the drivers about what you said, and George Henderson jumped like he had sat on a hot poker. He said he picked up a young fellow like you mentioned. He come out of the woods and waved George down. He had ripped a sleeve off his shirt and had it wrapped around his upper right arm. George asked him how he hurt it, and he said he’d fallen on a log and jabbed it with a broken limb. He was kind of pale and George said he would be glad to drive him by the hospital and drop him off at the emergency room, but the kid wouldn’t have nothing to do with that. When they got down to Blight City, he said he would be fine, so George pulled over and stopped. The kid thanked him and got out, and that’s the last George seen of him.”

“Pete, this is wonderful! I find that kid, I’ve got the shooters. Did George say exactly where in Blight he dropped him off?”

“Yeah, right after you cross the railroad tracks when you come into town from the Scotchman Road.”

“You did great, Pete! I owe you one!”

“I hope that means if logging don’t pick up, you’ll add me to the force.”

“I’ve hired a lot worse, I can tell you that. You may have helped blow this case wide open, Pete. Many thanks.”

He sat back down in his glider to finish eating. No way he would ever get back to sleep now.

TULLY WOKE UP at seven with
Good Morning America
on the TV and the Hungry-Man turkey dinner half-eaten and cold in his lap. One of these days he meant to get a life.

On his way into the office, Tully stopped at McDonald’s for coffee and an Egg McMuffin, his third one for breakfast that week. By the time he walked into the briefing room, the day shift had already gone out. He stuck his head in the radio room and said, “Morning, Flo.” She treated him to one of the smiles she seemed to reserve only for him.

Daisy was typing up something on her computer and Herb was reading the morning paper. As expected, Lurch was hard at work in his corner. Tully yelled at him, “Hey, Lurch!”

“Morning, boss!”

Tully walked over. “You get any prints off that beer bottle?”

“Yeah, got a match, too.”

“No kidding. Anyone we know?”

“Lennie Frick.”

Tully frowned. “Frick? He did a couple of months for multiple DUIs, and before that—what was it, Lurch?”

“Theft of a roll of telephone wire off a utility company truck. Sold it for the copper.”

“Right. I can’t imagine Lennie moving up to triple murder. So what’s his current address?”

“You expect me to know everything, boss?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“It’s Four-oh-five East Sharp.”

“I’ll swing by and have a little visit with him. Thanks, Lurch.”

“You bet.” Lurch went back to his computer.

Tully walked across the briefing room. Daisy pretended she was too busy to notice his approach.

“Bring your pad, sweetheart.”

Daisy sighed loudly but then got up and followed him into his office. Tully stood by the door and closed it behind her.

She sat down in a chair across from his desk, her back straight, her knees crossed below the short black skirt, and said, “I already have a ton of work to get done this morning, Bo. I hope you don’t have a ton more.”

“No, I don’t, Daisy. I was just wondering how you’re getting along these days.”

“Where are we going with this?”

Tully smiled. “Nowhere. It’s just been a while since I talked to you. All I want to know is if you’re okay.”

Daisy squinted at him. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good, because I’ve got some more work for you.”

“I thought so.”

“Get on the phone and your computer and find out everything you can about Lennie Frick. Known associates, possession of firearms, and things like that. I need it all about an hour ago.”

Daisy shook her head and laughed. “You’re something else, boss, you know that?”

“I suppose. You know, Daisy, you’re not only the best deputy I’ve got, you’re also the prettiest by far.”

“I’m not up to that again.”

“I suppose. Forget I mentioned it.”

Daisy smiled. “But thanks anyway, Bo.” She went out and closed the door behind her.

Tully picked up the phone and dialed. His mother answered. “I knew it would be you, Bo.”

“Just wanted to say good morning, Ma.”

“I’m sure. The answer is, yes, I already have four huckleberry pies in the oven. One each for you and Pap, and two for me. I carved a
B
in the crust of yours, and be sure you eat that one. I put arsenic in Pap’s.”

“I think that’s a crime, Ma, but it’s okay, as long as you marked the right one. I’ll swing by later and pick them up.”

He hung up and drummed his fingers on the desk while he thought about what to do next. Too bad he had given up
smoking his pipe, because that would give him something to do while he thought. He got up and walked out to Daisy’s desk. “Do you know where Pugh is?”

“He’s on his way in. Brian worked until after midnight yesterday.”

“I suppose he thinks that’s an excuse for coming late to work.”

“Yeah, he’s such a slacker.”

“Send him in as soon as he gets here.”