Midnight Cowboy Page 18

  “What, this?” He lifted the object from its perch and held it out. “It belongs on my key ring. It was a gift from Cliff—a raven’s claw he had bronzed for me after my book The Raven’s Claw made the New York Times list. It was the first book to hit the list and my biggest thrill.”

  “It even opens beer bottles,” Cliff boasted, striding into the room wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt advertising the Bud Light Bowl, his hair damp from showering. He carried a beer bottle to his uncle and let Gene demonstrate.

  “Can I get anyone else a beer?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not me.”

  “No,” Andy said. “We’re meeting someone for supper soon.”

  Gene nodded. “Then you’d probably like to get started on those diaries. Cliff, I’d like my own shower now. Then a nap. You two just make yourselves at home. Next time we meet, I hope to be in better mettle.”

  “I’ll be back in a while,” Cliff said, then followed his uncle from the room.

  The moment they were gone, Jack pulled Andy against him. “How you holding up, sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine.” As long as you’re here with me. She returned his hug, then gazed up at him. “What do you think?”

  “I think Gene’s either one of the world’s greatest undiscovered actors or he’s exactly what he seems. But it wouldn’t hurt to give this room a quick once-over.”

  Andy agreed. Jack tackled the file cabinets, she the desk. Minutes later he perched one hip on the edge of the desk. “Find anything?”

  She shook her head. “You?”

  “A lot of correspondence with editors and other authors. A folder full of old rejections. Tax records.”

  “None of which is unusual for a writer. The desk has stamps, and paper, and pens and pencils and a phone book.” Andy noticed then that Jack was holding a folder. She gazed up at him, her pulse picking up its beat. “What’s that?”

  “I found this in the bottom drawer—at the back. It contains a set of old X rays.”

  Jack carried the folder to the window, then held up the X ray. It was dated some twenty years earlier and showed a spinal column with a hairline crack near the base. Andy said, “Proof positive.”

  “Yeah.” Jack tucked the X ray back in the folder.

  Footsteps coming down the hall sent them scurrying—Andy back to the desk, Jack to replace the folder in the file cabinet. Cliff came into the room just as Jack was recrossing to the desk. The phone rang and as Cliff picked up his step to reach it, Andy and Jack said they’d let themselves out.

  Minutes later they were headed back down the hill toward Main Street. Wally was meeting them in the hotel shortly to compare notes. “Well,” Jack said. “Now we know Gene Mott isn’t Nightmare Man.”

  Andy caught hold of his hand and smiled up at him, feeling encouraged for the first time in days. “We’ve finally taken one step closer to finding him. Nightmare Man is either Red Yager or Duke Plummer. And I’ll bet one of them holds the deed on my parents’ old homestead.”

  It was odd, Andy mused. Gram hadn’t been in her thoughts the whole time she’d been at Mott’s, but suddenly she felt her presence with such force—and with it came an inexplicable anxiety, knotting her stomach. It was as if Gram were trying to warn her. About what? Was it because now that they’d narrowed their field of suspects they were in even greater danger? Or was it something specific?

  WALLY SPOTTED JACK and Andy coming down the hill from Ruby Lane as he drove along Main Street. Jack seemed absorbed in conversation with the comely Miss Woodworth, totally unaware of traffic on Main Street. Junior seemed smitten.

  Talking to Minna Kroft had moved him no closer to solving the mystery of who the killer was, but at least he now had a sweet tale to carry home to two grieving parents. And, by thunder, he felt better about that.

  Besides, two hours with Minna Kroft, drinking her tea, chatting, had oddly relaxed him. Maybe it was the tea she’d served him. Chamomile. Didn’t that have some kind of soothing properties? Seemed to have worked on him. Even his jitters were gone.

  Virginia City was mere minutes from Alder Gulch. He parked beside the Madison County Courthouse, hurried inside and located the records department. A slender woman in her late forties stood behind the counter. When she saw him, her face pulled as tight as the knot of brown hair on the crown of her head. She gathered her purse to her. “We’re closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. We’re open at 10 a.m.”

  Wally put on his best dimpled grin and strolled right up to her counter, digging his wallet from his pocket. He laid it open-faced on the counter, his press credentials in full view. “I’m Wallingford Lester, editor in chief of the Butte Sun. I’m on an explosive story—an exclusive that will put this county on the tongues of American citizens from New York to L.A. It’s set to roll in tomorrow’s edition, but I’m missing a key fact before we can go to print. Please, this can’t wait until tomorrow. I’ve got a whole staff waiting for my call-and I only need you to look up one little fact.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’ll be sure to mention your name and how coop erative you were, Miss…?”

  That did the trick. She bit hook, line and sinker and he could tell this was the most exciting thing that had happened in this woman’s life in a long time. The tight look vanished and her face became more animated with every question she asked trying to get him to tell her about the “explosive story.” With some fast sidestepping he managed to avoid giving her specific answers.

  Half an hour later he possessed photocopies of the legal titles. Excitement robbed him of a few degrees of his calm and his hand once again trembled. He’d have to hightail it back to Alder Gulch to meet Junior and Miss Woodworth for supper so as not to worry them.

  What he’d discovered was damned interesting. Mopping at his brow and grinning, he hustled out to his car, flopped the papers on the front seat beside him and started the engine. Yessir, yessir. It wasn’t the present owners of the land that had caught his attention, but the owner before them. Had Andy and Jack had as much good luck as he’d had?

  As he left Virginia City, the weird nagging he’d not been able to put his finger on attacked him anew, prickling the fine hair on the nape of his neck. God, he was getting edgy again and he couldn’t account for it. He peered into the rearview mirror, half expecting to find someone following him, but the only vehicle on the road was his.

  He’d hardly gone another mile when the feeling of being followed swept him again.

  He chided himself for a fool. But his gaze went unbidden to the mirror. Instead of empty road, two burning eyes peered back at him from the rear seat. Wally gasped, nearly jumping out of his skin. The car swerved. He felt cold steel against his throat. Not a knife, but something three-pronged that cut into his flesh as if it were soft butter. “W-w-what do you want?”

  “Pull over.”

  “Yes,” Wally croaked. Immediately he tapped the brake and steered for the shoulder. His face burned with heat and his pulse thundered through his veins, roaring in his ears. His chest felt as if a band were throttling it. Alder Gulch was around the next bend, but this section of road was uninhabited. Totally deserted at the moment.

  Again his gaze went to the mirror, and in that instant he finally remembered. The night Jack senior was killed, he’d seen these same burning eyes looking in the window of his car as he’d pulled from the newspaper parking lot.

  Dear God, he knew who Nightmare Man was. He’d known all along. White-hot rage ripped through Wally, overriding his pain. If he was going to die, it wouldn’t be alone. Nor in vain. He rammed his foot down on the gas pedal and aimed the car for the ditch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The town remained tourist-free, and an eerie hush hung over it as hot and oppressive as the unrelenting sun beating down on Andy, reminding her that a murderer, who was intent on adding her to his list of victims, walked these streets. She shivered in the heat. How had she ever thought this town was welcoming her? What it had been doing was lyi
ng in wait for her return.

  Few patrons occupied the dining room of the Golden Broom. Andy and Jack chose a private corner table and ordered beer to wet their parched throats. Jack glanced around, spotting the sheriff and a couple of his deputies at a table across the room. But his curiosity leaned toward who was missing. “I wonder where Red is?”

  Andy hadn’t been able to shake the foreboding she’d felt earlier. “I don’t know, but I’d feel better if I knew where both of our suspects were and what they were up to.”

  Both. Jack pulled off his Stetson and finger-combed his hair. She still refused to consider Minna Kroft a suspect. He wished he felt as certain of the woman’s innocence. “And what’s keeping Wally?”

  “Why don’t you go see if he’s coming down the road?”

  Jack immediately sprang from his chair and headed for the swinging bar doors. Wally was a punctual man, but now that Jack thought about it, he’d looked more tired than usual. Was the heat too much for him?

  As Jack neared the door, two familiar voices drifted in from just beyond the opening. Cliff and Minna. They seemed to be…arguing? Slowing to a halt, Jack stayed out of sight and listened.

  “Ya swear to me ya didn’t try shootin’ ‘em?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Ya know darned tootin’ why.”

  “Are you nuts? I wouldn’t kill someone for that.”

  “Well, sure as we’re standin’ here, somebody gave it a danged good try.”

  “You’re serious?” There was incredulity in Cliff’s voice. “Someone tried killing them?”

  Minna didn’t answer, but Jack could almost see her head nodding, her fluffy gray hair waving. Then she said, “And ya know where they stayed the night? In the mine, that’s where.”

  Cliff groaned. “And now that friend of theirs is at the courthouse.”

  “I telled ya as much.”

  Jack stepped through the bar doors. Cliff and Minna jerked toward him. Fear whizzed through their eyes, but they both recovered quickly enough that if Jack hadn’t heard their conversation, he might have convinced himself he’d imagined the looks. “Cliff, your uncle feeling better?”

  “Huh? Oh, sure, he’s napping.”

  “Good. Why don’t you and Minna come on in and let me buy you both a beer?”

  Cliff gave Minna a nervous glance. “That’s all right, I really should get back to Uncle.”

  Jack laughed. “Hell, he’ll probably be okay long enough for you to swallow a bottle of brew.”

  Cliff started shaking his head. But Jack wasn’t taking no for an answer. Gently he caught them both by the arm and led them inside and over to the table where Andy sat alone.

  Andy frowned, started to ask what was going on, but caught Jack’s slight shaking of his head and recovered quickly. “Well, hello again, Cliff. Minna.”

  Small talk ruled the conversation until everyone had a beer in front of them. Then Jack sprang. “Minna, why don’t you tell us what reason ole Cliffie here might have for killing Andy and me?”

  Cliff spit beer across the table. Minna’s face turned beet red. Andy stiffened. “What?”

  “Tell her what, Cliff.” Jack’s voice was low with menace.

  Cliff glared at him. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  Minna sighed. “Give it up, boy. Yer holdin’ a losin’ hand. They’ll know soon enough.”

  Cliff jerked his head, flipping a hank of his hair out of his eyes. His expression was nervous and guilty.

  Jack started to stand. “I had a bad night and my temper is shorter than a disturbed diamondback right about now. Give Andy her answer.”

  Cliff swallowed over his Adam’s apple. “It’s nothing, really. Just that since Minna told me Andy is really Lee Lee Woodworth and that her parents once owned a piece of land I recently purchased, I was afraid maybe she’d have some…some claim to the…to anything that might be found on the property.”

  “Like in the old mine?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And why would this involve Minna.”

  “Well, she sort of put up half the cash for the place.”

  “And you’ve been working the mine in your spare time?”

  “Yeah. But I haven’t had much of that.”

  “How long have you owned the property?”

  “Since this winter.”

  “Who’d you buy it from?”

  Before Cliff could answer, Red Yager slammed open the bar doors and ran inside. His rust-colored mustache twitched and his head bobbed as he scanned the room. “Sheriff! Thank God. There’s been an accident. Just down the road. Some poor guy’s smashed up his car. It looks real bad.”

  Jack felt an inexplicable tightening around his heart. As the sheriff and his deputies scrambled to their feet, he did the same and was at Red’s side without knowing how he’d gotten there. He interrupted the sheriff’s questions. “What kind of car, Red?”

  Jack noticed a welt forming above Red’s left eye.

  Red squinted at him. “An old blue Bronco.”

  Wally’s car. Ice flowed over Jack’s heart. He swore. “Where?”

  Red explained. Jack was moving toward the door when Andy caught up to him. She grasped his arm. Her heart was in her throat. “What?”

  “Wally.”

  “Oh, no.” Her stomach churned and her head felt light. She’d known something awful was going to happen, but somehow, she’d imagined it would be to Jack or herself. “Was it really an accident?”

  “I don’t know. This heat hasn’t been doing him any good, nor has the stress.” Panic robbed Jack of his reasoning skills. “I’m going with the sheriff and find out.”

  “I’ll go, too.”

  If this was as bad as Red indicated, Jack wanted to spare Andy the horror. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It might be pretty awful. Why don’t you go back to the motel? I’ll have Birdsill send one of his deputies with you.”

  Andy didn’t want to be parted from Jack, but if what he said about Wally was true, she didn’t want to see it. Besides, he’d let her know as soon as possible what was happening. “Don’t bother the sheriff. I’ll be safe with Minna.”

  Jack had to admit his worries about Minna being Nightmare Man had disappeared when she’d accused Cliff of yesterday’s attack on them. “All right. I’ll let you know what’s going on the minute I have news.”

  “I’ll be praying for Wally.”

  But Jack knew as soon as he arrived at the crash site and saw the sheriff’s expression that Andy’s prayers for Wally would be too late.

  The sheriff shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  “What happened?” Awful pain plunged through Jack. “How?”

  “Did he have any heart problems?”

  Jack nodded. “He was taking pills for high blood pressure.”

  “As county coroner I’ve seen my share of heart attacks, and my initial examination tells me this might just be another. Probably came on sudden and killed him instantly. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  At least he hadn’t been shot—like Virgil, Jack thought, finding little comfort in the knowledge. He gave Birdsill the names and telephone numbers for Wally’s next of kin, then stood to one side, numb, while the ambulance arrived and took the body away to a funeral home in Virginia City.

  How many times had he covered auto crashes for the Sun? After the first horrendous time, he’d always remained detached, his reporter’s instincts taking hold and carrying him through. Not now. Nothing about Wally could be handled impersonally. But his affection for Wally was getting in the way of making certain death had occurred naturally—and he owed it to his old friend to prove that.

  Studying the outside of the Bronco told him nothing. He moved around to the open driver’s door and stuck his head inside. The engine had been rammed into the dashboard and the steering wheel was bent, but neither sported so much as a trace of blood-which might mean that Wally had been dead before the Bronco hit the telephone pole, jus
t like the sheriff thought. Jack sighed.

  As to what Wally might have discovered at the courthouse, he’d apparently brought nothing tangible with him. It didn’t matter, anyway. They had learned who owned the property without Wally’s help. The possibility that he’d sent his old friend to his death—for no reason—weighed heavily on Jack.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jolted and bumped his head on the doorframe.

  “Hey, fellah. You need some help?”

  Slowly withdrawing from the Bronco, Jack gazed at the stranger, whose apparel screamed “tourist.” Across the road two minivans were parked one before the other, both full to the rear windows with kids and travel gear.

  The stranger repeated his offer of help. Jack thanked him, explained the situation and sent the man and his traveling companions on their way. More vehicles were coming down the road and Jack realized Birdsill must have lifted the ban on tourism sometime last night. If he didn’t leave now, others would be stopping, asking him questions.

  He started to shut the Bronco door when his gaze fell on a dark spot on the back of the driver’s seat. Reaching inside, he touched it. It was drying rapidly, but a spot of red moisture adhered to his fingertip. Sniffing, he detected the unmistakable coppery scent of blood.

  His instincts kicked in like a slam to the gut. If Wally had died from a heart attack, why was there fresh blood on this seat? A cursory search revealed nothing sharp enough to puncture flesh. His skin prickled. This needed looking into before an autopsy was performed.

  Jack ran back through town, dodging the new influx of foot traffic as he raced to the motel. Andy was in Minna’s apartment. He told them Wally was dead, eschewing any mention of the sheriff’s theory that it had been a heart attack.

  Minna blanched at the news and dropped into her chair, visibly shaken. “But he was here not more than an hour or so ago, drinkin’ tea, talkin’ ‘bout cats. Whew! The Lord likes His surprises, don’t He?”