A Dead Man's Tale (10 page)

Daisy Wheedles

Sarah Frank was capable of red-hot anger and could fight like a tigress when sufficiently provoked—but the kindhearted youth could not hold on to a grudge with both hands. By the time they had passed through the Columbine gate, leaving the painfully bumpy ranch lane for the pleasure of rolling along on miles of smoothly paved highway, the driver had entirely forgiven the old blackmailer seated beside her in the pickup.

Aware of this act of Christian charity, Daisy Perika was slightly miffed. The aged woman needed spice in her life, and there was nothing like a good fight to make an otherwise bland hour savory with flavor. Though pretending to nap, she was trying to think of some way to enliven an already promising day.

The honest hound on the floor at Daisy’s feet was truthfully asleep. In dog years, Sidewinder was almost as old as the tribal elder and he needed his rest.

The clever old conniver continued to cogitate.
Whatever’s got Sarah so excited probably happened yesterday, after Scott Parris showed up for a free meal.
The most interesting remarks the chief of police had made at lunch were “Please pass me the bread” and “No, I don’t need any more beans.” But after the meal, Charlie and the white cop had gone upstairs to her nephew’s office.
And it wasn’t long after that, that Sarah took some coffee and cookies to them. And now that I think about it, she had an awfully peculiar look when she came back to the kitchen.
Daisy spent a mile or so “hmm-ing” about that factoid.
Sarah must’ve heard something up there. Something the men didn’t want her to hear. Something that wasn’t any of her business. Police business.
Daisy figured there was nothing to lose by making a probe or two to test her hypothesis. Without opening her eyes, she muttered, “Listening at keyholes can get a person into serious trouble.”

Startled by this sudden insightful observation, Sarah ran her red pickup onto the shoulder.

I knew it!
The sly old woman smiled.

Sarah struggled to get the vehicle back onto the blacktop.
How does she do that?
“I thought you were asleep.”

“Just like you thought those two men didn’t know you was listening outside Charlie’s office door.” Daisy opened her eyes and wagged a finger at the driver. “Take it from someone who knows—Charlie Moon can hear a chigger sneeze a mile away. And for a pale-skinned
matukach,
Scott ain’t an easy man to fool.”

“I didn’t intend to listen, I—”
Oh, I am so stupid—why did I say that?

“Well of course you didn’t.” Daisy barely managed to conceal her pleasure at this confession. “But don’t apologize, there’s nothing wrong with a woman finding out what the menfolk are up to.” Her crackly old voice cackled a wicked laugh. “Even if she goes out of her way to do it.”
Now, I’ll give her some time to think about it. Sooner or later, she’ll tell me what she’s up to.

Sarah had clamped her mouth shut.

Daisy Perika waited for a full minute.

The girl was as silent as the hound.

She needs a little nudge.
“Getting mixed up in police business can be tricky.” The manipulator counted ten telephone poles. “And dangerous to boot.”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to come along and—”
Oh, no. I’ve done it again.

“That’s very sweet of you. But now that I’m here, you might as well tell me what kind of trouble you’re about to get me into.” The devious old hypocrite grinned like a possum with a ripe pawpaw. “You owe me that much.”

Field Marshal Daisy had won the battle.

Sarah surrendered. Unconditionally. She told the tribal elder everything she knew (which was admittedly only a fraction of the big picture), closing with: “Mr. Parris needs to find out whether a Mrs. Reed is cheating on her husband.”

“So you’re going to spy on this married woman?”

“I’m not going to
spy
on anybody. All I’m going to do is…well…” Sarah frowned as she searched for a face-saving euphemism. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Daisy chuckled. “Call a skunk a lilac, it stinks just the same.”

The greenhorn detective responded in a professional tone. “I’ll make notes about where Mrs. Reed goes and who she talks to and somehow or other find out whether or not she has a boyfriend and if she
does,
what the boyfriend’s name is and where he lives.” The producer of this lengthy statement paused for a breath of air. “That sort of thing.”

“Well if you ask me, that’s an awfully low and sleazy line of work—following a woman around, prying into her private affairs. No decent person would do such a thing.” The tribal elder beamed upon the scowling youth. “So you can count me in!”

Sarah and Daisy’s (and Sidewinder’s) Excellent Adventure

A bloodred sun was floating about five diameters high in a misty-blue sky when Sarah Frank drove slowly past 1200 Shadowlane Avenue, which address was identified by shiny brass numbers on a cedar post by the driveway entrance. This was not going to be as straightforward as she had hoped.
I can’t even see the Reeds’ house from the road.
The amateur detective was dismayed and discombobulated, but not defeated. She rolled about twenty yards down Shadowlane before turning her spiffy F-150 onto a ten-acre vacant lot. The combination of the tight right turn and the abrupt transformation from smooth-as-glass asphalt to a rutted dirt lane jolted a napping Daisy Perika wide awake just in time to see the For Sale by Owner sign.

Ditto the snoozing Columbine dog at her feet.

Make that a half ditto. Sidewinder had been rudely awakened, but the dog had not noticed the For Sale sign. The creature’s gaze was firmly fixed on the driver, his sad, houndish eyes clearly conveying the accusative query:
Why did you do a mean thing like that?

The tribal elder did not limit herself to a silent complaint. “What’re you trying to do, you Papago wildcat—jar my back teeth loose?”

“I’m sorry.” And the Ute-Papago orphan was sorry. But not a whole lot. Sarah shot the cranky old complainer a glance that was salted with an unspoken snappy rejoinder:
If you’d stayed on the ranch instead of nosing your way into my business, you’d still be in bed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Daisy mumbled.

Good!
Shifting down to Low, Sarah left the dirt lane to bumpity-bump her way onto a broad, rocky crest of a heavily treed section of the expensive real estate. Ignoring the hound’s protesting groans and Daisy’s painful moans, the Miss Papago Wildcat eased the pickup to a stop under a bushy juniper. “This’ll do just fine.”

“Do fine for what?”

“For the stakeout.”

“Oh, right.” Daisy would never have admitted that she had completely forgotten where they were and why. Not for all the succulent green chili in Hatch, New Mexico.

After slipping on a pair of Dollar Store plastic sunglasses and pulling a droopy-brimmed straw hat down to her ears, Sarah dug into a black canvas shopping bag and came up with a brand-new Pilot G2 ballpoint pen, a small Student Memo Pad, and a pair of Sears binoculars (her late father’s), which were several decades older than her youthful self.

Pleased to witness such childish whimsy, Daisy smiled at the girl. “You look like a sure-enough snoop.”

“This is what professionals do.” The novice gumshoe adjusted her shades. “I make notes on my pad, and I need the binoculars so I can see the
target
that I’m shadowing without that person realizing that I’m nearby. But just in case somebody does get a look at me, the hat and sunglasses will help conceal my identity.”

“Hah!” The old woman punctuated that remark with a snort. “Nobody out here in this ritzy neighborhood would recognize the likes of you or me.”

Not so, Miss D. As we shall shortly see.

The young lady and the elder are unaware of the stealthy approach of a pair of armed and dangerous men.

But Sidewinder’s nose knows; watch it sniff and snuff. And so do his long, droopy ears; see how they vainly attempt to prick. Listen to his low, guttural growl.

“Aaaiiieeeeee!”

No. That was not a growl.

Neither was the
“Eeep!”
emitted by Sarah Frank about forty milliseconds later.

The aforesaid
“Aaaiiieeeeee!”
was Daisy Perika’s terrified screech.

The startled Ute elder glared at the round, pink, smiling face framed in the passenger-side window. “Piggy Slocum—I ought to beat you to death with my walking stick for scaring me half to death like that, and I will, soon as I get this window down!” As she attempted to lower the glass barrier between her and the chubby, good-natured cop, Officer Slocum advised her that the window button wouldn’t work with the ignition in the Off position. This helpful advice served only to further agitate the Southern Ute elder.

“Hmmph!” (Officer Eddie Knox.)

“Eeep!” (Sarah again, louder this time.)

The girl had been startled by Cop Number Two, whose scowling, bushy-browed face appeared at the open driver’s-side window, Knox’s bulbous nose close enough to be tickled by the droopy brim of the girl’s hat.

“Well I should’ve known,” Daisy said. “If Tweedledee shows his silly face in public, Tweedle
dumb
can’t be far behind.”

Seemingly oblivious to this affront from Sarah’s testy passenger, Knox queried the driver, “What’re you doin’ parked on private property, Sarah?”

Humiliated to the core, the girl behind the sunshades could not get a word out.

Unencumbered by the least propensity toward humility, Daisy raised her chin in an impudent gesture. “What’s it to you, Peg-leg Eddie?”

From the squinty-eyed look that Eddie Knox aimed at Daisy, one might conclude that the valiant police officer who had lost a leg in a shootout did not appreciate this rude reference to his high-tech prosthesis.

Her oak walking staff gripped in both hands, Daisy was eyeing Knox.
I bet I could knock Big-mouth’s teeth down his throat before he could dodge.

Sensing that things were about to get out of hand, Slocum piped up in a conciliatory tone. “I betcha they’re gatherin’ a basket of last season’s piñon nuts.”

“I don’t think so, Pig.” Knox pointed his nose at the binoculars. “My guess is, they’re doin’ some bird-watching.” The cop grinned at Sarah. “How about it, kid—you spotted any mountain bluebirds?”

“No,” Daisy snapped. “But we did run into a pair of blue-coated jackasses!”

Officer Knox had had that portion that is commonly denoted “just about enough.”
If that nasty old witch makes a jab at me with her stick, I’ll slap the cuffs on her so fast it’ll make her head spin—and then I’ll charge her with assaulting an officer.

Licking her dry lips, Sarah was opening her mouth to explain when she was interrupted by Daisy.

“Since when is it against the law for a couple of honest, taxpaying citizens to check out some land that’s for sale?”

This tactic by Charlie Moon’s unpredictable auntie caught Knox off guard.
The old girl’s foxy as ever.
He grinned in genuine appreciation. “You telling me you’re interested in buying property out here on Shadowlane Avenue—a
ten-acre
lot?”

Daisy assumed her ultrahaughty Queen of the Utes expression. “If that’s the biggest they’ve got.” She sniffed. “Thirty acres would be more to my liking.”

Believing the old woman was serious, the innocent Slocum shook his head and said, “Daisy, these lots go for a hundred thousand an acre!”

Though startled by such an obscene price, the prospective buyer affected an indolent shrug. “Does it already have water and electric and telephone?”

“Yes’m,” Slocum said. “Natural gas too, and it’s all underground.” He pointed at what
wasn’t
there. “That’s why you don’t see no ’lectric poles.”

“Well with all that, it’d be a bargain at twice the price.” Pointedly ignoring the cops, Daisy Perika directed her next remark to Sarah. “Our tribe makes tons of money with gas leases and casinos and whatnot, and the chairman’s my first cousin. If I said a word to Oscar Sweetwater, why, he’d likely buy up this whole end of town—and pay cash money on the barrelhead.”

Realizing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Daisy, Knox ran up the white flag. “I s’pose these two suspicious characters ain’t violated any county ordinance, Pig. Let’s you’n me hit the road and get some serious police work done.”

Slocum tipped his hat at the ladies and withdrew with his partner to their unit, which Knox backed off the ten-acre lot and onto the street.

With the aid of her venerable 8X binoculars, Sarah watched the GCPD unit beetle its way north along Shadowlane Avenue until the sleek Chevrolet black-and-white was out of sight. Relieved to the point of wanting to cry, the girl satisfied herself with a sigh. And a silent prayer of thanks as she turned her binoculars on the Reed driveway.

Highly satisfied with herself, Daisy smirked.
This is turning out to be a fine morning.
And the day was still young.

“Oh!” Sarah frowned as she adjusted the optical instrument for a better focus.

“What is it?”

“A man driving a black Hummer. It must be Mr. Reed.”

It must be and it was. He turned south, and before you could whistle your favorite Chopin nocturne or “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” he was down the avenue and out of sight.

Daisy yawned.

Minutes passed. (Eleven of them.)

“Oh!”

“What’s it this time?” The old woman stifled a second yawn.

“A pink Cadillac coming down the driveway. A lady’s driving it.”

“Probably be one of them Mary Kay cosmetics gals, making calls on all the rich, wrinkled old white women who live out here.”
I bet they buy cold cream by the gallon.

Sarah shook her head, which caused her to momentarily lose sight of the expensive automobile. “It must be Mrs. Reed.” As the car exited the driveway and turned north, she dropped the binoculars into the canvas shopping bag, started the pickup’s engine, and backed up so fast that Daisy and the hound were (respectively) yelling rude imprecations and howling bloody murder.

Your budding detective is not deterred by such distractions. Picture cold springwater running off a mallard’s back.

But Sarah was going overly fast in Reverse, and as she roared toward the curb, the F-150’s rear bumper caught the edge of the For Sale by Owner sign and twisted it by about ninety degrees.

A few heartbeats later, she was zooming down Shadowlane Avenue like Casey Jones in Ol’ 97 rolling down Tennessee’s Copperhead Mountain at full throttle with a good head of steam—and no brakes.

There is nothing quite so exciting as
the chase
!

It would have been even more so, had the young woman realized that Officers Knox and Slocum had completed a wide circle and were now about a half mile behind her. What with the suspicious cops on her tail and Charlie Moon’s wild-eyed aunt seated beside her, Sarah Frank’s initial fling at amateur detection seemed destined to terminate abruptly.