Antler Dust (The Allison Coil Mystery Series Book 1) (16 page)

“I was wondering if you could tell me who camped last week with that guy Dean Applegate.”

She was careful to put the focus on Applegate, not Alvin’s boss, Grumley.

“The quiet one.”

He knocked back his first drink and reached for the bottle.

“How’s that?”

“I helped pack Grumley and his buddies up and down three years running and I never could figure out that guy.”

She let it dangle. She wanted to poke around, but didn’t want to sound like the FBI.

“Now I hear he’s all over, talking like a raving madman,” he said. “Go figure. I couldn’t get ten words out of him. Not like the others.”

“The others,” said Allison. “The others were—”

“Pretty cool. Flatlanders, don’t get me wrong, but they knew it. Applegate always had to have his camouflage.”

“Do you know them?”

“By name?”

“Yeah.”

“
Nick
names—two of ’em. ‘Fishy’ Marcovicci and ‘Locks.’ Oh, and another guy named Frank. And Grumley and Applegate. Why don’t you ask George?”

This was the hard part, not knowing how secretive to be, not knowing how much she could trust Alvin. This was the part where she had hoped he would play stupid.

“He’s a busy guy ...”

“It has to do with Rocky, right?” he said. “Word is out that you’re poking around. I’ve had questions myself. I mean it’s been a long time now. Too long.”

“The cops are petering out,” said Allison, “and don’t seem to care.”

“And that’s because—”

“They’re too busy with the guy in the deer suit,” she said.

“And what do you think these three have to do with anything? They’re puppies, let me tell you, who could barely manage to survive for a day by themselves in a stocked hunting camp with a full-time maid.”

“I’m curious if they know anything.”

Alvin buried his nose in his drink and crossed his eyes to watch the fluid go down.

“You don’t think the cops already got to ’em? Hell, they found me. One of the guys from one of our camps got pinned down on his way out, just because he was driving out from Grumley’s barn. He tried to explain that they had been hunting eight miles north of Ripplecreek.”

“You’re probably right,” said Allison.

“It’s possible Rocky got caught, strayed from his camp. Maybe he couldn’t find his way back. Froze or something.”

“I suppose,” said Allison. She said it with a touch of conviction, but didn’t mean it.

“What you need is all the guns in the valley that day, test all the ones that could have handled the bullet that zipped into Mr. Deer Suit, get one stupid murder or accidental shooting or whatever it was off their minds.” Alvin spoke like it was all a snap. “And get the cops to help find Rocky.”

The phone rang.

“Allison?” It was Trudy.

“Yes. Hi.”

They had been talking on the phone daily, but this was the first time Trudy had initiated the call.

“Do you have a second?” said Trudy.

Alvin took a drink, looked tense, but wasn’t going anywhere. Allison turned away, toward her small kitchen.

“I need a second,” said Trudy. “My airport friend called. I told you George took the plane out. He’s coming back late this afternoon. Very quick trip. An overnight, which is unusual. And the jet that brought in one of his customers—well, the pilot is there now. They’re prepping it. I guess it’s one of those new corporate jets. A Gulf Something.”

“Stream,” said Allison. “A Gulfstream.”

“Expensive,” said Trudy.

“Very,” said Allison.

Alvin looked at her and smiled.

“I thought I’d let you know.”

“Interesting. Thanks,” said Allison.

“Did you get your house back together?” said Trudy.

“For the most part. It looks okay. Look, I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll stop by real soon. Thanks.”

Allison hung up. Alvin’s grin was gone; he was stone-faced.

“Was Rocky fighting with anyone?” said Allison.

“Cops asked that one eight ways from Sunday. No.”

“You think he was up there working?”

“Sure.”

“He wasn’t doing anything—”

“Peculiar?” said Alvin.

“Yeah.”

“Rocky Carnivitas? Maybe he smoked a joint now and then, maybe he drank too much in the shit-kicking joints, I don’t know. You think you’re concerned, go ask Trudy Grumley.”

“Why her?” Allison played innocent.

“The Grumley crew, that was one of things we had to do, rotate in on ‘Trudy Duty.’ Woman’s got a problem with her brain, it freezes up, I guess. I’ve never been there, thank God, when it’s happened. Anyway, we’ve got to babysit her, take her places. She can’t drive.”

Alvin stopped as if that completed a loop of logic.

“And Rocky?”

“Was her favorite. He started picking up shifts, seemed like, to be with her. An A-1 hunting guide spending his days shuttling her around? I think she took a fancy to him. I bumped into them one day in the grocery store. Sick woman and her helper? I don’t think so.”

“But—”

“No, I don’t think anyone would take the chance of playing footsie with the boss’ wife. Most likely, they were friends. Anyway, that was Rocky. He could get real sympathetic.”

“George didn’t notice?”

“Who’s to say? Go talk to her, but bring your machete.”

“Huh?”

“Her house is a jungle. Plants growing out of every nook and granny. I mean cranny.” He started to laugh.

“Cats, too. Every shape and size, climbing on everything.”

Alvin stopped. His face contorted like he suddenly solved the quadratic equation. “But maybe he saw a set of antlers, an unbelievable rack he couldn’t resist and he set off after them. Got lost. It’s happened. He was always after the prize, wanted to break all the records, get his picture plastered all over the paper. That boy was convinced the record rack was right here in the Flat Tops. Convinced.”

“Really?”

“And velvet too. Rocky said he had a pipeline to get the velvet to Korea and China and places like that. Prize USA velvet or even fresh antler, all ground up and preserved. Like I said, Rocky always talked about a pipeline outta here, right under the export radar and off she goes, money coming right back.”

“You believe that?” said Allison. Alvin was getting a faraway look in his eye but she still needed something from him.

“What, that it’s some sort of Chinese Viagra?” said Alvin.

“Yeah, you believe it?”

“You mean, have I tried it?”

“Didn’t ask that.”

“Well, I would try it but I don’t fucking need it, pardon the joke,” he said. “Mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Before I forget, can you get me the names of the other three hunters? The full names?”

“Still onto that? Sure,” said Alvin.

“Of course. If you want to get your hands all dirty.”

He wobbled a bit as he walked. He stood a moment before opening the bathroom door, getting his bearings. Allison started thinking of how to scoot him out, maybe pretend she was the one that had to leave. She’d rather be with Trudy. She wondered if Slater had the sources to find out which cop might have talked to Fishy, Frank and Locks.

She was lost in thought and didn’t hear Alvin finish up. He came up behind her and put a hand on each shoulder, rubbing the muscles. His hands felt like steel clamps, stiff and indifferent. Built to grip, not to touch. She squirmed, leaning forward.

“Aw, the big brush-off.”

He worked his way around to her chest. She stood up and turned around.

He held up his hands like an innocent and feigned surprise.

She leaned against the table, eyeing him and getting a whiff of the bourbon. He retrieved the bottle, took a drink and passed it to her like an invitation. She shook her head no.

He took a step forward, standing between her legs. He brushed his knuckles on her cheek.

“It’s been a long time,” he said.

“Bobby.”

“Who’s gonna know?”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Going?” he mocked. “It
is
happening.”

She gripped the table as he went for her arm.

“The girl from the big city. That’s how they talk.
Going
. Is that how they tease, too?”

“I thought we could talk.”

He reached around, grinding his pelvis against hers. He grabbed for the bottle. He knocked back a swig. “One little go ’round,” he said. “Like the rodeo. A go ’round.”

“No,” said Allison, thinking that striking him might be like whipping a spooked horse.

She felt him hook a finger in the top button of her Wranglers. “Don’t do this,” she said.

“Animals do it and they don’t even know why,” he said. “You’re not gonna deny a guy who’s a bit down on his luck. One peek at that cute butt.” He cracked a slick half smile, working to provide a glimpse of warmth. “How does such a petite thing like you learn how to ride them big ol’ horses, anyway? Okay, let’s pretend I’m the horse. Saddle me up, strap me on.”

She turned her head slightly as he moved in for a kiss. He landed his desperate, dull mouth on her cheek. She kept her arms propped back against the table behind her and tried to look unconcerned. He rocked his pelvis, wanting her to feel his excitement.

He had already wormed his face around to the back of her neck, thinking it was irresistible. She resented his size and position and demands. The top button of her jeans popped loose. She put a hand on his hand, where it was searching for the next notch of hope and pulled it away.

“Stop,” she said. She hit a tone point past firm but not quite angry. She put her hands on his cheeks. “Stop. You need to stop right now. This is not a re-start. I needed help and I thought you’d be willing to give it to me. That’s it, that’s all.”

He stood slow as a bear after hibernation. He looked her in the eye.

“Jesus,” he said. “Sorry. I thought maybe, thought we ...”

“I know,” said Allison.

“If you ever ...”

“I know,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know what ...”

She buttoned her jeans.

In the world of events, she thought, a romp with Alvin wouldn’t have hurt. But it might have given him hope. And there was the complication. Pieces of the heart, once frozen over, should never be deiced.

Eight

Allison parked her Blazer beyond the perimeter fence of the airport and picked up her binoculars. There was no problem picking out the Gulfstream, a showroom-clean and bright white jet parked amid the smaller props. Four men were sorting gear and moving equipment around. George’s Mooney was wingtip to wingtip with the Gulfstream. Trudy had given her the Mooney’s tail number and Allison jotted down the Gulfstream’s.

A small truck was parked nearby and even without its sign Allison would have recognized it: Ted’s Taxidermy. The enclosed rear of the truck was refrigerated. It was not possible to pick out George until near the end of the fifteen-minute exchange of baggage. The last item moved was an elk or a deer. A sizable set of antlers poked out of the canvas wrap that held the skin. Elk. Two men shook hands and one headed to the steps that led up to the Gulfstream. The other man, who went back to his pickup, had to be George.

“Where’s Rocky?” she said out loud. “Where’s Rocky, George? Do you know?”

The staircase automatically folded up into the Gulfstream and the clutter of men and equipment vanished from the jet’s skirts. Allison rolled down her window to listen to the engine’s whistle. The machine lumbered out to the runway. Without stopping, and without an ounce of extra noise, the jet reached takeoff speed with no visible sign of struggle. It shot up into the clouds. Ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine percent of the time, she thought, aircraft function like they should.

Allison slumped low in the front seat of the Blazer until she heard George and the Ted’s Taxidermy truck drive past. There was one road in and out of the airport. She could see enough to tell that George’s truck was full. The taxidermist followed George and she slowly turned her Blazer around after they had left. There was no need to follow. Ted’s destination wasn’t a question.

****

Slater’s desk was one of four in a jumble that supported an apparently free-floating swamp of newspapers, newsletters, memos and junk. There was no trace of organization.

The rangers’ district office was upstairs in a renovated old warehouse, overlooking the train station. The floor was the original bare wooden planks. The soft clomping of staffers and secretaries echoed and creaked at the slightest movement below the exposed-beam ceiling. Slater’s desk and the three others were each propped over braided area rugs, as if this defined an office.

“Thought you were working,” said Slater, hardly surprised at seeing her. In fact, he didn’t even seem that interested or happy or much of anything about her arrival.

“Thought you were up-country,” said Allison. “Stopped by on a whim.”

“Just got back, changed at home and came here to do, uh, paperwork.” He glanced at the menacing pile on his desk.

“Right,” said Allison. “Hard to believe.”

“And you?”

“Called in sick. Outright lied.”

“So we can go back to your place?”

“And ...” It dawned on her. “Yours is closer.”

“Yours is more comfortable.”

Slater lived in a trailer park south of town. She’d seen it twice.

It was a doublewide, neatly kept. He was saving money for something. But it was a trailer in a trailer park with trailer people. She wasn’t that sound a sleeper. Nothing about his home setup said “Welcome, girlfriend.” She never really thought about the place where he lived but chalked it up to his generally thrifty ways.

“What are you up to, if you’re not in fact ill?”

“Trying to figure out a few things.”

“Still,” said Slater. It was more a statement than a question. “Nobody’s seen Rocky Carnivitas for a real long time.” She walked him through a few details he’d missed the last few days, particularly the identity of Rocky and a few bits about Trudy. The rough picture. She did not want it to sound like a crusade. “So the missing Rocky is number one. I found parts of a matching GPS collar in Rocky’s trailer—”

“Oh?”

“Trudy asked me to take a look and gave me a key. No Rocky. But I found a unit identical to the one we found up top with the dead elk.”