Bad Country: A Novel (30 page)

So, your brother kept that gun? The one your father used to commit suicide?

It is possible. I have never seen it, but as I said he was very secretive and liked to bury his treasures.

All right, Mrs. Miller. I’ll not bother you anymore about this. I’ll call when I’m done with the investigation. He disconnected without saying good-bye. His phone rang but he let Sisely Miller get redirected to voice mail.

He closed the hollowed-out book on the .38 and put it back where he had found it and started a close search of each book, starting at the top shelf with archeology.

After an hour Rodeo had read down to a shelf height at which a man seated at the desk would have an easy reach from his chair to the bookshelf. And the books in this area were obviously the most used. Rodeo identified and examined the book most clearly dog-eared.
Paths of Life: American Indians of the Southwest and Northern Mexico
was a nontechnical reference book published by the University of Arizona Press describing and analyzing the cultures of the ten major tribes of Native Americans in the Southwest. As he read the table of contents Rodeo felt a cold hand press his chest.

*   *   *

An hour later Rodeo knocked on Eryn Hage’s back door. She called him in. Eryn was sitting on the cowhide couch staring at the mantelpiece. She nodded Rodeo into the straight-back chair near the hearth but seemed to be lost in serious reverie or simply stoned. Rodeo cleared his throat and she looked at him then.

Jesus Christ, you look like you got run over by a bull, she said. That just happen out back? Your drop something on yourself?

Something sort of got dropped on me recently, Eryn, Rodeo said. It’s nothing.

You know your daddy came in my house one day and looked about like you do right now. When I asked him what happened he said he got drunk and fell off a tractor and the tractor ran right over him. Right over his pretty face. The woman stared again at Buck’s photo on the mantelpiece. He left right after that. I guess he recovered?

I guess he did, Rodeo said.

You got things straightened up in my rental, Little Rodeo? Eryn asked.

Somewhat, Eryn.

You staying around then?

I don’t think so, Eryn. I could be here a little while longer but I maybe might have already wrapped things up for Sisely Miller. At least as best as I can.

Eryn Hage suddenly seemed sober.

Hard to make a living when you work by the hour and work that quick, the old rancher said.

Sometimes it’s like that in my business, Rodeo said. Sometimes it’s the other way around.

Well, whatever you were doing for that Miller woman, charge her double your regular rate because the Millers have more money than the Pope and I guess her people do too from the looks of her and the way she acts, said Eryn Hage.

What do you mean, Eryn? How does Sisely Miller look and act?

Like money, the old woman said. Like a Power Player.

How’d Burke get here to your place then, Eryn? Rodeo asked. No offense, but this place is not exactly the Ritz.

His sister just rang my doorbell one day. Eryn took a drink. I let her in since she knew some people I knew and she’s not bigger than a fried pie except for her plastic tits. Her Chanel suits weigh more than she does. Said she’d heard about my place for rent from some Gem and Mineral people I might have known once and she wanted a place for her brother to stay. I know the Millers have their in-town family home nearby the courthouse. Had that since forever, of course. Millers were around here even before the Hages were.

So it was Burke’s sister that actually got Professor Burke in your rental here? Rodeo asked.

She said her brother wanted someplace private, I guess. With a back way in. Like I told you, the little girl said she was Randy Miller’s wife and I know Randy from Tea Party rallies and I know the Millers who’ve been in south Arizona as long as dirt has been, so it seemed all right. Millers are good people even if some of them are peculiar.

What does that mean, Eryn?

Nothing. That’s just the way it is with families. Always have the weird one now and again.

What do you think of Randy Miller?

If he doesn’t get himself assassinated then Randy will be our next Congressman from District Seven if I have anything to do with it. Then he’ll probably run for President before he gets too much older or somebody lands some mud on him.

Who says Randy Miller has been threatened, Eryn? Who would assassinate Randy Miller?

Some radical leftist crackpot what I heard. It’s all over the Internet, the woman said. She waved her plastic tumbler. You know Randy scares hell out of all them over at the University, all those liberal intellectual types with their heads up their asses.

What about Sisely Miller, Eryn? asked Rodeo. What did you make of her?

Well, the little lady carries cash. Which is probably not too smart these days. But it was good for me because she gave me cash money for twelve months, double for Gem Show time and a big damage deposit so I didn’t care if she moved the Ayatollah Khomeini into the rental as long as he didn’t smoke. Like I said, I can’t hear much of anything that goes on in that far apartment. The man kept to himself and so I had no complaints until he killed himself. Truth told I hardly ever saw him. I thought his sister might be the crazy one to tell more truth.

How so? asked Rodeo.

She seemed to have an agenda, said Eryn Hage.

Of what sort?

Nothing in particular. She’s just not upfront and seems sort of manipulative if you know what I mean. I don’t like sneaky people. I just wasn’t raised that way. Your mother was like that.

Like what, Eryn?

Working on their men behind the scenes. Not upfront about things.

You think Sisely Miller was like that?

I think she had an agenda with Randy, is what I think.

Like what?

She needed a husband, he needed a wife. Some people are like that.

What was the relationship between Sisely and Tinley?

Before he moved in that sister of his came over here and made out like her brother was some sort of basketcase.

Was he? asked Rodeo.

When I met the man he seemed to be just quiet. Maybe he was a little weird. I thought he was queer but then when I was on the back patio one night I heard him banging away at some screaming woman.

Did you see the woman, Eryn?

No, she said. I didn’t see her. I heard her. But I don’t meddle with my rentals.

But his sister told you that Professor Burke was crazy?

She didn’t say it outright. She said it like, “if you could keep an eye on him and give me a call if he needs anything, Judge Miller and I would appreciate it,” like that. As if I’m going to spy on my own renter or something. I didn’t care what he did as long’s he left me out of it.

Did you ever visit with him, Eryn?

He just kept to himself mostly, but when you talked to him he would talk and be friendly enough. Seemed normal for the most part. Just that he wanted to talk about things that weren’t regular, you know.

Things like what, Eryn?

Well, not about the weather or horses. My men always wanted to talk about weather or horses. Or dogs or cattle …

Politics? Did Professor Burke talk about Randy Miller or politics?

Not about politics, Eryn said. About life stuff, you know. About feelings, whatever the hell those are. And about how I felt being old and being a single woman and what’s the meaning of life kind of crap. The old woman jiggled the ice cubes in her drink and shook her head. Not interested, I told him. Life is life. You live and you die and work in between. So he left me alone after those first few conversations.

Was Burke acting different lately?

Seemed downer than usual, Eryn Hage said. But he wadn’t hardly a bundle of joy to begin with. Just seemed preoccupied is all. I know he lost his job at the U and so I thought he probably just missed the teaching work. I gathered from his sister that he didn’t need the money but men need to have work.

Anything strange happen while he lived over there in your place?

Strange like what?

Just anything out of the ordinary beyond what a regular drunk would do?

Eryn scrunched her brow. Now you come to say that … Eryn nodded. I’d been off to Scottsdale on some business a couple of weeks ago … I don’t know when … the old woman drifted off.

Go on, Eryn, said Rodeo. What was out of the ordinary when you came back home here?

Just that there were three dead cats—bang, bang, bang—laid out side by side by side right in the middle of the street right in front of my place, right out there on Convent.

Were they roadkills?

It’d be unlikely that three of those skittish feral cats we got taking over the neighborhood would all get run over right in the same place and line themselves up all in a row like that wouldn’t it? Don’t be stupid. Somebody put them there.

Anybody got a grudge against you, Eryn?

Half the neighborhood has a grudge against me, the old woman said. And the other half thinks I am the saint of Convent Street.

You wouldn’t remember when this happened, when you saw these cats, would you?

Not a clue but to say like I did that it was a little while ago. If you’re pressing me I don’t even remember where I was coming back from, tell the truth, could have been a Tea Party rally in Tempe. In fact, I might have seen her there. Randy was the keynote speaker. Why? You working for the SPCA now? Good riddance I say about dead cats. I hate them. Ruining the neighborhood and you can’t shoot them anymore.

You don’t know how they died?

No idea. Why should I? Just seemed weird is all.

Eryn, I’m gonna go back over to Burke’s place …

It’s not his place. It’s my place.

Rodeo stood.

Make me a fresh drink, will you, Little Rodeo?

Eryn Hage held up her plastic tumbler. Rodeo took it to the kitchen and dumped out the old drink’s residue. He reloaded the glass with ice from a bag in the freezer and poured it almost to the top with Diet Coke from a two liter bottle then added about one teaspoon of gin to the top just for taste, just as he’d made his mother’s drinks whenever he could, mostly ice, mostly mixer with just the smell of alcohol on top to convince her.

He handed the drink to Eryn and told her to drink it slow because he had made it strong and then left the old woman to herself.

*   *   *

He went back to Burke’s apartment and spent a little more time with
Paths of Life: American Indians of the Southwest and Northern Mexico
. He looked for the fictional manuscript that probably had been inspired by that nonfiction, Tinley Burke’s serial killer book,
Paths of Death
but could not find it.

When he had constructed a good scenario of the action, Rodeo called Sirena’s cell phone. The phone number was not accepting voice mail so he called the Molina home in the desert where she would be staying now that her father was dead and gone. But Ray’s voice answered on the third ring as the message machine activated.

“This is Sheriff Ray Molina. If you got an emergency and get this message then call 911. If you need information, call 411. If you got information then come by the sheriff’s during office hours like a good citizen.” The message was then repeated in bad Spanish.

Rodeo waited for the beep. I just thought you might like to know that I found a thumb drive with a copy of Professor Burke’s serial killer novel at BoonDocks, in his trinket bucket where you never thought to look, Rodeo said. In this story a crazy man bases serial murders on an academic book and kills members of all the ten tribes of Indians in the Southwest. That sounds sort of familiar doesn’t it? Like you said at the swimming pool, there’s a serial killer loose in Los Jarros County. And it seems like this would be a good way to hide the one murder out of the ten that was actually the motivated one. Like the Apache? You might want to take a look at Tinley’s writing. It’s a pretty good read. Rodeo hung up.

Rodeo then dialed Twin Arrows.

Luis, stay at the store, he said. I’ll be there in an hour and a half.

Where else would I be? asked Luis.

*   *   *

Rodeo’s cell phone rang during the drive to Twin Arrows. He did not recognize the number but he picked up anyway.

Mr. Rodeo Garnet? This is Paul Bercich and I am a Special Investigator attached to the Major Crimes department of the State Police. We’d like to talk to you. The sooner the better.

Are you holding her? Rodeo asked.

Who’s that?

Sirena Rae Molina, said Rodeo. Have you arrested Sirena? Is that what this is about?

Paul Bercich cleared his throat. Well, I guess we can skip some of the music and go right to the dancing. No, we’re not holding her. Her lawyer flew right in and swooped her up just like the eagle snatches up the snake on the Mexican flag.

Who’s her lawyer? Rodeo asked.

Jarred Willis, Bercich said.

Rodeo’s mouth felt dry. Maybe sooner would be better than later, he said.

Sooner’s good for me, said Paul Bercich. We are in Los Jarros County right now. How about we meet you at that store nearby your place?

I’m headed to Twin Arrows Trading Post right now, Rodeo said.

See you there in an hour.

*   *   *

A black Crown Victoria with a whip antenna and polarized windows was parked back-end to the hitching post at the northside end of the store. Rodeo parked near the door and thought he saw in the back seat of the car a dark face under a white hat. He exited his truck, but as he was moving toward the Crown Vic to check it out a man he didn’t know appeared at the door of the store.

Hello there, the man said. You Rodeo Garnet?

Yessir.

The man strode toward Rodeo with his right hand outstretched, his other hand flashing a badge in a leather folder. The man was middle-aged with a hard paunch, talked like an Anglo but seemed Mexican. There was a bulge under his left armpit and another under his jacket near his right hip. His cowboy boots were pointy-toed and high-heeled. His hair was slicked straight back with gel and he gave off a strong scent of deodorant.