Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music (22 page)

According to Sheila, sometime during the past week, a shooter or shooters had destroyed stop signs and road signs. Shots had gone through Roscoe Morris's trailer home, which he knew about. Tony didn't know someone had apparently killed a garden gnome. One of the shots had barely missed hitting the unpopular game warden, Harrison Ragsdale. Another had barely missed hitting Nem, the elderly egg man, while he was selling boiled peanuts. A sticky note from Sheila indicated she was checking with his competitor, Old Man Ferguson. Evidently she'd heard rumors of a boiled peanut feud.

A sign near the elementary school had been victimized. Sheila had been called out to the Shady Nest, a monstrosity of a project, high on the mountain overlooking the town. According to Sheila, the front door screen on the foreman's trailer had no fewer than ten holes in it.

The shooting near the school caught his full attention. The crackpot was getting more dangerous each day. The incidents were getting more frequent and were now all over the county and in town.

Sheila reported collecting shell casings—properly bagged, tagged and sent off to be analyzed—she'd found while digging in vegetation. She lined up the shots as best she could, but her technique lacked what she referred to as “finesse and total scientific ability.” There were many more holes in things than she had found the brass for.

She had a tip from an unknown source, indicating she should talk to the person shooting a rifle near the Shady Rest. Knowing the shooter was Angus Farquhar, she respectfully requested one of the male deputies check it out. If none were available or willing, she would do it herself, but not alone.

Frowning, Tony considered Sheila's request. She was not an alarmist. She was competent, clever and a fine shot. He'd never heard of her asking to be removed from any case because of her gender. He'd check this out for himself. No one was allowed to intimidate one of his staff.

The Shady Rest was the community's nickname for the Shady Nest, which was only a marginally better name for the housing development. The plan, or so he'd been told, had been to build quality patio homes for retirees or anyone who wanted to live in a beautiful mountain setting in a maintenance-free home. The homeowner dues covered snow removal, trash, exterior painting and even such items as plumbing emergencies, light bulb changing, and landscape work.

Tony had heard a different story from his brother. Admittedly, Gus couldn't build anything substandard. Theo's wheelchair ramp was ample proof, but Tony had heard a fair amount of grumbling and had served the management of Shady Nest with legal papers from several homeowners. In short, management was being sued for everything from misrepresentation to fraud to endangerment.

As he drove up the winding mountain road, he couldn't help but notice the beauty of his surroundings. The mountains were spectacular. This was one of the most beautiful autumns in memory. He lowered his window to enjoy the scents of the season.

Then he heard it. The crack of sound only a rifle could produce. Either someone was hunting, or vandals were taking pot shots again. The sound was more in line with a .22 than with a higher caliber gun, something for deer.

He drove around the turn below Shady Nest and heard it again.
Ka-boom
. Following the sound, he turned off the road and onto a pair of ruts winding through tall grass and shrubs.
Ka-boom
. He stopped in a clearing near a cabin. Angus Farquhar sat on a ladder-back chair, on his own front porch, shooting his own pickup truck. Surrounding him was an arsenal of rifles and handguns, and next to him was a bottle of scotch, two-thirds empty.

He was wearing nothing but his unwashed underwear and lace up boots. No wonder Sheila refused to come up. The man really was a pig. He even looked like a pig. His big pink body was sparsely decorated with gray hairs, and his nose sort of turned up like a snout. He wasn't as smart as pig, though, or as fastidious about his personal grooming.

Angus had a long history of petty crimes. He also had a long history of public intoxication. It was not illegal to get drunk on your own porch or to shoot your own truck. He wasn't anywhere near the city limits.

“Angus.” Tony wanted to be sure the man knew he was not alone. “It's Sheriff Abernathy.”

Angus lifted his bottle and took a big swig. He swallowed a fair amount, then spat the excess back into the bottle before offering it to Tony. “Join me?”

“Thank you, but no. I'm on duty.” Tony could think of a few things he'd like less than sharing a bottle with Angus, but not many.

Angus shrugged. He lifted an old rifle and took aim at his truck.
Ka-boom
.

“Why are you shooting your truck?” Tony saw the multitude of holes in the radiator and all the antifreeze on the ground. The only thing left in the windshield was a few glass fragments. “It can't have been that much trouble.”

“It ain't the truck I'm shooting.” Angus glared. “It's the pack rats.”

“Pack rats are causing more damage than your arsenal?”

Angus narrowed his little pink piggy eyes and spat, just missing Tony's feet. “Any of your business?”

Tony thought he could get away with killing the man. There were no witnesses. He could claim self-defense. He doubted anyone in the county would object. Someone might suggest a parade in his honor. Too bad he was saddled with a conscience.

“Are you shooting at the Shady Nest buildings?”

“Nope.”

“Have you hit any of the Shady Nest buildings?”

“Nope.” Angus took another swig of whiskey. “They claiming I have?”

“I'm claiming your aim could be better. It can't be over fifteen feet to the front bumper of your pickup, and I'd say you've missed more than you've hit or there would be pack rat carcasses all over the ground.”

Angus spat in Tony's direction. “I want you off my land.”

“I'm leaving now, Angus.” Tony didn't turn his back to the pig. “But I'll come back with a warrant if I have to and drag you down the mountain, handcuffed to my bumper.”

Tony noticed the days were getting shorter. Darkness came before a lot of workers made it home for the night. A fair number of 'possums, raccoons and other small creatures failed to safely cross the highway. It wasn't unusual to have several deer a night become victims of their own poor judgment and timing. The odd thing was the road kill seemed to be vanishing. He hadn't noticed there being more carrion eaters in the area. The last person he'd ask would be Harrison Ragsdale, the local game warden.

Nicknamed, Hairy Rags, the man set Tony's teeth on edge. He carried a maple wood cane, shaped like a shepherd's crook, but not because he needed help walking. He carried it crook down, and he walked a fair amount, always swinging the cane back and forth, ready to hit anything in his path. The man hated animals. All kinds. He didn't like people either. Tony thought it made his choice of profession beyond curious.

Tony had tried discussing the issue of the man and his job with his supervisor. Sighs and apologies meant the man's job was safe. No one liked him. No one thought he did his job exactly as described on the spec sheets. No one was prepared to go through all the hoops required to fire him. The man would eventually retire.

In the late afternoon, Roscoe showed up at the doorway of Tony's office, dragging a highly intoxicated Quentin. “I can't take him home like this.” Releasing Quentin for a moment, Roscoe's arms swung in wide circles. “He'll fall out of the truck.”

The pair of them were regular visitors. Tony rose to his feet. He tried to herd the two men in the direction of the jail side of the building where Quentin could safely sleep off the alcohol. Tony looked at Roscoe. “Can't you just buckle him in and lock the door and take him home?”

“Not with Baby. He can't ride inside with my Baby.” Roscoe's eyes widened when seemed to remember where he was and who he was talking to. “I mean, er, uh, that is, er, Quentin don't like my driving.”

Tony's sluggish brain caught up, and he understood. Roscoe knew he couldn't legally keep the bear cub. As a rule, he walked within the law and he had been warned to not keep the bear as a pet. Tony glanced out the front window into the parking lot. Roscoe's pickup sat under one of the myriad lights, and he saw a dark figure sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an orange vest and a wide brimmed orange hat. The arm extending from the cab looked dark and furry. Even from this distance, Tony could see long claws drumming on the outside of the door.

As Tony watched, entertained by Roscoe's ursine passenger, Hairy Rags drove in, parked next to Roscoe's truck, emerged without looking at the glossy furry arm and strode toward the station. He was swinging the cane double time. He charged through the front door and at a nod from Tony, the desk officer unlocked the door into Tony's wing of the building.

Roscoe made a whining sound and Quentin staggered, almost falling. Tony grabbed Quentin's arm and steadied them all. He glared at Roscoe. “You've got to release the bear into the wild.” Not waiting for a response, Tony led his little group toward the game warden. “Good evening.”

Pointing at Roscoe with his cane, the warden said, “Arrest that man.”

“For what?” Tony kept moving forward.

Quentin began singing. “Oh, love—”

Roscoe's eyes filled with tears and he tried to get behind Tony.

“He's got a bear.”

Irritated by everything about Hairy Rags, Tony just stared. “This is Quentin Mize, not a bear, and he's going to the drunk tank for a while.”

Angered by Tony's attitude, the warden made a jabbing motion with the tip of his cane, almost striking Roscoe. That was too much for Tony. He dropped Quentin's arm and grabbed the cane in the middle of its long side and gave it a good jerk.

Hairy fell forward, releasing the cane so he could break his fall. “It's mine.”

Tony placed one foot on the man's shoulders, shoved Quentin and Roscoe toward the front desk where Flavio Weems sat, eyes wide. “Lock up the drunk one—let the other go.”

Flavio leapt into action.

Tony watched Roscoe almost fly back to his pickup, his skinny arms and legs churning. Tony waited until he saw the headlights come on before he stepped back. “You can get up.”

“Give me my cane.” Hairy didn't budge.

“No.” Still incensed that the man had the gall to practically assault him in his office, Tony wasn't about to back down. “No.”

Hairy's eyes narrowed and his lip curled up over his teeth. “I'll have you arrested.”

“Try.” Tony felt like slamming a fist into the man's jaw, but didn't.

“He's stealing road kill to feed a bear. Do you know how many laws he's breaking?”

Ignoring part of the man's question, Tony snapped back. “Do you have any proof?”

“You're helping him. That makes you as guilty as he is.”

“I'll tell you what I'm doing.” Tony reached down and lifted the man to his feet but didn't hand over the cane. “I'm trying to determine who murdered a woman. Do you think your road kill issue is more important?”

“No, but . . .” Hairy Rags narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits. “They're breaking the law, and you're an accessory.”

“Just no.” Tony handed the cane to him. “You stay out of my way, and I'll tell you if I learn anything I think you need to know.”

Hairy wrapped his hand around the crook. “If I catch Roscoe with that bear, I'll arrest him.”

“What about the bear?”

“You don't need to know.” Hairy's mouth turned down into a repulsive expression.

It sealed the deal. Tony decided he would help Roscoe feed the bear if he had to collect road kill himself. This hate-filled man planned to execute it, whether it was his job or not.

The funeral of Scarlet LaFleur was a quiet family affair. Sort of. Theo saw many members of the Flowers clan arrive to pay their respects and have a family reunion of sorts. Interestingly, the relatives of Autumn Flowers, including Blossom, sat on the opposite side of the aisle from Scarlet's father, Summer. Added to the mixture were some of Elf's fans, who seized the opportunity to sit near their idol. There were semi-professional mourners who attended every funeral in Park County. And then there were a few, like Theo, who weren't sure they should be there, but didn't feel right not attending.

Theo sat near the middle in her wheelchair with Katti on the pew next to her. Only because she was watching for him did she see Tony arrive late and stand in a corner in the very back of the church.

“Why no one cries?” Katti was dressed in a festival of pinks again, but this time each had a black background.

“I don't know. Maybe no one's sad.” Theo couldn't think of a better explanation. “Scarlet turned her back on the Flowers family and changed her name.”

“She not love family?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Theo whispered. “I think the biggest argument was between Scarlet and Elf.”

“What is this Elf?”

“Remember her from the museum?” Theo pointed out the woman in question, draped in acres of black chiffon, sitting with her son, and explained. “It's been years since the sisters had a big public argument and Scarlet moved away. Later she got married and changed her name. I was surprised Scarlet planned to attend Patrick's wedding.”

“She not like sister's son either?” Katti wiggled on the pew, trying to see the family members sitting in the front.

Theo considered the question. Scarlet and her sister seemed to have a rift, but the embroidery expert had said she cancelled classes under contract for over a year in order to attend the wedding. Not only to attend, but to spend over a week before the event in Silersville.

Maybe there was no feud.

Or maybe Scarlet hadn't been feuding with Elf.

Thursday morning, Tony measured the pile of folders stacked on his desk. Two and a half feet and rising. Reports continued to arrive. The toxicology report on Scarlet was complete. The woman had nothing extra in her system. No drugs of any kind. No exotic poison.

Why not leave the body in the room? Or, why wait so long to move it? Was there a killer and an accomplice?

He considered the list of hotel guests and employees. Only a few looked strong enough to snap the woman's neck, although strength wasn't really required; it was more a matter of finesse.