The Perennial Killer: A Gardening Mystery (6 page)

“Hi, Pete,” he greeted his fellow good old boy. “Looks like they got the old guy with a twelve-gauge. You’re a photographer, aren’tcha, in addition to all your other talents?”

“Videographer, primarily,” said Pete.

“Videographer, photographer, what’s the difference? I betcha ya got a camera on you, like always. We got a little battery trouble with ours, so maybe you could take some pictures for me and the coroner, if I let you on the premises. That agreeable with you?”

“More than happy to help, sheriff,” said Pete.

Tatum looked Pete over, as if to make sure he could trust him. “And when you’re through shootin’, I want you to deliver the film rolls right here to me.” He tapped the pocket of his gray shirt, indicating just where that film would reside. “Chain of custody, y’know.”

“Sure, Earl,” said Pete breezily. Men’s business concluded, Tatum turned his attention to Louise and Ann. Louise could see he was cataloging them as potential nuisances. He swaggered over, making no effort to suck in his encroaching belly, which was like a lid of fat on the middle of his body.

Pete introduced them and the sheriff responded with, “You ladies stay well back from the scene. Don’t want anyone disturbing things. And especially, don’t wander off—one dead body’s enough for today.”

“Would the killer hang around?” asked Louise in a respectful tone.

Tatum frowned down at her. “Maybe yes, maybe no. We’ll never know unless you test it by wanderin’ off there somewhere.” He waved a hand toward the pine groves in annoyance. “So don’t. Stick close to your vehicle here—and that’s an order.”

The two women gave each other a look, then moved to lean against the front of Pete’s pickup. As if with one thought, they both folded their arms across their chests.

When they first sighted the body on the fence, Pete had sped back a mile or so and called the sheriff’s office on his cellular phone. Then he had parked the car snugly against a stone cliff. A few minutes later, two sheriff’s cars from nearby Lyons responded, and Pete followed them back up to the ranch.

Louise and Ann watched the cameraman walk with the sheriff to where the rancher’s body hung on the fence like wash set out to dry. A cluster of technicians and sheriff’s deputies now obscured the bloody sight. And yet Louise could picture it all—details of this slaughter in the sunlight were imprinted on the backs of her eyelids.

In a defensive voice Ann said, “I bet you’ve noticed this sheriff is a throwback.”

“Yes, to caveman days.” Ann, like her, was not used to being ordered around. Louise noticed her companion’s face was pale under her tan. “This must be a terrible loss, Ann, not only for his family, but for you, too.”

The younger woman was fighting to keep back tears. “I became very fond of Jimmy during all the on-and-off negotiations. They took more than three years. I can’t believe this has happened—and after all my work.” Now a few tears were falling.

“You mean, tike sale to the county isn’t…”

Ann shook her head. “It would have become final next Monday. Now there
is
no sale.” She snuffled and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her safari shirt.

Louise tipped her cowboy hat back on her head; it was getting hot standing out here, with her new clothes clinging to her like an unwelcome second skin. “But surely he has family. Doesn’t the family want to sell to the county?”

Ann rocked back and forth against the truck’s high
fender, like a child trying to handle a hurt that was too big for her. Finally she began to talk. “The family’s the problem, Louise. Talk about bickering. The eldest son, Eddie, calls himself the biggest redneck in Boulder county; he seems to think that makes him special. He struts around in what he describes as his ‘shit-kicker’ boots, and is always on the edge of trouble. He fought like mad with his father over this land deal. Frank is a little younger, but a lot smarter—he’s an IBM engineer, but he also operates an andesite quarry down near the highway.”

Since Louise looked perplexed, she added, “Andesite’s a fine-grained gray volcanic rock; it’s used in construction and for driveways. Anyway, Frank’s very much on my side. Then there’s Jimmy’s daughter, Sally. Some people would call her an old maid. She stayed home to take care of her widower father, and she still lives up here, though she works in Boulder. I’ve gotten to know her pretty well, too.”

“And Sally is in favor of the deal with the county?”

“She
seemed
to go along with it,” said Ann, “because she’s always played the part of the dutiful daughter. But I’m not positive she’ll stand up to the bullying Eddie’s going to give her, now that he’s got a chance to do what he always wanted to with the ranch.” For the first time, Louise noticed the tic in Ann Evan’s right eye. Was it the shock of seeing the murdered old rancher or had she had it before?

“So whose decision is it?”

The young woman’s thick blond brows descended in a frown. “Jimmy did mention he made a new will about eight months ago, after he decided to remarry. I guess he wanted me to know who would be in charge if anything … happened to him.” Ann paled alarmingly but kept talking. “Oddly enough, he had never announced the impending marriage. But the new will speaks for itself. This
fiancée—Grace Prangley—gets an equal share with the three children. Grace knew what she wanted, and Jimmy was softhearted enough to give it to her.”

She gave Louise an anguished look. “But I know in my heart that the worst trouble will come from Eddie. He’s going to ruin the deal, sure as you please. He’s a greedy person, and land in this part of the world is gold-plated. The county pays fair market value for open space. But because of Porter Ranch’s particular attractiveness, a developer would pay a premium.”

Her mouth turned down in an unsuccessful attempt to fight back a sob. Tears puddled in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. “But here I’m talking about Jimmy as if the only important thing about him was that he was going to sell us his ranch. Even if he
hadn’t
agreed, I know the two of us would have remained friends.”

Louise put an arm around the younger woman’s shoulders, and they stood together in silence for a few moments. Louise broke it finally by saying, “We’re talking about thirteen thousand acres. That’s a huge piece of property.”

“Oh, yes. If it were developed, it would be a whole new town.”

The tumblers began to move in Louise’s mind. “Developers must salivate over this land.”

Ann turned her tawny-colored eyes to Louise. “Yes, practically everyone’s into land out here. Even Pete.”

“
Pete?
” said Louise, incredulously.

“Oh, yes, Pete. What did you think he was—just a good ol’ boy cameraman?”

Louise shoved her cowboy hat back and scratched her hairline where the fabric had been digging into her scalp. “With all due respect, Ann, it isn’t hard to draw that conclusion. He’s very rude, and his speech is so—careless.
He never pronounces his ’ing’s. Obviously, he has an aversion to the letter
g
.”

Ann broke into a silvery laugh, and Louise was happy that she had some good humor left in her. “Oh, Louise, half the people out here talk like that. It has something to do with western tradition. Maybe echoes of cowboy-and-Indian days, I don’t know. But just don’t believe Pete’s line. It’s all, you know—”

“A put-on?”

“Yes. I think he was testing you to see if you were a good sport. Actually, he’s a great guy. You’ll be friends in no time. He’s very big in business around the county, and he owns lots of property. Pete’s a real child of the West. He loves to hike and fish and hunt, and he’s quite a marksman. But when he grew older he caught on to the value of land in Boulder County. He gave up thoughts of another career—teaching English, can you believe that?—and spent a major part of his time buying devalued properties.”

“So this videography—”

“That’s just to fulfill his artistic side, that and his ‘art’ photography. He wins some big prizes for that.”

“You don’t say.” Her eyes were drawn to where Pete was taking pictures of Jimmy Porter’s remains from different angles. The tall photographer lithely contorted his body this way and that, totally engrossed in what he was doing, until suddenly he glanced over at Louise. In some confusion, she turned back to Ann and said, “So, there are plenty of people who would do most anything for an interest in this land.”

Ann nodded, and her eyes welled up with tears again. “But I don’t care about all that. All I want is to know what happened to Jimmy.”

“Hmh.” Louise retreated into her own thoughts. She was trying to curb her curiosity; she did not intend to get
mired down in a murder—not this time. This was supposed to be a fun business trip—her very own business trip—to do location shoots for her PBS program,
Gardening with Nature
, with her very own WTBA-TV producer, Marty Corbin, flying out from Washington to run things. But the schedule was loose—worked around laid-back freelancers like Pete Fitzsimmons—so that she and Bill could take a few field trips. The fact that Bill was not here was the only problem.

But hadn’t he said to keep her eyes open…?

The sun bore down on them as if it wanted to press them into the ground, like the dehydrated leaves and bugs lying in the driveway. Louise’s new clothes seemed tighter, her sweaty armpits wetter. To distract herself, she bent her long legs in a few deep knee bends, which caused her new boots to cut painfully into her calves. She straightened. Wounded again by things strange and western. That would be her last attempt at deep knee bends. Her gaze wandered back to the crime scene, and she saw that the crowd near the body was dispersing. “Let’s go check things out,” she said.

“Oh, Louise, thank you.” Gratitude shone in Ann’s eyes.

Her pulse accelerated by about ten beats. “Wait a minute, Ann. I don’t mean I’m going to check this
murder
out.”

“Oh, but you must!” Ann, who stood as tall as Louise, fastened her with those extraordinary eyes, ready to overflow again with tears. “You have to help me!”

“Look,” Louise said quietly. “I’m not a real detective, if that’s what you need—I’m just someone who’s been involved in things
in spite of
myself.”

Ann persisted. “But you can at least help me find out what’s happened here—What if one of the developers is to blame? There’s so much money involved…”

Louise quickly fantasized and rejected a scenario where she went around Boulder snooping into land deals. She shook her head. No thanks. Surely this was not the kind of eye-opening experience Bill had in mind.

But Ann hadn’t given up. “It’s not only this, Louise. My whole life is falling to pieces…” The young woman started sobbing so hard that, for a moment, Louise wondered if she would ever get her story out. She handed the woman a tissue she found in her jeans pocket, which gave Ann a chance to dab at her eyes and collect herself. She said, “Luke and I—we’re having terrible troubles. And now, I’ve probably lost the biggest land deal that Boulder County has seen in recent history. To think,” she said piteously, “that the ranch was going to be signed over to the county in only forty-eight hours!”

Louise was curious about the intrusion of personal affairs into this conversation. “Luke—your boyfriend”

Ann continued sniffing and shook her head.

“Um, husband?”

When Ann nodded, Louise said, “You mean … your marriage is breaking up?”

“Oh,
no
, not breaking up,” Ann said mysteriously. “It’s much more complicated than that.” Louise had known with her first look that things were eating at this young, driven, professional woman. Then Ann surprised her, turning her yellow-green eyes straight on Louise. “But it’s losing this deal that’s the worst for me.”

Nothing like establishing priorities, thought Louise. At least Ann
mentioned
the marital problems.

“All right. I’ll help you check out a few things, but I make no promises. Keep in mind, Ann, I’m only here for ten more days, and I’m on location some of those days.”

“Louise, how can I thank you?” Ann took another swipe at her eyes with the bedraggled tissue.

“You can thank me by cheering up a bit. Now, let’s go see what Pete’s doing.”

Ann held back. “Would it be all right,” she asked, “if I stay here and pull myself together?”

“Of course. See you in a minute, then.”

As Louise walked over to where the cameraman stood leaning against the fence, the new boots continued to punish her. It took every muscle in her legs and thighs to walk tall and not pitch forward into the dirt.

Pete’s pale eyes squinted as he watched her approach.

“Hi,” he called. “I’m about done here.” Louise could see he was in a grim mood. “It’s a damned bloody business, whoever did it to that poor bastard. I’m thinkin’ I’d like to look around. Care to join me?” Louise knew that “looking around” to Pete would mean shooting pictures. Together they walked into the ranch yard. Sheriff Tatum was momentarily distracted and didn’t seem to notice.

They kept well away from the ranch house, suspecting that they would really be in trouble with Tatum if they went there. Circling the homestead and outbuildings, they wandered out to the edge of the property, where the land sloped down to the edge of a sixty-foot sandstone cliff. Scattered down the hill was a graveyard, all the graves marked with plain white stones. Pete hurried to the base of the hill, took a quick picture of the caprock that marked the edge of the precipitous cliff, then rushed back up.

The graveyard scene threw a pall on Louise. “I guess now Jimmy Porter joins the others in this plot. What an isolated life—they live here; they die here; they’re buried here.”

But Pete was enthusiastic. He balanced his tall frame precariously on the hill and took closeups of the white stone slabs nearer the top. “Just read this stuff,” he said. “It’s great.
‘Bonnie Porter, Beloved to the Bone, Who Had Her Trial by Fire. Born 1923. Died 1958’
Man, I wonder what
happened to her. I used to hear things about people dyin’ up here on this ranch—but no one ever could sort it out. Mountain folks like privacy.”

“Amazing…”