Murder in Calico Gold: A Cedar Bay Cozy Mystery Part 2

CHAPTER 9.

Following the directions Gary Sanders had given him the night before when he met Gary at the Roadhouse Bar, Richard Martin quietly eased his silver Lexus down the lane that led to the shack where Gary lived. He'd spent the night at Judge Susan Lane's home, and as the new day dawned, he felt optimistic and refreshed. The plan he wanted to put into motion seemed like an ideal solution to the problem he was having with Agnes Johnson, the owner of the Robertson Ranch.

One way or the other, I've got to get rid of that old woman. Given the right inducement and a little encouragement, I'm sure Gary Sanders might just be my ticket to success, Richard thought as he brought the Lexus to a stop at the end of the lane.

It was 5:00 a.m. in the morning, and sunrise was only minutes away. The predawn sky was slowly turning to light grey from the deep darkness of night. Visibility was somewhat limited, but Richard could easily see the shack and the outhouse which stood next to it.

Susan was sitting in the front seat next to him. He turned to her and said, "There's the shack, right where he said it would be. I can see a glimmer of light coming from the only window in the place. Let's walk down there and see if we can convince Gary to do us a little favor. Remember what I told you last night about letting me do most of the talking. Your presence here is simply to convince Gary that if anything goes wrong with my plan, you'll be able to help him if he winds up in court."

They walked down the narrow dirt path that led to the shack, and Richard knocked on the door which was immediately opened by Gary. "Well I see you found my place and you're right on time," Gary said as he stepped aside and motioned for his two visitors to enter the shack.

The scene that met their eyes when they entered the shack was surreal. The shack was illuminated by a single Coleman lantern that sat hissing and sputtering on a makes.h.i.+ft bench that apparently served as a desk, work bench, and dining table, all rolled into one. Empty beer bottles and cans littered the floor and table. Fast food containers were scattered on the floor and everywhere else in the shack. In one corner was a small iron bed frame covered with a thin mattress and several filthy blankets. The shack had no electricity, running water, or a bathroom. A plastic five-gallon water bottle was propped up on a shelf on the far side of the shack and was evidently used to provide water for drinking and personal hygiene, the latter of which was completely lacking based on Gary's personal appearance.

Noticing the look of disbelief on the faces of his two visitors as they looked around the simple one room shack, Gary said, "Yeah, I know it ain't much of a place to live in, but it's all I got, and if things go as expected, this time next week I won't even have this 'cause the old lady who owns the ranch wants to kick me out. Claims me, my motorcycle, and my friends are all undesirables. So, Mr. Big Shot moneyman, what's so important that it brings you out here to my little 'ol run-down shack at this unG.o.dly time in the morning? This better be good, and it better involve me gettin' some money out of it."

"I think it will, Gary, I think it will," Roger said, "but first let me introduce you to a good friend of mine, Judge Susan Lane." Susan extended her hand and she and Gary shook hands. "Susan's jurisdictional area includes Calico Gold and all the surrounding area. Any type of legal case, whether it's civil or criminal, eventually winds up in her courtroom. As I said, she's a good friend, and someone who can provide a huge amount of help if a person has a little run-in with the law.

"Before I get into the details of how we might be able to help each other, and at the same time make some serious money for you, I'd like to know a little more about you. I know you served a tour of duty in Vietnam, and I'm particularly interested in what you did while you were there. How about filling me in with some of those details?"

"Sure, I don't mind telling you about my time in Nam, since it totally screwed up my life and left me living like a dog in this disgusting little shack with no money and nowhere to go. I think about Nam and what it did to me every single waking moment of every day, and it makes me depressed and really angry. Added to that is the fact that the Veterans Administration won't do a thing for me and has left me high and dry with no benefits whatsoever. Suppose that's why I drink so much and get into fights. It's like I'm trying to wash away all those terrible memories of my time in Nam. So yeah, here's a quick sketch of what went down when I was there.

"When I arrived there I was a.s.signed to the 4th Infantry Division in the central highlands. I was a combat infantryman, and my unit's job was to seek out the enemy and destroy him. We went into the field for weeks at a time carrying out what were called search and destroy missions. When we'd find a village where we thought the Viet Cong were being hidden, we'd shoot and kill every man, woman and child in the village and then burn it to the ground. Know it sounds pretty brutal, but it's what we did. All the bra.s.s hat generals and colonels in headquarters wanted to know was whether or not we'd cleared the area of the enemy and secured it. They didn't care how we did it, and they didn't ask any questions. I'm not proud I did it, but I sort of enjoyed it while I was doing it.

"All my life I've heard voices in my head telling me what to do, and when I was in Nam they told me what I was doing was the right thing to do. I probably killed more people in Nam than are buried in Calico Gold's cemetery. When I got out of the Army and came back here to Calico Gold my depression and anger started to get really bad. The little voices in my head liked it when I was killing innocent people in Nam, and they started urging me to do the same here in the States. It's pretty hard to control what the voices tell me to do. That's the background on me, and a little bit about what's going on in my head. Now why don't you tell me about yourself and most importantly, how I can make some money."

Richard paused for a moment and then slowly started to speak, "Gary, you and I each have a problem with Agnes Johnson, the owner of the Robertson Ranch. I'm a developer and want to buy the ranch and convert it into a golf course, but Agnes won't sell it to me or for that matter even talk to me. Your problem with her is she wants to kick you out of your home and turn you out on the street. I think it would be to our mutual benefit if something nasty happened to her. If she was gone, I'd be able to buy the ranch, and if I did, I guarantee you that you could continue to live here in the shack as long as you want. Everybody knows that working on a ranch can be dangerous and it seems like accidents on ranches happen all the time. A person can get kicked in the head by a horse or fall out of the hayloft in the barn and fracture their skull. You name it, but the fact of the matter is that serious accidents happen a lot around ranches. I'm thinking it would be nice if Agnes Johnson had a really serious accident. If she did, you and I would both benefit from it.

"I'll leave it up to you to think about what I just said and decide if there's anything you can do about it. Thanks for taking the time to meet with Judge Lane and me this morning. I promised you last night I'd make it worth your time if you'd meet with me, so here's an envelope that has $500 in unmarked small bills in it. It's yours to keep, no questions asked. Once I get owners.h.i.+p of this ranch, I've got another envelope with $5,000 in it that has your name written on the outside.

"It's almost light outside, and Judge Lane and I have to be going before someone spots us here. Again thanks for meeting with us. I think this may be the start of a profitable relations.h.i.+p for both of us, and remember, if anything goes wrong, Judge Lane will be able to help you out."

Roger and Susan left the shack and walked back to his car. As he drove back to the highway Roger failed to notice someone walking along the side of the lane.

CHAPTER 10.

There was a knock on John Wilson's office door, and it was opened by Les Scott, his ranch manager. "Les, how was your day? What's new?"

The weathered lean, lanky cowhand stood in front of John's desk, twirling his worn grey cowboy hat in his hands, a piece of chaw puffing out his right cheek. "John, we've been together a long time, but I gotta tell ya' I'm really worried. Had some guy come out today and measure how much water we've got left. Ain't good. He figures there's about enough water fer the cattle fer another three months. After that, unless there's a huge storm or we get water from somewhere else, we're finished. There won't be no more water."

John sat quietly for a few moments, his head in his hands. He looked up at Les. "I don't know what to do. Do you have any ideas?"

"None that we ain't already discussed. Best bet still seems to be from the stream that's on the Johnson property right next to us. Ya' gotta convince Mrs. Johnson to either open the dam she and her husband built quite a few years back or else sell the property to us. Don't think there's anything else we can do. Don't much believe in prayin', but this sure might be the time to do it. Also don't believe much in divine intervention, but maybe it'll happen. Maybe pigs'll fly to. That's where we're at."

"You make it sound imminent."

"John, ya' can't fool yourself any longer. If we don't get the water, the cattle will die, and ya' won't have no ranch. Ya' might be better off to sell it to that developer who's so hot to buy it. That or talk to Mrs. Johnson again."

"All right," he said, struggling to keep his voice from showing how afraid he was that he was going to lose the family ranch. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll come up with something. Don't worry."

"John, maybe it's time to let go. All things have to come to an end sooner or later. Don't mean ya' ain't tried yer best. You've done as good at keepin' this ranch as anyone. Don't blame yerself for what's happening. Drought wasn't caused by you. It was Mother Nature or some kind of a global warmin' thing. See ya' tomorrow. Try and get some sleep tonight. Maybe an answer'll come to ya' in a dream."

After Les had gone, John pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace the length of his office with heavy footsteps, back and forth, trying to think of some way he could save the ranch.

It's been in the family for over a century. There was plenty of water in the past, and we even used to get water from the stream on Agnes Johnson's property. I have to convince her to open the dam or sell her property to me.

He thought back to all the times over the years when he'd approached her to do one or the other, but her answer was always the same. She had no intention of selling the property, and she refused to open the dam because she had made a promise to her late husband, Max, to not rely on others, and that included city water.

John stopped at the far end of the room, taking a moment to look at the paintings of the Wilson men who had ranched on the property, starting with his great-grandfather. He knew what they must think of him a man who couldn't keep the ranch in the family. What kind of a man was he? Generations of Wilsons had lived and prospered on this property. What kind of a man lets the property go to strangers? He turned away from the paintings, not wanting to see what to him looked like disgust in their eyes.

He was at the end of his rope. There was nothing to be gained by going to Agnes Johnson, hat in hand, literally, and begging her for mercy one more time. She was never going to open the dam or sell him the property. A thought that had flittered in the back of his mind for months made itself known, and he let it flow into his current thinking. He had always played by the rules and had never broken a law or even thought about it. What he was now thinking and planning was way beyond a simple infraction of the law. He knew if the police discovered it was him, he'd go to prison for life and lose the ranch. It was a gamble. He grimly decided he had to try it to save the ranch. He had to gamble that the police would never discover it was him.

Finally at peace with having made the decision, and knowing there was none other, he opened the door and walked to the kitchen to join his three sons and his wife for dinner. His sons' legacy was in his hands. He would do whatever was necessary to protect that legacy.

CHAPTER 11.

"We're ready for the tour," Mike said as he and Kelly walked into the kitchen. "Aunt Agnes, you briefly introduced us to your friend, Sam, but it wasn't very formal. He looks exactly like Rudy, the collie you had the last time I was here."

"Probably does. Your uncle and I got started with this breed when we took over the ranch, and as soon as a dog started getting old, we'd get another puppy. There's a breeder not too far from here who we've been buying from for years. When your uncle was alive and we had a lot of cattle, we used the dogs for herding them. Since he's been gone I've always had one as a pet. Like I told you, his name is Sam. Don't have a clue why I named him that. Just seemed to fit. Let's get going. I don't want to overcook that lamb."

A half hour later, walking back to the main house from the barn, Kelly said, "I find it amazing you're living here all by yourself, except for Sam. This not only is a lot of land, it's a lot of house for one person."

"I'm used to it, and I like the solitude. Gary, a Vietnam vet that I've befriended, lives in that shack down by the stream, and if I ever need anything, I ask him to get it for me. I usually go into town about once a week to get any other supplies I night need."

"Aunt Agnes, are you still riding?" Mike asked. "I remember when we'd spend hours riding horses around on the ranch, and I loved that. You had several horses back then. What happened to them?"

"After Max died, I got rid of all of them except Missy. I just couldn't part with her. She and I are both getting up there in years, but she seems to be in perfect health. She's twenty-eight now. Every morning I go out to the barn and feed and groom her. Then I exercise her for a while in the paddock. I can't ride her anymore, but I want her to stay in shape. We go back a long way, and I think of her as an old friend. Give me five minutes, and we'll eat. I've already set the table in the dining room. Go on in and sit down. There's some wine on the sideboard. Help yourself."

When they were well into the meal, Mike said, "Aunt Agnes, your cooking is just as good as I remember. That apricot bread was perfect with the lamb. Maybe that's why I decided to marry a woman who owns a restaurant. Kelly, maybe you could get Aunt Agnes to give you that recipe."

Kelly interrupted him, "Agnes, don't believe a word he says. I own a small coffee shop that sits on the end of the munic.i.p.al pier in Cedar Bay. I'd hardly call it a restaurant, and I would love the recipe for the apricot bread."

"That's not what I hear," Mike said, smiling at Kelly. "Kelly's way too modest. It's common knowledge that people come from miles around to eat at Kelly's Koffee Shop. By the way, I talked to Ralph at the gas station when we first drove into town. He said a lot of wineries have sprung up in the local area, and that people with big bucks are putting money into the town, trying to make it compete with Napa. We went into Lucky Luke's Restaurant when we got here, and I couldn't believe it. Everything's changed from the sawdust on the floor to the menu. We also saw the new bed and breakfast on the edge of town."

"Yes, and that's one reason I wanted you to come for a little visit. You may remember years ago your uncle and I dammed up the stream on our property, so we could have our own water and not have to rely on the city water system. Back then, it wasn't a problem. John Wilson, the rancher who owns the property just south of here, wasn't very happy about it, but at the time he had plenty of groundwater he could pump. He groused a little about it, but that was about it. However, since the drought here in California has gotten so much worse over the last few years, it's become a problem for him, or so he tells me. He wants to buy the Robertson Ranch, so he can get the water from the stream, or else he wants me to open up the dam. He's offered me a lot of money for the ranch, but I'm not willing to sell it, and I don't want to open up the dam. Your uncle was very clear that we should always have our own independent water supply."

"When did he start approaching you about buying the ranch?" Mike asked.

"A couple of years ago. I told him then I had no intention of selling it. Lately he's become quite angry with me. Then there's some developer who wants me to sell the property to his development corporation. He claims the property would be perfect for a golf course."

"Well, you certainly have enough acreage to do that. What would happen to the house if you sold the ranch?"

"Nothing, because I'm not selling it. Matter of fact I'm working with some other people here in the area to keep this new money that's flowing into the community to a minimum. Can you imagine what would happen to my beautiful ranch if they built a golf course on it? Along with more and more wineries? Calico Gold wouldn't be anything but a name from the past. I wouldn't be surprised if my neighbor John and the developer aren't in cahoots. Maybe he's offered to sell his land to the developer, and he needs mine for the water."

"What can I do to help, Aunt Agnes?" Mike asked in a calm, soothing tone of voice.

"Well, for starters, it can't hurt to let everyone know that my nephew, the sheriff, has come to help his aunt. That might stop the threatening letters I've been getting."

"What are you talking about?" Mike asked, putting his fork down and leaning towards her. "Have you really been getting threatening letters?"

"Yes. Let me get them for you. I'll be back in a minute."

"Mike, I'm really glad we decided to drive down here to see Aunt Agnes. This sounds serious," Kelly said, taking a bite of the apricot bread.

"Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing, but I'm not sure what I can do to help."

Aunt Agnes walked back into the dining room. "Here they are, Mike. I've received three of them. They're postmarked Calico Gold, so they must be from someone around here. They all say the same thing, and the handwriting seems to be the same as well."

Using his pocket knife, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on the letters, Mike carefully unfolded them. He studied each of the letters which contained the words, "It's time for you to leave the ranch."

"Aunt Agnes, I'd consider that a threat. Have you shown these to anyone else?"

"No. I thought about showing them to Chief Robbins, but I was afraid he would think I was just some crazy old lady. Why?"

"If you're the only one who's touched them besides the person who wrote them, we might be able to pick up a fingerprint. It's a long shot, but I think I'll go into town tomorrow and talk to the police chief. Even though the town's small, he probably has some type of a set-up for fingerprinting. Would you get me a couple of plastic bags, and then you can put them in the bags? I don't want to touch them, and your fingerprints are already on them."

When she returned and the threatening letters had been securely placed in the plastic bags, Mike picked up his wine gla.s.s and looked into it, seemingly deep in thought. He set it down and turned towards his aunt. "Aunt Agnes, you've always been involved in a lot of things. Why do you think someone sent those letters to you? Are you involved in something I should know about?"

She took a deep breath and said, "I was afraid you were going to ask me that. I told you I only go into town once a week or so, and that's true. What I didn't tell you is that for the last year I've been holding weekly meetings out here at the ranch trying to stop any more development in Calico Gold."

"That doesn't surprise me. Who attends?"

"Well, there's a bunch of people I've known forever who feel just like I do. Matter of fact one of them is in the coming election, running against the judge, Susan Lane, and I'm supporting him. We're pretty sure she's been promising the developer all kinds of things if he'll financially back her election campaign. We have a campaign contribution limit of $2,000 per donor in the county. From what we've found out, she's already gotten $60,000 in campaign contributions. That's a lot of money for a judges.h.i.+p race, and we've learned that almost all of it came from out of town, even out of state. You may not approve of this, but I've made a vow to myself that Huston Brooks, he's the one running against Judge Lane, will have as much money for this race as Susan Lane does. Believe me, he's going to need it in order for him to beat an inc.u.mbent."

"Sounds good on paper, but how do you intend to match that kind of money if there's a donor limit of $2,000 per person? Are you giving people money to give to him?"

"Mike, you're probably better off not knowing some things that I know, but I'm committed to seeing that crooked judge lose her job and having Huston Brooks win, and I'll do whatever it takes."

"So at the moment you have three people who might possibly have written those letters someone from the corporation who wants to buy the ranch and build a golf course, John Wilson, the rancher who is upset with you because of the water situation, and the judge. Anyone else I should know about?"

Aunt Agnes suddenly took a keen interest in her hands and began to spin her wedding ring around her k.n.o.bby arthritic ring finger. "Well, now that you mention it, I suppose there are a couple more."

"If I'm going to be able to help you, Aunt Agnes," Mike said gently, "I need to know everything. Please tell me about the other two."

"Remember that shack down by the stream? I've been letting a friend of mine's son live there for a couple of years. He's a Vietnam vet. Something bad happened to him over there, and mentally he's never been the same since he came back from Vietnam. Anyway, he's been doing some strange things lately. I hear screaming coming from the direction of the shack in the middle of the night, and sometimes he comes home really late on his motorcycle and wakes me up when he speeds down the lane. I've heard he's had some problems over at the Roadhouse Bar. Seems to like his liquor a little too much and can't handle it. Guess he gets in a lot of fights. Sometimes I hear a lot of voices coming from the direction of the shack, and I'm pretty sure he's been bringing people back to the ranch after the Roadhouse closes. Anyway, I don't like it. I asked him to stop, but he hasn't. I'm beginning to feel unsafe here in my own home because of him."

She swallowed several times. "A week ago I told him he'd have to find another place to live. I told him I needed to have someone live in that shack who was a little more dependable."

"How did he take it?"

"Not well. I took Sam with me, because I thought I might need a little protection. We went over to the shack, and I told him. He was so angry he slammed his fist into one of the walls of the shack and made a hole in it. I'm afraid of him, and I'm not used to feeling like that."

"I don't blame you. I'll go over there and talk to him. Maybe when he sees that I'm here, he'll leave. You want to tell me about the other person?"

"Not really, but I guess I'm going to have to sooner or later."

"Aunt Agnes, please tell me."

"All right. Did your mother ever tell you she had a sister other than me?"

"Are you kidding? No, she always said she had one sister, that would be you, and no brothers, and that her family was a two child family long before it became fas.h.i.+onable to have only two children."

"Well, we did have a sister. Her name was Rachel. Sixty years ago if a woman got pregnant, she was an outcast. Remember the book called The Scarlet Letter and Hester Prynne, the young woman in the book who was required to wear a scarlet letter 'A' on her dress which stood for adulteress? Well, it wasn't a lot better for our sister. G.o.d bless our parents, but they were very conservative people, and they made Rachel leave and go stay with one of dad's relatives to have the baby. After she had the baby, she never came back. Our parents made your mother and me promise we would never have anything to do with her. They said she had shamed the family and just like Hester in The Scarlet Letter book, whenever they thought of her, in their minds she was wearing a scarlet letter."

"Do you know whatever happened to her?"

"Yes, I'm getting to that. I may have promised my parents I wouldn't have anything to do with her, but after they died, I got in touch with Rachel, and I'm glad I did. She had cancer and was near the end. I went to see her, and she died a short time later." She paused and wiped a small tear from her eye.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to this?" Mike asked.

"Because there is. Rachel had a son out of wedlock. She raised him and sc.r.a.ped and saved to send him to college. He's an artist, and like you always hear, he's a struggling artist. She made me promise I would watch over him after she was gone. I didn't have a choice, so I promised. He lives in the hills about ten miles from here. His name is Daniel Noonan."

"Wait a minute. That was yours and mom's maiden name. So she never even gave Daniel his father's name?"

"Mike, here's the thing. Rachel had what was known at that time as 'round heels.' Today people would have probably called her 'promiscuous'. I'm not sure she even knew who the baby's father was. Anyway, I bought a small cabin up in the hills for Daniel. He's a real loner. I think he may feel like a freak, because he walks with a very bad limp. Evidently he was playing in the street when he was a child and a car hit him and injured his leg. He comes here for dinner on a regular basis. You hate to say this about your own nephew, but he's a real loser.

"His mother took care of him until she died, and I've taken care of him pretty much ever since. He made a comment when he was here at dinner the other night. He told me when he inherited the Robertson Ranch, he was really looking forward to living in the Robertson House. That's when I did a stupid thing. I told him he wouldn't be inheriting the house or the ranch, and that I had named my nephew, Mike Reynolds, as the sole beneficiary under the terms of my Will. Mike, I've decided I want you to have everything. I know the Robertson House and the ranch will be in good hands under your owners.h.i.+p."

"You what? Aunt Agnes, I never expected you to do something like that. Why don't you give the ranch to one of the causes you've worked so hard for over the years? I don't need it, although I'm really touched you think enough of me that you'd leave it to me. What was his reaction?" Mike asked as he sat back in his chair, clearly shocked.

"He was furious. He called me a bunch of names and said I owed it to him for what my family had done to his mother. I told him I didn't owe him a dime, and it was about time he became a man and took care of himself. He jumped up from the dining room table, stormed out the front door, slammed it behind him, and left. That was the last time I saw him. I haven't heard from him since."

"Aunt Agnes, I'm so glad you called and asked me to come down here. I need to think about this and figure out what we can do to make sure you're safe. I remember as a kid you were a crack shot. Do you still have a gun?"

"Sure do, and I'm still a crack shot, if I don't say so myself."

"Keep it near you. Can't hurt. And keep your dog, Sam, with you. Kelly's had a few experiences lately when a gun and a dog have come in real handy. We'll clear the table for you and do the dishes. You did enough for us by preparing this great meal. I think you should get some sleep, and we'll talk in the morning. I need to think a little more about this whole situation."