Buck Fever (Blanco County Mysteries) Read online

  “There's no obvious cause of death,” Lem said, “but we're hoping the autopsy will tell us something.”

  “Any wild guesses?”

  “Actually, no. I'll admit I'm stumped. Appears to be a healthy male in his early twenties. Body's in pretty good shape considering where it was buried. The materials they used to build that low-water bridge helped preserve it. The exposed right hand is the only part with any significant decomposition.”

  “But no sign of trauma?”

  “Nothing. Not even any bruises. So it's gotta be something internal. That's what I'll find out tomorrow. How's things on your end?”

  Garza shook his head. “I talked to the contractor, a guy out of Blanco, and he was absolutely no help. Says they laid the bridge materials down in layers over several days. Somebody could have snuck in overnight and dug a pit for the body. Next morning, the workers would have paved right over it.”

  “You buying it?”

  “No reason not to. I talked to his whole crew and they all backed him up. Truthfully, anyone looking for a good spot to stash a body could have put it there. It would have taken a few hours of shovel work, that's all.”

  “And no ID yet, I guess?”

  “Nobody seems to know him, so I don't think he's local. We're running the Polaroids in the paper on Tuesday, so we're crossing our fingers. After that, I guess we'll have to put word out in Austin and San Antone.”

  Lem grabbed a small flashlight off a shelf and raised the dead man's left arm. “Here's what I wanted to show you.” He shined the light on the palm of the rigid left hand, revealing faint writing from a ballpoint pen.

  “Looks like a phone number,” Garza said. “What is that, 555-1508?”

  “That's what it looks like to me. Another month and that writing would have been gone.”

  Garza took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and wrote the number down. “This could be what we need, Lem. Good eye.”

  “Just call me Quincy.”

  “We sure are jumping into this awful fast,” Billy Don said. It was Sunday evening and the two men were sitting in Red's truck at the Sonic Drive-In. Two bags filled with deep-fried favorites sat between them.

  Red responded while munching on a handful of Tater Tots: “No sense in waiting around when ten thousand bucks is on the line. You know how long it would take us to earn that in the construction business?”

  “How long?”

  Red paused for a moment. “A good long while, that's for sure. And another thing—what if someone else finds the deer first? Or what if something happens to it? Marlin or Colby could have already hauled it off a hundred miles away.”

  Billy Don nodded. Red always had a good answer for everything. But the idea of using a gun on Colby scared him. Even if it was a pellet gun.

  Red sensed his nervousness. “Now, don't worry. All we do is stick this in Colby's face like this.” He pointed the gun at Billy Don. “ ‘Give me the damn deer,’” he practiced between clenched teeth.

  “Red, don't point that thing at me.” Billy Don slid toward the door.

  “Don't be a baby.”

  “I mean it. Aim that somewhere else.”

  “Hell, it ain't even loaded.” Red pointed the gun toward the unopened passenger window, just inches in front of Billy Don's face, and pulled the trigger.

  The corn dog sticking out from Billy Don's mouth exploded as a loud pop filled the cab of the truck. The window immediately became a weblike network of cracks surrounding a small, neat hole.

  Billy Don cursed while opening the door and climbing out of the truck. “Dammit to hell, Red! That thing missed my head by about an inch.”

  Red looked around the drive-in diner to see if they were drawing attention. Nobody seemed to notice. “Get back in here, Billy Don.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Nobody even heard it, so get back in here before everybody hears your hollerin’.”

  “Put that damn gun down. First you miss that deer the other night, and now you almost take my head off. And you ruint a perfectly good corn dog. Shit.”

  Remaining inconspicuous was more important than maintaining his pride at the moment, so Red laid the gun on the seat. “Billy Don. I'm sorry. Now get back in here. Please.”

  Billy Don slowly eased himself back into the truck. He grabbed the pellet gun and put it on the floorboard at his feet.

  “Okay, good,” Red said. “Now, here's the plan.”

  Roy Swank sat at his desk in his den Sunday evening and contemplated the whole debacle with the trophy deer named Buck. Damn, what a mess it all was! Swank always felt confident, even when things weren't going his way. His years at the state capitol had forged nerves of steel. But for the first time, he was beginning to feel a little antsy. Maybe he was in over his head this time.

  Part of his nervousness had to do with being in a new line of business—and dealing with an entirely different breed of clientele. Oscar, for one, was a threatening figure. How do you gauge a man like that? Who knows how he would react if he knew about this current situation?

  No, he was definitely getting too old for this type of stress. He would clear this mess up and then retire for good. Isn't that what he had in mind when he originally moved out here? Maybe lease a few pastures to deer hunters during the season and run a few cattle the rest of the year, but that was it. Just sit back and enjoy life in the hills.

  But first things first. He stared at the phone, wishing Red O'Brien would call. Oh man, he thought. What have I done, putting my future in the hands of those two bumpkins?

  PHIL COLBY WASN'T expecting a busy evening at the Snake Farm and Indian Artifact Showplace. Visitors rarely showed up this late, even though he stayed open till eight in the summer and fall. Colby was dropping live rats into the snake cages while Junior Barstow, his boss, did some paperwork. (They were ordering a new king cobra now that Fang had finally passed away. Junior had named him Fang because he had only one.)

  “I'm all done here, Phil, so I'm gonna head to the house,” Junior said. “Lock up for me.”

  “No problem.”

  “Tomorrow we'll get all the butchering equipment out of the back room and start setting up for deer season.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Junior walked toward the front door. “Oh, and don't forget to put Maggie in with the Clovis points when you leave.” Maggie was a fat, five-foot-long Western diamondback rattlesnake who guarded the most valuable items in the arrowhead collection.

  Phil finished feeding the snakes and then called John Marlin at home. Marlin told Colby about his conversation with Trey Sweeney in the hospital and asked how Buck was doing.

  “He seems perfectly normal now,” Colby said. “Nice and calm. Maybe it really was the rut.”

  “Could be, but it might be that he's finally turning wild.” It was an old discussion between the two men, one that neither wanted to contemplate. Marlin had always warned Colby that there would come a day when Buck would no longer come to his call or eat from his hand. When Colby first let Buck roam the old ranch, Marlin emphasized that deer rarely, if ever, remain tame when given a taste of freedom.

  “I've been watching Buck all these years, waiting for the signs, Phil. And now that Swank's had him for so long…”

  “I guess we'll have to wait and see,” Colby said. “But right now, he's been sleeping in my barn acting as tame as a newborn calf.”

  “I think that's a good idea, keeping him penned up. Swank's dying to get him back. He sure is getting uptight about one trophy deer. Did I tell you Mackey came by to see me?”

  “What did that jerk want?”

  “He asked about Buck, and he almost came unglued when I said he had run off.”

  The men agreed that they would have to keep Buck out of sight, at least until deer season was over. They hung up, promising to touch base again in a few days.

  Colby turned on the small desk lamp they left burning at night, and then grabbed a snake hook from a rack on the wall. He went to Ma
ggie's cage, opened the top, and gently lifted the docile snake by the midsection while holding her tail.

  Just as he was lifting her out, there was a knock on the door. Colby carried Maggie over to the desk and placed her in the bottom drawer with a metal lockbox that contained the Clovis points. Then he went to the window and looked out. Two men were standing outside wearing masks, one dressed as Moe and the other as Curly. Colby had almost forgotten: It was Halloween.

  “Little old for trick-or-treating, ain't you, boys?” Colby said as he opened the door, wondering who was playing a joke on him.

  Then Moe stepped forward and aimed a gun at Phil Colby's head.

  John Marlin liked the pecan pie at the Kountry Kitchen almost as much as he enjoyed the long legs of the waitress who served it. That's what had attracted Marlin to Louise in the first place. So he ordered some pie with vanilla ice cream as he waited for her shift to end Sunday night.

  Louise was a sweet, smart, and sexy woman. Definitely the kind of woman Marlin had always imagined himself spending a lifetime with. But for some reason, the feelings just weren't there. He loved her humor, her intelligence, her beauty. But he didn't love her. And it made him feel guilty to not return the love he thought Louise was feeling for him.

  Finally, a month ago, Marlin had sat Louise down and spoken from his heart. He tried to tell her delicately that he wasn't in love with her and didn't think he ever would be. He expected a slap or some tears of heartbreak. Instead, a look of relief passed over Louise's face, and then she started to giggle.

  “What's so funny?” Marlin asked, a little uncomfortably.

  “I was all worried, thinking you were gonna tell me you loved me. And here you were all worried because you had to tell me you don't.” She took a long breath and placed her hand on Marlin's shoulder. “John, believe me. I am not ready for anyone to love me. The divorce was hell, and I'm having the time of my life as a single gal. Why would I want to ruin that?”

  So they agreed to keep it casual. But they also promised to let the other person know if one of them began seeing someone else. Since then, Marlin and Louise had been free to enjoy the pleasure of each other's company, without complications or guilt.

  “Here's the piece you've been waiting for,” Louise said with a wink, setting the pie in front of Marlin.

  “What if I'm still hungry after this?” Marlin asked, grinning. He loved flirtatious women.

  “Oh, I bet we could arrange for something a little more satisfying,” Louise replied. Then she got serious. “John, are we going over to your place tonight? There's something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure. You about ready?”

  Marlin wolfed down his pie while Louise gathered her things, then she followed Marlin out to his place in her Toyota. As usual, they proceeded directly to the bedroom.

  Afterward, Louise flicked on the nightstand light and turned to Marlin. “There's something really funny—and a little weird—that I need to tell you.”

  Marlin sat up in bed and gave her a quizzical look.

  “No, don't worry,” Louise said. “I still don't love you.”

  After they finished laughing, she continued. “As you know, I've been married twice. Neither of them were what you'd call catches. I don't know how I ever got mixed up with either of them. Live and learn, I guess. You've seen my second ex, Barney, around town, so you've probably figured out that he's sort of a head case. When I married him three years ago, I had just moved here from California. I wanted to get away from my first ex-husband, Bill, and Blanco was perfect for me, because my hometown was just as small, just as friendly.” Louise paused and reached over to the nightstand for a cigarette. “So while I was married to Barney, I found out what a strange guy he is.”

  “How so?”

  “Kinda paranoid and, I don't know, out of touch with reality. He was always asking me about my first husband. At first, I thought it was jealousy, but then one night he got drunk and told me that he knew my first husband was rich. I told him he was crazy, but he wouldn't give in. He demanded to see a picture of him but I didn't have one. He asked me where I kept all the money I must have gotten in my first divorce. Don't I wish! Even during our divorce, Barney was hounding me constantly, and he even hired a private investigator to track down Bill. No luck.”

  “He definitely sounds a little goofy,” Marlin said. “But why are you telling me all this now? You've been divorced for a while now.”

  “He's been calling and leaving messages on my answering machine, saying that he wants his share. He told me that his lawyer said he should try to get it before I get married again and—quote—‘really cause a cluster-fuck.’” She stared Marlin in the eye.

  “Oh, now I get it. You're thinking that ol’ Barney might try to keep us from getting married.” Once again they burst into laughter. When they stopped, Louise spoke again.

  “Actually, I have to admit that I've worried about it a little more than that. I'm afraid that he might try to hurt you.”

  Oh, perfect, Marlin thought. A jealous ex-husband. A mentally confused ex-husband. “What the hell's wrong with this guy, anyway? Why's he think you're rich?”

  “I told you, it's my first husband, Bill.”

  “What about him?”

  “His last name is Gates.”

  Phil Colby stepped slowly backward as Moe and Curly came through the door.

  “Sit down over there,” Moe barked, gesturing toward a chair next to the desk. He was using a fake voice—a silly rumble that sounded like a combination of Darth Vader and the bass singer from the Statler Brothers.

  Colby sat down slowly. “What the hell is going on? This some kind of dumb joke?”

  “No joke, boy.”

  Colby immediately thought of the Clovis points. “You can take all the arrowheads you want, but it won't do you any good. They've been microscopically inscribed and you'll never be able to sell them.”

  “Now, what would we want with a bunch of rocks? No sir, we're looking for something a lot more valuable.” Moe paused for dramatic effect—a trick he'd learned from Matlock — and stared at Colby. Colby stared back.

  “What we want is the deer you've been hiding. And if you just tell us where it is, we won't have any trouble.”

  “I assume you're talking about the buck from the Circle S.”

  Moe nodded.

  “Last I knew, John Marlin had him. Then he jumped the fence.”

  Moe shook his head. “Bullshit. We know all about that pet deer of yours. He didn't run off, you've got him hidden somewhere. Now, I'm gonna count to five, and you better tell me where it is so I won't have to get nasty.”

  “You really think you can do it?” Colby asked.

  “Find the deer?”

  “No, count to five.”

  Curly tried to stifle a laugh but a giggle squeaked out. Moe fixed him with a baleful glare, then turned his attention back to Colby. “Very funny, smart guy. But you won't think it's funny if I have to use this gun.”

  “I think there's something you need to know,” Colby said.

  “What's that?”

  “That's a pellet gun.”

  Red clenched his teeth. This was not going at all the way he had planned. Why did things always have to be so complicated? He decided to try another tack. “Listen up, Colby. You and I both know the rack on that deer is worth a lot of money. But the thing is, he's worth even more alive. You do this nice and easy and that buck of yours just might not end up hanging on my wall.” He could tell from Colby's face that he was having some effect. “All I'm trying to do is return it to the rightful owner. But if you give us trouble, I just may have to keep that deer for myself.”

  Colby opened his mouth to speak and then paused. He looked over at the desk. “In the bottom drawer you'll find a ring with the key to my barn. That's where he is.”

  Red smiled like a sailor in a whorehouse. Finally! Now all they'd have to do is tie Colby up while they collected the buck. And then the money. Yes, life was good
for Red O'Brien. “You heard him, Billy Don…uh, I mean Curly. Grab that key and let's get out of here.”

  Billy Don Craddock lumbered over to the desk, bent low, and yanked the bottom drawer open.

  THE BRAIN OF Maggie the snake functioned on a very basic level. Her single goal in life was to survive. Thus Maggie looked forward to her weekly feedings of live mice, generously dropped into her cage by Phil Colby and Junior Barstow. Like an unintentional Skinnerian experiment, Maggie had begun to equate each man's unique scent to the delivery of food.

  Unfortunately for Billy Don Craddock, he smelled nothing like Colby or Barstow. So, mere milliseconds after Billy Don opened the drawer and began rummaging around for the nonexistent key ring, Maggie decided to plant her fangs firmly into Billy Don's forearm without so much as a warning rattle.

  Red was surprised to hear Billy Don let out a shriek as he was reaching into the desk drawer. He was even more surprised to see Billy Don jump backward with a rather large rattlesnake attached to his arm.

  “Red, git this thing offa me!” Billy Don bellowed as he started swinging his arm in circles.

  Colby took a chance and bolted for the door, but Red stuck a foot out and tripped him. Colby's head slammed solidly against the door frame.

  “Let's get outta here,” Red yelled. Billy Don was now holding his bloody arm and the snake was nowhere to be seen. Both men stepped over Colby and ran out the open door into the night.

  Five minutes later, Maggie emerged from under the desk and curled up beside the familiar man unconscious on the floor.

  “Hello?” Marlin said in gruff voice. It was six A.M. Monday morning and he wasn't too fond of receiving early-morning phone calls. It usually meant someone was reporting a poacher or a wounded animal that he would have to deal with. Not this time.

  “John, it's Junior.”

  Marlin sat up quickly in bed. He couldn't remember ever receiving a call from Barstow. “What's up, Junior?”