smiled. âYouâre always one step ahead of me, Pugh. By the way, the names I got are Horace Beeker and Ed Dance.â
Driving out to his house, Tully did a lot of thinking about Dance and Beeker. He didnât want them leaving the county without his knowing it. Hunters who canât tell elk from deer are always worth keeping an eye on. Suddenly, he hit the brakes and made a U-turn on the highway. It had just occurred to him there was something else he had intended to check.
He drove back to town and cruised quietly past 1204 West Hemlock. The house was dark. He drove to the end of the block and came back through the alley. A small garage sat off to one side of the alley behind the Stoneâs house. The rear end of a bright red car protruded far enough out that the garage doors couldnât close. It was only the second time in recent years Tully had seen tail fins.
The plot thickens, he thought. Grid lets two guys hunt his property who saw deer instead of elk. The flagging tape marking the place where the getaway car turned into the ditch has Gridâs fingerprint on it. Now Grid is spending the night with the widow of the man shot on the mountain, a man suspected of being a bank robber. The shooter makes his escape on an ATV on the other side of the ridge. Grid has an ATV. He has a rack full of guns in his house and is an excellent shot. He has a pickup parked out in his woods with two bales of hay in it. The pickup parked on the road after the robbery had two bales of hay in it. Everything about this robbery had been arranged by someone very crafty. Grid is as crafty a man as heâs ever met. He would have to take closer look at him. He wouldnât even mind taking a closer look at his wife.
Chapter 8
I t was almost three when he started down the dirt road that sloped across the meadow to his log house. He and his wife, Ginger, had built the house themselves with logs from trees they had cut off their own land. The land had been a gift from a corrupt and violent old man, but enough about his father. Tully still appreciated his generosity. Building the house with Ginger had been the best time of his life. Ginger hadnât remembered it that way, but women tended to be so prissy when it came to wrestling logs.
Halfway across the meadow he braked to a stop and peered at the house. The living-room light was on. It hadnât been on when he left that morning. At least he couldnât believe he had left the light on. He turned off the Explorerâs headlights, coasted down to the front of the house, and stopped. He unsnapped the retaining strap that held his Colt Commander in his shoulder holster and pulled the gun out. He opened the car door, got out, and pressed the door shut. Walking on the tips of his boots across the porch, he ever so carefully turned the knob on the front door with his left hand, the Colt Commander pointing straight up in his right, his finger on the trigger. He stepped in.
Daisy was asleep on the couch, a blanket spread over her. His watchdog, Clarence, was asleep on a pillow next to her, his head resting on her hip.
Tully tiptoed over to his bedroom, undressed, put on sweat shirt and sweat pants, and went to bed. He wasnât worried about burglars breaking in. His former watchdog was back. He had no idea how or why Clarence had suddenly returned. He had given him to a friend months ago. Well, not exactly a friend, but a person willing to accept Clarence. He guessed that anybody willing to accept Clarence had to be regarded as a friend. And now the miserable little beast was back.
Tully awoke to the racket of a large spoon beating on a metal pan.
âItâs almost seven oâclock!â Daisy yelled. âTime a hard-working sheriff should be out of bed!â
Tully groaned, got up, and wandered out to the kitchen in his mismatched sweatshirt and sweatpants. Breakfast was on the table. Huckleberry pancakes and sausage links! He supposed Daisy wasnât
Driving out to his house, Tully did a lot of thinking about Dance and Beeker. He didnât want them leaving the county without his knowing it. Hunters who canât tell elk from deer are always worth keeping an eye on. Suddenly, he hit the brakes and made a U-turn on the highway. It had just occurred to him there was something else he had intended to check.
He drove back to town and cruised quietly past 1204 West Hemlock. The house was dark. He drove to the end of the block and came back through the alley. A small garage sat off to one side of the alley behind the Stoneâs house. The rear end of a bright red car protruded far enough out that the garage doors couldnât close. It was only the second time in recent years Tully had seen tail fins.
The plot thickens, he thought. Grid lets two guys hunt his property who saw deer instead of elk. The flagging tape marking the place where the getaway car turned into the ditch has Gridâs fingerprint on it. Now Grid is spending the night with the widow of the man shot on the mountain, a man suspected of being a bank robber. The shooter makes his escape on an ATV on the other side of the ridge. Grid has an ATV. He has a rack full of guns in his house and is an excellent shot. He has a pickup parked out in his woods with two bales of hay in it. The pickup parked on the road after the robbery had two bales of hay in it. Everything about this robbery had been arranged by someone very crafty. Grid is as crafty a man as heâs ever met. He would have to take closer look at him. He wouldnât even mind taking a closer look at his wife.
Chapter 8
I t was almost three when he started down the dirt road that sloped across the meadow to his log house. He and his wife, Ginger, had built the house themselves with logs from trees they had cut off their own land. The land had been a gift from a corrupt and violent old man, but enough about his father. Tully still appreciated his generosity. Building the house with Ginger had been the best time of his life. Ginger hadnât remembered it that way, but women tended to be so prissy when it came to wrestling logs.
Halfway across the meadow he braked to a stop and peered at the house. The living-room light was on. It hadnât been on when he left that morning. At least he couldnât believe he had left the light on. He turned off the Explorerâs headlights, coasted down to the front of the house, and stopped. He unsnapped the retaining strap that held his Colt Commander in his shoulder holster and pulled the gun out. He opened the car door, got out, and pressed the door shut. Walking on the tips of his boots across the porch, he ever so carefully turned the knob on the front door with his left hand, the Colt Commander pointing straight up in his right, his finger on the trigger. He stepped in.
Daisy was asleep on the couch, a blanket spread over her. His watchdog, Clarence, was asleep on a pillow next to her, his head resting on her hip.
Tully tiptoed over to his bedroom, undressed, put on sweat shirt and sweat pants, and went to bed. He wasnât worried about burglars breaking in. His former watchdog was back. He had no idea how or why Clarence had suddenly returned. He had given him to a friend months ago. Well, not exactly a friend, but a person willing to accept Clarence. He guessed that anybody willing to accept Clarence had to be regarded as a friend. And now the miserable little beast was back.
Tully awoke to the racket of a large spoon beating on a metal pan.
âItâs almost seven oâclock!â Daisy yelled. âTime a hard-working sheriff should be out of bed!â
Tully groaned, got up, and wandered out to the kitchen in his mismatched sweatshirt and sweatpants. Breakfast was on the table. Huckleberry pancakes and sausage links! He supposed Daisy wasnât
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