Free The Double-Jack Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) by Patrick F. McManus

mean?”
    “Ernie will know. So tell me how to get to the Finches’ place.”
    “It’s about three miles on the other side of Angst, a huge white house with a white board fence out front that encloses about twenty acres. You can’t miss it.”
    “That their pasture?”
    “No, dear. It’s their front yard.”
    “Thanks, Agatha. Talk to you later.” He closed his phone.
    Pap was finishing off the hash browns. “She tell you how to get to the Finches?”
    “Yep. Saddle up and let’s go.”

8
    THE FINCH PLACE had about half a mile of paved drive-way. On one side was the Finch lawn and on the other was a pasture with a dozen or more beautiful horses prancing about. Tully hated horses, but if he ever started to like them he thought he would probably like one of these.
    Pap said, “If Finch sold those horses he could buy the whole town of Blight City.”
    “If he sold one of them,” Dave said, “he could buy the whole town of Blight City.”
    “I wonder where Teddy made his money,” Tully said.
    “He didn’t make it at all,” Pap said, squishing out a hand-rolled in the ashtray. “His daddy didn’t make it, either. It was his granddaddy, Jack Finch, made all of it on that gold mine we’re going up to see. He took millions and millions and millionsin gold out of that mine. When the ore played out, his son and grandson invested the money in timber. Got their own sawmill around here someplace. One of the few mills in the country that still turns out prime lumber.”
    “How come you know so much about it?” Tully asked.
    “I’ll tell you how come. Back when your granddad was sheriff, old Jack Finch apparently got the notion that some of his business associates was trying to kill him. He talked to my daddy about it and paid him a sizable fee and your grand-pap took care of the problem. I don’t know how exactly, but your grandpap wasn’t nothing like you, Bo.”
    “That’s what I understand. As a matter of fact, you’re nothing like me either, Pap.”
    “I didn’t want to say it, knowing how tender your feelings are.”
    Tully got out of the pickup and walked up to the front entrance. A tall, slim, white-haired man answered the chimes. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
    “I’m Sheriff Bo Tully of Blight County and—”
    “Good heavens!” The man called over his shoulder. “Margaret, we have a celebrity right here at our own front door— Bo Tully!”
    “I don’t believe it!” the woman cried. “Bo Tully, the artist?”
    “I don’t imagine there’s more than one Bo Tully. Come in, sir, come in! Oh, I see you have a couple of folks in the truck. Tell them to come in, too.”
    Tully signaled Pap and Dave to join him. The man stuck out his hand. Tully shook it. The grip was surprisingly strong.
    “I’m Teddy Finch. This is my wife, Margaret.” Mrs. Finch was tall and willowy, with her silver hair wrapped up in a bun and held with a pin.
    Mrs. Finch said, “We are so delighted, Mr. Tully. We have been fans of your painting for many years. You can’t believe what an honor it is to finally meet you!”
    Tully introduced Pap and Dave, who now seemed somewhat subdued to be in the company of such a famous person.
    Mrs. Finch said, “Come in, come in, please, gentlemen. Teddy will show you into the sitting room and I’ll go fix a pot of tea.” She disappeared into the vast spaces of the house. Tully had expected a butler to appear at any moment, along with a maid in a short black dress and a white frilly apron. Apparently, Finch read the expression on his face. “You’re wondering why two old people are living in this gigantic house alone. It wasn’t so large when we had our five children here and my father and mother, both of whom passed on quite a few years ago. Back then we did have some service people, mostly for my dad to torment—at least that was my opinion at the time—but now it’s just Margaret and me. We prefer it that way, as long as we can do for ourselves.”
    Dave