Free Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy by Ben Rehder Page A

wonder what he was getting himself into. He’d been thinking about keeping the dog, but now he was having second thoughts. Did he really need these responsibilities right now? He was having a tough time just remembering to feed himself lately.
    There had been a warm and beautiful light named Becky in Marlin’s life until a month ago, but she was gone now, and Marlin was doing his best to cope with it. People are drawn together and pulled apart by all types of forces, and in this case, it was Becky’s career. She was a nurse, and even the promise of a new high-tech county hospital hadn’t been enough to make Blanco County her permanent home.
    “It’s a commitment,” Dr. King said, almost as if he were privy to Marlin’s thoughts. “Any dog is, though. If you decide she’s not for you, no big deal. Just let me know and I’m sure I can find a home for her.”
    Marlin had taken Geist home that day, thinking he’d give it a week or so and then make up his mind. Looking back on it now, watching the dog romp in the backyard, a bittersweet smile crossed Marlin’s face. Geist had made up his mind for him.
    He opened the door and Geist bounded inside. Marlin stepped into the kitchen and poured a bowl of kibble. He was preparing his own dinner when Bobby Garza called.
    “You ever hear of Gus Waldrip?” the sheriff asked.
    “Yeah, I’ve checked his license once or twice. He lives on Flat Creek Road. I think he guides over at Kyle Dawson’s place now and then.”
    “That’s good to know. Oliver Searcy called a couple of different guides here in the county. Three, actually. We’ve talked to the other two and they check out okay. Searcy called Gus Waldrip on Sunday, but we haven’t been able to track him down.”
    Marlin said, “He has a brother who lives with him, I think. Goes by Dirk, or something like that.”
    “Yeah, the records show his name as Richard, nickname Duke. Do you know if he guides, too?”
    Marlin checked so many hunting camps each season, it was difficult to remember. “You know, I don’t think so. I believe I’ve seen him and Gus hanging around with customers, but I don’t remember him guiding. I could be wrong. I’ve only seen them for the last couple seasons. I think they were born around here but moved away for a while. Then they came back when their mother died.”
    “You know where they were living before?”
    “Let’s see. Up in Burnet County? I think it was just south of Lampasas.”
    “Tell you what: I’m gonna check with the sheriff up there, but would you mind giving the warden a call? See what he has to say about them?”
    “Will do. I’ll give you a ring back.”
    “Okay, pardner, I appreciate it.”
    At nine o’clock, the cops showed up for a third time—and Gus thought it was hilarious. He was peeking through the window, grinning, and could see the sheriff and one of his deputies getting out of a squad car. Gus quickly closed the curtain. It was kind of fun, actually—like a game of hide-and-seek.
    Then Gus thought, Clambake.
    Crap. Now was not the time for one of his episodes.
    The cops were at the door, knocking again, but Gus could feel himself fading out. He sat on the couch.
    Ocelot.
    Chimichanga.
    Deputy Ernie Turpin knocked again. There was no answer, no sound from within the home, even though the porch light was on and a Ford Expedition sat in the driveway.
    “What do you think?” Turpin asked. “Leave another card?”
    Garza tried to peek between two curtains, but all he could see was a sliver of carpet. “Yeah, and then let’s try their office again.”
    Back in the cruiser, Turpin said, “I thought you wanted to talk to Kyle Dawson next.”
    “I’ve been thinking. I want to send Marlin out there, go at this from a different angle.”
    “The Waldrip brothers? Hell, yeah, I remember them.” The man on the other end of the line was Howell Rogers, Burnet County’s game warden since the early seventies. He was one of the old-timers and could tell some