Frogskin and Muttonfat (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Two) Read online

  Max was not overjoyed to see me. “What are you doing here?” he asked groggily. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  “Max, it’s important. I have to tell you what I’ve found out.”

  “Does the doctor know you left the hospital?”

  “No, of course not. Max, please listen. We have to go look for the Kid.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Around one.” He groaned and flopped back down on the bed. “Come here.” He held his arm out to me. “Come to bed, as long as you’re here.”

  “No, Max. Get up, get dressed.” I threw his clothes at him, putting temptation aside. “Listen to me. We have to go out to the country.”

  “The country? What are you talking about?” At least he was sitting upright again. He got out of bed and took my face in both of his hands, examining me closely. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Concern creased his brow.

  I smiled. “I haven’t gone off my head, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He flashed the wonderful smile that I hadn’t seen enough of yet. His heavy-lidded eyes drooped a fraction more. His voice turned husky. “Sure you don’t want to come to bed with me?” I hugged him, but pushed him away. “No, not now. Go take a shower, or throw some water on your face. We need to talk, but you have to be awake and alert.”

  Reluctantly, he turned me loose, yawned enormously, and wandered into the bathroom.

  I examined the walls of the room closely, with secret compartments in mind, but found nothing. On the other hand, how secret would a hiding place be if you could spot it right away? I’d turned the overhead light on, but true to hotels everywhere, the wattage wasn’t great, even with the addition of the bedside lamps and the little fringed monstrosity on the dresser. The closet seemed a more likely prospect.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” I called into the bathroom.

  “In the pickup,” he answered, emerging with a wet face and hair. He pulled on his jeans and toweled his head. “Okay, Sherlock, what cooks?”

  I told him about my visit with Kate in the nursing home. “She told me someone’s after the Kid, wants to kill him.”

  “Why?”

  “For the jade, Max. All this ancient history has stirred up a case of modern warfare. People are angry, they don’t want the Kid benefiting from something that doesn’t belong to him. Or,” I said wearily, “they’re just damned greedy and have their eye on some easy money.”

  “But killing for it, Thea? That’s pretty damn extreme.”

  “All I know is Kate’s truly frightened for the Kid, and if there’s a chance he’s—”

  “And who is Kate?” Max said, building up a head of steam. “Does she really know what she’s talking about or is she just rattling on?”

  “I believed her completely, Max,” I said, not batting an eye. I just hoped Max never had an opportunity to chat with her. “And as for who Kate is, you won’t believe it.”

  “No, don’t tell me, the lost princess of Shangri La.”

  I laughed. “Almost as bizarre. She’s Madame Juju.”

  “You’ re kidding.” He was surprised.

  “No.” We both turned to the picture on the wall. Now that I knew, I could see that the hairdo was more of a ‘twenties style, and the undies, or whatever they were, rather ageless. She and Mavis might both have been Ladies of the Night, but they weren’t contemporaries, by any means. “The Kid told me she’s the only person left in town he knows. She doesn’t look much like that anymore,” I said. In fact, I saw little resemblance to the feeble woman in the home, except, perhaps, for the glimmer of fun that sparkled behind her eyes. “She and the Kid were great friends in those days, when nobody knew he was the Nickel Kid. According to Kate, he frequently hid his loot here until the heat was off. In fact, secreting things seems to be a modus operandi with him. Kate suspected he’d hidden something in her room, so she had me look. I found an exquisite jade vase. There was still dirt on it, Max, so it had been buried, too, but it wasn’t one of the pieces I dug up. He must have gotten it when Phoebe took him to his place.”

  I followed Max into the bathroom and while he combed his hair I began to check out the walls and cupboards. “And I’d be willing to bet he hid something in here the night Phoebe was killed.” I told Max about waking in the middle of the night, thinking someone was in the room.

  “But I was here with you.”

  “I know you were. You were snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “Maybe not, but you were sound asleep,” I accused him with a broad smile. “Some protector you are. Most of the sounds seemed to come from in here, but I must admit I wasn’t totally awake.”

  Stained wood narrowly grooved to resemble fitted boards covered the bottom half of the bathroom walls. It looked quite old. I got on my hands and knees and peered under the sink. Max did the same behind the footed tub.

  He grunted. “Here’s something.”

  I joined him. A door, giving access to the water pipes, was placed awkwardly in the wall behind the front end of the tub. A small brass catch had to be turned to open it.

  Max tried, but couldn’t get his large hand and arm in the small space.

  “Let me. I’m smaller.” I wedged myself between the wall and the front of the tub. A repairman’s nightmare. The house cleaning wasn’t impeccable, either. Dirt and fuzzy-wuzzies sprinkled the tile. Finally, I got the catch turned and pulled the door open. I couldn’t see anything but pipes, and my back blocked most of the light. Max got the ridiculous tasseled boudoir lamp off the dresser and plugged it into an outlet by the sink, then held the light to shine in the hole.

  “There’s nothing here,” I said, disappointed, and began to scootch out. I banged my sore shoulder on the tub and had to bite my lip to keep from crying out, but the hesitation made me notice something I hadn’t before. “Wait a minute. Look at this, Max.” I brushed dribbles of dirt off the bottom of the cubbyhole into my hand and held it up for Max to see. He looked at me as if I were insane.

  I closed the little door, backed out and stood up, bringing life back to all my cuts and bruises. I opened my hand again to show him the dirt and laughed at his expression. He thought I’d really lost it.

  “This isn’t the kind of dirt and dust that collects in places like that,” I said. “This is soil, Max, like the crumbles of dirt in the newspaper the vase was wrapped in; it dribbled out all over the floor in Kate’s room when I found it, too. And there’s more dirt just like that behind the tub.” Thoughtfully, I dusted my hands off over the wastebasket. “Max, what if instead of hiding something in here last night, the Kid retrieved something? Something he’d hidden earlier, when the room wasn’t occupied?”

  “Mmmmm,” Max mumbled. “Pure speculation, Thea.” He eyed the hiding place skeptically. “But…maybe. Let’s go sit down a minute.” Max sat on the bed, head in hands, pondering, or maybe falling asleep again. He looked up, and said, “The Kid does know someone here besides Kate.”

  “Who?”

  “Tonight after dinner at Racy Ladies some old duffer came in looking for him. Funny name. Sat and talked with Garland, Buster and me for awhile. Deefy Hammersmith. Old blowhard kind of guy. Garland bought him a drink and really set him off.”

  “Oh, I think that’s the man who dresses up like a mountain man for the rodeos and fairs. He has a pet fox and I got to pet him. And you’re right: I saw him and the Kid together at the rodeo. But, Max, we can talk in the pickup.”

  He looked up. “You’re serious about wanting to go to the country?”

  “What will it hurt to go look for him? If I’m right and he’s still out there, maybe injured. Well, it’s already been twelve hours; that’s a lot of exposure for a guy in his eighties. And if I’m wrong, there’s no harm done. I just feel as if I deserted him, Max. I can’t rest until I’m certain he doesn’t need help.”

  “All right, sweetheart,” Max said with a sigh of resignation. “I shouldn’t do this, you know. I should take you
back to the hospital and look for the old duffer myself.”

  “Not a chance.” I gave him a kiss. “You wouldn’t know where to look.”

  I grabbed a sweatshirt out of my suitcase and changed into heavier running shoes. Max pulled his boots on and picked up a jacket. He had just opened the door when the wail of an emergency siren blasted through the silence of the night.

  I jumped. “What’s that?”

  “Fire.” Max stood alert, listening. Three blasts. “Three means a fire out in the country. They’re calling the volunteers in town. Must need help.” A door slammed downstairs. “Let’s go. I’ve got a two-way radio in the car.”

  We met Rocky in the front vestibule, hair standing on end, buttoning his shirt. He looked surprised to see us. He held a cordless phone in his hand.

  “The brush fire north of Brochecks started up again,” he told Max. “Wind’s whipping around pretty good and they’re wanting to get some fire breaks going before it gets any worse. The warden’s out to Buster’s place, wants everybody to meet there. He’s got equipment he can hand out.”

  “We’ll go help. I keep a couple of Indian packs in the truck. They got a spotter?”

  “They’re looking for Kendall. Haven’t found him yet, but as soon as they do they’ll get him in the air.”

  Florie hustled through the dining room and joined us. She eyed me suspiciously. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

  “The doctor released me early,” I said blithely.

  She turned to Rocky. “Sheila’s not in her room, but I’ll get one of the girls to take over here so I can run some food and coffee out to Brocheck’s. They’ll need help with sandwiches.”

  “Okay. I’m going to the city yard to see if they need a blade hauled out there. See you later.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and we left.

  Max and I took off in his pickup. Lights came on in many of the houses as we drove by and joined the stream of vehicles leading the way out of town.

  “What are Indian packs?”

  “They’re big bags with a hand-held hose attached.” Max answered. “You fill it full of water and wear it like a back pack. I’ll show you when we get there.”

  “Are all these people volunteer firemen?” More cars and trucks fell in behind us.

  “Could be, but you don’t have to be an official volunteer to participate.” He fished a cell phone from under the seat. “I’m going to call the rig and make sure everything’s all right there.”

  He spoke briefly, asked a few questions and said he’d keep in touch. “They’re not in any danger. Fire’s several miles away. Anyway, probably everyone in town who can get away will be out at Brocheck’s even at this time of night, or morning.” He adjusted the radio under the dash to tune in the fire warden’s communications. “Excitement’s in short supply around here, and a fire has a certain entertainment value, I guess. People who don’t want to actually fight the fire bring out food and keep a steady supply of coffee and sandwiches ready for crew members. Everyone gets their blood pumping.”

  “Still sounds like scary stuff to me.”

  “It can be. When the wind gets to dancing around anything can happen. Keeps you on your toes. But these people are old fire hands. Everybody keeps in radio contact and they’ll get a spotter in the air who can see exactly where the flames are and tell the fighters how to get there. Sometimes it takes a bit of fancy cross-country driving to get where you need to be.”

  He turned the radio’s volume up, listened intently for a few minutes then turned it back down.

  “How can you understand what they’re saying?” I asked. “It sounds like gibberish.”

  “Sometimes one channel is clearer than another. You get used to it. It doesn’t sound like the fire’s out of control, the warden’s just taking precautions so that it doesn’t get that way.”

  “Is it close to Corcoran’s place?”

  “No, not at all. So we can go to Corcoran’s first and set your mind at rest. I think there’s a back road we can take to Brocheck’s from there. How does that sound?”

  “Fine. I do appreciate you doing this for me.”

  “Do you have a specific spot where you want to look for the Kid? Something the deputies might have missed?”

  “I think we should check as much of the dry creek bed as possible. That’s where I got dumped, maybe the Kid did too,” I said. “Then, the original Corcoran homestead site’s not far from the main ranch buildings. A trail leads to it that’s not easily seen and could be missed. There’s not much there but a small barn in imminent danger of collapsing, and a dugout.”

  “A dugout?” Max gave me the megawatt smile that lit his somber face with piratical charm. I knew he was thinking of when we first met. “One of your favorite places,” he said, teasing. “Did you go in this one?”

  “You know I didn’t,” I said ruefully. “But it did make me think about the time you and I went in the dugout at Halfway Halt. I suppose that’s why I’m feeling drawn to the Kid’s old homestead site.” That and Sheila’s vision, of course, but I doubted Max would list psychic revelation as a reason to roust one’s self out in the middle of the night to go look for someone. “I know it would be a huge coincidence to find him there, but I need to look, anyway.”

  He reached over and took my hand. “You have to promise me you’ll take it easy, Thea. A concussion, even a light one, can be serious. I should be shot for bringing you out here. Tell me if you’re getting tired or sick. I can do the hard work, okay?”

  I reassured him on that point. I had no intention of going back to the hospital.

  “You know, Max,” I said, “I keep thinking about the trips Phoebe and I took to the Kid’s place, and wondering what his real agenda was. Certainly, in both cases, more than just a nostalgic look-see at his old home. Do you know how long he’s been in Rawhide?”

  “Not much more than two weeks, three at the most. He’d just hit town when I called you.”

  “I’m pretty sure he hadn’t been to the country before Phoebe took him. As far as his trip with me, I think he fully intended to get his jade, with or without my help.”

  “Then maybe the first trip with Phoebe was a reconnaissance,” Max offered, “to see if his cache was still in place. He must have been straining at the bit, wondering, after forty years.”

  “I think he searched the house, too. Must have had stuff there, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the door was freshly jimmied.”

  “Wouldn’t he have had a key?”

  “Maybe not. Florie probably has the keys. He might not have wanted to ask her for them, or didn’t want her to know he was going to the ranch.”

  He shrugged. “Or maybe he simply forgot he might need a way to get in the house.”

  “Right. I don’t think he’d have any qualms about stealing a key if he knew where it was. I have a hunch that if we ever find him he’ll have the missing key to Madam Juju in his pocket. Anyway, he either found or didn’t find what he hid in the house. We know he retrieved at least one piece of jade that was buried: the vase. And,” I added, “he probably also discovered that digging is a lot of hard work and he didn’t have the strength to do it himself. Which is why he got me to take him to the country the next day. Grunt labor.”

  “Okay, but the crucial point is: what happened after the Kid and Phoebe got back to Racy Ladies?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt certain about the first part of the scenario, but beyond that there were too many unknowns. “I think he’d hide the jade, out of habit, if nothing else,” I said, trying to think it through logically. “Madam Juju wasn’t occupied, so he stuck the vase in there. But when Phoebe gets murdered, he figures he’ll be the prime suspect and is afraid the police will find the jade when they search the house. So he takes the risk of sneaking in our room, gets the vase, planning to hide it in Kate’s room when he gets a chance.”

  We turned off the highway onto the county road. Jets of dust from the vehicles in front
of us roiled in the headlights. Max adjusted his speed slightly. “You know,” he said, after a moment, “it’s not a crime to have a piece of jade in your possession.”

  “Umm.” Even in the closed cab the bite of dust stung my nostrils. “Unless you have the Kid’s reputation, maybe.”

  “Even so, what could be proved? Who could identify a piece of rough jade that was stolen forty or more years ago from someone who is dead now? It’s a rock, for pete’s sake. Don’t they say possession is nine-tenths of the law?”

  “Two of the pieces, the vase and Buddha’s Fingers, might be identifiable. The O’Donnals could have photographs if both pieces belonged to them. That could establish a claim, couldn’t it?”

  “I’d think so.” Max concentrated on his driving and the radio, then gave me a long considering look. “I know you’ve developed a fondness for the Kid, Thea, but there’s another way to look at what happened between him and Phoebe. Here’s my take on it: Whatever the Kid does with the vase when they get back to Racy Ladies, Phoebe decides on a bit of larceny herself; a lot of people think old folks are fair game. But the Kid—a hardened criminal, Thea, regardless of his age and colorful background—is nobody to mess with. The Kid discovers the vase is gone, suspects Phoebe of double-crossing him, or whatever it is that crooks think, and kills her. Then hides the vase in Madame Juju as you said.”

  “I’m trying to keep an open mind, Max, but I still don’t think the Kid could have killed Phoebe. But Phoebe was sparkling with excitement about something she wanted to show me. Do you suppose it could have been the vase? Why would she steal it, Max?”

  He shrugged. “Giving her the benefit of the doubt, she might not have intended to keep it, just wanted to find out what it was and its worth. Particularly if she knew it was the Kid’s long-hidden treasure. You said she was hot after a story.”

  “I just wish we knew where she went that night and what happened to her before I found her on the porch.”

  “Did she say anything to anybody?”

  Max drove at top speed, sending the pickup flying over the graveled ruts of the road, throwing dust on those who followed behind us. I held my breath as he swung wide around a flat-bed truck carrying a backhoe.