Shadow Man (27 page)

She slapped him on the cheek. “Charlie Moon!”

He was still as death.

The woman glared at the sculptured face. Waited for the inevitable.

The laws of human physiology are writ in stone. After twenty-one painful seconds, the prone man sucked in a deep breath.

I knew it. He was faking all along!

The patient emitted a pitiful groan, a melancholy sigh.

“Save it!”

Moon opened one eye, peered up at a pitiless face. “What…who are you?” After a thoughtful pause, he made a guess. “An angel come to take me to heaven?”

The lady tried to look stern. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” She turned to the choir. “And you morons were in on this.”

There were a few sheepish grins.

McTeague pointed to no place in particular. “Get out of here, all of you!”

The crew wandered off this way and that, mumbling. The general consensus was that this town woman had no sense of humor.

After a tense silence, Moon asked the Big Question: “What was my time?”

“Your what?”

“My time in the saddle. If I didn’t stay on for twelve seconds, I owe the Kyd a month’s pay.”

McTeague shook her head, sighed.

The bronc rider closed his eyes.
These women just don’t understand.

He’s such a little boy.
She touched his face. “Is anything broken?”

Moon wiggled his fingers. Then his toes. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Everywhere.” He groaned again. “Even my hair.”

She raised his head, put it in her lap. Stroked his forehead with her hand.

“Ah,” he said, closing his eyes against the noonday sun. “That’s much better.”

The man who called himself “Cap” approached the corral with some trepidation. Having been one of the few souls on the Big Hat to miss the excitement, the cook had heard from the cowboys how that outlaw horse had attempted to murder the boss, and come within a gnat’s eyebrow of getting the job done—but Charlie Moon wasn’t quite dead, and he’d whispered to the vet and the Wyoming Kyd that he wanted to play a little prank on the FBI lady and the word got passed around and all the boys fell right in with it. The cook had also heard about how the hot-tempered woman had ordered everyone away from the scene of the mischief. On top of all that, Cap—like a sizable portion of Charlie Moon’s other employees—had his reasons to stay clear of the FBI agent and other sworn officers of the law. But the outfit’s hash slinger had a job to do, and he took his responsibilities seriously. The seriously nearsighted man entered the corral through the gate, bumped into a hefty post, meandered over toward the pair. He was within a couple of yards before he could make out exactly who was there. A man, whom he took to be Charlie Moon, was stretched out on his back. The Ute’s head was resting in a woman’s lap. They were talking in low, intimate tones, and seemed unaware of his presence.

Cap rattled the covered lunch bucket.

The woman gave him a look.

“Uh—I thought the boss might like some lunch.”

McTeague focused her big eyes on the stainless steel bucket. “I don’t think he feels like eating just yet.”

Moon sniffed. “What’d you bring, Cap?”

“Oh, nothing much. Few pieces of fried chicken. Buttered corn on the cob. Mashed potatoes. And some rhubarb cobbler.” He rattled the bucket again. “It’s good and hot.”

“Well,” the stricken man said with a moaning groan, “just set it down. Maybe the lady would like to have a bite.”

Cap left the pail on the ground, departed. On the way out of the corral, he bumped into the same post again. And called it an unseemly name.

McTeague watched him head more or less toward the Big Hat headquarters. “The man needs to see an ophthalmologist.”

“If he could
see
an ophthalmologist, there wouldn’t be no need for him to—”

“You know what I mean.”

“Cap already has himself a serviceable pair of spectacles.”

“Why doesn’t he wear them?”

“He does, sometimes.” Moon managed a wan smile. “But whenever you’re around, he takes ’em off.”

“Why on earth would he do that?”

“If you don’t know, I ain’t gonna tell you.”

She blushed. “Don’t be silly, Charlie.”

“False modesty doesn’t become a pretty gal like you, Lila Mae.”
Fried chicken sounds like just the ticket.
“Did you notice Cap has grown himself a fuzzy little beard?”

“Of course I did. It looks nice on him. He has a smallish chin.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Not the part about his chin.”

“That’ll take half the fun out of it.” He grinned at a drumstick-shaped cloud. “I feel a bit of an appetite comin’ on.”

She opened the lunch bucket, was overwhelmed by a mix of delicious aromas wafting up from therein. “What would you like?”

“I was hoping for some dessert,” he gasped. “How about another helping of that artificial resuscitation?”

Smiling, the lady unwrapped the foil from an ear of corn. “Stick this in your mouth.”

He gave the food a cross-eyed look. “I don’t think I can eat while I’m flat on my back.”

“Do you feel like sitting up?”

Moon raised himself on an elbow. Groaned with a painful intensity that made the woman wince.

“Easy, now.” She reached out to steady him. “You might have a broken rib. And your blood pressure may be unstable. Get up very slowly or you might faint.”

“Cowboys don’t
faint,
” he grumbled. “And if there’s any bones busted, I’d just as soon find out right now.”

She helped Moon get onto one knee, gradually onto his feet.

He leaned on a corner post, gave the woman a peculiar, unfocused look. “Oh…you were right…I feel like I’m gonna topple over—”

Lila Mae McTeague reached out to catch him.

Moon picked her up, danced around the corral.

“What are you doing!”

“I think they call it a hornpipe,” he shouted. “But I never did one with a partner before.”

A half-dozen cowboys showed up from nowhere to gawk at the spectacle. There were several “wa-hoos,” “yi-pees,” and one “way to go, boss!”

“Charlie Moon—put me down!”

He looked like he might not. “Or what?”

She showed him a fist.

Disappointed in her lack of enthusiasm, he eased her down.

Disappointed that he had given up so easily, she attempted an expression of outrage. “You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”

“Thank you.” He found his hat, clamped it on his head. “You are the nicest lady I ever did a hornpipe with.” He held his arms out. “How about it—want to go for another round?”

“I am not accustomed to dancing in manure-caked corrals.” McTeague looked toward a clump of willows, pointed. “Let’s go over there by the pond.”

“Western ranches don’t have ponds. That is a stock tank.”

“Then let’s go over by the stock tank.”

“Behind those bushes, where nobody can see us?”

“Precisely.”

“And what’ll we do over there?”

She picked up the lunch bucket. “We’ll have our lunch.”

Pulled by equine curiosity, Sweet Alice followed them through the break in the fence. While the human beings enjoyed their meal, the horse took turns munching at grass, slurping water from the stock tank.

After the fried chicken and corn on the cob and potatoes and pie had been dealt with, Charlie Moon picked his teeth with a willow twig. “So, how’re things with you, McTeague?”

“Tolerable,” she said.

“In these parts, the word is
tol’ able.
”

“I am not from ‘these parts,’ thank you.” She wiped her mouth with a snow-white linen napkin. “I wouldn’t have been surprised to get a tin plate of greasy fatback, burned pinto beans, and month-old biscuits that would break a bulldog’s teeth. But the food was simply scrumptious.”

“The grub on the Big Hat is always first-rate.” Moon winked at her. “And Cap brought them fancy napkins just for you.”

She remembered the cook’s missing spectacles and smiled. “Do you really think he has a crush on me?”

“Hey, anything is possible.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Do I have to explain it?”

“You certainly do.”

“Well, ol’ Cap, he’s a regular hairy-chested man just like the rest of us. When a fine-looking woman comes around, he’s bound by the laws of nature to stop and take notice. Even show off a little bit. But that’s as far as it’ll go. You shouldn’t expect any candy or flowers from my five-star hash slinger.”

“He is bashful, then?”

“It’s not so much that. I expect the fact that you’re a FBI pistol-packing momma puts him a little on edge.”

“I see your point. It bears remembering that your ranch is a haven for all sorts of petty felons.”

“There’s nothing petty about
these
felons. But it is a fact that when you come around, quite a few of my employees get nervous.”

“As no doubt they should. But you may tell Cap that I have not the least intention of searching out evidence of any frightful deeds he has done.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

She shifted gears. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?”

“That Bureau Forensics would determine that the arm found in Moccasin Lake was not Dr. Blinkoe’s limb.”

“I am still digesting my lunch.” He grimaced. “Couldn’t we talk about something else?”

“Charlie, don’t try to kid me. You knew all along that wasn’t Blinkoe’s arm. The question is:
How
did you know?”

“Just for the sake of civil conversation, I guess I could humor you—pretend I’m every bit as clever as you think I am.”

“Yes you could. So go right ahead.”

He thought about it. “It might have been because what the lady fisherman snagged on her hook was a
left
arm. And I’d seen Blinkoe wearing that ring on his right hand.”

She shook her head. “He always wore the ring on his left hand.”

“Ah—then maybe I remembered seeing the ring on a different
finger.
” He nodded to agree with himself. “Yeah. That must’ve been it.”

“Afraid not,” she said. “The ring was on the same pinkie where Dr. Blinkoe always wore it. The Bureau has several photographs to prove this point.”

“Then it must’ve just been a gut feeling. I never did trust that slicker.” The Ute’s face reflected the pain of a hurtful memory. “First time we met, Blinkoe tried to cheat me at cards.”

McTeague rolled her eyes. “Thank you
so
much for sharing this meaningful anecdote with me.”

She’s got the dangdest prettiest eyes I ever saw.
“You’re entirely welcome, ma’am.”

“But you still have not provided a satisfactory explanation.”

Moon shrugged. “I’ve never admitted I knew it wasn’t Dr. Blinkoe’s arm. Being a fella with a well-developed sense of humor, I’ve merely been humoring you.”

“Charlie, did I ever tell you that you are the most annoying man I have ever met?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“I meant every single word of it. And I think you’re being evasive.”

“It’s not likely—I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“It is a variation on ‘evasion.’”

“Oh, right. Like the Evasion of the Giant Space-Crickets.”

“Don’t be silly, Charlie. ‘Evasive’ means ‘intentionally ambiguous or vague.’”

“I bet you had to look that up in a dictionary.”

She made another shot at it, aiming for his ego. “I bet you had some devilishly clever reason to believe that dismembered arm belonged to a John Doe. You probably spotted some obscure little clue that I missed entirely.”

“You might be right.”

“But you’re not going to tell me.”

“If I did, it’d only upset you.”

“Okay. Have it your way.”
Sooner or later, I’ll find out.
“The primary issue is that the severed limb was never attached to Dr. Blinkoe’s torso. Which raises two rather interesting questions.”

He nodded. “Number one—whose severed limb is it? Number two—how did Blinkoe’s ring and watch get on the John Doe’s finger and wrist?”

“So what do you think?”

He winked at her. “I think you liked doing the hornpipe with me.”

She ignored this latest evasion. “I suppose you also know what I found out about Pansy Blinkoe’s family.”

He nodded. “But I don’t want to annoy you, so I’ll pretend like I don’t.”

McTeague smirked. “I don’t believe you.”

“What don’t you believe—that I know or that I don’t?”

“That you don’t. You’re bluffing.”

“Okay, I’m bluffing. So go ahead and tell me what you found out about Mrs. Blinkoe’s parents.” He paused. “And her
so-called
brother.”

The FBI agent threw her napkin at him. “You
did
know!”

He presented the wide eyes. “Know what?”

“Don’t give me that innocent-as-a-newborn-babe expression.
How
did you know?”

“That the fellow who calls himself Clayton Crowe is not, never was, and never will be Pansy Crowe-Blinkoe’s brother?”

She waited.

“Maybe it was like knowing that severed arm hadn’t been ripped from Blinkoe’s shoulder—just a highly experienced lawman’s razor-edged intuition.”

McTeague threw her head back. “Bilge water!”

The Ute looked tossed aside his willow toothpick. “Nautical phraseology is wasted on an Indian raised in the arid West.”

“I bet you understand hogwash, tommyrot, applesauce, and…and claptrap!”

Moon did not hide his disappointment. “Those expressions are a bit overused.”

Lila Mae gave him a venomous look. “How about
rattlesnake spit!
”

What a woman.
“Okay, I’ll admit it—I wasn’t completely clueless.”

“Don’t tempt me, Charlie.”

“Right. Well, what it all boiled down to was Clayton’s big brown eyes. Blue-eyed parents like Mr. and Mrs. Crowe are both endowed with a pair of genes for blue irises. They can produce all the blue-eyed babies they are of a mind to. But it is almost impossible for them to have brown-eyed offspring—which suggests a number of more likely possibilities. Like the mother had an unseemly relationship with a man who carried at least one brown gene. Which could mean he was, like the song says—a Brown-eyed Handsome Man.”

“Not all brown-eyed men are handsome.”

“I hope that remark was not intended to hurt my feelings.”

“I wish I could reassure you.”

“You’re a hard-hearted woman, McTeague. But to get back to what we were talking about, I didn’t believe for a moment that Mrs. Crowe had given birth to this brown-eyed Clayton.”

“I’ll say this, Charlie—you are far more perceptive than I would have thought.”

“Thank you. But most of the credit should go to my extremely capable high-school teacher, Miss Atherton. I thought I recalled something about eye colors and inheritance from her biology class, but I had to go see the lady and check it out.”

“I am very impressed.” A hesitation. “I don’t suppose you know who the so-called Clayton Crowe actually is.”

Moon was genuinely sorry and it showed on his face.

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I would if I could. But once again, I owe it all to Miss Atherton. That clever lady got on the Internet, found facsimiles of all four of Pansy Crowe’s high-school yearbooks. The Clayton Crowe in the apartment over the Blinkoe garage was actually Roger Culpepper. Pansy and Culpepper were Queen and King of the Fall Festival. There were three or four pictures of them together. It didn’t take a quantum mechanic to figure out he was her old boyfriend. Mr. Culpepper must’ve hit hard times, looked up his former sweetheart. I guess Pansy couldn’t turn him away from her door, so they cooked up that story that he was her brother. Dr. Blinkoe bought it, and agreed to let him stay in the apartment over the garage.” Moon thought about it. “I think Pansy was just softhearted. I doubt her and the so-called Clayton ever did anything they shouldn’t have.”