Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2) (17 page)

Of course, there was one very big drawback to succeeding Clay Steadman, especially with Clay’s backing. If the mayor did have anything to do with Hale Tibbot’s death and Ron was seen as benefitting from his relationship with the mayor — by filling his old job — there would be no way any good cop investigating Tibbot’s death wouldn’t believe Ron wasn’t in on it, too.

The best thing for Ron to do might be to resign his job right now and put as much distance as he could between himself and Clay Steadman and Goldstrike. Then, again, that could look like he was
running
from his involvement in a murder. He could be damned either way.

Abra Benjamin had seen the jeopardy he was in already.

Maybe he should consult her — or John Tall Wolf or even Keely — about what he should do. Or he could just go out and catch the sonofabitch who killed Tibbot.

Sometimes the simplest choice was the best.

John Tall Wolf stood in front of the sign for Locks & Bangs and asked Keely, “Hairstyling for the bondage and discipline set?”

Keely grinned at him. “Feds aren’t supposed to be funny. Don’t you know that?”

“Serious as death and taxes?” he asked.

“At least. You’re supposed to scare people not crack them up.”

“You’ve heard of the Iroquois, right?”

“Is that your people?” Keely asked.

“No, Northern Apache and probably Navajo.”

“Probably?”

“Never met my biological father.”

“Oh, sorry. Back to the Iroquois. Yeah, I’ve heard of them.”

Tall Wolf sighed. “Timing’s gone.”

“What, for the joke you had planned? To show me feds
are
funny?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna kill me now,” Keely said, “wondering what it is.”

Tall Wolf smiled. “Well, that’s kind of funny.”

The honk of a car horn across the street let John have the last word on the subject. A cop in a Goldstrike PD patrol unit wanted some attention. He called out, “Special Agent Tall Wolf?”

John nodded.

“I have a Mr. Herbert Wilkins with me, sir.” Wilkins leaned forward in his seat. “Sergeant Stanley asked me to help him find you.”

Tall Wolf said, “Thank you, officer. Mr. Wilkins, why don’t we find somewhere quiet where we can talk?”

Wilkins nodded and got out of the patrol unit.

While he was waiting for traffic to clear so he could cross the street, Keely said to Tall Wolf, “Come on, tell me. What about the Iroquois?”

Tall Wolf told her, “They were the first people to play the Catskills.”

“That’s not so funny.”

“Sure. Not now,” he agreed.

Tall Wolf shook hands with Wilkins and they walked off down the street.

The special agent saw a sign for the Head in the Clouds Diner.

Keely went into the hair salon for a shampoo, a cut and maybe an arrest.

Roger Sutherland saw Jacob Burkett sitting on the bench facing Lake Adeline and sat next to him, extending a hand to Burkett. The environmental engineer shook the director’s hand. The residents of Goldstrike who spent more than summer and winter holidays in town got to be nodding acquaintances at a minimum. Sutherland and Burkett knew each other well from a documentary film the director had shot, “California Wild and Free.” Burkett had appeared in the film and recounted his experiences working in some of the state’s most stunning natural settings.

“Good morning, Jake.”

“Roger.”

The two men watched sunlight sparkle on the water. A rainbow trout swimming in the shallows offered a splash of color. It darted for cover as the shadow of a hawk flying overhead triggered piscine survival instincts. Roger Sutherland smiled and Jake Burkett nodded.

Some things were still the way they were meant to be. If you could overlook the fact that most fish communities in the lake, like the rainbow trout, had been introduced by man. So, okay, sometimes the tinkerers got things right.

And sometimes they didn’t.

Without exchanging a word, the two men surveyed as much of the shoreline as they could see. There were virgin spaces, public spaces and developed spaces. The parcels where hotels sat close to the water constituted no more than a quarter of what they could see. But new among that commercial allotment was the Jade Emperor’s construction site.

The two men fixed their eyes on it, shook their heads in unison.

“I was damn mad when the town council approved that place,” Jake said.

Roger sighed.

“Me, too,” he said, “but it has been a long time since any new lakefront development was allowed.”

“Fifteen years,” Jake said.

Roger shrugged. “Most resort towns build a lot faster than that.”

Jake asked, “Would you want to live in most resort towns?”

“No.”

“Me either.”

“What would you suggest, Mr. Environmental Engineer?”

“A hard cap on commercial development. A building permit for, say, a new hotel would get issued only after the demolition of an equivalent property.”

The director nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I can see that. It has a nice symmetry.”

“Do the same thing with residential construction.”

Now Roger gave Jake a look.

“If you aren’t here already, you can’t come?”

“No, more like if you own a home here and want to leave, you have to sell it to the town at a fairly appraised market price. In turn, the town sells the home to a lottery winner chosen from people on a waiting list.”

Roger slapped his knee and laughed.

“That’s damn clever.”

“That’s not all. If you buy a home off the list, you can knock it down and rebuild if you want, but the new structure can’t be any bigger than the one it replaces and it has to be more efficient in its use of natural resources.”

Roger applauded. “You’ve really thought this through. Makes me almost ashamed to tell you the idea I had.”

“What’s that?” Jake asked.

“Well, when I go to bed at night lately, I can’t help but wonder if maybe someone’s skulking out onto the lake to try some more bad shit. That’s a big lake out there for two cops in one boat to cover all by themselves. I was thinking some of the more responsible boat owners in town could go talk to Chief Ketchum or the mayor, if necessary, and volunteer to help the police with night patrols. Just keep an eye out, you know. Radio for help if we see anything. Would you be up for something like that, Jake?”

“I would. I’d be happy to do it.”

“Beats sitting around, praying nothing goes wrong,” Roger said.

“Yes, it does. But do you think either the chief or mayor would let us bring weapons with us. I’m all for calling the cops, but if things were to go to hell fast, I wouldn’t want to be praying for help out
on
the lake.”

Roger said, “I think we could work something out, don’t you?”

Keely entered Locks & Bangs and asked if Veronika had an opening that day. Turned out she’d just had a cancellation. The stylist looked every bit as good her picture in the window, except the corners of her mouth turned down just a little. Losing a rich boyfriend could do that to a girl, Keely supposed.

Veronika asked who referred Keely to her. You didn’t get to be a veteran cop, let alone a homicide detective, without being able to lie glibly. Keely said, “I’m staying at the Renaissance. You were at the top of the list I was given.”

The stylist turned her frown upside down, ever so slightly. Learning that her new client was staying at a high-end hotel and that she’d been recommended by the Renaissance implied both a nice tip now and more referrals in the future. Good things both.

Retired Detective Powell had braved going out into the world that morning with only her ankle gun and she wore the slacks that had an extra inch of inseam. She didn’t worry about any
oops
moment of discovery. She sat back and enjoyed the shampoo. When asked what she’d like to have done with her shoulder-length hair, she said, “I think I’d like it to go up three, maybe four inches.” Ron Ketchum had never seen her with hair that short. “I’ll trust you to do something chic with it.”

Flatter the stylist that her professional sense of esthetics would produce a winning result. You couldn’t pay a higher compliment to an artist than that. Veronika smiled at Keely and said, “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll like what I can do for you.”

The stylist studied the planes of her client’s face and set to work.

Keely displayed further trust by closing her eyes as Veronika was busy snipping here and there. She peeked when the stylist brought out her hair dryer and brush. Watched closely the great care the stylist took with getting her hair just so. Loved the way the new hairdo called attention to her cheekbones.

When she finished, Veronika solicited Keely’s opinion with a raised eyebrow.

“Damn,” Keely said sincerely, “I didn’t know I could look that good anymore.”

“You’re very pretty, and quite youthful.”

Keely could buy the first compliment; the second was pushing things a little. But, hell, when tips made up a good chunk of a woman’s income you could forgive her a little harmless bullshit. Keely said, “Thank you.”

She nodded to a framed picture on a shelf opposite the chair in which she sat.

Veronika in costume. Marie Antoinette. Same outfit she wore in the photo with Hale Tibbot, but she was alone this time. She’d been discreet enough or sensitive to the man’s passing not to bring a picture of her late sweetie in to work.

“You look great in that shot,” Keely told Veronika. “Must have been some big do.”

A film of tears appeared on Veronika’s baby blues.

“It was the best night of my life.”

Keely could imagine what the worst one was. Veronika walked her to the front of the shop. Keely made another appointment for six weeks hence, and tipped fifty percent of the cut. That almost made the stylist forget her sorrows. Then Keely spoiled the recovery.

She said to Veronika, “My boyfriend could use someone with your talent. Do you cut men’s hair, too?”

For a heartbeat, the stylist just stared at Keely.

Then she broke down, sobbing, and ran through a doorway at the back of the shop.

The retired LAPD detective had considered questioning the woman herself.

Now, she thought she’d leave it to Ron Ketchum.

It was his town, after all.

“You don’t drink coffee?” Herbert Wilkins asked John Tall Wolf.

The two of them had a booth at the back of the diner. The morning rush had come and gone. The staff was getting ready for the lunch crowd. As long as the two men kept their voices down, they didn’t have to worry about being overheard.

Tall Wolf shook his head. “About the only stimulant I’ll allow myself is chocolate.”

The special agent was having herbal tea and wheat toast with raspberry preserves.

Wilkins was having bacon and eggs, hash browns, white toast and black coffee. He seemed to think his choice was a man’s breakfast. Tall Wolf’s fare was …

“Not enough to keep a bird alive,” Wilkins said, disapproval in his voice. “How can you survive on that?”

“I enjoy every bite, savor every sip,” Tall Wolf replied.

“And chocolate’s the big thrill in your life?”

“In terms of what I eat.”

“So, you don’t drink?”

“No. Never have. So how long have you been sober?” Tall Wolf asked.

“What makes you say that?” Wilkins asked in a flat voice.

“There’s a look in your eyes when you pick up your cup. Like you wish there was a shot of whiskey in it. I’ve seen it before. Half the time, the guy has a half-pint in his hip pocket to give his coffee beans a little extra flavor.”

Tall Wolf’s description brought a look of longing to Wilkins’ eyes.

“More than twenty years,” he said. “That’s how long I’ve been sober.”

“Good for you. Hope you have another twenty. So you have any news for me?”

“I do, but not exactly what you asked for.”

John Tall Wolf smiled, bobbed his head. “Not because you don’t know. You just don’t want to tell me. Yet.”

“If that was the case, would you blame me?”

“Not yet. You checked me out, didn’t you?” Tall Wolf asked.

“Yeah, I did. Everybody I talked to says you’re honest.”

“But you still don’t trust me.”

Wilkins leaned forward and lowered his voice. “With what we’re talking about, trusting someone you just met doesn’t make sense. No matter how nice people talk about him.”

Tall Wolf closed the distance from his side of the table. “I did some checking on you, too. You’re a working man. Your have a day job as the assistant manager at a home improvement store. I imagine you make a living wage, but you’re not a rich man. So, unless you have a heroic sense of self-restraint, you haven’t cashed in on the gold.”