A Promise Kept, page 2
part #1 of Rick Carnes Mystery Series
Having had my say, I stepped back out of his office. My escort began to put me into a set of cuffs he’d taken from his belt.
The chief spoke loud enough to be heard. “I believe Mr. Carnes has shown the cuffs to be of no real value. He’s had them off for a while. Don’t bother.”
“Thank you, Chief Warner.”
The chief nodded.
The officer proceeded to lead me through the next door.
“Empty your pockets.”
Having left my bag at the tavern, I only had my wallet. I took it out and put it on the counter.
He inventoried its contents. “I see eight hundred sixty-five dollars. No keys or phone or anything other than the wallet containing the cash and other routine contents.”
“That’s correct, officer.”
“That’s quite a lot of cash, isn’t it?”
“To some people, perhaps.”
He looked at me, then motioned toward a pen on a chain attached to the counter. “Sign the inventory sheet.”
I did.
He led me to a cell and opened it.
I stepped inside and turned back to face him.
He closed the door and locked it the old-fashioned way, with a key.
He walked to my left and out of sight.
My senses reported silence and the aged smells attendant to empty cells.
Chief Warner looked up. “I want everything you can find on Rick Carnes.”
“But, Chief, I go off duty in five minutes.”
“No you don’t. Everything.”
2
“Good morning, Mr. Carnes. I won’t ask if you slept well, I doubt you did. Please close my office door.”
“Good morning, Chief Warner. As for your accommodations, I’ve been in worse.”
He motioned toward the chair facing his desk.
I sat.
“Was your property returned to you in good order?”
I nodded.
“All your cash is in your wallet, right?”
“Yes, thank you, Chief.”
“You’re free to go.”
I stood at what the military called parade rest. “What changed?”
“About an hour ago, Susan from Bill’s Tavern gave me a detailed report on the altercation. I followed up with several citizens who were in Bill’s when it took place.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And?”
“It would appear Sergeant Preminger was the aggressor, without cause. I’ve removed your booking. We’re done with you.”
“I suspect I’m not the first person he’s accosted.”
“May I ask you something, Mr. Carnes?”
“Certainly, Chief Warner.”
“We found nothing on you. Well, a California driver’s license issued in Los Angeles, and an International Driver Permit issued through an American Automobile Association office located out in Florida. You do get around, Mr. Carnes, for a fella who arrived without an automobile.”
“Yes, sir. Somewhat.”
“Why would you get your U.S. driver’s license in California and your international in Florida?”
“I was probably in Florida at the time I wanted an international.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Like you said, I get around.”
“There’s no record of you ever being arrested anywhere for anything. That’s why I removed the paperwork of you being booked here in my city. If you’re wanting a rap sheet, you’ll need to earn it. This didn’t measure up.”
The chief opened a small fridge behind his desk and took out two Cokes. He pushed one toward me.
I took it, nodded, and popped the top. “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate you doing that.”
“We also found no record for you on any of the credit bureaus.”
“I don’t really use credit. If I want something and I have the money I buy it. If not, I wait until I do or get over the urge to own it.”
“You also don’t have a car registered anywhere in the States.”
“I came in by bus. Don’t drive much. Rent when I need to or use the car of a friend. Is there anything else, Chief?”
“Did confirm you were military, beyond a few basic details, the army’s sealed your file. Why is that Mr. Carnes?”
“You said the army did it, you’d have to ask them.”
“Yeah. Well, I tried that.”
I smiled. “Is there anything further, Chief Warner?”
“No. Like I said, ‘you’re free to go’.”
I held up my empty Coke can. “Thank you, Chief.”
He nodded.
“Chief Warner, may I say something?”
He tilted his chair back. “I think you’ve earned that right after spending the night with us. Shoot.”
“Sergeant Preminger is a bully. It was obvious from the way the patrons and employees in Bill’s Tavern responded to his behavior. At first, their faces showed intimidation. When he was on the floor, I saw smiles. He hasn’t followed your lead with respect to how to deal with citizens.”
“May I speak candidly, Mr. Carnes?”
“Please.”
“Sergeant Abner Preminger’s been divorced about a year—little more’n. He misses her and sometimes his behavior gets, well, a little edgy.”
“One bad apple can spoil your barrel, Chief.”
“I’ve got to deal with it. Just haven’t yet—not fully anyway. He’s a solid sergeant over my officers. They like him although I have heard grousing about his conduct a time or two.”
“Not all that many rank and file speak out. At least not to anyone who can do anything about whatever it is. They tend to grouse amongst themselves. If you’ve heard some, it’s happened plenty.”
“Rank and file? That’s mostly a military term. What did you do in the army?”
I shrugged. “It’s best I respect the army’s reasons for sealing my file. I appreciate your hearing me out. I’m sure you’ll deal with the sergeant in your own time.” I stood. “Still, I wouldn’t wait too long. I think it’s festering.”
After getting breakfast at a local diner, I set out to stretch my legs and do a little light recon after spending the night behind bars on a short cot. I headed off in the direction the waitress who served my eggs and toast said would take me toward the Jones property. “About five miles,” she’d told me, “out the door to the right and stay on it. You’ll see it. Names right there in plain sight.”
I’d gone about three and a half miles when I ran across a young man, around ten, wearing overalls and black tennis shoes without socks. He had a buzz cut and was tossing feed toward a flock of chickens, a clutch of chicks scampered among them. I stopped. The boy came over to the split rail fence and just sort of stood there.
“You have trouble keeping the chickens inside your fence?”
He ran his hand over his stubbed hair. “Nah. They knows where they get fed so’s they stick purty close or come back at feedin’ time.”
“You get a lot of eggs from this bunch?”
“Sure do. Lots of white eggs, but one of ‘em lays brown eggs.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t tell me which one.” I looked around. The boy waited. “That one, over beside the tree. She gives the brown eggs, right?”
Gee whiz, Mister. How’d you know it was that one?”
I smiled and crossed my arms over the top split rail of his fence. “It’s the reddish-brown area around the ears. Those hens give brown eggs.”
“I never knowed that. Golly. Thanks, mister. I gotta ask my ma if she knowed.”
I rested one foot on the bottom rail. “Prob’ly does. Mothers are pretty smart.”
He stuck his hand out. “Billy’s my name.”
We shook. “Mine’s Rick, Billy, nice to know you. You aren’t the Bill who owns Bill’s Tavern in town are you?”
“Golly, no. That’s Bill Ameche. He don’t got no farm or nothing, but he’s nice enough.”
“Does this Bill Ameche live around here?”
“Nah. He lives up the road that-away.” Billy pointed to the east. “Gots hisself a big two-story house in Murphys. He’s pretty old, him and his wife. My maw said their picture was in the paper a while back saying they’d been hitched for fifty years.”
“Wow. Married for fifty years. They must be at least seventy.”
“I wonder if I’ll live that long. Not hitched, I mean just live. I don’t want me no wife.”
“Get a good education and keep working on your dreams. You’ll get there.”
“I don’t got no dreams.”
“What? You gotta have dreams.”
“What fer?”
“Without ‘em you can’t know if they come true.”
“How you get them to come true?”
“Hard work will take you in the right direction. Just wishing won’t get it done.”
Billy didn’t respond, but he narrowed his eyes and nodded. Then he threw some feed near a group of chicks.
“Thanks for the information, Billy.”
“Golly gee, you’re tall.”
“I’m six foot four inches. I’m guessing you’ll be at least as tall as me. Probably taller. But the full size of a man isn’t measured in his height.”
Billy looked at me. His expression a seeming question mark.
“Don’t you worry about that kind of thing, Billy. You’ll grow and all that stuff’ll take care of itself.”
The youngster smiled and turned to spread more feed from where he was standing. The chickens got noisy and moved quickly toward his toss.
I cinched my belt a notch tighter. The thirty-four waist on my Levis was a bit looser than usual. “See ya around, Billy.”
I walked on. After a hundred yards, I looked back. Billy had returned to the rail, watching.
3
The waitress had been right. Tall poles stood on each side of the entrance to the Jones property, a cattle guard cut across the opening. A sign arched from one pole to the other: JONES RANCH, SINCE 1839, followed by a burnt-in branding of the initials JR.
I walked on for about a mile, then turned left onto a road bordering the east side of the ranch. Jonesy said it was big— ‘not Texas big,’ is how he described it. The first hundred yards or so was farm fencing with wire mesh on the lower portion. After that, white traditional horse fencing continued until it disappeared into the hills in the direction of Murphys, California.
It was hot. Hot enough that I wondered if it could get any hotter. Then the breeze stopped, and I had my answer.
The two-story house was wide across the front and deep along the sides. The Jones ranch house wasn’t elegant, that wouldn’t fit Angels Camp. It was as one would expect the main house of a successful ranch to be and, at the same time, strangely foreboding. Behind the main house was a one-story guest bungalow, about the size of an American tract house. A pool sat between the two. Off to the side was a garage with five open bays. Two were empty. The other three held passenger cars. What appeared to be living quarters were built over the garages.
I took off my baseball cap and let the breeze cool my sweaty head.
The side of the house was faced with old brick with archways, potted roses, and a wooden bench with a curled cat ensconced on its cushion. It struck me as a quiet reserve for reflection and reading.
The paddock and barns were back where the fencing became traditional ranch style. Behind the paddock were two fenced areas: a corral for idle horses, and an arena, including a setup for jumping and another for barrel racing. Stretched behind all that were pastures, along with the scattered equipment and vehicles common to a working ranch.
A cowpoke cantered up on his horse and reined in. His jawline and high cheekbones reminded me of Jonesy.
“Howdy. I’m Cordell Carson, foreman for the Jones Ranch. You lookin’ for work?”
“You looking for help?”
“We could use two more wranglers. That your thing?”
“You wouldn’t be satisfied with me as a wrangler. I can handle a horse, sure, but I’ve never worked cattle so I can’t claim to be a wrangler.”
“Rick Carnes, right?”
“Yes sir. Have we met?”
Cordell ran the side of his fist across his lips. “Not actually. I was sitting at one of the tables in Bill’s last night.”
“Oh. Not the best way to introduce myself, me being new in town.”
“I don’t know about that. A few of my men have had run-ins with Sergeant Abner Preminger. If you were a wrangler, that alone would make you welcome in our bunkhouse. Most folks who weren’t in Bill’s have probably heard about you by now. The folks I saw smiled when they heard about your tussle with Preminger.”
“I did have a nice chat with your Chief Warner.”
“A fair man. What type of work do you do?”
“Mechanic. Driver. Bodyguard. Bartend.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You in town long?”
“Don’t know. Next up is finding a place to rent. I don’t have a car, so something small, in town would be ideal.”
“Try Millie’s Boardin’ House. The street behind Bill’s Tavern, to the north, go down nearly a block. There’s a sign. Tell Millie I sent ya. You’ve shown you can do bodyguard work, and you admit to not being a wrangler. So, I’m supposing you can do the other jobs you mentioned. I’ll keep a watch for work that’ll fit ya.”
“I wish I was a wrangler. I think I’d like to work for you.”
Cordell retied the kerchief he used to wipe his brow and neck, tipped his hat, jerked his horse’s rein to the side, and galloped off.
If I was going to get to Millie’s Boarding House before dark, I needed to get moving. I turned and walked back the way I’d come. Partway toward town, a red convertible came along. It stopped.
The lady driving pulled a yellow scarf free, shook her hair loose, and took off sunglasses. “Hello, Rick.”
I stepped closer. “Well, Susan from Bill’s Tavern. What’re you doing out this way?”
“Looking for you. Folks in town said they saw you walking this direction. There aren’t a lot of side roads, so I figured I’d run across you.”
“Looking for me?”
“Yeah. Wanted to return your bag. When Abner came in with his officers, I dragged it around behind the bar. It appeared to be all you had that wasn’t in your pockets. Figured you’d need it. An hour ago, I went by the police station. You were gone. Bag’s in the back.” She motioned behind the front passenger’s seat.
“I noticed you pulling it behind the bar. Thanks for holding it. From what the chief said, I owe you a second thanks for my freedom. I heard you set him straight.”
“You did what you were forced to do. Others who were there confirmed what I told Chief Warner. I gotta be at work in about an hour. You want a ride back to town?”
“You know Millie’s Boarding House?”
“Sure.”
“Can you drop me there?”
“Hop in.”
I got in and watched her red painted toenails press her flip flop down against the accelerator.
She glanced over. “That Kung Fu move you put on Abner was … what … some kinda super-spook stuff. You a spy or something?”
“Kung Fu is Chinese. The move I used was Korean, but similar moves are found in other forms of martial arts.” We drove in silence for a while. “I’m guessing the bigger ranches and larger homes are mostly on this side of town, right?”
“Yes, they are. What made you guess that?”
“For towns like Angels Camp, that’s usually the case. In the early days, people walked or rode to and from town on a horse or in a buggy of some kind. From the eastside, they’d ride to town with the sun at their back. Coming home in the afternoon, they’d again have the sun at their back.”
“I never thought about it. I’ll bet that’s true for every older town.”
“Mostly.”
“When wouldn’t it be?”
“Maybe there’s better water or grazing land on the west side to make it more desirable. But, without something like that, yeah, to the east is nearly always chosen by those with greater wealth.”
4
It was late afternoon when Susan pulled to the curb in front of Millie’s Boarding House. A shapely older lady I assumed to be Millie was out front spraying an abundantly flowered yellow rosebush in a pot on her porch. She waved at Susan as she drove away. I walked up, shook the lady’s hand, and introduced myself.
“Cordell phoned. It’s a hoot getting a call from a man on horseback—things have sure changed in my lifetime. He says you’re needing a place to stay for a while. I have a one-bedroom overlooking the street with a door out onto the upstairs porch—a nice room. It’s across the hall from Lady Quimby, and right next door to my oldest tenant, Hazel. She’s quiet, been here for years. The room has its own bath. It normally rents for one-hundred-fifty a week, including utilities and breakfast. Cordell asked me to give you the discount for his ranch. With that it’s an even one hundred-thirty. Come in. I’ll show it to you.”
I paused for a moment. “I love your roses. How do you get the colors so bright?”
“Thank you. I add Epsom salts to the ground in the spring and water it in good. I call this one Eleanor. That’s why it has this favored location on the porch up against the wall.”
“Eleanor? A family name?”
“No. Eleanor Roosevelt who had a rose named after her to which she responded: ‘I was flattered to have a rose named after me, but disappointed when I read the description: not good in a bed, but does well up against a wall.’” She laughed. “Follow me, I’ll show you the room.”
She led me inside. The place had a warm, homey feeling. After meeting Millie, that wasn’t unexpected. The wooden stairs creaked a little. I followed Millie’s lead and stayed to the center where they were carpeted.
She explained there was a hot tub in the backyard and that breakfast was served every morning, but only once, at six-thirty. The other meals I’d be on my own. I took the room, paid the first two weeks in cash, dropped my bag on the bed, and followed her downstairs to see the private backyard and hot tub.
