The Tamarack Murders by Patrick F. McManus

school principal.”
    â€œThat work?”
    â€œLike a charm. He thinks I must be rich to drive a car like this. Rich people can cause a school principal lots of grief.”
    â€œThey cause sheriffs lots of grief too,” Tully said.
    Shanks smiled. “I expect so.”
    Tully glanced into an open-sided structure that Shanks apparently used for a woodshed. Parked near the rear between two neat stacks of firewood—buckskin tamarack, Tully was willing to bet—was a red four-wheel-drive all-terrain vehicle. He knew it was a four-wheel-drive because he had been drooling over ads for the exact same vehicle. “I see you do some offroading, Grid.”
    â€œActually, not all that much. I got that one at a great price. It’s for sale. Everything I own is for sale. If you’re interested, we could go out for a run sometime.”
    â€œI may take you up on that.”
    As they were driving out, Tully noticed scattered among the trees, several old vehicles including a pickup truck, and most in various stages of disrepair. What bothered him the most, the truck had two bales of hay in its bed. Then Angie pointed to a blue car door leaning up against a tree. “What do you suppose that’s doing out here?”
    Tully hit the brakes and backed up. He checked his rear- view mirror to see if Shanks had gone back inside. He had. “I think I’ll take a look at this.” He got out, walked around the Explorer, squatted down and looked at the door. A patch of rust the size of Tully’s hand coated the door where the paint had been knocked off. In the middle of the rust was a hole the size of a dime. He ran a finger around the edge of the hole, then stood up and looked back at the doorway of the house. Shanks had opened the door and stood there watching him. “Exactly twenty-five yards, Bo!” he shouted. “Did it from this doorway with a .45 automatic!”
    â€œThat’s pretty fair shooting, Grid!”
    â€œYeah, I thought so!”
    â€œMighty impressive!”
    Shanks waved and went back in the house.
    When Tully climbed back in the car, Angie said, “What’s so impressive about hitting an old car door at twenty-five yards?”
    â€œHe hit the same hole three times.”
    â€œThree times! How could you tell that?”
    â€œBecause there are two little crescent shapes taken out of the sides of the hole, each about the size of a fingernail clipping.”
    As they turned back onto the highway, Tully glanced at the FBI agent. “Well, Angie, what did you think of Gridley Shanks?”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I was overwhelmed. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”
    Tully smiled. “He’s probably an original, all right. Oh, maybe if you go back a couple hundred years, you might find the likes of him. What did you think of Sil?”
    â€œShe was absolutely gorgeous. I don’t think she had a stitch on beneath that housecoat.”
    â€œReally? I can’t say I noticed.”
    Angie laughed. “Yeah, right!”
    â€œWell, I may have suspected, but that’s not the sort of thing I ponder on.”
    â€œI’m sure. You think Grid had anything to do with the robbery and murder, Bo?”
    â€œI don’t like to think so, but I wouldn’t rule him out. It’s odd to find a single fingerprint, even a partial one like that, on a strip of flagging tape, unless the tape has been wiped. Then you have to ask yourself, why would anyone wipe a strip of flagging tape? Maybe I’ll have a better idea after I talk to the two fellows he let hunt on his land. They may have been up there hunting at the time of the shooting and maybe they heard or saw something. You think Grid was involved in the robbery, Angie?”
    â€œHe’s probably capable of just about anything. But I really liked him, Bo.”
    â€œLet me tell you something, Miss FBI. You will never meet a confidence man you