The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volumes 1-4 by Craig Johnson Page B
Authors: Craig Johnson
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called. She said they had some hunters that asked about the BLM land out on the Powder River near 137, section 23. They’re still here, stayin’ at the Log Cabin Motel. Wanna go talk to ’em?”
I let it set for a few seconds. “What are you doing in my office?” He was a handsome kid with what the romance novels would call smoldering good looks. Dark coloring with wavy black hair and a Van Dyke goatee accenting the Basque on his mother’s side. Just shy of six and a half feet, most of it shoulder, he was a handy thing to have crossing his arms and looking menacing behind me in a domestic disturbance but, other than that, I had found little use for him. I had taken him on as a favor to Lucian. He didn’t like him either, but Turk was his nephew, and I felt obliged.
“I was just checkin’ things out.”
“In my office?” His face darkened a little past smoldering.
“Hey, might be my office some day.” He looked toward Vic’s windowless little room across the hall from mine. There were no pictures on her walls. There were just books, shelves and shelves of books. You had to reach through the blue binders of Wyoming Criminal Procedure on the third shelf next to the door to turn the light on and off.
“Turk, I’ve been up for two days and I’m getting a little edgy. You get my meaning?”
He straightened. “Yes, sir.”
I was liking him better. “Now there are a few things you can do to endear yourself to me in the next few days. Starting with doing what I tell you to do, keeping your mouth shut as much as possible, and staying out of my office. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what I want you to do is run over to the Busy Bee and ask Dorothy Caldwell when she saw Cody last.”
“You want me to get a statement from her?”
I lowered my head. “She’s not a suspect, so don’t treat her like one or she’s liable to kick your ass. Just go over and ask her when she last saw Cody Pritchard, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”
“Hell, I’ll call you anything you want, ’long as it gets me on your good side for once.” I tried not to, but the smile played on my face for an instant. “You sure you don’t want me to go with you to talk to the hunters?” I sighed as he pulled out a small, black vinyl notebook and a section map of the state. “I went by earlier and got the plate numbers, Michigan, with no wants or warrants. Willis at the office said there were four of ’em.” He paused for a moment. “They’re going to be armed.”
“Well, I’ll put on an orange vest before I go over.” I reached out and tore the page from his notebook and took the map. He didn’t like me taking his evidence but followed me out the door anyway. I pointed over to Vic’s unit. “Take that one.”
“That’s all right, mine’s warmed up.”
We paused beside his car. “I am proud to say that this vehicle does not accurately represent the Absaroka County Sheriff ’s Department.” I guess it hurt his feelings.
“This car will do a hundred and sixty.”
“I doubt that and, if it does, it better not do it in this county. Anyway, I don’t think Dorothy’s gonna run for it, so you’re safe.” I nodded toward the office. “Hanging by the door with the Phillies key chain.” Whiz kids.
He slumped and started back, stopping to ask, “We meet back here?”
“Sure, we’ll synchronize watches.”
* * *
It was six blocks to the Log Cabin Motel on 16 leading toward the mountains. It’s an old style place with twelve-by-twelve log structures and faded red neon. I pulled the Bullet up to the office and went in to talk to Willis, who informed me that the Michigan men had been up late celebrating their last night in town. This didn’t sound like men who had shot somebody, but you never knew. Willis asked who whacked Cody Pritchard, and I asked him why it was that when somebody died in town everybody started talking like John Garfield.
They were in cabins 7 and
I let it set for a few seconds. “What are you doing in my office?” He was a handsome kid with what the romance novels would call smoldering good looks. Dark coloring with wavy black hair and a Van Dyke goatee accenting the Basque on his mother’s side. Just shy of six and a half feet, most of it shoulder, he was a handy thing to have crossing his arms and looking menacing behind me in a domestic disturbance but, other than that, I had found little use for him. I had taken him on as a favor to Lucian. He didn’t like him either, but Turk was his nephew, and I felt obliged.
“I was just checkin’ things out.”
“In my office?” His face darkened a little past smoldering.
“Hey, might be my office some day.” He looked toward Vic’s windowless little room across the hall from mine. There were no pictures on her walls. There were just books, shelves and shelves of books. You had to reach through the blue binders of Wyoming Criminal Procedure on the third shelf next to the door to turn the light on and off.
“Turk, I’ve been up for two days and I’m getting a little edgy. You get my meaning?”
He straightened. “Yes, sir.”
I was liking him better. “Now there are a few things you can do to endear yourself to me in the next few days. Starting with doing what I tell you to do, keeping your mouth shut as much as possible, and staying out of my office. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what I want you to do is run over to the Busy Bee and ask Dorothy Caldwell when she saw Cody last.”
“You want me to get a statement from her?”
I lowered my head. “She’s not a suspect, so don’t treat her like one or she’s liable to kick your ass. Just go over and ask her when she last saw Cody Pritchard, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”
“Hell, I’ll call you anything you want, ’long as it gets me on your good side for once.” I tried not to, but the smile played on my face for an instant. “You sure you don’t want me to go with you to talk to the hunters?” I sighed as he pulled out a small, black vinyl notebook and a section map of the state. “I went by earlier and got the plate numbers, Michigan, with no wants or warrants. Willis at the office said there were four of ’em.” He paused for a moment. “They’re going to be armed.”
“Well, I’ll put on an orange vest before I go over.” I reached out and tore the page from his notebook and took the map. He didn’t like me taking his evidence but followed me out the door anyway. I pointed over to Vic’s unit. “Take that one.”
“That’s all right, mine’s warmed up.”
We paused beside his car. “I am proud to say that this vehicle does not accurately represent the Absaroka County Sheriff ’s Department.” I guess it hurt his feelings.
“This car will do a hundred and sixty.”
“I doubt that and, if it does, it better not do it in this county. Anyway, I don’t think Dorothy’s gonna run for it, so you’re safe.” I nodded toward the office. “Hanging by the door with the Phillies key chain.” Whiz kids.
He slumped and started back, stopping to ask, “We meet back here?”
“Sure, we’ll synchronize watches.”
* * *
It was six blocks to the Log Cabin Motel on 16 leading toward the mountains. It’s an old style place with twelve-by-twelve log structures and faded red neon. I pulled the Bullet up to the office and went in to talk to Willis, who informed me that the Michigan men had been up late celebrating their last night in town. This didn’t sound like men who had shot somebody, but you never knew. Willis asked who whacked Cody Pritchard, and I asked him why it was that when somebody died in town everybody started talking like John Garfield.
They were in cabins 7 and
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