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The Music Man was every bit of the hit I’d anticipated it would be. Maxwell was practically bouncing on the edge of his seat the entire time, and before we’d even made it back to Little Tombstone, he’d extracted a solemn promise from his mother that she’d purchase the soundtrack to the movie version for him at her earliest convenience.
After Maxwell had gone to bed, although probably not to sleep, I stayed in the cozy atmosphere of Georgia’s tiny living room, and we talked for a while.
After we’d discussed how Georgia’s job was going and gathered up the loose ends pertaining to Marsha’s housewarming party the following evening, I filled Georgia in on all the developments surrounding the Reba/Duke saga.
When Georgia found out that there’d been a body (Duke’s) found down the mine, she took it big.
“This is getting dangerous,” she said.
“Not to me,” I said. “In fact, I don’t expect any more acts of a violent nature.”
“What do you expect?”
“I don’t know. Unless someone manages to prove Duke was murdered, or at least that his body was disposed of in a very improper manner, nothing at all will happen.”
“What about Reba’s attacker? Might he or she not strike again?”
“I think we both know that Reba’s attacker can’t strike again.”
“Duke?”
“I can’t come up with any other possibilities. Finding Crystal’s bloody boots and the snapshot snitched from her purse at Duke’s cabin is pretty strong evidence, although without a confession from a dead man, it’s hard to prove he really did it.”
“Well, it’s a reasonable conclusion to come to,” said Georgia, “but what about now that Duke’s dead?”
“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. “Honestly, it might be better if it never comes out that Duke tried to kill Reba.”
“If he did intend to kill her.”
“True, it’s impossible to know if he intended to strike a fatal blow.”
“Is it, though?” said Georgia. “There was a witness. There has to have been, otherwise who called 911 before you even got there?”
I knew Georgia was right, and I had a fairly good idea who that witness was.
“I don’t think he’ll confess,” I said.
“He?”
“Think about it: the witness must be whoever was burgling the supply room. Dr. Bagley is convinced it’s someone who has access to a key. Julia is Jimmy’s sister. She must have a key Jimmy got ahold of. Dr. Bagley also said the thefts stopped for a period of time that roughly coincides with the time Jimmy was in prison.”
“But why would Jimmy call 911 and then disappear?” Georgia asked.
“He was scared of Duke? Or maybe he didn’t want to turn him in? They are half-brothers, after all.”
“It has to be more than that,” said Georgia. “Assuming Jimmy did catch Duke in the act of attacking Reba, do you suppose Duke knew Jimmy was there?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Only Jimmy could tell us that.”
“The key would seem to be getting Jimmy to talk,” said Georgia.
“It is, but why would he?”
“I can tell you suspect Jimmy is the reason Duke ended up down the mine shaft,” Georgia said, “but I can think of two other people who’d have even more reason to want him dead.”
“Crystal?”
Georgia nodded.
“Reba?”
She nodded again.
“What about Blake?”
“He’s also a possibility.”
“Well, whatever happened to Duke, it had to have happened at his cabin between Friday evening and Sunday evening.”
“Someone might have seen something,” Georgia said.
“Way out there? There aren’t any houses for miles.”
“But there’s only one way in and one way out. Doesn’t anyone else live along that road?”
“There are two houses before you get to the mine,” I said.
“Do you know who lives in them?”
“No, but it wouldn’t be hard to find out.”
I went to bed feeling slightly more optimistic than I had for a while.
I got up the following morning, still feeling hopeful I’d finally crack the case. I was feeling so good, in fact, that I was up and about uncharacteristically early for a weekend.
I took Earp and Hercules down to the trailer court and drank my coffee while they did their business.
Freddy Fernandez was sitting on the back steps of his barbershop next door to the Bird Cage, also with a cup of coffee in his hand. Freddy lives over the barbershop in an apartment he shares with his teenage son.
“Hello, Freddy,” I said. “You’re up early.”
“I’m always up early on Sundays,” Freddy told me.
“Putting the finishing touches on your sermon?”
“No, I don’t get nervous about preaching anymore,” Freddy told me. “I have to get up early to do my run with the van.”
The van was a new development. Freddy had gotten a deal on an old commuter van, and Morticia had lent her artistic services to customizing it. It now perfectly fit its purpose of providing transport for Freddy’s increasingly elderly and infirm congregants. The previously nondescript vehicle was now a riot of color and featured a dove of peace and the slogan “Jesus Saves!” Freddy had even outfitted the van with a public address system over which he blasted gospel tunes as he neared his stops to let his parishioners know he had arrived.
“Where all do you go with your van?” I asked.
Freddy went into great detail about his route, leaving no question as to why he had to get up at the crack of dawn on Sundays.
“My last stop is on the Old Mine Road,” he said. “Mrs. Ruiz lives up there.”
“The Old Mine Road? Did you go up there last Sunday?”
“I did.”
“Did you happen to meet anyone coming or going?” I asked.
“I did,” said Freddy. “It was a little strange to see that much traffic.”
“There was more than one vehicle?”
“I was on my way to pick up Mrs. Ruiz, and I had to pull off to let two trucks by.”
“Do you know who they belonged to?”
“Sure,” said Freddy. “It was Jimmy Throckmorton and Blake Vance.”
I had not expected to get this kind of breakthrough while taking Earp and Hercules out for an early morning potty break.
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“Absolutely,” said Freddy. “I talked to both of them.”
“You did?”
“Sure.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Freddy talks to everyone. As the trucks passed by, he’d have rolled his window down and put his hand out and no one passing by would have dared keep on driving without pausing to shoot the breeze.
“What did you talk about?” I asked.
“Not much. The weather.”
“Did either Blake or Jimmy say what they’d been doing up there?” I asked.
“Blake said they’d been helping Duke bury a dead horse.”
“Dead horse?”
“Blake said a cougar tore up Duke’s horse real bad, and he had to shoot it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, that poor horse must have gotten tore up real bad because Blake had blood all over him.”
“Blake had blood on him? You’re sure?”
“Well, blood and mud. Jimmy did, too. But I guess you would if you’d been wrestling a dead horse into a hole.”
My knees had gone weak, and the hand that held the coffee cup was trembling a little.
“Did you tell this story to anyone else?” I asked.
Freddy thought for a minute.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Did you know Duke is dead?” I asked.
“Dead? When? How?”
“Last Sunday evening, Duke’s body was discovered at the bottom of a shaft in the old mine.”
I could see the dawning realization on Freddy’s face that it might not have been dealing with a dead horse that had gotten Blake and Jimmy all muddy and covered with blood.
“Hardly anybody knows,” I said. “Law enforcement is keeping very quiet about it. It didn’t make the news, and Duke didn’t have many connections in the community who’d notice he’d gone missing. His mother isn’t talking—”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly why his mother is keeping to herself, but I think that the Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Department would be extremely interested in hearing what you just told me.”
“I’ll drive up to Santa Fe as soon as I can and make a statement.”
“I think that would be wise,” I said. “In the meantime, I’d avoid doing or saying anything to arouse suspicion that you suspect anything is amiss. You don’t want that getting back to Jimmy or Blake.”