Chapter Eighteen

TIME’S RUNNING OUT. Soon Ricky would be discharged from the hospital and be at our house and he still wouldn’t be able to say who hurt him. How could I protect him if I didn’t find out what happened? Mumble, Shuffle, and Sheriff Scrogrum were on the job, but they weren’t about to give me any details on their investigation. I decided it was up to me to try to find the chain of custody on those horns I’d cut off McGerber’s bull. I wasn’t about to go to McGerber’s to see if he still had them. I’d begin by tracking down Lewis and Petey.

Twitch had told me Lewis Gaus owned a tan-and-white kidney bean shaped camper. He parked it on whatever farm he and his friend, Petey Holman, worked. They called themselves the Winnebago Cowboys. I didn’t know where they worked currently, but I had a pretty good idea where they would eat and drink when they had time off.

Late in the afternoon I stopped at the Lake Tavern. Miles from any sizable town, the Lake Tavern was an ideal drinking spot for lots of folks living in the country or vacationing in a rental cabin on the million lakes there were near Bend. The sand volleyball court baked in the sun on the west side of the voyager fort styled building, and a tarred parking lot could accommodate lots of cars and even some big truck rigs. The Lake Tavern sold cold beer in bottles and on tap, pull tabs, cigarettes, and the kitchen rolled out burgers, fries, onion rings, and homemade pizzas. What else did most people need?

When I arrived, the smells hit me. Kathy had just roasted chicken to perfection for the supper crowd and Doris washed beer glasses in bleach water. Doris’s English accent could be heard over the country music playing on the jukebox. She told one of the summer folks to get their elbows off the table and another to wipe the ketchup and melted cheese from his face. I caught Doris and Kathy each separately and asked if they knew which farm Lewis and Petey worked. They didn’t but agreed to ask the men to call me or call me themselves if they saw either man. They kept their promise when I returned from the bar bathroom.

“Lorraine, look what the cat dragged in.” Kathy pointed at the door.

My stomach lurched and I took a quick intake of air. This is getting real. I hadn’t thought about how I was going to approach the subject. Lewis and Petey sat at the bar drinking tap beer and buying pull tabs. I sat beside them. I had only been nervous when I drove there. I’d felt brave when I realized they weren’t there. There was no way around but through, as my dad said. “You two were here the other night when Ricky got beat up.”

“Hello to you too, Lorraine.” Lewis craned his neck away from me. “Yeah, we were here, talked to Ricky some, talked to a lot of people.”

“You have any idea who might have beat him up?” I asked.

Lewis turned his head and poked a finger into my shoulder. “If we would’ve seen who hurt that”—he hesitated and continued—“boy, don’t you think we would’ve reported it to the sheriff?”

Petey didn’t look at me. He concentrated on his beer.

My throat got tight. My voice squeaked. “I don’t know. Would you? Did you see anything?” I hated being such a puke, but I truly didn’t know who to trust. I’d already confronted Kenny and Twitch. I certainly had no loyalty to Lewis and Petey. Besides, it could be anybody…just like Gerry said. It was no accident that the KKK wore masks. Those groups weren’t made up of otherworldly demons, they were made up of shopkeepers, bankers, farmers, teachers, and any other “normal folk” you could think of. They wore masks and robes to hide their identities and do their hateful things undercover.

“We were here, but we don’t know who beat the kid up,” Lewis said. “Anything else you want to ask us?”

“Just one other thing,” I said. “What happened to the horns I cut off Killer the bull?”

“You told us to tell McGerber to shove them up his ass.” Petey laughed. “Why?”

“Because I think one of them was used to stab Ricky.”

Petey nearly knocked over his beer leaving the bar so quickly. He went out of the door. Lewis and I followed him to the parking lot where Petey had opened the driver’s side door of Lewis’s pickup truck. He rummaged under the seat.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Petey kicked in the gravel.

Lewis walked over and searched the same place Petey had looked. “Huh. They’re gone.” He went around to the other side of the truck and searched under the passenger seat. “God damn it, they were here, Lorraine. I didn’t give ’em to old man McGerber because I thought they’d make good decorations in the Winnebago. Had them in the truck and never got around to putting them up in the trailer.”

I remembered then that he had waved at me with them as we parted company the last day of drenching sheep at McGerber’s farm.

“Maybe whoever moved the truck that night took them?” Lewis said.

“Somebody moved your truck?” I was confused.

“Yeah, it didn’t make any sense. I thought maybe I forgot where I’d parked it, but I wasn’t even that drunk. When we came out of the Tavern, my truck was on the other side of the lot.”

“Who else has keys?” I asked.

Lewis frowned. “Oh, come on, Lorraine. Have you actually looked at my truck? Who in their right mind would steal it? Everyone knows I leave the keys in the ashtray. Hell, they might have still been in the ignition.”

“Tell her about the seat,” Petey said.

“Yeah, that’s proof. Somebody shorter than me drove it because the seat was pulled up. Maybe that’s when the car thief noticed the horns—when he was adjusting my seat.”

It didn’t make any sense to me. It isn’t when you pull up a seat that you notice what’s underneath. It’s when you put the seat farther back. From what Mumble and Shuffle deduced it was someone tall who last drove Ricky’s car. “What time did you notice the truck had been moved?”

“Well, I suppose since closing time is midnight it must have been about then.” Lewis smiled.

He’s lying. “I know the Tavern sometimes stays open a tad later than the official closing time. Are you sure about that time?”

Both Lewis and Petey blushed a bit.

We stood there avoiding eye contact for a beat.

“Lorraine, you got to know I wouldn’t beat a kid up whether…” Lewis stopped talking.

“Whether what? Whether he was queer or not?” I asked.

Lewis’s face reddened and Petey kicked at the dirt again, blushed, and gazed at the ground.

“Lorraine, don’t make accusations you can’t prove.” Lewis glanced at Petey. Then he scanned the parking lot. A few of the people in the Tavern had filtered out, suddenly needing to check their tires or get something from their cars. Others didn’t pretend to do anything other than watch us. He shook his head and squinted at me. “Just because you’re some, I don’t know, hot shot vet.” He pulled off his cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at the sky until he turned his scowl to me. “You pulled a part of a calf out of the ass of a cow. You don’t know everything, Lorraine.”

The way he said my name made me feel dirty.

“Come on, Petey.”

Petey glanced at me like he had something to say, but then just got in the truck with Lewis.

Scared and mad at the same time I called to them, “Aren’t you going to finish your beer?”

The two men drove away.

I called Twitch and left him a message that Lewis and Petey last had the horns on the night Ricky was hurt. They claimed they were stolen out of Lewis’s unlocked vehicle. I didn’t feel any closer to understanding what had happened or who did it. I felt like my pool of suspects was getting larger rather than smaller. If Lewis and Petey were ever my allies, they aren’t anymore.