Turkey Ranch Road Rage (31 page)

His eyes blinked reptilian-like and he shifted in his seat a little, but overall he was still acting as cool and collected as he had hunkered down behind his car with bullets flying. “As I said earlier, the property would give us an alternative access route for emergency and staff only, and the residence would serve as park offices or staff housing. We could move much quicker with structures already in place. We hoped to have the facilities ready for the annual bicycle race this summer. That’s why it’s so important to get the properties under contract as soon as possible.”

He was good at his game, I’d give him that. And in another time or place, his proposals and rationalizations would have been plausible, believable even. There had been a similar situation in Colorado a few years back where his arguments would have made perfect sense because of geographic access and the limited land available. But not here. You could go miles in any direction and find the same type land with willing and eager sellers. Before I could ask him about that, however, he said, “As I told your mother, we’ll be fair. If she doesn’t want to take our initial offer, we’ll hire an appraiser to come out and take a look at the property. We’ll agree to pay whatever he determines the fair market value of the house to be.”

“So,” I said, trying to conceal my fury at his attempted scam. “If the appraisal comes back at sixty thousand, you’ll pay that, no questions asked?” He nodded eagerly, thinking he was reeling me in. “And if your appraiser comes back with a figure of twenty-eight thousand then that will be the amount paid as well, correct?”

He shifted in his seat again. “Well, yes, but certainly that’s an extreme difference and we don’t anticipate that low of a figure. We use only registered and licensed appraisers so it would be a true fair market valuation. Of course, she could just take our original offer and not worry about it.”

And I could just reach across the table and rip his black heart out through his throat too. Instead, I gritted my teeth and nodded my head, pretending I was carefully considering his offer. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people, particularly older folks, had been taken by such tactics. How many people had literally given their houses away because some little weasel scared them into it? “So, do you have a contract with those terms in it that I can present to my mother?”

He fiddled around in the briefcase beside him in the booth. “Well, not specifically as we could never come to terms on which option she preferred. I’ll draw up the papers for the set sales price or the appraisal option, whichever she chooses.” He smiled, trying to look understanding and chummy. “We want this to work out, Miz Jackson, but we do need an answer quickly. This offer will not be good indefinitely.”

“And why would that be?”

“We need to move quickly.” He eyed me suspiciously. “The area needs the facilities. We’d hoped to have part of it open in time for the bicycle race this summer.”

“Yes, you said that already. The bicycle race. And the tourists coming to see the falls. Just essential to have an RV park out near Kickapoo for all that.” I smiled, and it was about as sincere as you’d think it was. “You still didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do if my mother won’t sell to you and you are forced to withdraw your non-indefinite offer?”

“We do have other options,” he said, condescension dripping from his lips.

Yeah, like murder and kidnapping. “Who do you work for, Mr. Saide?”

He plucked a business card from his brief case and slid it to me. “Parks for Progress. It’s a private investment group.”

I took the card and studied it. Very basic and nothing I didn’t already know. The private investment group admission was a new revelation however. “So, who would some of these private investors be? Who do you answer to directly?”

He still kept smiling. “That’s confidential, of course.”

Here we were, two gladiators smiling at each other with fake little smiles, volleying veiled accusations and withholding information, just waiting for a chance to lunge in for the kill. I hate these kinds of cat and mouse games. “Of course, confidential. All supposedly public projects by private groups with private interests are kept confidential. No need for the public to be bothered with the pesky details of who’s doing what and why.”

Damon Saide’s congenial smile slipped to rodent-like sneer. “This is a project that is in the best interests of the community, Miz Jackson,” he said dropping all pretenses. “You might mention to your mother that we have new laws in this country that allow property to be taken for the greater good. We can get the acquisition taken care of however we need to. If we want the property, we’ll get it.”

“Bullshit.”

His little beady eyes bugged open as if he’d never heard the word before or he was just in shock that I would dare question him.

“If you could use that tactic, Saide, you already would have. And while we’re at it,” I said, taking a sip of tea and watching him closely. “I find it very interesting that a man eaten up with cancer chose to spend his last day on this planet with a fist in your face on the courthouse lawn, ostensibly because of lizards.”

Saide’s eyes narrowed to little slits. “What are you trying to say?”

“I know this park is a cover.” I waited a few seconds to help him assume that I knew for what. “I know why you killed Tiger and I know why you didn’t kill me last night when you had the chance.”

His pale freckled skin bloomed bright red. He might have a poker face otherwise, but he couldn’t stop the rosy flush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Oh, but he did. “Did you really think you could gas her then force her to sign sale papers and no one would notice?” I paused again, watching his face, his eyelids blinking rapidly, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across his brow. “What you did to me would have killed her, which was probably your intent. Then there’s the problem with Bob Little. He wouldn’t sign your papers either so I’m figuring he’s dead too, just no body yet.”

The weasel’s freckled face ripened until he looked like a cherry tomato with brown heat spots. “Your accusations are ridiculous.”

I stayed as calm as I could and scooted to the edge of the booth, ready to stand. “Guys like you don’t do well in prison, you know.”

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he hissed, his hot sweaty fingers digging into the flesh just above my wrist. “This isn’t a game.”

I swallowed down a wave of sickening bile. I was already half leaning over the table so I dug my fingers under his index finger and bent it backward off my arm.

He squealed and released me.

“I don’t play games,” I said, my voice and body both shaking.

He clutched his finger with his other hand, his eyes watering and his nostrils flaring.

I held out the arm he’d just grabbed as if it were infected. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run to the police station and get more prints taken.”

His stared for a few seconds then his lips curled into a sneer. “You have nothing.”

Jerry had walked up to the booth and was standing just behind weasel, although he hadn’t yet noticed that.

“I have your finger prints on my skin. Just like I did last night.”

He scowled and shoved the file folders back into his briefcase. He jerked himself up out of the booth and spun to his left, directly into Jerry. The briefcase he’d tucked under his right arm popped free and fell open on the floor.

I jumped out of the booth and lunged, but Damon Saide beat me to it. He snapped up the briefcase and tucked it under his arm like a football. Jerry grabbed at him, but Saide spun and darted to the side, shoving me forward into Jerry who was following. My head rammed into Jerry’s legs, knocking him backward. He grabbed me by the back of the shirt, but I still fell to the floor, and he fell with me. Untangling himself, he jumped up and ran after the weasel.

As I got to my feet, I realized that every neck in the place was twisting around to see what was going on. Once Jerry made it out the front door, that left me as the center of attention. “He’s a sheriff,” I said, gasping and holding onto the back of the booth to steady myself, my heart pounding in my throat and ears. They all just stared at me like I was a going to rob them or something. “Seriously, he’s a sheriff and he’ll catch the bad guy. Everything is okay.” I fumbled in my pocket, pulled out a ten and laid it on the table and scurried out of the restaurant.

I only made it a few steps out of the front door when Jerry zoomed up in the SUV. “Get in,” he yelled. I did and he screeched out of the lot as I shut the door. He was also making a call to the Redwater Police to send out the troops all at the same time. After he hung up, he said, “The only thing I can figure is that he must have parked by the front door and left it running with a door opener in his pocket. He was pulling away as I ran out. I’m still going up a few blocks to see if I see the car.”

The bullet-ridden white import would be easy enough to spot, but we both knew we wouldn’t. The weasel was long gone. “What do you think he’ll do next?”

Jerry pulled up to the next red light and stopped, looking south on the one-way street with a light on every corner. “He probably turned here, but then where?” The light turned green and we followed his thoughts down the street, slowing and glancing up and down each street as we passed. After about five blocks, he turned left and headed back toward downtown. “If he was behind the kidnapping then he still has unfinished business with your mother. He’ll go after her.”

I’d had similar thoughts myself, but hearing him say it made it entirely too real.

“It’s a good thing she went with Fritz,” Jerry said, before I could speak. He looked over at me, pointedly. “Still, underestimating Saide would be a serious mistake.”

I shivered at the truth of his words. “I wonder who he’s really working for.”

“I’ll talk to Perez while you’re getting prints lifted from your arm and see if he’s found out anything on that.”

“Hey, I was only kidding about that fingerprint thing, using it to worry the weasel.”

“Well, you’re right. New technology. They can try a couple of things.” He read my unspoken question accurately. “Yes, even in Redwater.”

Well, I hadn’t seen that one coming. I had no idea what process the fingerprints-off-skin thing actually involved, but I knew for certain I didn’t want to participate in it. “Seriously, Jerry, what’s the point? Even if they did get prints off my arm there’s nothing to match with.”

“It’s true we didn’t charge him with a crime when Fritz brought him from your mother’s house so there aren’t any prints from that. And, by the way, we both know who should have been arrested and booked in that incident.” He paused unnecessarily for emphases. “At the least we should get a match from DMV. I want to know who this guy is and now we have a chance at that.”

“I suppose.”

“Good job in getting him to do that, by the way.”

You’d think I’d be pleased at the compliment even though it hadn’t been a planned effort, only a snappy comeback after the fact. Whatever the case, I feared my moment of cleverness was about to earn me yet another experience I could do without.

Chapter
Twenty

True to his word, Mr. Sheriff busied himself with official business while I lay like a corpse for two forensics experts to painstakingly powder, photograph, wrap and peel my arm with some kind of special Polaroid film-like stuff. It was not a speedy process and by the time I realized this was going to take three days past forever, I couldn’t get away. The sound of their muttering indicated it was not especially fulfilling for them either, but the arm hair comments and speculation about my soaping and lotioning habits were just uncalled for. Apparently most of their customers were not adept as I at snappy comebacks—or any kind of comebacks for that matter—since every time I said something to defend myself they just about jumped out of their own skins. While it was amusing the first two or three times, it didn’t help speed things along so I finally just played dead. They seemed a lot happier with that.

Since I had nothing better to do, I tried to remember exactly what, if anything, Saide had revealed. He hadn’t said anything I didn’t know, but when his briefcase fell open, I had seen an aerial photo, similar to the one I’d printed. His copy had circles and Xs on it and a bunch of odd numbers. Marking the oil wells? Or development sites? Or something else? It probably meant nothing. Aerial photos were easy to get and it made good sense to have a view from above if you were laying out a park. As much as I wanted it to be, it probably wasn’t a clue to anything. Feeling the last air of enthusiasm trickle out of that balloon, I sighed, which caused the forensics people to jump and suck in their collective breath. “Are you almost finished?” I asked. One guy gave me a quick nod and I was just sure they wanted this over with as much as I did.

As soon as the crime lab people freed me, I made a beeline to Jerry and Perez. Not exactly a beeline, perhaps, as Perez wasn’t in his office as I’d expected. In fact, he and Jerry were back in the interrogation room, and when I walked in, they had the aerial photos I’d printed spread out on the table. They were seated facing each other, each holding a photo, studying it.

Jerry motioned me to the table for a closer look. “This is Olive Street. Here’s your mother’s house. It borders the ranch here. There’s another strip with three houses in the next block that border the ranch too. In reality, there are over two miles of properties that are adjacent to the Little Ranch.”