Bone Dry (Blanco County Mysteries) (6 page)

“Fine,” Marlin said, taking a breath. “We’ve received a couple of reports of hunter harassment in the last few days, and you match the description of the woman involved. Now, can you tell me where you were yesterday at about two in the afternoon?”

The woman raised her hand and drummed her fingertips theatrically on her cheek. “Well, let’s see. After lunch we stopped at the grocery store and got a few things, then we filled the car with gas. And then, yes, right at about two o’clock, I was teaching good ol’ Rodney over there the error of his ways.” The woman looked across the room at Rodney and said, in her best cocktail-party voice, “Why, hello, Rodney! Good to see you again, sweetheart.”

The crowd turned and stared at Rodney, who blanched and turned toward the wall.

Marlin was taken aback. Most lawbreakers, when questioned, knew how to do three things: Deny it; deny it; and deny it some more. “Ma’am, are you saying that you
were
over at Mr. Bauer’s ranch yesterday, and you
are
responsible for the damage to his truck?”

“What I’m saying is that I was saving the lives of quail, dove, deer, and all the other innocent animals he would have murdered with his shotgun.”

The crowd had grown tense. Someone murmured, “Take her in, John.”

Which was exactly what Marlin was planning to do. “Stand up, please,” he said.

The woman crossed her arms. “I will not.”

Marlin glanced at Mr. Scruffy, who gave him a smug smile. Inside, Marlin groaned. He had had run-ins with anti-hunting activists in the past, and it was almost always a messy business.

“Ma’am…please…stand up.”

“Like hell I will. Why are you here bothering me when you should be out arresting guys like Rodney? They’re the ones carrying guns, blasting everything that moves. And yet I’m the one who’s causing trouble? That’s a joke.”

Mr. Scruffy began to add something, but Marlin hushed him with a stare.

Marlin took a deep breath. He was determined not to let this situation get out of control. “Miss, I’ll ask you once again: Please stand up. Don’t make me use the cuffs.”

“Go to hell.” She grabbed her mug and threw her coffee onto Marlin’s chest. The crowd gasped.
This,
Marlin thought,
isn’t going well at all.

Marlin drove northward on Highway 281 in silence for a few moments, steadily covering the sixteen miles between Blanco and Johnson City. He noticed the sky was clear of clouds now, and the temperature was rapidly climbing. So much for the cold front.

He glanced over at his passenger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a handcuffed woman in custody. In fact, in nearly twenty years of enforcing hunting and fishing laws, almost all of his dealings had been with men. Simply put, men would do things women would never dream of. Like shoot deer on the side of the highway at night. Throw dynamite into a lake to kill fish. Blast a hundred doves in one day, instead of the legal limit of fifteen. Then they would spin lie after lie to try to escape punishment. At least this woman had owned up to her behavior. Too easily, Marlin figured. There had to be something behind it.

“You didn’t have to throw the coffee on me, you know,” Marlin said.

“Pardon me?”

“I was going to arrest you anyway.” He looked over, but her face remained expressionless. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? I mean, my cruiser was sitting right in the parking lot, plain as day. You came in there for a reason.”

“What are you, Sherlock Holmes?”

Another mile went by.

“These are really hurting my wrists.” The woman shifted in her seat, arching her back to relieve the pressure of the handcuffs behind her. Marlin tried not to notice the way her breasts strained against the front of her turtleneck. He hadn’t wanted to cuff her, but after the coffee, he’d wanted to make sure she was restrained, at least until he had a bead on her companion, Mr. Scruffy. That guy had turned out to be the placid one, merely sneering—apparently a trademark of his—while Marlin read the woman, one Inga Karin Mueller from Minnesota, her rights.

Marlin pulled to the shoulder of the highway and put the cruiser in neutral. He held the handcuff key up for Inga to see. “Gonna behave?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

Marlin started to put the key back on his belt.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Can’t you take a joke?”

She twisted toward the window and Marlin removed the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists as Marlin pulled the cruiser back onto the road.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem.”

They crossed over Miller Creek, which was barely more than a slow-moving mud puddle despite last night’s brief rain.

“What’s the deal with your friend, anyway? Did he take a mail-order course on the fine art of sneering?”

Inga laughed. “Oh, that’s just Tommy. Not a real happy guy, but he’s pretty harmless.”

Marlin wasn’t sure he agreed. Thomas Collin Peabody had been arrested three times for destruction of property and twice for trespassing. A typical rap sheet for an aggressive activist. Unfortunately, when Marlin had radioed him in, there were no warrants. He had to watch the mousy little guy get back in the Volvo and drive away.

“He’s a very intelligent man, actually,” Inga continued. “Has a bunch of degrees. Philosophy. Government. History. Went to Harvard for about a zillion years. And now he wants me to marry him.” She gave Marlin a sidelong glance, but he just nodded.

“So you’re not going to share your secret with me,” Marlin said, “tell me why you wanted to get busted?”

Inga gave him a hard stare for several seconds, as if sizing him up. Finally, she said, “Unlike some people, I love nature. When I see people shooting animals, dumping sewage in creeks, destroying forests, I do something about it.”

Marlin was tempted to chastise her for putting hunting in the same league with polluting and deforestation, but he held his tongue.

She went on: “When I see a guy like Rodney Bauer blasting away at beautiful, defenseless birds, it just makes me so angry—” She shook her head in frustration.

He gave her a few moments to continue, but she stared out the window at the passing countryside instead.

Marlin said, “Surely you didn’t drive two thousand miles to get Rodney Bauer all hot and bothered and then vandalize his truck.” He was hoping to make her grin, but had no luck. He was certain she had a wonderful smile.

“Nope. We drove down here for a different reason entirely.”

“And that would be—?”

She paused, seeming reluctant to let Marlin into her confidence. But he must have passed some sort of test. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever heard of the red-necked sapsucker?”

The sapsucker again.

“Sure,” Marlin replied. “Endangered species.”

“And obviously you know about all the brush-clearing that’s going on around here. But I don’t think most people even realize the effect it’s having, that they’re wiping out the last of a species. If all the cedars are removed, that’s it, end of story, the red-necked sapsucker is gone. I’m here to change that.”

“Meaning what?” Marlin had already admitted to himself that he liked the woman, despite the coffee stain on his chest. But if she was going to get out of hand, he knew he’d have to do something about it.

“I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure everyone knows exactly what they’re doing. I just can’t believe that these ranchers will continue clearing land if they know they’re removing an animal from the face of the Earth forever.”

Thinking of Thomas Peabody, Marlin said, “Maybe you know birds better than you know men.” Marlin hadn’t meant it as an insult, but the woman got red in the face. Marlin could tell that Inga had a temper.

“Oh, I see. You probably agree with them, right? That they can do whatever is best for man regardless of the consequences. Just cut all the trees down, who the hell cares. What’s one less bird, anyway?”

Marlin let her finish, then handed her a copy of the
Blanco County Record
that had been resting on his dashboard. It was opened to Susannah Branson’s article. The reporter had captured Marlin’s thoughts accurately, stating that “our local game warden encourages area residents to consider the impact of brush-clearing on native wildlife.”

Inga read it through, then looked at Marlin sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess you’re not one of the bad guys. My mistake.” Marlin decided now was not the time to mention that he was an avid hunter. That would surely set off some fireworks. “Guess this Susannah Branson has the hots for you, huh?” Inga said in a teasing voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, God, it’s obvious. Listen to her opening line: ‘Beneath John Marlin’s rugged good looks lies the sensitive soul of a nature lover.’ See that? She managed to get ‘Beneath John Marlin,’ ‘rugged good looks,’ and ‘lover’ all in one sentence. The woman is shameless.”

Marlin started to speak, but couldn’t come up with anything, just sat there with his mouth open. Inga responded with an impish smile. He saw that his guess was correct; it was a wonderful smile.