Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Ben smiled.
 
“Hippies or mushroom pickers?”

“Neither.
 
One was a religious fanatic and the other a guy named Marlon.
 
He’s the one I finally convinced to give me your location.”

“That bastard.
 
I’ll have a talk with him.”
 
Marlon was generally harmless, if not a little delusional.
 
He was their resident Bigfoot hunter.
 
But she was lying.
 
Marlon never used guns.
 
The man was a former professor and didn’t even own a firearm.

The two of them simply stared at each other for a moment.
 
He guessed she was trying to figure out how he had gotten the four-inch scar along his jaw line.
 
“A guy pulled a knife on me in Spain.”

“What?”

“You were wondering how I got this scar,” he said.
 
“You’ve been staring at it.”

“How?”

“People wonder.
 
Anyway, it’s a long story.
 
The guy pulled a knife and I pulled a gun.
 
I guess it’s not that long.”
 
He checked out her slack jaw now, which exposed her near-perfect teeth.
 
She had one canine that protruded a bit farther out than the other.
 
So her parents had probably not been able to afford braces.

“You’re an interesting man,” she said.

“Who did you expect to find in an off-the-grid home in Western Oregon?
 
A toothless redneck?”

“I. . .had no expectations.”

That was the second lie she had said to him.
 
But he would let it go.
 
“Back to Bull Keyes.
 
Why did he really recommend me for this job?”

“I’m telling you the truth.
 
The colonel said you were his best investigator.”

“What else did he say?”

Now she looked up and to her right, as if asking for God’s help with this answer.
 
Finally, she said, “He said you could be very intense.”

That was kind of the Bull.
 
But did he really put it that way or was she just cleaning up the language of Bull Keyes?
 
“He didn’t talk about Iraq?”

She shifted nervously in her chair.
 
Then she reluctantly said, “He mentioned something about nearly losing your soul there.
 
But he didn’t give details.”

The Bull
was
being kind.
 
Yeah, Ben had nearly lost his shit in Iraq while interrogating insurgents.
 
If he didn’t get the answers he needed fast, his fellow comrades would lose their lives.
 
So, yeah, Ben had gotten a little intense under those circumstances.
 
He would have to live with the consequences of his actions.
 
But he lost no sleep over any of it.

“I don’t know how I can help the colonel,” Ben said.
 
“I don’t own a computer or even a cell phone.
 
I no longer have access to computer databases.”

She looked at him like she was viewing a unicorn.
 
“Seriously?
 
How do you live?”

“Look around.
 
I don’t even own a TV.
 
My only access to the outside world is a seldom-used shortwave radio.
 
Outside those doors I actually talk with my neighbors.
 
You probably have hundreds of social media friends, but can’t name the people next door in your condo unit.”

“How do you know I live in a condo?” she wanted to know.

“You have no ring, so I’m guessing you have no spouse.
 
Although as an attorney you could afford to pay for a gardener or at least someone to mow your lawn, I’m guessing, since you said you grew up on a ranch in Central Oregon, that you really don’t want to get your hands dirty.
 
Living in the Portland area, that means living in a condo or townhome.
 
They’re easier to deal with.
 
Good for cats.”

“Who says I have cats?”

“Your gray wool suit has short black hair on it.
 
From a cat.”

“It could be a dog,” she reasoned.

“Your purse has a couple of cat scratches on it.
 
I’m guessing that’s from a new kitten.”

She shook her head.
 
“The colonel was right about you.”

“Perhaps.
 
But I also know that Bobby Keyes died months ago, just as I was about to retire from the Air Force.
 
Overdose of heroin in Eugene.
 
So, why are you really here?
 
And how do you know Colonel Bull Keyes?”

The attorney’s disposition quickly changed from a stoic figure of rigidity, to a hundred and five pounds of crying and sobbing hair and flesh in a gray wool suit.
 
Ben pulled his chair up next to her and put the woman’s long red head against his chest to comfort her.

4

Once Maggi McGuffin, the Portland lawyer, stopped crying, Ben found a bottle of Dominican rum and two small glasses.
 
He poured a glass for each of them and took a seat again across from her.

“Sip that,” he instructed.
 
“It’s been aged at least ten years.”

She had recovered somewhat by now.
 
Maggi brushed her long hair behind her ears and sipped at her rum.
 
“This is good.”

“It’s all right.
 
I prefer Central American rum.”
 
He thought for a moment to gauge her level of recovery.
 
“Now, can you tell me your real reason for being here?”

“I met Colonel Keyes at the VA nursing home while visiting my father, who is there on a more permanent basis.
 
Anyway, we talked for a long time one day.
 
He told me about you.”

“Your brother is missing.”

She gave him a dumbfounded look.
 
“How in the hell do you know this?”

“A guess.
 
The crying.
 
It’s obviously personal for you.
 
A younger brother?”

“He’s thirty.
 
A former Army soldier.”

Ben sipped his rum and licked a little left over on his upper lip.
 
Then he said, “What makes you think I can find him if you can’t?”

“It wasn’t just a coincidence that your name came up with Colonel Keyes,” Maggi said.
 
“When I mentioned where I thought my brother was, the Colonel made the connection to you.”

He was getting frustrated with her not getting to the point.
 
He guessed she was trying to lay the foundation for something unpalatable.
 
“Go ahead,” Ben said.

“It’s been over a month since I’ve heard from my brother Tavis.”

Ben had no siblings, but he guessed that wasn’t a long time.
 
“That’s not long.”

“It is for Tavis,” she assured him.
 
“We used to be in contact daily, either by text or email.
 
We talked once a week by phone.
 
Even when he was deployed overseas, I never went more than two weeks without some contact.”

Interesting.
 
When Ben was in the Air Force, he might not have contacted his parents for six months.
 
Of course that was back when the homestead still had a land line.
 
Now, even if he had a cell phone, there would be no signal.

“Where do you think your brother went?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.
 
“His phone was part of a family plan with my parents.
 
Because of that, we were able to call the service provider and determine the phone was either turned off or inoperable.”

Ben shrugged.
 
“Maybe he’s shacking up with some woman.
 
Or hanging out with some old Army buddies.”

She shook her head.
 
“No.
 
The last time we spoke he seemed different.
 
He’s always been morose and moody, especially since his service in the Army overseas.
 
But now he was upbeat and optimistic.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes, of course.
 
But it didn’t seem real.
 
It seemed forced.”

Ben sipped down the last of his rum, giving him time to consider Maggi McGuffin anew.
 
Why was this beautiful woman not married off by now?

“What?” she asked.

“What what?”

“You’re staring at me funny.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.
 
“I’m trying to figure out why you aren’t married.”

She sighed.
 
“I was married for five years in my twenties.
 
Until he cheated.
 
So I let him go.”

“And now?”

“I have my work.”

“And your two cats,” he reminded her.

Maggi raised her right index finger.
 
“One cat and a new kitten.”
 
Now she finished the last of her rum.

“No boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Fuck buddy?”

“That’s awfully personal.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“No.”

“I mean at forty, it’s understandable.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

She seemed only marginally sensitive to her age.
 
Truthfully, she could have still passed for thirty.

He decided to direct a little traffic.
 
“All right.
 
Your brother, age thirty, suddenly gets happy and bugs out.
 
As far as you know, he hasn’t taken up with a woman or reunited with old Army buddies.
 
But you do have some idea where he might have gone.
 
Why is that?”

“I didn’t say that,” Maggi responded.

“It was implied.
 
You said that Colonel Keyes brought up my name only after you gave him reason to do so.
 
Was that because of my military investigative background, or my physical location?”

“Yes.”
 
Now she smiled at him.

“Both.
 
Okay.
 
Now we’re getting somewhere.
 
You have reason to believe your brother is somewhere in this area of Oregon.”

“Yes.”

Now she was making a little more sense.
 
“Still, I’m not sure how I can help you.
 
I’m simply a hobby farmer.”

“But you were more than that,” she said.

“That was another life.”

“Please.
 
I can pay you.”

Ben glanced about his modest house.
 
“I don’t need money.
 
I lead a simple life.
 
Since my retirement from the military, I’ve spent almost none of my pay.
 
I did have to upgrade some of my off-grid equipment.
 
But everything I do now is bartered with my friends and neighbors.”

She pulled out her phone and found something on it.
 
Ben knew she wasn’t pulling something from the net, since there was no way she could have service.
 
“Perhaps I can help you with these people.”
 
Maggi turned the phone for Ben to see what she had.

It was a copy of a certified letter from the IRS to Ben—a total pack of bullshit that he had cleared up in his mind nearly six months ago.
 
But once the IRS got the sniff of blood they sunk their teeth into flesh like a great white shark.
 
They didn’t like to be wrong, and Ben had proved that they were just that months ago.
 
Now, he guessed, they were looking for any way to find something on him.
 
He wasn’t sure how she had gotten a copy of the letter, though.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked her.

“I do background before hiring someone,” Maggi said.

“I told you I’m not for hire.”

“I can make this IRS matter go away.”

“I already told them to fuck off.”

She looked at the file on her phone.
 
“I hear they’re ready to come out here with a full-blown audit.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Ben said.
 
“I do my taxes every year and report my military retirement income.”

“But that’s not the problem,” Maggi said.
 
“It’s your other income.”

“I have no other income,” he said adamantly.

“The bartered goods.”

“I trade eggs for foul food.”

“Right.
 
And the government wants their cut.”

“They can suck my dick if they think I’m going to quantify each trade I make.”

She shrugged.
 
“I can make these people understand.”

Ben thought it over.
 
He knew that if the IRS really wanted to screw him, they could garnish his military retirement income.
 
He was saving that money for lean times, and to buy more silver.

“All right,” Ben finally said.
 
“I’ll find your brother for your legal services.
 
That sounds like a fair trade.
 
You report that to the IRS any way you like.
 
But they won’t hear shit from me.”

She smiled broadly now, like a little girl who just tricked her sibling into doing something nefarious.