Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) Read online

  “Were you eavesdropping?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Why would I do that?”

  He glowered. “I don’t know. Why would you? How long have you known Bertha?”

  “Just since we got here on Thursday.” I rounded my eyes and tried my best to appear angelic. “She’s a nice lady.”

  “That’s debatable. You better get back to your cabin and treat your wilderness rash with that…whatever it is.”

  “You’re right. So nice to meet y’all.”

  “Yeah.”

  When I hurried down the path, I could feel him staring at my back, as though he’d launched a searing arrow. I finally heard their car start.

  After I turned to watch their vehicle pull away, I walked even faster down the path to our cabin. It was almost lunch time, so everybody would be returning from morning activities, and I looked like a Medicare matron in her lousiest housedress.

  Sure enough, my friends sauntered up from the river path accompanied by Sam and George. I longed to turn heel and race to the cabin, but I was trapped.

  “Let’s see what Bertha gave you,” Meredith said. She studied the labels. “I’ve read about these. They’re supposed to work. Do they help?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure you won’t have to be hospitalized?” Millie asked. “I heard of a teacher who chewed poison ivy leaves for years to show off for his students. He ended up in the hospital.”

  I looked at Meredith.

  “It could happen after multiple exposures,” she said. “This is your first exposure, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “I heard about one woman,” Stoney said, “who was exposed to the sap every year while she washed her husband’s hunting clothes. After several years, she had a severe reaction. Her kidneys shut down, and she died.”

  I’d probably aged ten years from sitting in poison ivy, sharing Bertha’s wardrobe and dealing with Herb. Now I had to worry about dying.

  “Too bad her husband didn’t wash his own hunting clothes,” Selma said.

  “I read about that woman,” Meredith said. “She developed a tremendous sensitivity. It was a very unusual case.”

  Sam studied my purple flowers. “Nice dress.”

  I glared at him. He knew better than to laugh. George advised me not to go near the horses. He said I might scare them.

  Sam scowled at him, which made me feel better than Bertha’s remedies.

  “Let’s get to our cabins,” he told the Tensels. When we arrived at our cabin, Jangles offered to lend me a tent dress. I smiled at her.

  “I packed a loose sundress that billows away from my legs. I think it’ll work. Thanks.”

  While Meredith and the girls showered off river water, I put a non-itchy towel on the chair by the table, sat with my rear end barely touching, and typed “Obituary: Max and Billy Sue Vernon” in WebCrawler. I read:

  “Long-time Bandera County residents and owners of the BVSBar Ranch, Max and Billy Sue Vernon, were found dead on their ranch Thursday, July 30, 1992, from apparent dehydration and heat stroke. They were 59 years old and had been high school sweethearts. Max named the ranch after Billy Sue, with V, for Vernon, as the middle initial. Much beloved by family and friends, they contributed greatly to Bandera and the surrounding area. They were predeceased by Mrs. Vernon’s brother and his wife, Roger and Beatrice Sampson. Survivors include the Vernons’ son, Herbert Vernon, their niece, Bertha Sampson, and many Hill Country friends. Visitation will be at Grimes Funeral Home, on Sunday, August 2, from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. A service for the Vernons will be held at First Baptist Church on Monday, August 3 at 2:00 p.m.”

  How could I learn more about the Vernons’ untimely deaths? With Herb and Bertha being the couple’s only survivors, there were no other relatives Sam and I could question about circumstances surrounding their untimely demise. I didn’t expect the Grimes Funeral Home to discuss the tragic deaths of Bandera’s beloved residents with outsiders. I wondered if I could talk Sam into getting a copy of the couples’ autopsy reports.

  I researched Bertha and cousin Herb: they were the same age, forty-four. They would have been thirty-nine when Max and Billy Sue died. The Vernons had Herb in 1953, a year or two into the historical drought that began in Texas and the southwest and lasted until the mid-1960s.

  Herb’s overriding childhood memory must have been the effect of the drought on his family and this land. They couldn’t farm. They’d survived by converting marginal farm and ranch land into a dude ranch.

  Despite conflicts at the ranch, I still had a column to write, so I needed to check my mail. There was only one letter, but it made me think.

  Dear Aggie,

  We lived in the northeast, spent time in Kansas and are now in Missouri. My husband got a promotion and we’re moving to Texas, south of Austin. All I can think of is tumbleweeds, guns and bluster. How will I ever survive?

  Worried Willa

  Dear Worried,

  When you drive southwest from Missouri and hit the Oklahoma line, vistas open up. At the Texas border, you’ll begin to see broader expanses of land. When a person can see the horizon, her imagination opens like the landscape. Daydreams become possibilities.

  Texans love their land and drive hard bargains to keep it. Space gives them freedom of movement and thought. They believe when people are crowded together, they’re bound to get testy. Have you experienced that?

  Tumbleweeds blow across West Texas deserts, but that’s about four hundred miles from where you’ll be in Austin. It’s true many Texans grow up around guns. To people with a frontier heritage, firearms mean protection. Texans respect their deadly potential and learn to handle them safely. Doesn’t always work; but most of the time it does.

  Bluster is only a way of talking: big state, big dreams, big mouths. Don’t let it fool you. Underneath the bluster, you’ll find hearts of gold and people who’ll help anybody who needs it. Just don’t try to take something from a Texan before they offer.

  Turning Texan,

  Aggie

  I thought about Texans I’d met at the ranch. How far would Bertha go to get and keep the BVSBar? How far would Herb Vernon go to reclaim it? Vicki’d grown to love the Hill Country. Could she really leave?

  When it was time to put on my sundress, I was careful to avoid my ivy patch. To boost my spirits, I applied extra makeup. If the calamine lotion didn’t wear off and I stood up to eat, I might make it through lunch.

  Sam joined Meredith and me to walk to the lodge. Before he could tell us about his morning ride, I told them about Herb and Bitsy Vernon.

  “This is turning into quite a vacation spot,” Sam said.

  We walked in silence, immersed in thought. If I could figure out who’d killed the Vernons, Sam could relax and enjoy a much-needed vacation. He might finally realize I had sound sleuthing skills. I had to deduce who put a snake in the freezer.

  Before we reached the lodge, Meredith stopped.

  “Do you think Bertha is capable of killing her own aunt and uncle to get this ranch?”

  Fifteen

  Thinking about the value of the ranch, I studied the dining hall. The decorating theme was dead animals. Heads of deer, bison, and elk were mounted on wall plaques near the ceiling. How could anybody shoot the elegant creatures, especially deer and elk, unless they needed to consume the meat to survive? Didn’t elk live in colder climates anyway? What was an elk’s head doing up there?

  A bison’s dull eyes stared across the dining room. Bison didn’t roam free anymore except in national parks, nature preserves or private commercial herds. Somebody had special access to kill that bison.

  Something about the bison’s face reminded me of Dr. Carmody, my Aspects of Aging professor from last Semester at University of the Hol
y Trinity. Maybe it was the bison’s eyes: dull, yet cunning. To force my mind off the professor, I studied the ceiling.

  Fish and bobcats hung at raucous angles from ceiling wires, which made them appear to be sizing up guests. I was intrigued by two bobcats. One was larger than the other, probably a male and female. Their ears were tipped with black tufts, which supposedly collected sound to sharpen their hearing. I’d read they had excellent eyesight for day and night vision and were abundant in South Texas.

  Light fur cascading down their cheeks made them look loveable. I wanted to touch it to see if was soft. Bobcats were supposed to be secretive, shy, and solitary, but some were rambunctious and overly curious. Like me. Maybe that’s why those two ended up hanging from the ceiling.

  Wire served multiple other purposes on a ranch: stringing fences, tying hay bales and hanging farm implements. Ranger Travis used it to sculpt animals and birds, but I was mystified by the wire protruding from the mouth of the snake we’d found in the freezer.

  The cabin six girls and Selma entered the dining hall with their hair still damp. Jangles’ upswept wet hair looked like the stem on a pumpkin. Stoney appeared particularly boyish with her hair slicked back. Millie looked like a damp rag doll. They must be starving from exercise to risk appearing in public with wet hair.

  Selma had probably tried to fluff her hair while she argued with George over who had endured the lousiest morning. Conflict must have made her hungry. She beat George to the buffet line. I saw her and Bertha glare jealously at Vicki’s dry, fluffy locks.

  Wranglers Ranger and Monty moseyed in, followed by River Rat, whose blow-dried hair hung shiny and straight to his shoulders. He winked at his aquatic gang of tadpoles, frogs and fish.

  I motioned George to go ahead—he walked with widespread legs—so he could catch up with Selma. After they filled their plates, they went to sit by Wayne Rickoff. He was probably the only member of the staff they didn’t currently associate with suffering.

  I slipped into the buffet line with Meredith and Sam, wishing I could nibble standing up. After we’d selected our food, I suggested we choose a table near Rickoff and the Tensels. I wanted to eavesdrop.

  Picking bites of food off my plate, I sat on one hipbone within earshot of their table, wondering how many ceiling creatures Rickoff had killed. He started bragging in a loud voice about his hunting prowess.

  “I had this friend who worked at a high fence game ranch in Wisconsin that had trophy white-tail deer and elk,” Rickoff said. “‘Course it’s illegal to shoot elk. He said we ought to go hunting in the Northwoods in the Chequamegon and Nicolet National Forest.”

  Rickoff’s buddy couldn’t risk his job at the game ranch, but he was ready to hunt illegally with Rickoff in a national forest.

  Meredith leaned over and whispered in my ear, “There’s a Sandhill Wildlife Area in the center of Wisconsin where the state manages a herd of bison. You don’t suppose Rickoff managed to go there and kill that bison?”

  I was appalled and even more intent on listening. “I got me a .338 Winchester magnum with 250-grain bullets,” Rickoff said.

  His weapon sounded huge, like a Bazooka. George Tensel looked interested. “I guess those big elk are easy to see, right?”

  “Not really. They hang out in thick dark timber where trees have burned or blown down in a storm. We found a big blow-down area where trees were a tangled mess. A second growth had come up. Elk were amazingly hard to see in there. It’s hard to tell ’em from deer.” He winked at George. “But we saw big tracks and droppings.”

  Selma’s face registered disgust.

  “We found an area where elk had scratched hides and horns against trees, and we put up portable stands in that area. I climbed in my stand expecting a long wait and adjusted my Leopold scope to make sure I could see in the dark.”

  Vicki apparently overheard Wayne Rickoff and appeared to be repelled at the thought of his killing elegant animals in her home state.

  She told people around her she needed to ride her horse and left.

  Rickoff carried on. “Not ten minutes after I got in the stand, I caught movement of a big animal comin’ through tangled trees. It was amazing to see how easily he got around in there. It was a small buck headed right for my blind. I raised my rifle. He got almost within range and then bolted off. I thought he’d winded me. Then a bigger buck came in from the right. This was the animal I came looking for. He turned broadside. I sighted him just as he whirled and took off. When I shot, his rear was to me.”

  Sam squirmed in his seat and passed his hand over the area where I guessed he’d hidden the Glock.

  “He bled a lot,” Rickoff said, “but I tracked him. When I finally caught up to him, he’d almost bled out. That’s when I saw that huge rack. I had me a trophy elk. That’s him…up there.” He gestured to the elk head on the wall.

  Rickoff apparently didn’t care where or how he shot animals. He wasn’t too keen on people. Millie must have been listening. Her face turned green, and she stumbled out of the dining hall.

  Sam might be right. We should leave this ranch. Sunny, who was last to fill his plate, walked over to join us. His makeup was thinner than usual. He chatted and smiled at Meredith. With his classic features and smooth skin, I thought Sunny would be extraordinarily handsome without that makeup. For a second, the window light caught his face from an angle. The beam highlighted a scar that ran from his ear all the way down his jaw line and faded into his neck. Ah. So that was what he wanted to hide.

  “You look uncomfortable,” he said, noticing the awkward way I was sitting.

  “Had a little encounter with poison ivy.” I sipped tea from my glass. “I’d rather be standing up.”

  Bertha whacked her glass with a spoon. “We don’t have planned activities this afternoon. If you want to practice what you learned, tell your instructors, and they’ll meet you at the site. Cabin air conditioners aren’t working. If you want to rest on your bunks, I’ve got small fans you can use ‘til the weather breaks.”

  The girls glanced at each other. Should they bask in Rat’s charm by the river in the heat of the day or try to rest in a steamy cabin? I decided a fan would feel good blowing on my poison ivy patch and lined up to get one from Bertha.

  When I approached, she said, “I made jewelweed ice cubes. If you rub them on, it’ll relieve the stinging. Jewelweed’s pretty rare around here, but I make tea with what I can find and freeze it into cubes. Go get a package of ’em from the kitchen freezer—orange-colored cubes in one-quart freezer bags.”

  I hesitated.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “The freezer’s been cleaned out. Go back for more cubes later if you need ’em. Here’s your fan.”

  Sixteen

  Reluctantly, I went to the kitchen and slowly pried up the freezer lid. Maria, washing dishes, turned around and followed my progress with wide eyes. I scoured the recesses of the freezer box. The snake was gone. I picked up a bag of cubes and held them up for her.

  “Mira? Recogí una bolsa de cubos. Son buenos para Zumaque.” I told her I’d retrieved a bag of cubes that were good for treating poison ivy. She raised her eyebrows, surprised and delighted I spoke Spanish, and dried her hands on a towel.

  “Señora Bertha told me to get the ice cubes,” I continued in Spanish. “The snake is gone.” I made a slithering motion with my hands and gestured that the reptile was far away.

  “Gracias a Dios.” She crossed herself.

  “Yes, gracias a Dios.” I wondered what Maria remembered about the Vernons’ deaths. She appeared to be in her sixties and had probably worked for the Vernon family for many years. I put the bag of cubes back in the freezer and sat at the kitchen table. “I heard Bertha was the one who found her aunt and uncle when they died here on the ranch,” I said in Spanish.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Po
or woman.”

  “I heard they were going on some kind of treasure hunt.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. They said they were going to check the site where they’d drilled the old well. They’d drive part way and then walk. Mrs. Vernon liked to exercise to stay thin.”

  “Did they take water?”

  “Oh, yes. Señor Max drank a lot of water. They took thermoses. I made them sandwiches, too.” She frowned. “It was strange they had trouble. Two days earlier, they spent the whole day wandering all over the ranch without any problems. The day after that, they went into San Antonio to attend to business and returned to the ranch late in the afternoon. Their son Herb came here that evening, stayed overnight and left early the next morning. That was the day the Vernons decided to drive over the ranch again.” She blinked back tears. “They never came back.” She pulled up her apron to wipe her eyes.

  “You’d known them a long time?”

  “I came to the ranch before they married. We three helped Señor Vernon’s father build this ranch. When there was no rain, we worked together to save it. I helped raise Herb. When Ms. Bertha was orphaned and came here, she helped me cook while I taught her about the ranch.”

  “I guess Bertha and Herb were devastated when the Vernons died?”

  “Oh, yes. They shed many tears.”

  “After Herb grew up, while the Vernons were still alive, did Herb come back to the ranch very often?”

  “No. He never really liked the ranch. When he was twelve, his parents sent him to school in San Antonio. He was happy to go. He’d come home for holidays…vacations. After he grew up, I think he only came when he needed money.” She hung her head, embarrassed.