A Nose for Justice (24 page)

Turning on her heel, she hurried back to the den, and started searching for the life of Frederic Remington.

A
lso searching was Mrs. Oliver Hitchens. Karen and her husband were to attend a large New Year’s dinner party, but he was two hours late coming home. If he walked through the front door that minute, he’d barely have time to change clothes. It wasn’t like him. She couldn’t reach him on his cell, which was very unusual. Furious, she called those closest to him, including George W. Ball.

“George, Karen. I know you all didn’t work today, but have you by any chance heard from my husband?”

“No.”

“He’s not home and we need to leave here in twenty minutes to make the Nielsons’ party.”

“Karen, I haven’t heard from him. You know if there was a problem, he’d call.”

“Well, he hasn’t.”

“Maybe he lost his cellphone. It happens.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. I’m sorry you’re upset. I’ll bet he has a good explanation when he walks through the door.” He chuckled and thought to himself, “
At least it better be good.
”

But Oliver Hitchens didn’t walk through the door.

T
he next morning, a frightened and frantic Karen Hitchens sat in her dining room with George W. Ball, Craig Locke, and Darryl Johnson. The sheriff had already been to the Hitchens home. They were treating this as a disappearance and tried to reassure her that people did show up unharmed. So far they had not found Oliver’s Explorer, so there was some hope he might be in it.

Prudently, Karen had sent the kid off to her sister’s.

“Strange things happen,” Darryl Johnson said. “Karen, he could have suffered a mild stroke and forgotten crucial information.” He was looking for any kind of explanation.

Twisting a handkerchief in her hands, she nodded. “The sheriff said that, too.”

Craig said, “Has anyone in his family ever had a stroke?”

She shook her head. “No. Cancer runs in his family, though. That wouldn’t affect him. I mean, he just had a physical two months ago and passed with flying colors. He’d call if he could. I know he’d call.”

“Not if his mind is affected. People do get amnesia.” George W.’s voice was consoling. “Has the Sheriff’s Department called hospitals?”

“Yes. No one has shown up who looks like Oliver.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t out there hunkered down,” Craig suggested. “If you tell us some of his favorite spots, we’ll go look. He might gravitate toward familiar places.”

“Golf. The country club. We called there.”

George W. thought a moment. “He often checked on equipment both on the inventory list and what we had on hand. Thanks to his farsightedness,
we were never caught unawares, waiting days for a pump to be shipped to us. I’m going down to check the warehouse. Just in case.”

Darryl was relieved at hearing any suggestion. “George, that’s a good idea.”

“And I’ll call the team he’s been working closely with, thanks to the blown pumps. Twinkie and Bunny might have some ideas.”

“He’s been so worried about those blown pumps,” Karen said. He went back to check, uh, Twenty-two. Yes, Twenty-two.”

George W. inched forward in his seat. “He did? He didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, he just wanted to check. Since there wasn’t anything wrong, he probably didn’t tell you. I tell him when he comes home to leave work outside the door, but he can’t. Sometimes I think Oliver is only truly happy when he’s fretting about something.”

“He’s always been conscientious.” Darryl praised him.

“You know, before the big storm he actually rented an ATV and drove all over the Bedell Flat right up to the top of the Sand Hills,” Karen told him. “Oliver, he could see all of Wings Ranch up there. I told him he was crazy to drive one of those things in cold weather. The one he rented went up to seventy miles an hour.”

Craig smiled. “Maybe he was switching from golf to off-road running.”

“He said going out there had to do with work.”

All three men stared blankly at her, then Darryl spoke, “Karen, Silver State doesn’t have any business over there. No one does.”

“That’s funny. Oliver said he felt there would be future problems with Bedell Flat.”

Stumped, but not wishing to argue or push, Darryl stood up. “As I said, he was farsighted so perhaps he was thinking decades down the road. If you hear anything, anything at all, please call me.”

“Karen, call any one of us if you need to.” George W. took her hand and held it for a moment, then turned to Darryl. “If you hear anything, let me know.”

Craig also offered his support. When the three men stepped outside, for a moment no one spoke.

“I’m going down to the warehouse,” George W. remarked, feeling deeply uneasy.

Before he moved toward his car, Craig said, “What was Karen talking about—Bedell Flat? We have no interest there.”

“I don’t know, but Oliver wouldn’t be scouting that area if he didn’t think something was brewing.” Darryl folded his arms over his chest, then asked Craig, “Have you ever investigated water rights over there?”

“In a cursory manner. I discounted it because it would be fantastically expensive to get the water to Reno from there. The Sand Hills are an effective barrier.”

George W. surprised them. “Not necessarily. If you came down through Whitney Spring and Juniper Spring, it would be possible to lay pipe underground and tap into that aquifer.”

Craig answered, voice rising. “George W., those rights are tied up. We couldn’t get them if we offered triple-digit millions. Jeep Reed bought most of them back in 1962.”

George W. knew that. “Right, all I’m saying is Bedell Flat isn’t unthinkable. One could also put holding tanks on top of the Sand Hills. It could be done.”

Darryl, listening hard, stepped toward George W. “I suppose it could. It would make more sense to tap into Antelope Valley and swing around Freds Mountain.” He named another towering barrier between Antelope Valley and Reno.

“Guys, if you want the water rights in Antelope Valley, better tap into the U.S. Treasury first.” Craig shrugged.

Darryl looked down at his shoes. “I tell you it makes no sense, but Oliver wasn’t given to flights of imagination. If he was out there, he knew something, or he thought he knew something. Damn, I hope he shows back up.”

Craig softly added, “Alive.”

C
lipboard in hand, George W. double-checked every pump in the warehouse. He wanted to know if any of them had been taken or even moved. They had not. In fact, the warehouse was a testimony to order, cleanliness, and Oliver’s amazing capacity for detail. He hung up the clipboard on the pegboard, putting his initials in the right-hand column with the time and the date.

Back in his truck, George W. called Twinkie at home, giving him the news.

“Jesus.” Twinkie walked to his living room window, where reception on his cell was better. “And you say Oliver drove over to Pump Twenty-two?”

“That’s what his wife said.”

“Checking up on my work,” Twinkie grumbled. “I know everyone is worried, but my God, what a son of a bitch to work with. ’Course he never thought you worked
with
him, only
for
him.”

“I know. I know. But he’s valuable to the company and—”

“He kisses your ass.” Twinkie interrupted. “Sorry.”

“It’s true. If anything was amiss with Pump Twenty-two, Oliver would have told me. I just wonder why he went down to Holcomb Ranch Lane.

“The repairs there will hold until spring or longer. This whole thing with the blown-up pumps has all of us jumpy,” said Twinkie. “Too jumpy, I guess.” A long pause followed. “Maybe he figured out who was dropping pipe bombs.”

“Maybe, but I think he would have told me that right away.”

“Not unless he was sure. Oliver likes to have his ducks in a row.”

“That’s true. But blowing up two pumps isn’t the same as murder, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Another long pause followed.

“Twinkie, did Oliver ever mention Bedell Flat to you, especially in connection to water rights?”

“No. It’s a big wasteland, pretty much.” He reconsidered that statement. “Well, there is Bedell Spring tucked on the eastern side of the Dogskins.”

“Too far away to be useful,” said George W. “But I just wondered if Oliver had ever expressed any interest in Bedell Flat.”

“No.”

“All right then. I’m sorry to disturb you on a Saturday. I’m going to call Bunny.”

“Sure. If anything comes up, let me know. I mean, I can’t stand the guy but I don’t wish him any harm.”

George W. ended the call and called Bunny, whose replies were close to Twinkie’s. Bunny was upset that Oliver hadn’t told any of them he went
back to the pumps. He wondered if it had been Oliver’s car they’d made track casts of.

Back in his office, George W. wanted quiet time to think. He didn’t want to burden his family on the holiday weekend. He studied the maps on the wall of new housing developments, none of which were in the Red Rock area. He had no answers, but he sure had some big questions.

O
liver Hitchens’s mysterious disappearance made the front page of Monday’s
Reno Gazette-Journal
. The story ran in the right-hand column with a mention of SSRM’s recent troubles with sabotaged equipment.

Jeep sat at the kitchen table reading the
Gazette-Journal
. When she was younger, the
Gazette
was the morning paper and the
Journal
was the evening paper, each with a distinct point of view. Most cities had at least two newspapers back then, and she never believed in watching the TV news. Reading an article took time. A three-minute report with pictures on television wasn’t the same. She feared anyone under forty had no patience to seek out the different sides of any particular issue.

Mags walked in, surprised to see Jeep. “You’re up bright and early.”

Baxter tagged behind his human.

Jeep glanced up at the wall clock, a big round brass one with long black hands ending in arrow points. “Six. Okay, a half hour early. Couldn’t sleep. Start of a new year, the business year. I like Mondays. I know many don’t. Coffee’s ready.”

“You make the best coffee.”

“Thank you, dear. Starts with the water.” As Mags went to the coffee pot, Jeep told her the news. “A Silver State Resource Management person has gone missing. He was second in command of equipment maintenance and purchase. Very odd.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. If I were the treasurer of SSRM, I’d be poring over the books right now. Hell of a way to start the new year.”

Baxter spoke loudly to Mags,
“You aren’t going to drink that coffee without feeding me first, are you?”

King had slept in the room with Jeep, and bragged,
“Already had mine.”

Looking down at Baxter’s handsome face, Mags sighed.
“All right.”

She opened a can of food, mixed it in with kibble, and placed it on the floor. When she sat down, her great-aunt pushed the paper toward her.

After reading the article, she handed the paper back. “Oliver Hitchens would have had opportunities to steal, wouldn’t he?”

“Padding purchase orders is tried and true.”

“Ever have it happen to you?” Mags wondered.

“In small ways. Someone would order hay and behind my back have made a deal with the supplier. I never let anyone write checks other than Dot and me. It’s relatively easy to steal from busy people because we don’t have the time to go over details. But when I get down to it, I leave no stone unturned.”

“Or tern unstoned.”

Jeep smiled. “Quite right. Once Enrique came back from college and took over the day-to-day management of the ranch, my life got a lot easier. Someone who works at a corporation where large pieces of equipment are bought—that could be a real gravy train. And it wouldn’t be that hard to hide your trail for a while, especially if one is doing business with places like China. For one thing, you can juggle currency rates.”

“That’s a thought.” Mags took a deep, grateful sip. “What kind of coffee is this?”