One Grave Too Many (7 page)

“When somebody gets shot in your kitchen,” Easy said, “your life’s going to be complicated for awhile. You better call Carlos Denny sometime tonight. Be a good idea to get your attorney in on this right now.”

“What did they say about the little one’s condition? I was talking to Lt. … whatever when the ambulance came.”

“Lt. Benfield. And Chatto, that’s the blond guy, will survive.”

The dark girl walked to a fragile-looking chair and sat down. “I’m still not all that clear on everything that happened. I told Lt. … Benfield that they seemed to think I knew where some money or other of my father’s was hidden. I didn’t, as you advised, say anything about what had happened to Gary. Since he’d decided to keep that whole business in the desert quiet.”

“That one was easier to squelch. Too many people involved this time, and Chatto shot.”

“It’s funny … I thought that little one … Chatto … I thought he had something written on a piece of paper. But we couldn’t find any such paper in the kitchen.”

From out of his jacket pocket Easy produced the folded piece of ruled paper. “No, because I took it.”

“Oh? Isn’t that evidence?”

“It’s what this whole frumus is about, and I don’t want this message in the papers and on the six o’clock news.”

“What difference does it make now? Those two men are caught, there’s nobody else to bother Gary or me.”

“Chatto and McBernie think your father hid a million bucks around LA somewhere,” Easy said as he unfolded the paper. “And you know what they tried. If anyone else gets the idea you or your brother know the whereabouts of the dough, they may come at you, too.”

Gay put her hands on her knees, sighing. “Then it can keep happening, again and again.”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Until we find the money.”

She sat up, staring at him. “Don’t you believe me either? I don’t know about any hidden money … I don’t!”

“But you might know what this message means.”

“You sound like the little one.”

“Your father wanted you or Gary to be able to figure it out,” said Easy. “He wasn’t trying to stump you.” He moved nearer to her. “I’ve already figured out most of it. It’s based on a simple archeologist’s way of laying out a dig site.”

“That was my father’s hobby,” she said, “archeology.”

“What he’s telling you in this message is to look for a square of ground that’s a specific distance from a fixed point,” said Easy. “The problem is we don’t know where the fixed point is. Does Angelo mean anything to you?”

“I used to date a boy named Angelo when I was in high school. But when I got to college I didn’t run with Italians anymore.”

“Some kind of angel maybe,” suggested Easy, “a statue. Is there anything like that around here?”

“What you want is a church.” The girl shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. It simply doesn’t mean anything to me.” He was close enough for her to reach out and take hold of his hand. “I don’t mean to be nasty … but … I appreciate you, Easy. Getting here when you did, doing what you did. And for letting me hold on to you while we waited for the police. Could you … would you stay here tonight … with me?”

Easy put his hand over hers for a second, then he pulled free and away. “I’ve got to keep hunting for the money. If you …”

“Oh, I don’t give a damn about the money.”

“Other people do. Call me if you think of anything.”

He left her standing there.

E
ASY WAS STRETCHED OUT
on the couch in his office, hands locked behind his head, studying the ceiling. Yesterday’s quake had caused two hairline cracks to shoot across the plaster.

An automobile engine roared, then sputtered and died in the parking lot outside. After ten seconds of silence there was a scraping crash. More silence, followed by what sounded like a car door being ripped from its hinges.

Footsteps sounded on Easy’s backsteps; someone knocked on the door.

“Come on in, Hagopian,” said Easy.

“Do you know Ralph Nader’s address?” asked the writer as he entered, his scuffed black briefcase clutched by his right elbow.

Sitting up, Easy asked, “Having trouble with your car?”

“Not my car. Melody borrowed the Jag to drive over to Ventura for the grand opening of an organic supermarket. She loaned me hers. The automatic shift things are a long way from perfected on that make. Dangerous, in fact.” He sat down behind Easy’s desk in Easy’s swivel chair. “She’s not going to be happy about the tomatoes either.”

“What tomatoes?”

“The lug of them in the backseat,” explained Hagopian. “That is, they were in the backseat. Now they are strewn out there all over your … but you don’t want to hear any more about my day to day tribulations in the goofy capital of the western world. I hear you found Gary Marks.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t appear too triumphant.”

“There are other things to find.”

“Such as?”

“A million bucks.”

Hagopian slapped his briefcase down on top of the desk. “That’s what everybody wants in these parts. You’ll have lots of competition.” He thrust a hand inside the briefcase. “I’m in a spiritual rather than a materialistic mood tonight. I think, quite possibly, John, I have witnessed a real religious miracle. We may have some trouble getting the church to accept it, especially in the light of recent Supreme Court decisions, yet I …”

“I have a suspicion it involves tits.”

“That it does.” Hagopian pulled a handful of photographic proof sheets. “You recall I told you I was going to interview a noted pea-brained starlet yesterday. Well, I am ready to swear she had negligible boobs the last time I saw her. Yesterday, after only four short weeks at the Thorpe Ranch, she’s got quite impressive ones. You know, the kind that …”

“The Thorpe Ranch?” Easy stood up.

“Yeah, that’s where the Me & Jesus Commune lives. If you’d care for documentary proof of the miraculous changes in this bimbo’s knockers, here are the contact proofs of the pix we shot of her.”

Easy sat on the edge of his desk, picked up the sheets of tiny photos. “Gary Marks’ father used to own the Thorpe Ranch.”

“I know, I’ve got clippings about the place in my files.”

Easy went over the sheets of photos page by page. As he scanned the third sheet he suddenly said, “Hey!”

“They
are
incredible tits, aren’t they?”

“Where’d you shoot this run of shots?”

New rings formed beneath the
TV Look
writer’s eyes as he tilted to look at the photos upside down. “Of her hugging the angel? Out on Boot Hill. You can’t have a movie Western location without a graveyard.”

The run of seven pictures showed the young blonde actress leaning or embracing a five foot tall marble angel. Beyond the mock cemetery a forested area showed. Tapping the tiny pictures, Easy said, “That’s where the money is.”

“You’re right. In a goofy town like this there certainly is money in big tits. That’s been my …”

“Not that kind of money.”

“You mean this million dollars you were talking about,” said Hagopian. “Would that be part of the elder Marquetti’s swindling earnings?”

“Several people seem to think so.” He stretched out a hand and pulled the phone over. As he punched out a number he said, “We’ll see if Gary Marks is going to be in shape to do some digging tomorrow.”

E
ASY STEPPED OUT OF
his VW into the steamy yellow morning and noticed the shotguns pointing at him.

He walked around the dusty front end of the car and opened the passenger door. “Couple kids over by those walnut trees,” he said as he helped Gary Marks out. “Got shotguns.”

The small dark young man said, “That’s not very Christian.” He grimaced as his foot touched the dirt. “I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. I feel a lot stiffer all over than I did last night when you phoned. Your Dr. Clayton says, by the way, there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage.”

“I can take care of any digging.” Easy reached into the backseat for the shovel he’d borrowed from Hagopian. “I want you along as a representative of the family.”

Gary was looking at the Thorpe Ranch. It was spread out below, the town covering about three acres of flat sand-colored ground. All the traditional buildings of the fantasy Old West were there: saloons, feed stores, sheriff’s office, gambling casinos. A stockade fence had once circled the entire ranch but parts of it had long since fallen over and they lay in the weeds where they’d hit. “The old place hasn’t gone to pieces as much as I expected,” he said. “Looks like they’ve even been painting it.”

Easy spotted the graveyard, with the stone angel rising above all the other fake tombstones. The woods beyond the graveyard, mostly oaks and pines, covered several acres. “Let’s walk toward the place where the gate used to be,” he said. “Find out what sort of move these shotgun kids have in mind.”

“Damn, now I seem to have a limp.” Marks, his left foot dragging, walked down the dirt road next to Easy.

“Far enough,” said one of the boys. He moved into full view, stock of the shotgun resting on his hip. He wore only a pair of coveralls. His hair was tied behind with a string of yellow leather.

Easy kept on coming, the shovel swinging in his hand. “My name’s John Easy,” he said.

“We’ll shoot, no matter what your name is,” the other boy told him. He was chubby, wearing tight Levis and a blue workshirt.

“I’m a private investigator,” said Easy, stopping where he was. “We’d like permission to look for something here at the Thorpe Ranch.”

“So that’s your story?” the chubby one snorted.

The other boy climbed up the road toward Easy. “You’re not going to get her away from us. You go back to Palos Verdes and tell her folks that it doesn’t matter how many private cops and thugs they send. She’s of age and she’s here by her own choice and the will of God.”

“I’m not looking for any girls,” said Easy. He nodded at Gary. “My client’s father used to own this place. We think something important to the family may have been left here.”

“You can save your lies.” The boy was only ten feet from Easy, had the barrel of the shotgun aimed at Easy’s chest. “After what you’ve done, we got us a right to maybe just shoot you down anyway.”

Easy frowned at him. “Something’s happened?”

“When you found out you couldn’t take her from us, couldn’t defy the will of God, you decided to do other harm to us.”

The chubby boy said, “That was my favorite dog, too.”

“What happened to the dog?”

“You ought to know. You cracked his skull sometime last night. We found him lying out in front of the saloon come sunup this morning. Vet says he probably doesn’t have a chance to make it, even with all of us praying for him.”

A tall blonde girl was watching them from the gap in the fence some twenty-five yards downhill. She let go of the fence pole and came up in Easy’s direction. She had on a dark blue body shirt and khaki slacks. “You’re a friend of Mr. Hagopian’s, aren’t you?” she asked him.

It was the young actress Hagopian had interviewed. “That’s right. And you’re …?”

“Jiminy Sage,” smiled the girl. “You were at a cocktail party at the
TV Look
offices a few months ago, but I don’t suppose you remember me. You seemed completely occupied with that gossip columnist Judy Teller. Of course, that was all before I heard from God and came to know how foolish cocktail parties were.”

“Jiminy,” said the chubby young man, “this is one of the guys who wants to take Nancy away.”

“You’ve got me mixed up with some other operative,” said Easy.

“Oh, your friend looks like he’s going to fall over.” Jiminy ran to take Gary’s arm.

“I’m okay.” His face had gone a sweaty white. “Not up to standing around in the sun, I guess.”

“Were you in an accident?” the lovely blonde girl asked. “You come right down into the town and sit in the shade.”

“Jiminy,” said the other boy, “these men …”

“Oh, this is John Easy,” she told them. “He has a very fine reputation. He wouldn’t handle anything sleazy like trying to get Nancy back for her folks. Would you, Mr. Easy?”

“I renounced sleazy cases years ago.”

After a long silent moment the boys lowered their guns. “What is it you’re supposed to be doing here?” asked the chubby one.

“We want to look around in your Boot Hill and in those woods next to it.”

“You’re not planning to dig up sacred ground?”

“That’s not a real burying ground,” Easy told him.

Jiminy, still holding onto Gary’s arm, was guiding him down to the Western town. “Haven’t I seen your picture in
Ad Age
or some similar publication? Of course, I don’t read such publications any longer.”

“Probably. I’m Gary Marks. I run an ad shop called Marks & Feller.”

“Oh, of course. You did that clever commercial about the man going down into his toilet in a diving suit, didn’t you? I thought that was very clever.”

A German shepherd on the porch of the hotel stood up and commenced barking. He didn’t approach them, though.

“Sit in the shade with Jiminy,” Easy told his client. “I’ll measure off the squares and call you after I’ve done some digging.” He strode down the main street toward Boot Hill.

Easy didn’t have to do any digging.

He’d, using a cloth tape measure, spent fifteen minutes measuring out the first squares. A half dozen of the Me & Jesus kids stood down at the edge of the graveyard and watched him. None of them spoke or came near.

The square he wanted, as he’d suspected, was going to be up in among the trees. He entered the woods, measured off a few more squares.

Then he saw it.

He exhaled through his nose, rolled up the yellow tape and went down to get Gary.

“You didn’t dig this just now,” said his client when he saw the deep hole in the ground.

Shaking his head, Easy said, “Somebody else got here first. Which may explain why the dog got knocked out last night.”

The hole was four feet deep and three wide. It lay in a small clearing surrounded by oaks and pines. You couldn’t see the Western town from here.

“No money, nothing,” said Gary.

Easy knelt beside the freshly dug pit. “Not quite nothing,” he said. He poked a finger into a clump of earth, extracted something white. It was the bone out of a human toe.