Death on the Greasy Grass by C. M. Wendelboe

Author:C. M. Wendelboe [Wendelboe, C. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780425263259
Google: hyeoogOZWr0C
Amazon: 0425263258
Barnesnoble: 0425263258
Goodreads: 15985362
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Harvey stopped in front of the log house as two men on horseback rode past them. They gave Manny’s government car only a passing glance as they made their way to the barn. Manny stopped the car in back of Harvey’s truck and started getting out when Wilson Eagle Bull emerged from the house. His turquoise-tipped braided ponytails bounced on his chest as he descended the steps. With his starched white shirt and bone choker, he gave the impression he was about to greet his campaign committee. He stood on the steps, arms crossed, looking at his foreman.

“Harvey usually tells me when we have company.” Wilson’s voice, a mellow speaker’s voice, held a tone and timbre that demanded attention. Unc had told Manny about the great Lakota orators, those rare leaders who mesmerized crowds with just the sound of their voices: Spotted Tail and Red Cloud, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, commanding yet not demanding.

Harvey took the steps three at a time and stopped beside his boss. “I would have warned you but that one took my phone.” He pointed to Reuben, who fished the phone from his pocket and tossed it to Harvey.

“Not old Harv’s fault,” Reuben said. “I held his cell phone for safekeeping.”

Wilson nodded. “Then why the little parade here?”

Manny stepped between Wilson and Reuben and started digging his ID wallet out.

“I remember who you are, Agent Tanno.”

Manny pocketed his ID case. “It was necessary to keep Harvey’s phone so we could make it to your house without coming away in pieces.”

Wilson turned to Lumpy and eyed his clothes. “And you are the acting chief?”

Lumpy nodded.

“Dressed like that?”

“We’ve been working on a case,” he sputtered.

“And you?” Wilson asked, smiling. “Who are you that you intimidate Harvey?”

“Reuben Tanno.”

Wilson’s eyes widened for the briefest moment of recognition, and he turned to Manny. “Since when does the FBI employ felons?”

“Since when does a senatorial candidate employ thugs like Harvey and the rest of your crew?”

Wilson broke into a wide smile. “I’m glad I don’t have to debate you during this campaign.” He turned to Harvey. “Since when don’t we cooperate with law enforcement?”

Harvey stood speechless, smashing a bug with the toe of his boot.

“Oh, just go help Pete and RePete with the horses. I’m hauling these mares up to Crow Agency myself Monday.”

“Thought you were busy with your campaign, Boss.”

Wilson dropped his eyes. “Sam Star Dancer’s memorial service is Tuesday. Figured I’d take them up when I go.”

“Kind of soon since we don’t know for certain if it was Sam that got burned to death?” Manny said.

“Chenoa’s convinced it was Sam who burnt up in that house fire.” Wilson blew his nose with a white handkerchief bearing the image of an eagle sitting on the hump of a buffalo, the logo of the Eagle Bull family. “I understand the autopsy will be completed this weekend and Chenoa will have the closure she needs.”

Manny was convinced legal closure, not emotional closure, was on Chenoa’s mind. With Sam declared dead, she could go on with ranch business far more efficiently than with him alive.

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