Craig Johnson - A Serpent's Tooth - A Walt Longmire Mystery

“You don’t appear to be sleeping, so I’m guessing I’m not disturbing your rest.”

He waved at the drilling rig. “The water here is putrid, so we’re digging a new well. I can assure you that all the proper paperwork has been filed and the appropriate permits are in order.”

“I have no doubt.” I looked back at the derrick and the 550-horsepower Caterpillar engine and accoutrements. “That’ll dig a heck of a well.”

“We’ve found it best, living in the areas that we are forced to live in because of our religious beliefs, to be self-supportive. The cost of contracting these types of activities is financially prohibitive.” He gestured toward the book. “With our limited funding, we are forced to buy the equipment we can and make do.”

I studied the Peterbilt. “I worked for a summer as a roughneck—granted that was quite a while ago—but that looks impressive.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Lynear laughed and gestured toward the book again. “Especially since it won’t run.” He set the motor manual on a side table that I was sure had been placed there explicitly for that purpose. “Now, who is your friend?”

It felt silly saying it, but until we found out just who the crazy man was, I was forced to use the name he’d provided. “Well, this is, umm . . . Orrin Porter Rockwell.”

The fat man, in a state of fascination, hefted himself forward in the cushioned chair and peered at the man beside me. “And a damn fine resemblance.” An embarrassing moment passed, and then he turned back to me. “I was unaware that your department was in the habit of traveling with a troupe of reenactors.”

I ignored the statement and got down to one of the reasons I was there. “I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father.”

He shrugged. “The man was quite old, and I think there comes an age where you shouldn’t be climbing around on your third-story roof.” He narrowed an eye at me. “I understand you met my son Ronald and a few of his people, including Mr. Lockhart and Mr. Gloss, in South Dakota.”

“I did.”

“I also understand that there’s currently a warrant for your arrest.”

“I heard that, too.” I took a step forward and was aware that the men who had been working on the truck had all joined George at the edge of the rug behind us and that Rockwell had turned to face them. “And, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Mr. Lynear.”

“And that would be?”

“Do you have a wife by the name of Wanda?”

“Big Wanda is one of ours, yes.”

“But not a wife?”

“Mine, no.”

I waited a moment before continuing. “She identified herself as a wife of yours.”

He shook his head. “No. Wanda and I were never officially married, but I’m assuming you have news of her? We were afraid since she seems to have gone missing.”

“Who would be her relative or next of kin?”

“This is all sounding rather serious.” He looked past me to the men. “Tomás here—whom you’ve met—he’s her son.”

I turned and looked at him. “Mr. Bidarte, your mother has been in a traffic accident.”

His eyes stayed steady on me. “How?”

I moved toward him. “Would you like to step outside, sir?”

George stepped forward. “You’ll tell us what happened, and you’ll tell us here and right now.”

I ignored him and spoke to Tomás. “Mr. Bidarte?”

His head had dropped, but his eyes stayed with mine. “ Sí , you can tell me.”

“We were at the front gate of the ranch when Ms. Bidarte pulled up, I’m assuming from getting groceries in Casper. We spoke briefly about a missing woman, Sarah Tisdale, and I asked Ms. Bidarte for some ID. I noticed she was carrying an unlicensed pistol in her purse and before we could do anything she put the car in reverse and drove away. She went off the road and rolled the station wagon at a slow rate of speed. She’s okay, but we’ve got her up at Durant Memorial for observation.”

Bidarte took a deep breath and studied his boots. “I see.”

“This is just the kind of harassment that we had to put up with in Texas, and now an innocent woman is hurt.” George leaned over, effectively blocking my view of Bidarte as some of the other men crowded in. “Where is her car?”

I stepped forward and placed a hand on George’s chest, pushing him out of the way and speaking to Tomás. “I’m really sorry, but I need to ask you some questions that are of a personal nature. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to step outside?”

George slapped my hand away. “You talk to him here, where we can all hear what it is you’ve got to say. The last one of us that talked to you . . .”

“That’s it.” I stepped in and watched his mouth freeze in an open position as my nose stopped about two inches from his forehead. “You utter one more word in this conversation, and I will consider it an obstruction and place you under arrest—not one word.”

I turned back and took Bidarte by the arm, leading him toward the opening where we would be out of earshot, if not sight. Rockwell followed me and then turned to look at the group, George Lynear in the front, his face as red as a blister.

In the half-light of the open doorway, I could see Tomás’s eyes shining. I tried to reassure him. “She’s fine.”

It took a while for him to reply. “Yes.”

“Is there any reason you can think of as to why your mother would have run from us like she did?”

He swallowed and scrubbed his eyes with the balls of his thumbs, his face growing stony. “She is a simple woman from the provinces. She had been abused by some soldado back in Mexico when she was a girl and my brother was killed by some security men from PEMEX; it’s possible that she . . . That when she saw the uniforms . . .”

I nodded. “That might’ve been a mitigating factor, but what seemed to set her off was my mentioning Sarah Tisdale.” He said nothing. “She reacted as if she knew the name and possibly the woman.”

His jaw clinched, and I knew we were done.

I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest and then spoke softly to him. “I’m sure you’ll want to come up to Durant and see about your mother.”

“Certainly.”

I walked him back into the shop and something strange happened—Rockwell extended his hand, and Bidarte, who paused for only a moment, shook it. He then reapproached the big truck, not speaking to any of the men, climbed back onto the running board, and submerged himself in the work.

I took the extra steps into the group and turned to look at Roy Lynear. “I noticed the number of children’s clothes on the wash lines, Mr. Lynear. I trust that if those children are not going to the public schools here in Absaroka County, they’ll be registered with Child Services so that county officials can see to their needs?”

He sighed. “I suppose that’s a final and parting shot?”

I hitched a hand up onto my sidearm. “I wouldn’t say final.”

Rockwell followed me as I turned to go, and it might’ve been the look that he gave George Lynear that caused the loudmouth to break the rules I’d laid down.

“I still wanna know where our car is and how you got in here.”

I could’ve ignored him, I could’ve let it go, but I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed his nearest hand and drew his arm up into a reverse wristlock that placed him firmly against the facing of the shop opening, his chin pressed against the tin, forcing him to look skyward. I snapped the cuffs on him and yanked him next to me. “You’re under arrest.”

The others stood there looking at us but made no move to stop me, and that’s when I noticed they weren’t even looking at me but at Orrin Porter Rockwell. I glanced at the old man and could now see he casually held a .38 revolver at his side.