The mountain mans badge, p.1
The Mountain Man's Badge, page 1
The Mountain Man’s Badge
The Mountain Man Mysteries:
Book Three
Gary Corbin
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, incidents, and dialogue are either drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Gary Corbin
Double Diamond Publishing, Camas, WA
All rights reserved.
To all of the brave, hardworking, honest
men and women in uniform
who keep us safe in our communities
Contents
Part I: Murder
Part II: Enemies Within
Part III: Fake News
Part IV: Conspiracy
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Gary Corbin
Excerpt from In Search of Valor
Part 1
Murder
Chapter One
Lehigh fussed with the wide clip of his bolo tie and adjusted the fit of his black suit jacket, sweating in the July evening heat. He rang the bell and turned to take in the view of the McBride estate, a sprawling mansion at the peak of 50 acres of sloping, mixed terrain. A manicured four-acre front lawn lay before him, bisected by a meandering paved driveway and dotted with flower beds, shrubs, and standalone old-growth firs. On each side of the coliseum-sized lawn, thick clumps of mixed tree stands created a castle-wall effect, as if to stave off attacks by savage hordes. That impression struck Lehigh as appropriate, considering the embattled state of retiring Senator George McBride’s political career.
Given that the evening’s event would inaugurate his own reluctant political career, it also struck him as a little bit ominous.
A smiling woman answered the door, wearing a black and white maid’s uniform. The top of the dark bun on her head could not have reached five feet, despite her two-inch heels. “Hola, Señor Carter!” she said. “Please come in.”
“Gracias, Consuela. It’s good to see you again.” He extended his hand to her.
She brushed it aside and crushed his tall, lanky frame in a tight hug, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. “The family is in the Great Room,” she said, stepping back. “Would you like to freshen up before joining the party? Or perhaps a drink first? I just made fresh piña coladas.” Her broad grin exposed dazzling white teeth, surrounded by bright red lipstick accenting the cinnamon tone of her skin.
Lehigh took off his sheriff’s hat, allowing his long brown ponytail to fall onto his back, and stepped inside. The foyer felt a good ten degrees cooler than the mid-80s temperature still clinging to the evening air outside. “If I could enjoy one in the senator’s den while I cool off, that’d be ideal,” he said.
“You go in. I’ll be there en un momento.” She disappeared around a corner, and Lehigh slipped into the silent office alone.
The room reeked of the senator’s privilege and success. Framed photos of George and his wife Catherine with various politicians and celebrities covered most of the fir-paneled walls not occupied by bookshelves, the largest a photo from his swearing-in as state senate president pro tempore. Behind the senator’s huge desk, the head of an elk leered down at intruders, its snout hanging over a gun rack sporting four rifles, two of them antiques. Sharpshooting trophies on shelves below the rack reflected the dim light from the brushed-bronze desk lamp. More photos scattered throughout the room demonstrated the senator’s firm support of the second amendment and the enthusiastic backing he received from gun-rights groups.
A burst of energy from the doorway startled him. “I have missed you!” Consuela said, handing him a drink. “You don’t come by so much these last few months. I haven’t seen you since your wedding!”
Lehigh accepted the drink and took a long sip. “Who knew that being interim sheriff of sleepy little Mt. Hood County would keep me this busy? And I’ve missed you. How is Manuel?”
“My boy says his mill misses your excellent lumber,” she said. “When I told him this party was to raise money for your re-election, he tried to stop me from coming here!”
“I take it he didn’t make a contribution, then,” Lehigh said with a grin. He took a long sip of the ice-cold piña colada. Perfect.
She shook her head and adjusted his tie. “I’m teasing you. He would donate if he could, but he is still rebuilding his business. Three months he was in jail with no trial. It nearly ruined him.” She teared up and hugged him again. “I never properly thanked you for releasing him.”
“It was the right thing to do.” A lump rose in Lehigh’s throat. He’d had to clean up a multitude of messes in the first weeks after taking office, including Manuel's case. Ex-Sheriff Buck Summers’ enemies suffered as much as his friends had benefited from the corruption he’d overseen in his twelve years in office. Unfortunately, Lehigh had only just begun fixing those problems.
“I’d better let you get in there,” Consuela said. “Can I get you another piña colada? Or your usual, scotch on the rocks?” She took his jacket and hat and pulled him into the hallway.
“If the senator will part with it,” he said with a grin. “Otherwise, another piña colada would be perfect.”
“Scotch rocks it is.” She hustled off, humming.
Lehigh nodded to the two buzz-cut men standing at attention on either side of the double doors of the Great Room. He recognized them as off-duty deputies and struggled to remember their names, failed, and hoped that a smile in their direction would suffice. They nodded back, but didn’t return his smile.
He took a deep breath and pushed open the doors to the aptly named room, a spacious expanse with high ceilings and luxurious decor. A dozen crystal chandeliers cast bright light on an equal number of Roman-style marble pillars. Two dozen round tables, each capable of seating eight for dinner, surrounded an open space suitable for dancing or mixing. Sweet and savory aromas emanated from a long buffet table loaded with beef brisket, raw and roasted vegetables, and too many desserts to count. A four-piece jazz band occupied a small elevated stage in one corner. Lehigh’s high school prom had taken less space and hosted fewer people.
“Darling!” Lehigh’s bride of two months, Stacy Lynn McBride Carter, appeared in a knee-length dress that made his eyes pop. Burgundy in hue, the silk fabric hugged her slender form and revealed her amazing curves. Her long black hair sat atop her head like an ebony crown, complete with embedded jewelry that sparked in the room’s abundant light. She kissed him—a deep, passionate expression of love and longing, but only for a few moments—enough to titillate, but not enflame. She caressed the smooth skin of his freshly-shaved cheek. “You look fabulous.”
“You too. And you smell even better.” He took a deep breath of her scent, floral and sweet. Somehow she never seemed to perspire, even on the hottest summer days.
“No Pappy or Maw?” she asked.
“Pappy thinks fund-raisers should be illegal,” he said with a grin. “And Maw thinks they already are.”
“Well, thank God you made it,” she said. “If I had to endure one more minute alone with these politicians, I’d—”
“There you are! Our guest of honor!” A rumbling baritone behind them betrayed the presence of Stacy’s father, George McBride. Moments later his rotund frame stumbled into view. A broad smile split his white-capped, ruddy face. It didn’t take a detective to realize the senator had enjoyed more than a few shots of his favorite scotch before dinner. Lehigh wondered if any remained and resigned himself to drinking lager.
“I wasn’t sure you were here,” Lehigh said, accepting his father-in-law’s handshake. “I didn’t see your New Yorker parked outside.”
“My mechanic is working on it. Something about being out of alignment and needing new tires.” George stepped between the happy couple and hooked their arms in his. “Anyway, as your campaign chairman, I could hardly miss a party like this! Now, my boy, I need to introduce you to some people. It is, after all, a fund-raiser, and we’re starting your campaign late, very late!” He steered them through the crowded room, causing several collisions, spilled drinks, and mumbled apologies. “But not to worry. You’re the talk of the town these days, Lehigh. The talk of the town!” He slung his arm around the shoulders of a well-dressed donor and whispered something in the man’s ear.
“Folks must be awfully bored if they’re wasting conversation on the likes of me,” Lehigh said. “What-all would make people give a whoop about what I’m up to?”
“Don’t be so modest, darling,” Stacy said. “People love a hero, especially a rogue like you who’s finally cleaning up the dirty politics in this county. Dwayne Latner doesn’t stand a chance of beating you!”
“That’s why I leave the campaign stuff to you and your dad,” Lehigh said with a grin. “I know barely enough about politics to vote.”
“Will you be charging Latner with any crimes, as we’ve been hearing?” A tall, handsome man with a made-for-TV smile an
d haircut stepped in front of them, a half-empty martini glass held between loose fingers. Bruce Bailey, an investigative reporter for the town’s sole local network TV affiliate, somehow managed to block the path of Senator McBride and both of his prisoners with his athletic frame. Bailey’s dark blue suit made him look larger and even more fit than in his many TV appearances.
“Nobody gets charged with anything unless we have solid evidence,” Lehigh said, scowling at Bailey. “And anytime we do, we’ll share our findings with the press at the appropriate time and place.” He narrowed his eyes and planted a palm in Bailey’s chest, pushing him backward. “And this ain’t it.”
“I expect an invit—hey, watch it, Sheriff! You’re spilling my drink!” Bailey stepped aside and dabbed at his own suit, then George’s, with a napkin. “I’m sorry, Senator.”
McBride pulled his arm away from Bailey, scowling. “Forget it. I’ll send it to the cleaners. Dammit, Bailey, you’ve knocked off one of my cuff links. Keep an eye out, everyone! If it gets stepped on, it’s a goner.” He held up his free arm to display the remaining cuff link, a gold circle embossed with his initials, then grabbed Lehigh’s arm again and tugged.
“You should go change, Dad,” Stacy said. “You can’t introduce him to donors looking like this!”
“No, no,” McBride said. “It’s almost time for the main event. Anyway, it looks fine.”
Lehigh tuned out the rest of their argument. Stacy’s preoccupation with clothes paled only in comparison to George’s fanatical obsession with politics. Lehigh hated both.
“Now come on, Sheriff,” Bailey said, trailing behind them. “Do you have news on the Buck Summers and Paul van Paten cases? Is Dwayne Latner implicated?”
“No comment for the press,” Lehigh said. “And that goes double for you, Bruce.”
“Lehigh, my boy,” McBride said, turning back to him with a grin, “I believe we’ve finally found something on which we can agree. The less said about that skunk-rat Downey, the better.”
“Is that so?” Bailey finished drying off his suit and dropped the napkin on the tray of a passing waiter. “I thought you and Ev Downey were old pals.”
“Nonsense,” McBride said, coughing into his sleeve. “You need to stick to the facts and ignore those ugly rumor mills, Mr. Bailey.” He pulled Lehigh and Stacy past the protesting newsman toward a cluster of well-dressed couples whose gray hair and wrinkled skin hid beneath layers of makeup, hair coloring, and plastic surgery. “These are the people I want you to meet,” McBride said.
“Dad, I’ve known these people since I was four,” Stacy said.
“Not you, my dear. Your husband.” McBride pushed Lehigh toward the group, who parted to create an opening for the inbound trio. “Ladies and gentlemen. Have you met my son-in-law, our new county sheriff?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” The shortest of the men, a bespectacled, round-shouldered banker with thinning gray hair combed back over his scalp, extended a handshake and mumbled his name.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Lehigh said. He’d have to ask his name again later. “And this is my new bride, Stacy–”
“I remember Stacy very well,” the banker said with an oily smile. “Didn’t you once have short red hair?”
Stacy’s face darkened and her eyes smoldered. “No, sir,” she said, her voice icy. “Always black, and always past my shoulders.” She slid around behind her father and grabbed Lehigh’s arm, squeezing tight. Her fingernails dug into Lehigh’s skin, even through his lightweight suit jacket.
“What the heck was that about?” Lehigh asked Stacy between handshakes with more donors. “Short red hair?”
“This isn’t the time nor place for that conversation,” Stacy said through a frozen smile.
After what seemed like a hundred more introductions, McBride spoke the words Lehigh longed to hear. “And last but not least,” he said, “this is County Commissioner Desmond Mitchell. But I believe you two have met?”
A slender, light-skinned African-American man with light gray curls leaned his 6’4” frame forward, his right hand outstretched. “Indeed we have,” Mitchell said. “I appreciate your work, Sheriff. Just don’t forget about us poor farmers up in the northern part of the county.”
“Not a chance,” Lehigh said with a grin, shaking the commissioner’s hand. “After all, we’re kin, of sorts. I’m just an old tree farmer myself.”
Mitchell laughed, an eruption of noise that drew attention from half the room. “Indeed we are, Mr. Carter. Indeed we are. Honey, did you hear that? Tree farmers is kin to us! Hah!” He tapped the shoulder of a much shorter, very talkative woman with straight, jet-black hair in a light pink backless gown, but she waved him off without turning. “Ah, well, once she starts talking about saving animals, there’s no stopping her,” Mitchell said with another laugh.
“Just my kind of gal!” Stacy said with a warm smile. “I knew there was a reason I liked her.”
Mitchell nodded. “And likewise, Mrs. Carter. We love your animal clinic and we won’t bring our pets to any other vet.” He clapped Lehigh on the shoulder. “But tonight it’s all about you. I’m thrilled with the work you’re doing to root out the old boys network in this county. Keep up the good work, Sheriff.” He shook Lehigh’s hand and returned to his wife’s side.
“That’s five big donors I’ve lined up for you,” McBride said. “Your war chest is off to a huge start tonight, my boy!”
“I don’t want big donors,” Lehigh said. “Stacy, didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell me what?” George glanced at each one in turn. “Wait, don’t tell me,” he said. “You didn’t—”
Stacy reddened. “We’ve decided to limit contributions to one hundred dollars.” Her gaze fell to the floor.
“A hundred bucks? That won’t even cover the cost of their drinks!” McBride said in a hiss. “Are you crazy?”
“Most folks seem to think so,” Lehigh said. “That never slowed me down none.”
“Well of all the stupid—! Unbelievable. I wish you’d have told me this sooner.” He fumed, drained his drink, and clutched at his chest, wincing. “Well, we’ll figure something out. A super PAC or something. Anyway, these people are important to your campaign. Be nice to them.”
“I’m nice to everyone,” Lehigh said, and Stacy burst into laughter.
“Even Paul van Paten, your wife’s ex-fiancé?” Bruce Bailey popped up again in Lehigh’s view, his martini glass refilled. “I heard he was going to file suit about the conditions of the jail you’re keeping him in.”
“Don’t you have a crying baby somewhere to exploit?” Stacy said.
“I don’t know. Does your father have a secret life I should know about?” Bailey asked. “Mistresses, or former female staffers with stories to tell?” He grinned and sipped his drink.
“You must be thinking of Ev Downey again,” George said, pushing his way back into the mix. “No woman was ever crazy enough to marry Everett. Even his closest associates know he’s a liar and a cheat, and they are all men. If you ever see him with a woman, you know she’s bought and paid for.”
Stacy grabbed her father’s and Lehigh’s arms and tugged them toward another well-dressed couple. “I think we should mingle.”
“I think we are mingling,” Bailey said. “We’re having a delightful conversation about George’s old pal, Everett. Is he here tonight?”
“Everett’s old, but I wouldn’t call him a friend,” George said, looking around as if searching for someplace to spit. “I can’t trust that man out of my sight. Unfortunately, I also can’t stand the sight of him. So, no, Mr. Downey wasn’t invited.”
“Really? Didn’t you sell him some property a few years back—the old McGowan farm, the one that the state bought for the new prison property?” Bailey stirred his cocktail with his finger. “I understand Mr. Downey made quite a profit off that sale. Did you benefit at all from that deal, Senator?”
“Not a dime!” McBride pushed to within inches of Bailey’s smirking face. “I lost a small fortune on that deal, in fact. Downey swindled me!”
“Angry, aren’t we?” Bailey said. “How interesting. Maybe I should follow up with Mr. Downey.”
“Now, don’t you go making something out of nothing,” McBride said. “That was years ago. I’m over it. Win a few, lose a lot, I always say.”
