3 - Buffalo Mountain: Ike Schwartz Mystery 3 by Frederick Ramsay Read Free Book Online Page A

book—something uplifting or maybe technical—when the cell phone rang.
    “Hey, Sam, where you at?”
    “Home alone in the snowstorm, Whaite.”
    “Well, you’re supposed to be at the office.”
    “I figured with the storm we wouldn’t be going south today. You said you’d call if we were.”
    “Yeah, but there’s still work that can be done. You still driving that Subaru?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s got four-wheel drive?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then get on down here. I expect there’s stuff you can do on the computer.”
    “Like look up Randall Harris?”
    “Ike’s been called out of town and this little homicide is getting sticky.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    “Hey, Sam?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Can you pick me up? I don’t want to risk the Chevelle on these roads and the truck’s engine is in pieces in my garage.”
    “Twenty minutes.”
    Sticky?

Chapter 8
    Donnie talked to Hollis and as he’d guessed, Hollis wanted a cut of anything the PIN number produced. They argued about the amount over a couple of beers—then a couple more. At one point, Hollis took a swing at Donnie, who went to get his gun. By that time, neither of them could see, much less shoot straight. Hollis ran out into the snow only to slip on the shallow steps that led from Donnie’s back porch. He landed face down in the snow next to the truck. It was not clear how in doing so he broke his leg, but he did, and that ended the argument.
    Donnie took him to the hospital in Christiansburg, no mean feat under the circumstances. The roads out of Willis were nearly impassible and Donnie was drunk. He turned west at Floyd. The road between Floyd and Christiansburg is a challenge on a dry, calm, summer day, winding and twisting through the valley. Luckily, Donnie had had the presence of mind to toss four fifty-pound sacks of sand into the truck bed and that helped keep the rear end on the road. Somehow he found the ER in spite of the weather and avoided killing them both. Hollis received a shot of Demerol in the ER, which seemed to mellow him a bit, and, before the local anesthetic wore off, he agreed to a thirty percent cut, which Donnie figured would amount to less than ten because he had no intention of telling Hollis about all the transactions he would make. Leg set, Donnie loaded Hollis back into his truck and skidding and slewing on the same road, took him back home, where the two of them proceeded to polish off the remainder of the beer.
    “How am I going to explain this to my old man?” Hollis was supposed to be at his house, keeping an eye on his little brother, Dermont.
    “Tell him you busted your leg on your back steps.”
    “We don’t have steps—back or otherwise.”
    “Well, then, how about your driveway?”
    “Won’t work. My brother will rat me out.”
    “Tell him you’ll break his leg if he tells.”
    “He won’t believe me.”
    “Then tell him I will.”
    “That’ll work.”
    ***
    Snow in the valley was a problem off the main roads, in the developments, and out on the farms. Since heavy snow came only rarely, small towns were hard put to justify the expenditure of large sums on plows, salt, and all the logistical problems ice and snow created. The trip from Picketsville across the Covington Road to I-81 had been a challenge. First, it took Ike nearly half an hour to get the old Jeep CJ started. Even with the four-wheel drive, he’d slipped to the shoulder frequently. Jeeps are great for all kinds of adverse weather, but his did not have the weight and, therefore, the traction to overcome ice. He did better than people in sedans and a few of the big rigs. Once on I-81, Ike managed to move along with minimal trouble. One lane on either side of the divided highway had been cleared and he followed an eighteen wheeler most of the way north. Even so, it took him nearly two hours to cover the fifty or so miles to the turnoff outside of Winchester and another twenty minutes to work his way to Weyer’s Cave and the airport. He