didn’t even know that other people owned their OG&M rights. A lot of the squawking we all heard from ranchers bitching about the CBM companies on their land was because those ranchers discovered that the mineral rights had been sold years before.”
Joe tried to work it through. “So even if a ranch sells, the mineral rights stay with whoever had them?”
“Right.”
“The Timberline Ranch, for example, has six hundred wells planned for it. Those rights are owned by a mineral company, I assume, even though when they bought the rights they had never heard of coal-bed methane?”
“Right.”
Joe rubbed his face. He was missing something. The incentive to sell, or buy, or manipulate the land value, wasn’t there.
“Why would a company buy mineral rights to a ranch when they didn’t know what was in the ground?” Joe asked.
Ike shrugged, “It happened—and happens—all the time, Joe. Companies speculate. They lock up land, betting that somewhere down the road their investment will pay off.”
“Can I see the OG&M deed for the Timberline Ranch in the county record books?” Joe asked. “It would be interesting to know who has the mineral rights to the place. My understanding is that old man Overstreet sold the rights a long time ago.”
“Of course you can,” Ike said. “It’s a public record. But it might be a bitch to find right away.”
“Isn’t it all on computer?”
Ike laughed. “Not hardly, Joe. The most recent stuff is, of course. But anything older than ten years was indexed in deed books. Anything beyond twenty-five years is in the archives, but completely disorganized. There was a flood in the vault back then, and the deed books all got soaked. Because all of those old deeds and patents were typed on parchment paper, somebody emptied the books and put them into files after they dried out. They never were put back into new books in sequential order.”
“I’d still like to see it,” Joe said.
“May I ask why?” Ike said, lowering his voice.
Joe sighed. “It may be relevant to a sale of the place. Or a murder.” “Really?”
“This is purely speculation on my part, Ike,” Joe said. “Please keep this confidential.”
Ike got up and opened his door. “Millie, can you please find and pull the OG&M file for the Timberline Ranch? Owned by the Overstreet sisters?” Millie reluctantly got down from her stool, and gave Joe a look as she walked by.
“Why’d you ask her?” Joe said in a whisper.
Ike smiled sympathetically. “She’s been assigned to the archives, Joe. She’s the only one who can find any of that old stuff. We’re in the process of going through all of the old county files—which were kept off-site in file boxes for over fifty years—and bringing them in-house to recreate the old deed index books.”
“I heard something about that,” Joe said. “How the old county clerk charged the county rent for storage in his own house.”
“Um-hmmm,” Ike said, raising his eyebrows. The scandal was one of the reasons Ike Easter was elected county clerk.
“We think we’ve recovered all of the old records,” he said, “but every few months we find another box or two. The old county clerk had them in his basement, in bedrooms, and even in a couple of old locked garages in town.”
While they waited, Ike asked Joe questions about the Murder and Mutilations Task Force, and the story in the newspaper. Joe confirmed that there was very little progress, but said that some things appeared to be emerging, although he couldn’t get into them.
“Hold it,” Joe said suddenly, looking at Ike. “What?”
“The old county clerk’s residence, where the old records were kept—
that’s where Cam and Marie Logue live now, isn’t it?” “Yes.”
“Would Cam and Marie have had access to the boxes?”
Ike thought about it for a moment. “I suppose they would have. The boxes were sealed up with tape, but they weren’t locked up or anything. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just interesting,” Joe said.
Finally, Millie returned to Ike’s office, wiping her hands with a wet towel.
“Those old boxes are filthy,” she said, glaring at Joe.
“Did you find the file?” Ike asked, even though she wasn’t carrying anything.
She shook her head. “It must be in one of those boxes we’ve still got in storage. It hasn’t been brought up to the filing room yet.”
Ike groaned, thanked her, and waited for the door to close.
He told Joe, “We’ve got twenty or more boxes downstairs in the boiler room that still need to be brought up and gone through.”
“How quickly can you do it?” Ike said, “Are you serious?” “Yup.”
“Joe, I want to help you out and all, but can you at least give me a better reason so I can justify the overtime hours and feel good about it when the elite Republican Guard turns on me?”
