by Liliana Hart
A Tisket A Caskey
A Harley and Davidson Mystery Series (Book 2)
Liliana Hart
Scott Silverii
To the kids -
Y’all are the bombdiggity
Contents
Other Books In Series
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Sneak Peek: Book 3
About Liliana Hart
About Scott Silverii
Also by Liliana Hart
Also by Scott Silverii
Copyright © 2018 by SilverHart, LLC
All rights reserved.
Published by SilverHart Publishing
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Harley and Davidson Mystery Series
The Farmer’s Slaughter
A Tisket a Casket
I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus
Get Your Murder Running
Deceased and Desist
Prologue
October 29, 2010
Orange flames danced through the attic with viciousness—devouring without prejudice—the monster growing in power as it was fed. Plumes of black smoke swirled into the night sky, and the flames hissed as powerful streams of water tried to destroy the destroyer.
Red lights flashed through the streets, a disorienting symphony of sounds and color. Everyone watched as the battle raged on, wondering who would come out the victor.
The Rio Chino Fire Department was proud of its history—a hundred and forty-five years of serving the public and battling the monsters that threatened their community.
The house was old, nothing more than kindling for the flames that ate it alive. They’d been called soon enough to save some of the structure, but it was the fire department’s own demons that threatened to end the tradition of brotherhood under fire.
Fire Chief Kip Grogan was a thirty-year vet with less than a year until a full and well-earned retirement. His silver shock of thinning hair and round, red cheeks made Kip easily identifiable on any fire scene. Tonight though, he was fighting more than fire.
“Lester, get some spray on the southwest corner. It’s trying to hop houses.” Kip ordered over the radio.
“Trying to sir, but Gage isn’t cooperating.”
“Gauge, what gauge? Everything’s at full pump and pressure. Pour water where I told you.”
“No, it’s Gage, Gage McCoy. This is his house, and he’s not letting us suppress it.”
“Why not?” Kip yelled over the radio and the sirens that wailed along the small suburban street.
“Said he lost it in his divorce and hopes it burns to the ground,” Lester said.
“I don’t care what he says,” Kip said. “Arrest him.”
“Except that I’m not a cop, and he is,” Lester said. “And he’s armed.”
The roar of the hoses fighting the fire was deafening, but Kip felt the chill cross over his skin—that internal warning that told him something was about to go very, very wrong. The sound of rushing water came to a halt and there was nothing but the crackle of flames and the crash of wood as the house came down.
“What’s going on?” he yelled again, but there was no answer.
He kicked open the doors of the command center truck where he’d been giving orders and was greeted with the sight of 1754 Constantine Drive fully engulfed in flames. His men stood watching. Helpless.
It didn’t take long for Kip to assess the situation and understand why everything had come to a halt. A man stood, silhouetted by flame and shadow, a rifle in his hands.
He and Gage McCoy had gone through trainings together. They’d been friends. But he also knew the job changed a man. Divorce changed a man too, and Gage had gone through a doozy. But friend or no, Gage was putting lives at stake, and he was turning his back on the oath he’d promised to uphold. Well, Gage wasn’t going to destroy the reputation of what he’d helped build over the last thirty years.
“Tony.”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Get my gun.” Kip ordered.
“The cops are on their way,” Tony said.
Tony Leatherman was a good man, Kip’s second in command, and he could hear the plea in his voice.
“Give it to me or get out of my command center,” Kip said, challenging him. “The cops will be too late.”
Kip watched as Tony reluctantly unlocked the diamond-plated metal cabin that also served as a bench seat inside the truck, and Kip held out his hand for the .45 caliber pistol, the weight familiar as he curled his fingers around the butt.
“No one is going to interfere in one of my operations,” Kip said. “Not even Gage McCoy.” His only thoughts were of his men, of taking out the threat before the threat took them all out.
Kip hefted his bulk out of the truck and headed for cover. He needed to be closer to make the shot. But he didn’t move fast enough once his chest tightened like a vice grip. The sound of a rifle firing echoed from outside and rung in the back of the command post. Kip clutched his chest and fell face first from the back of the truck and into a puddle of backwashed water.
Chapter One
Friday
Present Day
There was something about the Friday Night Lights. The smell of turf and hotdogs, the sound of an excited crowd and the cheers of the pep squad. Fall and football went hand in hand, but Hammerin’ Hank Davidson wondered if Texas had gotten the memo that the temperature was supposed to be cooler in October. Since he’d moved to the Lone Star State the year before, he’d started sweating in places he didn’t know it was possible to sweat in.
He was still adjusting to retired life. After twenty-six years working for the Philadelphia Police Department, adjusting to civilian life hadn’t been easy. He’d been trained by the FBI to do a job that most people didn’t have the aptitude for, and if he was being honest, regular life was kind of…boring.
What he needed was to find something exciting to replace that life. He’d tried a few things that hadn’t stuck, but he wasn’t giving up yet. He hadn’t met many new friends since his retirement. Being an introvert didn’t make finding friends easy, but he’d taken an immediate liking to Nick Dewey.
They’d met at Cabela’s while Hank was looking for a hobby to save him from his boredom. What he’d really wanted was a Harley Davidson, but he had no idea how to ride, and part of him didn’t want to be the cliché of having a mid-life crisis. Fortunately, Nick had taken pity on him and introduced him to the world of hunting. He’d also introduced him to the world of high school football.
“I can’t believe this stadium cost seventy-two million dollars,” Hank said.
He ran his fingers through his graying hair before tugging on his ball cap, and then he leaned in closer to hear Nick’s response. It was hard to combat the dueling bands and frenzied fans.
“I’d like to say Katy High School is one of a kind, but stadiums like this one aren’t uncommon here in Texas. Friday night football is as much
a religion to some as church is on Sundays.”
Hank didn’t have a dog in this particular fight. He was just along for the ride. But Nick was a Beacon City High School alum, so they’d made the trek to Katy to watch the two teams duke it out on their way to the 777 Ranch to do some hunting.
He hated to break it to Nick, but he was pretty sure hunting wasn’t going to be his new retirement hobby either. He had nothing against the sport, but sitting in a deer stand for hours wasn’t exactly his idea of exciting. No, he hadn’t felt the rush of excitement for a good six months. Not since he’d solved a cold case with mystery writer Agatha Harley. But she’d been busy writing books, and he’d been busy trying to be retired.
Hank was in a horde of thousands, but never in his life had he ever felt so alone. He didn’t want to retire. But, he knew his life depended on it. He was still at the top of his game, but time is counted differently in the world of malicious murderers and caging cons. He smiled and hoped it would pass.
“Yikes,” Nick said. “We’re getting our hats handed to us this year. What do you say we head out at half? We’ve still got another three hours before we get to the ranch.”
“Fine with me,” Hank said, slightly disappointed. It was a heck of a game, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Beacon City quarterback. The kid was incredible. He was a man among boys.
“Who’s the QB?” he asked.
“Cole McCoy,” Nick said. “Sad story, but the kid seems to have turned out okay.”
“What do you mean sad?” Hank asked.
“His dad, Gage was a high school All-American football player. He ended up at SMU and played there, but wasn’t good enough to make it to the pros, so he joined the police service at Rio Chino. Married his high-school sweetheart and a few years later Cole was born.”
“I must be missing the sad part,” Hank said.
Nick smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a tough conversation to tell in a stadium.”
“Okay, but you got me interested.”
“We got a long drive. I’ll tell you then.”
“Deal, but I’m still not seeing the bad in being a stud QB with an All-American dad. I bet his mom is something incredible, too.” Hank said.
“She was,” Nick whispered. “You ready to go? It’s almost the half.”
Hank sighed and nodded. He really wasn’t looking forward to hunting. Nick told him the only difference in hunting and police work was that one animal required a warning before shooting and the other animal required a taxidermist. The thought of killing an animal and then having it sit on his mantel for the next twenty years didn’t really sit well with him.
“I’m going to hit the head on the way out,” Hank told Nick. “Three hours is a long time.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll meet you in front of the concession stand.”
Everybody seemed to have the same idea as they had and decided to leave their seats before the half ended. The crowd swelled, and Hank felt swallowed up by them. He had to breathe deep a couple of times to keep his claustrophobia in check, and at the same time, he was searching the crowd, looking for signs of threats. Just because he was retired didn’t mean he could stop the habits of twenty six years of policing.
He looked around and found himself lost in the crowd. He couldn’t see where their seats had been or where the restrooms or concessions were. It was nothing but wall-to-wall people. He was six-feet-two-inches and two-hundred and forty pounds. He should’ve had the advantage in any crowd. But this was Texas, and he was considered “average” in size. It’s true what they said, everything was bigger in Texas.
“Hank!”
He stopped and looked around, and then he decided to head toward the home end zone.
“Hank!”
He stopped again, sure he heard his name this time. Who in the world would know him here other than Nick? And that definitely wasn’t Nick’s voice. He scanned the crowd and finally spotted her. There was Agatha Harley, looking like a beacon in the middle of the crowd.
He didn’t want to seem too eager to get to her, but he might have shoved a couple of people out of the way a little harder than necessary.
“Aggie,” he said, enjoying the way her nose crinkled as soon as he called her by her nickname. “What brings you here?” He reached in to give her a hug, but it turned awkward. Neither of them knew what to do with their hands.
“My goddaughter is in the band,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I needed a break, so figured I’d drive down to watch her perform.”
She was a tall woman, around five-foot-ten, and it always amazed him she was close to forty-years old because she looked so much younger. She had that fresh-faced, girl next door look about her.
She wasn’t flashy, and she wasn’t the type of woman you’d do more than glance over in a crowd, but she was worth a second look. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. A dark fringe of lashes framed her bluish-green eyes, and there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a TCU baseball style shirt.
“Does that mean you’re finished with your book?” he asked.
She’d pretty much buried herself inside her house since they’d closed the cold case they’d been working. The only time he saw her was if he happened to see her on her morning run.
All of Agatha’s mysteries were based on real life cases, and a lot of them were cold cases she’d helped solve. She was brilliant, and he’d enjoyed every second of the time they’d worked together.
“Actually, I decided not to write the book about our case.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “After everything we went through.”
“When I sat down to write it, I couldn’t,” she said, shrugging. “It was a little too close to home. A little too personal. I knew Nicole Green. And I knew her killer. It seemed best to leave it unwritten and let it rest.
“What about your contract?” he asked.
“I’ve always got parts of stories and ideas written down. I just decided to pull out one of those and finish it. It’s not what I wanted, but I’m satisfied with it. It’s nice to finally come up for air and join the real world again.”
“It’s a shame we had to come to another town to see each other. I figured you’d stop by and say hi every once in a while.” Hank let slip.
He hadn’t meant to say that, but he’d been disappointed after they’d worked the case together that there hadn’t been any other cases to work. Or that she’d seemed interested in. He understood she had to work, but it almost felt as if she’d been avoiding him for the past several months.
“I haven’t even seen my own reflection in the last six months,” she said, rolling her eyes and crinkling her nose. “Deadlines aren’t for wimps. I get to take a short break and then I have to jump into the next one. I don’t suppose you have any ideas for the plot of my next book, do you?” She grinned at him but he could see the exhaustion in the bags under her eyes.
“I might have an old case or two you could find of interest.”
“Maybe you know of something more recent,” she said. “Writing stories about closed cases isn’t quite as exciting as the ones I can help solve.”
“I can imagine,” he said, raising a brow. “Once you’ve tasted the victory of bringing justice to victims it’s hard to go back.”
“I knew you’d understand.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe we can get the band back together, huh?”
“I’m actually here with a friend who mentioned something about a man who could be innocent serving time over in Huntsville for killing his wife in a fire.”
A light lit in Agatha’s eyes and she nodded. “Must be the Gage McCoy case,” she said. “There are always rumblings about his innocence. That would be perfect.”
“I’ll let you know,” he said, eyeing the restrooms. “Good to see you, Aggie.” He vaguely heard her goodbye as he made his way to the bathroom. He’d
been waiting a long time.
He finally made his way back to the concessions area where he found Nick talking with a group of other men. Everyone was wearing clothes supporting the away team and looked to be in the age range of proud dads and grandads.
“Look, here’s the man,” Nick said, pulling Hank into the group of men.
“Sorry about that,” Hank said. “This place is huge. I got lost.”
“No worries,” Nick said. “I was telling the guys about your career and how you seemed interested in hearing Cole McCoy’s story on the drive to the ranch.”
“I guess there’s more to the story than I know,” Hank said, shrugging.
Hank felt the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck and face. He hated being manipulated. He gave Nick a steely stare.
An older man with the name John embroidered on his Polo shirt, grabbed Hank’s hand. “Thank you for looking into this. It’s long overdue.”
“Well, I don’t recall agreeing to look into anything, but it is certainly a tragedy.”
John dropped Hank’s hand.
“You and Hank are meeting us at the 777 Ranch to hunt this weekend, right Nick?” Asked John.
He looked to be late sixties, but he was leathered and weathered so it was hard to tell.
“Yessir,” Nick said.
“Don’t kill all of my deer,” John said, looking at Hank.
“Okay,” Hank said, wondering what was going on. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem. It’s my first time.”
“You’re lucky I’m letting you go at all. In fact, I’m reconsidering. I value loyalty.”