The Farmer's Slaughter (A Harley and Davidson Mystery Book 1)

by Liliana Hart

  “Stalker?” Hank asked. “What happened with that?”

  “I don’t know all the details,” Karl said, shrugging. “But I know she almost died. And I know the man wouldn’t have stopped coming after her. He’s been in jail for almost two decades, and she’s been here hiding.”

  Just like him, Hank thought, his blood boiling at the thought of what Agatha must have gone through.

  “She still lives in her parents’ home around the corner from you,” Karl said. “Her parents died in a car crash a few years back. There was black ice on the road and an eighteen-wheeler skidded right into them.”

  Hank winced. “That’s rough.” He knew what it was like to lose people you loved. How it shaped you forever.

  “After they passed away, she could’ve moved away or built a mansion on the outskirts of town. But she didn’t. Have you read her work?”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, a knot forming in his gut. “Every one of them. I thought the guy writing them was a cop, using his own cases.”

  “They were all cold cases,” Karl said. “Cold cases she helped solve. She does it as much for the victim as she does for the book. She’s been a victim, and she knows things could’ve ended much differently for her.”

  A voice came through on the Motorola police radio Karl had set on the table, a mixture of static and garbled directions.

  “Shoot,” Karl said. He motioned to Sheila for a to-go box and she hurried from around the counter.

  “Here you go, baby,” Sheila said. “Let me do it for you. I’m faster.”

  Karl reached for his wallet. “Gotta go,” he explained to Hank. “Shoplifter.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me,” Hank said. “Put your wallet away. This one’s on me.”

  Karl nodded and bolted toward the door, his to-go bag in hand.

  Hank’s blood had started pumping the second the radio had sounded. Old habits died hard. Maybe he could be of help to Agatha. It’s not like he didn’t have the extra time. And she’d piqued his curiosity. He’d been thinking about the case since she’d cornered him that afternoon at the café.

  “He’s a good kid,” Sheila said, cleaning up Karl’s side of the table.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hank agreed. “But it’s a tough business for good kids.”

  “What kinda kid were you?”

  “I just wanted to help,” he said for lack of anything better.

  “Don’t we all, cowboy. Don’t we all.”

  “Put his food on my tab,” Hank said, pushing back his empty plate.

  Sheila waved him off.

  “You’re a sweet man, Hank Davidson,” she said, and then she laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, honey. Sheila knows a good man when she sees one. But this meal is on me.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t,” he said. “You’re not working here for free.”

  “Sugar, this is my place, and I can do what I want to. It’s the least I can do. You’ve been good to Karl. He never had a daddy, so the time you take to talk with him means more than you’ll ever know.”

  Sheila’s eyes watered when she spoke about Karl, and Hank could tell they were close.

  “Thank you, Sheila, but it’s my pleasure. Really. He’s a good man.”

  “That’s the only kind I know how to raise,” she said, grinning. “Karl is my youngest. I’m as proud as can be of that boy.”

  “You’ve got every reason to be,” Hank said. “And thanks for dinner. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Hank slipped a twenty beneath his plate for a tip, and he realized this was the most he’d enjoyed himself since he’d been in Rusty Gun. Now all he had to do was figure out what to do with Agatha Harley.

  He left with a wave goodbye, and he pushed open the glass door that led into a small square foyer. A movement caught his eye, and he froze as a shadowy figure slid to the left of the outside door. He instinctively reached for his weapon, holding it down at his side. In his experience, dark shadows never meant anything but trouble. And just because he’d come to Rusty Gun to retire didn’t mean that he couldn’t be found.

  Instead of taking the risk, he moved back into the restaurant and hurried toward the rear door, through the kitchens.

  “Everything all right, Hank?” Sheila asked, concern etched on her features. “You need me to call Karl to come back?”

  “It’s fine,” he told her. “I’m just being cautious.”

  The truth was, the adrenaline and danger made him feel more alive than he’d felt since he first arrived in Rusty Gun.

  The kitchen was chaos in motion. The heat and steam from the smokers, combined with the chatter as the wait staff and cooks issued orders. He held his weapon down and out of sight as he moved through to the big metal door at the back and pushed through. The fresh air was welcome, and he breathed in deeply.

  The instant his eyes adjusted to the dark, he moved fast from the back of the building toward the side. The movements were second nature, and he angled his body with weapon aimed ahead. He took small steps, arching from left to right until he was able to see around the corner undetected.

  “Bingo,” he muttered.

  There was a person huddled next to the side of the door, right where he’d seen the shadow pass from the front. He looked around but didn’t see any other threats. Their back was turned to him, clearly expecting him to come out the front. That was their first mistake. He never did the expected.

  He steadied his pistol and moved without sound toward his target. The technique known as a catwalk required that he curl his back, bend his knees, and walk with an exaggerated heel to toe rolling step. It was exhausting, but deadly and efficient in moving undetected.

  Hank’s heart raced and his shoulders burned as if they were holding sandbags straight out in front of his body. The cat walking caused his quadriceps to fire hot nerve impulses through his muscles, demanding his body to relax. His gaze was focused on the target, but his senses were open, listening for other threats.

  He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he was mentally tougher than ever. He stopped about ten feet behind the target. It was a safe cushion of space in the event his target turned to attack. The bullet would travel just as fast from ten feet as it would at five. He stood, making himself as erect as possible, giving off an imposing silhouette on the wall.

  “You looking for me?” he asked, his voice menacing and low. The gun steady in his hand.

  The figure jumped at the sound of his voice and they turned with a gasp.

  “Holy cow,” Agatha said, staring wide eyed at the gun. “First you shoot me with the water hose and now you have a gun aimed at me. I’m going to have to draw the line with this one. Have you ever considered anger management classes?”

  He narrowed his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Aggie,” he said, putting away his gun. “What a surprise.”

  Chapter Five

  “I can’t believe you were prepared to shoot me,” Agatha said incredulously.

  “If you’re not prepared to shoot, there’s no use carrying a gun,” Hank said. “You were the one skulking around like a common criminal. If you don’t want to be treated like a perp, then don’t act like one.”

  “I was just waiting for you to finish up your supper. I was being polite. It’s Main Street for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I was hiding behind a dumpster waiting to jump out at you.”

  Hank sighed. Maybe she had a point. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  “And you’re forgiven,” she said, smiling at him. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way we can get down to business.”

  “Have you eaten?” he asked. “It seems the least I can do is buy you dinner.”

  “Have you noticed we both spend an inordinate amount of time in restaurants?”

  “I don’t cook,” he said.

  “Me either.” Agatha looked up at the sign for Bucky’s Brisket Basket. “Might as well eat here. The smell of those ribs is sinful.”

  Hank sighed, wondering how much temptation he was
going to have to stand for one night. He could feel his salad mocking him. He opened the door for her, and they maneuvered their way to the table he’d just vacated. Sheila had just gotten it cleaned off.

  “That was fast,” Sheila said. “And look, you brought back a friend. Hey, Miss Agatha. How you doin’, girl?”

  “I’m starving,” she said. “Bring on the ribs.”

  Shelia chuckled. “You got it. And maybe you can talk your fella here into sharing with you. I know that lettuce must be gnawing at his insides by now.”

  Hank knew a losing battle when he saw one. He could always eat better tomorrow. And if he was going to sin a little he might as well do it all the way. He grabbed a roll as soon as Sheila put them on the table.

  “So, why the change of heart?” Agatha asked him.

  “Let’s just say I suck at being retired. My plants are overwatered, I’ve fed the birds so much they just flop their fat bodies around the backyard, and I’ve done all the expert level crosswords in my book. Besides, someone intervened on your behalf and stated your case convincingly.”

  “Karl,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I took the case to him on your advice, but he told me he didn’t even know where to start. There was a reason the case went cold. They’ve got no other leads.”

  “There’s always something,” Hank said. “It just needs fresh eyes.”

  “Exactly,” Agatha said, smiling at him. “I knew you’d understand.”

  He hadn’t really taken the time to look at her. He’d seen her, of course, but he hadn’t taken the time to see more than the soaking-wet slip of a woman with the smart mouth. And now that he’d seen her, he wished he hadn’t looked. She was…interesting. Her excitement shone in every expression on her face. Her eyes were an intriguing shade of bluish green, framed by dark lashes, and when they weren’t spitting fire, they were filled with good humor and intelligence.

  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Good grief, how old was she? It was impossible to link the books he’d read by A.C. Riddle to this woman. The books were filled with a depth of understanding that no one of her age could grasp.

  “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

  “You know you’re never supposed to ask a lady that question,” she said, biting into her bread. “I’m thirty-eight. But if you ask me that in another two years I’m going to lie.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t as young as he thought she was.

  “I look younger, right?” she asked, grinning. “I have a theory about that.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m sure you do.”

  “I think it’s because I’ve never been married. I’ve got friends ten years younger who’ve only been married a couple of years, and they look like they’ve got one foot in the grave.”

  “Interesting theory. I can see why you’re not married.” Hank smirked.

  “I’m married to my job. Getting into the heads of killers is much more exciting.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “You’re married?” she asked.

  Hank cursed silently. He’d opened himself up for that one.

  “No,” he said, curtly.

  She looked a little taken aback at his tone, but he wanted to make it clear that wasn’t a subject open for discussion. He had to give her credit. She went on as if nothing happened.

  “Most people just think I’m a crazy cat lady who has an obsession with online shopping. I get a ton of boxes delivered to my house. Or maybe they think I’m a drug dealer. Either way, it gives me a mysterious presence.”

  “You’ve got cats?” Hank asked.

  “No, I’m allergic, but why ruin the image?”

  Sheila delivered a platter full of ribs to the table. Enough to feed a whole family. And he realized they hadn’t ordered. He guessed there was no need for it.

  Agatha inhaled appreciatively, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman get that look on her face over a plate of ribs.

  “So,” she said. “You ready to feel alive again?”

  “I’m bored. Anything to shake the dust.”

  “Good,” she said. “If this relationship is going to work, we have to be a team. I’m not a rookie when it comes to this stuff, and you’re retired. We’re equals who both have something to offer. Which means I’d better not get any more shots of water to the face or guns pulled on me. I’ve got a conceal carry permit. You don’t see me pulling out my gun and waving it in your face every time you put your foot in your mouth, now do you?”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult me,” he said. “And I’m still on the fence about you being armed. At least until I know you can shoot that thing.”

  “I’ll try to remember to keep both eyes open,” she said, deadpan.

  He would’ve laughed, but he wasn’t quite sure if she was serious or not.

  “This is a murder case,” she said. “And it’s sat in a file cabinet for the last eight years. That girl deserves justice.”

  “They all do,” he said soberly.

  “We don’t have to follow the same rules the cops do. When it’s time to be a cop, use that to our advantage. But sometimes these things take a little…imagination.”

  “Aggie, I know how to work a murder investigation, and I’ve been known to bend the rules from time to time. But I’ll never dishonor the badge by breaking them.”

  “Good, that’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “Well then,” he said. “I guess that makes us partners.”

  “I know you were a cop,” she said. “That’s easy enough to read all over you. But when you say you know how to work a murder investigation…”

  He could see the guilt on her face, and he was starting to enjoy himself. She thought if she could get him to tell her about his career then that would let her off the hook for snooping.

  “Aggie, let’s go ahead and pretend that you already know the answers to all that since you’ve probably used your considerable resources to find out as much as you could about me.”

  Her cheeks turned red and she dropped her gaze, choosing to focus on her ribs.

  “Look, if we are going to work together we have to trust each other. But just as important as trust is respect. Let’s leave the cat and mouse for the crooks.” He held out his hand in a truce.

  “You’ve got a deal,” she said, placing her hand in his and gripping tightly. “Partners.”

  Chapter Six

  Thursday morning couldn’t come early enough for Agatha. She decided to skip the morning walk because she was meeting Hank at the café for seven thirty. This wasn’t her first start on a new case, but it was her first time working with a partner.

  It was May in Texas, which meant the temperature could vary to thirty degrees in a single day. She opted for jeans and a sleeveless shirt and grabbed a cardigan to ward off the morning chill.

  Cold cases might’ve seemed less intense because the leads, emotions, and sense of urgency had faded, but it was just the opposite. While there might not have been a corpse on scene any longer, the emotions associated with not catching the killer grew stronger with each passing year. The families became angrier—more bitter.

  Agatha had also learned during her research that law enforcement detectives grew overly proprietary with the cases they couldn’t solve. Simply put, they took it personal. It was not unusual for a police department to welcome her unjaded eye to give a new perspective to an old case, but the actual detective assigned to the case was nothing less than openly hostile and non-receptive to her being involved in what they deemed as their case.

  Agatha arrived at the café, and as expected, Penny was already on shift. Agatha looked around the café and noticed there were very few people inside. Most folks didn’t go to work in Rusty Gun till eight or nine o’clock, so there was no need wasting the precious thirty minutes milling around downtown when they could catch another half hour of snooze time. The people in her hometown lived a laid-
back way of life she’d always appreciated.

  Agatha noticed the man in the far corner booth immediately. His hair was slicked to one side, and his face was shaved smooth. The steam from his coffee wafted from his mug to partially conceal the deep cleft in his granite chin. She knew it was Hank sitting there, but what she couldn’t figure out was why he was dressed in a pin-striped Brooks Brothers suit.

  “Oh boy, did I underdress for the occasion,” she mumbled.

  She stopped herself. Considering what he’d been wearing since he moved to Rusty Gun, the suit was a definite upgrade. He stood when she approached, and she could see a liveliness in him that she hadn’t seen before. He needed this as much as she needed him.

  “Wow,” Agatha said, looking him over from head to toe. She still couldn’t believe he was fifty-two. The man knew how to fill out a suit. She was a professional, but she wasn’t dead.

  Hank immediately began to ask questions about the crime. Agatha knew a natural pecking order wasn’t established the night before, but would be crucial, or otherwise she’d end up as his assistant running errands and getting tea. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stand up for herself as much as it was his sheer force of will that was hard to say no to.

  “I think it’s best we take it slow to start as we build our relationship together,” she suggested.

  Agatha liked the way partner sounded as long as he didn’t mean assistant.

  “Working together is going to take a little practice. I’ve never had a partner, and from the research I’ve done, you like to work alone.”

  Agatha spoke firm and held on to the case files even though Hank had stretched across the table once for them. Hank nodded. They’d both have to be willing to sacrifice to each other to get what they wanted for themselves.

  “Equals,” he said, holding out his hand again.

  She handed him the files just as Penny came up to refill his coffee and ask her what she wanted for breakfast.

  “What are you having?” she asked Hank.

  “Oatmeal and wheat toast.”

  Agatha wrinkled her nose in response. “Never mind. I forgot you hate food. I’ll have the pancake breakfast, Penny. Eggs scrambled. Make sure there’s gluten in my pancakes. That’s the good stuff.”