Murders on the Ridge

by ANDREA SMITH

  He shrugged. “Treats you with more respect, that’s all.”

  Dalton tossed Harlan a sidelong glance. He wasn’t sure what Harlan meant by that, but it definitely smelled like some sort of a fishing expedition.

  “I didn’t notice,” Dalton replied briskly. “We ain’t exactly in the same social circles if you catch my drift. I’m the newcomer here. All I do is what I’m told to do, when I’m told to do it, and then collect my pay which is pretty damn good. Especially in these parts. What? You wanting a raise, Harlan?”

  Harlan spit the toothpick out, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t turn one down. Seeing how Duel lives and all. Got all that land, all those exotic animals, those fine cars and trucks. Heard he’s got a new fishing boat too, did you know that?”

  “No, Harlan. I didn’t know that. But like I said, I don’t socialize with him. I only work for his family. Go to their ranch a few days a week and even there I try my best to keep to myself. I was warned before I was hired to keep my social life off the ranch. Virginia McCoy doesn’t like personal drama. You gotta remember, I wasn’t born and raised around here. It’s not like I don’t want to make friends, but the McCoy’s are kinda outta my league.”

  “I can’t fault you for that, being an outsider and all. Yeah, the McCoys are a different bunch, but hey, you gotta get a social life. How about you and me go out for a beer sometime? As they say in these parts, ‘You’re only a stranger for as long as you wanna be’.”

  “Is that right? Well, sure, I guess. Might as well get out and about.”

  “Cool. Maybe tonight since we both got money burning holes in our pockets, yeah?”

  Dalton smiled. “Sure, sounds good. Just tell me where.”

  “You still staying at that old roach motel up the road?”

  “Yep.”

  “Pick you up at nine. We can shoot darts or maybe play some pool. I’ll show you some of the hot spots around here.”

  “See ya then, Harlan.”

  Dalton certainly wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to do some socializing. It was one of the best ways to meet more locals, gain friendships and trusts, and ingratiate himself with this close-knit, almost cult-like community he’d come to call home - for the time being anyway.

  Billy Ray Jensen had just finished night fishing. He’d packed up his gear, and tossed the two Scioto River flatheads he’d caught into the cooler. He’d hoped for more catfish, being it was March and all, but at least he wasn’t going home with nothing.

  Truth be told, he might’ve done a bit better if he hadn’t fallen asleep on the riverbank for Lord knows how long. He chuckled to himself as he headed up the well-worn path to where his truck was parked on the side of the road.

  It was just breaking dawn as he loaded everything in the back of his pick-up, and slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the engine. There was a distinct chill in the air.

  As he waited in the cab, putting the heat on high to get his blood flowing again, he happened to notice two black Suburbans pass by him.

  Strange, he thought to himself. SUV’s weren’t a rarity in this neck of the woods, but two of them, same model, same color, this time of the morning was a bit odd. Not only that, but he now recollected this wasn’t the first time he’d seen them in the area.

  The last time he’d gone fishing, he’d seen them too. Only that time, they’d been turning onto the road from the Appalachian Highway. This time, they were on their way out of the county, it appeared.

  He glanced into his rearview mirror and noted that one turned right, heading east towards West Virginia, while the other made a left, heading west towards Cincinnati.

  He didn’t give it much more thought. He was, after all, anxious to get home to get his fish cleaned for this evening’s supper. Besides that, as long as nobody bothered him, he wasn’t the sort to give a lot of thought to others that might pass through the area.

  Only he couldn’t quite put it all out of his mind. Those Suburbans had come from further on up the road. Only two farms on this particular road, Billy Ray’s land, and the Hatfield land. They bordered one another.

  Hell, the Hatfields had lived in the county for generations, just like the Jensen family had. Billy Ray had gone to school with Floyd Hatfield. A great farmer, and honest as the day was long.

  The same unfortunately couldn’t be said for his offspring. For whatever reason, his only son had always been a bit reckless. Not one to take any particular interest in farming or ranching.

  Still, when Floyd passed, his son Vince had inherited the farm, with all of the accompanying acreage. Floyd’s wife, Vince’s mother, had fled the coop when Vince was just an adolescent. Country living just wasn’t her thing or so she had told Floyd.

  Billy Ray wasn’t exactly sure what Vince Hatfield had going on with the property. He didn’t farm it the way his father had, but he seemed to spend a lot of time acquiring old beater cars that he and his son converted into demolition vehicles for competitions.

  Vince had a new wife, Mary Beth, a teenage daughter who the locals referred to as being rather “round heeled,” his oldest boy Harlan, who was in his mid-twenties, and his youngest boy, sixteen year old Darrell who according to Billy Ray had that whole entitlement thing going on.

  Billy Ray wasn’t impressed with any of them, truth be told. The whole clan spent an inordinate amount of time with those old beaters getting them road-worthy for the demolition events, and other than that, he wasn’t sure what all they did for a living.

  There wasn’t a lot of money in derby events, but then, Billy Ray suspected the Hatfields had other means of making ends meet. Or so the local gossip had it.

  He wasn’t going to let it concern him. He’d retired five years ago from the sheriff’s department over in Scioto County and he didn’t miss it one little bit. The politics; the ass-kissing to the higher ranks, and even the payoffs for certain detectives to ‘look the other way’ had pretty much soured Billy Ray on the whole law enforcement career choice.

  He was much more amenable to living his life in his closed off bubble. Evil was here to stay. Goodness had lost the fight.

  Chapter 6

  Dalton Edwards had showered, shaved, and polished his black boots all before he heard the sound of Harlan’s horn out front of his motel room. He grabbed his jean jacket, pack of smokes, and headed out of his room into the cool, March night.

  It was a clear night, and he glanced up to check for stars. Yep. There they were. He’d considered taking the time to lie out in the bed of his truck some night when the skies were clear and attempt to count the stars just to see if he could. Dalton liked challenges. They were his poison.

  He climbed into the passenger seat of Harlan’s pick-up, and immediately realized that Harlan’s sprucing up evidently consisted of dousing himself with a cheap men’s cologne and a fresh toothpick. He had managed to slick back his dirty blond hair into a stubby ponytail.

  “Ready to par-tee?” Harlan whooped, backing his truck out with a squeal. “First stop, ‘Pike’s Peak.’ Have you been there?”

  “Naw, haven’t been anywhere, truthfully.”

  “Oh man, well then this is gonna be a real treat, hear? The best, and I mean the fucking best moonshine to ever cross your lips, dude.”

  “I’m not much into moonshine, Harlan.”

  “How do you know until you try some?”

  “I just know.”

  “Where the hell are you from, boy? Persnicketyville?” He laughed at his own question and then slapped his thigh. Dalton wondered if Harlan had already started with the moonshine.

  “Close,” he answered. “Poughkeepsie.”

  “Say what?”

  “It’s a city. In New York. It’s where I’m from.”

  “Well hell, boy! It all makes sense now. You ain’t done no living if you’re from---wherever the hell it was you said you
come from. I’m here to show you some of the good life you’ve been missing out on!”

  “Let’s do it,” Dalton said, not quite showing the enthusiasm that his colleague exhibited.

  Pike’s Peak was located near the edge of the county, and when Harlan pulled his truck into the lot, it was nearly full. Mostly rusted old cars and pick-ups, but a few were newer models that seemed polished to perfection. The pride of ownership was evident on those.

  Loud music was blaring from inside. Country Western. “Is that a live band?” he asked as they walked towards the entrance.

  “Sure enough. Always got live music on Friday and Saturday nights. No cover charge either.”

  The place was packed. For a county of less than thirty thousand people, Dalton was impressed at the crowd this club seemed to draw.

  “Is it like this every weekend?” he asked as they snaked through the crowd in search of an empty bar stool or table.

  “Naw. But this is the first of the month, you know? Payday for lots of peeps around here.”

  “Oh, got it.”

  “Yeah, two for one night I’ll bet.”

  Dalton cocked a brow, “Two for one?”

  Harlan laughed, shaking his head. “You need to learn the lingo, dude. Two for one is for every dollar’s worth of food stamps you get two dollar’s worth of cash. Great deal, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Can’t beat it,” Dalton remarked as they finally found a couple of free stools at the bar. Within a couple of minutes, a woman with bleached pink hair slapped a couple of cocktail napkins down on the bar and gave Harlan a glare. She had a ring, pierced through her nose, and Dalton noticed her nails were painted black and were long enough to be talons.

  “You got a tab to pay before you get shit to drink, Harlan,” she snapped.

  Harlan greeted her with a good-natured grin, “Hell, Courtney, I always get shit to drink here whether I’m running a tab or not! Whatcha talking about there, girl?”

  “Ha ha,” she deadpanned, “Pay up. Sixty-three dollars plus tip.”

  “Cool your tits,” he answered, pulling his wad of cash from the pocket of his Wrangler jeans. Her eyes widened perceptibly and Dalton wondered just how prudent it was for Harlan to be flashing a wad of cash in a place like this, or even in a town like this for that matter. He slapped some twenties down on the bar. “Now set me and my buddy up with some moonshine Jell-O shots, hear?”

  Courtney counted the money out, and stuck a couple of bills down her bra. Apparently she lived on the tips. “Now my tits are cooled,” she replied, turning her back to them.

  Poverty was rampant. There was no light or heavy industry here. Farming was sporadic it seemed. Probably because more often than not, the government had taken to offering farmers more money not to farm than what they’d make if they did. Welfare, meth labs, and homegrown pot seemed to generate the spending money as far as Dalton could tell.

  Courtney placed the Jell-O shots down on the bar, and immediately Harlan handed one to Dalton.

  “Two more shots, Courtney. Bottoms up, dude.”

  Harlan downed his, chewing on the gelatinous blob a bit before swallowing. “Wahooooo!” he bellowed. “Just the way I love my moonshine.”

  Dalton was less enthusiastic after swallowing his, his eyes watered and he coughed a couple of times. “Man, now that’s some potent shit,” he rasped, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Hells bells, Harlan!”

  “Right?” Harlan replied, laughing. “Don’t worry, the more you do them, the easier they go down.”

  Dalton did a second shot, and found that Harlan was right. Much easier.

  “Hey,” Dalton said, nudging Harlan, “What happens if we get trashed and Duel calls us?”

  “Ain’t gonna happen. Too soon. You should know that by now.”

  Dalton shrugged. “There’s no set schedule. Be just our luck something like that would happen. Seems like every time I take one step forward, I get kicked back two. Most money I’ve ever made. I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

  “You worry too much, buddy. Besides, Duel’s not available on Friday nights in the summer and fall anyways. He’s at the competition.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he do? Racecars? Demolition Derby?”

  Harlan chuckled, calling out for Courtney to bring each of them a draft beer. “Naw. Duel and my old man are enjoying one of their side gigs along with Duel’s boys--you’ve met them right? Brant and Grant? It’s kinda a family tradition I reckon. It’s not bad money and they kinda pride themselves on being the best. He’s over in Flatwoods, Kentucky with his roosters. Cock fighting. He’s got some of the best, you know?”

  Dalton shook his head. “No, didn’t know. I’ve seen his boys at the ranch, mostly in passing. They aren’t real friendly or open - at least with me yet. I didn’t know they raised roosters on top of everything else. So there’s real money in that?”

  “Hell yeah there is,” Harlan replied, “Wanna drive on over and watch? It’s a damn circus when they put them spurs on their feet watching them flap and attack the others. Hell, you’ll see rooster heads flying as fast as the feathers do!”

  Dalton gazed over at Harlan. “Seriously, dude?”

  “Swear to fuck it’s a good time. And I sure as hell will put my money on Daddy and Duel’s birds.”

  “No. Don’t think so,” Dalton replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Oh, what’s the matter? They don’t dig cock fighting there in Persnickity, New York?” Harlan asked, his voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Hey, listen you cocky motherfucker,” Dalton said, grabbing Harlan and playfully putting him into a head lock, “I’m just not wanting to get myself in a position of being somewhere that might get raided, you know? Call me paranoid.”

  “Okay, okay,” Harlan gasped, “Let me go you pussy.”

  Dalton released Harlan and watched in amusement as he rubbed his head. “Jesus, Dalt,” he said taking a swig of beer. “You have to admit that’s kinda funny. What the hell do you think is in that fucking cargo the Cessna brings in, huh? Bubble gum?”

  “Hey man, that’s different. It’s just us. It’s remote. And it all goes down relatively quiet and definitely unnoticed. I don’t know what the cargo is and I don’t care to know. I was told it was special feed for the miniature horses that hasn’t been approved by the FDA or some shit so that’s all I need to know.”

  Harlan scoffed, a big wide grin crossed his face. “Whatever gets you through the night, I reckon.”

  Harlan considered Dalton for a moment. The guy was quiet and kind of serious most of the time. Good-looking dude with his dark hair and eyes, but something about his demeanor seemed mysterious. He seemed like he belonged in a bigger city. A better, more sophisticated place than Briarton. Beneath his quiet demeanor, Dalton Edwards seemed to be a fish out of water. Somebody who could carve out a real career anyplace they chose.

  “What are you hiding from?” Harlan asked quietly. “I can always tell when someone is hiding out and you definitely are running from something.”

  Dalton sighed, taking another long draw of his beer. “I’m not hiding from anyone. I just have some outstanding warrants in New York and I’ve got no desire to get in a situation where that becomes obvious, okay? It’s why I keep a low profile. But I can trust you, right?”

  “Sure, sure you can, dude. Hey---we’ve all been there,” Harlan replied, smacking him on the back. “Not to worry. I get it. But why’d you end up here?”

  “Had an opportunity that fell through. So, I was just hanging out, trying to figure out Plan B when I saw the job posting at the diner. I needed some means of income, so here I am. Grateful as hell, but I can’t stay forever. I’m trying to get enough cash saved up to leave the country.”

  “For real?”

  “Yep.”

  “Canada or Mexico?”


  “I haven’t decided,” Dalton admitted. “They’re both options, both easy enough to get into, but I’m thinking I’d make more money in Mexico. Maybe enough to even leave there and head to Cuba.”

  “Why Cuba?” Harlan asked seemingly puzzled at that choice of a destination for someone like Dalton.

  “Dude--are you serious? Hell, what with our prez making nice to them and dissolving all of the embargo bullshit, I figure the tourist business will start booming there. Get in on the ground floor of that, you know? I’m twenty-seven years old, and I want to make my fortune so I can retire at forty.”

  “Guess I never thought about it, but makes sense. So, you going legit once you’re there?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Dalton said with a laugh. “I’m more of opting for what makes me the most cash. So, if I can do it legit, I will. If I can’t, well then I’m open to other possibilities.”

  Harlan nodded. “I get that. I’m only twenty-two, so I reckon I have time to figure out my path in life. Not sure I want to stay around these parts forever.”

  Dalton spoke up, “Hey, what’s the deal with Brant McCoy? Does he have an ex-wife around causing him problems? He was all bent out of shape the other day about some fucking bitch that was keeping his kid from him or something like that.”

  Harlan laughed, shaking his head as he polished off the rest of his beer. “That’d be my sister, Tammy, dude. She made the mistake of getting hooked up with him when she was just fifteen. She thought it was true love. She always thinks it’s true love. She’s getting ready to pop out another kid.”

  “His?” Dalton asked immediately.

  “Oh, who the hell knows? Might be. Might not be. They can’t seem to leave one another alone for any long period of time. It’s up, it’s down; it’s on, it’s off. For now, she’s claiming it’s not his. She’s got another dude she’s in love with. I reckon time will tell.”

  “Well, does this drama put a wedge between your dad and Duel? Or you? I mean he’s your livelihood at the moment, right?”