Murders on the Ridge

by ANDREA SMITH

  Pike’s Peak was packed. Dalton knew he couldn’t say five times quickly that string of words because of the amount of beer he’d already imbibed.

  True to Jimmy’s word, Duel McCoy had indeed funded this memorial reception on behalf of the Hatfield family. The way people in the area could eat and drink, Dalton guessed it had set him back a pretty penny.

  He’d stayed mostly to himself, trying not to get too tanked because after all, he was still technically on assignment, albeit, he had felt the free-fall from grace days earlier, and Jack’s terse conversation at the cemetery that afternoon did little to affirm his future employment with the agency.

  After the graveyard services, Jack had walked up next to him as he was leaving the cemetery to head back into town. He had spoken quickly and concisely to Dalton. “Keep a low profile, Edwards, let the experts who are down here do their jobs without interference. Stay put until I give you the word to head back to Columbus.”

  That was it.

  No details; no further meetings between the two of them scheduled. For all intents and purposes, Dalton felt he would go down for a failed mission, which he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the fact that eight people were dead and maybe his failure to crack whatever gang or cartel had been part of the operation, played a major role in that.

  Everyone in the community was on edge and for good reason. No matter what type of secrets they held, it was nothing compared to the blatant, dead-of-the-night massacre of eight people in this small town. Eight long time residents of the county; and for now the AG and BCI people were pointing the fingers at some elusive, yet-unnamed Mexican cartel over a big marijuana grow operation which was a bunch of horseshit and they knew it.

  “Hey you,” Courtney said, coming up to him from behind the bar, “You doing okay, Dalton? Seem awful quiet there. This is supposed to be a celebration of their lives. It’s tradition around here after a wake and burial.”

  Dalton shrugged. “Guess I just can’t celebrate murder,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come off that way, Courtney. It all just doesn’t sit well with me. This county seems to be full of law enforcement and investigative experts that don’t know shit from shinola.”

  She giggled. “Shit from Shinola, huh? That’s an oldie, how old are you, Dalton? My granny uses that phrase and she’s damn near ninety.”

  Dalton gave her a wry grin. “Yeah, I have one of those too. Probably where I picked it up. I’m twenty-eight. You?”

  Courtney gave a huff, and put a hand on her hip tossing him a glare. “You’re not ever supposed to ask a lady her age,” she chastised gently, “Don’t you know anything about women, Dalton?”

  “Well, hell, you asked me,” Dalton challenged. “Thought those gender rules went by the wayside a long time ago.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I selectively choose to revert back to them I reckon,” she replied. “I’m thirty-four. Today I’m feeling more like sixty-four. Been a long day. Glad I got some help here though. You ready for another?”

  “Sure,” Dalton replied finishing off his beer, “hit me.”

  Courtney grabbed a fresh frosted mug from the cooler, and went to draw Dalton another draft.

  “You get anything to eat, Dalton?” a voice behind him asked. Dalton turned to see Duel McCoy standing there.

  “Hey Duel,” he said, holding his hand out for a shake, “Not yet. Don’t want to kill the buzz I got going. Have a seat why don’t you?”

  Duel slid onto the bar stool next to Dalton, and pushed his empty glass, signaling Courtney he was ready for another.

  “You doing okay?” Duel asked, “Been kind of quiet sitting here all by your lonesome. Everyone else is back in the banquet room. Lots of food still out.”

  “Yeah, I plan on going back there in a bit,” Dalton replied as Courtney placed his mug of beer down on the bar.

  “Bourbon?” she asked Duel.

  “Yep, neat.”

  “Hey Duel,” Dalton continued, “I think it’s a damn nice thing you’ve done for the community by hosting this memorial for the Hatfields. I liked your eulogy by the way. Kind of surprised me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Duel asked, “Why’s that?”

  Dalton grabbed a toothpick from the shot glass filled with them on the bar, his thoughts of Harlan rampant in his head, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully on it for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t think you and the Hatfields were particularly fond of one another, leastwise as long as I’ve been around these parts.”

  Courtney placed Duel’s drink in front of him and grabbed the bill he handed her. “Keep the change, Courtney,” he said with a smile. He then turned back to Dalton. “It’s like I said in church, both families go way back. Generations back as a matter of fact, so it stands to reason over the years yeah, we’ve had our scraps and disagreements. But I can say this with one hundred percent certainty, if it had been my family who were the victims of this, this… hell, I don’t even know what to call it, Vince Hatfield sure as hell would be doing the same thing that I’m doing. Now that’s a fact, son.”

  He took a swig of his bourbon, then pushed off the bar stool, and gave Dalton a firm pat on the back. “Get something to eat, Dalton. I’ll see you at the ranch on Wednesday.”

  And with that, Duel McCoy disappeared back into the crowd of people milling about near the banquet room.

  Dalton wasn’t sure what time it was when he felt somebody smack his head with . . . . something.

  “Locking up Dalton. It’s time to wake up so this girl can close up, go home and get some sleep. C’mon, get up. Hit the head or whatever you need to do while I count the register.” Courtney’s voice jolted him awake.

  It took a moment for Dalton to get his bearings. He wondered why his head was on the bar, and worse than that, how long had it been there?

  He opened one eye when Courtney flipped the overhead lights on, which he thought was kinda rude being that he’d obviously been asleep.

  “What the hell?” Dalton grumbled, now lifting his head up and through sleep muddled eyes tried to focus on the Budweiser clock over the cash register.

  “What the hell indeed,” Courtney replied, pressing a button to release all of the bar sales for her shift. “You feeling okay, Dalton? You were passed out for about an hour and a half. That was after you got several standing ovations for your singing,” she finished with a laugh.

  Dalton ran his hands through his thoroughly disheveled hair. “What the hell are you talking about Courtney?” he asked gruffly.

  “Oh so you don’t remember, huh? Well you must’ve plopped fifty bucks into the jukebox tonight. You had yourself quite the memorial dedication to Harlan and his family, Country Blues style as they say. I swear, you’ve missed your mark as far as careers go, Dalton. You put the likes of Billy Dean, Tim McGraw, The Notting Hillbillies and Alice in Chains to shame there buddy. You were wailing those blues. I told Clarence the owner we should book you here sometime. You sure had the tears flowing with your song picks,” she finished, emptying the cash register, and putting the bills in piles to count.

  “Shit, don’t remember a damn thing,” Dalton replied, “Hope I didn’t make a fool out of myself.”

  She scoffed. “Were you not listening to me? You were fantastic. Hey, you’re in no shape to drive, Dalton. Why don’t you go on into the men’s room, splash some cold water on your face, take a leak, and by that time I should have the money counted and tucked away in the safe. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Dalton replied, “I guess I do need to wake myself up a bit. Got any coffee made? What the ever loving fuck got into me?”

  She smiled, “About six Jell-O shots from what I recall, and funny you ask, I brewed a fresh pot about thirty minutes ago. How do you like your java?”

  “Black is fine,” he replied, headin
g towards the Men’s room, “and Courtney, thanks.”

  Twenty minutes later, Dalton was sitting in the passenger seat of Courtney’s dilapidated Impala, humming the melody of ‘Feel Like Going Home,” and intermittently singing some of the lyrics as she drove the deserted road heading east.

  “Lord I feel like going home, I tried and I failed and I’m tired and weary. Everything I ever done was wrong, and I feel like going home . . . “

  “You sure do sing that one good,” Courtney said, glancing over at him as she turned down a side road that was not in the direction of Dalton’s motel. “You played that one the most on the jukebox tonight. Got some special meaning to you or something,” she asked.

  “Naw,” Dalton replied, “Just fit my mood I reckon. Or maybe fit the occasion, I don’t fucking know. Hey, this isn’t the way to my motel,” he said, glancing over at Courtney, “What’s up, Courtney? You planning on taking advantage of me in my current state, woman?” he asked with a husky laugh.

  Courtney laughed along with him as she pulled her car into a trailer park and drove around, parking in front of what Dalton guessed was her place. “Not hardly, Dalton,” she said shaking her head. “I just need you to come on inside so you can sober up and then listen to what I’ve got to say to you. Do you think you could do that for me?”

  Dalton was puzzled at her words. But he wasn’t sure if it was because he was still buzzed, or because those words were totally out of character for Courtney.

  He liked Courtney and all. She’d always been nice to him. But now he wondered if maybe she was coming on to him and she wanted to make sure he was down with it.

  Hell, Dalton thought to himself, he’d been celibate since coming to Briar County. That in and of itself was a spectacular feat when he thought aback about all the tail he used to nail regularly.

  Courtney was good looking and he remembered her telling him her age. Yeah, he was down with doing a chick a few years older. He could probably still teach her things she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams.

  He chuckled aloud.

  “What’s funny?” she asked, opening the door of her car.

  “Just wondered if you’ve got some ulterior motives here, girl,” Dalton replied, climbing out of her car, tossing her a lop-sided grin.

  She shook her head, climbing the few steps up to her mobile home and unlocked the door. “Be careful, I have a cat and I don’t want you startling her so shut the door quickly behind you in case she gets spooked. She has a habit of darting outside when a stranger comes in here.”

  Dalton followed her instructions as best he could in his still somewhat inebriated state. “All good,” he said laughing, “No pussy gets by me,” he finished, giving her a wide grin.

  She shook her head once again, spooning coffee into her coffeemaker and filling it with water, flipping the switch to start the brewing process.

  “I’m gonna go to my room and get out of these clothes. They stink like the bar. Take a seat, Dalton, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Dalton sat his ass on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, wondering if Courtney was going to reappear in some short little silk nightie to kick start her seduction moves, but then chuckled at his own male ego delusion because Courtney had never given him a second look. Perhaps he’d lost his touch.

  He was still feeling like a fucking failure; still feeling the grief of a family slaughtered, and maybe fucking those feelings out of himself would be exactly what he needed.

  He saw a black and white cat scurry from behind the sofa and run back towards what he presumed was Courtney’s bedroom.

  He got up from the bar stool when the coffee finished brewing and found two ceramic mugs in the cupboard over the sink. He filled both mugs and raised his up to his mouth, taking a sip of the hot brew as Courtney came back out into the living room area, wearing a thick pink terrycloth robe, securely belted shut, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers on her feet.

  Dalton did a double take when he saw her change of wardrobe, which definitely did not denote ulterior motives of a sexual nature. His surprise did not go unnoticed by Courtney.

  “Relax, Tiger,” she said, grabbing her mug of coffee, and spooning some sugar into it. “I’m sure you would’ve rocked my world but that’s not why I brought you back here.”

  Dalton took his seat back on the bar stool and watched as Courtney sat across from him at the breakfast bar. She kept her place neat and clean and furnished nicely.

  “So, why did you bring me here, Courtney? I’m not that loaded . . . well, at least not now.”

  “No worries, babe. I have a feeling your ego will survive.” She stirred her coffee with a spoon, a thoughtful expression passed over her face before she spoke again. “Dalton, I’ve known you since Harlan first brought you into the Peak, months back. I know he was in some ways your best bud, even though you two weren’t cut from the same cloth, not even close,” she said with a wry smile. “But I have to say, you’re not to blame for any of this, so you need to lose the guilt. It’s weighing heavy on you, and there’s still work to be done here.”

  Dalton’s head shot up at her words. What the hell was that about? For once in his life, Dalton was totally dumbfounded. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, wondering if he was still under the influence of those moonshine Jell-O shots he’d apparently done earlier in the night.

  “Relax,” she said, sipping her coffee. “You haven’t blown it yet.”

  “Damn it, Courtney,” Dalton growled, “What the hell are you talking about, girl?”

  “I’m talking about you and the way you’ve been moping around with that hang dog look on your face since the murders. You’re wearing your D.E.A. affiliation like a prison tattoo.”

  Dalton nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken when her words sliced through the air between them. His jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed as he waited for more.

  “Yeah, I know. But I haven’t known all that long, and of course, you weren’t supposed to know that I knew. But the truth is Dalton, I just can’t continue watching you like this, and potentially putting everything at risk.”

  Dalton lowered his head into his hands, massaging his temples, the dull onset of a killer hangover headache starting to throb. “You . . . you’re D.E.A?” he asked gruffly. “What the hell? Is this some sort of game that Jack cooked up? If so, why?” Dalton was pissed. And he felt he had every right to be damned pissed!

  “Chill, Dalton,” Courtney said, “I’m not D.E.A. I’m B.C.I. and before you go getting your shorts in a knot, it isn’t absolute protocol for me to be filled in on that being I’m a local. Actually, a local who at one time was convinced you were part of the opioid problem in these parts. Which obviously was because I hadn’t been given a heads-up before you rolled into town.

  “I was born and raised around here. I probably would’ve left a few years back, but thanks to our A.G., who is determined to nail the Mexican cartel, I stuck around out of some displaced streak of civic duty my Mama and Daddy instilled in me, God rest their souls.”

  Dalton scoffed. He was so damn sick of all the Mexican cartel chatter that was rampant once again with the Hatfield murders. He shook his head. “The dude is so fucking clueless,” he snarled. “Mexican cartel had nothing to do with this shit. Not the murders anyway. This wasn’t a hit job. This was too up close and personal.”

  Courtney got up from her barstool, refilling her coffee mug. “Yeah, you know that, I know that, but the powers that be in this state are hung up on their theory. They have a narrative like every damn politician these days and they won’t let it go. We cleared the county of the cartel back in 2013. At least for the grow operations. But that didn’t seem to satisfy the A.G. He’s hung up on that stale old narrative and fails to consider the reality of what’s really in place here. This ain’t about weed. Seems like everyone’s afraid to tackle the opioid crisis. Makes ya wonder, doesn
’t it?”

  “Then you get that none of this was about a weed grow operation, right?” Dalton asked with a sigh of relief following.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she replied testily. “Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off so flippant, it’s just that I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels here, and I’ve been at this for more than two damn years. All I keep hearing is to keep my ear to the ground, nose to the air and get those nasty cartel members who are growing pot. Hell, I make more in tips at the Peak than what this undercover gig is paying.”

  “So wait a minute,” Dalton said slowly, “Are you saying your BCI gig is the sideline?”

  She smiled at Dalton. “Well, that’s a nice way of putting it Dalton, but yeah, paid informant. That’s how I got the 4-1-1 on you. But not early on. Nope, you did well up until the murders. But since then, I noticed the change in your demeanor so I figured you were either in on it or you fucked up an assignment. I had to call my contact in Columbus who said he’d get back to me and to lay low.”

  “And?” Dalton prodded.

  “And the night before the wake, the guy in the designer shades and dark suit came up to me in the bar and had a brief chat with me. Didn’t tell me anything other than you represented the white hats. I drew my own conclusions after that.”

  “Jack,” Dalton remarked with a pensive smile, “Yeah, he sure as hell looked out of place. I was surprised he showed up at the wake. He’s not too happy with my work on the assignment. I feel like I must’ve really fucked up. Still waiting for my walking papers.”

  Courtney walked around the bar and gave Dalton a pat on the shoulder. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. We all knew Harlan and the family had pot growing, but it hardly seems worth the lives of eight people.”