Bench Trial in the Backwoods

by Maggie Wells

  No sooner were the words out than there was a sharp rap on the front door. As usual, Ben let himself in after waiting only a moment. Stopping dead in the middle of the entrance, the sheriff stared at the two of them, amazed disbelief written all over his face. “A Molotov cocktail? Are you kidding me?”

  As if on cue, Alicia stepped out of the kitchen, where he’d left her propped up against the counter, snacking on a sleeve of saltines. “Not a very good one. They used a canning jar but no lid or anything to hold the fabric in place to ignite the fuel.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” Ben replied.

  “And idiotic assassins,” Alicia added dryly. When both Ben and Harry swung their heads around altogether, she shrugged and asked, “Too soon?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied tersely.

  “Got it.” Alicia nodded. “I’ll stow the cop humor until later.”

  Ben smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got a couple good ones in mind. Remind me later, when Harry finds his sense of humor again.”

  “I’m ready to give my statement,” Harry snapped.

  Not missing a beat, Ben pulled his trusty notebook and pen out of the back pocket of his jeans and nodded toward the kitchen. “We’ll step in there so we can stay out of the fumes.” He glanced over at the living room. “Thanks for running interference on the hazmat, Mike,” he said with a nod to his deputy. “I called the fire chief, and he said litter was the right thing to use.” Shifting his attention back to Harry, he added, “He also said to call them if we want them to come out and take a look.”

  “Fire’s out,” Harry said flatly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  While Mike gathered his gear in the living room, Harry pulled out his wallet and extracted a twenty. “Here.” When the deputy tried to wave him off, he shook his head. “For the litter. Thank you.”

  “The least I could do,” Mike responded, taking the bill with a nod. “Night.”

  After seeing Mike out, Harry joined Alicia and Ben in the kitchen. They took the same seats at the table they’d claimed a few nights before. The second they were settled, Harry began to talk without prompting.

  “Alicia and I were here in the kitchen talking when we heard something come through the window. When we ran in there, I saw the jar and makeshift wick had separated, so I extinguished the fire by stepping on it. The fire didn’t spread to anything else, but now I have a living room soaked with kerosene.”

  “I’m not going to bother asking you if you have any ideas who might’ve done this,” Ben murmured as he made notes on the page. “Can you give me the time frame?”

  Harry and Alicia exchanged a look as they both scrambled to pinpoint the sequence of events on a clock. “I think I got here at about six thirty,” she said slowly.

  Harry nodded. “We talked for a while, and then I was going to make something to eat,” he continued. “I’m pretty sure the clock on the stove showed after seven when I got up.”

  Alicia shrugged and nodded. “It’s coming on eight, so it couldn’t have been after seven.”

  Ben’s head swiveled as he switched his gaze back and forth. “Narrows it down some.” He flipped his notebook shut, placed his hands on the table in front of him and zoomed in on Alicia. “Didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon,” he said in a conversational tone. “Did you come to sing Christmas carols this time?”

  “She came to see me,” Harry said, hoping to put the kibosh on any teasing. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

  His strident tone did the trick. Ben sat up straighter and shifted the full force of his attention to him. “I’d assumed as much.”

  Their eyes met and held. It was all Harry could do to resist shifting under the sheriff’s unblinking gaze, but he held it together. Barely. Ben glanced over at Alicia, saving him from having to come up with a better story than the “we’re together” plan they’d settled on minutes before the night went all to hell.

  Thankfully, Alicia was better at this stuff. She met Ben’s perusal with a smirky smile, daring the sheriff to pry. When the tension stretched so taut Harry thought he might have to spill the whole story to exonerate himself, she spoke.

  “We’re together.”

  Harry blinked, surprised to hear their plan spoken aloud and with such simplicity it made any further probing seem like an overreach.

  “Ah,” Ben said. He had the grace to nod as if he hadn’t put one and one together on his own, then tapped the top of his notepad. “I, uh, figured something was going on.”

  “You’re so smart,” Alicia cooed, letting her smirk stretch into a teasing smile.

  Ben smiled back, but slid his attention back to Harry so quickly he wasn’t able to plaster one on in time. The sharp glint in the sheriff’s eyes said he hadn’t missed the moment of hesitation, but he was merciful enough to let the lack of deeper explanation slide.

  “Marlee will be glad to hear it. Since Simon and Lori are dating, she seems determined to see everyone she knows paired up,” Ben said dryly.

  “Of course. No one loves love as much as a lover,” Alicia said, her smile so wide Harry felt his own cheeks ache.

  Harry wondered if she realized she’d thrown the L word out there like a live grenade. Still, he needed to get himself together. Pull his weight. If they were going to make the citizens of Pine Bluff believe there was something going on between them, there was no better place to start than with the county’s top cop.

  “We, uh, got to know each other when she was here a couple months ago,” Harry said, warming up slowly.

  “Obviously,” Alicia said with a laugh.

  She reached over and put her hand over his, but Harry got the feeling she was trying to quell him rather than show affection. He must be worse at this than he thought.

  “We’ve talked some, but with the reorg at work, I haven’t had a chance to get back to Pine Bluff until the other night.”

  Harry couldn’t help but stare at her. He could only hope his admiration was coming across as something more romantic than appreciating her skill at embroidering the truth. Other than the announcement of their “together-ness,” she hadn’t lied. Judging by the size of the suitcase he’d rolled into the guest room, they actually would be together for the foreseeable future. How other people defined the word wasn’t their problem, was it?

  No. Their problem was something far more sinister than whether he and the DEA agent who’d brought Samuel Coulter down had something going on.

  “Back to this thing tonight,” Harry said, hoping to refocus the conversation. “I think we can all agree this is an escalation.”

  Ben and Alicia both nodded. “Undoubtedly,” the sheriff said.

  “And not a tactic we’d expect anyone from around these parts to employ,” Harry continued.

  “Which is why I came here tonight,” Alicia interrupted.

  Caught off guard, Harry’s head swiveled in time with Ben’s.

  “Oh?” The sheriff slipped open the notepad again. “What have you found?”

  Something about the way Ben asked the question clued Harry in. Ben knew Alicia was looking into the threats against him. She must have talked to the sheriff in the days since she’d left Pine Bluff, but she hadn’t bothered to call him. A surge of jealous anger sliced through him, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

  “I put out feelers about the groups you identified and a couple more I pulled from our own database, but couldn’t come up with anything tying them directly to Coulter or that would give me a reason why they’d be interested in his case.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been coming up empty too,” Ben admitted. “We have a lead involving a motorcycle club called The Outriders, but nothing concrete on them yet.”

  “A couple of their members were at Dusty’s Barbecue at the exact same time all four of my tires were slashed.”

  Her head whi
pped around. “Your tires were slashed?”

  Harry nodded, a grim frown tugging at his mouth. “Yes. Again. While I was eating dinner last night.”

  “But no one saw those guys move,” Ben pointed out. “I questioned them myself, then asked everyone who was there if they’d seen either of them budge from their table, and came up empty.”

  “Maybe they messaged some friends,” Harry tossed out.

  Ben shrugged. “It’s possible, but even if they said, Hey, Harry Hayes is here, come and slash his tires! we wouldn’t be much closer to the root of the problem. I can’t help going back around to thinking there’s a local connection. Your guy at the US Attorney’s Office hasn’t had any trouble like this.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I agree with you, Ben. Someone has taken up Coulter’s cause, and they’re making it personal with Harry.”

  The sheriff found his gaze again. “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

  Harry didn’t let him finish. “No. I’m not backing off.”

  “I already tried,” Alicia said with a wry smirk.

  “Of course you have,” Ben answered smoothly. He blew out a breath and tapped his pen on the pad. “So you’re coming up empty too?”

  “I didn’t say I came up empty,” Alicia corrected, smooth as silk.

  This time, when both men focused on her, she looked at Harry. “Did you know Ben spent a good deal of time undercover for the agency? He was what some people call an embedded asset.”

  Across the table, Ben sat up straighter. “What are you getting at?”

  Alicia wet her lips before answering. “We have another agent working deep with The Disciples. It seems they picked up a couple of former Southeast members.”

  Ben went completely still but said nothing, so Harry waded in. “Southeast members?”

  “A gang based out of Southeast Atlanta. Called themselves SEATL. They ran a lot of crystal meth,” she explained. To Ben she said, “I listened to some audio our operative gathered and there’s talk of getting the old gang back together again. One of the guys they mentioned was Anton Brooks.”

  “Anton?” Ben repeated, as if mesmerized by the name.

  “Who is Anton Brooks?” Harry asked, tired of being on the outside of this conversation looking in.

  At last, Ben snapped out of his trance. “Anton Brooks is the younger brother of Andre Brooks...my best friend growing up. He’s dead. Andre, I mean,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m sorry,” Harry said, the response automatic, but genuine.

  “Andre was the right-hand man to SEATL’s leader, Ivan Jones,” Alicia explained. She looked at him as if the name should mean something to him. Which it didn’t. But it clearly meant something to Ben.

  “Jones is dead too,” he said flatly.

  She nodded. “Yes. But you know there’s always someone willing to step in.”

  “You’re telling me Anton Brooks is trying to revive the operation?” Ben pressed, leaning forward.

  Alicia nodded. “Rumor has it, he was handpicked by Ivan’s partner before he died.”

  “Ivan or the business partner?” Harry interrupted, still trying to grab the tread of the conversation.

  Alicia shrugged. “Well, they’re both dead, but his business partner was the one to pick him. This is where it gets interesting,” she said, her eyes sharp. “You might not know Ivan Jones, but I bet you’ve heard of his partner, Harry. He was an attorney named Jared Baker.”

  “Jared Baker?” He swung his gaze to Ben, who looked about as shocked and confused as Harry felt. “He was the guy tied to all the murders set up to look like suicide. Clint Young, Bo Abernathy—”

  “And Marlee’s brother, Jeff,” Ben finished for him. Pushing up from his chair, the sheriff ran a hand across the back of his neck. “So Baker bestowed little Anton,” he murmured. “But I can’t imagine any of the other players are going to let him waltz in and take back what they gobbled up of Ivan’s empire.”

  “Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” Alicia said, watching him warily. “But it looks like they may have a new moneyman. Someone with enough clout to make them all play nice together. At least for the moment.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “Nothing for certain,” Alicia hedged. “But I did come across something interesting when looking into Baker.”

  “What?” Harry asked, making a mental note to make her stitch this all together for him the minute Ben left.

  “I was poking around to see who some of his old clients were, and guess whose name I came across?”

  Harry’s stomach sank and his heart rate kicked into overdrive. “No.”

  She nodded, unwilling to let him cling to his oblivion for more than a minute. “Yes. It appears Baker was the attorney of record when Samuel Coulter purchased a large parcel of timberland located in Masters County, Georgia.”

  Chapter Nine

  Alicia stood in line at the bakery the next morning, bleary-eyed and her stomach rumbling at the sight of all the pastries in the case. Harry had left a note welcoming her to help herself to whatever she’d like, but she still wasn’t feeling comfortable enough to make a mess in his kitchen. The previous night had proved to be enough of a mess for both of them.

  After Ben left, they had sat at the table nibbling on crackers and cheese and talking about, well, everything. Harry filled her in on the spate of suicide-murders in Masters County in the previous year, all of which were connected to Attorney Jared Baker and the methamphetamine trade in the area.

  She filled Harry in on Ivan Jones and the bounty the gang leader had put on Ben’s head, even though the man had been behind bars. With his cover blown and a price on his head, the DEA considered Ben more of a liability than an asset. The biggest bust of his career had also ended up costing Ben his job and his home. No place in Atlanta was safe for him. He’d had to leave, which was why he ended up taking the job as sheriff of Masters County.

  Sipping from bottles of water, they had sat in the quiet. Alicia marveled at the realization that their lives had been unknowingly and loosely intertwined for many months before they’d actually laid eyes on one another. When she could no longer stifle her yawns, he insisted she go to bed and get her rest. By the time she woke, he’d already left for work. And despite the note written in neat block letters and left on the kitchen table, she’d wager he hadn’t made himself breakfast. There were no dishes in the sink or even a crumb on the counter. He was likely afraid to light the gas stove. The house still reeked of kerosene.

  The kitchen window had been cracked about an inch, letting in a steady stream of cool air, but without opening another to create a cross draft, it was doing nothing to help disperse the smell. Alicia had peeled back the plastic on the broken window enough to allow it to vent a bit in hopes of encouraging dissipation. Then she’d headed for the bakery she remembered had the best coffee in town.

  Unfortunately, the real stuff was off her menu now, but she was still counting on decaf and self-delusion to rev her system. And a pastry. A body needed fuel, after all.

  As she walked the two blocks to the business district, she took the time to survey her surroundings more carefully. She found it easier to brainstorm when she had the setting fixed firmly in her mind.

  Who was behind these assaults on Harry’s property? She couldn’t imagine anyone hating him enough to do these things. Verbal threats, sure. And maybe the envelope thing, she conceded. But shooting up a man’s house was something entirely different. But the failed Molotov cocktail? Whoever was doing this had gone a bridge too far. This wasn’t someone local. Or not entirely. But there had to be some locals involved somehow, didn’t there? Perhaps Coulter had sunk his roots deeper into Masters County than anyone realized.

  If there was anyone local involved, there was no better course of action in a small town than putting one’s ear to the ground. She rem
embered Brewster’s Bakery with its pink awning from her previous stay in the area. It and the neon-lit Daisy Drive-In were the spots where locals congregated. Her stomach growled, and though she considered drinking decaf a step above drinking a brown crayon melted in hot water, she saw no better place to start her day than the bakery.

  A bell above the door announced her arrival. As she stepped into the sugar-scented warmth of the café, she glanced around, hoping to spot a familiar face seated at one of the small tables. Sadly, she came up empty. Not a big surprise. She didn’t know many people in Pine Bluff, and most of them were either attached to the sheriff’s department or the local attorneys. All people who’d likely been at their desks for a couple of hours.

  When she stepped up to the counter, she smiled engagingly at the woman with salt-and-pepper hair standing poised to take her order.

  “Good morning,” Alicia said briskly but with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “I’d like a decaf Americano, and one of those chocolate croissants.”

  The woman nodded and spun away to prepare her order. Seconds later, a paper cup and a white bakery bag appeared on the counter, and the woman started punching numbers into the cash register.

  “Coffee and croissant comes to six forty-nine.”

  Alicia glanced over her shoulder at the tables where people were drinking their coffee from oversize mugs and eating off of mismatched china plates with real silverware. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve said it was for here.”

  The older woman paused, her expression neutral but unwavering. “Oh, well, you’re welcome to eat here if you’d like. Six forty-nine,” she repeated.

  Alicia raised her eyebrows as she handed over her debit card. The woman swiped it, punched in the amount of the charge and waited for the ancient printer to spool out a receipt.

  Desperate to establish some rapport, Alicia nodded to the outdated credit-card machine. “Still swiping, huh?” The other woman looked up at her, the bland expression she wore hardening. A moment too late, she realized the woman probably found her comment insulting. “I mean, most places have a chip reader or even one of those scanners where you tap the card...”