by ML Michaels
Sheriff Wes looked at Dana, stunned: “He came to the town when they died. His papers checked out and the local authorities decided it was best for you to stay with him.”
Jason looked over the document before noticing the signature: Roy Anderson.
It was the same handwriting used on the receipt when Roy bought the gun. It was him alright, whoever he was.
“I think my life is a lie.” A silent tear fell down Dana’s cheek.
Jason wiped it away with his hand and smiled at her. “Not all of it.”
He made her feel better; he was the one good thing to happen after coming home. She knew who she loved, and who she wanted to be with. That was something worth holding onto.
“Stay here, kids. I better phone my deputy and the fire brigade. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” The Sheriff left the room, and Dana and Jason held each other by the fire, thankfully a more controlled one than the last.
When the Sheriff returned, he held an old bottle of whisky in his hands, along with three glasses. He poured all three a strong measure, and sat in an old armchair. He looked at the glass and pondered for a moment before he spoke.
“I carried you the night of the fire you know, Dana,” he said. “Straight to your Uncle Roy’s door.”
“I know Sheriff Wes.”
“Never thought anything like this would happen. I thought you’d be safe.”
Jason’s heart jolted in his chest. His blood ran cold. Something was very wrong here.
“But Sheriff, you said Roy moved to the town after the death of Dana’s parents.”
The Sheriff sat in his chair, a wise old man who had seen better days than this. He sat there and pondered again.
But Jason spoke first: “Who did you just phone, Sheriff?”
“I didn’t want any of this to happen, Dana. You have to understand. I love Harlan town. We all do.”
“Who did you call!?” Jason demanded.
Sheriff Wes pulled a revolver out of his cardigan pocket and pointed it at Jason. “Stay there, sonny. I don’t want to hurt either of you.”
The truth burned through Dana’s stomach. Old Sheriff Wes was in on it. “How could you! What happened to my family!?”
“If it’ll keep you both still while we wait, I’ll tell you. Agreed?” the Sheriff said, pointing the gun at both of his guests.
Dana and Jason had no choice. If they moved or tried to overpower the Sheriff he’d shoot them both dead.
“Dana,” the Sheriff said in a kind tone. “Your parents were nice people. But they were meddlin’ types. The town had fallen on hard times, it needed help to survive. You have to understand.” The Sheriff smiled like he had done many times before to Dana, but instead of the happy smile he’d usually get in return, Dana looked at him stony eyed and utterly distraught.
“You know the leadworks on the outskirts of town?” the Sheriff asked.
“Yeah, of course,” replied Jason.
“It’s been the lifeblood of Harlan for 6o years. Let me tell you this straight, without that leadworks, there’d be no Harlan town, at least not one worth caring about. The factory employs over a thousand people, without it, the town wouldn’t be able to survive as the pristine little place like it has. It would have withered, people would have left to try and find work elsewhere.”
It all started to make sense to Dana. Her whole damn life was a cover-up.
“Darlin’ your parents came by some information that the leadworks had poisoned the Cart River. To stay competitive, corners had been cut, and the waste wasn’t disposed of correctly; it had seeped into the water. Your daddy, he worked in the place, had worked there for three years. An impressive man, climbed the ladder quickly, was promoted as a manager.”
A look flickered across the Sheriff’s face; one of genuine sorrow. “When the truth came out, only three people knew: your daddy, the mayor and the company lawyer. You have to understand girly, if that information had come out, the factory would have been shut down for good. A decision was made to cover up the truth. But your daddy...” The Sheriff’s face grew grim and weary. “He just wouldn’t play ball.”
“So they killed him and my mother!” Dana screamed.
“Hush darling,” the Sheriff appeared genuinely concerned for her wellbeing. “Yeah. They started a fire. But what they didn’t bet on was a stubborn Sheriff’s deputy snooping around.”
“You?” Jason asked.
“Yeah, me alright. Had my head filled with high ideals in them days,” the Sheriff smirked to himself.
“Why didn’t you help them?” Dana growled in anguish.
“I tried, darling. I did. But by the time I realized what was happening, the fire had been set. Your parents were dead when I arrived at the house. But you… There you were out on the front lawn, looking up at the stars. I picked you up and called it in. You were so little. So afraid, darling. I took you to the station. And that’s when I was called into the Mayor’s office. Him and the company lawyer, sat there with grins plastered across their faces.”
Sheriff Wes stared into the open fire, his face lit like a jack lantern: “They had everything tied up. All the loose ends. Looked like an accident, the only thing they had to take care of was me.”
Jason leaned in and stared directly into Wes’s eyes: “And how did they buy you off, our Sheriff, someone we all trusted?”
“They didn’t. Not at first. They knew I could blow the lid on the whole cover-up.”
“Money” Dana said solemnly. “They gave him money.”
“No dear, they didn’t. See that photo on the mantelpiece?”
Jason and Dana both nodded in acknowledgement.
“That’s my wife. She was ill, you see, everyone knew it. But I couldn’t afford all of the health care bills. Cancer is a terrible disease. It ravages the body, and eats away at you piece by piece.”
“I’m sorry…” Dana said, her caring nature shining through the hurt.
“Don’t be sorry!” Jason shouted. “This old bastard abandoned his duty to protect the people of Harlan!”
“And you would have too, sonny. Imagine if it had been Dana lying in hospital.” The Sheriff looked to the photograph on the mantelpiece through glazed eyes. “Wouldn’t you have done anything to save her? If you couldn’t afford the treatments…”
“Don’t give me that crap.” Jason moved uncomfortably in his seat, clearly wanting to knock the Sheriff clean out, but the small matter of a revolver pointed straight at him put an end to that idea. “Your wife has been dead for years, why wouldn’t you come clean after the fact!”
Sheriff Wes turned to Dana. “Darlin’ the treatments worked for a while. In fact, the cancer went into remission. But a few years later, it came back, my poor Annie died. And by that time you were happy in your life. I didn’t want to pull you away from that, you’d already lost so much, why punish you and the town by closing the factory all those years later? And my Annie, she was so proud when I became Sheriff…”
“Who was my Uncle Roy?” Dana asked nervously, fearing the answer. “Who was the man who raised me?”
“Let me tell you something. That man was your uncle Roy, and that’s all that matters. He was a dear friend of mine. A good man. Two years previously, he’d lost his daughter and his wife in a car accident. A pain like that. You don’t get over it. You only limp on.”
There was a silence as the pieces all fell into place.
“And there was you. A little angel. No home, no family. A victim. And Roy, he was a victim too, a victim of life. You needed each other. You needed a family, and he needed a child. He lived a couple of towns over, and so no one knew him here, kept to himself. The mayor gave him the old white house on the outskirts of town, but most of all he gave him you. Your Uncle Roy loved you more than earth, you healed that hole inside of him. It was all love, darlin’. The only reason the others started trailing him recently was on account of him speaking out of turn. They were afraid in his state of mind he’d blab about what happened.”
/>
There was a creak at the door. A man was standing there holding a handgun. Dana knew him immediately as the stalker who’d stood outside her house one day before. Then another creak, and she knew that face too. It was the mayor of Harlan town, one Harold Dawson.
“Well, well, what do we have here…” the mayor said as he sat down on a small sofa near the door.
“I think you know damn well what’s going on,” Dana screamed. “God help me; you won’t get away with it!”
Then the other man spoke still pointing his gun. “I don’t know if introductions are in order. I’m Devlin, the company lawyer, but by the sounds of things old Wes here has told you everything you need to know.”
“Well, my, my. This is a pickle, isn’t it?” said the mayor. “We had hoped the fire would clean this up. Wes, we’re going to have to get them out of here. We’ll take them back to the house, back to the fire. It’ll look like they died in it.”
Wes stood up with a grave look on his face.
“So this is it?” Jason said angrily. “You’re just going to kill us and throw us in a fire and act like nothing ever happened?”
Wes then spoke: “I’m afraid drastic times call for drastic measures, son.”
And then something happened. A look fell across Sheriff Wes’s face. A kind smile. The one that had looked down on Dana as a child the night her parents had been killed. The smile that whisked her away and took her to a caring man by the name of Roy, who had loved and nurtured Dana all his days.
Wes turned to the mantelpiece and caressed the photo of his wife: “With you soon, Baby.”
Sheriff Wes Dean turned and shot Mr. Devlin and the grinning mayor in the chest. But not before Devlin got off one round. The lawyer and the mayor were dead, and Wes Dean lay dying on the floor.
“Oh Wes…” Dana said as she held his head in her arms.
“Good shot old man… I’m sorry I shouted at you,” said Jason.
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” asked Dana.
Wes spoke lightly, the life draining from him: “Please, stay with me.”
Sheriff Wes Dean looked up at the two of them in the firelight, placed Jason’s hand in Dana’s and whispered: “Roy would be happy.”
Then he was gone.
***
Jason and Dana saw the whole thing through. They told the police what had happened, and as the scandal broke, the town people collectively gasped in shock. For Harlan Town was a quiet place, where very little ever happened. And after that day, it was never the same again. The factory closed. Some moved away, others stayed, but the place survived.
And the old white house looking over the lake, it was gone, brought down by the fire. But there now stands another house on that spot. A place where a recently married couple expecting their first child often sit out back, looking over Harlan Lake. They think about Wes and his wife, they think about Uncle Roy and how lucky they were to know him. But most of all they think about the future, and how happy it is going to be.
The End
*****
Scandal and Murder:
A Billionaire Hometown Law Enforcement Cozy Mystery Romance
By ML Michaels
Prologue
Rob Ainsley walked home. The night covered the world around him, shadows lingered in the darkness, but that was just fine. He’d lived in Hattersfield all his days, and at 72 years old, he’d seen all that the town could throw at someone: the good, the bad, the forgettable. There was nothing to fear, except for familiar contempt.
His feet clipped the dirt track as he turned onto The Lane, that thin wisp of road that led to his home of the past 50 years. In the moonlight, the farmhouse came into view, and behind it the old stable barn. Rob’s drunken mind flicked through the mental scrapbook of his life as he reached the front door. His wife had passed away the previous year. Suzanne...She’d been a simple woman, but Rob had been a simple man, so they met and had 50 years of marriage. Just like Hattersfield Town, Rob had seen all the good and bad a marriage could throw at him as well.
But he had loved her and missed her everyday.
He fumbled for his keys, finally finding the right one before sliding it into the front door. When it twisted, the lock echoed into the emptiness inside. The noise briefly clattered around reminding him that the house was cluttered with a life now lived, and gone. All that was left was to spend his days working on the farm and having a a few beers down at O’Neill’s bar with his friend, Tom. On the nights when he didn’t, he had to face the realities of an empty bed, and a vacant world.
The door creaked open, and Rob stepped inside to the darkness. The house lay silent, and yet Rob felt something. A presence, as if someone were near. He reckoned it was always only a matter of time, and so poured himself a shot of whisky from his liquor cabinet. Sitting there in his comfy armchair he stared at the front door, which he deliberately left unlocked and lying open.
He sat there and waited. For what, for whom, he did not know. But what he was certain of was that he’d been followed all the way home that night. He may have been 72, but his hearing was sharp even when numbed by beer and whisky.
Then, a creak sounded on the old porch. A footfall, someone shifting their weight slightly. Finally, a silhouetted figure appeared behind the screen door. It stood staring at Rob, and he stared back intently.
Yeah, it was only a matter of time. Rob downed his drink enjoying the sharp warmth it provided, and then he broke the silence:
"Well, ain’t you comin’ in or not?" he shouted to the figure watching him.
The screen door opened, the figure stepped into the farmhouse, and Rob Ainsley took one last sip of his whiskey.
“I can explain,” he said.
Present day
Time had not been kind to them. Rose had worked hard; she'd been disciplined, frugal even, but she'd also been loving. She'd committed to a marriage to a husband she'd planned on spending the rest of her with. The first year had been happy. Martin was a good man. He was dependable. He was kind.
But people change. Time changes everything, eventually.
Rose had been so happy when they bought the house. It was like a dream come true. It wasn't the biggest house in the town, but with wooden slats and a pretty white picket fence, it almost smiled American dream at passers by.
Her career had been going well. A career Rose had worked towards. She didn't come from a wealthy family. She had to work for her law degree. Rose had to roll her sleeves up and work every hour of every day. When she wasn't buried up to her neck in law books studying for exams, she was waiting tables, scrubbing dishes, serving food.
She worked two jobs and paid her way as best she could, and finally the day came when she graduated. She got an internship to work towards her bar exam. That day came too, the day she became a lawyer, she even snagged a job with a local law firm in the town of Hattersfield, where she'd grown up. She was content. Happy. Excited about the future with Martin, in their pristine house, in the perfect little town, building a foundation for the day they'd try to start a family.
But Martin had jeopardized everything. He'd bet it all, and lost, literally and figuratively.
It took Rose nearly two years to realize there was a problem. It started with card games. “Just some harmless fun with the boys,” Martin would say before heading out with his wallet. Rose thought he deserved it. Why not? He worked hard too. And his job was physically demanding, working out there in any weather building houses. It didn't pay great, but it was good honest work, so why shouldn't he have some fun? And if it was just a few dollars, they could afford that, couldn't they?
But one night became two nights. Then Martin started taking his time coming home from his job. An hour, maybe two, longer than usual. Where was he going? Surely he wasn't working late every night?
Maybe Rose didn't want to see the truth, but it was equally possible that she simply didn't see it. She was working hard at the local firm to prove herself to her boss, Harry. He was an aging lawyer,
and there were times when Rose thought that he didn't like her all that much, but she'd prove her worth. Of course, it was land deals, divorces, and the occasional business arbitration that kept the firm going – nothing exciting – but she was determined to work as hard as she could and be the best lawyer she could be.
But in the middle of it all, Martin had an addiction. After two years, and a steadily dwindling bank account, it became clear that he wasn't playing cards ‘just with the boys.' He was in over his head. He had fallen in with a crowd of serious gamblers. Hold 'Em, Roulette, Blackjack – it didn't matter what the game was, Martin had a taste for it, and it was one no number of whiskies would wash out of his mouth.
He bet. And bet. And bet. Soon he was burning through the savings account. That little nest egg which was there for a rainy day or the happy birth of a child. But Rose knew now. She knew what had been happening. She knew her husband had been lying and frittering away their money.
Rose tried to talk to Martin about it. She took the soft approach at first, trying to be kind, help him see that he had a sickness, an addiction. But he couldn't see. He was blinded by the chase, by the potential high of winning. And with each angry exit from their home, he went to his favorite gambling hole and lost more and more.
Until the day had come. The day where he knew he was over his head. He wouldn't admit that the gambling was his problem, that it was his fault. No, it was bad luck, yeah, bad luck and people cheating him. But either way, that bad luck had left him owing $67,000 dollars.
This wasn't any normal debt. It wasn't something which could be paid off easily. It wasn't a bank loan or a credit card bill. Martin owed money to men who don't ask twice. If you missed a payment, you wouldn't receive a phone call or a letter, no, you'd receive a kick to the head. A broken finger or two. Most would find a way after that, a way to pay the money back or simply try and leave.