The Holler Thief: A Private Eye Mystery

by Jim Heskett

  Baton extended and held near her waist, she eased down the hill, eyes switching from her feet to the target, ever-mindful of tripping or making noise. If the target moved, she was prepared to drop all subterfuge and sprint toward him. But for now, she stayed silent and slow.

  Serena stopped five feet behind him, then raised her baton.

  The instant the trap had been sprung, she knew it. She even had time for a moment of unabashed guilt at getting caught. They’d laid a honey trap for her, and she’d fallen for it. The second thug dropped from the tree branch above, landing a foot behind her. Since noticing the target, she’d abandoned checking the trees. The one in front of her—the one pretending to be oblivious—now spun and raised a shotgun he’d kept under his coat.

  As far as feeling confident about her skills, this was definitely a low point.

  When arms from the new arrival encircled her from behind, she had to make a snap judgment. One guy behind her, one in front. She chose the shotgun wielder in front and kicked as hard and as fast as she could. Her foot snapped up and connected with the barrel of the shotgun, knocking it out of the goon’s hands and sending it tumbling down the hillside below him. His neck craned to watch it go.

  Serena grabbed one of the hands cinching around her waist and found a thumb. She jerked it as hard as she could to the right. It snapped. The man behind her opened his mouth to bellow, but she elbowed him in the face to stop him.

  The other one trundled down the hill after his shotgun.

  She turned to face the one with the broken thumb. He zipped a jab to her face, and she tried to dodge, but was a fraction too late. His knuckles glanced off her chin, sending a pulse into her cheekbone.

  Then she spun, lowered herself, and swept out a leg. It connected as she turned, and she watched him fly off his feet and land on his butt. With a solid whack with the baton on his temple, his eyes rolled back in his head.

  That would buy her a couple seconds.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lower one retrieve his shotgun, now standing fifteen or twenty feet down the surface of the hill. In one more second, he would have the weapon raised and ready to fire. But she now had a combatant in front of her and one behind, which presented a serious problem. In a two-on-one fight, you never wanted to let your enemies divide your attention.

  Without thinking, she grabbed the delirious man by the shoulders and jerked him to his feet. She arched her back to shift him around, then gave him a shove down the hill.

  Unable to stop himself, he careened downward, knocking into his friend. They collapsed in a pile and the shotgun tumbled further down the hill.

  She leaped down to meet their human pile. In a flash, she whipped out a handful of zip ties and cinched the top one’s hands behind his back. Then his ankles, and she rolled him over. He limply squirmed, but didn’t put up much of a fight.

  The one on the bottom—Thomas Bixby—stared up at her in horror.

  “I’ve seen your mug shot,” she said.

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I already shot you once,” she said as she wrenched his hands together to zip tie them. “If it happens again, that’s up to you.”

  After securing his feet, she collected a couple of larger logs from the area, about the thickness of her wrist. She forced a log into each of their mouths and then zip tied them tight behind their heads. Thomas didn’t make a move and instead chose to whimper quietly about the pain in his arm. The other one was currently too beat up to resist.

  The one she’d bopped on the head had passed out, and Thomas stayed motionless, his terrified eyes locked on her.

  She stepped back and looked back toward the cabin, then toward Harry. She couldn’t see his car from here. But she had to get back, now. If there were two of them, there could be more.

  48

  The drone ascended through the blue sky, with blades whirring so quietly even the birds wouldn’t know. But like a hummingbird, it zipped through the air, shifting directions in an instant. At its current battery level, it could safely fly for about five full minutes. It would do better with a firmware update, but its owner hadn’t had time to mess with all that stuff. Hopefully, those pesky software bugs wouldn’t get in the way too much.

  It approached the cabin and then hovered in the upper branches of a nearby tree. With no breeze at the moment, it didn’t have to fight the air currents, so it stayed quiet and concealed a few dozen feet above all the action.

  A minute later, Carter Maslow’s truck pulled to a stop in front of the cabin. A slew of paper receipts and soda cans tumbled out of the driver’s side as Carter leaped out like a man on fire. Eyes ablaze, hair mussed, his stance wide and center of gravity low, looking ready to sprint at any sign of danger.

  Carter set his sights east of the cabin and ran there, arms flinging wildly at his sides. The drone had no opinion on the emotional state of its target, but the evidence pointed to an unstable person on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

  The drone ascended above the tree and then moved directly overhead of Carter. Due to the sun’s position, the drone’s operator figured the target looking straight up would be unlikely. As long as it stayed in the sweet spot: low enough to record the movements of the target, but high enough to obscure the sound of the spinning rotors.

  Carter kept checking to his left and right as he skulked through the woods. He would take a few steps and then circle back, hunting around on the ground like someone trying to find a lost set of car keys.

  About a hundred feet from the cabin, he kneeled where a tree branched into a clear Y. It was a memorable tree. The target used his hands to scoop away dirt, digging about a foot deep. Frenzied, working fast, chunks of earth flying up into the air with each swipe.

  Then he pulled out a bloodied knife, while the drone zoomed in, recording the man’s actions.

  Harry gasped when he saw the onscreen version of Carter Maslow pluck that bloodied knife from the hole in the ground. This man had murdered his own brother. This man had murdered a friend of Harry’s. While the evidence at Carter’s house had strongly pushed toward this end, seeing it with his own eyes was a different experience for the fledgling private investigator.

  All the little dots of disconnected clues made sense now, and Harry could separate the clues from the red herrings. The brother’s malaise. The mother’s difficulty remembering a calendar date—possibly on purpose.

  The religious cult New Day Church had nothing to do with any of this. No, this had entirely been a family matter.

  As Harry worked the mental math in his head to make the link, Serena came strolling up to the car. She nodded and Harry nodded, and he left the vehicle and joined his bodyguard on the passenger side. They were both concealed by the curve of the hill, but close enough to Carter they could still get to Harry’s vehicle and pursue him, if need be.

  “Thanks for staying in the car,” she said.

  “Ignoring your advice leads to danger. I’m hoping to stay on the side of the living.”

  “Smart move.”

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I went to check out something, but it turned out to be nothing.”

  Harry noted her shoulders were rising and falling, her cheeks looks flushed. Whatever it was, Harry didn’t see blood all over her or missing limbs, so he decided not to pry. If she’d wanted him to know, she would’ve told him.

  Serena leaned close, studying the screen. “That’s the murder weapon?”

  “I believe so.”

  “We had Carter wrong."

  Harry winced. “Grief over killing his own brother looks a lot like grief over his brother dying at someone else’s hand. But it’s not going to matter soon. I already called and the state police are inbound.”

  On the drone screen, Harry watched Carter pause and take his phone out of his pocket. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as the hand holding the knife lowered, and Carter read over the same message several times.

&nbs
p; “Uh-oh,” Harry said. “Someone just tipped him off.”

  Gritting her teeth, Serena sprinted toward the cabin in a flurry of motion. Her hands knifed the air as she went from standing still to full speed in the blink of an eye. Around the curve in the hill, down toward the valley, never hesitating or stopping. Even though she had to dart through a series of close-knit trees, she never faltered in her decision-making and weaved through the foliage like water around a series of bends.

  Harry watched her impressive moves in real life as Carter headed back toward his car on the drone’s screen.

  Harry started easing in that direction. Serena raced. Carter lumbered to his truck.

  Serena didn’t bother to mask her approach as she ran full out. Three steps away from Carter, he finally caught on and swung the murder weapon toward her, and she lowered herself to slide. The blade passed inches over her head. Leading with a foot, she drove her heel into Carter’s shin.

  He cried out and sunk to his knees, dropping the weapon. Serena leaped up, pivoted around him, and then pushed him face down into the dirt. By the time Harry arrived, breathless and sweaty, Serena had zip tied the man’s hands and legs.

  “Why did you kill Lukas?” Harry asked. “Why did you kill your own brother?”

  Blank, coughing, wrestling against the zip ties, Carter glared at Harry and then shook his head, seemingly in disgust at himself.

  49

  Harry poured himself a cup of coffee as he stared at the inside of his office door. Serena sat in a chair in the corner, painting her nails. She said they’d been ruined in the woods when she’d detained a couple of incoming thugs. This information had come after the fact, because she’d said she didn’t want to worry him in the woods.

  Harry didn’t like to think about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been there. He probably would have still dashed off after Carter Maslow, all hopped up on justice and good intentions. But things would’ve turned out quite differently if two or more holler thugs had arrived before the state police.

  The door jingled as it opened, and there stood Kemba Wood, the man whose barbershop break-in had started all of this. For a moment, he stood there, seeming unsure. Harry cleared a haphazard stack of papers from the client chair facing his desk and motioned for him to sit. He added a smile to the end, which seemed to deflate Kemba’s tension a few degrees.

  “Are you two okay?” Kemba asked as he sat. “I heard about what happened in the holler earlier.”

  Serena shrugged and went back to painting her nails. That was all she seemed to have to add to the topic, and Harry didn’t prompt her for more. According to their employment arrangement, she didn’t have to talk to clients unless she chose to do so.

  Harry slid into his chair and reminded himself to make eye contact. That was one lasting lesson Phil Dugan had taught Harry: a client needs you to be strong when they are weak. They’ve come to you because they have no other alternative. This puts a large responsibility on you, so don’t screw it up. Make eye contact and keep it. This is how they know you’re in charge. This will make them feel safe, and establish the pecking order.

  “It’s been a strange week,” Harry said, and Kemba blew out a sigh that sounded like he’d been holding it in for days. The big guy slumped into the chair, with expectant eyes cast at Harry.

  “All day long,” Harry said, “I kept thinking about something Carter Maslow said to me when I interviewed him. He told me that Lukas showed up at his house one day and declared that Carter was living his life wrong. I think that’s the key to unboxing it all.”

  Kemba tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Carter works for a man named Rourke Mannafort, as a drug runner and an enforcer. Most of Mannafort’s under-the-table hirelings also work at his landscaping company, which is why we didn’t see it before. Carter’s name isn’t on anything official to do with Mannafort’s businesses. But some time back, Lukas moved home and started interacting with his brother, traveling from the holler to Berryville every few weeks. Since Lukas found religion during his travels, he disapproved of his brother’s beer-drinking and drug-dealing lifestyle.”

  “So Carter killed his little brother over it?”

  “It’s possible he was ordered to do it. Or, I think Carter figured Lukas’ preaching would eventually draw attention, and if the boss found out, he’d probably have them both killed to avoid the inconvenience of loose lips sinking ships and all that. So Carter put his self-preservation first and eliminated the threat. He probably saw it as a kindness. Maybe Mannafort would’ve tortured Lukas first, and Carter wanted to spare him that.”

  “So it was pure coincidence he robbed me and then was murdered right after?”

  “No,” Harry said, “probably not a coincidence. Probably more like the last straw for Carter. If Lukas intended to start preaching publicly about sin or making grand gestures like breaking and entering, then that would draw way too much attention.”

  Kemba made a distasteful face. “That’s messed up. I can’t believe someone would do their family that way.”

  Harry sat back, pursed his lips, and gave his client a few seconds to think it over. No need to add commentary onto his client’s last statement.

  “What about Rourke Mannafort?” Kemba said. “He’s some ruthless drug kingpin and he gets to go free?”

  “Not necessarily. While exposing Carter, Serena managed to detain a couple of Mannafort’s employees near the cabin, and one of them is apparently spilling his guts about the whole operation to Arkansas State Police right now, including details about the killing of Ginnifer Applewhite. The FBI has been contacted and is inbound from Little Rock, from what I hear.”

  “So it’s all done?”

  Harry nodded. “It’s all done. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to recover your stolen property intact, but things turned out to be a lot more complex than we first thought.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty clear.”

  “This probably isn’t how you intended to spend your first couple weeks in Eureka Springs, but hopefully the sailing is smoother from here on out.”

  Kemba stood. “Thank you for looking into this, Harry. I’m sorry Lukas died, but I’m glad the ones responsible won’t get off.” He stuck out a hand. “I haven’t forgotten our deal. Any time you need me, I’ll be two doors down.”

  Harry smiled at the extended hand, feeling a shudder of relief trickle over him. He shook and bid his new friend goodbye. Behind him, he could hear Serena blowing across her nails.

  After the client left, the office felt quiet again. For a few seconds, he enjoyed the silence, knowing that for the moment, everything had worked out as well as it could. No, Harry couldn’t undo Lukas’ or Ginnifer’s deaths, but he had sealed off the wound and now it could begin to heal. And maybe the holler kingpin Rourke Mannafort would take the fall for the crimes he’d orchestrated.

  The gumshoe turned and caught Serena’s eye. “I don’t think I told you, but I saw my old boss Phil Dugan again yesterday morning.”

  “You definitely did not tell me about that, no.”

  Harry nodded and a nervous chuckle escaped his lips. “I shoved him.”

  Serena paused blowing on her nails and stared at him, jaw widening. “No way.”

  “Hard. I told that mean ogre to leave me alone. I made my move, and he left.”

  The words coming out of Harry’s mouth felt strange. It almost seemed like a story that had happened to someone else.

  “You shoved him.” Her tone suggested she didn’t quite buy it.

  “I sure did. I know; I can’t believe it, either.”

  “I’m proud of you, Harry. Maybe this mean he’ll leave you alone, maybe it doesn't, but you know now that you can stand up to him, if you want. He doesn’t have that power over you any longer.”

  After admitting to the strange events of yesterday morning, Harry felt pressure behind his eyes. Like floodgates bowing and creaking under the massive weight of a watery payload, he felt himself wanting to
say more.

  At first, he resisted, but the pull became too strong. He felt himself wanting to say the things he’d told himself he wouldn’t share with anyone.

  “Yeah. There’s something else. Something I lied to you about, and it’s been eating me up for the last few days. I can’t… I have to tell you.”

  She crossed her legs, set her drying nails on her knees, and looked him in the eye. “Okay. We don’t need to rehash the conversation about how long we’ve known each other, right? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Heart thumping, he rotated his desk chair to face her. “I told you my wife took that job in Hong Kong, and that’s true. But what I didn’t tell you is that we’re not doing a long-distance relationship. She left me.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. Well said.”

  “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

  “When she left, our son blamed me, and so he and I haven’t spoken in months. Part of the reason I moved here was to be closer to him, since he’s going to school just a couple hours east of here. And now he won’t return my messages.”

  “Damn. That sucks.”

  “Yes, it does. I feel like I used to have everything, but I didn’t appreciate it. I rarely thought about how much I had. Now I have nothing, and it’s all I think about.”

  Serena stood and checked her nails again. “That’s not true. You got me.” She tilted her head toward the wall. “And now you’ve got an extra part-time bodyguard in tow, and maybe he’s a new friend, too. I think you have more than you realize.”

  “Maybe so.”

  She cleared her throat. “I was going to walk up to Maria’s and get a burrito. Would you like one?”

  “Yes, I would. Extra meat and with cheddar cheese instead of American, please.”

  “Roger that.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She lingered there for a moment, as if she might say something, but she didn’t. He didn’t met her eye, but he noted the anticipatory look on her face out of his peripheral vision.