Who was Jimmy Hamilton, and why was he dead? Who killed him?
It was three o’clock in the morning. There was no breeze. The night air was still. I got up from the bed and went downstairs to brew a pot of coffee. I wasn’t getting any sleep. In a few hours, I’d open the diner and next door, Steve would be sweeping his sidewalk and unlocking the door to his salon. I didn’t know it then, but Steve Lark and sleepless nights were going to become a regular part of my life.
Chapter 7
It was 9:45 am the next morning when Ian and Dale came into the diner. As soon as they walked through the door, Steve appeared. He had his scissors in one hand and a can of hairspray in the other, but he was motioning at them behind their backs. It was as if I hadn’t seen them, and he was telling me to question them. How closely was he watching my diner, anyway? There were four people waiting to get their hair done in his salon.
I shooed him away like the pest he was. Didn’t he know that everyone in our shops would see what he was doing? He looked good, though. The way the morning sunlight hit his blond hair reminded me of the soft golden wheat fields. Still, I chased him away. We didn’t need more attention on us.
As it was, that morning, people were asking me questions about my hair. Funny, it didn’t look any different, they’d say. Had Steve done anything to it? If I wasn’t seeing him to have my hair cut what was I doing going around town with him?
Yes, people in Buck Valley really are that nosy.
Ian and Dale chose a booth near the window instead of coming up to the counter. When Jimmy was alive, they’d come in laughing and sit on the last three stools on the end. They’d sit down there carrying on and blowing straw papers at each other. They’d loosen the lids on my salt and pepper shakers and fold my menu into a paper airplane. And, they would fly it at some poor unsuspecting customer who was trying to eat their breakfast in peace. But today, there was none of that. Ian and Dale sat in the booth with the table between them, staring out the window.
My heart broke seeing them that way, so quiet. Ian, Dale and Jimmy went together like a sandwich. Ian was the bread, the one that held everything together. Jimmy would be the jelly, the sweetness that made everything good and Dale was the smooth dependable peanut butter. Today they were just bread and peanut butter which was okay but not as good.
I went to the booth, note pad in hand, ready to take their order. Under normal circumstances, Ian would have pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream. Dale would have a healthier option of an egg white omelet and wheat toast. “The usual?” I asked.
“Nah,” Ian said. “Just juice, I guess.”
“Orange or apple juice?”
“Apple,” he said. He sighed heavily and wouldn’t look at me. “It’s just...nothing is the same, you know?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I know.”
“I’ll have coffee,” Dale said. “I’m not hungry.” He paused for a moment and looked up at me. “Did you know Chief Ryker closed Jimmy’s case already?”
“No. No, I didn’t know that. When did that happen?”
“Yesterday. It’s not right,” Dale said, angrily. “He’s claiming it was suicide. Jimmy didn’t shoot himself!”
A few people looked our way, but still pretended to be minding their own business.
Dale lowered his voice. “You know why Ryker quit investigating?”
“I…”
“Jimmy was gay. You knew that, right? Didn’t he tell you?”
“Listen Dale…” I didn’t want a full on discussion about Jimmy’s sexuality going on in the diner, especially when he hadn’t come out. Outting him now would be wrong.
“I think that’s why Ryker is calling it a suicide. Case closed, and he’s not going to look any further.” Dale met my gaze. “Someone killed him. It was murder.”
Tears escaped from Ian’s eyes and he wiped at his cheeks. “Graduation is in four days. I always thought...god damn it.”
Dale stood up in front of me. “You’re gay, aren’t you?”
Shit. “Yeah. What about it?”
“I’m going to start a petition, and I want you to sign it. This wasn’t a suicide. It was murder. There’s no way Jimmy killed himself. I’ll start a protest if I have to. We have to get justice for Jimmy. He was targeted.”
“You’re acting like you’re gay,” Will Sims said, looking at him.
“I’m not, but what if I was?” Dale demanded. “So what if Jimmy was? Seth is. Hell, Stevie is, too! Why do you care?”
“I don’t care. I don’t give a shit,” Will said. He went back to eating his breakfast. “Freaks.”
Stevie, Steve Lark was supposed to be cutting hair in his shop, but he was lingering in my doorway. Will’s outright hatred brought him inside. “When you have that petition ready Dale, you let me know. I’ll sign it.”
“Good. We’re going to demand the police re-open the case and investigate,” Dale stated.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Steve asked.
“I’m not gay,” Dale said again, “but yeah, of course I do. I’ve known him since we were little kids. Me, Ian and Jimmy, we were…” He stopped and sniffed. His voice broke. “We were really close.”
Ian hung his head. “It wasn’t suicide. He wasn’t sad about anything. I’d know if he was. He’d tell me.”
Steve sat down in the booth, right beside him.
“Don’t you have customers next door?” I asked, pointing toward his shop with my pen. He ignored me.
“Listen,” Steve said, “I know how you feel, honey. I’ll never get over not seeing him walking around this town. Those curls of his! He was so sweet. Adorable. I didn’t think he was depressed either.”
“He wasn’t,” Dale said, sitting down across from Steve. He was happy to talk to someone who seemed to be taking him seriously and not just someone asking him what he wanted for breakfast. Steve had a way of getting next to people. He’d meet someone and within the hour, he was their best friend.
“Maybe his parents found out he was gay,” Steve said. “He was shot in the house.”
“No. His dad wouldn’t do that,” Dale replied. “Crazy old man Keegan would, but Mr. Hamilton wouldn’t.”
Sometimes they forget crazy old man Keegan is my father. I went to get the apple juice and the egg white omelet. While I was gone, Steve huddled up as their 3rd man and got as many details as he could. I knew he’d clue me in later. Ian and Dale had no idea they were being interrogated. Dale wasn’t the only one who was a smoothie. Steve Lark could lead the master class of smooth talkers. Meanwhile, his clients from the salon were coming over for breakfast and to see where he’d gone. I put on another pot of coffee.
No one complained. When they saw him talking to Ian and Dale, they understood. Steve, who they all affectionately called Stevie, was their confidant and a source of comfort. He did more for this town than cut hair.
I cooked the omelet and waited for Dale’s toast. People wanted to sit in the section where Steve was. The diner was full and I was the only one working. Will Sims and his brother Michael left, but everyone else stayed to hear the latest. And the latest, according to everyone in Buck Valley, except for a few haters, was that Jimmy Hamilton was not depressed or suicidal.
I took Ian’s juice, the omelet and toast to the table and placed it in front of them.
“You’ll sign the petition, won’t you, Seth?” Dale asked.
“Sure. In fact, when you have it ready, bring it to me and I’ll keep it here in the diner.”
“That would be great, Seth,” Ian said, softly. “The whole town comes to your diner. Everyone can sign it. The police will re-open the case. I’m sure of it.”
“Don’t worry,” Steve promised him, “The killer will be found.”
“His funeral is tomorrow. I can’t believe it. I just can’t. I was talking to him the day before it happened. Everything seemed fine,” Ian explained to us. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. I just can’t.”
“Look who’s making an appea
rance,” Dale said, getting up on his feet.
I turned to see Bobby Ryker coming into the diner. He came right over to the table. “What’s going on in here, Keegan?”
“Breakfast.”
“That’s not what I heard. Someone told me you are organizing a protest.”
“He’s not. I am,” Dale said, “and it’s my American right.”
“You can protest all week long,” Ryker said, looking at Dale through his mirrored sun glasses, “but the Hamilton Case is closed. They’re having a funeral tomorrow. Let it go.”
“He wasn’t suicidal. You’re wrong, and you’re going to admit you’re wrong!” Dale accused, charging at him.
I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him backward, “Whoa there!” I held on. He was furious. Rage was seething from every pore. Or, I thought, was this an act? Protesting too much? Dale and Ryker were both on our list of suspects. Although, Dale was looking less guilty to me as angry as he was. If he had killed Jimmy, he’d let it go down as a suicide and he’d stop carrying on.
“You suck!” Dale told Ryker. “You and your whole police force suck.”
Kids were ballsy these days, and stupid. Our generation never talked back to the cops. Not in this town. Too many stories went around. Way too many. There’s a reason you aren’t allowed to swim on this end of the river.
“I think we all know who sucks who in this town,” Ryker said looking from Steve to me. He could get away with this since he grew up in the same town and graduated with us. “I didn’t know you were all so well acquainted.”
Dale shook loose of me, and I let him go. He was straight, or he desperately wanted people to think he was. “Jimmy Hamilton did not kill himself! There’s a murderer loose in this town and you’d better find him!”
“Jimmy had problems,” Ryker said. “He was on that online dating app. He was going with strange men. God knows where. He didn’t want his father to know, but Roy found out about him and all that bullshit. Roy told me he knew. That’s why Jimmy done it. He couldn’t face his father. Now you listen to me, boy. You do like I told you and you let this go.”
Bobby Ryker became the police chief because no one wanted the job. It doesn’t pay much, and there’s a butt load of trouble in Buck Valley. Some of that trouble never went away because Ryker was a pot head in high school and he barely graduated. I was against him having a gun and a badge, but I’m just the guy who flips hamburgers. His father was an upstanding citizen. Everyone liked old man Ryker, but Bobby? You can’t get two cents for him.
“I’m not letting this go,” Dale promised. “You’re going to open that case back up and do some real police work!”
“The case is closed,” Ryker stated. “It was suicide. That’s the end of it.” He turned and left the diner.
“He’s a real piece of shit,” Dale muttered.
“Oh honey, tell us what we don’t know,” Steve said, rising to his full height. “I’ve got work to do, but you let me know when that petition is done and I’ll put my name on the first line. I’ll stand beside you at the protest.”
“The team said they’ll sign it and they’re going to the protest, too. None of them are gay, but this isn’t right. This town is about to change it’s ways,” Dale promised us. “We’ll get justice for Jimmy.”
Steve went back to his salon. Dale sat with Ian in the booth and my diner grew quiet. Trouble was brewing again. I didn’t think Bobby Ryker, our police chief, had anything to do with Jimmy’s death, but we couldn’t be sure. It was clear he did whatever he wanted to, and he usually got away with it.
Eventually, Ian and Dale left the diner, but the talking went on for the rest of the day. I heard Jimmy’s name over and over until closing time.
I couldn’t wait to turn that sign over and lock my door.
Chapter 8
Steve came in through the back door and found me in the kitchen. “What do you think?”
“I think it was a long day.”
“I mean, what do you think about Ryker? For the murder?” Steve stayed at my side and followed me around while I cleaned. “He instantly declared it a suicide and shut the case. He looks guilty to me.”
“If he left the case open, he’d have to work. He likes sitting behind his desk watching YouTubes.”
“Rumor has it, he’s whacked a few people.”
“Be careful with those rumors. Whatever he’s done, I don’t think he shot anyone in their living room,” I said.
“No, but people have disappeared after they crossed Ryker and his boys,” Steve reminded me.
“I think if Ryker did it, Jimmy’s body would be in the river.” It’s where they say the rest of the bodies went.
“Maybe they didn’t have time to clean up the blood,” Steve said. “Not all killings go as planned.”
“How would you know?”
“I have Netflix.”
“What about Dale? Is he off the list now?”
“I think so. He’d let it go if he were the killer. It’s definitely being ruled as a suicide. No blame on anyone.”
“Except Jimmy.”
“Or his dad, maybe,” Steve added.
“Nah. I don’t think so. Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t have let us in the house. Mountain folk are private, especially when things go wrong.”
“Does Roy like moonshine?”
“What are you saying?” I turned to face him.
“Maybe Old Man Keegan was there that day.”
“Pa doesn’t deliver the shine. Casey does, and I wish you’d stop dragging my family into this. They’re not involved.” He was making me angry.
“Can you prove it?”
I looked directly into his eyes. “If Keegans had anything to do with a murder, you’d never find a body.”
Steve backed up. He went over to the chair and sat down. He was quiet for a few minutes, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Okay,” he finally said, “you have a point.” He glanced at me, scared. “You’re mad at me now, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m not. I’m upset. Ian and Dale are lost without Jimmy. Poor Ian hardly said anything. Dale’s ready to take on the whole county.”
“It’s sweet how he’s standing up for Jimmy. Hell, he talked the football team into protesting with him. I wish it was like that when we were in school.”
I grunted. “I have nothing to say about being punched in the face and thrown down the stairs for being gay. That’s how things were in school for us. Remember?”
“Times change,” Steve said.
“Do they?”
“Yeah. I think so. These kids have it a lot easier than we ever did.”
“People are still the same. They just hide it.”
“It’s sad that you actually believe that,” he said.
I shrugged. “Life is sad, Stevie.”
He opened his notebook. “We still have to investigate Michael and Will Sims. The Pastor and Bobby.”
“How are you going to investigate them?”
“I’ll take my car to the garage and ask their receptionist a few questions. She likes me. She’ll talk. I do her hair. The Pastor will drool over the thought of counseling me. And Ryker? I’m not sure.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should give it a rest. Tomorrow is the funeral. Let’s give Jimmy respect. Let him rest in peace.”
Steve nodded. “All right, but we will continue investigating on Friday. So, what are you doing tonight, more ravioli and rodeo?”
“No.”
“Then, come over.”
“I’m not comfortable at your place.”
“What are you worried about? They know we’re together.”
“But, we’re not.”
He gave me that look. The one that questions my intelligence. “It’s either we let them think we’re dating, or they’ll know we are investigating Jimmy’s murder.”
“Okay, okay. I’l
l come over. What time?”
“Seven-ish.”
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
Chapter 9
I wanted to go back to the day when Jimmy was sitting with Ian and Dale at the counter, before the murder. Everyone was happier then, and I didn’t think any of them could kill. Now I wondered if there was one among us who couldn’t?
So there were rumors that Bobby Ryker and his boys killed a drifter and threw him in the river. No one saw them do it. There was no proof, and some people say that Ryker made up the story to scare people when he became Chief of Police.
A long, long time ago, during the 1800’s, someone jumped from the bridge. Some say it was a one sided love affair. Johanna Rodgers was madly in love with the son of the richest man in town. Johanna lived and worked in a whorehouse, or boarding house, as it was called. He visited there and spent a great deal of money, but he just wanted the sex and everyone knew he couldn’t keep Johanna. So, off the bridge she went. Some say, her ghost still wanders along the river.
These were the only two stories I was ever told about death near our town. The one about Ryker isn’t repeated often, in case it is true and he’s an undercover psycho. The tale about Johanna is recanted every Halloween.
The people of Buck Valley lead a somewhat boring uneventful life. There are yard sales, a fall festival, light-up night at the gazebo on Christmas and the famous New Years party in the Elks Lounge. The community theater exists for our local actors and actresses, and to entertain the rest of us. There’s nothing to do the rest of January except wait for Punxsutawney Phil to make his appearance on February 2nd, Ground Hog Day. The legend goes if the groundhog sees his shadow and returns to the hole, there will be six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t see it, there will be an early spring. This has been our excitement since 1886. Not much happens here.
Good Boy Gone: Mountain Justice (Buck Valley Mysteries Book 1) Page 3