by L T Ryan
Jake looked over his shoulder, back in the direction of his grandmother, looking for approval. But she’d already returned to the kitchen and was busy stowing prepared meals given by well-meaning family friends.
“Don’t worry, you won’t get in any trouble. I’m just trying to figure some things out so I can help the sheriff.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She was trying to answer some questions. Whether it would help the sheriff or her was still up for debate.
Jake took the slip of paper, minimizing the screen he was playing on. He accessed the Find My Phone application, and after entering the info Hatch had provided, a map popped up with a small dark green dot surrounded by a larger circle of light green. Hatch knew the general area of the phone’s last location. There was one road leading to the dot.
“Can you zoom in?”
Jake pressed his fingers on the screen and separated them. The map’s details came into focus. Hatch realized the road was a long private drive that dead ended near the spot of her sister’s last known location. Familiar with maps and how to read terrain features, Hatch committed the image to memory.
Jake must have noticed her studying the map because he asked, “Do you want me to just text you a screenshot of it?”
Hatch smiled and pulled out her flip phone. “I’d love that, but it won’t do much good with this thing.”
“I didn’t even think they made those kinds of phones anymore.”
For the first time, she saw a spark in the boy’s eyes. She rubbed his head, mussing his hair slightly as she took back the piece of paper.
The glimmer of light faded from his face, and he slipped his headphones back in place, replacing the map with the flickering of the game’s screen.
Leaving the kids to the care of her mother, Hatch folded the paper and stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans.
She hopped into the cab of the old F150. The familiarity of the cracked gray leather seat, worn from years of use, brought memories of her father’s first few attempts at teaching her the finer points of driving a standard transmission. Learning how to drive at an early age was common around these parts, as many families came to depend on their children’s ability to pull their weight around the properties. Hatch’s tall frame, even at eleven, made it easy for her to reach the pedals. And so, her father began his lessons.
Her father, a man known for his ever-present calm demeanor, became completely undone with Hatch’s incessant grinding of the gears. There was a time not long before his death when she recalled him screaming aloud as Hatch almost launched them off the road and down into the ravine below, a hundred-fifty-foot drop that would have killed or maimed them. Luckily, he’d managed to jerk the wheel, diverting their course. Hatch slammed the brakes, kicking up dust around the truck, and looked over at her father. In that rare moment when life won out over death, the two burst into uncontrolled laughter. Her father’s laugh, a rare thing to behold, was infectious to those blessed enough to hear it.
The memories of her father, tucked deep, were flooding back to her with more frequency now that Hatch had returned. With each remembrance came a longing to find closure to his untimely death. Hatch decided right then, as she slid the key into the ignition, to look into the case facts surrounding his death once she’d concluded her sister’s investigation.
The truck kicked up a plume of rust-colored dust, clouding the view behind her as she pulled away from the house and headed into town.
“Is Sheriff Savage in?”
“Well, hello again, dear.” The woman at the main desk gave a welcoming smile, her bright blue eyes adding to the almost lyrical notes of her voice. Underneath the warm exterior, Hatch felt an unease in the woman’s mannerisms. Most wouldn’t have noticed the slight change in posture or the flicker of hesitation in her smile. Rachel Hatch wasn’t most people. And she noticed. “I’ll check.”
She rose from her chair and moved out of view. Hatch could hear her muffled voice through the thin walls of the poorly constructed building but was unable to make out any of what was being said. The response came in the deep baritone of a male’s voice.
The older receptionist came back into view as the side door opened.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at a funeral?”
Hatch turned to see Savage standing in the door, his frame taking up most of the space in the doorway. The brown shirt over khaki pants made most county lawmen look more like a UPS delivery man than a cop, but on Dalton Savage it just seemed to work. The clean lines of his uniform tapered from his broad shoulders down to his trim waistline. His face was serious but softened ever so slightly by his hazel eyes. Hatch didn’t often expend mental energy noting such things, and she shook herself from the unwanted distraction.
“It’s over. Besides, I said goodbye to my sister yesterday.” Hatch didn’t mean for the words to be so blunt and cold. But the truth sometimes was. Actually, most truth hit like a jackhammer in the gut. It’s the simple reason so many people softened those blows by padding them with little white lies. She found the practice counterproductive.
“Okay. So, what can I do for you today?”
Hatch pulled out the slip of paper from her pocket. “I think you were looking for this.”
“And what’s that?”
“The username and password information for my sister’s phone.”
Savage nodded, stretching out his hand. “Thanks. You know—you could’ve just called. No need for you to come all the way in for this. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to be doing.”
“There’s nothing more important than figuring out who’s responsible for my sister’s death.”
“That’s not what I meant. I was just saying—”
“Let’s pull up the last known location for the phone.”
“What’s this let’s stuff? I understand you want to help. I really do. But you’ve got to trust me on this.”
Hatch handed the piece of paper over to the Sheriff. “Fine, but I think you’ll quickly figure out I’m not very good at waiting around.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“And I want to be kept in the loop. Day or night. If something breaks in the case, I’d appreciate it if you let me know.”
Hatch turned her back on the Sheriff and walked out the same door she’d just come through minutes before. She had somewhere she needed to be.
As she sat in the cab of the truck, Hatch pulled up her mental image of the map from Jake’s iPad. Seeing the green dot in her mind, she pressed the clutch and maneuvered the stick into gear.
“That’s Jedediah Russell’s property.” Littleton was nervous. His voice squeaked when informing Savage.
“Well, it’s the last known location for Olivia Hatch’s cell phone signal. It’s just up that hill and past that cluster of trees.” Savage looked at the dot on his phone’s screen. The red icon showing his position was rapidly closing on the destination. The map zoomed as the distance between the two points decreased.
“You know he’s crazy, right?”
“You sound scared.”
“I am. And rightly so. When I was a kid, they used to tell stories about Old Jed taking pot shots with a twelve gauge at anybody who stepped foot on his property.”
“Any truth to the stories?”
“Don’t know. I was never dumb enough to test it out.”
“We’re in Sheriff’s uniforms. I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to be taking any shots at us.”
“This ain’t the city, boss. People ‘round here—especially the recluses like Old Jed—don’t take kindly to people traipsing across their land. Especially ones in uniform and driving government vehicles.”
They pulled to a stop by the gate defining the man’s property. A chain link fence spread out from the gate’s end posts. Each one only covered a distance of approximately thirty feet before the thick brush took over, creating a natural boundary line. “No trespassing” signs were posted at spaced intervals along the fence. A hand-painted sig
n was hammered into the ground a few feet in front of the gate. The words “Trespassers Will Be Shot on Sight,” clearly visible in bold black lettering on the yellow backdrop, made clear Old Jed’s thoughts on unwelcome visitors.
As if timed to punctuate the young deputy’s statement, the distinct rack of a shotgun echoed as Littleton cut the engine. The sound of a round being chambered came from just beyond the rise, in the direction of a ranch house. Littleton gave Savage an “I told you so” look.
“I don’t know who the hell y’all think you are comin’ up here unannounced, but time to leave. Don’t set a damned foot on my property.”
Savage was about to speak when he heard the old man shout, “Show me your damn hands!”
Savage shook his head. “Sir, my gun’s holstered. I need you to lower yours and come to the sound of my voice.”
The old man was speaking, but his voice wasn’t projecting.
“This is Dalton Savage of the Hawk’s Landing Sheriff’s Office. Mr. Russell, we need you to lower your weapon and come into view.”
“I ain’t putting my damn gun down. I need this girl to get to steppin’ back to where y’all are at. Trespassing ain’t legal. I know my rights.”
Girl? Savage thought. He looked over at Littleton, who was shaking but managed to offer an unhelpful shrug.
Rachel Hatch came into view. Her hands were raised slightly above her midline, but not in full submission to the armed man. Savage was impressed by the woman’s calm, almost placid, facial expression while a gun was pointed at her back. She rolled her eyes as she walked ahead of the man. Savage read her face as split between anger and embarrassment.
“Hatch? What the hell are you doing here?”
“You’re not the only one who can access an app and locate a phone.”
“I told you to let us handle this. That was the deal.”
“There’s no deal. And it appears you two were just going to sit at the bottom of the property line and wait until this case figured itself out. Like I said before, I don’t like to wait around.”
“Doesn’t look like your way turned out much better.”
“Now you listen here! Get the hell off my property!” Russell’s interruption ended the back and forth.
“Mr. Russell, I’m Sheriff Savage. We’d like to look around your property.”
He spat on the ground in the direction of Hatch. “Looks like your friend here already tried that.”
“She’s not with us.”
“Well, maybe she’s with those goons from that damned Nighthawk Engineering. Either way and whatever your reasons, you get the hell off my land!”
“Mr. Russell, we’re trying to investigate a—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want.” He spun and turned his back on the trio. The shotgun held low, along his right thigh, as he began walking away from the gate. “Get yourself a warrant or next time I see you sneaking about, I won’t be so hospitable.”
Jedediah Russell disappeared from view. Savage turned his attention to Hatch. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you need to back off and let us work. You’re really testing my patience. I’ve got a right mind to arrest you, but I can’t see how that would benefit your family. This is the only pass you’ll be getting from me.”
“I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
“What you’re doing is interfering with an investigation. Next time it happens, I will be putting the cuffs on you myself.”
“Good luck with that.” Hatch turned, walked off the dirt road, and into the thick brush.
“Were you serious?” Littleton asked.
“About what?”
“Arresting her.”
“Maybe—I don’t know.” Savage rubbed his head. “But one thing’s for certain, she’s got some balls.”
8
Miller’s Walk was a dive bar on the outskirts of town and the only watering hole in Hawk’s Landing. There were bars in neighboring towns, and those looking for a night-life experience could make the drive into Durango. Most citizens here chose to keep to themselves. And by default, rarely frequented anywhere else.
The bar was named after the first proprietor, Alton Miller. Originally called Miller’s, the Walk was added years later when it became commonplace for its inebriated patrons’ inability to operate a motor vehicle after spending a few hours in the establishment. Many a person had made the long walk home.
In Hatch’s youth, she’d been inducted into the bar’s list of Miller’s Walkers, as they were known. Every walker ended up getting their name on the wall. On a shelf atop the wall was a pair of sneakers. They belonged to the first patron who’d made the walk. By rite of passage, each walker wrote their name and the distance walked on the wood panel beneath the old shoes. The years had added many to the list, and the space on the wall had become more crowded in the years since Hatch made her mark. It was now a collage of drunken letters, but in it, Hatch knew exactly where she had inscribed her moniker. She eyed the faded-black letters and shook her head at the childish pride she’d taken in writing them.
The other problem with Miller’s Walk was everybody would recognize her. The nightly gatherings at the bar were like a perpetual high school reunion dating back to when the school only had twenty students, and that included grades kindergarten through senior year. If this were a movie, the jukebox would’ve stopped playing as she entered. Instead, people stared as Garth Brooks blared out the lyrics to “The Thunder Rolls.”
Hatch stood in the spotlight of the townsfolk’s eyes and thought the words couldn’t have been more appropriate. Maybe she never should’ve come back, she thought, because it seemed the storm followed wherever she went.
Cole Jenson stood when he spotted her. He was at a small table beyond the bar, set away from the others. An island unto itself. Hatch was grateful for his choice of location in the crowded room. At least she could pretend to ignore the other patrons.
Seeing her, he gave a smile and waved her over.
Hatch crossed the peanut-covered wood floor as the others in the room returned to their drinks and conversations. The slurry of spilt beer and peanut shells made the floor slippery. It also gave the bar a unique smell, always reminding Hatch of a circus tent.
“I’m glad you came.” He gestured to an empty seat. “To be honest, I didn’t think you were going to show.”
“Neither did I.” Hatch eyed the pitcher of beer and noted it was already half empty. “I see you got a head start.”
Cole poured beer into the mug in front of Hatch as she took a seat. “Guess impatience got the best of me. Hope you don’t mind Coors Light.”
Hatch took a swig as the frothy head quickly dissipated. “I’ve had beer in places that didn’t have running water. No beer snob here.” She raised her glass. “Cheers.”
Cole smiled. His cheeks dimpled. The same dimples gave him the disarming charm of a sweet boy. In her youth, they’d worked their magic on her. Now, filled with life’s unexpected lessons, she knew better. Hatch wondered if he, too, had matured in the years since, but looking at him sitting across from her with the foam of his beer giving him a temporary mustache, she strongly doubted it.
“So, Olivia worked at your company as an administrative assistant?”
“Wow! You don’t waste any time. Nothing like catching up over a few beers before we dive into the real stuff.”
“Listen, my sister’s dead. I’m trying to figure out what happened to her. Sorry if I don’t want to spend the night on a long slow walk down memory lane. And if I recall, ours weren’t that memorable.”
“Ouch. Geesh. It’s been over fifteen years. You think you’d cut a guy a break—let bygones be bygones.”
“You slept with my sister, Cole.”
He broke eye contact and dipped his head, staring into the amber-colored liquid bubbling in his mug. His voice lowered as his smile faded, and with it, the prominent dimples receded. “It was a mistake. I was young and dumb.”
“I h
ope to God you’re not going to try and use that bullshit excuse you did when we were kids.” Hatch felt her face redden. She took a few gulps, taking the edge out of her voice. “You know the one—where you told me you thought it was me. The whole I-couldn’t-tell-you-apart load of crap.”
“I was stupid. What can I say?” He looked up. “I’m a different man now. I’m a father. I’ve got two boys, ages nine and eleven.”
This information bothered her. Why had she assumed he wouldn’t have a family? Maybe because he approached her at a funeral and asked her out for drinks. “Does your wife know you’re out at Miller’s with me?”
“No.”
Her face warmed. The hurtful memories of the past rolling forward. He wasn’t about to end up hurting another woman the way he’d hurt her. Hatch pushed back in her chair, preparing to leave. “Not much has changed.”
“You asked me if my wife knew I was out with you. I said no. Because I don’t have a wife. I’m divorced.” He seemed embarrassed by the release of information. “She left me a few years back. Wanted a different life. Said she needed to get out of this small town. Guess I can’t blame her, but I thought I’d be enough—our kids would be enough to keep her here. I was wrong.”
“Oh—I’m sorry.” Hatch dialed back her annoyance with the man seated across from her and immediately regretted her pettiness of dredging up the past. Why did he always have this effect on me?
“It happens, right? This town, this life isn’t for everybody. I mean—you left.”
She looked hard at him and debated whether to speak her mind. “I’ve never told anybody this, but you were a big reason I left.”
Cole’s brow furrowed. “How so?”
“Back then you were my world. I thought we were going to be together forever. I know now that we were just dumb kids. But not then. Back then you were as important as air.” She sipped from her mug. “Do you remember we talked about opening a bakery in town?”
Cole chuckled. “Yeah. I still don’t know why. Neither one of us knew anything about baking. Or cooking, for that matter.”
