The Farmer's Slaughter (A Harley and Davidson Mystery Book 1)

by Liliana Hart

  She’d asked him once whether he’d ever been married, but he’d shut that conversation down quickly. She could read between the lines well enough to know that he probably had been at some point, but it hadn’t ended well. Maybe he’d had children from that union. The thought intrigued her. It reminded her how little she really knew about Hank Davidson.

  Another knock on the door shook her from her thoughts.

  “Well, hello, Hank. Funny seeing you here,” she said.

  “You invited me.” He frowned.

  “And that I did. Why are you just standing there?”

  “Because you’ve not moved to let me in. I’m guessing I’m still invited,” he said.

  “Yes, I guess so,” she teased.

  Agatha stepped to the side of the threshold. Hank was a big man, a couple of inches over six feet, and his shoulders and chest were broad. As her friend Heather liked to say, he was all man. Agatha would’ve been dead not to notice. And boy, had she noticed.

  He was dressed in jeans and a gray Philadelphia PD T-shirt, and she was happy to see he’d retired the Birkenstocks for a pair of tennis shoes. He’d cropped his hair shorter, probably out of convenience more than style, but she could still see the smattering of gray throughout the dark strands. His face was angular, his cheeks freshly shaved, and the lines around his eyes and mouth made him look comfortable in his age. His eyes were dark brown, and his shoulders…well, she’d had a lot of time to think about his shoulders. They were really good shoulders.

  “Hello? Agatha?” Hank asked.

  Heat flushed her cheeks when she realized he’d been trying to get her attention. “Hey, neighbor. I’m sorry for being so distracted.”

  Then she looked at him a little closer. He was kind of green.

  “You feeling okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I feel much better than I did,” he said, heading straight back to her “war room,” as he liked to call her office. “I think I can officially say that Nick and I are no longer hunting buddies. When I requested the chopper to take me home early, I think he paid the pilot to give me an experience, if you get my meaning. It wasn’t a smooth trip. I pretty much face-planted in the bed last night and didn’t move until this morning. The room is still spinning a bit.”

  He looked over the room, familiarizing himself with it, and then went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. At least he still felt comfortable in her home.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice pitched up.

  “I mean, you look upset about something.”

  “We’ve barely seen each other in six months, and you think you can tell when I’m upset about something?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yep,” he said, grinning. “When partners work together you get to know a lot about a person by their facial expressions and body language. Just for future reference, you should never play poker,” he warned.

  “Good to know,” she said. Then she went over to the chaise and grabbed the paper, and then she laid it on the conference table. “Walter Green is dead.”

  “Ahh,” he said. And there seemed to be a complete world of understanding in that one word. “Things like this bring life into perspective. It reminds us of our own mortality.”

  She let out a whoosh of breath and fell back in the chair. He did understand.

  “Hey, I got you something,” he said, picking up a wrapped package from the floor. He’d obviously set it down while he’d been making coffee, and she’d completely missed it. No wonder he’d realized something was off. She normally noticed everything.

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “I don’t know what the special occasion is, but I love it.”

  “You haven’t even opened it.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, feeling a little misty eyed. “I couldn’t tell you the last time someone got me a gift.”

  “Not even for your birthday?” Hank asked, shocked.

  “Maybe so, and I think it was my mom who gave it.” Her thoughts drifted back to sentimental.

  “It must’ve meant so much.”

  “I think people look at me as this eccentric woman who has a lot of money, but they’re not really sure what I do or how I earn it. And I love buying gifts for others or donating to little league and stuff like that. Giving is one of my favorite things to do with what I’ve been blessed with. But people don’t get me gifts because they think if I want something, I’ll just buy it myself. But I love getting them, no matter what it is. It means someone is thinking about you, and that means a lot.”

  “I guess I never looked at it that way. But I’m glad I was able to bring that smile to your face. I might start giving you stuff every day.” Hank laughed.

  Agatha chuckled, a feeling of warmth spreading through her, and she ripped into the paper to reveal a white box. When she lifted the lid she gasped.

  “It’s not much, but I thought it was fun.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s awesome.”

  Inside was a wooden sign with carved letters. It read:

  A.C. Riddle’s War Room

  Justice in Progress

  Tears fell before she could control them. She’d meant it when she’d told him she couldn’t remember the last gift she’d gotten. But she’d remember his thoughtfulness forever.

  “Hey, kid,” Hank said, looking a little panicked. “Don’t cry. I’m not good with crying.”

  “Me either,” she said, sniffling. “Sorry. I’m going to hang it right there on the wall, where I can always see it.”

  “Hey, Aggie.” Hank’s voice quieted. “I really am sorry for the loss of your parents. Mine died when I was very young. You never get over it, so please don’t feel like you should apologize for crying over them.”

  “Do you still cry, Hank?”

  “I grieve because I don’t remember them except through photos. But I miss them dearly.”

  Agatha sniffled and wiped her face. A slight smile appeared as her hands parted.

  “Okay, I’m fine. Let’s focus on McCoy.”

  “Great,” he said. “What do you say we get to work?”

  “I feel like there are important details you’re leaving out,” she said when he reached for his keys and jangled them in front of her.

  “Coil wants to meet with us,” he said. “And no, before you ask, I don’t know why. But you look like you could get out of the house for a little while. You’re very pale. Did you see any sun this summer?”

  “I told you, I was working. And I got out Friday night to go to the game.”

  “You’re a real party animal, Agatha Harley.”

  She grabbed her purse and followed him out the door. She locked it behind her. “Besides, I’m not that pale.”

  “Honey, you’re so pale I can see through your skin.”

  “Don’t call me honey.”

  “You got it, Aggie.”

  Chapter Four

  Rusty Gun, Texas, wasn’t a big town—just over eighteen hundred people—but it was a close-knit community of multi-generational families who’d worked, bled, and supported one another for almost two hundred years. Unless you were a Beauregard or a Hatchett. If you were unfortunate enough to have either of those surnames there’d been nothing but two hundred years of feuding.

  The town didn’t scrimp on the holidays, and Halloween was no exception. The buildings on Main Street had been lined with orange lights, and the front windows of every business had been painted with a unique Halloween scene. Witches and goblins and ghouls decorated front yards and lampposts.

  “I love this time of year,” Agatha said. “On Halloween all the businesses stay open late and hand out candy. The café sells Witches’ Brew and puts things on the menu like Spaghetti and Eyeballs. They’ve been doing it that way since long before I was born. When I was little my parents would bring me down here in my costume, and then we’d stop by the café for a treat when I was finished. They were always good memories.” />
  “Interesting,” Hank said. “In my experience, Halloween is when all the crazies come out and it’s best to go on shift with an extra set of cuffs and a cross around your neck.”

  “That does sound like a different experience,” Agatha said, lips twitching.

  It had taken almost ten minutes to drive from Agatha’s house to Main Street, but they found a parking spot right in front of the Bell County sheriff’s office. It didn’t help that it was right next to the empty parking spot that had belonged to Kim Lee, Sheriff Coil’s former secretary. She was currently serving time for the role she played when her son killed Nicole Green. The sheriff’s secretary job hadn’t been filled yet.

  “Why do you think he wants to see us?” Agatha asked, both nervous and excited. They were still in the Jeep, but Hank had already unbuckled and had his hand on the door handle.

  “I told you I didn’t know,” Hank said. “You’ll find out soon enough if you’ll get out of the car and stop asking me questions.”

  “Touchy,” Agatha said under her breath but did as he said and got out of the car. “You and Coil hung out any since the arrests were made?”

  Hank scowled at her. “Not really. He’s a little busy now that he’s having to be the sheriff and secretary.”

  She could see the guilt in Hank’s eyes, and knew it was no use telling him it wasn’t his fault. Kim Lee had made her own choices. And they’d been the wrong ones. The consequences were hers to bear.

  Agatha raised her brows when she walked in. The whole office was being renovated. It was amazing how much bigger it looked now that the wood paneling and shag carpeting were gone.

  Coil stood across the room with the contractor, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore his typical uniform—a plaid button-down shirt with his sheriff’s star pinned over the pocket, a pair of worn jeans, boots, and a Stetson.

  Coil waved them over. “You guys are here early. I figured I’d have to go to church service and get back before you got here.”

  “You want us to come back later?” Hank asked.

  “Nah, we can go to the late service. We never go to that service because it’s too hard to beat the Baptists to lunch, but this time will be fine. I had to come into the office anyway to let Larry in. He’s agreed to work on Sundays so there’s not so much chaos during the workweek. But it’s coming along nicely. Should be done with the interior stuff by the end of next week.”

  “It’s definitely improved, even with the Sheetrocked walls and the concrete floors,” Hank said.

  “Y’all come on back to the office with me and we’ll let Larry work in peace.”

  Agatha followed behind Hank and Coil and wondered if she was reading more into the tension between Hank and Coil than she should have. Something just felt off.

  Agatha took the chair in front of Coil’s desk, but Hank remained standing. So did Coil.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the Nicole Green case,” Coil said. “It was my fault for it not being able to be solved eight years ago. I take responsibility for that. But the fact of the matter is, even with my screwup, I took a big chance at handing that file over to you. We got lucky because Tyler pleaded guilty to avoid the death penalty, but we could’ve gotten our hats handed to us if we’d been questioned over how certain information was gained. We didn’t exactly follow procedure, even though we got the results we wanted.”

  “What are you saying?” Agatha asked.

  “What I am suggesting is that we make things a little more official. Just in case we ever need to cover our butts.”

  “I’ve known you a long time, Reg,” Hank said. “I know I’m going to hate whatever you suggest, so you might as well spit it out.”

  Coil grinned, a dimple showing in his right cheek. “Well then, as long as you know you’re going to hate it, how about we make things more official?”

  “Nope,” Hank said. “I’m not going back.”

  It was obvious to Agatha he’d been expecting Coil to say that. Hank had never told her why he’d retired, but there’d obviously been a reason. His face had paled, and she could see the anxiety in his eyes. She wanted to get up and hug him, but she knew he’d just push her away.

  “Take it easy, pal,” Coil said, holding up both hands. “You’re retired, and no one will change that decision except for you. I promise. All I’m suggesting it that you carry this badge. For official reasons.”

  Coil tossed a polished, six-point deputy sheriff’s star set in a leather wallet onto his desk. The Texas state seal caught Agatha’s eye, and then she read the blue embossed letters that circled the seal: Bell County Special Investigator.

  “What’s this about?” Hank asked, eyeing the star as if it were a poisonous snake.

  “There’s no obligation, other than to list you as a reserve commission deputy. This will cover all of our butts in the event something comes up, or pieces of information are learned by you that might lead to an arrest or prosecution.”

  Hank’s eyes never left the badge, but he didn’t move to pick it up. “I carried one badge for twenty-six years. It feels strange to start carrying another.”

  “Right now you’re just a nosy civilian. And nosy civilians end up getting sued or shot. You’ve got your weapon, and you’re authorized to help and use it if the need arises. But this makes the paperwork easier on all sides.”

  “Will it get us out of speeding tickets?” Agatha asked.

  Coil’s lips twitched. “Yes.”

  “We’ll take it,” she said, snatching it off the desk.

  “Slow down, tiger,” Hank said. “There has to be a catch. There’s always a catch.”

  Agatha looked at Coil expectantly and raised her brows.

  “It’s for both of our protection,” Coil said. “But yes, there’s a little catch.”

  “Told ya,” Hank said.

  “All I ask is that y’all look through this stack of old case files. Larry found it in a closet that had been plastered over decades ago. I thumbed through, and I gotta tell ya, there’s some juicy stuff in those boxes.”

  “How juicy?” Agatha asked

  “Book-writing juicy.” And then Coil looked at Hank. “And boredom-curing juicy.”

  “Fine,” Hank said. “But if I don’t feel comfortable with it after a while I’m giving it back.”

  “You’re sure this’ll get us out of speeding tickets?” Agatha asked.

  “Him, yes,” Coil said, grinning. “You, no.”

  Hank snatched the badge out of her hand. “I’ll take that,” he said, and put the wallet in his back pocket.

  “There’s always a catch,” Agatha said.

  Chapter Five

  Hank insisted they switch cars for the long drive to Rio Chino. Not that he minded Agatha driving. It’s just that he preferred to do it. He didn’t like giving up control.

  “Why are we going to Rio Chino?” Hank asked. “The only thing I know about this case is that a guy set his house on fire and murdered his wife, and everyone thinks he’s innocent.”

  “Not everyone,” Agatha said. “There were plenty of people to say they weren’t surprised. As far as divorces go, this one was TMZ worthy.”

  “The level of interest just doesn’t make sense. I get accosted by a group of rich guys, thinking I’m their savior and going to look into a case that’s been closed for ten years. I tell them I haven’t even heard of the case, and they treat me like I’ve just stolen the silver. Then they take me to this dude ranch, ignore me, and then try to kill me on the helicopter ride back. And for what? A house fire and a high school QB? It’s nuts.”

  “It’s a hunting ranch. Not a dude ranch,” Agatha said, correcting him.

  “Whatever. I’d still like to know the big deal.”

  Agatha scrunched up in the BMW’s leather seat and exhaled as she reluctantly tugged out a few briefing sheets she’d printed earlier.

  “Back in 2010 the Rio Chino Fire Department responded to a residential fire. Apparently, its point of origin was
pretty much everywhere, and the place went up like a tinderbox. Firefighters followed standard procedure and put water on the blaze, but Gage McCoy stood out front with a shotgun and refused to let them put out the fire. He lost it in the divorce and said he’d rather see it burned to the ground.

  “Once the fire was extinguished, Gage was arrested. And when the embers cooled enough to go through what was left of the place, they found the body of his ex-wife, Julie McCoy. She’d been handcuffed to the bed. There wasn’t much left of her, but the medical examiner found a bullet in her chest.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” Hank said.

  “Why’s that?” Agatha asked.

  “Because a bullet in the chest is a heck of a lot better way to die than burning to death.”

  Agatha cringed. “Good point. The fire chief also died that night.”

  Hank changed lanes and tapped the brakes, annoyed by the amount of traffic. “What? McCoy killed the fire chief?”

  “No. Kip Grogan was his name. He had a heart attack, but that went a long way in convincing a jury to convict McCoy.”

  “So, big picture, what are we up against? What’s the town’s climate toward Gage, post-conviction relief efforts, forensic reevaluations? Really, anything to get a foothold and get a leg up on this case. Because Nick swears Gage is innocent.”

  “It comes down to it being a town rivalry,” Agatha said. “Gage McCoy is a hero in the city of Beacon City, loved by everyone. But because the incident took place in Rio Chino, there’s still the chill thanks to poor old Kip dropping dead. Gage reached out through a prison ministry to the Innocence Project, but politics put a stop to that before it could start and they didn’t take his case. Everything I got from public records requests show the evidence that wasn’t washed away from the fire hoses still sits at the RCPD.”

  “A lot of good that’s going to do us.”

  “Why don’t you call your friend Nick and see what he can do to help us?” Agatha suggested. “Money paves the way for a lot of information.”