Warm, Yummy, Wet & Salty: Black Star Canyon: Book 2 (Black Star Canyon Mystery Novel)

by C. C. Wall

  Helen looked at her watch and seemed troubled. The morning rush started to come in. All the usual suspects.

  The door opened, “Good morning, Helen,” Dyer said with a grin.

  She lit up. “Hi there.”

  Reed entered right after and hustled to the counter. “We are going to need one extra box of doughnuts this morning. I hope that’s all right.”

  “If course it is,” she said.

  “It’s been a little too busy at the station,” Dyer said. “And there isn’t much time to go pick stuff up. Especially today.”

  “Plus,” Reed said. “We have a new guy in there that eats more doughnuts than anyone I have ever seen.”

  “A new guy?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Dyer said. “We got a new…” He stopped himself because he didn’t want to alarm anyone.

  But Reed not knowing social niceties said, “Coroner. We got a new coroner.”

  Everyone in the diner stopped what they were doing and gave the two deputies and strange look.

  “At the station?” Ernest asked.

  “Yeah,” Reed said. “On account of all the bodies.”

  Dyer quickly hit Reed in the stomach. “It’s just a procedure thing. Nothing to worry about. Go back to your…” Dyer noticed that no one had any food in front of them. “Why is no one eating?”

  “Because I’m not done cooking yet,” Leonard said as he walked out of the back. He had Ernest’s food. “Here you go Ernest. Pancakes, bacon and eggs, sunny side up.” Leonard stopped and locked eyes with Dyer. “Shouldn’t you guys be stopping people from turing into bodies? Or did you need more doughnuts?”

  “Leonard!” Helen shouted. She turned to Dyer and Reed. “I’m sorry.”

  Dyer’s eyes were locked with Leonard’s. “No, You’re right. We have a job to do. Just like you do. Why don’t you go and box up our doughnuts.”

  “I don’t do that,” Leonard said. “I just make ‘em.” Leonard turned and headed back to the kitchen, “Get that waitress to box those damn doughnuts up, Helen,” he shouted.

  “She’s late,” she yelled back. She grabbed a box and started packing them up for the deputies. “I really am sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Dyer said. “I understand he is upset, but I guess I don’t understand why.”

  “You should know,” Helen said, “You guys used to be so close.”

  Ernest raised his hand. “Excuse me, Helen? I don’t mean to interrupt, but could I get some syrup for my pancakes here?”

  “Oh, sure.” She said. “I’m sorry about that. Do you want maple or strawberry?”

  Ernest’s eyes lit up. “Strawberry?” He was slightly confused. “Syrup?”

  “Yes,” Helen chuckled. “Strawberry syrup.”

  “Oooh!” he said. “I’ll have that.”

  “You should have breakfast here more often.” She handed him the syrup. “There are all sorts of new breakfast inventions everyday!”

  Dyer sat down at the counter.

  “You want some coffee while I get those boxes for you, boys?” Helen asked.

  “No thank you,” Dyer said.

  “To go would be nice, Helen,” Reed said.

  Helen got them their coffee in to-go cups. “Here you are. Now let me go get that last box packed up for you.”

  “Thanks, Helen.” Reed said with a big, stupid grin on his face.

  “Do you guys care what kind I put in?” she asked.

  “Assorted is fine,” Dyer said.

  She packed the last box up and took it to the counter. “There you go. Four boxes of doughnuts.”

  “Thank you,” Dyer said. He had a mournful look on his face that Helen couldn’t help but notice.

  “Yeah, thanks Helen.” Reed said.

  As soon as the door shut, she walked quickly into the kitchen. “Look Leonard. You and Dyer have to settle this thing. I don’t like being put in the middle of this!”

  “Then stop serving the pigs,” he said.

  “Do you have any idea how much money we would lose if I stopped serving the damn sheriff’s station?” she put her hands on her head and fought hard to keep from pulling her hair out. “It’s not like we have a huge pool of potential customers to advertise to. We are in Black Star Canyon. That’s it. This is all the people there is. We will never do any better than we are right now, and that’s sad!”

  Leonard walked away from the grill towards her. “Let me tell you something,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “Let me tell you something! Get over it, Leonard. Just sort it out.” She stormed out of the kitchen and back into the restaurant.

  Jack Hart was leaning on the counter. “Hey Helen, is Ashley in today?”

  “She’s supposed to be,” she said.

  Jack sighed. “All right, could you tell her to call me when she gets in?”

  “If she gets in,” she said.

  Jack left.

  “What a prick,” she said.

  “I agree with you,” Ernest said.

  Helen looked over at him and her jaw dropped. “Ernest, you got the strawberry syrup all over your package!” She grabbed a rag and ran over to help clean it off.

  “My package?” Ernest said.

  “Is that not your manilla envelope?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Then you should be more careful to not get syrup on it,” she said.

  “I didn’t know I did,” he said.

  The mess was all along one end of the envelope. There was a red pool underneath it. Helen lifted it up.

  “Oh,” he said. “It says it’s for you!”

  “Then you really should’ve been more careful,” she said. She wiped it with the rag. She knew what strawberry syrup looked liked when you wiped it with a rag. This wasn’t it.

  “I don’t think that’s syrup,” he said.

  “I don’t think it is either,” she said. She opened the package and screamed. She dropped it on the counter and fell back on the ground.

  Leonard ran out, “What happened?”

  Ernest had a strange look on his face. He pointed to the envelope. He tried to mumble something but couldn’t.

  Leonard went over and dumped the envelope over onto the counter. A severed hand of a girl fell out with the letter S carved into the palm.

  Ernest gasped and ran out of the diner. Up the road he saw that Sheriff Reagan was heading towards them. Ernest stood in the middle of the street, waving his arms.

  28 - The Spot

  Once they dropped off the doughnuts, Dyer and Reed took Dakota out of his cell and put him in the back of the cruiser.

  “So where are we going, Dakota?” Dyer asked.

  “Down the Canyon road. Towards Cook’s,” he said.

  “So, do you want to tell us what happened?” Dyer asked.

  “I killed him,” Dakota said.

  “I gathered that,” Dyer said. “Why?” Dyer peered at Dakota through the rear view mirror.

  “I did you guys a favor,” Dakota said. “Don’t act like you guys care.”

  Reed looked at Dyer. Deep down, Reed knew Dakota had a point. Colt was nothing but trouble. He always had been and probably always would have been.

  Dyer pretended to not notice Reed’s stare. “Why did you do it?”

  Dakota looked down. He bit his tongue. He clenched his jaw tightly enough to where he could taste the blood that came out of it.

  “You know,” Dyer said. “In order to make a confession, you normally have to actually confess to something.”

  “I did,” said Dakota. “Remember, when I came in the station last night, and I said I killed my brother?”

  “Don’t get smart,” Dyer said. “What was your motive?”

  “Do I need to have one?” Dakota said.

  Reed turned in his seat and stared at Dakota. He felt for him. He had known Dakota for years. They were never friends, but he knew him. “Dakota, depending on why you did it, kinda decides how we treat you while your with us,” he said.
“I guess.”

  Dakota nodded his head. He understood. “Then let’s say I did it in cold blood.”

  Reed turned back in his seat. He decided he was going to let Dyer handle the rest of this.

  “All right hard ass,” Dyer said. “Cook’s will be coming up in a few, what am I looking for?”

  Dakota straightened his back in order to see out the front windshield. “Around the next bend, you should see my skid marks from when I stopped after I hit him.”

  “You hit him with your truck?” Reed asked.

  “He was on his bike,” Dakota answered.

  “He was on his motorcycle?” Dyer asked.

  “Yep,” Dakota said.

  They saw the skid marks in the road. They pulled over on the shoulder and got out of the car. Dyer opened the back to pull out Dakota who was in handcuffs.

  “His bike is behind that brush.” Dakota pointed over to some thick shrubbery. “It should be about twenty feet or so this way.”

  “Take the lead,” Dyer said to him.

  It was a pretty dense section of brush and trees. They had to walk in a line. Reed was worried what Dakota would do when he saw his brother’s corpse. It probably wouldn’t be a pretty sight after getting hit by a truck. Dakota finally stopped and brought the line to a halt.

  “Oh my God,” Dakota said.

  Reed passed Dyer and grabbed Dakota by the shoulders. “Look away,” he said. “You don’t need to see this.”

  “See what?” Dyer said.

  “He’s gone!” Dakota said.

  “Are you sure this is where you left him?” Dyer asked.

  “Yes!” he said in a panic, “I emptied about four shells in ‘em. Right fucking there. Against that dead trunk!”

  Dyer looked at the trunk. “Well, there are no holes in it. They must not have passed through. Are you sure he was laying here when you shot him?”

  “I’m positive,” Dakota said. “His leg was broken. His shin was sticking out. I stepped down on the bone right here.” He pointed to the ground.

  Reed popped up from behind some bushes. “Is this where you said you hid his bike?”

  Dakota looked to make sure. “Yeah. That’s the spot.”

  “There isn’t a bike here, Dakota,” Reed said.

  “What are you talking about?” Dakota ran over to where he left the bike. Reed was right. There was nothing there. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe he got up and rode off.” Reed said.

  “No way,” Dakota said. “That ride was wasted. It was wrecked. There is no way he could’ve rode it.”

  “Then maybe,” Dyer said. “This is all a load of bull. Maybe you like wasting our time.”

  “I swear, I killed him!” Dakota shouted. “I swear this is where I left his bike.”

  “It sounds to me,” Dyer continued, “that you are about as good of a murderer as you are a liar.”

  “What?” Dakota said.

  “Get ‘em back in the car,” Dyer said.

  29 - The Lemon Jellies

  Reagan walked up the front steps in front of the Sheriff’s Station. The steps seemed much higher than usual. With his first step, his heel hit the edge of the step. He wobbled. He almost fell down. He gave the step a dirty look, quickly looked around to see if anyone saw and then tried again. Each step he climbed he let out a sigh of relief.

  The thought of what would have happened if he had fallen kept crossing his mind. Not so much because he was afraid of what people would say about him, but because he was carrying a severed hand that he picked up from the Black Star Cafe. What if when he fell, the hand went flying. What if some old lady found it? What if it hit a child? These were all things that Reagan thought about as he climbed those treacherous steps.

  When he entered the station, it seemed empty. He knew it wasn’t. He could hear things going on. But, he saw no people. He took a deep breath and smelled doughnuts and coffee. His mustache hid a quick smirk, and off he went to try to find his breakfast.

  Reagan’s morning had been bad, then got worse. He was not looking forward to the rest of the day. What he was looking forward to was the lemon jelly-filled doughnut that he had been craving all morning. When he got back to the kitchen, he saw who was making all the noise that he had heard. It was the new guy.

  “Chuck,” Reagan said.

  “Sheriff,” Chuck said. He was trying to swallow a maple bar and having a hard time. “You know, I think having a gallon of chocolate milk in the fridge would really liven this place up.”

  Reagan rolled his eyes. He opened the top doughnut box. It was empty. He threw it on the floor. The second box was half gone. “What the hell happened in here?” he asked.

  “With what?” Chuck said.

  “The doughnuts,” Reagan said. “Where did they go?”

  “There were four boxes and now there are two and a half,” Chuck said.

  Reagan spoke slowly and deliberately to make sure Chuck understood him. “Who ate them?”

  “We did,” Chuck said. “Well, I did mostly. Dyer and Reed grabbed one when they were leaving.”

  “So you ate a whole box of doughnuts,” Reagan asked. “And them some?”

  “By God,” Chuck said, “It looks that way.”

  Reagan went back to rifling around the doughnuts. “Lemon jelly, where are they?”

  Chuck was swallowing half of an old-fashioned. “What now?”

  “The lemon jellies, where are they? I don’t see them,” Reagan said.

  “Oh yeah,” Chuck said. “Those were just terrific.”

  Reagan took a deep breath, flared his nostrils, his eyes widened. “Did you eat my jellies?” he shouted.

  Chuck was terrified. “I might have?”

  Reagan threw the small bag with the severed hand in it at Chuck. It hit him in the face and knocked the doughnut out of his mouth.

  “Ouch,” Chuck said. “What is it?”

  “A hand!” Reagan said. “ My office. Now!” Reagan stormed away.

  Chuck opened the bag and pulled the hand out. When he saw there was a new letter carved in the palm, his face lit up with glee. He put it back in the bag, shoved the rest of his doughnut in his mouth. He had a hard time swallowing it. He licked his fingers and headed to Reagan’s office. “Some chocolate milk would do wonders here.”

  “Sit!” Reagan said as Chuck entered the room.

  “Yes, sir!” Chuck said full of excitement.

  “What the hell are you so happy for?” Reagan asked.

  “This is another sign from the killer. That makes this a serial killer!” Chuck said. “Duh!” He chuckled.

  “Don’t ever Duh me again,” Reagan said. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “It’s very fresh. Like the other one. The hand looks to be removed while the victim was alive and the carved letter seems to have been done after the hand was separated from the body. Both hands we have now are right hands so they are from two different women.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Reagan said. He leaned back in his chair. He noticed that his ceiling looked different than he thought it did. He never noticed all the little pinholes in the ceiling tiles before. “You want a drink?”

  “Yes!” Chuck said. “I am just dying for some chocolate milk!”

  “I mean a real drink,” Reagan said. “A hard drink. A man’s drink.”

  “Like alcohol?” Chuck said.

  “Yes,” Reagan answered.

  “It’s not quite 9am yet, sir.” Chuck said.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Reagan said. “You’re a weird guy Chuck. Not a bad thing, just a weird thing. I would like to get to know you a little better. You seem to have a very positive outlook on things. Although, they seem to be crass and unfeeling, but I need a little positive.” He stood up. “So have a damn drink with me you damn Nancy-boy.”

  Chuck smiled widely. “You got it. Have you ever had a champagne cocktail? Loveliest thing there is. You take a fluted tulip glass and
then drop a sugar cube into it. You drop some bitters in there fill it with champagne and then you top it with some cognac. It is delightful. I have also had it with Grand Mariner in place of the cognac, different experience but not awful…”

  “I have bourbon,” Reagan shouted.

  “That is also one of my favorites,” Chuck said.

  Reagan poured two short glasses half full of the whiskey. He smelled it and his mouth began to water. He closed his eyes and just left it there in front of his mustache, swirling it around inhaling the aroma. He handed Chuck’s glass to him and then sat back down behind his desk.

  “You know what I had to go do this morning?” Reagan asked.

  “No,” Chuck said.

  “I had to go see the parents of Kara Church. The girl whose hand was sent here.” Reagan took another drink. “I had to tell her parents what happened, and that she was possibly still alive and that I would do everything in power to find her.” He took a deep breath and sucked his mustache. “You know what they did?”

  “No,” Chuck said.

  “They broke down,” Reagan said. “First the mother. Crying and screaming. She was angry. I don’t blame her. Then the father’s eyes filled up with tears. He tried to comfort his wife. It didn’t work. The father was in shock. Didn’t get angry. He looked absent. Then you know what happened?”

  “No, Chuck said. He took a drink of his bourbon and nearly threw-up all over the floor.

  “He broke.” Reagan said. “He just broke. You could almost hear his heart shattering inside his chest. As soon as he knew he couldn’t fix this, or he couldn’t comfort his wife, the fact he didn’t know where his daughter was, all these things, he just broke. There was no hope in them. It was one of the most horrible things that I have ever witnessed in my life.”

  “The girl is most likely dead by now though,” Chuck said. He smiled and took another drink. As he swallowed he tried to keep his smile, unsuccessfully.

  “Jesus, boy!” Reagan said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Meaning?” Chuck asked.

  “I just told you a horrible story of people losing hope and you go off and say that?” Reagan said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m just telling you my honest opinion,” Chuck said. “Unless she was taken to a hospital right after the hand was removed, chances are she probably bled to death.”