Get Your Murder Running
Page 1
Get Your Murder Running (Book 4)
A Harley and Davidson Mystery
Liliana Hart
Scott Silverii
7th Press
To the kids ~
You are the best!
Contents
Other Books In Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Sneak Peek Book 5
A Look Ahead
You make a big difference
Also by Liliana Hart
Also by Scott Silverii
About Liliana Hart
About Scott Silverii
Copyright © 2018 by SilverHart, LLC
All rights reserved.
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Published by 7th Press
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Harley and Davidson Mystery Series
The Farmer’s Slaughter
A Tisket a Casket
I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus
Get Your Murder Running
Deceased and Desist
Malice in Wonderland
Tequila Mockingbird
Gone With the Sin
Chapter One
Tuesday
“Now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Hank Davidson said.
Sheriff Reggie Coil grunted. “I’d have to agree with you on that one, old friend.”
Hank reached for Agatha Harley’s elbow as her feet began to slip out from beneath her and her balance wobbled. She gave Hank an irritated glare.
“Aggie, be careful,” Hank said, fussing at her carelessness.
“Seriously?” she asked. “Am I going to mess up a fifty year old crime scene or something?”
“She’s got a point, Hank,” Coil said.
The three friends stood on a hill that overlooked what had become a very shallow grave in a gully’s chasm. March mornings still brought cool temperatures, but by the afternoons, the springtime’s sun would begin to tease the good folks of Rusty Gun, Texas.
It was just after sunup, and Agatha never imagined she’d be playing girl scout and hiking through the woods about fifteen miles outside of town. Even less expected was the skeleton wearing a leather vest and laying on top of a fortune in gold about twenty feet beneath her.
She was dressed in her Eddie Bauer hiking boots, Lycra jogging pants, her favorite TCU t-shirt with an unbuttoned, thread-bare flannel shirt that flapped open in the breeze. A sweater tied around her waist held the entire ensemble together. She usually wore her hair up in a loose ponytail, but this morning, her favorite trucker’s ball cap tried its best to conceal that she’d overslept and ran from the house in a hurry.
Agatha looked through her camera and zoomed in on their position to capture a panoramic perspective of the heavily wooded area. She photographed in quadrants to make sure she systematically captured every angle and element of the old crime scene.
“How’d you stumble upon this?” She asked Coil without removing the viewfinder from her eye.
Coil, who always looked like he’d just come off a dude ranch, brushed away at a spider’s web that had attached itself to his favorite denim shirt. He squinted across the horizon as he pointed to the other side of the gap. His Irish green eyes traced the route his son had taken two days earlier.
“Y’all know my youngest boy is an independent sort. He is also one heck of a motorcycle rider. I bring him out here on weekends to cut loose on the trails, but sometimes he fails to do as I say, and wanders into the wilds.”
“Sounds like a normal boy to me,” Hank said, chuckling.
“You’re right about that.” Coil dropped the heavy plastic bag he’d been shouldering and brushed the long, shaggy strands of dirty blonde hair behind his ears.
“Well, the boy was late coming back to the truck, but when he did get back, he was covered in mud and a little beat up. Seems that streak of broken earth was where he picked up the mud and left some skin in exchange.” Coil pointed across the way from where they stood.
Agatha pointed her digital camera at the obvious slash in the ground and foliage.
“It was getting late,” Coil said. “So after he told me what happened and what he saw, I decided to come back out here Monday after work to check it out. To be honest, I didn’t rightly believe him. He’s been known to tell a tale or two to avoid the whippin’ spoon.”
“Whipping spoon?” Hank asked.
“Yeah. You never got one? Them belts don’t bring near the scare that a good old wooden kitchen spoon does. The same one has kept all of our kids straight. So you see, I figured he might’ve made it up about the bones and all. But when I did finally get around to satisfying my own curiosity, I saw it for myself.”
“How did you manage to sleep knowing this was lying out here in the open?” Agatha questioned.
“It’s already been here a long time. Why would I think anyone might bother it overnight?” Coil asked. He lifted his Stetson and swiped his wrist against his forehead.
“Besides, the rattlesnakes are getting more active and the last place I wanted to be as the sun fell was right here.”
Agatha almost lifted both feet from the ground at the same time. “Snakes?”
“I sure hope for your sake there aren’t any snakes out here,” Hank said as he withdrew his new .45 caliber pistol. “I’m going to shoot it and then you.”
“Y’all relax,” Coil said, laughing. “They can sense fear.”
Agatha wasn’t laughing.
“If you’re done snapping nature photography, I’d like to go down and take a look,” Hank said.
Agatha stuck out her tongue at him and let her camera drop against her chest.
While Coil seemed to navigate the slippery canopy of leaves, branches, and mud just fine in his favorite cowboy boots, Agatha managed to windmill her way down with all the grace of a camel wearing ice skates. But at least she ended up on two feet instead of her rear end.
“In all seriousness,” Coil said. “Y’all do need to keep an eye out for rattlers. They’re not as feisty now as they will be once the weather warms up, but they might still nip ya.”
“Geez, if I’d known this I wouldn’t have agreed to come,” Agatha said. “I do not like snakes.”
“Girl, didn’t you grow up out here in Bell County? You know good and well about these Texas rattlers.”
“That’s why I went to school in Fort Worth. They don’t have any snakes. Except in the dormitories, if you know what I mean.” She tried to joke away her desire to run panicking from the scene.
Agatha brushed away at the grime she’d picked up on her clothes. It wasn’t that she was averse to getting a little dirty, but this area was unlike any place she’d ever seen. She shivered once they descended into the moist, boggy pit.
Even the sun’s earliest light avoided the very bottom of the recessed land. Had it not been for the gashes against dirt made from a young boy’s knobby motorcycle tires, the only evidence of human visitation would’ve been the haunting hallow bones of what was once somebody’s body.
“You want to snap a few pics before we move anything?” Hank asked her.
Agatha couldn’t break he
r gaze from the bones and the glimmering glimpses of gold. She was anxious to discover what was beneath the bones, but they were going to work this by the book. That meant a meticulous documentation of the crime scene. So she put on her brakes, and lifted her camera to begin dissecting the scene in framed photos.
“What do you think happened?” Coil asked Hank.
“He was shot from up top while he was in the process of hiding that gold. Whoever shot him didn’t realize what he was doing. Then Beau fell backward and his body covered whatever it was he was up to.”
“Beau?” Agatha asked.
“Yeah, it’s right there on his vest.”
“Good eye, Hank. That’s why I have you two officially assigned to the case.”
“Officially assigned?” Agatha asked.
“Is that a problem? It’s an old case, and you guys are perfect for this. I thought you had one more book to write on your contract. It’s a cold case we didn’t know we had. And it’s all yours.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of being officially assigned,” she said.
“Why not?” Hank asked.
“Because I can’t pay you for consulting services if we’re working together in an official, yet voluntary capacity.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hank said. “That is a bad thing.”
“No kidding,” she said, eyes gleaming with good humor. “It also means you’re not working for me, so I don’t get to boss you around like the hired hand you are.”
“I think she set you up, old man,” Coil said.
“Old man? You see this body?” Hank reared up and flexed his biceps. “I’m back in top shape, buddy.”
“Well, I was going to comment on your getting back in shape until I saw you huffing and puffing down that ravine,” Coil said.
“I’m not a fan of cardio, but it doesn’t take a Gene Simmons to solve this case.”
“Gene Simmons?” Agatha asked, confused.
“Yeah, the little exercise dude.”
“Oh,” Coil said, laughing. “You mean Richard Simmons.”
“Whoever it is, this case will be solved in no time.”
“What’s your rush?” Agatha asked.
“The weather is getting decent and I’ve not had any saddle time on my new Harley Davidson that Santa brought for Christmas.”
“Oh right, the motorcycle.” Agatha rolled her eyes.
“Y’all are like an old married couple,” Coil said.
“So how do you know that’s what happened to Beau?” Agatha asked, changing the subject.
Hank looked around carefully before grabbing a willowy stick from the ground. He pointed it toward the skeleton’s skull before poking its craggy edge into a small hole.
“Trajectory. You can see based on the small caliber bullet hole in his head, that a shot came from above and traveled in a downward path. He didn’t crumble or twist when shot. He fell straight back. That’s why his skeleton is in basic alignment. I’d guess animals tore at him a bit, but this vegetation is so gnarled I doubt any big animal would’ve gotten to him. Maybe rats.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Coil said. “Keep going.”
Hank took a drink from his bottle of water and tugged at a rag in his pocket to wipe his brow. Agatha watched the way he processed things. Hank could just bulldoze his way through a theory, but he was careful. Always careful.
“Someone had to have followed him out here,” he said. “No way they just walked up on him. My guess? It was a female?”
“That’s kinda sexist, isn’t it?” Agatha asked.
“When did you become a feminist?” Coil asked.
Agatha snorted at Coil, “I’m just curious how he knew.”
“If a guy was following him to steal the gold, why would he have left the gold? Also, a guy would’ve climbed down here to bury Beau, or at least cover him up. But if his woman thought he was meeting a lover in the woods, it’d be natural for her to follow him.”
“With a gun?” Agatha asked.
“He was shot with a small caliber, like a twenty-two. It wouldn’t be uncommon for a woman to grab a small rifle before wandering off into these woods.”
“Maybe it wasn’t his wife,” Coil suggested. “He’s got no ring.”
“We might find a ring once we excavate the body. But if he was an outlaw, it’s not always common to wear a wedding ring. And that’s not being sexist, it’s being real.”
“You got a team coming out to do the excavation?” she asked Coil.
Coil unzipped the black bag and an assortment of tools fell loose.
“Honey, you’re looking at it.”
Chapter Two
Wednesday
Somewhere over the last couple of months, Hank decided retired life wasn’t going to kill him after all. But for a while there, it had been a close call.
Retirement had made him soft. The rigorous training and strict schedule he’d always kept had slid away into sleepy late mornings and midnight snacks. His body had gotten softer in areas that had once been rock solid. But in just three months, he’d dropped the weight and felt like he was in the best shape of his life.
What he didn’t feel great about was the Harley Davidson Ultra Limited that rumbled between his thighs. It had been three months since he’d gotten his dream gift. He’d ridden it three times. Well, two-and-a-half. Coil had driven it home from Waco for him.
But he’d stalled long enough. It was time to learn how to ride. It was a beautiful morning, and there was nothing but his own hesitation holding him back. And the fact that he was fifty-two years old and hated when things didn’t come naturally. He sat in his garage, trying to remember the shifting patterns and which hand lever was the clutch and which was the brake.
“Why’d I buy this stupid thing?”
The reality of defeat was setting in, and it was only amplified by the fear of crashing since he didn’t know what to do. So he turned off the ignition and got off the bike, restraining himself from kicking the tire. He was supposed to meet Agatha and Coil at the café for lunch, and it looked like he’d be driving, just like everyone else
He wore his jeans and a Ride or Die t-shirt that Agatha had gotten for him, and half an hour later he was walking through the front door of the Kettle Café. Coil and Agatha’s gazes swept right past him to look out the big plate glass windows, and he could feel their curiosity when they realized he hadn’t taken the bike.
He hated being bad at things.
“Where’s the HOG?” Coil asked.
“Shouldn’t we have felt the earth rumble?” Agatha teased.
“I think there’s something wrong with the engine,” he said. “I’m going to have the shop give it a look.”
“You need me to follow you over there and give you a ride back?” Agatha asked.
Hank hoped like crazy Agatha couldn’t see the flush of heat rising up his cheeks. He was a highly trained serial killer profiler and a world-renown expert in reading people. Only this time, he felt like he was the one being read, and he didn’t like the switch of positions one bit.
Coil was sitting in his usual place facing the street in their corner booth, but Hank decided he’d rather scoot close to Agatha. It was a test. Because he hated being vulnerable, but he was also at the point where he wanted to be close to Agatha. He wasn’t exactly sure where their relationship was going, but there was something there.
“No thanks,” he said. “They’re going to come check it out.”
“Reverend Graham’s Harley Davidson does house calls now?” Coil asked, excitement in his voice.
“Umm…no. They’re going to tow it so I don’t take a chance in doing more damage to the engine. It sounds pretty bad.”
“It sounded fine to me when I passed by your house this morning on my run,” Agatha said. “You were out there a long time. I was really looking forward to seeing you on it this morning.”
“Yeah, I’m bummed too,” Hank said. “I’m missing out on road time. Maybe next week.”
“Y
ou know, most dealerships offer new riders a certification course,” Coil said. “Actually, in Texas, you have to take the basic rider’s course to get your motorcycle endorsement on your driver’s license. I’m sure you don’t need the basic course, Hank, but it’s the law.”
Hank felt a glimmer of optimism. He’d ask Coil more about it later. For now, he only wanted to hang out and relax. They’d started the morning way too early at the crime scene in the woods. Coil hadn’t been kidding about them doing the excavation work. Small towns like Rusty Gun didn’t have the manpower or resources for anything extra. So they’d picked up shovels and gotten to work.
His hands were blistered from the shovel and trowel, but it had been worth it to see the piles of gold beneath the body.
“I’ve got good news,” Agatha said, “So I’m gonna buy y’all’s lunch. My last book just sold. The Twelve Deads of Christmas.
Hank choked on his coffee at the title. “I take it we already know this story intimately.”
“Sure do,” she said. “But don’t worry, I gushed all over you two in the dedication. I also thanked Dr. Sweet and Will Ellis. I hope they don’t mind.”
“Congrats, Aggie. Let’s have cake later.” He nudged her with his elbow. “I’ll bring it by your place.”
“Good, I stocked up on coffee and beer, so you won’t go thirsty.”
Coil raised his brows at Hank in question. “Interesting. What do you have for Agatha at your place?”
“More varieties of tea than he could probably ever imagine,” Agatha answered for him. “We normally work at my place.”
“It’s good to see you’ve learned to play well with others, Hank,” Coil said, his lips twitching.