by Sharon Sala
She had just walked back into the living room with a hot cup of coffee when she saw headlights coming down the drive.
It was almost 6:00 a.m., and the new day was here despite the lingering overcast sky.
Thank you, God, he’s home.
She watched Trey park. When he began walking toward the house, his head was down, his steps dragging. She opened the door and, despite the chill air, walked out to meet him.
Trey looked up. Dallas was on the porch, and from the steam coming off the cup in her hand, whatever was in it was hot.
She handed it to him without saying a word.
He lifted it to his lips with both hands and took the first sip. Warmth from the liquid started to dissipate the chill in his body. He took another sip, and then another, until the cup was empty, before he gave it back. Then he began to undress without care for where he was leaving every sodden piece of clothing he’d been wearing in a pile on the porch. When he walked inside, Dallas was holding the quilt from the sofa. She wrapped it around him and led him to her dad’s recliner, then refilled the cup and gave it to him again.
The silence stretched until Trey finally broke it. “He’s dead.”
Dallas moaned, and sat down at the end of the sofa beside his chair. “Poor Holly. What happened?”
“He was shot in the back.”
Dallas gasped. “Another murder? This is crazy. What’s happening here?”
“Someone reported people camping on the north side of the mountain. He went to investigate and never came back. We found the campsite and his hat. His body was about a hundred yards away.”
“The north side? Where I’ve been seeing lights?”
He nodded. “Probably the same site.”
“How far away from Dad’s part of the mountain would you say it is?”
“On foot, at least a two-hour walk, maybe more.”
She shivered, thinking how all of that had been going on and she hadn’t known a thing. On a clear day, sound carried on the mountains.
“I didn’t hear a shot,” she said, then touched her ears. “I’m still not hearing everything. And the fog didn’t help.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Trey said. “I’d guess he never knew what hit him.”
Dallas waited until Trey had taken a few more sips of coffee before she took the mug out of his hands.
“Go get in the shower. It’s the fastest way to get warm. We’ll talk more when you’re through.”
“Don’t go up the mountain today,” he said.
She hesitated, but understood. The killers could still be up there, hiding. The authorities would most likely comb the area looking for them, and until the search parties swept the mountain, she wasn’t going to argue.
She went to make breakfast, but they’d had bacon and eggs last night. This morning felt like winter, so she made a pot of oatmeal and toasted some of the leftover biscuits. By the time Trey came back, the meal was ready and waiting.
“I’m guessing you don’t have much of an appetite, but I made oatmeal. At least get some hot food in your stomach.”
He didn’t argue and ate what she put in front of him.
“Will you stay home and sleep some?” she asked.
“I’ll check in and see what’s going on first,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the first time I went to work with no rest.”
Dallas began clearing the table. She heard Trey leave the room to make his call but kept working. The horror of what had happened was beginning to soak in. Mystic was losing its sleepy mountain town feel far too fast. First her father and now this, although she doubted they were connected. Her father’s murder had been deliberate. Bobby Ramsey had gone out on a random call and never came back. Still, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
* * *
Trey slept through lunch, and when he finally woke, it was to the smell of beef stew and corn bread. He followed the aroma into the kitchen and found Dallas digging through her mother’s collection of recipes.
“Something smells good,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed the back of her neck.
“You woke up! Do you feel better?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Have you eaten?”
“About an hour ago. I can reheat the stew if you’d like to eat.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, and dipped up a bowl and reheated it in the microwave, along with a couple of pieces of corn bread, then brought it to the table and sat beside her.
He took a bite and rolled his eyes. “Lord, this is good. You have your mom’s touch with cooking. She always made the best meals.”
Dallas smiled. “Yes, she did, didn’t she? I’ve been going through her recipes, marveling at the legacy she left behind. There are recipes in her handwriting, and in both my grandmothers’ handwriting, as well as a couple that were from one of my great-grandmothers. Some of the measurements are going to be hard to duplicate, though.”
“What do you mean?” Trey asked, as he ate.
“A teacup full of sugar, a handful of flour, a pinch of salt. Think of the different sizes of teacups and the sizes of women’s hands. I could end up with something good, or it could be a royal mess.”
“I’ll volunteer my services as the official taster,” he offered.
She grinned. “So you say now, but we’ll wait and see.”
He watched the changing expressions on her face as she continued to go through the recipes and thought how very blessed he was to still have her, and what a sad turn Holly Ramsey’s life had just taken.
* * *
Fraser Pitts and Snake Warren were in a motel room in Summerton enjoying dry beds, hot water and clean clothes. When the knock sounded at their door, Snake got up with a handful of money.
“That’ll be the pizza,” he said, and opened the door to trade money for food, then grabbed the first piece of pizza as he carried it back.
Fraser took a piece out of the box, folded it up like a taco and ate it in four bites, then reached for a second while Snake was chasing his with beer.
“So what’s the plan?” Fraser asked, as he licked tomato sauce from his fingers. “Do we go after that woman tomorrow?”
“We can’t,” Snake said. “Thanks to you, that mountain is likely crawling with people looking for their missing ranger.”
Fraser frowned. “Yeah, yeah, and if you hadn’t farted and let Zeus get away, we wouldn’t have even been there. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.”
Snake gave Fraser his best glare, but it was hard to look pissed with only one eye.
* * *
Trey was getting ready to go in to work when he saw an old pickup coming up the drive.
“Hey, Dallas, company’s coming. Might be an egg customer.”
She looked out the window and shook her head. “If it is, I don’t recognize them.”
The driver parked beside Trey’s patrol car. It wasn’t until he got out that Trey recognized him.
“That’s Teddy, the youngest Pryor brother. Something tells me he came looking for me,” he said, and went out on the porch to meet him.
“Hello, Teddy.”
“Hey, Chief. You got a minute to talk?”
“Sure, come in,” Trey said.
Teddy Pryor ducked his head. “I’d rather talk out here, if you don’t mind.”
“At least come up on the porch and have a seat.”
Teddy Pryor sat down in one of the cane-backed chairs, and then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I heard about Bobby Ramsey this morning. Damn shame. I always liked him.”
“Me, too,” Trey said, watching Teddy pick at a hangnail. There was obviously something more on his mind, but he didn’t push it. Best let the storyteller say it his way.
Teddy was looking at a spot near Trey’s boot as he continued.
“Walt’s wife sold the ginseng yesterday. She got near seven thousand dollars for it. Momma said it’ll get us all through the winter just fine, and we sure appreciate what you did.”
“I was glad to help, a
nd sorry Walt and Stuart took their disagreement to such drastic lengths.”
“Yeah, they never did have much sense,” Teddy said, and then took a deep breath and looked up. “I heard Bobby Ramsey was looking to find some campers when he went missing.”
Trey nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“So, are ya’ll thinking it was the campers who killed him?”
“It certainly appears that way. Why?”
“I know who they were.”
Trey’s pulse leaped. “The hell you say.”
Teddy nodded. “Remember that dogfighting ring they busted up some months back?”
“Yes.”
“I’m ashamed to say I used to go to them dogfights once in a while, so I got to knowing pretty much all the guys who ran it.”
“Most of them were arrested,” Trey said.
“Not all of them, though. The boss was a guy named Sonny. Don’t know his last name, but it was his gig, and he got away. And there were a few more who weren’t there the day they made the bust.”
“How do you know that?” Trey asked.
“Because I saw two of them up on the mountains about a week back. I saw their camp, and I think Sonny probably sent them back to look for Zeus. He was one of the first ones they turned loose when they heard the cops were coming.”
“Who’s Zeus?” Trey asked.
“He was their big moneymaker. Biggest damn dog I ever saw in my life. You saw him. He’s the dog that attacked Dallas.”
“But he’s dead,” Trey said.
“Yeah, and they may or may not know that.”
“Do you know their names?” Trey asked.
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t want anyone to know I gave them up, okay? They find that out, me and my whole family are dead.”
“I understand. So who are they?”
“Fraser Pitts and Snake Warren.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Fraser is big, real big. Built like a bodybuilder. Snake is ugly as homemade soap. He’s got one eye and a tooth missing, and a big-ass snake tattoo on his belly. Pretty hard to miss ol’ Snake.”
Something Teddy had said earlier made Trey think to ask one more question.
“If they did know Zeus was dead, then why would they still be here? Why wouldn’t they have left after the dog was killed?”
“I can’t say. Maybe they didn’t want to tell Sonny they’d failed. Sonny doesn’t take to having his plans messed up. Anyway, that’s all I came to say.”
Trey stood up and then reached out to shake Teddy’s hand.
“You did a good thing today, Teddy. You’ve given us what we need to solve Bobby Ramsey’s murder, and that makes you a hero in my book.”
Teddy shrugged. “Mama said to tell you that you’re a good man.”
“You tell your mother I thank her for the thought,” Trey said.
“I reckon I’ll just get on home now,” Teddy said. “I sure hope you catch them two. Won’t anybody be safe as long as they’re still around.”
Trey was already calling the ranger station as Teddy Pryor was driving away. Since Bobby Ramsey had been a federal employee, he was guessing the FBI would be heading up this case.
The captain answered.
“Captain, it’s me, Trey Jakes. I just had an informant give me some very valuable information regarding Bobby’s murder.”
He relayed the information as Teddy had given it, topping it off with both names.
“This is just the break we were looking for,” the captain said. “The FBI is handling the case. I’ll forward all this to them, although they might want to talk to your informant themselves.”
“Well, that isn’t happening,” Trey said. “You have names and a reason they were in the area. That’s it.”
“Understood, and thank you. This information is gold.”
“Agreed. Good luck,” Trey said. “I hope you find them soon. I won’t feel good about this until they’re behind bars.”
As soon as he disconnected, he went back in the house.
Dallas was sitting in her dad’s recliner with a clear shot at the front porch where he and Teddy had been sitting. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, gauging his mood as he came in the door.
“I know he told you something important. It was payback for what you did for them. That’s how mountain people think. I’m just telling you right now, that as far as I’m concerned, Teddy Pryor was never here.”
Trey was a bit taken aback. “I think I just had a glimpse of the investigative reporter you are.”
“Was,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m going to the station.”
“I promised I won’t go dig today and I meant it, but my digging time is limited. I’ll be going tomorrow, regardless.”
Trey’s gut knotted. They had to find those killers fast or he would never be able to let her out of his sight.
* * *
Larry Sherman showed up just after five to buy eggs. Dallas walked him down to the barn and left him in the breezeway as she went into the egg room alone. No one knew she’d begun locking up the cooler, and she wanted to keep it that way. She came back carrying his usual six dozen eggs.
“Here you go, Larry.”
“I really appreciate this,” he said, handing her the money.
“You’re doing me the favor,” she said, as she walked him back to his truck. “Take care, and see you next time.”
“So you’re staying on a while longer?”
“I’m staying for good,” she said.
“Oh, wow! That’s great, Dallas. Your dad would be real proud to know this.”
“I think so, too,” she said. “Drive safe, and my best to your family.”
Now that she’d said it aloud, it wouldn’t take long for the news to spread, but that was good. It helped when people knew where you stood.
* * *
Betsy made pie. Baking was what she did when she was anxious or upset, and after learning about Bobby Ramsey’s fate she was sick at heart all over again. She called to make sure Dallas was home before she started that way, using the excuse that she needed eggs. No one was telling her anything, and she had a vested interest in knowing if her son’s future was ever going to be bright.
* * *
When Dallas got the call that Betsy wanted eggs, she was glad for the company. It was hard to stay focused here when there was so much digging left to do. So she put on a jacket and walked down to the barn to get the eggs so they would already be in the house when Betsy arrived.
Everything was still wet. The chickens had the option of being outside, but few had taken it. Dallas could hear them clucking and fussing inside the coop, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.
She skirted the trees to keep from getting raindrops on her head and walked the gravel road down to the barn, thinking about Bobby Ramsey’s murder. Mystic always had its share of trouble but never anything like this. Murder was for big cities like Charleston. Not for sleepy mountain towns.
The barn loomed as she got closer, two huge stories of storage space and granaries no longer in use. She couldn’t remember the last time there were any barn cats living in the loft, or a dog lying in wait on the porch, at the ready, if needed, to protect his home.
Why had her dad given that up, too? Why hadn’t she noticed? Maybe he’d lost heart for all of that when he lost her mom. And maybe it was because he thought he’d lost Dallas, too. The thought hurt all the way to her soul.
Her steps were dragging when she went into the barn, but instead of going straight to the cooler she walked through the breezeway to the other side, looking past the corral to the pasture beyond. There used to be hay stacked up in this corner, making it handy to feed during the winter. It was empty now, which meant she had another choice to make. Either sell the cattle or buy hay for the winter.
She sighed. Transition was never easy, even when it was for the best. She turned around, abandoning the future to get Betsy’s eggs, and headed back to the house.
* * *
Betsy had the radio on the oldies channel. She loved all kinds of music but was still partial to the songs of her youth.
The car smelled like the apple pie she was taking to Dallas, and the sun was halfway between zenith and the horizon, bouncing off the shiny surface of the hood and into her eyes. She squinted for a better view of the road and turned the radio up until all she could hear were the drums and the heavy metal scream, and then the car hit a pothole. She flew up, then came down hard enough in the seat that she bit her tongue, and with the pain and the taste of blood came the confusion.
The music began to fade, and the smell of hot apple pie was noticeably absent. It began to get dark, and she could hear screaming. The scent of vomit was up her nose and burning the back of her throat. Someone was crying. Someone else was praying.
She slammed on the brakes and jammed the car into Park, and just like that the darkness was gone and the sunlight was back in her eyes. She bailed out of the front seat and threw up until she was staggering and gasping for breath.
“Oh, my God. What’s happening? What’s happening to me,” she moaned, then crawled back into her car and laid her forehead on the steering wheel, too shaky to drive.
Eighteen
Dallas was just beginning to worry when she finally saw Betsy’s car coming up the drive.
“Thank goodness,” she said, and went to the door to meet her.
“I come bearing gifts,” Betsy said, as she carried the pie up to the porch and into the house.
“Just set it anywhere in the kitchen.” When Betsy put it on the counter, Dallas handed her the eggs. “Trade you a couple dozen eggs for that pie,” she said.
Betsy laughed. “I intend to pay for the eggs. The pie is a gift.”
“I can give away eggs if I want to,” Dallas said, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Can you stay for a bit?”
Betsy nodded. “But not for long. I promised to help with a baby shower at the church. Everybody’s becoming a grandmother but me.”
She gave Dallas such a look of longing that it made her laugh.
“You are less than subtle, Betsy Jakes.”
Betsy plopped down on the sofa. “I’m not getting any younger,” she said. “And on another note, how are you feeling? Is your shoulder still sore? What about your ribs?”
