Murders on the Ridge Read online

  “I’ve no time or stomach for gossip or drama,” she’d explained. “Too darn many people already in my business around these parts. Take my advice, Dalton, keep your nose clean and watch out for snakes. There’s plenty of them slithering around Briar County. And, you’ll need your own place. I don’t have my help bunking here. Had too many bad experiences with that.”

  There were several other part-time ranch hands. Apparently the only full-time help on the payroll were family members. Her son Duel, and grandsons Grant and Brant. Duel and his wife, Sally Jo had their own house down the road on McCoy land. Her grandsons lived elsewhere.

  Dalton wasn’t sure about the grandsons. They seemed to live in their own little “entitled world.” For as no-nonsense as Virginia McCoy was, the old woman apparently had a soft spot for her grandchildren.

  From what Dalton could tell, everything was in place to ensure they had money without breaking a sweat to earn it; a remote place to live and do their “own thing” whatever that happened to be, and plenty of toys to keep them entertained.

  Cars for the demolition competitions; roosters for the cock fighting, and probably as much weed as they needed to party “like it was 1999.”

  Only it wasn’t 1999.

  It was 2016 and things around Briar County seemed to be tense and pretty secretive. Almost clannish, if Dalton had to choose a word for it.

  Yeah, there was definitely illegal shit going down in this county, but nothing earth shattering. At least that he could tell so far.

  For the first time, Dalton wondered just exactly how much Intel the DEA really had about the goings on in Briar County. He got the feeling that it was more than what his superiors suspected.

  Chapter 3

  Dalton had settled himself into life in Briar County. For most it was a simple life. Not one that he had ever been accustomed to, having grown up in upstate New York where the hustle and bustle of everyday life set a pace which would make the heads of people in this neck of the woods spin like crazy.

  Briarton was laid back. People were friendly on the surface anyway. Families lived close to one another. People attended church regularly, looked out for their neighbors but kept their secrets cloaked in armor.

  They were a protective bunch, and while everyone treated him with friendly courtesy, he was still an outsider and he had a feeling it would be like that for a long spell, as a local might put it.

  His work on the ranch provided some interesting insight into just how much of a powerful figure Virginia McCoy was in this small community. She could be a tough taskmaster, but it was clear she had a sharp business mind, and was nobody’s pawn.

  Virginia was active in her church, and ran several benevolent organizations in the community. One such organization was a group home for mentally disabled adults that she had founded years ago. Her daughter-in-law, Sally Jo, was the paid director of the non-profit organization.

  Virginia’s son, Duel, pretty much ran the operations of the horse ranch. Dalton reported directly to him for his daily assignments beyond the usual barn maintenance.

  Duel McCoy was mid-forties, tall and lean with dark, slicked-back hair, and piercing blue eyes. His arms were muscular and sported a farmer’s tan, ultimately a result of his working outside on the ranch. Not a particularly handsome or savvy individual, but Duel knew his stuff where the horses were concerned.

  Dalton had been fascinated when he first laid eyes on the miniature horses. “They aren’t much bigger than a Great Dane,” Dalton had said, “What’s the purpose?”

  Duel had laughed at Dalton’s apparent ignorance of these breeds. “They’re show horses, mostly. And, of course, we breed them and sell them as well. Most people like them because of their size. None of ours are more than thirty-three inches. Anything over thirty-four inches doesn’t qualify for AMHA registration. That’s important to get the best sale price. Hell, boy, we have people from Beverly Hills, California with their own reality shows fly out here to buy these babies for their kid’s birthday party,” he finished with a wink.

  Dalton got the reference and chuckled, “Well are they all for sale?” he questioned. “Some of them look like they’ve got some age to them.”

  “Yeah, well those are ones we just can’t part with. They’re like family to us.”

  Dalton had just finished up in the horse barn when he saw a truck coming down the long driveway, past Virginia’s sprawling house, and then veering over to where Duel was mixing various grains in the huge feeder for the horses. The truck skidded to a stop, the tires spitting gravel up in a cloud of dust all around them.

  It was one of Duel’s sons, the youngest, Brant. And it was obvious to Dalton, the dude was pissed as he jumped from the truck and approached his father.

  Brant McCoy was mid-twenties, just a couple of years younger than Dalton. He was a smaller version of his father, not nearly as muscular, in fact, downright scrawny in comparison.

  According to bits and pieces Dalton had picked up around the community, Brant also managed a hunting and fishing recreational business owned by Grandma McCoy. Dalton wasn’t familiar with the place, but would’ve bet his paycheck that Brant didn’t break a sweat on much of anything he did. He drove a ranch-owned truck, as did his older by a year brother, Grant. Entitled fucks, with twin names and cloned personalities.

  Grant worked at the ranch a few days a week as well, nothing that required hard labor. According to Duel, Grant’s job was managing the breeding contracts, sales and website for the East Fork Ranch. Paperwork stuff as Duel described it, boasting that his oldest had a knack for the techy stuff that he lacked.

  The brothers lived in the next county over on a pretty big farm where Dalton was sure they busied themselves with whatever entitled hobbies that caught their fancy at the moment. Virginia bragged about them constantly, telling anybody who cared to listen about their genius with restoring racecars and dirt bikes for important people, and being so very talented both mechanically and technically. Frankly, Dalton couldn’t see it, but then, he really only saw them in passing.

  Dalton’s ears perked up while he busied himself sweeping the floor of the barn near the entrance so he could hear what had Brant all riled up.

  “She’s a fucking bitch! I swear to God, she’s on my last nerve, Dad! She wants more money. She says we can afford it. I’m sick to fuck of giving the bitch any more money when she’s fucking that low life loser who hasn’t got shit to his name! She’s trying to hold my daughter from me. Fuck her!” Brant was definitely in a tirade. And a very loud one at that.

  “Calm your ass down, Brant,” Duel hissed, glancing over at Dalton. “We don’t put family business out in the public like that boy.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Brant growled. “But we need to talk Daddy.”

  “Dalton, can you finish this up for me?” Duel hollered over to him.

  “Sure thing,” Dalton called out, heading towards the pasture.

  “Go on up to the house, Brant. I’ll be up in a minute. And cool down before you go into Granny’s house. She doesn’t want to hear all that cussing. We’ll sit down and calmly discuss it in private. Now go on.”

  Brant stalked over to where he’d left his truck with the door hanging open and climbed back into it. The tires tossed gravel as he peeled out and headed back up the lane pulling around to the front of Virginia’s house.

  “I swear,” Duel said once Dalton started scooping the grain into the bin, “sometimes I have to wonder just what my boy was thinking when he laid with that girl.”

  Dalton remained silent. He knew that Duel and Sally Jo had a granddaughter they doted on constantly. It was their only grandbaby and they made no secret of spoiling the little girl. But that was the extent of what he knew about the situation.

  “I got some family business to tend to at the moment. So go ahead and finish up here and then you can go on home for the day.”

 
“No problem,” Dalton replied. “I’ll see that everything’s done. See you tomorrow, Duel.”

  Chapter 4

  Dalton knew that he was quickly becoming part of the community. He knew that after his day working with Duel. It was the first time he’d gone with him on a “collection run,” as Duel had termed it.

  Dalton had just finished cleaning the stalls when Duel came into the barn.

  “Hey Dalton, ready to go on your first collection run so you can see how it’s done?”

  “Collection run?”

  “Yep. You need to go with me and see how we deal with squatters. When they fall behind on their payments, that’s what they become . . . squatters. And if I have to go out there personally, it means business. Either put out the cash or get out.”

  On the way to the purported squatters residence, Duel filled Dalton in as to the specifics. “As you’ve probably gathered already, lots of hard-working people living in poverty, Dalton. Mama has multiple parcels with mobile homes that she sells on land contract.

  “You see, for the most part the folks who buy them don’t qualify for mortgage loans. If they pay off the land contract, she deeds over the property to them. If they don’t, well, she gives them a chance to catch up. One chance only. The Driscoll’s are two payments behind. If they don’t pay up today, they’re served with a 15 Day Demand. Be prepared. Sometimes it can get nasty.”

  An hour later, Dalton reflected on Duel’s choice of words. Nasty didn’t do it justice.

  Elroy Driscoll was a man in his sixties. He was on a walker after having had major back surgery. He had been working as a mechanic out of the garage located on his small piece of property, but hadn’t been able to bend, lift, or squat since the surgery. His wife, Ida, worked as a cook at one of the local schools, but her pay hardly covered anything beyond the utilities, groceries, and phone bill.

  When Duel had approached the old man with a notarized copy of a 15-Day Demand, Dalton could see the desperation on Elroy’s face. “You can’t be serious,” he said after reading the document. “There’s no way I can come up with $1800 in just fifteen days, Duel. Besides, I’m only two months behind, that’s only $1200...”

  “If you’d read your land contract like you should have done before signing it, Elroy, you’d recall the daily late charge that accumulates. I figured you were smart enough to do the math,” Duel replied icily.

  Elroy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “But . . . how can you expect me to come up with that kind of money when I can’t even work right now?”

  Duel shrugged. “Sell your mechanics tools. Seems like they might be worth that much.”

  “If I do that, how can I continue in the trade once I’m able to work again?” Elroy pleaded.

  “Not my problem, Elroy. You’ve been served. You’ve got fifteen days. Dalton here will be by at the end of it to collect or present your eviction notice. Figure it out.”

  Dalton felt like a total piece of shit having witnessed what transpired in the collection process of Virginia McCoy’s land contract holdings. He didn’t have the stomach for it, and he wanted no part of it. This whole gig at the McCoy’s wasn’t panning out for the purpose he’d been sent to Briar County in the first place.

  Once back in the truck, he told Duel as much. “Hey man,” Dalton said, “I enjoy drawing a paycheck Duel, and to be honest, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to earn my pay around here. But shaking down an old man? That’s just not my thing. If that’s going to be a job requirement, maybe I should look for something else.”

  Duel chewed on a toothpick while he considered what Dalton had just said to him. Maybe he should shit-can Dalton, but so far, the guy had proven to be a good worker. Kept to himself. Didn’t run his mouth. Showed up on time and didn’t slack off like some of the others.

  “Tell you what, Dalton,” Duel finally said, “Maybe there is something else you can help out with. You mind working a once-or-twice-a-month gig for me? It’s a third shift task, but pays pretty good. Interested?”

  “Maybe. Tell me more.”

  Chapter 5

  Dalton Edwards heard his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand next to his bed. His hand shot out in the dark, feeling the surface until he found it, bringing it up to his ear as his finger pressed the screen that would magically connect him to his supervisor. Nobody else ever called this number.

  No one else knew it.

  And it changed monthly.

  “Dalton,” Duel’s voice barked, “It’s time.”

  Dalton surged out of his bed, and his hands searched in the darkness to find the lamp switch. He fumbled with it, and finally switched it on, illuminating the room.

  It was pitch dark in this neck of the woods. And being a city boy, it was a bit of a shock to look up into the sky and see the stars sprinkled against the black velvet backdrop of night. That was, of course, if there was no cloud cover.

  “Hey, you there?” Duel McCoy’s voice was terse and impatient.

  “How much time do I have?” Dalton asked, already grabbing the pair of jeans he’d tossed carelessly over the guest chair at the hayseed motel he’d been staying at for the last four months.

  “ETA is less than thirty minutes. Get your ass in gear and get up to the ridge.”

  Dalton fastened his jeans, pulled the black sweatshirt out of the closet and within ten minutes, he was pulling his dark blue pick-up truck up the dirt lane, with only his parking lights guiding him up to the top of the crest, where the others would be waiting or following him in momentarily.

  The digital clock on his radio read 3:12 a.m. as he shut the engine off and exited the vehicle to start working.

  By the time he reached the clearing, Duel was already unfastening the hardware that kept the artificial turf in place. Dalton jogged over to where he was, helping him to disengage the locks.

  “Grab the winch, and lock the end hooks into place,” he snapped. “Where the hell is Hatfield?”

  Dalton had no clue where Harlan Hatfield was, but his best guess would be that he was sleeping off a moonshine binge in somebody’s trailer. He wasn’t as dependable as Duel liked.

  Not like Dalton.

  Together they got the hooks locked in, and just then, Harlan hightailed it over the ridge, and rolled the pulley over to where the other two men stood, connecting it to the winch.

  Dalton and Harlan started operating the pulley handle, the first few turns of the spindle were always a bitch until they got the swing of it. The weight lessened as the twenty-four hundred feet of specially designed artificial foliage rolled back, wrapping itself around the wide spindle. Once done, it exposed the asphalt strip where the Cessna would be landing in a matter of minutes.

  “I got this, I got this!” Duel growled, once the momentum had hit stride. “Go on over and flip the switch, Dalton. There’ll be hell to pay if they gotta circle before landing.”

  Dalton jogged over to a large oak tree about twenty yards back from the clearing, and reached inside a hollowed-out knot, his groping fingers found the switch and pushed it upward.

  Immediately, the landing lights that were flush with the runway on both sides of the asphalt strip illuminated in the night, but not enough to draw the attention of anyone other than the pilot who would be looking for them soon.

  Minutes later, they all heard the steady hum of the Cessna engine grow louder as it made its initial approach over the ridge in the quiet darkness of the night.

  The beauty of this area was that no one was ever out this way. It was no-man’s-land. Perfect for the business they all found themselves in.

  Good pay.

  Good hours.

  No taxes.

  The men stood back as the Cessna 172 Skyhawk made a smooth landing in the dark night. They continued to wait where they stood as the two occupants cleared the craft, and then Duel fired up his ATV with the covered trailer attach
ed and headed down the strip to load the goods and the men into it.

  That was Harlan and Dalton’s signal to leave. They weren’t permitted to go any closer to the aircraft, and they were to take one of the vehicles and go to wait in the parking lot of a church about three miles down the road until further notice.

  This was only the second time Dalton had been on this special gig, as Duel had phrased it. The last time they’d had about a two hour wait, for which they were instructed to stay together until Duel called one of them on their disposable phones (as both men had taken to calling them) and instructed them that all was clear to come back to the ridge and put things back into place.

  The plane was always gone when they returned. In fact, seldom did they ever hear it leave, this particular property was no more than ten or fifteen acres, but it was atop a ridge and not good for much of anything. There weren’t any roads going through it so it seemed to be a fairly discreet and secure setup.

  Once they finished, Duel would hand each of the men five hundred bucks, which would carry them over until the next delivery. Generally, that would be in another two to three weeks. Not bad money for a couple hours’ work and keeping their respective mouths shut.

  Dawn was breaking as Harlan and Dalton headed down the hill to where their vehicles were parked.

  “Hey, Dalt,” Harlan said, chewing on a toothpick he’d had in his mouth all night. “How much money you think those dudes drop on Duel for this?”

  Dalton turned back over his shoulder to look at him. “Have no clue. Why don’t you ask him?”

  He scoffed and kicked at some of the dry, dead leaves they were traipsing through. “I ain’t crazy, man. Just thought maybe he’d shared that information with you, that’s all. You two seem pretty tight.”

  Dalton stopped in his tracks, waiting for Harlan to catch up. “Hell, you’ve known Duel all your life, dog. I’ve just been around a few months. What the hell are you talking about?”