Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Murder On The Brazos Excerpt

Books By Bruce Hammack

About The Author

Copyright

1

“Sheriff Maguire, I know you told us not to disturb you, but Deputy Salinski found Stubby Clawson’s body in a tree stand next to Shinbone Creek.”

The dispatcher paused for a response that didn’t come. “I’ve been calling for thirty minutes, but I guess you were busy.”

Had it taken him that long to answer? Then it registered that he’d heard the phone calls, but ignored them. “Text me the location.”

“Two deputies and a highway patrolman are already there.”

“Good. Probably an accident or a stray shot from a careless hunter.”

Fen pushed the red icon and eased the phone into a vest pocket. He moved to the door leading into the four-car garage, slipped off his house shoes, and put on scuffed work boots. Out of instinct, he grabbed a brown Carhartt jacket, but didn’t put it on.

A whistle sounded and he brought his truck to an abrupt stop in the driveway. He rolled down his window to receive a travel mug from Thelma. “Don’t leave without Sam. You’ll need him where you’re going.”

He considered asking how she knew his destination, but this was Thelma. Her information sources in and around the county outnumber the informants on the FBI payroll.

The passenger side door opened and Sam Blackwood slipped into the truck as noiselessly as a winter leaf gliding to the ground.

Fen looked at the Choctaw Indian next to him before casting his gaze back to Sam’s wife. Their faces looked bleak as the gray sky and cold as the early morning frost. He drug a hand over his unshaven chin. “I’m sorry I said no Christmas decorations, but—”

Thelma didn’t allow him to finish. “I’m not having anything to do with Christmas this year except to read the Good Book.” She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you worry about Sam either; he says putting lights and decorations on a tree is the stupidest thing he’s ever seen.”

Fen knew the real reason his housekeeper and farm manager chose not to celebrate. When Sally was alive, Thelma and his late wife had the decorations hanging the day after Thanksgiving. Her death three months ago sucked the joy right out of the season.

As usual, Sam said nothing and maintained silence as they passed over the muddy Brazos, turned right off the state highway, and traveled another nine miles down a county road. The land was river-bottom flat for the first three miles, rich land sleeping until spring planting. An ancient bank marked the boundary of a river that, prior to upstream dams, rampaged through the land, leaving silt accumulated over thousands of years. Farmers now enjoyed some of the richest soil in Central Texas.

Once they climbed the riverbank, the terrain changed to rolling hills dotted with cattle and oil wells. The foliage thickened and thinned, depending on how much effort the ranchers put into their pastures. The road swung back toward the river to a plot of land that had never heard the whir of chain saws or smelled a bulldozer’s black smoke. The thick woods, surrounded by fallow fields waiting for next year’s corn and maze, made this tract of land a haven for fat, whitetail bucks with heavy racks and platoons of doe and fawns.

Sam pointed to an open metal gate. “Let me out. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“It’s at least a half-mile farther through the woods.”

He shrugged. “I’ll check for tire tracks and footprints. You people don’t know how to read the land. Besides, I don’t like cops.”

Following shallow ruts, Fen wove his way deeper into woods with enough canopy to choke out the sun. He turned a corner and saw three vehicles in the distance parked like a short train. In the rear was the black and white Texas Highway Patrol SUV. A sheriff’s department sedan came next with a sheriff’s department four-door pickup truck parked closest to the tree stand.

The three drivers of the vehicles stood in back of the highway patrol vehicle, hands stuffed in the pockets of their coats, their breath making tiny clouds with each exhale. Fen piled out of his truck and nodded a greeting.

Deputy Salinski was the first to speak. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m using your truck today. My patrol car is in the shop again.”

“That’s why I left it in town. In ten more days, I’ll have no claim on it. Might as well get used to being a civilian again.” He pulled the zipper on his coat. “It’s cold as a penguin’s feet this morning. Tell me this is an accident so we can do what has to be done and go home.”

Highway Patrol Sergeant Tom Stephens said, “Too early to tell.”

Deputy Salinski quickly added, “I called Danni Worth.”

Fen nodded his approval and asked, “Are we sure it’s Stubby Clawson?”

Salinski pointed to a spot beyond the tree stand where the makeshift road wandered into the woods. “His truck’s parked around the bend behind a thicket of thorn bushes.”

Tom spoke next, “Ski climbed up and took a quick look at the body.”

“That’s right,” said the deputy, eager to give his account. “He’s slumped, but there’s enough of his face showing that I made a positive ID. I’ve had dealings with Stubby.”

The second deputy gave a quick snort. “Haven’t we all?”

Salinski added, “If he’d left married women alone, he might not be dead.”

Fen groaned. “Ski, Sergeant Stephens will back me up on what I’m about to say. One thing they drilled into us at the Highway Patrol Academy was not to jump to conclusions, especially with major crimes. The rumor mill is already grinding out lies and half-truths. Don’t add to them.” He looked again at the tree stand. “I doubt anyone will come to this location who doesn’t have business here, but tape off a crime scene like I trained you. Make it thirty yards in each direction.”

The two deputies moved to complete their task. Fen and Tom walked to the rear of Fen’s truck and leaned against the tailgate. Tom asked, “Giving the boys something to do to keep them busy?”

Fen nodded. “Following protocol.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, you’re right. It’s mainly to keep them busy.”

Tom resettled his felt Stetson and looked directly at Fen. “Are things getting any better?”

A shake of his head was all Fen could muster.

“Sorry about the election,” said Tom. “I did what I could, but you know we’re supposed to stay out of politics.”

“Not your fault. Lori and her father outspent me nine ways to Sunday.”

“They bought themselves an election, and you know it. Still, you came within ten votes.”

“I didn’t want to be sheriff enough to go after it. I couldn’t.” He looked to the trees that swayed and moaned as the north wind lifted a few more clinging leaves and sent them cartwheeling.

A white van rattled into the clearing. “There’s Danni,” said Salinski, as he stretched crime scene tape. Brakes squealed in protest as the van came to a stop and Danni Worth slid out. She wore her jeans tight and sported a red and white Santa’s hat pulled down over her ears.

“Nice hat,” said Tom.

“Keeps my ears warm.” She pulled out a camp stool, sat on it as she took off her cross-trainers, opened a package containing a blue ‘Smurf-suit,’ slipped it over her jeans and sweatshirt, pulled on her shoes, and covered them with blue booties. Thin blue gloves completed the color-coordinated ensemble.

“Since I don’t see a body, I’m guessing the victim isn’t on the ground. Has anyone called the Justice of the Peace?”

Fen turned and hollered, “Did either of you call Judge Stone?”

The deputies looked at each other and said, “Not me,” at the same time.

“Call dispatch, Ski.”

Danni snickered. “It’s hard to find good help this close to Christmas.”

The gears meshed in Fen’s head. What else had he forgotten? He turned again to the deputies. “What about EMS and an ambulance? We’re going to need someone to get the body down.”

Salinski shouted back. “We waited to make the call. It’s still early Sunday morning, and you know how they love to run their sirens and blow that danged horn. They’d wake half the county by the time they got here.”

“He’s got a point,” said Tom.

A gust of wind blew through the clearing. Fen made a megaphone out of his hands. “Wait until Danni finishes and make the call.”

“Will do,” shouted Salinski.

Danni stuffed a pocket with plastic evidence bags, grabbed a camera and moved to the taped-off area around a green deer stand that stood in a corner of the field with a view to the opening. She walked the perimeter of the tape, snapping photos as she went. She then slipped under the tape and began taking tiny steps on an invisible grid inside the tape.

“Fen,” she shouted. “Bring me a handful of numbered markers.”

He did as instructed and stood outside the tape, ready to toss them to her as needed. She used six before completing the task.

“Anything interesting?” asked Tom as she walked toward the tree stand. “Two cigarette butts that hadn’t quite dissolved, a couple of wrappers from cream cheese pastries, an empty plastic bottle, and a quarter in the grass at the ladder.”

“That’s mine,” said Salinski as he walked back to his boss. “I was putting on my gloves before I climbed up to check for signs of life.”

Fen asked, “How did you know to look for Stubby, or that something was wrong?”

“Dispatch called me. Doug Dugger called in again. Same story. Someone was on his property, hunting illegally. I knew all he wanted to do was ruin Stubby’s hunt, but I had to check it out.”

“Why didn’t you call Stubby?”

“I did. He didn’t answer.” Salinski added, “Stubby and Doug haven’t seen eye to eye for some time. This isn’t the first time Doug reported someone trespassing since deer season started.”

Fen dipped his head as he realized he’d lost touch with the county and his deputies. He could barely put one foot in front of the other after Sally died. Then the election came, and went, without him campaigning. The results were what he deserved. Now, all he wanted was to go home and spend time in his office with Sally’s ashes.

Salinski’s question to Danni brought Fen out of his mental wanderings. “Aren’t you going up to look at the body?”

“Not yet. I’ll let Judge Stone do his thing first.”

Fen liked Danni Worth ninety-five percent of the time. This was one of the five percent. She had a casualness when discussing death that grated on him. Perhaps it was because Sally’s death drug out over years, giving him hope, followed by doses of bad news, until all hope died.

Judge Harley Stone’s arrival put the past back in its bottle with no lid. Fen never knew when it would spill out.

“I’m getting too old to climb trees,” said the Justice of Peace.

“No tree this time,” said Fen. “There’s a nice metal ladder and the door is open for you.”

The judge pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. “There was a day when I couldn’t wait to leave a warm bed, climb a tree or into a stand, and sit with numb toes looking to kill a deer that never did me any harm. I stopped hunting when I could afford meat I didn’t have to pluck or skin.”

He grabbed the rung at eye level and stepped up with no problem. Fen noted Judge Stone might not be the man he once was, but he moved with ease up to the plywood shack with horizontal slits for windows on four sides and a single door.

After a few minutes, he stuck his head out the door. “Fen, do you want to look?”

“No thanks. Don’t want to throw out my trick knee. Danni can take pictures.”

“Send her up.”

“How are you going to rule it?”

“I can’t rule it an accident unless you know something I don’t. I’m pretty sure Stubby didn’t shoot himself in the back. I’ll have to order an autopsy. Looks like a homicide to me.”

He sighed. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Fen almost jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his shoulder and a deep voice said, “Longer than you think.”

2

With heart thumping, Fen scowled at Sam. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?”

He shrugged and asked, “Do you want me to tell you what I found?”

“Of course, I do.”

Sam took in a deep breath, let out most of it, and issued an anticlimactic, “Nothing but a length of twine.”

“What about footprints in the frost, or tire tracks coming in or going out?”

Sam shook his head. “No one’s been in these woods today but Stubby.”

In response to Fen’s look of skepticism, Sam gave a more complete report. “No tracks other than deer, coyote, turkey, a raccoon, two ’possums, and my moccasins all the way from the fence, along Shinbone Creek, and to the river.”

“Where’s the length of twine?”

Sam pointed. “In the middle of the field in front of the deer stand.”

Fen ran a hand down his whisker-infested face. “How did you get into the clearing without one of us seeing you?”

“You were all watching Judge Stone climb.” Sam jerked his head toward the opening at the far end of the clearing. “I’m leaving.”

Salinski looked at Sam with his face twisted in a question. “Where are you going?”

“Away from here. Trouble’s coming and I don’t want any part of it.”

“I don’t hear anything but the wind,” said Tom.

“That’s because you don’t spend enough time in the woods. Keep looking and listening. Trouble’s coming. You’ll see.”

Fen, Tom and the two deputies all shifted their gaze to the twin tire tracks leading away from them.

“I hear something,” said Ski.

Fen had his mouth open to ask Sam who was coming, but his full-time farm manager and part-time tracker somehow left the scene without snapping a twig or rustling the dry leaves. Tom said, “He gives me the cold shakes when he does that.”

A showroom-new, bright red Ford F300 dually with its diesel engine clattering burst into the clearing. Fen puffed out his cheeks and said, “Never question Sam when he says trouble is coming.”

The truck stopped on the path behind Fen’s truck. The driver, a man in his sixties, wearing custom-made boots and jeans topped with a leather coat and a dove-gray Stetson, stepped out of the driver’s door. Out of the passenger’s side came a woman half the man’s age but dressed almost the same, except she carried a pistol in a holster on her hip.

The man motioned to the woman, “Don’t just stand there, Lori. You’re the new sheriff. Take over the crime scene.”

By this time, Judge Harley Stone had joined the group and saved Fen from a confrontation. “Sorry, Nathaniel. Lori can’t do that until she’s sworn in as the new sheriff, and that’s not for ten more days.”

“Nine, not counting today,” said Lori.

“Don’t matter if it’s only one minute,” said Harley. “Until you take the oath of office, Fen’s still the sheriff.”

Nathaniel Newman stopped in front of Fen and shot him a gaze colder than the frost on the ground. “I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face and pretend you’re a lawman. Look at you, you haven’t shaved in days, you look like a bum, and everyone knows you killed the sweetest girl that ever took a breath.”

Harley moved forward to stand between the two men. Fen held up a hand and the Justice of the Peace stopped. With shoulders squared, Fen stared down his accuser. He spoke in a voice so low and soft that Nathaniel turned his head to make sure his good ear caught the words.

“My wife…” He let the words have their effect, and then repeated, “My wife made me promise the day she died that I’d treat you with respect, no matter what you said or did to me.”

“If you hadn’t killed her, your wife would still be breathing.”

Harley tried to play peacemaker again. “Nathaniel, there’s a vast difference between a man killing his wife, and allowing her to choose not to have another heart transplant. You know the doctors said her odds of rejecting a second heart made her a poor candidate. She told me herself that she’d had her chance with the first one and wanted someone else to have as much happiness in their life as she did in hers. All Fen did was honor her wishes.”

The words bounced off Nathaniel like foam bullets from a Nerf gun. The grieving father’s frozen gaze never left Fen. “Real men do the hard things for their family, not shy away when the going gets tough. I don’t care what some law book says, you killed my eldest daughter and I’ll spend the rest of my days making you pay for it. I hope you got the subpoenas.”

“I got them,” said Fen. He took a half step forward. “Sally made me promise that I’d respect you, but I said nothing about my attorney doing the same. I’ll let the law protect my land, and the Good Lord will see to my reputation.”

“You can’t talk to Daddy like that,” said Lori as she joined her father.

Fen turned and took a step toward Danni. Lori grabbed the sleeve of his coat and spun him toward her. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Instead of lashing out, Fen stared at her hand until she released her grip. He then said, “You’ll have plenty of time to work crime scenes in the years to come. Until then, go home and study the books I sent you.”

Lori’s eyes shot daggers, but her chin quivered. The voice of her father rang out. “Only ten more days, Lori, and you’ll take over this case. Let’s hope this sorry excuse for a man doesn’t mess it up and we have another killer on the loose. In fact, we’d better stick around and make sure.”

“Suit yourself,” said Fen. He turned to Danni and pointed to the middle of the field. “You know what to do.”

The gathering looked on as Danni followed Sam’s footprints to a spot roughly in the center of the opening. She squatted, pulled an evidence bag from her pocket, and placed something in it.

Mr. Newman took Lori by the arm and followed the footprints far enough into the clearing that the wind carried their words away into the woods. With finger pointing, he showed his daughter where to look.

Lori nodded as her father seemed to explain what they were looking at. They stayed where they were and intercepted Danni as she returned with the evidence stuffed into the pocket of her coveralls.

“Whatever it was you found and put in that bag, let Lori see it,” instructed Nathaniel.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Newman. I can’t do that. It could break the chain of custody and render it inadmissible in court.”

“Young lady, you’d best get used to the idea that things are going to be different in Newman County from now on. We’re going back to the tried-and-true ways of law enforcement. If you want to hang on to your job, you’d best—”

Nathaniel cut his lecture short when another vehicle, a Toyota Camry, bounced over rough ground into the clearing, heading straight for them.

“Who’s that?” asked Judge Stone.

Tom Stephens had the answer. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the reporter from Dallas that was sent here to cover the elections. I heard she’s on full-time with the Herald now. Rumors going around say she got crossways with her editor in the big city and lost her job.”

The Camry came to a stop and Fen determined he’d have a talk with Thelma when he got home to get the complete story on the big-city reporter.

Father and daughter scurried to meet the woman with handshakes and smiles. The trio moved to Fen before he realized Judge Stone and the highway patrol sergeant had found something else to look at within the taped off area.

The reporter had a phone in hand, and by the way she held it, she intended to capture the audio version of the conversation, but not film the encounter.

“Sheriff Maguire, I’m Lou Cooper with the Herald. Can you confirm there’s been a murder?”

“No, I can’t.”

Mr. Newman spoke next. “That’s the type of evasive answer that led the people of this county to elect Sheriff Lori Newman.” He nodded to his daughter to take over.

“That’s right, Ms. Cooper. Your readers have a right to know the truth, not some watered-down version of what a failed politician says. I know for a fact that my officers found the body of Charles Clawson this morning, and Justice of the Peace Harley Stone has declared him dead.” She pointed toward the deer stand. “In fact, that’s Judge Stone over there.”

The reporter turned back to Fen. “Do you deny anything Sheriff-Elect Newman says?”

“No comment.”

“Has your investigation revealed anything yet? What about any persons of interest?”

“No comment.”

Lou Cooper turned to Lori. “What about you, Sheriff Newman?” She corrected herself by saying, “Pardon me. I meant to say Sheriff-Elect Newman.”

Lori held out her right hand as a signal for the reporter to walk beside her. “Come with me and I’ll show you something I found that may lead to a quick arrest.” They walked to the footprints in the frost. Lori spoke up to make sure her voice carried.

“Do you see these footprints in the frost?” asked Lori.

“What do they mean?”

“The smaller are from a woman. They belong to my crime scene investigator, Danni Worth.”

“And the other set of footprints?”

Lori squatted down. “Take note they aren’t from a tennis shoe, or any type of boot. There are no tread marks or deep indentations from where the heel of a cowboy boot would dig into the soft ground. Also, look closely at the size of the print.”

Lou Cooper manipulated her camera and took several photos of the footprint. “What do these tell you?”

Lori stood and projected her voice even more. “The person who made these prints most likely wore moccasins.”

“Do any suspects come to mind?”

“Only one, but I’d hate to speculate. First, I want to know the whereabouts of a certain ex-convict this morning.”

Fen closed his eyes. When he opened them, Nathaniel Newman was standing in front of him, whispering, “I told you I was going to destroy you. That includes everything and everyone around you.”

Even though Fen stood in a clearing, walls seemed to close in on him. He had to get away from the pointed questions that were sure to come from the reporter who’d swallowed a spoon-fed, front-page story, courtesy of Nathaniel and Lori Newman. He envisioned a photo of Sam’s moccasin print alongside the story.

Unable to handle any more, Fen spun on his heel to return to his truck, and ignored the reporter who thrust her phone in his face while she demanded answers to her questions. When Fen was well away from the clearing, Sam stepped out of the dense woods. He climbed in and gave a single grunt. “I told you trouble was coming.”

3

Fen filled Sam in on how Lori and Mr. Newman manipulated the reporter into believing they discovered clues that had the potential to put him back in prison.

Sam looked out the passenger’s side window. “You won’t let that happen.”

“I’m happy you have so much faith in me, but Nathaniel Newman has money and motivation. He’s serious about hurting me, and everyone around me.”

Fen looked down and checked his speed. Unlike many who wore a badge, he believed in keeping to the limit unless there was a legitimate reason for getting somewhere in a hurry. Putting distance between himself and his vindictive former in-laws and the nosy reporter almost justified ignoring traffic laws.

“By the way, tell me about the piece of twine you found in the clearing.”

“Plain brown twine, about fifteen feet long. A metal ring the size of a quarter on each end. No frost on it. No footprints leading to it or away from it.”

“How can there be no frost or footprints?”

Sam shrugged. “My job was to find it.”

“Perhaps a bird picked it up and dropped it this morning.”

Sam turned to face him, and said, “Drop me at the gate. I’ll stay at the farm until it’s safe. You go see your lawyer buddy.”

The advice seemed sound. Chuck Forsythe might look like a simple country lawyer, but he’d kept Fen’s fat out of the fire on many occasions. He had a knack for not only sensing trouble, but knew what to say and do to avoid most of it. Also, Chuck and his wife, Candy, had been there for him and Sally when she decided not to seek a second heart donor. Chuck even thwarted Mr. Newman’s repeated, and well-funded, attempts to intervene in Sally’s decision.

The trip into town gave Fen a chance to meditate on the piece of twine, the lack of footprints, the absence of a murder weapon, and how the reporter knew to come to the crime scene. That last one was easy. Nathaniel Newman used Lori like a ventriloquist’s dummy during the election as she fed stories to Ms. Cooper. He’d done the same thing today. Still, Fen wanted to know more about the reporter. The old saying of ‘Know your enemy,’ came to mind.

While still pondering the piece of twine, he pulled into a spot in the back parking lot of Chuck’s law practice. Before going in, he checked his appearance in the rearview mirror, then regretted doing so. Sally would not be pleased with him.

Candy looked over the top of her computer screen, rose from her spot as gatekeeper, and enveloped Fen in a hug. She moved to arm’s length and said, “Go on back. Chuck’s appointment canceled, so he’s all yours for the next twenty minutes. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

He thanked her and moved down the hallway toward the last office on the right. The familiar surroundings spoke to him in a way he had a hard time explaining. Was it comfort? No, that wasn’t it. Peace? No, again. If he came to see his attorney during working hours, it was almost always because he had a problem, usually a serious one.

“Safe place,” he whispered as he walked. Chuck and Candy had a way of communicating, mostly without words, that he was safe with them. He could, and often did, tell them his deepest thoughts and concerns. They both listened much more than they talked.

The door to Chuck’s office stood wide open. Before Fen could say a word, Chuck rose from his desk. “Come in, stranger. Would you prefer a chair or the couch while Candy brings your favorite mug?”

“I’d better sit in a chair. The cold weather has my trick knee twitching like it might go wonky on me again. That couch sits a little low and I might not get up.”

Chuck grinned. “Serves you right for getting shot.” He pointed at one of the two leather club chairs that sat at angles in front of the matching couch. “You take one chair and I’ll sit in the other.”

“Speaking of people getting shot, that’s why I’m here.”

“I heard. Fireman and EMS managed to get Stubby down without him slipping out of the basket stretcher.”

Fen scratched the three-day growth of whiskers on his cheek. Or was it more than three days? No matter. “Did Sam call you?”

Chuck shook his head. “Thelma. Sam’s somewhere on your four-thousand acres, staying out of sight.”

“That’s what I should have done this morning when I received the call.”

“Why didn’t you? You could have called Lieutenant Broxton and told him to handle it.”

Fen lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “I should have. Now I’ve put Sam in the crosshairs of Nathaniel and Lori Newman. In nine more days, she’ll take the oath of office and the first thing she’ll do is arrest an innocent man. If this case isn’t solved before then, she’ll have Sam in jail quick as a hiccup.” He inhaled and kept talking. “That’s not all. That new reporter is lapping up every word Lori and her father say. You should have heard Lori feeding her quotes.”

Chuck leaned forward. “If she corners you and starts asking questions, refer her to me.”

“Newspaper ink is cheap,” said Candy as she came in, presented the two men mugs of black stimulant, and sat on the couch.

“Ink is also messy,” said Fen. “If you’re not careful, it can get all over you. What do you two know about this Dallas transplant?”

Candy answered, while Chuck took the first tentative sip from his mug. “Lou Cooper was, at one time, one of the top bloodhounds for the biggest newspaper in Dallas. She did a lot of investigative reporting and won some big awards. Along the way, she made friends, and quite a few enemies. She’s old-school and is more interested in the truth than spinning it.”

“What’s she doing in the backwoods of Central Texas?”

Candy folded her hands on her lap. “You have something in common with Lou. Powerful enemies. She wanted to tell more truth than the editorial staff at the newspaper wanted her to. When they spiked several of her stories, she started a blog and ruffled enough feathers to get her fired.”

Chuck took his turn. “You still did the right thing by not speaking to her at the crime scene. If she’s the professional that we believe she is, Nathaniel and Lori Newman’s trail of breadcrumbs didn’t convince her to follow them. She told me one day she’d researched Sam before the last elections. She knows his conviction was a cruel joke that the courts rectified after you reopened his case.”

“Today’s performance by the Newmans was more like whole loaves of bread than crumbs. I’m worried about Sam. Real worried. What do you recommend?”

“Two things, and I’ve already alluded to one,” said Chuck. “If cornered, say you can’t discuss anything about the ongoing investigation. It’s true, and it will buy you nine more days. If she or any other journalist persists, tell them to contact me for a comment.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“Solve the case while you’re still sheriff.”

“Is that all?” he asked with all the sarcasm he could muster. “That may prove easier said than done. The only physical evidence I have is a long length of twine with a small metal ring on each end. Sam found it in the middle of the clearing. The only footprints around it were the ones Sam made after we arrived. Before you ask, he was at my farm all night.”

Chuck lowered his coffee mug. “What about enemies? I heard Doug Dugger and Stubby had a big dust up over hunting rights.”

The clock on the Methodist church chimed the first of twelve times. It reminded Fen he hadn’t eaten all day. He also hadn’t taken a shower, and his multi-day growth of beard itched.

Fen tuned back in to hear Chuck say, “If memory serves me, Doug leased the land to Stubby for hunting. Buried in the fine print of the lease was a clause that Stubby had a right to renew for as long as he lived, and at the same price.”

Candy rose from the couch. “I’ll verify that.” She was out of the office before Fen could thank her for the coffee.

“Any other suspects?” asked Chuck.

Another memory of a long-ago incident came to Fen. “Chelsey Clawson chased Stubby around the grocery store with a knife, but never got close enough to do any harm. That’s when she left David for Stubby. The relationship burned hot for a while, but Stubby liked to play the field. He said he told her he was too much of a man to be tied to only one woman. She didn’t take kindly to that.”

Chuck tilted his head. “The way I heard it, he told Chelsey she needed to cut back on the biscuits and Honey Buns if she wanted to keep seeing him.”

Fen nodded. “That’s all part of the same story. She put a good-sized lump on his head with a can of hominy. Best arm of a center fielder I ever saw. That’s when the chase began. Chelsey grabbed a chef’s knife off the housewares aisle, but by the time they made it all the way to produce, she was blowing like a bellow. She couldn’t get the knife out of the package for trying to catch her breath.”

“The strange thing was,” said Chuck, “…they married not long after that.”

Both men chucked as they put mental images with the words of a story that neither of them witnessed. For a brief a time, Fen pushed away the pain that shadowed him.

Chuck asked, “What’s Chelsey doing now?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll ask Thelma when I get home.”

Candy stopped at the door, and both men turned to look at her. “It’s confirmed. Stubby Clawson and Doug Dugger signed an agreement for Stubby to hunt the land running from the Brazos on the west, to Shinbone Creek on the east, to a parcel owned by Nathaniel Newman on the north. The county road is the eastern boundary. Stubby had the right to harvest game animals, as long as he adhered to all federal and state laws. The way it’s written, Stubby could renew every year at the same rate.”

“Thanks, Candy,” said Fen.

The ultra-competent secretary and paralegal gave an obligatory nod. She added, “There’s one more thing you need to do, Fen.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t go anywhere else until you shower, shave, and put on fresh clothes. I hate to say it, but your twenty-four-hour deodorant stopped working forty-eight hours ago.”

Fen gave a small nod, but didn’t reply. The walls were closing in again. His friends meant well, but he’d had about as much interaction as he could stand for now.

Outside, he zipped his coat against the north wind whipping around the corner. He breathed deep and relished the solitude. At some point, he knew he’d have to rejoin the world, but not right this minute. He’d experienced more sensory input this morning than he’d had in weeks. The chatter of the deputies’ police radios at the scene was almost his undoing. He remembered a time when he thrived on hearing the language of the 10 Code, where numbers replaced words for everything from beginning a shift to livestock in the roadway. The metallic odor of human blood when he stood downwind from the tree stand made his stomach roll.

He started toward his truck. Part of Fen wanted to go back to his home office and stare at the urn holding Sally’s ashes. Another part of him knew he needed to follow Chuck’s advice and solve the murder. “Easier said than done,” he whispered in an echo of what he’d said before.

A woman’s voice interrupted him. “Did you say something, sheriff?”

Lost in thought, he cleared his throat. “Talking to myself.”

He then realized he’d violated Chuck’s advice by speaking to a reporter without a good reason to do so. “Sorry, Ms. Cooper, this isn’t a good time.”

“It never is, but that’s the nature of both our jobs, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond, so she did what he expected—asked a question. “I notice you’re in a hurry. Are you going back to the crime scene?”

“I can’t comment on anything dealing with the case.”

Her eyebrows arched upward. “That’s a start. At least you admit there’s a case.”

Fen tried to give her his best dumb-cop stare, then realized he didn’t need to. He looked the part.

Instead of stopping her in her tracks, she only laughed. “Good try, Sheriff, but that look won’t work on me. I know more about you than your mother.”

“That’s not much. She’s dead.”

“I know that, too. Let’s quit dancing around the parking lot. I’m obligated to write stories based on facts. It’s a fact that the sheriff-elect believes she has evidence pertaining to this case. It’s also true that she believes she has a suspect. All I want to know is if you’re going to start the investigation, or go back home and grieve your wife. I’ll make it easy on you. You can respond to that inquiry off the record.”

He gave her a sideways glare, wondering if her promise was good enough to trust.

“This isn’t a trick. Look. The phone is off and my miniature voice recorder is here in my hand. Check them if you like.”

Fen kept his eyes trained on hers. Lou returned his gaze with an intensity he hadn’t noticed before. He’d always prided himself on his ability to read people. An inner voice told him Lou Cooper was a woman of her word. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I’m going home.”

Her face fell. “That’s disappointing. Off the record, I’m not sure the new sheriff can handle the everyday duties of running the department, let alone carry out a murder investigation.” She looked at the ground, then back at him. “Grief sidelined me once. I understand.”

“Perhaps you understand the grief you experienced, but I didn’t finish my thought before you spoke. I said I’m going home… to shower and shave. What happens after that is strictly off the record.”

A broad smile showed off the reporter’s near-perfect teeth. “I’m glad to hear you say that.” She turned to leave and then spun back around. “Are you painting yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You said in an interview a few years ago that answers came to you when you lost yourself in the scene on the canvas. Why don’t you try it?”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

4

Soap and hot water brought welcome relief to Fen’s body and lifted his spirits. After a shave and donning clean clothes, he took a closer look in the mirror, then considered what might be for lunch. Empty nights awaited him, but he could at least fill this one afternoon with something other than long, aimless walks, or sitting alone in his office.

Thelma cast a look of approval when he entered the kitchen. “I made you a nice grilled cheese sandwich. There’s potato salad and slaw to go with it.”

“Thanks. I’m going out this afternoon. Where can I find Doug Dugger an hour from now?”

Thelma cast her eyes heavenward. “Let me think. I believe your best chance is at his business near the airport. He usually waits until Friday afternoon to take that little airplane of his for a flight over the county, and this is only Wednesday.”

He took a seat in the kitchen’s breakfast nook. “What’s the latest on Chelsey Clawson?”

“I thought you knew,” said Thelma. “After she divorced Stubby, she married a man from Bastrop.” Speaking through a chuckle, she added, “The ink didn’t have time to dry on the marriage license before she dumped him, but she liked her new town. She got a job at Austin’s airport, which was a short commute from her apartment.”

A sly smile crossed Thelma’s face as she delivered the sandwich. “If you want information from Millie Dugger, you’ll need to wait until tomorrow morning. She visits her mama at the nursing home before going to work, and won’t be home until after ten tonight. If you try to talk to her then, she’ll be grumpy like her mama.”

“You’re too smart for your own good. You knew I’d want to talk to Millie if I asked about Doug. Did Stubby have something to do with them breaking up?”

She wiped her hands on a plain apron. “It all depends on who you ask. Some say she and Stubby had a fling, but I’m not so sure. Anyone else you need to know about?”

“That’s all, unless you know of someone who had a reason to kill Stubby Clawson.”

After a pause, she said, “He made a play for Janie French a few years back, but that was wishful thinking on his part. Skipper put a quick end to Stubby sniffing around his wife by rearranging his nose.”

Fen finished a bite of slaw. “I wondered what happened to his nose.”

All Thelma needed was an opening. A rambling history of the highs and lows of Stubby Clawson’s love life followed. When Fen finally got a word in, he asked, “Any other angry husbands I should know about?”

“There was a slew of marriages ruined years ago, but not since Skipper French made Stubby’s Roman nose look like a German sausage.” She placed a piece of apple pie beside his plate. “There’s no doubt Stubby liked to go after married women, but most of them had already talked to an attorney about divorce. He didn’t ruin as many marriages as he got credit for.”

“Does that include Doug and Millie Dugger?”

“Like I said, it depends on who you ask.” She retrieved a clean fork for his pie. “Good luck when you talk to Millie. She’s a woman of few words.”

Fen popped in a bite of pie and thought of his next question. “When was their divorce?”

“That would be last August.”

“August.” The word stuck in his throat on the way out. That was when the doctors told them Sally would be lucky to make it to Labor Day.

He rose from the table. “I might be gone all afternoon.”

“Is that all you’re gonna’ eat?” Thelma sighed. “Don’t forget your cell phone. Now that you’re back in the hunt, you can expect that thing to ring again.”

Fen didn’t have to wait long before Thelma’s prophecy came to pass. He was approaching the front gate to the property when the ring tone sounded.

Before he could utter some semblance of greeting, a voice blurted, “Sheriff, this is Doug Dugger. I need to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“Where are you, Doug?”

“My office.”

“I’m on my way to town, so I’ll swing by. Does this call have something to do with Stubby’s death?”

“Yeah. Lori Newman and her father left not five minutes ago after asking questions. Both of them got mad as hornets with broken stingers when I asked if what she was doing was legal.”

Fen kept his lips mashed together, which forced a huff of exasperation to escape his nose. “I’m on my way.”

The ride to Doug’s office gave him time to think about questions he needed to ask, and how to ask them to bring about results. What had come naturally was now covered in rusty uncertainty from months of abandonment. He stopped in front of the metal building that housed the auto-body repair shop. With no strategy in sight, he hoped he could salvage something useful from this visit.

As usual, Doug’s Paint and Body had a full complement of cars and trucks waiting for repairs. Vehicles in various stages of deconstruction and repair filled all eight bays of the garage. More cars waited their turn to the side of the building, along with the ones in front of the detached paint shop. Sounds of thumping air compressors, pneumatic tools spinning, hammers banging, and men hollering above the din flowed into the parking lot. Fen concluded that as long as humans drove with such reckless abandon, Doug would have a thriving business.

The business office sat on the north end of the steel-girded building with an east-facing front door. A couple of elderly men flipped through dog-eared magazines of the hunting and automotive variety. Doug stood behind the counter speaking to Angel Fortenberry, a woman who lived up to her given name until someone made an accusation of overcharging. Then, all bets were off.

Angel came around the counter and gave Fen a hug. “Good to see you. Have you started painting again?”

“Not yet, but you’re the second person to ask about it today.”

“Come back to my office when you’re finished catching up,” said Doug, as he walked down a short hallway.

“Everyone misses Sally something fierce.” Tears clouded Angel’s eyes.

Fen swallowed. “Tell Randy I said hello.”

Doug’s office, as usual, looked like organized chaos. Repair manuals lined shelves with the overflow standing in stacks around the perimeter of the walls. His desk looked like a forest of bills and invoices grew around a clearing where a desk calendar sat. It was the only uncluttered area in the office, including the chair Fen was to sit in.

“Put those on the floor, and have a seat,” said Doug.

He set a stack of notebooks on the floor while Doug tapped a pen on his desk calendar and said, “I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t do.”

“Don’t borrow trouble. Tell me what Lori said.”

“It wasn’t just Lori. Big Daddy Newman had plenty to add to the conversation.” Doug took out a red bandanna and ran it around the back of his neck. “They never outright accused me of anything, but wanted to know the last time I spoke with Sam. I told them I couldn’t remember it’d been so long. They didn’t believe me.”

“Sam doesn’t leave the farm very often and when he does, the feed store, hardware store, or Tractor Supply are his only stops.”

“Do they think I paid Sam to kill Stubby?”

Fen raised his shoulders and allowed them to drop. He considered telling Doug about Sam’s footprints in the frost, but gathering information was more important than dispensing it. “I’m not exactly on speaking terms with Sally’s family, but it’s common knowledge you had a falling out with Stubby.”

The segue into motive came without effort.

“He cheated me. I never wanted to lease that land on Shinbone Creek, but Millie talked me into it. She said it shouldn’t matter to me since I don’t have time to go there. If I’d known it was Stubby wanting to lease the land, I wouldn’t have signed it.”

“What do you mean?”

Doug cut his eyes to a large framed photo on the wall. “You know what a smooth talker Stubby was, especially with the ladies. I didn’t find out until last spring that he talked Millie into letting him hunt on our land last season.”

Fen nodded as Doug kept talking. “There're all kinds of rumors going around about Stubby and Millie. She betrayed me by letting that scoundrel hunt for free, and betrayed me again by putting that contract in front of me to sign. I didn’t even read it. I trusted her.”

The explanation didn’t jibe with Thelma’s account, but that didn’t mean Doug’s wasn’t true. Over the years Thelma was accurate about ninety-five percent of the time. A visit with Millie the following day went on a calendar that existed only in Fen’s mind.

He stood. “Don’t worry about Lori and Nathaniel Newman. They’re not after you, and I doubt you’ll hear from them again.”

Doug also rose, and the two men exchanged a firm handshake. “Thanks for coming by. You’ve put my mind to rest.” His brow wrinkled. “Why didn’t you ask me what I was doing last night or early this morning? That was the first thing Lori asked.”

“I counted the cars in your parking lot waiting for repairs. Whenever that many stack up, you stay late and get up early to help in the shop or the spray rooms. The bags under your eyes tell me you’re burning the candle at both ends. If you were going to kill Stubby, you’d do it when you weren’t so tired, and it wouldn’t be on your great-granddaddy’s property.”

“You’re right on all counts,” said Doug as he walked around his desk. “Every Dugger man that ever walked that land would come back to haunt me.”

The photo that Doug looked at earlier caught Fen’s attention. “Is this an arial photo of your property on Shinbone Creek?”

“Millie gave that to me for Christmas three years ago.”

“Did she take it from your airplane?”

“Nah. That’s old school. It’s much easier these days to use a drone.”

Doug’s hand rested on Fen’s back as they walked to the door. “Can I ask you a question?”

Fen turned and faced the man. “Sure.”

“Do you know who killed Stubby?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know how they killed him, let alone who did it.”

On the way home, he pondered the interview with Doug and how many things he could have, and probably should have, asked. What stuck in his mind more than anything was the offhand remark he’d made while leaving. Speaking to the windshield, he muttered, “Before I know who killed Stubby, I’ll need to discover how they did it.”

5

Fen went to his home office with a mug of coffee. He followed the same ritual of taking the urn containing Sally’s ashes down from its place of honor and set it in front of him. “Six days since I spoke with Doug and still no breakthrough in how someone killed Stubby. Thelma was right about Millie. She proved herself a woman of few words.”

He sat staring while drinking half his coffee before it cooled. “I’ve gone over everything a zillion times, and the answer seems like it’s three inches out of my reach. I can’t get it in focus, or get any closer to it.”

He waited and listened with his heart for a response from Sally that didn’t come. “I’m trying as hard as I can, but I’ve never had a case where I couldn’t figure out how someone committed the crime. It’s like a locked door mystery where the only key is on the inside of a room with no windows and no other way in. The difference here is the killing took place in the corner of an open field, ten feet in the air. It wasn’t a long-range shot because the trees were too thick and there were no footprints anywhere nearby. If I didn’t trust Sam so much, I’d say he must have missed something.”

With eyes closed, silence settled in for a good fifteen minutes. He opened them and whispered. “I’ll paint again today and hope for better results. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried and time’s running out. Losing myself in the artist’s zone on a landscape helped out many a time. I could surely use some help this time.”

An hour later, he stood in his studio with a palate dotted with fresh paint, brush in hand. The familiar smells reintroduced themselves like friends he’d lost contact with. A psychologist told him he’d find a place where he could concentrate on something besides his wife, but he hadn’t believed her. He could focus for a while, but not like he used to. In the back of his mind, he knew his memories waited outside the door.

A triplet of knocks jarred him away from his double-minded thoughts. Thelma opened the door and leaned around the edge. “That reporter lady wants to see you. I’ll tell her you’re busy if you don’t want to talk.”

Fen turned from the canvas. “What’s the weather like outside?”

“Cool and cloudy; not much wind.”

“Take her to the back patio, and tell her I can’t talk long or the paint on my palate will skim over. I’ll clean my brushes and be with her shortly.”

Lou stood at the far edge of the patio, looking over the Brazos River Valley that stretched in front of her.

“Like what you see?” asked Fen as he drew near.

She didn’t look around. “How many acres do you own?”

“Four thousand, but only half of that is in cultivation.”

“It’s perfect.”

He remembered the view with Sally by his side. “It was perfect. Now I have to learn to appreciate it all over again.”

Lou spun to look him in the eyes. “There’s only a handful of days before Lori becomes the new sheriff. I’m worried about Sam.”

Fen jerked his gaze away from fields, trees, and glimpses of the river. “What’s she done now?”

Lou hugged herself as she looked toward the house. “I wanted to let you know another story is coming out tomorrow that quotes Lori. She says you’ve neglected your duty by not arresting Sam.”

Fen looked to a line of dense woods in the distance. Sam might be out there, or a hundred other places. He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “No comment.”

Lou threw up her hands. “I thought you were different, better than the politicians that kicked me out of Dallas. But you’re not, are you? You might have been a man of principle before I came to town, but what I see now is a lazy coward.”

Fen kept looking at the line of trees. “Are you finished?”

“Not quite,” said Lou. “I know you interviewed Doug Dugger a week ago, and his ex-wife Millie the next day. They both say they’re not worried about Sam because of something you said. They wouldn’t tell me what it was. Now I’m asking you.” She waited for a response.

“No comment.”

“Off the record!” shouted Lou. “What did you tell them?”

Fen shifted his gaze to her. “Off the record, or on the record, I have nothing to say, but I have a question for you. Do you want to see my studio? I’ve started painting again.”

Lou’s mouth hinged open, while she hunted for words, but found only one. “Yes.”

“Good. Follow me.”

Fen walked through the great room until they reached the door leading to his south-facing studio. He opened it and motioned for Lou to enter. “Look around, I’m going to paint. Questions are welcome in here, but only about my art.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Lou. “I can ask anything I want about you being one of the foremost landscape painters in Texas, but I can’t ask anything about Stubby Clawson’s murder and you not investigating it?”

“Yep. That’s about the size of it.”

Lou launched into a series of questions that he knew she already had the answers to— standard questions about how, when, and where he started painting and which artists he admired the most. After that warm her up, the questions became more specific, dealing with technique, composition, and style. She watched his brush move across the canvas in confident strokes.

“This painting isn’t very far along, but you can look at others if you’d rather.”

Lou walked to one side of the room and looked through a stack of finished paintings. “Why do you paint landscapes and not portraits?”

“I’ve done some portraits, but they take too much out of me. I believe a genuine artist captures more than the image of the person. If you look hard enough, and long enough, you can see into their soul.”

“That sounds like mysticism. I didn’t have you pegged as anything but a rational cop with exceptional talent.”

Fen maintained an even tone to his voice. “The eyes are the windows to the soul. The few times I’ve painted portraits, I focused on the eyes. There’s always a risk when you look that deep. Sometimes I found ugly things there.”

“What about beautiful things?”

Fen put the brush he was using in a jar of solvent. “Come with me.”

He led Lou to the formal dining room, turned the corner and pointed to a portrait on the wall.

She stopped in her tracks. “Wow! She’s breathtaking.”

“I’m going to get each of us a cup of coffee. Concentrate on the eyes of the woman in this painting. When I come back, you can tell me what you find in them.”

When he returned, tears made wet lines down Lou’s face. He handed her a napkin he brought from the kitchen. She took it and dabbed from eyes to chin.

“What do you see?”

Lou whispered, “Kindness, sacrifice, and most of all, love.”

“Anything else?”

“Extreme sorrow.”

“It took me five years to finish that portrait. I never could get the eyes right. Those I painted from memory after Sally made the final decision not to seek a second transplant.” He took Lou by the elbow. “Let’s go back to the studio. I have something else to show you, if you promise it will be off the record.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“It’s your choice to stay or go, but it’s my house and my rules.”

Lou took a step forward. “That’s not much of a choice.”

Back in the studio, Fen pulled a cloth cover from a series of small canvases. He held up two of them. “I’ve painted only the eyes of all the suspects in this murder case except one.” He pointed. “It’s on that easel over there. For the next three days, I’m going to clear my mind and focus on the eyes of each person who had a reason to kill Stubby.”

Lou tilted her head. “Is this how you solve crimes?”

“This is the first time I’ve tried it, but I’ve solved more crimes in this room than anywhere else.”

“You lost me,” said Lou.

“Lost is the right word. When I lose myself in a painting, my mind is free to wander. That’s when creativity explodes, and pieces fall into place. My problem right now stems from an inability to fully let go.” He tapped his head with his forefinger. “If I can leave the pain of loss outside the door long enough, I’ll solve the case.”

“In only three days?” asked Lou.

He put the small paintings of the eyes back in their box and covered them. “Some things have their own schedule.”

6

Three days later, Fen was still in his studio, staring at sets of eyes. He’d taken his meals in that room, and even slept in a winged-back chair. For the first time since he received her ashes from the funeral home, he missed his morning meetings with Sally.

The eyes revealed secrets, but who killed Stubby Clawson wasn’t one of them. Day turned to night and then melted into the early hours of the next day. Lori Newman’s tenure as sheriff would start at noon, yet no answers came to him. At midnight he abandoned staring at eyes and allowed his scratchy eyelids to close.

It wasn’t a proper sleep, but that in-between place where the body is at complete rest and the mind slides into a state of semi-consciousness. A jolt of revelation hit him, and Fen was on his feet. He ran to the back patio before he realized, or even cared, that he was barefooted. After circling the fire pit, he went to the edge of the patio and pulled the rope to a bell mounted on a tall wooden post. He kept pulling until Thelma came out of her bungalow and hollered, “Where’s the fire?”

“Tell Sam I need him.”

A voice sounded from the darkness. “Tell me yourself, and lay off the bell.”

“Get the truck and bring a ladder and bolt cutters.”

What followed was a dark-of-the-moon trip back to Doug Dugger’s property, where Stubby Clawson breathed his last. Fen parked on the culvert, leaving enough room for the gate to swing open. Sam reached to open his door. “I’ll cut the lock.”

Fen looked to the north as distant flashes looked like tiny specks of lightning bugs. “Not tonight. You drive. What’s the weather going to do?”

Sam pointed. “Heavy rain will start in less than an hour.”

“That could work to our advantage. We don’t have much time, so let’s get going.”

“Are you still the sheriff?”

“Yeah. For about nine and a half more hours.”

The snap of the lock echoed in the night's blackness. Fen picked it up and put it in the pocket of his coat. Chain links rattled over the metal gate, echoing across the road. The gate swung open toward him as Sam slipped the truck past with lights off. Fen put the gate and chain back together as best he could. He jogged to the truck and climbed in. “Go to the deer stand.”

As Sam approached the deer stand, he put the transmission in neutral and used the emergency brake to come to a stop without activating the rear stop lights. He looked into Fen’s questioning face. “Old Indian trick.”

Fen pointed to the tree line behind the deer stand. “Look for a crook in a tree the same distance off the ground as the deer stand.”

Sam was out of the truck before Fen could form another sentence. He went to the bed of the truck and retrieved an extension ladder.

Stumbling over rough ground caused Fen’s trick knee to catch, but not enough for him to go down.

Sam took the ladder and leaned it against the back side of the tree. He stepped onto the first rung.

Fen grabbed Sam’s arm. “Not this time. If I’m right, there’s important evidence up there and I don’t want to take any chance of your fingerprints, hair, or clothing being anywhere near this.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll hold the ladder.”

Fen climbed the first six rungs of the ladder, trying not to put undue weight on his throbbing knee. He stopped at a giant fork in the trunk and pulled back a piece of camouflage cloth simulating tree bark. Beneath it lay a .357 magnum revolver in a vice-like contraption. He put the cloth back in place and started down.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Fen stopped and looked down at Sam. “Yeah, and I have good news. The new sheriff won’t arrest you this afternoon.”

He then pointed up with a free hand. “Did lightning strike this tree?”

Sam nodded. “About five years ago, by the looks of it. The branches are all gone on this side.”

“Let’s get out of here. We have to pay someone a visit.”

Fen made it to the next-to-last rung before his knee gave out and he fell, with his bad leg taking his full weight. Searing pain shot through him as he lay crumpled on the cold ground, trying not to cry.

Sam scooped him up and moved to the truck before it registered with Fen what was happening. Before the pain blocked all lucid thoughts, he said, “Don’t leave the ladder.”

On the way to the hospital, he spoke from the back seat of his four-door truck. “Don’t let them give me anything for pain but Tylenol. There’s a lot left to do.”

Sam only grunted.

The small hospital had a reputation as a place you didn’t want to go for fast service. It came as no surprise that the sun was well up before the results of the X-rays returned and an intern pulled back the curtain making a three-quarter oval around the bed.

“I was ready to send you to Austin until I compared these with your old X-rays. How did your knee get so torn up?”

“I thought I was Superman and could move faster than a speeding bullet.”

“You were shot?”

Fen nodded. “It didn’t hardly count. They were aiming at someone else. Are you saying there’s no additional damage?”

“No. I’m saying you need a more thorough evaluation by an orthopedist who will probably recommend you replace the old damaged parts with new plastic and titanium ones.”

“That’s what the last eight doctors told me. The knee works pretty good unless I twist it or do something stupid like fall from a ladder. I’d like to try staying off it for a couple of weeks and wrapping it tight. I have crutches.”

The young doctor shrugged. “How about we throw in a brace that restricts lateral movement? You can wear it over your jeans once the swelling goes down.”

Fen nodded. “I’ll need a new prescription for pain medicine.”

“I thought you were the tough guy who didn’t want anything.”

“I don’t until I finish what I need to do today.”

“Can you do it from this bed?”

Sam spoke up. “Keep him. I’ll bring people to him.”

Before Fen could overrule Sam, the doctor said, “I’ll make sure there’s a problem with his paperwork. Until then, it’s Tylenol with codeine. You’ll take that or nothing for the pain.”

“Is that what you gave me when I came in?”

“It’s what I give all the tough guys, but I usually forget to tell them it has codeine in it.”

Once the doctor left, Fen turned to Sam. “I need you to get two people here, but not at the same time. The first is Doug Dugger. Say whatever you have to, but I need him by ten this morning.”

Sam nodded. “Who else?”

“Millie Dugger. Have her here by ten thirty.”

“Anyone else?”

“I’ll handle the last one. Hand me my phone.”

“You know there’ll be one more,” said Sam.

“Who?”

“Thelma. She’s bound to know by now that you fell out of a tree.”

He’d hoped to keep the cause of his latest injury a secret, but there wasn’t much secret-keeping around Thelma. She had a way of knowing things almost before they happened. So be it. He needed to save his strength and brainpower for what was coming.

7

“Wake up, Fen.”

The voice sounded familiar, but he had a hard time focusing on the face. A meaningless dream swept over him again, but an insistent hand shook his shoulder.

“Wake up. Sam’s here with Doug Dugger.”

“Thelma? Is that you?”

“Rise and shine,” she said in a voice so pleasant he almost didn’t recognize it. “Mr. Dugger is here. Sam brought him to talk to you. I’ll raise the head of your bed so you can see everyone.”

A motor engaged with a whirling sound and the head portion of the bed lifted until he nodded for Thelma to stop. “Coffee. Please find me a cup of strong coffee.”

Thelma nodded. “Are you ready to see Mr. Dugger?”

Eyes blinked until he could stand the bright lights. “Send him in.”

Doug stood at the foot of the bed wearing a baseball cap and a jacket peppered with raindrops. Fen asked, “Is it raining?”

“It’s been coming down in buckets all day. Sam said you had to see me?”

“Listen, Doug, I don’t have much time before I’m no longer the sheriff, and there are more questions I need to ask you.”

“I don’t know how I can help any more than I already have, but ask away.”

“You told me you stopped hunting. When was that?”

“I lost interest five years ago. The business kept growing and I didn’t have time.”

“Do you still have your rifle?”

“I only kept the one my dad gave me for Christmas when I was thirteen.”

“What about shotguns or pistols?”

Doug tilted his head. “Why all the questions about guns?”

Fen set his jaw. “My knee feels like someone’s twisting a knife in it, and I’m trying to keep you from going to jail. Just answer the questions and I’ll explain later.”

Doug shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and back again. “I own a .243 rifle and one pistol.”

“What kind of pistol?”

“A .22 revolver. Another gift from my dad. It’s to scare off coyotes, and the rifle is for the slow learners.”

“What happened to the rest of your guns? I know you used to have more.”

“I gave them to Millie when we split. She loves to hunt... always has. That’s how Stubby got so friendly with her.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand,” said Fen, at a tempo that communicated he might be wrong. “Are you saying there was nothing but hunting between Millie and Stubby?”

“I thought there was more for a long time. Too long. By the time Stubby told me they never even kissed, we’d already divorced.” He hung his head. “Millie tried everything to convince me, but I didn’t believe her.”

“And what was the truth?”

“They found common ground in deer hunting while I worked seven days a week growing my business.” Doug took off his cap and ran his hand through thinning hair. “Even before Stubby started stalking her, Millie sort of went her way and I went mine. She lost interest in flying and I gave up hunting.”

“Did she lose all interest in flying?”

“Not really. She got into model airplanes for a while and then drones. I still get a kick out of going up in my plane once or twice a week. It’s a good way to leave my troubles and regrets behind. She keeps her feet on the ground these days, but takes videos and still photos from the camera on that whirligig.”

“One more question.” He held up a single index finger. “Do you own a pair of pinking shears?”

“Pinking shears?” He allowed a chuckle to accompany the question. “I know what they are, but I fix cars and trucks, not clothes. Millie got all the sewing stuff in the divorce.”

He looked at Doug. “I’ll need you to stay here a little longer. Tell Sam to send in the other two.”

An attempt to shift to a more comfortable position proved to be a mistake. Pain shot up his leg, causing his eyes to slam shut. When he opened them, three people had gathered around his bed. He locked his gaze on the scrubs-clad woman and said, “Millie, thanks for stopping by. You know Candy Forsythe don’t you?”

“Sure. I took arial shots of their property this summer.”

“The best birthday present I ever gave Chuck,” said Candy. “It’s almost impossible to find something unique that pleases him.”

“It’s amazing what people are using drones for these days,” said Fen as the smile left his face. He tried to look into Millie’s eyes, but she cast her gaze to the floor.

“Look at me, Millie.” He waited until her gaze raised to meet his stare. “It took me a while, but I know what you did and how you did it.”

Doug straightened his spine. “What are you talking about?”

Fen looked into eyes filled with shame and regret. “I’m talking about a pistol Millie used that once belonged to you. It’s mounted in the crook of an oak tree on your property.”

Doug’s head shook in denial. “You’re not talking sense. It must be the pain medicine.”

Millie shifted her gaze to her ex-husband. “It’s not the medicine.” She shifted her eyes back to focus on Fen. “How did you know it was me?”

“You’re the one who flies the drone and the one who hated Stubby. You also used pinking shears to cut the cloth you put over the pistol. At first, I thought the only thing that could drop a length of twine with rings attached to both ends was a bird. Then it came to me that a drone could do the same thing.”

He needed to shift in the bed, but didn’t dare risk it, so he pressed on. “You had the pistol positioned in the oak tree with the ring on the trigger and the gun cocked. You knew Stubby would be in the stand before first light. Parking on the county road outside the gate meant there’d be no tire tracks or footprints on the property.”

Doug’s head shook from side to side. “No. This can’t be true.”

Fen kept his stare on Millie. “Then you activated the drone that was on the ground. It was out of sight from the stand, behind the tree. It carried the attached twine straight up until it pulled the trigger. There was nothing to stop the bullet but the thin plywood wall of the deer stand. The recoil made the ring slip off the trigger. The drone with the twine climbed until they cleared all the branches. Something happened over the clearing, and the ring released from the drone.”

Millie shivered. “I was shaking so bad I hit the release button on the control.”

“Why, Honey?” asked Doug with a cry in his voice.

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Stubby ruined our lives. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for me. What drove me crazy was you thinking I’d given my love to anyone but you.”

The revelation that his ex-wife killed Stubby hit Doug hard, but not as hard as her expression of devotion. He rounded the bed and put his arm around her. “Sugar, I’ll spend every penny I have to get you out of this mess.”

Doug looked from Millie to Candy. “I need to talk to Chuck. Millie deserves the best lawyer in town.”

“It’s already arranged,” said Candy. “Chuck’s waiting for us at the office.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” cried Millie.

Fen took in a deep breath. “Chuck will take you to the county jail where you’ll turn yourself in to Lori Newman. He’ll then do everything within his power to minimize the consequences of your actions.”

“Why don’t you arrest her now?” Doug held her tighter. “Aren’t you still the sheriff?”

“I made a promise to my wife that I would honor her family and I intend to keep it. In order to do that, I’ll need you two to do something for me.”

“Name it,” said Doug as Millie nodded.

“Never mention that I was involved in this case. I want Lori to get off to a good start as the new sheriff.”

Candy chimed in. “The only thing to remember is this: Don’t say a word about Fen to anyone, for any reason. You don’t have to talk to the police. Chuck will do all the talking for you.”

Doug looked at Fen. “If that’s the way you want it, Sheriff.”

Millie patted Doug’s hand, and he released his grip on her. She leaned over the bed and whispered, “I know this sounds crazy, but thank you, Fen. It was only a matter of time before I wouldn’t have been able to stand it anymore. That’s the reason I left that pistol in the tree.”

He looked into her eyes. “I know.”

The short sentence hung in the air before Fen cleared his throat. “There’s something else you can do for me. On your way out, find my doctor and tell him I’m ready for the strongest pain medicine he can find.”

THE WHEELCHAIR SQUEAKED to a stop as Sam put on the brakes. Fen looked past the bright lights into the night, still groggy from whatever the doctor ordered for him.

“About time you woke up.” It was a woman’s voice speaking through his brain fog. He tried to focus but his head seemed too heavy for his neck to hold straight. He heard Sam explain, “Doc gave him too much happy medicine.”

Fen chuckled. “Look, Sam. It’s the famous reporter, Lou Cooper.” His head rolled, and he looked at her from a sideways view. “Stand still, Lou.”

He forced the muscles in his neck to bring his head level and cleared his mind as best he could. “Get your story?”

With hands on her hips, she squinted at him and said in exasperation, “I got a story, but I didn’t get the truth. How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Solve the case and make Lori look like a hero.”

He crooked an index finger to beckon her closer. As she leaned in, he looked in her eyes and said, “I studied those little round things we see with.”

She jerked back. “In other words, no comment.”

His thoughts spun in a medicine-induced fog. He tilted his head again and said, “Did you know you have interesting eyes? I may have to paint them someday.”

FEN MAGUIRE’S tenure as sheriff of Newman County may be over, but the desire to make his part of Texas a better place isn’t.

MURDER ON THE BRAZOS

A county full of corruption, drugs and murder… it’s up to him to clean it up.

When Fen Maguire left office as sheriff nine months ago Newman County was clean and safe. But the dead drug dealer found floating down the river says things may be changing… and not for the better.

Fire engulfs the dead man’s home, and all evidence points to the new sheriff’s father. Fen is convinced there’s more to this case than a drug deal gone bad.

After he discovers a stash of drugs and a coded notebook, Fen launches his own investigation into the murder. With the new sheriff possibly in on the corruption, it’s up to him to peel back the layers to apprehend a killer and restore justice in his beloved county.

Keep reading for a preview of

Murder On The Brazos, book one of the Fen Maguire Mysteries.

MURDER ON THE BRAZOS

EXCERPT

All was as it should be… until the body floated by.

A sigh escaped from Fen Maguire as he put his 4B sketching pencil away and mumbled, “At least this one isn’t my responsibility.”

The lifeless form eased to a stop in a tangle of flotsam, anchored by a fallen hackberry in the muddy water of the Brazos River. A third of the tree’s roots clung to rusty earth, thirty yards from Fen’s interrupted workplace.

Instead of punching 911, he called the non-emergency number to the Newman County Sheriff’s Department and waited for a familiar voice to answer.

“Sheriff’s department. How can I help ya’?”

The mental image of a woman with big hair and an encyclopedic knowledge of everything going on in the county flashed in front of him.

“Brenda, it’s Fen. Grab a pen.”

“Sheriff Maguire? Is that really you?”

Fen sighed. “Yeah, it's me. If you want to keep your job, you’d best not let Sheriff Newman hear you call me sheriff. The last election took care of that title in front of my name."

“Ain’t much chance of Miss Lori sticking her head in here on a Sunday morning, or any other morning, for that matter.”

His gaze shifted back to the river; the body moved, turning face-up. Fen knew if he didn’t get Brenda on task, she might talk for twenty minutes. “I’m on my property, about a mile down from the bridge. There’s a body in the river, hung up on a fallen tree. Call Billy Ray. Tell him to get his team together and put in at the boat ramp by the bridge. There’s a clear spot on the bank where I’m standing. The ambulance crew can help them get the body out of here.”

“Do you want everyone to come to your place?”

“You know I don’t want them here, but it seems I don't have a choice. I’ll call Sam and have him open the front gate. He’ll direct everyone to where I am.”

“Any chance the victim’s still alive?”

“No sign of life, and I don’t swim in the Brazos. Call the justice of the peace on duty and tell him to come and make it official.”

“Expect a crowd. You know how everyone loves to run lights and sirens.”

The last comment didn’t earn a response, so Fen pushed the red icon on his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. He spun around at the sound of a voice speaking over his shoulder, and instantly regretted the sudden movement as a bolt of pain shot from his right knee.

From the ground, Fen looked up, shook his head, and spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s a good thing I don’t carry a gun anymore.”

Sam smiled and squatted beside him. “It’s like the old days when we used to play cowboys and Indians. I’m getting you back for all those times you pretended to win and I let you.”

Fen moved his bum leg, making sure it still worked. “How long have you been listening?”

“Long enough. I spotted the floating body downstream from the bridge and followed it to here while you were setting up your easel.” Sam pointed. “It’s bad karma that the body got hung up on that hackberry instead of floating downstream. It could have been someone else’s problem.”

“It’s still not my problem, or yours. If anyone asks either of us, you were making your morning rounds, checking on cattle, and I found the body. That's all they need to know. There’s no use in both of us having to write a report.” Fen looked around. “Where’s your horse?”

Sam stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle. A saddled roan mare came running from behind a thicket of brush. Sam turned his attention back to Fen. “I’ll open the gate for your visitors. Do you need your cane?”

“And an ice pack, if you have one in your saddlebag.”

Sam went to Fen’s four-wheeler and brought back a walking cane. “You need to get that knee fixed.”

It was another statement that didn’t earn a response.

Sam reached under Fen’s arms and helped him to his feet. It took three steps for Sam to reach his horse and effortlessly pull himself into the saddle. The sound of hooves pounding earth gave way to a distant siren. The ranch foreman would make the first officers wait long enough to aggravate them. A small payback.

Fen hobbled to his four-wheeler and took the load off his leg by sitting in the passenger’s seat. It wasn’t long before a black-and-white Texas highway patrol SUV pulled alongside and the tall, lean figure of Sergeant Tom Stevens slid out, leaving his door open. He settled a buff Stetson on graying hair and spoke a single word greeting. “Sheriff.”

“Not anymore,” said Fen. “I’m glad you’re the first on scene.”

“Where’s the body?”

Fen pointed. “Follow your nose. You can’t miss him.”

Sgt. Stevens moved to the river, pulled out his phone and took photos of the body and the bank leading down to the water’s edge. He raised his voice enough to cover the distance to where Fen waited. “Did you get pictures of him before he got tangled?”

“Sort of. I took a short video. I also got still shots after the hackberry grabbed him. He was face-down until a little while ago.”

“What about photos of the bank?”

“Yeah. No footprints prior to mine and yours.”

A pickup truck from the sheriff’s department dropped into the river valley, several hundred yards away. Emergency lights flashed and blinked, but the deputy had at least turned off the siren.

The highway patrolman climbed the incline, turned when he made it to Fen’s side and looked at the river. “What do you think?”

“I’d start looking around the boat launch by the bridge.” Fen dipped his head toward the body. “By the looks of him, he’s been on the bottom for a while. It takes time for the gasses to form that brought him to the surface. I think he’d have hung up on something along the bank if he’d gone in farther upstream.”

“Are you going to tell Sheriff Newman your theory?”

Fen held up his palms. “Leave me out of this. You know Lori and her father would like nothing more than to see me face-down in the river instead of whoever your victim is.”

Tom placed a hand on Fen’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You honored Sally’s wishes. I would have done the same thing.”

A lump formed in Fen’s throat, making it hard to swallow. Tom removed his hand and announced, “I need to make a few phone calls and get a state trooper to the boat ramp before Lori...” His voice trailed off. “You know what I mean.”

“Do me a favor,” said Fen. “Put out a call over your radio that you need the justice of the peace to respond. I don’t want it known that I already told Brenda to call him.”

Tom issued a quick nod. The door to his SUV closed with a thunk. Muffled, unintelligible words came from the highway patrolman’s radio.

A pimply-faced young man exited the county patrol pickup. He was the last deputy Fen hired before his late wife’s sister took the oath of office as the new sheriff.

Instead of speaking, Fen pointed to a spot on the river. The deputy nodded he understood, walked down the sloping river bank, put his hand over his nose and mouth, and returned to where Fen stood. “What should I do?”

“Remember your training. Take things one step at a time and do what your supervisor tells you.”

“How do you secure a crime scene when it’s in the middle of a river?”

Fen lifted his shoulders and let them drop. The answer to the deputy’s question arrived as his radio came to life with the voice of Sheriff Lori Newman yapping like a Chihuahua. She demanded to know if any of her officers were on the scene yet.

The deputy swallowed, gave his call sign, and told her he and a state trooper were there.

“Tape off the crime scene.”

“10-4. But, how? It’s in deep water.”

Silence.

Fen let out a groan. “Tell her to disregard your last transmission. You’ll handle it.” What Fen didn’t see was that the deputy had already depressed the transmission button on his radio.

“Who said that?” demanded Lori.

The deputy responded in a meek voice. “That’s Sheriff Maguire.”

The next radio broadcast came from Sgt. Tom Stevens. He began by stating his badge number, followed by, “I’ll take over securing the area until a supervisor from the sheriff’s office arrives.”

“My ETA is twenty minutes. Make sure no one contaminates my crime scene.”

Fen rolled his eyes, then directed his attention to the distant rise where two more vehicles from the sheriff’s department came with lights flashing. One still had his siren activated. Tom gave instruction to the first deputy to string yellow tape along the wooded river bank for about a hundred yards upstream and downstream.

A sheriff’s department lieutenant, new to the department since Fen left, approached and looked down on him. “What’s your name?”

“Fen Maguire.”

“Your full name,” he demanded.

Instead of answering, Fen pulled out his wallet and handed his driver’s license to the lieutenant.

After a thorough examination, the lawman raised his gaze to meet Fen’s. “So, you’re James Fenimore Maguire.”

Fen nodded.

With a smirk and a nod, the man said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

License in hand, the lieutenant turned and strode to his vehicle.

Fen sighed. His gut told him he and the new sheriff’s right-hand man may not see eye-to-eye.

Can Fen stop the dark world of drugs and corruption from invading his beloved county?

Read Murder On The Brazos today!

Books by Bruce Hammack

This is Bruce Hammack’s complete library at the time of publication, but Bruce has new books coming out all the time. Sign up for his Mystery Insiders reader community to receive information on new releases and sales, as well as a reader exclusive Smiley and McBlythe mystery novella!

The Fen Maguire Mystery Series

Murder On The Brazos

Murder On The Angelina

Murder On The Guadalupe

Murder On The Wichita

Murder On The San Gabriel

Murder On The Colorado

The Smiley and McBlythe Mystery Series

Exercise Is Murder, Prequel

Jingle Bells, Rifle Shells,

Pistols And Poinsettias

Five Card Murder

Murder In The Dunes

The Name Game Murder

Murder Down The Line

Vision Of Murder

Mistletoe, Malice And Murder

A Beach To Die For

Dig Deep For Murder

A Killer On Christmas Cay

Hemlock And Homicide

The Star of Justice Series

Long Road To Justice

A Murder Redeemed

A Grave Secret

Justice On A Midnight Clear

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Drawing from his extensive background in criminal justice, Bruce Hammack writes contemporary, clean read detective and crime mysteries. He is the author of the popular Smiley and McBlythe Mysteries, the Fen Maguire Mysteries and the Star of Justice series. Having lived in eighteen cities around the world, he now lives in the Texas hill country with his wife of thirty-plus years.

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I hope you enjoyed this prequel to the Fen Maguire Mystery series. As with all of my books, the series contains no graphic violence, sexual scenes or profanity. Their twists and turns will have your ‘little gray cells’ working double-time to find out whodunit!

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Happy Reading!

Bruce

Murder On Shinbone Creek

© 2022 Bruce Hammack

All rights reserved.

Published by Jubilee Publishing, LLC

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-958252-32-1

Cover design: Streetlight Graphics

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or they are used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Murder On The Brazos Excerpt

Books By Bruce Hammack

About The Author

Copyright