Country Justice

Country Justice

By Gail Roughton

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-1-77362-109-8

Kindle 9781771451758

WEB 978-1-77362-110-4

Print ISBN 9781771458498

Amazon Print 978-1-77362-111-1

Copyright 2015 by Gail Roughton

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

* * *

For my son-in-law, Lt. Jason Smith, K-9 Officer, Cobra Crime Suppression Unit,

and his fellow officers of the Twiggs County Sheriff’s Department.

I couldn’t have done it without you, Twiggs 19!

Chapter One

Clayton Chapel loomed out of the darkness, caught in the spear of the patrol cruiser’s headlights. Deputy Alec Wimberly left the engine running per protocol and got out to do his obligatory night check walk-around, eyes open for stray teenagers. Clayton Chapel’s reputation drew them like magnets. He ran the flashlight’s beam around the dark windows of the second floor. And froze. For just a moment.

He raced hell bent for leather back to the car and scrambled in. The cruiser careened down the country road in a flurry of squealing wheels and flying gravel. He didn’t look back. If he looked back, he’d see it. He knew he would. The silhouette of a little girl in banana curls, backlit in the window. Pounding organ music still rang in his ears.

He slowed just enough to negotiate a wide turn onto Highway 96. Back on the asphalt, he could pretend it never happened. He checked the speedometer and eased off the gas. Or tried to. For a moment his foot, lead on the pedal, wouldn’t obey. He reached to his shoulder and hit the send button on his radio phone.

Rockland 19, back on patrol from property check at Clayton Chapel.

Ten-four Rockland 19. Dispatcher Aileen Sanders hesitated. You okay, Nineteen? You sound kinda funny.

Fine. Nineteen out. His heart rate slowed. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anything, I didn’t hear anything, and I’m never gonna see it again. Because I ain’t goin’ back there alone. Ever.

* * *

On the other side of the county, in a big house off Highway 80, a hand reached for the ringing phone.

Tonight’s delivery’s made. It’s done.

Went all right? No problems?

Slight hesitation. No problems.

What went wrong?

Damn. The caller cringed. Should have known better.

Nothing went wrong. Somebody unexpected showed up. Didn’t see anything, though.

Who?

One of the deputies. Out on night patrol. Ran like a scared rabbit, no big deal.

You better hope so. What the hell happened? We’re supposed to know the schedules.

We do. Mostly. Can’t always call it down to the minute.

S’posed to be able to. Why else we spend the money, for Chrissakes?

Wasn’t no problem, the caller reiterated. He didn’t see anything.

You know which deputy?

Yeah.

Well?

Well, what? The caller had a soft spot for all the young Rockland deputies.

Who the hell was it, and don’t you ever make me ask you something twice.

Alec Wimberly.

Not one of ours. Could he be, though?

Wellll, I don’t know, sir.

Keep an eye on him.

Yes sir.

Dial tone. The caller sighed in relief. Damn, he hated being on the Boss Man’s bad side. He wasn’t real fond of being on the Boss Man’s good side. Had to be an easier way to make a living. Well, hell, he knew there was. Just not this good a living.

* * *

A gray Mustang, traveling at a speed just shy of the speed law enforcement noticed, ran out of Macon and onto Emory Highway, up Riggins Mill Road. Billy Brayton smiled when he crossed the railroad tracks. Now came the fun part, the sharp curves and steep hills that made this back country road a mini-rollercoaster for folks who knew how to drive it. Billy knew how to drive it. A good start to this homecoming twenty-five years in the making.

He didn’t expect a homecoming parade. Being railroaded out of town at eighteen with a trumped-up armed robbery charge hanging over your head didn’t leave the town folk with many fond memories of you.

He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. Even eighteen-year-olds should’ve had more sense, and he’d been a very old eighteen. What the hell was he thinking when he fell in love with Big John Kincaid’s daughter Maggie? Public high school and private academy. Poor white trash and county gentry. Why had he ever imagined Big John Kincaid, owner of mineral rights to acres of land in a county rich with kaolin, majority shareholder in two local banks, owner of the county’s biggest farm—why had he ever thought Big John would just stand back and see his daughter paired with the town bad boy?

He’d known Big John ran the county. Any fool knew that. But the absolute ruthlessness of that power? Well, the night the Sheriff hauled him out of his salvaged Mustang at the stop sign off of Highway 80 and Gilead Road and arrested him for armed robbery—that’d get anybody’s attention. He could still see the blue swirls of the sirens and feel the bite of the metal handcuffs. He could still hear the sneers of the Sheriff and his deputies.

Bit off more’n you could chew this time, boy. What happens when you get too far above yourself, son, you always gon’ fall.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything!

Jim Ellis over at the Chevron, he says different.

Ask Maggie! I just took her home!

Son, you got no business with Maggie Kincaid. You shoulda been listening those times Big John tried to warn you off.

Well, too late, too bad, so sad. Big John’s long reach had him squarely by the balls. He’d listened to the strong suggestions of the local Judge and the circuit DA (both of whom just happened to be Kincaid’s cousins). Move on out, GI Joe. It beat the hell out of the pen. He hadn’t expected to see Maggie before he left town. She was under virtual house arrest, for sure. But he had expected, in the end, that everything would turn out okay. Ah, sweet innocence of youth.

Real life seldom works the same way fantasies do. Four weeks into his six weeks of basic training at Ft. Benning, mail call brought a newspaper clipping from the Turkey Creek weekly, announcing Maggie’s engagement to Dean Albright, her third or possibly fourth cousin, probably once or twice removed. Private academy boy, county gentry. Just like Maggie. And currently attending the Walter F. George School of Law in Macon. Big John would like that, having a lawyer in the family.

Two weeks after the first clipping, immediately prior to the end of basic, another newspaper clipping arrived at mail call, announcing Maggie’s wedding. Flipping the cutting over, he noted the Turkey Creek Garden Club was meeting at Wanda Thompson’s house that week.

He shoved the memories out of his mind and put his attention back on the road. He was approaching the biggest and baddest of the local Deadman’s Curves. He knew this road like the back of his hand, but it’d been a long time since he’d driven it. He slowed the Mustang enough to drop it into fourth gear for the steep hill bearing sharply to the left. This road didn’t get a lot of traffic, but what traffic it did get usually took their half out of the middle on this curve.

Then he cursed, loud and fluent, at a fool in a white Civic barrelling around the curve. In the middle of the road, of course. It flew past a black Eclipse fighting to keep control and edging toward the shoulder. Billy swerved to his right and dropped into third as the Civic slipped through the gap between the Mustang and the Eclipse. Horn blaring, it raced down and over the next hill, disappearing from sight. Billy ran onto his shoulder and jerked his head around to check on the Eclipse. That driver had to be out of road room, and there wasn’t any shoulder on that side of the road. It just dropped off sharply into free-fall.

The struggling front tires made a valiant, futile effort to regain traction. The car was going over. Billy cut his engine and hit the ground running.

He peered through the swirls of dust over the drop-off. The hood looked like an accordion, crumpled against a fair-sized oak tree. The smell of gas hung heavy in the air. Billy half-ran, half-slid down to the Eclipse, grabbing onto tree trunks for balance and swinging off them for speed and leverage as he moved. Judging by the steady stream of profanity flowing out from the cracked windshield, the driver was probably okay.

"Shit, damn, hell! Son-of-a-bitch! If I ever get my hands on that mother—"

Billy grinned and yanked on the door handle. A good-looking boy in his late teens beat shaking hands against the air bag. Beads of sweat stood out from his hairline. Nothing wrong with his voice, though. His vocabulary was superb. He’d been trained by a master. Billy shrugged off a niggling trace of déjà-vu and gave the kid a brief once over.

I’ll teach you a few more when we get you out of here, son, but right now we need to move. Gas is leaking somewhere, let’s go, let’s go! Billy shoved his arm between the air bag and the boy’s body and snagged the seatbelt release.

The boy, no fool, wiggled and shrugged the harness off his shoulder as he scrambled out. Billy positioned the boy in front of him going back up the hill, boosting him with a hand in the small of his back as they grabbed tree trunks and moved toward the pavement.

Here, get in and sit down. Billy opened the driver’s door of the Mustang and settled the kid in. He reached across to the console and grabbed for his cellphone, dialing 911. He reported the accident, requested an officer, no ambulance, and turned his attention back to the boy.

You okay, son? Here, let’s have a look. Not trying to frisk you or feel you up now, just checking, he said as he ran his hands down the boy’s arms and legs.

You’re pretty cool under pressure, man, that was some good driving to miss me and that asshole in the Civic both. I’m okay, really, just shook.

Billy stepped back. The boy was a natural athlete by his build, muscular and toned. He worked out hard. Football, Billy guessed, maybe some baseball. Not basketball.

Anybody’d be shook, and that was some pretty good driving you did, too. Good thing you weren’t speeding yourself, or you sure wouldn’t have come out this good. Billy reached for the console’s cup holder and grabbed the bottle of Coke he’d been drinking. Here. Not a good habit, I know, but I don’t have anything catching at the moment, and you need the sugar. Helps with shock. And anybody coming out of that’s a little shocky.

The boy took the bottle and chugged. Thanks. Jake Rubin, the boy said, and stuck out his right hand.

Well, pleased to meet you, Jake. Though the circumstances sure could have been better. Billy Brayton.

Jake, who had the Coke half-way back to his mouth, dropped his arm and glared. His expression hardened, his eyes narrowed.

Excuse me? he said.

What the hell? This kid was way too young to have any idea who Billy was or heard any tales of his less than sterling reputation.

Billy Brayton, he repeated. I grew up in Turkey Creek. Just retired from the army. I decided to come back home.

The boy kept glaring.

You know something about me to put that look on your face, son?

I know you look pretty good for a dead man. Better than you’re going to look after my mother gets her hands on you, for sure.

Excuse me?

My mother’s changed the flowers on your grave four times a year for the past twenty-five years. Glad you were comin’ along and all, but how the hell could you do that to her? Let her think you were dead?

* * *

Billy’s stomach did a slow roll. And your mother would be?

Maggie Kincaid.

You mean Maggie Albright. Or—didn’t you just tell me your name was Rubin?

I mean Maggie Kincaid, my mother’s never been married. Jake threw back another swig of the Coke and realized what he’d said. I guess that sounds funny. I’m adopted. So you’ve been where all this time and didn’t try to see Mom why?

She thinks I’m dead?

"Man, everybody thinks you’re dead. You’ve got a headstone. I’ve seen your obituary. Freak accident in boot camp. It’s in her high school scrapbook. It ends with that obituary."

Billy struggled to get his bearings. The kid was relentless. And enraged on his mother’s behalf.

I’m gonna ask till you answer, you know. You’ve been where doing what while my mother’s been tendin’ your grave?

Billy reached for his wallet, opened it, and pulled out the two small laminated clippings announcing Maggie’s engagement and marriage. He’d never really understood why he’d kept them. For years now, he’d only looked at them when he was drunk and he didn’t get drunk very often.

Do you know how I left here?

Yeah. Not from Mom, she doesn’t talk about it much, but I’ve pieced stuff together. Folks talk. I mean, this is Turkey Creek, you know?

Billy gave a short laugh. Oh, hell, yeah, I know.

Framed you like a picture and pretty much put Mom under lock and key, took her phone and car and everything, didn’t let up ’til you were buried. Which was pretty damn quick, as I recall, three, four weeks, something like that. Mom left home for the University of Georgia that fall and never lived in his house again.

Hate to admit it, but it’s damn near brilliant. Me being dead, that simplified things a lot for Big John, much cleaner. And he did own the newspaper.

Billy handed the clippings over to Jake, who gave a soft whistle as his eyes moved over the words.

Yeah. Sick brilliant. She thought you were dead and you thought she’d forgotten all about you.

I got the first one four weeks into basic training and the second one two weeks after that. You don’t get leave during basic training. By the time I did, didn’t seem like a lot left to go back to.

So why are you back now?

Billy shrugged.

Don’t really know. Guess the closest I can come is, I wanted to show everybody. You know?

Yeah, the boy said slowly, considering all implications. Yeah, I think I know.

But Maggie. Why stay? There’s nothing keeping her here.

I asked her that once. She said this was her town, her woods, her people, her heritage. And that he’d taken somebody she loved very much away from her but he wasn’t taking anything else. Didn’t call a name, but I’m not stupid. Jake swallowed. Man, I am so, so sorry.

For what, getting pissed off for your mother? Don’t worry about it.

No, not that. I mean, yeah, sorry I jumped you, but what I mean is—I’m sorry for all the lost time. For both of you.

Sympathy darkened Jake’s eyes. The boy was older than his years.

Yeah, me too.

So start thinking. We’ve got to keep Mom calm enough not to kill you on sight before we can explain what happened. Once she knows you’re alive, of course. We got maybe a ten second window of opportunity to grab her attention.

And what makes you think it’ll matter to her?

Jake snorted. What part of she’s changed the flowers on your grave four times a year for twenty-five years didn’t you get?

We were kids, Jake. We’re not the same people. It’s been a long time.

Mom’s never been a kid, Jake said. Somehow the statement was a compliment, not a complaint. And I don’t much think you ever were, either. And people, they don’t change much. Not at their center.

This kid would bear watching.

Shifting gears announced the approach of a big truck.

T-bone, Jake said. Damn, I hope he didn’t call Mom already.

I didn’t have any names to give at the time. T-bone? You mean Jack Jones?

Jake looked at him in surprise. Yeah. You know T-bone?

Grew up here, remember? He took over from his Dad, huh? Still has the junkyard and towing?

That’s him. And I know his name’s really Jack but nobody ever calls him that except Mom now and then and I don’t even know where T-bone came from.

Tell you later.

When I’m older? Jake grinned.

It’s not dirty, smart-ass. The football team always ran the T-formation, the coach called him the team backbone. So he’s T-bone. And he’s sure goin’ to know who I am, so brace yourself.

The driver pulled in front of the Mustang. Wrong side of the road, but there wasn’t much room to maneuver. He started toward them.

"Billy? He stopped dead-still. Then he shouted. Billy! Billy Brayton! Well, I will just be damned, boy, you’re supposed to be dead, where the hell have you been?" He moved forward, enveloping the much taller, much broader, much less plump Billy in a bear hug that almost lifted him off the ground.

Down, man, down! Billy laughed. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Jake choke a laugh into a strangled cough.

T-bone looked around Billy and saw Jake.

Oh, shit, Jake, are you all right? I didn’t know it was you, where’s your wheels?

Jake pointed to the other side of the road.

"Over there. And down there. Can’t see it from here. Yeah, I’m okay. Other than some asshole running me off the side. Just glad Billy was there."

T-bone walked over and looked down.

Damn, boy, that’s luck. Well, thank the Lord you’re okay. Damn good thing you were coming along, Billy, Maggie’d go nuts anything happened to that boy – T-bone broke off his sentence and looked at Billy. "Maggie’s going to freakin’ kill you, man. You ain’t gonna be alive for long."

Seems to be the general consensus around here, yeah, Billy said ruefully.

That girl’s never gotten over you, you asshole! How could you—

"Hey! You didn’t even like her when we started dating, remember? What was that you said? Why’d I want to get involved with a spoiled private school sorority bitch was gonna treat me like trash and break my heart?"

Well, that was before I knew her! Maggie’s the best friend I’ve ever had, except for you! I thought! Didn’t even care enough to let us know where you were —

Guys! Jake broke in as referee. Can it! He passed the laminated clippings over. T-bone’s widened as he scanned them.

That low-down, conniving, manipulating, high-faultin’ bastard! That—

Don’t sugar coat it, T-bone, tell us what you really think, said Jake.

If this ain’t a mess! Well, how you plan on fixin’ it, hotshot? T-bone demanded.

You don’t have to sound like it’s my fault! Hell, I didn’t know! And why both of you are assumin’ there’s anything left to fix, I don’t know!

T-bone snorted. Then his face changed. Why you coming back and are you coming back alone?

I look alone, don’t I?

Don’t get smart with me, boy, you know what I mean. Are you married, ’cause if you are, showing up after all these years’d be pure damn mean and low-down, you need to turn your ass around and go back where you came from. I ain’t playing with you, now. Maggie’s special to folks ’round this town.

No.

You ever been married?

No.

All right then. And you’re back here now because why?

Because—

Billy broke off at the sound of the approaching siren. The driver turned the patrol car and parked squarely in the middle of the road, blue lights flashing. Alec Wimberly got out and walked up to the small group.

Damn, Alec! said T-Bone. Saw you on patrol last night when I was out on a job. Drivin’ like a bat outta hell down Ninety-Six, matter of fact. What the hell you doing still on duty?

Short a man today, I was closest to here when the call came in. Looks like it ain’t too bad, y’all standing around in a group chit-chatting. Jake, you all right? Where’s your car, buddy? He turned to Billy, the only unknown face in the group. Hello, sir, Alec Wimberly. You the Good Samaritan calling in? ’Preciate you looking out for the kid, he’s a lot of trouble but lots of folks ’round town like him. Not me, o’course, but a lot of folks.

He reached back into the cruiser and pulled out a hand-held traffic Stop and Go sign.

T-Bone, get Jim out of that truck and send him around the curve with the sign ’til I get there in case somebody thinks those blue lights are just for show. I need to talk to Jake and then I’ll come take over while y’all get his car up.

Billy looked the deputy over. He was dog-tired from pulling the double-shift, but he’d still responded with sirens and lights blaring. He’d made an immediate assessment of the situation, handled it with proper safety concerns, and treated Jake with perfect big-brother rough concern impossible in a larger law enforcement territory where the deputies didn’t know their people personally. And he’d introduced himself politely to the only stranger in the group. Law enforcement at its finest.

What about it, buddy? You recognize the car, get a partial plate?

No, no license number, no way. It was just a white Civic and the faces were a blur.

Alec looked at Billy. And you, sir? Anything?

Billy shook his head. No, I was too busy trying to track where the Eclipse was going to go. Didn’t figure it could stay on the road, not on that curve.

Alec sighed. Well. Didn’t hit either of you anywhere, did it? Chance of paint chips?

No.

Go ahead and say hell, Alec, urged Jake. You know you want to.

Alec grinned slightly and shook his head. Civilian stranger on the premises, buddy. Can’t give the wrong impression. My luck, he’s the new preacher at Mt. Gilead or something.

T-Bone walked back toward them.

No, I’m pretty sure he ain’t no new local preacher. But you never did answer my last question. Where you been and why you back now?

Well, hell. Everybody’d know within the next five minutes anyway. This was Turkey Creek. He’d rather introduce himself to the sheriff first, but Alec probably wouldn’t trust him later if he didn’t come clean. He didn’t need that on the force.

Army, Military Police. Retired. Sheriff hired me as a County Investigator. That suit your hinny? Billy reverted to their childhood slang for the cross between ‘highness’ and ‘hind-end.’

Oh, hell! Alec groaned in spite of himself. My uniform –

Your uniform looks like you’ve been on duty for a double-shift, you look dog-tired, and you’re doing a helluva job. Go call in, sign out, and get some sleep, for God’s sake. Rest of the boys like you, I’m goin’ to like it here.

T-bone waited for Alec to leave before he lit into Billy again.

’Bout damn time you showed your face. You coulda called somebody, come back to see us, something!

But—

But what? ’Cause whatever ‘buts’ you got, they ain’t enough! I think what Maggie went through ’cause of you, I could just—

Guys! Jake interjected again. Focus here. T-bone, just get my car back to the junkyard. It’s totaled, right?

T-bone gave an appraising glance. Oh, yeah.

"Okay. Hell. I loved that car. Com’on, Billy, you’re taking me home. T-bone, don’t you dare call Mom before I talk to her. We ain’t got but one shot at this. Otherwise, Billy really will be dead so it won’t matter."

Billy shook his head and followed orders.

"Are you sure Maggie’s not really your mother?" He settled behind the wheel.

"I’m sure she really is my mother. But not my birth mother. Why?"

’Cause you damn sure couldn’t act any more like her if you were blood. Bossy as hell.

Natural talent and good raisin’. Jake slid into the passenger seat. Hey, wait a minute!

He opened his door and stood up to look over the roof. T-bone! Yo?

I never knew where T-bone came from ’til Billy told me. If you were T-bone, what was Billy?

T-bone laughed. "He was Greazzzzzeeeed Lightninnnng!"

Chapter Two

Billy pulled out and headed into Turkey Creek. Not with the same attitude he’d had before meeting Jake. Maggie thought he was dead. She’d always thought he was dead.

So. He shifted gears. What does Maggie do? I’m assumin’ she doesn’t take money from Big John.

Jake laughed. God, that’s funny! She’s never even spoken to him but once since she left home for college and that was when she got me. See, my mother was her best friend in college, my parents were killed in a car crash when I was a baby. Don’t know if you noticed, but Rubin’s a—

Jewish name. Yeah, I’m sure Big John loved that.

Oh, yeah! It’s one of the town legends, the day Big John came over and started raisin’ hell she’d disgraced him with the county white trash—no offense—

None taken.

"And now she wanted