Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 7-9: Buried Alive, Her Last Scream, The Killing Game. J. Kerley A.
created Eastern Kentucky Combined Law Enforcement, where professionals help coordinate law-enforcement efforts in rural regions. We’re in region five, Cherry’s region. She was working in Berea, population of fifteen thousand folks or so. But she’s originally from here in Woslee County, the first in her family to attend college, about the first to finish high school.”
I put my hands behind my neck, stared into McCoy’s eyes. Smiled.
“Does Donna Cherry often use you as her spy, Lee? Or is this something new?”
He froze in his rocking.
“Pardon?”
“You stopped by this morning out of nowhere. Took me on a hike. Asked me a lot of questions. Probably would have asked me to dinner if I hadn’t invited you. This was all at Cherry’s suggestion, right? I can almost hear her voice. ‘Couldja get close to Ryder, Lee? Make sure he ain’t turned from a psycho tracker to psycho killer.’”
It was a poor impersonation of Cherry. My brother was a natural mimic and could have nailed the voice. McCoy cleared his throat and turned, embarrassment coloring his face, no attempt to lie his way free.
“Donna wanted me to take you out on the trails and get a read on you. She thinks I’m a decent judge of character.”
“And your verdict?”
He nodded toward the table inside, still set with dishes. “I’m pretty sure insane killers can’t cook that good.”
“Did Cherry make any judgment on her own?” I asked. “About moi?”
McCoy colored with embarrassment again. “She said we had to check, but that you were probably too, uh, goofy to be a killer.”
The next morning I arose to the rat-a-tat of a woodpecker’s beak against a nearby tree. The proverbial early bird, up and working at daybreak. I stretched and yawned and recalled a passing storm during the night, hard rain pounding the metal roof of the cabin, keeping me awake for a few minutes until lulled back into delicious sleep.
My first week was more than half gone, the free week. I had three more weeks of vacation coming. I’d initially planned to take the freebie in the Gorge, then head some other direction. But I was enjoying the mountains, the climbing lessons, the hikes with Mix-up. And, truth be told, the background hiss of a murder investigation was comforting as well, like an old companion in the neighborhood.
Donna Cherry was an interesting cipher too.
I showered and ate and drove to the RRG offices in the micro-town of Slade, hoping to wangle an extension of my lodging. A bell on the door caught the attention of a teen guy in a corner chair. He scampered behind the desk.
“Miz Fugate around?” I asked.
He tipped back a ball cap. “She’s gone visiting up in Ohio, a sister by Springfield. She ain’t due back for a couple–three days. I’m in charge while she’s gone. Can I help you?”
“I wonder if it’s possible to add another couple weeks to my stay?”
He frowned. “It’s busy season cuz most schools are out. We’re pretty much rented tight. What cabin you at?”
“Road’s End.”
“Lemme look at the reservations.” He pulled a book from beneath the counter and thumbed through pages. “You say you rented Road’s End for the week?”
I nodded. “I won a week’s rental. Miz Fugate’s daughter picked my name from a hat.”
“According to the book, you got the place for a month. Says clear as day in Dottie’s handwriting, rent paid in cash.”
“I never paid a penny, cash or otherwise.”
He pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “Tell you what, put down a deposit for two weeks an’ I’ll check with Dottie if she calls. If she’s already given it over to you for free, I’ll tear up your deposit check. Call here in a couple days and I’ll let you know. But from what I’m seeing, I figure it’s yours. You sure no one else paid for you?”
“Like I said, I won the stay in a contest.”
“Sure don’t sound like Dottie. Mebbe she’s easing up in her old age.”
“I guess,” I said, not knowing what I was guessing at. I wrote the check and headed for the door, perplexed but not dwelling on it. I was halfway out when the kid called to my back.
“S’cuse me, Mr Ryder? Did you say your name got pulled from a hat by Dottie’s daughter?”
I nodded. “I was the lucky one.”
“I never heard of Dottie having any kids.”
I shrugged, wandered out the door. The sun was clean and bright and smelled of pine from the breeze blowing down from the ridges. Then, as if from nowhere, I smelled something coarse and off-key. I looked around for garbage bins, before it hit me the foul scent was a memory of yesterday, blowing not in the wind but through my brain.
I wondered if the poor tormented man had been ID’d. And what his story was. I figured a few minutes of talking to Miz Cherry wouldn’t hurt my vacation mentality and called the Eastern Kentucky Combined Law Enforcement, Region 5.
I got an answering machine, a pre-digital model with tape speed problems.
“This … is … the … Easternkentuckycombinedlawfrcmtiveplslve. … a … message … and … wewillgetrightbato … you.”
I sighed and hung up. McCoy had given me the number for his mobile phone so I tried that. He answered on third ring.
“Hey, Lee, I need to see Cherry. Where’s her office?”
“East side of Campton, just through the light on the highway. There’s an antiquey type of place, a Dairy Queen, a dollar store. The EKCLE office is just past. Look close or you’ll drive right by.”
“Where you at?”
“Out by Courthouse Rock, checking on nesting areas for hawks.”
“Wish I was there. No new stars on the GPS horizon, I take it?”
“You mean symbols and numbers? Nope. Just the good old normal kind.”
I drove past the EKCLE offices my first try, then came back around. The office was in what appeared to be a defunct used-car dealership: a gray single-wide trailer on a half-acre of faded asphalt. I saw a plain blue Crown Victoria Police Interceptor model parked outside, the unmarked cruiser Cherry had been using at Soldering-iron man’s murder scene.
I parked and walked the steps to the door, entered. The trailer’s living area had been converted to an office, probably back in the car-dealership days, with paneled walls, grubby blue carpet, a window-unit air conditioner with water stains beneath it. A map of Kentucky centered on one wall. There was a round table surrounded by five mismatched chairs at one end of the room, an old metal desk at the other. Two battered filing cabinets flanked the desk. The air reeked of tobacco seeping into the woodwork over decades.
Cherry was at the desk pushing a pencil. She wore a white lacy top. Her earrings were turquoise bangles and complemented the red hair. She looked up, frowned, went back to her work.
“What can I do for you, Ryder?”
“I was gonna buy a used car, but it looks like your inventory’s low.”
She set the pencil down. Spiked me with the left eye, brushed me with the right one. “Something on your mind?”
I spun a chair to the front of her desk and sat. “Thank you for sending Lee McCoy to inspect me yesterday. We had a great hike and a fine supper, which you doubtless know.”
“I