People weren’t forced to stay. They did travel, join the military, work outside the area, have television, but Diane wondered how they would change if they merely paved their roads. They would certainly have more visitors in the mountains if the roads outside the towns could carry vehicles other than four-wheel-drives. And nothing brought change like visitors. She wondered to what degree some of the citizens hated cell phones. Hated the idea of their kids sending and receiving text messages all day long, having the phones ring in church, in school.
Diane had heard that some people wanted to make Renfrew, the county seat of Rendell County, into a tourist town, along the lines of Helen, Georgia, a picturesque alpine village in the North Georgia mountains. She had no doubt it could likely happen. But there were those who would fight it all the way. She wondered if those people would kill to protect their wilderness from encroaching outsiders. Was Roy Barre’s willingness to allow a phone company to erect a tower on his property seen as the first crack in the dam they had built to hold in their traditional values? But, like Deputy Conrad, Diane couldn’t imagine anyone would kill to stop the erection of a tower.
Diane wanted to ask who inherited the Barres’ land, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to sound as if she were sticking her nose into their business-something she fully intended to do, but more discreetly. She did wonder about the taxes on property the size of the Barres’, and she asked Conrad about them.
“Not as much as you might think,” he said. “Barre was on the county board, along with other big landowners, and they keep property taxes down. We use sales tax and government grants to fund the schools and the sheriff’s office, the road department, and such.”
“What did folks think about that?” asked Diane.
“Mixed. Them that own property like it. Others don’t,” he said. “I don’t think it would be a motive for murder, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I suppose not,” said Diane. She thought back to the image of the Barres at the dining room table. That was a very angry crime.
“I’ve been thinking about running for sheriff when Daddy retires,” said Conrad. “I could get the votes of both the old-timers and the younger people around here. Of course, no telling when Daddy will retire. He likes his job. Considers himself the county’s gatekeeper. Just around this bend we’ll come to the Massey house.”
“Sure is. But it looks like ol’ Slick is going to be the last Massey. The family usually had girls, so the Massey name kind of disappeared. Slick inherited the house when his daddy died about seven years ago. I don’t think he’s done much to keep it up. He raises hunting dogs and works at the sawmill in Riverdale. He’s been living with his girlfriend for about five years. I think she’s a stay-at-home girlfriend. I don’t know that she works anywhere.”
“Your county fathers don’t have anything to say about that arrangement?” asked Diane.
Deputy Conrad grinned. “They have a lot to say, but Slick don’t go to church none to hear it.”
“Does he own a lot of property?” asked Diane.
“Not much, about a hundred acres. It butts up against the Barre land. They’ve argued about where the property line is, but it’s nothing serious.”
That sounded to Diane like fuel for anger, and a possible motive. She took a deep breath as they pulled up in front of the house. It was dark and looked just as foreboding as the last time she saw it.
“You don’t have to worry none,” said Deputy Conrad. “He won’t try nothing with me here.”
“What about his dogs?” asked Diane.
“Them’s huntin’ dogs. They won’t hurt you,” he said.
Diane saw her SUV. It was where she’d left it. The door was still open, but the tree on top of the hood was gone. So was the skeleton.
Just as they were about to get out of the Jeep, the lights came on in the house.
Chapter 7
“Looks like we woke them up,” said Diane.
She had managed to slip her backbone back into place, so she was not nearly as freaked as she thought she might be when the lights came on in the house.
“Looks like it,” said the deputy.
Diane and Deputy Conrad got out of his Jeep and walked to her SUV. The dome light wasn’t on. It automatically turned itself off after a period of time to save the battery. Diane climbed in. The seat was wet from the rain. The key was still in the ignition. She tried to start the engine. It sputtered a little and she looked at the fuel gauge. Empty. She’d had almost a full tank when she left.
“Well, son of a bitch,” she said.
“What?” Deputy Conrad was standing next to her just outside the vehicle. “Something wrong?”
“They drained my gas tank.” Diane didn’t know why she was surprised, but she was. The sheer effrontery.
Conrad shook his head. “Slick’s got a bad habit of siphoning folks’ gas. I’ve talked to him about it more than once. Look, it’d be best not to make him give it back. He’d doctor it with sugar before he gave it to you. I’ve got some in a can in my Jeep.”
“Well, hell,” she whispered to herself as the deputy went back to his Jeep.
She looked over to the passenger side. The contents of her purse had been dumped into the seat. Fortunately, there wasn’t much in it for them to take. The really important things she always kept on her person. Her lipstick was gone, as was a small mirror. So was her small Swiss army knife and first-aid kit she carried in her purse. She stuffed the contents back into the purse and opened her glove compartment. It was empty except for papers. No flashlight, tire gauge, or seat-belt knife. All the small change was gone out of her ashtray.
“Jeez, these people are rats,” she whispered.
“Wha’d you say?”
Diane looked up into the face of Slick Massey leaning into the car. She was pissed off enough that when she looked at him again she didn’t have the fearful response that she assumed she would.
“Nothing for your ears,” said Diane. “Where are the contents of my purse and glove compartment?”
“Whataya talking about?” he said.
“She’s accusin’ us of stealing from her.” It was a hard-edged female voice that Diane guessed to be the girlfriend’s.
“Folks, let the woman get out of her vehicle.”
Diane was glad to hear Deputy Conrad’s voice.
Slick stepped back and Diane got out. It was starting to feel like a replay of a few hours ago. The only light they had was from her dome light she’d switched on and the deputy’s Jeep lights. Everything was in high contrast and rather surreal.
“That’s the thanks we get for trying to help,” said the female.
“This is Tammy Taylor,” said Deputy Conrad, nodding in the direction of a woman still in shadows. “I put a couple-three gallons in your tank. That should get you to a gas station.”
“Thank you,” said Diane.
Diane eyed Slick. He sported a black eye, and it took Diane a second to realize that she was the one who gave it to him. It gave her some mild satisfaction. The rest of Slick was not much to look at either. He had grubby clothes, torn, dirty jeans that, Diane realized, could have been purchased that way some places for a lot of money. His short-sleeved plaid shirt was half tucked in and half out, and only a couple of buttons were buttoned, revealing a bare chest with sparse hair and a bad tattoo of some sort of animal. He had shoulder-length, stringy blond hair with dark roots, and his straight teeth looked a brilliant white in the light. Diane assumed they were dentures.
“She’s saying we stole her stuff,” said Tammy. She walked into the light and glared at Diane. “That’s the thanks we get for tryin’ to save your skinny ass.”
Tammy took a drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke in Diane’s face. Diane waved it away and stepped back.
Tammy wore black, tight capri pants and a black tank top decorated with rhinestones. Her hair was light
