Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Good afternoon. I’m looking for Earl Petty,” I said.
“What’s he done now?” she wondered.
I smiled. “I just want to talk to him.”
“Earl!” she shouted, moving away from the door and into the recesses of the house. The storm door swung shut in my face, snapping out my view of the kitchen. In that split second, I had been able to see into the home, I could tell it was a mess.
Dressed in a stained white T-shirt and blue sweatpants, Earl came to the door a few minutes later, “What?”
“My name is Detective Jason White with the Singer’s Ridge police department,” I said calmly.
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Earl replied.
I ignored that. “I’d like to talk to you about some drug overdoses, if you have a minute.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no people dyin’.” He leaned against the storm door, itching to go.
“You were convicted of distributing controlled substances and spent two years in jail,” I reminded him.
“I did my time,” he confessed.
“What can you tell me about the meth trade in Singer’s Ridge?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell you nothin’.”
“Anything you say will be kept completely confidential,” I assured him. “If you give me a name, it won’t get back to you.”
He grinned, showing off missing teeth. “If I knew a name, I wouldn’t tell you, but it just so happens that I don’t. This new drug that you’re after, it’s not coming through my channels—or channels that I might have been aware of at one point,” he corrected himself.
“You’re sure?”
“I heard it’s more expensive,” he said pointedly.
“How did you hear that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t recall.”
“Anything else you’ve heard that might be helpful?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Alright.” I nodded, leaving him alone on his porch.
The meeting with Butthead went just as well, though I managed to form a better picture of the illicit drug scene in my mind. It seemed like there were two levels at play. There were the low-life, unemployed criminals who trafficked narcotics from Nashville and the surrounding towns. They all seemed to know each other in Singer’s Ridge, and the regular citizens seemed to know who they were too.
Then there was another, more affluent clientele. These people were the secret drug users, the mothers and fathers, businessmen, and stay-at-home moms who got addicted and couldn’t find their way out. These were the people who were dying. That meant that the perpetrator or perpetrators, whoever they were, could blend in with the regular townsfolk. They wouldn’t stand out as known criminals.
That just made my job harder.
By the time I returned to the station and wrote up my two interviews, it was six o’clock. I still hadn’t heard anything about the cabin and resigned myself to waiting at least a day or two for news. I considered going back to my hotel room or hitting the Lucky Lady alone again. I had chosen Singer’s Ridge because my buddy Dillon had moved here, but I had yet to see him around town.
Before leaving Nashville, I had called Dillon a couple of times. He never answered, so I assumed he had changed numbers. Thinking some company would be welcome that night, I tried one more time, surprised when my friend picked up the phone.
“Hello?” Dillon’s voice sounded relaxed, less stressed than it had the last time we spoke.
“Hey, Dillon, it’s Jason,” I said.
“Jason!” he replied, though he must have seen my name on the caller ID. “What’s up?”
“I moved to Singer’s Ridge.”
“No shit?” he exclaimed, then hurriedly amended himself. “No doubt?”
I thought I could hear a child’s voice screaming, “No shit!” in the background.
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m at the hotel now,” I said, “but I’m buying a place real soon.”
“Do you want to get a drink?” my former colleague asked. There was a moment of silence where I thought I could hear two adult voices consulting.
“Sure,” I agreed. “You know that place called the Lucky Lady?”
He laughed. “I know it. I’ll meet you there in a half hour.”
That gave me just enough time to drive back to the hotel room, park the truck, and change clothes. I chose a pair of jeans and my favorite cowboy boots.
The Lucky Lady was busier that night than it had been before. A dozen people were standing at the bar, and all the tables had been taken. I found Dillon already seated, working on a pint. He stood up when he saw me, pumping my hand several times. I laughed, sliding into the booth opposite him.
“Hey, Detective!” the barkeeper said from across the room.
I waved.
“Detective?” Dillon asked.
The waitress appeared, notebook in hand. “What can I get you, honey?”
“I’ll have whatever’s on tap,” I said. “And a burger.”
She nodded. “Anything for you?” she asked Dillon.
“I’ve already had dinner,” Dillon said.
“It’s seven o’clock,” I said, thinking only retirees ate dinner before seven.
Dillon shrugged. “Kids. I also wake up god-awful early.”