Never Drink & Talk

Sheriff Sly Thoth walked his lunch plate into the kitchen of Belle's Bed and Breakfast. Although, it hadn't been just a breakfast in decades. Belle loved to feed people. And Sly suspected the extra income from the additional meals helped her maintain the lifestyle she enjoyed and allowed her to support her favorite Pair-a-dice Charities. Every charity in Pair-a-dice was her favorite.

Belle was a giving woman. He'd known her since their school days—her a few years older than he. Every little boy in Pair-a-dice dreamed of growing older and attracting Belle's attention, but she only had eyes for one. And he was killed in a farming accident forty years ago. Belle was never quite the same. She threw all her energy into cooking, and her guests and the residents of Pair-a-dice benefitted. Sly had to admit; he’d certainly enjoyed every morsel of her homestyle cuisine. After the death of his wife twenty years ago, Belle had become his best friend. Not that he’d tell her that.

"Just because you are the law doesn't mean you can waltz into my kitchen any time you choose, Sly Thoth," Belle said.

"I'm trying to do my civic duty and save those old legs of yours a few steps."

"My legs ain't old. And I can still run circles around you." She reached into the dishwasher and grabbed a large skillet.

"Thank you, Sheriff, for saving my legs," said Katie. "I appreciate it. Belle's in a mood today."

He smiled. "Belle, In a mood? Not possible."

Katie laughed. Belle threw a damp towel across the room. "If you ain't gonna help. Quit takin up room in my kitchen."

As if the phone gods were listening, a text came in.

"You get your wish. Saloon needs me."

"What's Charlie up to today?" Belle asked, placing a skillet in the dishwater.

He tipped his hat to Belle and Katie. "I won't know till I get there. All the text said was, "come quick."

"Well, then, you better get those long legs of yours moving."

Sly stepped off Belle's Porch and pulled his hat low to shield his eyes. A brisk wind tossed debris from the newly harvested fields outside of town.

"Wonder what thorn stuck in Charlie’s butt this time?" He said aloud as he crossed the street. Couple times a week, Charlie got mad at someone and came to the Pair-a-dice saloon to drink away the hurt. On his way to passing out, he didn't care who he offended. The bigger and badder they were, the meaner Charlie got. The man had a brain the size of a pinpoint."

Sly opened the door and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Where's Charlie?" he asked Clint, the bartender and proprietor.

"Not Charlie today. It's Jud Norton this time."

Sly leaned against the bar. "I didn't think Jud drank."

"I've never seen him sip anything but a Diet Coke. He comes for the food and the company."

"He say what set him off?" Sly asked, turning towards Jud.

"Yep, that's why I called you. Says he killed a man today."

Sly's eyes grew wide. "Interesting. Was he drunk when he walked in?"

"Didn't think so, but he ordered a whiskey. A few minutes later, he started talking. Said he killed a man this afternoon. I gave him another whiskey, and he passed out just before I called you."

Sly pushed his hat back on his head. "Well, let's sober him up and see what he knows. I've not had any reports of someone dying today."

Clint grabbed a coffee cup and slid it down the bar to where Sly sat next to Jud.

He patted Jud's shoulder. "Jud, wake up. Drink this coffee."

Jud didn't respond.

“Give him a good shake,” Clint said. “Usually does the trick.”

Sly shook him so hard, Jud almost fell off his chair. No response.

"Guess we need plan B."

Clint reached under the bar, pulled out a bottle of smelling salts, and walked around the bar to Jud's other side. He twisted the cap and ran the contents under Jud's nose. It took three passes before Jud started coughing.

"You only gave him two whiskeys. He must have been loaded when he got here."

"Possible, I didn't notice. I was shocked when he asked for a whiskey."

Once Jud was through coughing, Sly put the cup in front of him. Clint cupped Jud's hands around the mug.

"Drink," said Sly.

Twenty minutes later, Jud was coherent enough to speak.

Pouring Jud another cup, Sly sat next to Jud. "You need to tell me what happened."

"Why, what did I say?"

"That you killed a man today."

Jud raked his hands through his hair. "I was hoping it was all a nightmare."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

A tear fell down Jud’s cheek. "Tricia left a note on my calendar. She’s leaving me for Rex Walker. Can you believe that?"

Clint leaned forward on the bar and put his hand on Jud's shoulder. "That's rough, dude."

“She wants that sleazy worm over me.” He shook his head, and his eyes rolled back.”

"And then what happened?" Sly asked.

"I yelled at her picture and threw it out the window, breaking the glass."

"And then?"

Jud looked at the floor. He was fixated on a penny. "I took the brandy she kept under the sink for cooking and drank a glass or two."

"You were feeling wronged," Sly said, pushing his hat farther back on his head. He was going to be here a while.

Jud nodded and grabbed his head. "Yep, I got into my car to look for her and give her a piece of my mind."

"Did you take your gun?"

"No. Couldn’t remember where I put it.”

“I see.” Well, at least, he didn't shoot anyone. Making progress.

"Did you find her?"

"No. I pulled off Rock Canyon Road and had some more brandy. I decided to come in and get my buddies for help. It was on my way here I passed a car and ran over a farmer in a field."

"Where's your car?" Sly asked, getting off the barstool.

"Still in the field. I walked into town."

"How far did you walk?"

"Don't know. I took the bottle with me. Ran out on the edge of town. Threw it in the dumpster outside the Elementary School."

“So, you came from the South."

"Must have."

"And you live on the north side of town."

"Yep." He took another sip of coffee.

Poor guy. The one time he drinks, it ruins his whole life.

"Jud, I'm going to put handcuffs on you. We’re going for a ride in my car. See what we can find.”

Sly walked Jud with his head hanging low to Sly’s truck, and they headed South on Rock Canyon Road. They'd gone about two miles when Sly spotted a tree that had a car-sized gash in it and skid marks that swerved and fishtailed into the tree. Getting out of his truck, he searched the weeds near the tree. Pieces of broken taillight lay scattered around a small sapling. A few strides further down the embankment, he spotted a beaten-up license plate.

Pulling out his phone, he snapped pictures and called officer Gabe Krato. "Gabe, I need you to run a plate." Waiting for Gabe to respond, he dug around in the weeds some more. Lots of cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and paper cups. No car. No body.

Gabe came back on the call. "Plate is expired. Belongs to Douglas Banes."

"Got it."

"You need backup?"

"Not yet. I’ll hit you back if I do."

Sly climbed back in his truck. "You remember seeing Doug Banes?" He asked Jud.

Jud started to shake his head and then stopped. "I passed him on the road."

"Looks like you did more than pass him. Is he the guy you killed?"

Jud thought for a minute. Ran his hands through his hair. Shook his head.

"Nope. No, Don’t think so. The farmer was squishier."

What the heck did that mean?

"We’re going to do a welfare check anyhow. Banes’ house is just up here."

Three minutes later, Sly knocked on Banes’ door. He hoped for Jud’s sake Banes’ was fine, and Jud was confused. Going to jail for manslaughter because of a cheating wife had taken down too many men.

Banes peeked out. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?"

"Anything happen today I need to know about?" He pulled the license plate from behind his back.

Banes took a long time to answer.

“Just tell me the truth, Doug.” Sly crossed his arms.

Banes black eyes shifted from side to side, trying to figure out his options. Banes looked at Jud sitting in the sheriff’s department truck and scratched his head.

Banes sighed. "Jud hit me. Ran me off the road earlier. The car don’t have plates. It wasn’t worth nothin. My boys and I towed it out back." He pointed to behind the barn.

'What did Jud do after that?" Sly asked, looking towards the barn.

Banes scratched his head again. “He left my view about half a mile north of here.”

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just some scratches."

"Okay. Take care of yourself." Made Banes day. At least one of them could be happy.

He walked back to the car. On this road, Banes should have been able to see Jud for at least a mile. He opened the door.

"What'd Banes say?" Jud asked.

"Says you ran him off the road. He lost sight of you about half a mile from here." Sly closed the door and buckled his seatbelt.

"Sounds right. How long do I get for murder?"

"A long time, Jud. A long time." Crazy fool. Sly backed his truck up to the chicken coop and turned around.

"Well, I guess I don't have anything else to live for."

Sly put his hand on Jud's shoulder. "Not true. If she left you for Rex Walker, she ain’t worth it. "

A couple of minutes later, two broken trees and tire tracks revealed that a vehicle had left the road at a high-speed rate. Incredible, Jud made it out.

"Stay here, Jud."

Bracing for the worst, Sly exited his truck and walked to the edge of the road. A car sat in the middle of the field. That part of Jud’s story was correct. Grabbing hold of various trees, he made his way down the embankment. A little boy, about five, sat crying next to the back-passenger side wheel.

Oh, how he hated seeing kids cry. Especially, the tears of a child who'd just lost a parent. Those tears ate at him for weeks. As he got closer, two legs appeared. His gut clenched.

Then his mind registered what his eyes were seeing. Legs stuffed with straw. He stifled a grin. Sly circled the car to be sure before sitting on the ground next to the child and drawing him into his lap.

"Palmer, can you tell me what happened?"

“Mr. Norton's car flew through the air. It hit Jim. Jim is dead." His eyes grew wide, and tears flowed. "We need to put a blanket over him."

"A blanket?"

"Yeah, that's what they do on TV."

"You are right, young man. You sit right here. I'll go get a blanket out of my truck."

On the way up the hill, he called Gabe to take Jud to jail for drunken and disorderly and a DUI. And a tow truck. And the paramedics to check out Palmer."

"Well, Jud. Jim The Scarecrow is dead."

Jud's head fell to his hands, and he rubbed his head back and forth. "Wait."

"You killed a scarecrow."

"So, no murder charges."

"No. But don't get too happy. Your facing, at the very least, a DUI."

"Oh, praise the Lord.”

“AND you have to apologize to Palmer for killing his friend."

Jud threw himself back against the seat. "Right, I will do that."

He started to get out of the truck.

"Not now. The boy is traumatized. In a few days." Jud leaned against the seat and watched Sly pull a blanket from a box behind the seat.

"Right. Palmer's going to get lost in that blanket."

"It's not for Palmer. It's for Jim."

Sly grabbed a red bandana from around the rear-view mirror. "Gabe will be along in a few minutes. So will the tow truck.”

Sly walked back down the hill, covered Jim with the blanket, and then placed the bandana on top.

"What's the flag for?" Palmer asked between tears.

"Jim died a hero." He ruffled the little boy’s hair with his big hands.

To read more about Sheriff Sly Thoth and Belle download “Motive?” by Lucia Kuhl. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08KYBBC5L.