Good Day for a Hanging (Book Two of the Western Serial Killers series)

By Rita Hestand

This is very graphic, it borders from thriller to horror. Jim Bonner and Smitty Younger investigate the murder of a well known cattle rancher in the area of Melville, Texas. It's no ordinary kind of murder though and it has the entire town in an uproar. Old man Perkins was killed, his arms and legs cut off and his blood drained then hung on a scarecrow cross out in the corn field. There hasn't been anything like this in Melville before and the town is in a frenzy.

Everyone is suspect, even witchcraft. There is no blood on the ground where he is hung, and no one has seen anything, no witnesses. Jim goes to extreme measures to keep a tight lid on the town and his investigation quiet.

Warning all the ranchers to beware, Jim and Smitty are busy trying to find clues.

Meanwhile in Cross Timbers, Sadie Martin was managing to feed the hungry in her town, thanks to her brother, Elmer. But Sadie didn't know how Elmer got his meat, nor the trouble he had getting it. Sadie loved her brother and was thankful that he took care of her, otherwise she couldn't feed the starving town.

Jim knew he had to set a trap to catch the killer. And he had to do it fast because the town was ready to hang the doctor for the deed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rita Hestand
• Release date: Feb 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310087592

Rita Hestand

Hi friendsI'd like to ask a favor, not just for me but for all writers. PLease when we offer a free book, it would be wonderful if you'd take the time to rate the book. This doesn't take much time out of your day and authors really apreciate your time to do this. I know not everyone wants to sit down and write a review, but rating the book will help as well. And a big thanks to all who do this. You never know how much an author appreciates you taking the time to do this.I finally finished The Car Stalker. Hope you'll check it out. This is the second book in the stalker series. Like I said mystery is much different from romance all though there are elements in romance in my stalker books too. Today I finished an another book in my series of Vets coming home, Better Every Day. This book takes the angle of when family interrupts your plans. When a one-night stand is much more. I love this story as it hits home. So two new books out now and more coming.I'm taking the time to write while confined at home. But lack of seeing people outside, and living alone all the time is not new to me. I've got lots of stories to tell so be on the lookout for my newest releases. You might check out my Searchin g for You Indian romance on Amazon too.There are several new free books for you enjoyment, since your stuck at home. Home you enjoy them.As for a bio, suffice it to say, I'm a Texan tried and true. I have grown children and grandchildren and already some great-grandchildren. I've done multi jobs in my lifetime giving me a variety of experiences to write and talk about. I've done many different kinds of work from Texas Instruments, to City of Garland, to working for the Wylie Independent School District. I've worked for a hat factory, filing insurance claims, secretarial work, to waitress work. My writing reflects my varied background. Another note I've had a in home day care for twenty years too. So when I write about something I have a general knowledge of it too, which is a real bonus for me. Just like my public work, my writing varies too from contemporary to historical, I write romance, thrillers, children's. A lot of people might say gee, that's a lot of different jobs, and it is, but, I've learned from them all, and I use that experience in my writing.I want to thank all the readers over a length of time that have tried some of my books. I hope I've enlightened and entertained you. I hope I've shared some love in this world. Sharing love can't be bad, it's God given.God bless.Other places to see my bookshttps://www.fantasticfiction.com/h/rita-hestand/https://itunes.apple.com/us/author/rita-hestand/id365799219?mt=11www.scriptsforschools.com/rita-hestandhttps://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/search?query=rita%20hestand&fcsearchfield=author

Book preview

How can I begin to tell Jim what happened? He's not going to believe me...

Sweat poured off of Smitty Younger like someone had thrown him in the horse trough. His hands were shaking as he reached for the door knob. He hesitated to open the door. Smitty finally walked in the Sheriff's office with his face ashen, his mouth hanging open, and then he slowly glanced at his oldest and dearest friend, Jim Bonner, the Sheriff. He moved toward him slowly, his hat in his hand, his hands going around the rim of the hat in nervous anticipation, his mind trying to figure out how to talk to Jim now. He wasn't sure he could talk. He cleared his throat.

A whiff of fresh coffee was brewing on the stove. Usually Smitty was eager for a cup of coffee, but not today.

Today his stomach was like acid roiling.

Smitty glanced up, noting the bullet hole in the wall that some mad husband had shot there when his wife asked to be locked up for her own safety.

He grimaced.

He saw the broom in the corner waiting for him to use it, as the dust had kicked up. A cricket bounced against the corner of the wall as though trying to escape his own capture. Smitty knew just how that cricket felt, he wanted to escape and forget what he'd seen. None of these things were important, and yet were magnified in Smitty's mind right now. Concentrating on unimportant things would steady his nerve.

He wasn't at all sure Jim would believe him if he blurted out what he'd seen. Jim was a serious kind of Sheriff, and sometimes he just had to see for himself. Smitty knew he'd have to see this.

Jim was busy going through wanted posters and reading the daily mail. It was a routine for him and Smitty usually didn't disturb him, but today was different. It was a routine that Smitty didn't want to interrupt but knew he had to.

Jim had been the Sheriff in Melville for nearly seven years, ever since his father died. He'd taken the job seriously and handled it well, but not without a few sacrifices along the way, Smitty noted silently. He was a good man, a good Sheriff.

Smitty looked at Jim like he'd never seen him. For some reason he looked a little closer than he ever had. Noting the dark brown hair sticking out from under Jim's hat, and the way he lifted his coffee cup to his lips without even looking at the cup. Smitty had never been able to do that. Funny how things like that seemed to hit you when your fears outweighed good logic.

~*~

So, did you see Mr. Perkins? Jim mumbled not bothering to look up.

Smitty squirmed. Jim felt that squirm and glanced up for a second.

Funny, he didn't have to look at him to know he was back. There was something about the way Smitty walked that he recognized without even looking up from his desk. One leg always made more noise against the floor than the other, and Smitty had a slight squeak to his boots that Jim tried his best to ignore.

The slight dust from the papers stirred the air, making little whirly motions in the sunlight.

N-o, well yeah… Smitty answered, as sweat dripped from his forehead.

Again, Jim glanced up, but his attention wasn't on Smitty right now.

Did you talk to him about his missing cattle? Jim asked his deputy. Then the sweat dripped onto his paperwork, smearing the ink on one paper. Still engrossed in his reading, Jim smiled brightly. Well lookie here, I finally got a paper on them catching and killing Sam Bass. Six-month-old news just getting to us. I doubt Melville will ever catch up with Waco or Dallas.

Smitty didn't reply.

Jim stretched himself and glanced out the window, admiring the quietness of his little town.

Melville was a small unobtrusive little town that hosted maybe three hundred or more. It had a post office, general store, a cotton gin, a bank, one hotel and three saloons and five different churches. Just south of Waco, it missed its mark of fame when the Railroad didn't come through it as planned. It was given the name Melville after a civil war hero that had moved here after the war and died of complications to an old wound. Captain Melville had wanted to build a town, and his name drew many, Jim remembered, his mind drifting from one fact to another as he waited for Smitty to give him the full report.

~*~

But the silence slicing the air between them finally got Jim's attention. When Jim did look up, his mouth was hanging open as Smitty took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat away. Not just a little sweat, he was dripping as though it were a hundred degrees outside. Jim couldn't help but glance out the window for assurance that it wasn't hot outside. The wind and the dull hint of the sun shining affirmed it was not a scorching day. A norther had blown in last night and cooled the earth to an almost chill, so why was Smitty sweating?

Smitty's hands shook as he wiped his forehead, another sign that things weren't right, Jim mentally noted. Jim silently scolded himself, he was always thinking in question marks, old habit.

There were times, like this one, when he knew he had to put his own thoughts and actions away and pay attention to his deputy. This was one of those times.

Why did Smitty have that look of galvanized fear on his face that Jim knew so well? Smitty wasn't known for his bravery, but few things ever spooked him either. He'd backed Jim more than once on occasion in a shootout. Still Smitty was famous for his honesty and loyalty to friends, a loyalty Jim appreciated more than he could say.

Had Mr. Perkins threatened him? Had something gone wrong at the Perkins place? A million questions built in Jim's detective mind. But the strange unidentifying look on Smitty's face had Jim wary.

"What's wrong with you? He asked impatient to get the full report. You're jittery and nervous and acting very strange. So out with it, what happened?"

Smitty shook his head slowly, his eyes widening, his hands shaking a bit as he stuck them in his back pocket, as though to hide the fact that they were shaking.

You gotta come see this. I can't tell ya. You'd swear I was loco. Smitty said his voice going up a notch as it often did when he was rattled about something.

Jim shook his head. I sent you out there to check on things, so I wouldn't have to worry with it, Smitty. Now, you want me to ride out there and do it myself, anyway?

But unlike other times, Smitty didn't seem to care about the Sheriff's anger.

Jim, Smitty shook his head as though clearing it, his voice full of indescribable emotions. I know you did. But you ain't gonna believe me, until you see it for yourself, so there's no use me tryin' to explain things. You'll have to see this. Smitty insisted his eyes finally dropping to the paper Jim held in his hand. You see, I couldn't talk to Perkins.

He gave you some trouble then. Well…I've got a lot of… He stopped midsentence and looked at Smitty's face, considering his deputy's reputation for thoroughness, he twisted his head. "What are you tryin' so hard not to tell me?"

Please it wouldn't do a bit a good to tell you. You'd still have to go out there anyways, so let's go together. Smitty insisted.

Alright…in a bit…

No, no you gotta come now. This can't wait. We gotta do this now…it's important. Smitty kept insisting.

Jim sighed, not bothering to hide his frustration; he pushed his paperwork aside and nodded. Okay, settle down. We'll go now.

Jim knew Smitty well enough to realize that when he was this upset, something wasn't right. Smitty had been born to worry. But this morning Jim had so wanted to relax and have a peaceful day. That peace had flown out the window of his office, the minute Smitty came back.

The Rocking Horse Ranch hands had created a commotion in town all weekend, and now that they were gone, he wasn't anxious to see any more trouble for a while. He'd just released the last of the drunk drovers this morning. Smitty was bothering his peace. He knew he'd have to placate him.

After careful consideration, Jim had to admit, Smitty wasn't one for dramatics. There had to be something very wrong, for him not to have done his duty. Respecting that Jim nodded.

Get our horses; I'll be right behind you. Jim said.

Sure…the horses…

The ride to the Perkins ranch was silent and Jim kept looking at his deputy as though he'd lost his mind. Smitty was a little more cautious about things, but he was a good man to have around and Jim trusted him with his life, and that was saying something, as Jim was slow to trust anyone. Although Smitty disrupted his morning, he had to give him the benefit of the doubt because he was a reliable lawman. There weren't many men though that Jim held that position with.

Jim wanted to question him, but instead he was silent too. He stared at him out of the corner of his eye. Smitty wasn't acting his jovial self this morning, his face was drawn and grim, Jim noticed. Whatever was wrong, was very wrong, and Jim felt a sense of dread climb up his back.

Smitty Younger came from a long line of outlaw relatives, and he spent most of his time trying to live down the legend of his cousins. He was only about thirty as near as anyone could tell. He was still a young man in an old man's body. He wasn't born in town, so there were no official records to his age, but Jim sized him as close to thirty. He was pudgy around the middle because of his weakness for red-eye gravy and ham. He had unruly and unnoticeable brown hair. But it was his eyes that spoke the true character of this man. Jim long ago had reasoned that every man or woman on earth had something special about them, with Smitty it was his soft heart and clear blue eyes that spoke of honesty and loyalty that made Smitty special. No, the truth was, Jim liked Smitty probably more than anyone except Ruby. So, he couldn't very well get upset with him for dragging him out here this morning. Maybe it was important. Smitty didn't get upset about a lot of things. He had such a peaceful nature that people thought he was a mild-mannered man. Jim knew when the times called for it, Smitty would back him up with a gun or whatever was needed. A man good with his fists, and slow with his intentions.

Trust didn't grow on trees, Jim acknowledged silently. Truth be told, Smitty was the kind of man that would jump in front of a bullet to save a friend.

He couldn't help but remember it was Smitty who knocked the gun out of the drunk drover's hand last night. Jim had been thankful. A gunfight would have turned the town into a complete brawl. Smitty had avoided it and Jim was thankful.

Still, what could be so all fired bad out here? The birds were singing, the grasshoppers jumping, nothing seemed out of place. It was more quiet than usual, and as they neared the Perkins place, Jim noticed no dust stirring, nor activity, which was strange in itself. Something was always going on at the Perkins place. But today nothing but the wind picked up and a chill ran up Jim's spine once more. Perkins was a working man, not prone to be lazy about his spread. And yet the quiet spoke of no activity.

Usually Jim could guess a problem, today was different. And yet his deputy of five years was jumpy, nervous, and almost fearful of something. He was acting out of character and that threw Jim into immediate caution.

Perhaps there was some cattle rustling going on and Smitty had found something to prove it. After all Mr. Perkins claimed someone had taken nearly thirty of his cows all toll over a period of a year. Although, the strangest thing about that was that they had slowly disappeared, not all at once. So, whoever the thief was, they were careful not to cause attention.

He'd asked Smitty to check on Mr. Perkins and see if he'd made a miscount. It happened, even to the best of ranchers. Although Perkins would never admit such a thing. Several of the ranchers reported the same thing within the last month and Jim suspicioned a new bunch of cattle thieves in the area. He hoped he was wrong.

Perkins ran his cattle up to Montana most years as he made a lot more money than the other ranchers around. Perkins hadn't reported any cattle rustling before, and Jim just wanted to be sure that Mr. Perkins wasn't just getting old and did a miscount.

So, maybe there was trouble at the Perkins place. Yet what he witnessed on Smitty's face wasn't the normal kind of trouble. What he had seen on his face was fear. Yet how could fear not be an ordinary emotional reaction?

Although Mr. Perkins could be onry, and contrary, he wasn't prone to meanness. And despite his mild manner, Smitty wasn't the kind of man to be fearful of much. He'd almost died one year of a shotgun blast and lived to tell of it, so that left Smitty a much more agreeable man. He appreciated his life and enjoyed it.

As they approached the ranch house, the door flew open and banged against its latch. The sound echoed against the silence of the morning like an unwelcome greeting. Jim immediately felt the eeriness of the place. His guard went up. Tension flooded him. There was trouble here and he could feel it now as the ranch house came into sight. It was tangible. His deputy had stumbled onto it too. A bad kind of trouble that meant he'd have his work cut out for him.

Even his horse acted a little skittish, this put Jim on alert. Like some ghost lurked in the shadows. His uneasiness grew as he dismounted, but he didn't want to scare Smitty any more than he was already.

Smitty waited for Jim to dismount, watching, glancing about. It wasn't necessarily something you could put a finger on, but it was trouble. Perhaps that's why he couldn't just tell him what was wrong this morning. Maybe he didn't know himself.

He glanced over at Smitty with a cautionary expression, knowing that his deputy didn't scare as easily as most folks thought. He dismounted and headed for the porch. His own footsteps resounded in the silence of the day.

But it was the loudness of the silence that resounded.

He ain't there. Smitty said, as he hung his head, his voice almost hollow.

Then, where is he? Working?

No…he ain't workin' any more Jim. Follow me… Smitty hung his head and wiped the sweat once more as he dismounted, and glanced around the place, his expression grim, foreboding.

Smitty's words took Jim by surprise. Anymore?

There was that silence again.

Jim watched him closely. Why wasn't Mr. Perkins working. He was always working, sun up to sun down. Why wouldn't he be working today?

Why don't you just tell me what is going on here? I can see something has you upset. And this place doesn't look right or feel right. What's going on?

Smitty seemed to know the answer to that but he wasn't going to tell him.

When he remained silent, Jim frowned.

Smitty led him to the garden out back, and through the cornfield, and then he suddenly stopped. Jim waited for him to say something. Still Smitty firmed his lips and widened his eyes.

Okay…I give up, where is he? Jim said unable to hide his irritation with him.

Smitty squirmed again.

He's…up there. He nodded, as his face paled, and his eyes quickly averted to the ground.

Up where? Jim frowned, his eyes went to the sky, to tree tops, to the land.

He's hangin' up there… Smitty pointed to the scarecrow finally, but diverted his gaze to the open pastures beyond, as though he couldn't quite keep himself composed as he said it.

Jim raised his head and looked at the scarecrow. Seeing nothing, he took the scarecrow's hat off and started to reprimand Smitty for his antics, until he homed in on the scarecrows face. It was Mr. Perkins. Or it used to be.

Jim backed up a bit. My God!

Yeah… Smitty nodded unable to look at the dead man hanging on the scarecrow's cross.

A sign was hung around his neck, Good day for a Hanging! It said.

A kid's prank gone wrong? Jim pondered, as he searched his mind for answers.

Blood had oozed from the clothes but there was nothing on the ground. It didn't make any sense. Jim began looking around. Instantly his investigative mind began to work. The lack of footprints and lack of blood drippings had him puzzled. It was too clean a crime.

He wondered how he could so easily dismiss the death and concentrate on clues, but it had become old habit.

The tracks were dusted with a limb from a tree, from the looks of it. Or possibly the wind had carried all traces away in little rivets made into the soft soil. The body was stiff now that meant he'd been dead a day or so probably, and then he glanced at Smitty. We got to get him down from there.

Yes sir. Smitty nodded, the sweat still pouring from him.

Look Smitty, I apologize if I gave you a rough time of it this morning. I had no idea…

I know…ain't your fault. Smitty acknowledged.

This is gruesome. Jim stared up at the face that had been drawn on like a clown. Was this some kind of sick joke?

Yes sir… Smitty couldn't look up anymore. Jim understood, but it was his job to take care of things like this, so he couldn't turn away. All the while his mind took notes of the scene around them. Bile roiled in Jim's stomach as a certain degree of detachment was called for.

Smitty was right, he'd have never believed him.

When he reached up to take the body down, he realized quite suddenly that there were no arms on the body, nor legs. He moved backwards. No! He wasn't prepared for this. So how was he supposed to detach himself from that? But with his stomach wanting to pitch his breakfast it wasn't easy to concentrate.

The blood had dried on the shirt but there was none on the ground. There was none on the legs of the scarecrow overalls either. He backed off again and stared up at the corpse. This was not going well, a dead man on a scarecrow cross, with no arms or legs. Nothing could have prepared someone for something like this. It was pure horror.

He tried to think a little clearer. A Sheriff had to detach himself sometimes to do his job, and this was one of those times. But the sheer terror of the scene had Jim wishing he'd never rode out here. Even though he clearly knew he could never erase this day from his mind nor Smitty's.

He'd needed a ladder to unfasten him and get him down.

He's nailed pretty well, Smitty. We better get some help out here and the doc to figure out what the cause of death was. I think I'll leave him be, let the council see this, witness it for me. They'd never believe it if I just told them. Jim's mind stirred now, keeping it working while the shock of what had taken place here began to sink in.

Nothing like this had ever happened in his quiet little town. The sick feeling inside Jim roiled and his face turned almost green as he tried to steady himself and concentrate on just the facts of Mr. Perkins death.

He had to admit he'd never in his life seen anything like this. It shocked him too. But he had learned that someone had to take control and take care of things, no matter what. But he'd have to quit shaking before he found any control.

This was his job. It had been a good job up until now.

He felt sorry for Smitty for discovering it, as he glanced at the mixed emotions running across his face.

Poor Smitty, he must have been scared out of his wits. He knew he hadn't said a word to anyone and for that he was thankful. He was a good deputy, a good man.

When the town got an earful of this though, there would be a ruckus.

Perkins was one of the biggest ranchers in the area. Arrogant and full of himself, not many liked the old ranch man. He'd lived here when there were only a handful of ranchers. He'd help to settle the land and end the Indian wars. Everyone in Melville knew him. Most respected him, but few liked the man.

Naturally the townspeople would have to know about it. But maybe he could prolong that. At least not