Death of a Nice Guy

By W. H. Beswick

Donald Duckerson is one of the nicest guys in Digger's Cove. Always wanting to help out when he can with his time or money. So when he ends up dead, Sheriff Abby Anderson is not happy. The only trouble she had was with some the local youth. Once again the state police dump in her lap since she knows the town. She just getting comfortable with her new relationship with Merry Jo. Turns out her being gay is not big deal in Digger's Cove.

• Language: English
• Publisher: W. H. Beswick
• Release date: Mar 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005452155

W. H. Beswick

Lives in Corvallis Oregon

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The man about to die was hunched over his landline phone. This old, black rotary phone belonged in a museum because it was in pristine condition.  The room was lit by three computer screens and two lit keyboards.  Two of the screens were filled with what looked like bank accounts. The small man wiped sweat off his brow, bit his knuckle, and quickly said, How much time we got?

No idea.  They could just show up.

What am I supposed to do? the man said, straightening up and tapping his fingers on the desk.

Stick to the plan.  I am sorry about the other thing, but what could I do?  You could move down here.

I hate L.A.

You should have never left.  If you stayed.  You would have made contacts.  You have talent and money.  The women eat that up.  But you decided to stay in that small town.  Actually, it's a tiny town.  You could still make the move.

I could write a book.

What will that get you?  A nice payday?  Few months on the talk show circuit?  When it's done, you will only have annoyed some people.  Look, I can make some calls.  That is all I can do.  But you got to keep your eyes on the prize.

Some calls.  For most of my life, I was never noticed.  Then you and I got together...

We'll talk. We pull off this thing in New York; we are set for life.  You can live wherever you want.  Got to go.

The next thing he heard was the dial tone.  The man was about to dial a number but looked at the receiver for a while and slowly dropped the handset into the cradle.  He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.  He slowly spun around in the chair, taking in all the posters.  He had achieved more in the last few years than most men did in a lifetime.  He had to admit he had been foolish.  Thinking it would go on forever.  He muttered to himself, All good things come to an end.  The student becomes the master.

The man ran his fingers through his thinning hair. His grey roots were starting to show. It was time to go to the stylist. He smiled and said, Why bother?

The man got up and looked at the bat in the glass case.  Smiling, he opened the case and took it out.  He wandered out to the front room and swung it a couple times.  He leaned the bat on his shoulder and looked out the window.

The street was dark.  Just eleven-thirty and everyone was home.  He could see the flashing blue TV screens in some houses.  The Digger's Cove night owls.  God, he loved this town.  It was like living in a small bubble cut off from the rest of the world.

Digger's Cove, where the most significant thing to happen in town was that they now had a Pizza Hut.  He heard it was doing pretty good.  Why shouldn't it?  No competition.  There were rumors an In-N-Out Burger might be coming in.  That had Molly down at the diner, a little worried.  She said she could deal with a McDonald's or Wendy's.  Molly had been in Los Angeles and had In-N-Out Burger.  She had to admit it was a pretty good burger.  Nothing much happened there except for those murders - and a local waitress turned out to be related to some British royalty.  He'd just seen her on TV.  Whoever she had helping her was earning their money.  He barely recognized her.  The real surprise to him was the local sheriff solved it.  The FBI and state police all took bows, but it had been Abby who solved it. 

Every talk show wanted her, but Abby wasn't having it.  Finally, she did one interview with a morning talk show in New York.  He later found out Abby's girlfriend had some business to do in New York.  The woman who did the interview turned out to be a friend of Merry Jo.  He sighed.  Contacts.  It is about who you know.

That's why the attractive blonde got to interview Abby.  The blonde knew Merry Jo and Merry Jo knew Abby. 

The people were worried that Abby might not come back.  She had been born and raised here.  Left to go to college.  Got a great job in New York.  Got engaged.

Then her father got sick.

Being the good daughter, she came back and stayed with him until he passed away.  To help out, she took over her father's duties as sheriff. The town knew Abby was thinking of returning to New York but elected her sheriff anyway by writing in her name. 

That was almost four years ago.

The man wondered if Abby was running for re-election.  If she was, Abby was doing nothing to promote herself.  Not a poster or lawn sign to be seen.  He talked to Merry Jo the other day.  They joked about her campaign.  He learned that Merry Jo wanted to stay here, which probably would make Abby stay.  Merry Jo could be a model with her looks and body, but she was a sculptor.  Her artwork was strange but sold for a lot of money.  He heard she got five million for one statue.

His eyes drifted to the 1955 red Thunderbird parked in his driveway.  A sweet ride, but everyone in town had a sweet ride.  The newest car in town was the 1979 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am.  It was red with a gold firebird on the hood.  That belonged to one of the sheriff's deputies.  Lucy burned rubber all over town.  Who was going to give her a ticket?

There was a brand new Black Lexus SUV parked beside the red Thunderbird. Donny used that when he left town but realized he might not need it anymore. 

Unless he moved to Los Angeles.

The man took a few more swings with the bat, then the doorbell rang.  He frowned but went to the door. Unlike other cities, where you look out the window or use a peephole, you didn't do that in Digger's Cove.  The man opened the door and frowned. 

CHAPTER 2

A WEEK EARLIER...

Stop!

What?

I forgot.  Boy, we almost got busted.

How?  We aren’t even there yet.

That's right, you've never been to Digger's Cove.  It's one of those strange towns you hear about or see on TV.  It is almost like stepping back in time.  We are driving a 2012 Chevy pickup, but it will stick out like a sour thumb.

What, because it is beat up?

No, no, has nothing to do with that.  It's too new.  Every car and truck in that town is old.  50's, 60's, and a few from the 70's.  And every one of them is in primo condition.  They are going to notice this truck cruising the streets.  I know the sheriff is no slouch.  It was all over the news how she bunched a couple murderers. There was something too with British royalty.

Oh yeah, I remember seeing that.  The sheriff is like the character from that old TV show who didn't carry a gun, except she is a woman.  Is it true phones don't work there?

Yeah, everyone has landlines and is happy with that.  There is no Wi-Fi.  It's all cable.  Considering what we'll do, we must get another car.

Let me think.  My cousin has an old Mustang that is in pretty good shape.  He will lend it to us for a couple bucks.

The guy isn’t going anywhere.  Let’s go talk to your cousin.

CHAPTER 3 

A WEEK EARLIER...

Is everyone in position?  Over, Abby asked, looking very bored while holding the mic.  Her car was a black and white 1955 Chevy Bel Air.  Even in the darkness, one could see it was in perfect condition.  It was parked under some trees.  A gold sheriff's star on the doors and a rack of lights and sirens on the roof screamed cop car.  She was slumped in the front seat, holding a small metal cup of coffee in one hand.  The cup served as a cap for the thermos on the seat beside her.  It looked as vintage as the car she was sitting in.  The bag that held the peanut butter cookies was empty.  The sheriff's cap held her long hair into a curly blonde ponytail.  She wore the tan shirt and badge but opted for jeans and sneakers.  The uniform pants didn't work for her.  The jeans did.  There was a badge on her shirt but no holster around her waist.

Abby Anderson was the sheriff in Digger's Cove – a tiny town in Oregon that was, as they say, off the beaten path.  The thirty-something sheriff was in her fourth year and up for reelection.  Abby knew this but hadn't filed the paperwork to get her name on the ballot.  Of course, her name hadn't been on the ballot in the last election.  She had won by everyone writing in her name.  Long story short.  Abby had been successful in New York.  Father, who had been Sheriff for thirty-five years, got sick.  She came home to help.  By the time he was buried by her mother, Abby had lost her New York job and fiancé.  Town thought they were helping her out by giving them the job.

The newly elected sheriff tried to convince them she wasn't qualified. It turned out she was good at being sheriff. Solving several murders last year convinced everyone they made the right choice. 

Abby could have gone back to New York anytime she wanted. Her father had left her more than enough to make the move. The problem was that Merry Jo had been in New York. She had left Digger's Cove because Abby couldn't commit. Abby needed clarification about being with another woman. With Merry Jo in New York, Abby could safely hide in her hometown until she figured out a game plan.

Then suddenly, Merry Jo moved back to Digger's Cove and announced she was staying.  At first, that didn't sit well with Abby.  That was until the murders.  That was the only good thing to come of that whole mess.  Merry Jo and Abby were together.  They are pretty happy together.  To Abby's surprise, the people in Digger's Cove had no problem having a gay sheriff.

Miss Rachel Woods, who was as conservative as anyone could be, actually said, They make a cute couple.

None of this was on her mind. She wished she was home—in bed with Merry Jo—and there were more cookies.

Set, Lucy's voice squawked from the radio.  Lucy was a full-blood Native American who was also the head deputy.  She claimed to be from a tribe that the government was convinced they had been successful in wiping off the surface of the planet.  Several professors came around to tell her how wrong her deputy was.  A couple of old white guys telling a Native American she was wrong.  You could imagine how that went.  Abby had to give Lucy credit for sticking by her guns, so to speak.

Roger that, sheriff, a young female voice, more like a squeal than a squawk.  The squeaky voice belonged to her newest deputy.  Nikki was Lucy's cousin.  The young woman had taken some classes in law enforcement that made Nikki more than qualified.  Abby's degrees were all in accounting and business.  Unlike Lucy, she had not been as vocal about which tribe she belonged to.  But she was smart and trying. That was good enough for Abby.  Oh, over.

Relax, Nikki, Abby said with a smile.  I know this is your first stakeout.  It will be fine.

You are embarrassing the family name, Nikki.  Lucy laughed, which sounded strange over the radio.

I am in position, Bruce said; he was her other deputy.  He was probably the only one wide awake because the graveyard shifts five nights a week.  He was a big man, usually towering over other people.  His size and girth made him perfect for football.  Good enough for college ball, at least.  You would be intimated by him if you did not know he was just an overgrown puppy.  His wife was barely over five feet but seemed