"Over The Hump"

By Dan Allex

A father and son built a winery and restaurant under almost insurmountable obstacles in the arid Nevada countryside. When things are starting to go their way the unthinkable happens...the owner is murdered. He was a man that had few enemies, and his death looks like a senseless crime. One murder adds to another and authorities are baffled.
The son carries on holding the business together after he hires two private investigators, and their firm to look into his dad's murder. The detectives follow a bumpy road to solve the murders and come close to be victims themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Allex
• Release date: Aug 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005538620

Dan Allex

Dan Allex (Dan Kubicek) was born in Austin, Minnesota. I am retired and enjoy exploring the mountains of Colorado after moving here 5 years ago. My hobbies are golf, fly fishing, pheasant hunting, skiing and reading.My wife and I had lived in Las Vegas, Nv. for twenty-five years, and recently relocated to Denver to be closer to our son and his family.I enjoy telling a story, and I hope people get some enjoyment from my books. Visit danallex-com1.webs.com/ for more information about the upcoming mysteries and the author.Books in print are available now at danallex-com1.webs.com where you can order direct for less.Take a look at Chisago Creek, my latest book. It is a Minnesota mystery that is a page-turner. If you visit to Austin, stop in and browse at Sweet Reads, my favorite bookstore.

Book preview

Prologue

Pahrump, Nevada

Archie Harding had been the vineyard owner since the beginning. It all started in the late nineties when the thought of having a wine producing business in the barren wasteland of Nevada was considered crazy. Those first few years left him without his backers, without his new grape plantings, and without most of his hope.

He could still make wine by using grapes from other vineyards but it wouldn’t be the same. Harding had done the research for months, trying to come up with the best variety of grape plants to grow in the arid country. With the advancement of DNA science, even the ancestral backgrounds of grapes could be investigated. Archie brought his first Zinfandel plants from California but later discovered that those, and almost all of that variety, originated from Croatia.

Once he had decided on Zinfandel, the next thing to concentrate on was bringing water to the plants. The more that he asked old-timers from Pahrump about well digging, the more apprehensive he became. Although the depths of the local wells varied from two hundred and fifty to fourteen hundred feet, the fact emerged that there were no variances about the best well-sinker in the county. Red Welch was the man.

The project would cost more money and take up more time, and the well would have to plunge deeper than originally expected. Up front, Red had predicted all three. With the Zinfandel plants already on order, the water irrigation system had to be created. Once that was operating, the grape seedlings were planted. Then it was time for the miracle in the desert to begin. Harding had three years to wait for the first grape production from the time of the new plantings. Meanwhile, he built the rest of his winery, including a beautiful restaurant that he named Serendipity.

During the end of the second year, it was neither the dryness, nor the scorching heat that destroyed seventy per cent of his Zinfandel plants—it was the stampede of wild mustangs that trampled Archie’s hopes. He had never properly secured his acreage and never imagined that a catastrophe for his grape vines could come in the form of twenty-three crazed wild horses. Originally, there were twenty-five mustangs, but only twenty-three lived through the lighting strike that had spooked the herd in the first place. His three year wait for producing vines had to start all over.

Going into the third year, the anticipation of bottling award winning wine was more than Archie could stand. He imported grapes from Napa Valley, rather than waiting another three years for his own grapes to grow. After the third year, the winery had its own wine to sell from the California grapes. Archie insisted that the twenty-five percent of his own grapes that pulled through the stampede had to be included in any of the wine that was bottled.

* * *

Archie Harding thought about those tough years as he took an early morning stroll in the cool desert air during the spring of 2020. His Zinfandel grapes had done their job. His winery had earned several awards and his restaurant was holding its own. He liked to walk the fields as the sun rose so he could breathe in the aroma of the vines, the fertilizer, the irrigation water, and the earth. He wanted to take in the same environment that his grapes did. Only then, could he fully understand the complicated tastes that became part of the Pahrump Winery wines. Almost as important as the winemaster’s taste was the sense of smell and the understanding of how they interacted. It was a science fortified by his years of experience.

Harding was now in his mid-seventies, so along with arthritis, high blood pressure, and a leaking mitral valve, he also had failing ears. His third wife had left him almost with the last hooves of the mustang stampede. His unrealistic optimism with his dream of his own vineyard had driven her crazy—that and Archie’s refusal to have his ears tested for hearing aides. As he always said, I hear what I want to hear.

On this occasion, while on his morning vineyard stroll, it would have been better had he heard the steps that followed him down the row of Zinfandel vines. By the time he did realize he was not alone, it was too late. The sharp, stabbing pain in the left ribcage rendered him momentarily paralyzed. Archie turned to meet his fate, only to be disappointed when he recognized the assailant.

In a strained, wheezing voice, he could only manage one word: Why?

The blade went directly into one of his ventricles, a wound that left Harding collapsing as his heart stopped. However, his thought process briefly continued. He sensed his own blood as it ran downhill toward his nose. To Archie, it didn’t smell metallic or like copper, as some say. To him, his blood smelled like dirt. Archie’s second to last thought was to wonder if some wine snob a few years later would comment about a distinct, but ever so slight taste of blood in the Pahrump Winery Zinfandel 2020 vintage wine. As the lights slowly ebbed away, he thought, perplexed, Why in the hell would someone want to kill me? Then, there was only darkness.

Chapter 1

Archie’s son, Branson, had grown up with the Zinfandel vines, and graduated with a Master’s in Business and a double major in Marketing. His dad liked to call him the triple-threat, with business and marketing skills and a work ethic that included the willingness to get his hands dirty. It was a rough start, but things were beginning to blossom. Father and son were close, because, other than the winery and restaurant, they were all they had.

When Branson looked at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was eight fifteen already and his dad hadn’t yet returned home. It wouldn’t be the first time that Archie had become tired while on his early morning tour of the vines. His leaky mitral valve was starting to control his life more and more. Lately, he’d been telling his son, If I get tired, I can sit down for a while and in a few minutes, I’m as good as gold. Branson tried to convince his dad that he didn’t have to patrol the winery acres every morning like a Doberman. Archie replied that he did need the walk, because it was the highlight of his day. But the tour of the vines didn’t turn out to be such a highlight that morning.

His son found him between the rows of vines. It didn’t take him long to realize that his dad hadn’t been taking a valve break.

Oh, my God! Dad, how could this happen?

Branson sat on the ground, close to his father while he called 911. His next call was to his best friend, Emery Winston. Emery, in turn, called Dave Johnson, because he knew Johnson would want to help Archie and his son.

The Pahrump Winery was overcome with two city cops, the Nye County Sheriff, a firetruck, an ambulance, the cars of two TV reporters’, and the Black Arrow Suburban driven by Emery and his friend, Dave, a private detective who also knew the Hardings.

Dave and Emery stayed on the periphery of the commotion as they tried to get some information by eavesdropping, while they waited for Branson to be free.

I’m stunned, said Winston. Archie Harding wouldn’t hurt a fly. I feel so sorry for Branson, because he and his dad were close. They were like buddies.

Dave replied, I’ve known Archie since he started his winery and restaurant. Red Welch is a client of ours, and he introduced me to Harding and his boy. When I was helping Red with a problem he had with some injunctions that stalled drilling in Nye County, we would meet at the Serendipity Restaurant for lunch. That was back in 2000 when I met Archie and Branson. Both of them impressed me as a couple of stand-up guys.

I couldn’t have said it better, Dave. So, where do we start? Who is responsible for this heinous crime?

One question at a time, Emery. Here comes Branson. This may not be the time to ask him questions, so let’s give our sympathy, and get an idea what his state of mind is.

Emery and Mr. Johnson, thank you for being here. You guys are great at what you do, so that’s why I called you. With my dad’s heart condition, I wasn’t too surprised to see him lying in the vineyard, but when I noticed he had been stabbed, I was stunned. I know you guys are, too.

Emery said, First of all, Dave and I are so sorry for your loss. We will help you any way we can. We’d like to ask you a few questions, but they can wait, depending on how you feel.

Dave added, "Yes, you have my condolences, Branson. You do the call. You want us to check in with you later or tomorrow?

I’ve got to make some calls, get the restaurant open, and I see a couple of delivery trucks waiting for me. If you guys can hang around for an hour or so, I can sit down with you to talk. I’m not so sure that I will be much help. This is such a shock. I don’t have a clue about why someone would want to kill my dad.

Okay. I’ll tell you what, Emery began, Dave and I will have some coffee and breakfast and see how your morning stacks up. If you get free, that’s good. If not, we can try tomorrow.

Sounds good. Thanks, guys. I really appreciate your concern.

The Serendipity Restaurant sat on the crest of the highest hill in Nye County, overlooking the Pahrump Winery. As Branson, Emery, and Dave walked from the vineyard to the back of the restaurant, they were being observed by a man sitting at the edge of the eatery parking lot in a black Jeep Wrangler.

Chapter 2

Cassie Diakos was adjusting to Las Vegas quickly, but her friendship with Emery Winston had developed even faster. Before leaving his cabin that morning, she fed Jax, Emery’s dog. After she cleaned up the kitchen, she headed for her job at Black Arrow Security. Cassie could have considered her time in Las Vegas as an exile from her country, but she preferred to think of it as an extended vacation.

After the deaths of the three Albanian mobsters, Bekim Hoxha, his daughter, Zamira, and son, Frederik, Cassie made the decision to stay in the U.S. with Emery in Las Vegas for several reasons. The first was her love of Emery Winston. The second was because the military type assault on the Hoxha’s fortress was also an affront on the corrupt government and armed forces of Albania. Her ties with the CIA were what got her involved with Emery’s crusade into Albania to eliminate the Hoxha’s hold on casinos in Las Vegas, Minnesota’s Indian casinos, and other businesses. The Albanian mobsters had excelled in money laundering, drug trafficking, and gun running. When Emery thwarted some of their operations earlier, the Albanian staged a full-out attack on the office of Black Arrow in Las Vegas. Once the Hoxha’s felt the heat of authorities in the U.S., they would run back to Albania to their fortress in the mountains. When it was safer for them, they would filter back into the States and pick up where they left off.

It was more than Emery Winston could stand, so he took the fight directly to the Hoxha’s in Albania. Cassie Diakos was also instrumental in the downfall of the mobsters. During that mission she and Emery could see that they had much in common. So much, that she flew back with him to work for his organization, and eventually became his soulmate.

As she drove from Emery’s Mount Charleston cabin to the Black Arrow building on the west side of Las Vegas, she thought about the life changing decisions she had made. When she did, she could feel a warm, broad smile inch across her face. She was as happy as she had ever been.

She was infused with good feelings when she was jarred back to reality at the buzzing of her phone.

Cassie saw the display and answered, Emery, what’s happening sweetie?

Hi. Not a good morning so far. The call I got earlier was from a friend in Pahrump. His dad was murdered this morning. Dave Johnson and I are here for a while and we will be talking with the son a little later.

Okay. That’s terrible. Is that the town that they talk about and say, It’s over the hump to Pahrump?"

Yup, this is the one. The murdered guy and his son own a restaurant and winery here.

Can grapes grow in Nevada?

I guess so. Go figure. They do pretty well, but I think it takes a lot of care and expertise. This father and son team had figured out how to do it. It’s a shame that the owner, Archie, was murdered. Anyway, I wanted to give you a buzz about my 10-20.

Roger that, big guy. Good luck.

10-4.

* * *

The man in the black Jeep watching the guys walking with Archie’s kid recognized them and said to himself, What are those guys doing here? Winston, and Johnson, two busy-bodies in my jurisdiction—how did they get here so fast?

Nye County Sheriff, Bill Boyd, more commonly referred to as Wild Bill Boyd, knew the two intruders. He’d ran into Dave Johnson on cases more than once. Emery Winston, he only knew by reputation. They were a couple of good doers, that he thought could only gum up the works.

He made some more notes, filled out a couple of forms, and once more tried to reach the Nye County Medical Examiner. The sheriff was the first responder to arrive at the scene. He’d known the victim for years and felt like he was a hard-working dreamer that he had to admire for his persistent commitment to create a winery in the desert. Boyd had already talked with the grieving son, which didn’t give him much to go on. He hated to see the outsiders, Winston and Johnson, now going into the restaurant with Archie’s son. As far as the sheriff was concerned, they could only complicate his job.

He already had a theory about this murder, but he would have to address his suspects cautiously. He had a hand to play in this card game, but it was essential that he held his cards close and not show them too soon.

Nye County Sheriff, Wild Bill Boyd, had a famous name, but he always felt like he couldn’t live up to the legend. He wasn’t even a distant relative of the famous western figure known as Hopalong Cassidy. As far as wild goes, that was years ago, and he was no longer that person. He had been in law enforcement most of his life. Once he had survived Vietnam, he figured that babysitting the county couldn’t be that hard. He spent ten years learning the job as a deputy, so once his boss had retired, Sheriff Boyd took over in 1983. He was old enough now to be thinking about retiring himself, but what the hell would he do?

Back when he started as sheriff for the county, it really needed a Wild Bill, and he was the ticket. Pahrump grew faster than the rest of the county, so the town occupied a lot of his time. He did his share of head-busting in his time, and most were justifiable, but there were a few that could be considered questionable. There were a few other things that loomed over his career, but nothing that serious. He always had been good at covering his tracks.

Archie Harding had purchased the acreage he needed for his dream from the sheriff in the early nineties. There