Excerpt from Death By Betrayal

Palley excitedly insisted he needed to see my beater.  We piled into two cars and headed for my house.  We parked the cars at the Butterfly and walked to an old barn at the back of the property. 

“Be careful,” I admonished.  “This barn is ready to fall down.”  The dirt floor was littered with rusty farm tools and dilapidated boxes of nails. 

“Why is this barn in such bad condition?” Hunter asked.

“It’s more of a shed.  I never had any need for it.  It would have cost more to repair than it’s worth, so I just left it alone.  No one sees it back here.  I’ve let the weeds take over, I’m afraid.”

“I understand your reasoning.  Sometimes outbuildings can’t be saved,” Hunter said.  He cautioned Franklin that he was about to step on a broken pitchfork.

“The car’s over here,” I said to Palley.  “Follow me, but watch your step.”

“Is it your car?” Palley asked, glad he had worn his cowboy boots when navigating his way through the barn.

I shook my head.  “It was here when I bought the farm.  It was old even then.”

“So you don’t own the car?” Palley asked.

“I guess I do since I bought the farm.  Whoever owned the car is long gone.  They are not going to claim it.  I’ve had this farm for decades, so put your worries to rest, Palley,” I replied, wishing I had worn a scarf over my head as dust drifted down from the beams.  My hair would need washing again after this barn visit.

“Well, here it is,” I said, pulling a tarp off the car.  There sat a sad-looking four door Buick New Century hatchback with rotten tires fallen from the rims, the front chrome bumper hanging by a thread, the chrome grill missing some teeth, and the body mostly rust with the front windows broken.  Hunter pried the driver’s door open with groans and squeaks—the car, not Hunter.

Palley discovered a raccoon had made a nest in the front bench seat.  The back seat had been torn apart for the nest—probably by the raccoon.  However, the dashboard, steering wheel, and pedals were still intact. 

Franklin whistled, pronouncing, “This sure is a dog, Josiah.”

Hunter shot back, “You’re giving dogs a bad name.  This car is a travesty.”

I narrowed my eyes at Hunter.  Seeing a chance for getting this barn cleaned up, I quickly offered, “I’ll make a deal with you, Palley.  If you clean this barn up, you can have the car for free.  If you take it and then sell the parts, just pay me a third of what you take in.”

Hunter gently pushed me aside.  “Let’s see if there is an engine first.  Palley, pull the hood lever.”

The hood was stubborn until Palley stood in front of the car and banged his sizeable fist against it until it begrudgingly popped open.

Hunter raised the hood and all three men ducked underneath.  Hunter seemed pleased with what he saw and confirmed, “Looks like she’s got all her parts.  Need to replace the battery, spark plugs, and hoses though.  Won’t cost much.”

Palley played with some disintegrating hoses and looked to Hunter for advice.  “I think I could bring her back to life.  What do you think, Hunter?”

Hunter rubbed his chin.  “Well, if you were going to restore her, I’d tell you it’s not worth the effort—it wasn’t a valuable car to begin with.  If you want to use it for the derby, I’ll help you get it going.  It’s up to you, Palley.”

Palley looked hopefully at me.  “So I can have this car free of charge if I clean this barn?”

I held out my hand to shake.  “And if you decide to sell the parts, I get a third.”

Palley shook my hand.  “Deal.”

Franklin scoffed at our car trade.  “How are you gonna get it out of here?  No tires.  The engine is probably seized, and there are no keys.”

“I can start the car with a screwdriver.  It’s easy with these old cars,” Palley said, looking mighty pleased.

I said, “I’ll get my tractor to pull it out and ask Lady Elsmere if we can borrow her wrecker.”

“Who has their own wrecker?” Palley asked.

Franklin was astounded.  “You haven’t heard of Lady Elsmere, and you lived in the Bluegrass all your life?”

Palley’s face turned red.

Hunter gave Franklin a nasty look.  “High school boys have better things to do than read the gossip columns.  Remember being young, Franklin?”

Franklin snapped his fingers.  “I read the society page religiously at his age.” 

Hunter said to Palley, “Pay my brother no heed.”

Going to the back of the car, Franklin struggled with the hatchback door.  It wouldn’t budge.  Since its window was busted, Franklin reached through and tugged at a filthy tarp in the back.

“Um, guys?” Franklin said in a high-pitched voice.  “You better see this before the car is towed.”

“What is it now, Franklin?” I complained, gathering with the three guys at the back of the Buick.  I gasped as the four of us stared at a skeleton’s hand peeking out from the tarp.

It looked like a human hand.

Hunter picked up the top phalange from the index finger.  “Josiah, you better call the police.  I can tell by the feel of it that this is real bone, and it is human.”

I knew my good mood was too good to be true.

Somebody needs to shake me for thinking it was going to be a good day!