“I’m sorry, Trix. I was afraid you didn’t see the cat in the road.”

“Well, I did see it, and I didn’t plan on running it down. Anyway, what’s a kitty doing in the road out in the middle of nowhere?”

Her eyebrows cocked and she shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose he was trying to get to the other side?”

The tension broke and, despite my throbbing knee, I joined Dee Dee in laughter stemming from hysteria. If this kept up, the stress from the past couple of days was bound to award us a very long vacation in the home for the bewildered.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I pulled back onto the highway and continued towards our destination. A couple of miles down the road we passed the sign for Amicolola Falls.

I asked Dee Dee to read me the directions to the Hawkins. Ten minutes later, we pulled onto a long dirt road, leading us to Tommy’s house. As we made the turn, a bevy of butterflies played havoc in my stomach. What had I been thinking?

The scene before me could only be described as Dukes of Hazzard meets Deliverance. A faded reddish-orange Dodge Charger, with the number one on its side, and a rebel flag painted on top, was parked in the dirt yard. It was an exact replica of “General Lee.” I looked around to see if Bo, Luke, and cousin Daisy stood nearby.

A wooden framed house, in need of a paint job, sat in a dirt yard that obviously required no maintenance. Someone had thought to spruce it up with a few leggy gold and yellow chrysanthemums stuck in an old washtub.

Several old hound dogs lay in the yard, under the porch, and on the porch. One yawned and scratched behind its ear. I counted five, no, six of them as we neared. None of them proved to be guard dogs, as they let us approach without barking. That was left up to the furious barks of the two Dobermans, chained mid yard, that produced enough noise to wake the dead.

My legs began to itch. I reminded myself to check for fleas later. Some of the other dogs barely lifted their heads, making a half-hearted effort to see the trespassers. None of them seemed too interested in us.

We exited the car, staying well out of the snarling dogs’ reach, and precariously made our way toward the porch where a bear of a man now stood by the front door.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Dee Dee whispered, her expression calm, but her voice at near-panic. “I think we should get back in the car and be on our way.”

I agreed, but I wasn’t giving up that quick.

“Don’t worry, I can handle it.” Famous last words.

“What are y’all doing on my property?” Backwoods Bob bellowed.

Obviously, Dee Dee didn’t believe me when I told her I had it under control. “Uh, we made a wrong turn, and we’re lost. Sorry we bothered you; we’ll be on our way.” She turned around and headed to the car.

I grabbed her by the shirt and jerked her back. It was her hide I was trying to save, and I wasn’t going to do it alone. “Let me do the talking.”

“Well, you go right ahead,” She hissed. “But if he kills both of us don’t complain to me.”

“Are you Tommy Hawkins?” I asked with more bravado than I possessed.

“Yeah. What’s it to ya?”

My mind went completely blank. “Dee, what was that reason we were going to give him for showing up unannounced?” I hissed out of the side of my lop-sided grin.

“Did you kill John Tatum?” Dee Dee hollered before I could get any words out.

So much for being subtle.

“Oops,” Dee Dee clapped a shaking hand over her mouth.

“What’d you say?” Tommy shot in a nasally mountain drawl.

“Uh,” I stammered. “Do you know who killed John Tatum?” I tried for a quick recovery.

“Naw, I don’t. Whad I care anyways? Somebody beat me to it, that’s all.” He scratched his belly, like a dog begging for a good flea dip. “Who are you and why do ya want to know?”

“My name is Trixie Montgomery, and this is my assistant Dee Dee Lamont.” If I kept referring to her as my assistant, Dee Dee was going to demand a paycheck pretty soon. “I’m a writer, working on a story.”

“So what’s that got to do with me or Tatum?” He scratched in a place that wasn’t very gentlemanly.

This wasn’t getting us anywhere. Dee Dee shuffle closer to the porch, and the Dobermans went wild. She stepped back, hands up in surrender. “Look, Mr. Hawkins; the truth is, I’ve been questioned about John Tatum’s murder. I didn’t do it, and we’re trying to find out who did. The story around town is that you’ve had it in for Tatum ever since he shot and killed your brother, Tubby. Were you in town Friday evening?”

I took a deep intake of breath, “Are you nuts, Dee Dee?” Backwoods Bob spoke through the doorway, “Martha, get my gun!”

In an instant, the ugliest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on appeared in the doorway. She stood at least six feet tall, and was built like a University of Georgia linebacker. The maroon hair was no doubt a dye job gone wrong. Overalls completed the package.

Martha must have been standing right by the door, for she instantly handed Tommy a shotgun. Dee Dee went running, and I limped towards the car. Shots rang out. We slammed the doors as fast as we could. I turned the ignition. Nothing!

“Start the car, Trixie!” Dee Dee yelled.

“What do you think I’m trying to do? It won’t start,” I shouted right back.

I jumped when the phone rang. “Grab that,” I yelled.

“Harv, it’s me Dee Dee! We’re being shot at. Trixie can’t get her car to start. She’ll call you later.” I could hear Harv’s voice coming through the phone. Dee Dee disconnected. “My, he sure has a colorful vocabulary.”

Oh, boy. Harv was going to be upset about this. But right now, his anger paled in comparison to gunshots.

I continued to turn the key with such force it was a wonder it didn’t break. Still nothing!

Suddenly, Dee Dee shrieked.

I looked over at her, face corpse-white. She pointed a finger, and I hazarded a glimpse out my window, fully expecting the barrel of Tommy Hawkins’ shotgun to be the last thing I ever saw.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Instead of double barrels, Sheriff Wheeler stood, nose to glass, outside my driver’s side window. “Sheriff Wheeler!” I sputtered, and rolled it down.

“Oh my goodness, are we glad to see you! That man tried to kill us!”

I couldn’t believe he was laughing. “If he’d wanted to kill you, Trixie, he wouldn’t have shot over your head.” He turned toward the porch and the pack of dogs. “Tommy, put that gun down. Now! I don’t want to have to run you in.”

“Aw, Sheriff, I warn’t going to hurt ‘em. Them two were askin’ me questions about Tatum’s killin’. Then they started askin’ me ‘bout Tubby’s death. It ain’t none of their business.”

“I’ll take care of them. You go on back in the house,” the sheriff ordered. Stretched to his tallest height, he stood in a pose that meant business. He made a formidable sight.

Tommy scratched his protruding stomach. Much to my relief, he turned and went in the house. Martha followed.

Sheriff Wheeler leaned down and stuck his head in the window. He was so close, I could see his eyelashes.

“Hello, Dee Dee.” He backed up and looked me in the eyes. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “I suppose this was your idea to come out here and question Tommy?” Before I could answer, he started lecturing me.

“I thought I told you to keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong. You could have gotten hurt. You might not care about yourself, but you could have been responsible for putting your friend in danger.”

“Well, since you put it that way—”

“You’re lucky I was here to help. It might have turned out a lot worse.”

I quickly made a decision to forego my guilt for the time being. “Well, it turned out all right.”