Beneath a Hazzard Moon: Chapter 5

by: WENN9366 (EnosIsMyHero)

Chapter 5: The First Clue

 

A soft knock on the door woke Enos the next morning.

“Enos?” Luke called. “You awake?”

Enos looked up, confused at why the sun was so high in the sky before realizing that his brain was still set for Pacific time.

“I’m up, sorry Luke!”

“No problem, Uncle Jesse’s getting’ some breakfast on if you’d like some.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He threw on his clothes from the day before. He needed to visit his ma’ sometime that day, not only because it was the proper thing to do, but he’d need some different clothes. He opened the door and went to the kitchen where the smell of frying ham and fresh coffee made him remember that he hadn’t eaten anything since a package of pretzels on the plane.

“Hey, Enos.”

“Mornin’ Bo, listen I’m sorry about sleepin’ so late y’all,” he apologized. “My brain still thinks it’s in California.”

“That’s alright,” said Jesse, “you’re not that late, it’s only 7:45.” He turned from the stove with a skillet of fried ham and eggs and set it carefully on the iron trivet in the center of the table. “Luke, grab some plates, will ya’. Enos, you set down there an eat ya’ some breakfast and tell us what we need t’ be doin’ today.”

Enos sat down gratefully and waited until everyone else had taken a seat and Uncle Jesse had blessed the food before speaking.

“Well, th’ first thing we need to do is look at the film from th’ bank. I need to check in with Rosco anyhow.” He frowned. “Th’ Sheriff’s not gonna like me bein’ in charge of him, I reckon.”

“Pish-posh,” said Jesse, “don’t you go lettin’ Rosco get to ya’. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so worried as I did yesterday. You know what yer doin’ better’n he does.” He pointed at Enos. “You just stand your ground.”

“I aim to, Uncle Jesse.” Jesse’s quick eyes didn’t miss the flash in Enos’s nor the slight downward quirk of his mouth that signaled just how passionately he felt about that. “I need to go up to Choctaw county, too, so I’ll check in on my ma’ on the way.”

“What d’ya need up in Choctaw?” asked Luke. “Anything we can do instead? Save ya’ some time?”

Enos looked down and fidgeted with his napkin. “I’d better go there by myself. I need t’ visit the county coroner,” he said, quietly.

That thought effectively killed all conversation for the rest of the meal as the realization of what could happen to Daisy was brought to the forefront of everyone’s mind.

 

“You didn’t drive all th’ way from California in that, did ya’?” Luke examined the car Enos had bought the day before with a critical eye.

“No, I bought it off a guy at Atlanta airport. I was gonna rent one, but I thought this’d blend in better. ‘Sides, it was a good price.”

“Be a nice car with a little TLC.” Luke turned to the farmhouse where Uncle Jesse and Bo were coming out. “Uncle Jesse, why don’t you go on an’ ride into town with Enos, Bo and I’ve got to stop by Jake’s and pick up a new fan belt before the General’s stops just slippin’ and starts breakin’.”

“That’s fine with me,” said Jesse. “I’m gettin’ too old to get in an’ out of those blamed windows anyhow.”

 

Enos’s hands were sweaty on the wheel as they made their way down Mill Road towards the town of Hazzard. So much had happened since he’d last driven down these dusty roads.

“Takes ya’ back, don’t it?” asked Jesse.

“It sure does,” was all he could find to say.

He pulled up in front of the courthouse, behind Hazzard #1 and #2, mindful that there were no hydrants close by.

Don’t fidget in front of Rosco,” he told himself as he and Jesse climbed the stairs to the double doors and let themselves in.

Cletus was behind the desk, doing who knows what. He nearly fell out of his seat when he saw Enos. “Buzzards on a buzz-saw!” proclaimed the deputy. “Enos? Is that you?”

“It sure is, hey Cletus, how are ya’?”

The man looked around as though conferring a great secret he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Tell you the truth, we’ll all be doin’ a lot better once that detective gets here. Rosco made me stay here all night just in case he came early.”

“Now Cletus,” said Jesse, “what in tarnation would a feller be coming to th’ courthouse in th’ middle of th’ night for?”

“Well I don’t know. I don’t make the rules, I just listen t’ Rosco make ’em up.”

“Is he around?” asked Enos. There was only so much of Cletus he could take before he felt like banging his head against the wall.

“Oh! Yeah, he’s in th’ office with Atlanta tryin’ to figure out when th’ detective’s gonna be here.”

Enos opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Rosco himself storming out of his office.

“I don’t understand what those corn-brains ‘re a talkin’ about in Atlanta. Now they’re tellin’ me that some other guy’s been assigned to th’ case. They’re about as helpful as a barrel of monkeys on snuff!” He turned from Cletus and saw Enos and Jesse. “Wha…geet…ooo…”

“Hi there, Sheriff,” Enos said, solemnly.

The sheriff walked over to where he stood. “Good Lord, Enos, what in th’ blue blazes are you doin’ here?” He looked Enos over. “Ya’ don’t look much differn’t. Don’t they letcha outta yer cage in California? I thought ever’body over there was all tan and such.”

“I don’t reckon I have much time for sun bathin’, Sheriff. You’re lookin’ a little grayer than I remembered.” Enos laughed nervously. He caught himself fidgeting with his hands and crossed his arms in front of him.

Rosco smoothed his hair down. “Well, you know what th’ Good Book says, Enos. Gray hair’s a sign o’ wisdom.” He glared at Jesse, who stifled a snort, then turned back to Enos. “Well… So?”

“So what, Sheriff?”

“So what’re you doin’ here in Hazzard, ya’ dipstick? Don’t tell me you’ve decided t’ pick up an’ move back. I ain’t got a job for ya’, Enos. Cletus there’s enough trouble.”

“I’m not movin’ back to Hazzard, and I ain’t here for a job. I’ve already got one.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what’s that?”

Enos pulled his detective’s badge from his pocket and held it up for Rosco to see.

“What’s that – a Junior Ace detective badge from your Fruity Flakes? Kew, Kew!”

Jesse’d had enough. “Dang blast it, Rosco, Enos is th’ detective you’ve been waiting for!”

“Enos? Don’t be silly, why Enos couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag with no bottom.”

“Rosco…”

“It’s okay, Uncle Jesse,” said Enos. “Sheriff, I’d appreciate your help, but if you don’t want to I understand. I’ll just get Cletus to help me.”

“Cletus! You’ll do no such thing, Cletus works for me, not you, ya’ meadowmuff’n. You can’t just tell him what to do!”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to say it, Sheriff, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been hired temporarily by th’ Georgia State Patrol and as detective, I outrank you,” Enos continued, “but I’d be mighty obliged to ya’ for your help if’n ya ‘could spare it.”

Rosco wasn’t accustomed to anyone genuinely wanting his help. “Uh…uh…well, I.. Well, I guess I don’t have much else t’ do, Enos. I sure would love t’ cuff and stuff this guy before that rookie up’n Choctaw does.”

“We’ve gotta find ‘im first, Sheriff.”

“Well then what’re you meatheads standin’ around for?”

 

Enos, Rosco, and Jesse gathered around the small closed circuit television in the bank office, watching the film of the morning three days before. Daisy had parked her Jeep, Dixie, in front, but she got in and drove off alone.

“Well, I guess that doesn’t help us much,” said Jesse.

“At least we know someone wasn’t in the Jeep with her there. That means she either had to pick him up on the way home or someone had to run her off the road.” Enos replayed the tape again, but let it play past the frames that showed Daisy driving away. Six seconds later a truck streaked past the bank so fast it nearly hit the curb. “Uncle Jesse, who’s truck is this here?” He rewound the tape and paused it as a light colored, early 80’s model Chevy truck drove past the camera. The driver wasn’t visible on the tape.

“Well, let me see here… I don’t rightly know, Enos. There’s about two dozen or so that look like that in th’ county.”

Enos stared at the frame, tapping his pen absently on the desk. “Sheriff, could you do me a favor while I go on up to Choctaw County?”

“What? What’s that?”

“Could you go an’ ask…um…Jake if he’s installed any custom suspensions on trucks matchin’ that description?”

“An’ just why would he have done that?”

Enos tapped on the screen in front of and behind the rear tires where the heavy duty leaf springs were partially visible. “This here, Sheriff. This truck’s either been used in haulin’ shine or somebody really likes t’smooth out th’ bumps ’cause ain’t no way this truck came like that.”

“He’s right, Rosco,” said Jesse, looking at the truck. “That’s the same kind of suspension I had put on my truck back when I’s running shine. Ya’ gotta baby them bottles up in th’ hills unless ya’ want to spill all yer money.”

“You two would know a thing about shine running, now wouldn’t ya’? Alright fine then, I’ll just go an’ have a little talk with Jake this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. Uncle Jesse, if ya’ don’t mind I’m going to head on up towards my ma’s place and then Choctaw. I don’t have a CB in my car, but I should be back this afternoon an’ I’ll stop by here an’ get in touch.”

“Sounds good, Enos. Me an’ Rosco’ll go see Jake, and I’ll meet up with Bo and Luke. I reckon it wouldn’t happen in a month o’ Sundays, but tell yer ma’ she’s welcome t’ come down anytime.”

“I sure appreciate it, Uncle Jesse. I’ll tell her.”

Enos left the bank and hopped back in his car. The quickest route to Choctaw would be down Highway 20 into Colonial City, skirting the mountains, and coming in through western Choctaw. Unfortunately his mom lived in the foothills south of Runner’s Ridge and that meant taking the long way. He turned back down Mill Road for eight miles before taking an obscure trail to the left, leading up into moonshiner territory.

He was grateful that it had been a mild winter so far. The rains that normally pelted Georgia this time of the year could be massive and there had been plenty of times growing up that he’d been stuck up here with no way back into town when the road washed out. The road was dry now, though, the temperature hovering in the high 40’s.

Halfway up the mountain he turned off again and drove through an old washout and down a road that was too old and too small to even have a name anymore. At the end was a metal cow-gate, flanked on both sides by an old, rusty barbed-wire fence. He stopped the car and got out. The gate was held in place by a chain, wrapped around and looped over a nail on the other side of the post next to it. He unhooked the chain and walked the gate back until he could drive the car through.

Here in the middle of the wilderness of Western Hazzard county sat a quaint farmhouse, well-kept, surrounded by what in summer was a neatly mown lawn. His ma’ hired one of ol’ Amos Petersdorf’s grandsons to keep it up and to bring her groceries and supplies, even though she was well and capable enough to do it herself. A rusty Ford pickup sat outside the house, but it only got used for church services and funerals.

Agnes Strate was only 57, but she’d been trying to get old for as long as Enos could remember and stubborn as a mule to boot. He’d insisted on having electricity run up to the house in 1980 even though she’d gone on and on about how she’d lived her whole life without it and she wasn’t “payin’ that Jimmy Carter for his ‘lectricity”. In the end she finally gave up, though one would’ve thought that Enos was condemning her to life in prison instead of lights and television the way she told the story.

He parked his car beside her truck and walked slowly up to the front porch. As always, the butterflies in his stomach started before he even set foot on the first step. So many times he’d come home from school or Police Academy, not to the welcoming arms that he’d discovered most mother’s had for their sons, but the volley of complaints and criticisms that he swore she sat around on rainy days thinking up just for him. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Ma’, it’s me, Enos. Can I come in?” It was always safer to announce oneself when visiting up in these parts, and his mother was no exception. She’d been up here too long to change and, even though they hadn’t had a still since his pa’ died, she expected the revenuers with every knock on the door.

A flurry of coughing came from inside and a raspy voice called, “Enos? What in tarnation…come in!”

He opened the door to find his mother in the easy chair watching television.

“Hey ma’, I was in town for a little while and I though I’d drop…”

“Land Sakes, boy, shut th’ door behind ya’!”

“Yes’m” Enos turned and shut the door tightly. “How’re ya’ doin?” He crossed the room and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She took a toke on the cigarette she was smoking before looking up at him. “Well, my back ails me, but there’s nothin’ t’ be done about it. This blamed chair ya’ got me has the awfullest lumps.”

“Here, set up, let me fix your cushions,” he offered. He pulled them up around her as she leaned forward. “There now, how’s that?”

“It’ll have t’ do,” she coughed.

“Ma, you really shouldn’ be smokin’ them things. It’s no good for ya’, you know. Doc Appleby says you’d be as fit as a fiddle if you’d give ’em up.”

“That quack’s been yankin’ my chain fer thirty years. He don’t know nothin’ about me.”

Enos gave up on that track. He’d said it only because it needed to be said. “Can I get ya’ somethin’, ma’? Here, let me fill up your glass.”

“Fine. Rinse it out first, though.”

“Yes ma’am.” He went into the small kitchen and rinsed the glass out in the sink before filling it with fresh water. His eye caught a letter sitting on the counter – registered mail from a law firm in Capitol City. He picked it up. It had already been opened so he removed the letter inside and read it.

Now, it took a lot to upset Enos Strate, but his mom hovered about three-quarters of the way to the limit of his patience on the best of days. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. The letter was concerning his mother’s house and property. She’d defaulted on the loan for the mortgage and it was set to be auctioned off in three weeks. He brought the water back to his mother, setting it gently beside her.

“Ma’, why haven’t you been payin’ th’ mortgage?”

She didn’t answer, just took a sip of the water. “Enos, this water ain’t cold.”

“Dang it, Ma!” He waved the letter in front of her. “They’re about t’ sell th’ house!”

“Ain’t nobody comin’ up here t’ do nothin’.”

“Well, where’s th’ money I’ve been sendin’ ya’?”

“Safe.”

Enos stormed out of the house and grabbed a shovel from the shed. He walked around to the back of the house where an odd assortment of small shrubs peppered the lawn. He stuck the end of the shovel underneath one and dug it up. Underneath was a mayonnaise jar filled with money. He set it aside while he dug up the others. He carried the jars to his car and set them in the trunk to go through later. He took a small duffel bag from the car and went back inside.

“Listen ma’, I’ll take care of th’ mortgage while I’m here, okay. Just…would ya’ let me know if ya’ aren’t gonna pay it next time?” He received only a non-committal grunt from the woman who’s attention was riveted on Bob Barker eschewing the values of spaying and neutering your pets. “I’ve gotta’ get some clothes. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He turned from the main room down a short hallway that ended with two bedrooms, a smaller one to the right and a larger one to the left. Enos went into the smaller one and shut the door. The room was sparse, containing only a squat twin sized bed and a dresser to the far side of it. He pulled open the drawers, taking out the clothes he’d stored there when he’d left Hazzard and putting them in the bag. He changed out of the clothes he’d worn the day before and into a pair of jeans and one of the nicer button-down shirt and threw the old clothes in with the others.

Enos grabbed the bag from the bed and opened the door, then stopped and shut it again quietly as he remembered there was something else here that he should take with him, just in case his mom managed to burn down the place one day. He crossed the room, stopped by the window, and knelt down. His fingers felt for the loose corner of the piece of floorboard by the wall. He found it and pushed down, popping the rest of the board up. He pulled the board aside, then took out the one next to it as well. Beneath the boards, hidden between the sub-floor and foundation, was an old wooden WWI ammo box, about a foot long, eight inches high, and four inches wide. He pulled it out, set in on the floor, and opened the clasp on the end.

Enos had never had much growing up – in a place where having food on the table everyday was a feat in and of itself, he had always learned to count intangible blessings over worldly ones. Everything else fit into this box. He took out the contents one by one and laid them on the floor. A picture of him around thirteen or so with his dad, a picture of himself and Daisy when they were still in school, a rubber band propelled airplane, and finally a child’s toy holster with two metal cap guns and a sheriff’s badge. He laughed as he took one of the guns out of the holsters and pulled the trigger.

“Ka-pow!” he whispered. The guns were the only store bought toy he’d had growing up. To this day, he’d never known how his pa’ had raised the money to buy them, but they’d appeared under the Christmas tree when he was eight along with the holster and sheriff’s badge, and they’d been his most cherished possession for several years. It seemed like only yesterday that he was chasing Luke and Bo around while they played revenuers and moonshiners – the rural Georgia version of cops and robbers.

He put the objects back into the box and closed it, then carefully replaced the floor boards. Picking the bag up again as well as the ammo box, he opened the door and made his way back down the hallway and into the living room where his mom hadn’t moved.

“I’ve gotta go, ma’. I’ve got to head up t’ Choctaw an’ take care of some things. If you want, I can stop by tomorrow an’ take ya’ to town. It’d do ya’ a world of good to get out a spell, and Uncle Jesse says you’re welcome t’ stop by anytime.”

She finally turned to look at him. “Oh…so that’s what you’re doin’ here in Hazzard. I might’ve known it had somethin’ to do with them Dukes. That man ain’t yer uncle, an’ I don’t believe in callin’ people what they ain’t,” she said. “I allow I’m guilty of lettin’ you spend too much time down there when you were a kid. I reckon that’s why you’re so disrespectful.”

“I’m real sorry you think that way, ma’.” Enos had heard all of this before, so much so it hardly phased him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve come all th’ way t’ Hazzard to find that girl?”

Enos flinched at that. He could have done without mentioning Daisy here. His mother had always had an open contempt for his friendship or otherwise with her. To his mom, she was nothing but an ol’ ridge-runner’s kid, and though he’d reminded her often enough that he was, too, his ma’ was dead set against Enos courting her. Daisy was the only thing that he’d ever deliberately disobeyed her over.

“I’m a detective, I have a job t’ do – I reckon it don’t matter who it is.”

“You’d better be glad ya’ didn’t run off an’ marry her after all – I seen she done already run her first one off a couple years back. I suppose you’d expect that from trash like her.”

“Ma, please don’t talk about Daisy that way.” He picked up his bag and the box and opened the front door to leave, but stopped. The words of Daisy’s letter came back to him and he turned once more to face his mother. “What did you say to her, ma’? Before she got married?”

“I told her that you could do better than marryin’ a tramp like her. I guess she knew I was right, too, since she went an’ married that other feller th’ next week.”

Despite what he felt like saying, Enos held his tongue. His pa’ had taught him that if you couldn’t say somethin’ good about someone to just keep your mouth shut, so instead he closed the door and walked away. He got in the car and drove out the gate, mindful to shut in again, but rather than getting back in the car, Enos walked down the abandoned lane. He picked up a rock and chucked it into the woods as far as he could. It hit a tree and echoed through the quiet forest. Picking up another, he threw it, putting all his frustration behind it. He continued until his anger was gone, replaced by a sorrow that his own flesh and blood would talk that way to or about anyone. Surely Daisy hadn’t taken anything that ol’ bat said seriously, had she? Everyone in Hazzard County knew the word of Agnes Strate had to be taken with a whole heap o’ salt, not just a grain.

As he got back into the car and headed up over the mountains to Choctaw County, though, he couldn’t stop the tiny voice in the back of his brain that whispered to him that Daisy had listened to his mom, after all.

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