by: WENN9366 (EnosIsMyHero)

Chapter 6: Choctaw County

 

A/N: WARNING: This chapter is rated “T” for slightly graphic descriptions of crime scene photos.
Also, I’m using the Map of Hazzard County that you can see in several episodes. I have a link to it on my profile page (if it’s not there, check back in an hour or so). If anyone has an actual copy of this, could they verify that the big lake in Choctaw County is Choocha-Coobee? That’s what it looks like, but it’s hard to make out. Also, they look like they just stuck things on the map randomly, so I’ve taken the liberty of adding things where I think they should go. All my additions are in RED. Probably many more additions to come.

 

 

Choctaw County was about half the size of Hazzard County. It was primarily a tourist trap for fishing on Lake Choocha-Coobee as well as the smaller Lake Chickamahony which lay southwest of Seminole Canyon and whose southern edge bordered Hazzard County . Choctaw was the county seat and, being so small, the local doctor also served as the county’s coroner.

Enos pulled his car up to the Sheriff’s office in the little village. There wasn’t much going on here, Choctaw had been a booming town in the early 20’s as mining took hold, but by the mid 30’s the ore supply had dried up and with the depression, people who had made the town their home moved west looking for work. The town now boasted nothing more than a Post Office, Sheriff’s department, and a gas station connected to a small mom and pop General Store. Dilapidated buildings, vacant for decades, ringed the small town square.

He pulled open the door to the Sheriff’s department and went in. A woman with coke-bottle glasses sat behind the desk, working on a crossword puzzle and chewing gum. She looked up as he entered and gave him a warm smile.

“Well, now, you must be Enos Strate ’cause we shore ain’t ‘spectin’ nobody else comin’ by today.”

“Yes ma’am. That’d be me.” He looked around. “Is Dewey in?”

“He’s in his office. You’re in luck, Doc Pritchard’s with him.” She pointed to a side door labeled simply “office”.

“Thank ya’, kindly.” He crossed through the waiting area and knocked softly on the door before opening it.

“…Speak of th’ devil! Hey Enos,” said Dewey, “I’s just tellin’ Doc here about th’ time you done gave ol’ Rosco th’ shuck-n’-jive back when we’s in th’ Academy.”

“Oh, no Dewey, that’s an awful story,” complained Enos, “he don’t wanna hear ’bout that.”

“Hi Enos,” the man said, standing and shaking Enos’s hand, “I’m Doc Pritchard, but you can just call me “Doc”.”

“Pleased t’ meet ya’, sir. Don’t mind what he tells ya’, they put me up to it.”

“Only ’cause you were th’ one drivin’! So anyways,” the Sheriff continued, “we were headin’ back to Atlanta from visitin’ my folks – me, Enos, and Jeb Waller from up in Seminole. We’d just crossed over into Hazzard County, down towards Pine Hollow Road when we pass this girl…”

“Amy McCullum.”

“…Yeah, havin’ car trouble. Anyways she was pretty easy on th’ eyes so we stopped t’ see if we could help. None of us knew much ’bout fixin’ cars, though,” he laughed. “She was all worried ’cause she had a couple bottles of shine that her pa’ needed to get t’ Caleb Tillson before th’ end of the day. It was only a few miles down the road so, being the kind boys that we were, we told her we’d deliver ’em for her. Of course we hadn’t so much as turned the corner that ol’ Rosco started out after us. He chased up around the hills for a while until Enos here led him right through a revenuer trap. That squad car’s probably still moulderin’ at the bottom o’ Sticky Swamp. Say, Enos, did ya’ ever tell him it was you drivin’?”

“Heck no!”

“Anyways, I suppose we should get down to th’ business y’all came for, like as not. Enos, I don’t know what all you know, but I suppose you’ll want t’ see th’ reports and pictures.”

“Yeah, I’ll need t’ go over ’em.”

Sheriff Wilkes passed him two folders, labeled with the names of each of the two victims found in Choctaw County; Annabelle Murphy and Doris Hicks. He opened up the first one, giving a cursory glance at the autopsy report, then took out the photos, studying them one by one.

Crime scene photos were a standard part of procedure, and Enos had seen more than his fair share working in LA. After a few months, you became desensitized to them – a necessary defense mechanism of that line of work. This was the first time he’d worked a case involving someone he knew, though – not only that, but someone he was as close to as Daisy. His mind kept stumbling over the fact that the hands who had taken the life of these girls now held Daisy’s in them.

Dewey stood up and motioned to the doctor. “Doc, why don’t ya’ join me for a cup o’ coffee. Enos, you want me t’ bring you some coffee?”

“No thanks, Dewey.”

Dewey led Doc Pritchard out of the office, closing the door gently behind them. Enos stopped and lay the pictures down on the desk and rubbed his eyes.

“She’s not Daisy…,” he whispered to himself, “but if you don’t get on with figurin’ somethin’ out, it’s gonna be Daisy.”

He took a deep breath and picked the pictures back up. The girls were clothed, and though found by the water they had obviously been dumped there. In addition to being badly beaten, both women had a single ligature mark around their throats where they’d been strangled by what looked to be a heavy gauge coated wire or something else smooth and about a quarter inch diameter. There were no ligature marks on their wrists or their ankles (telling him they’d probably been kept somewhere their killer wasn’t worried about them escaping from.)

The picture that captured his attention the most was the closeup of Annabelle’s hands, though. Her fingernails had obviously once been neatly manicured, but the nails had all been broken off, a few ground past the quick until they had bled. He flipped the folder of Doris Hicks back open and sifted through the pictures until he found the closeup of her hands. Her nails had been short, but the ends of her fingers were cut and bloody, just like Annabelle’s.

Enos looked up as Dewey and Doc came back in. “Doc, the girl from Sweetwater, I don’t suppose you’ve seen th’ photos have ya’?”

The man shook his head. “That I haven’t, though she was found submerged so there likely isn’t much t’ see.”

“What about these girls’ clothes, were they wet or dry?” he asked, tapping the picture in front of him. “I know Doris was outside for a few days, but Dewey said Annabelle hadn’t been there long.”

“Not long at all, in fact I’d say she hadn’t been there for more than an hour at most.”

“Possum on a gum-bush! Did anybody see anything?”

“Naw, a guy went out to check some traps in the area and got turned around and lost, otherwise nobody would’ve found her for weeks,” He looked at Enos thoughtfully. “Funny you should ask about their clothes. Annabelle’s jeans were soaked, like she’d been sitting in water, but her shirt was dry for the most part.”

Enos frowned. “That fits th’ bill with what I was thinkin’.”

“What’s that?” asked Doc.

“I think he keeps ’em in an old well. It would explain why he didn’t bother t’ bind their hands or feet, an’ why their fingers were torn up. It might not be a well exactly, but somethin’ like that anyhow.”

“Silo?”

Enos shook his head. “The girls’ fingers, they were all cut up like they’d tried to climb up or out of somethin’. I can’t imagine anyone trying to climb out of a silo unless it was an ol’ brick one, but even then they wouldn’t be settin’ in water.”

“Well, that’s bad enough,” said Dewey, “but it gets worse. The bottom’s ‘sposed to drop outta the temperature come Thursday night. They say we’re gonna get th’ worst ice storm we’ve had in fifty years. If she’s outside in a well, wet and cold, she ain’t gonna make it through th’ week.”

Enos shot up out of the chair. “Listen y’all, I’ve gotta get movin’ if I’m gonna find her before then. I’ll catch up to ya’ later, Dewey. Nice t’ meet ya’, Doc.” He practically sprinted from the office, thanked the secretary as he passed her, and bolted out the front door and down the steps to his car. Today was Tuesday – he only had until the day after tomorrow.

Back in the Sheriff’s office, Doc Pritchard turned to Sheriff Wilkes. “Somethin’ sure lit a fire under that boy’s rear end.”

Dewey watched from the window as Enos drove off like a bat out of Hell. “You know the gal that’s missin’?”

“Daisy Duke?”

“Enos grew up with her – shoot, her family practically adopted him. They were engaged a couple years back.”

“Geez Louise! No wonder he’s antsy.”

“Aw, that’s just Enos. It’s when he starts talkin’ all serious like you’ve got t’ worry ’bout him.”

“He sounded pretty serious t’ me.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m worried.”

 

Enos took the shorter way around the mountains and back into Hazzard by highway, gunning the Javelin’s 401 for all she was worth. Coming around the town square, he saw Bo and Luke outside the garage that used to belong to Cooter, now Jake. He slid across the road in a controlled skid and came to a stop perfectly parallel parked in front of the garage. It was a feat worthy of the General Lee, and if Enos hadn’t been so worried, he might have been pretty pleased with himself. He climbed out of the car and went around to where Luke and Bo stood.

“I sure am glad you’re not chasin’ us around anymore,” said Bo. “Where’d ya’ learn t’ drive like that?”

Enos, who had too much on his mind to have paid attention to his driving, looked back at his car, surprised. “Oh,” he laughed nervously, “I guess that was pretty good, huh? I took a course in defensive drivin’ at the LAPD. Listen fellas, we’ve got t’ get busy on this lead. Do ya’ know if Uncle Jesse found out anything on th’ truck?”

“Yeah, he filled us in an’ Rosco had Cletus take us over to th’ bank to watch it ourselves,” said Luke. “Jake said he hadn’t done any on a truck like that that he remembers, but we found someone who did.”

“Who’s that, Luke?”

Luke motioned Enos to follow him and Bo into the shop. A man was bent over the engine of a car, but his face was obscured by the hood. Luke nudged the man’s shoulder. “Hey, someone’s here t’ see ya’.”

Out from under the hood came Cooter Davenport himself, looking for everything like he’d never left Hazzard for Washington D.C. “Hey y’all…Enos!” He shook his hand. “It’s good t’ see ya’, even though I wished it were for somethin’ happier.”

“Hey Cooter, I owe ya’ one, an’ I won’t forget it neither.”

“I just bet you won’t, Buddy Roe, if’n we can find out who we’s lookin’ fer. Uncle Jesse said ya’ had a lead on a white truck?”

“Well, now, light colored. Th’ tape was black an’ white, so it could be anything from beige t’ white or light blue possibly. You put in a suspension?”

“Yeah, I did. Couple years back for a feller over in Chalk Hills. Ol’ Rooster Sills, you know him?”

“Yeah, I’ve met him once or twice back with my pa’.”

“You still got that tape? If I take a look at it I could probably tell you if it’s th’ same one or not.”

“Sure do, let’s go.”

Cooter watched the tape and confirmed that it was the same one he’d installed the custom springs on. He didn’t remember exactly what year of Chevy it was, only that it was an early 80’s model and off-white (or dirty, he added).

“Well, I’m gonna ride on over t’ Chalk Hills and check with Rooster about that truck,” said Enos. “He’s getting’ up there in years. Can’t imagine he’d have anythin’ to do with somethin’ like this, but maybe he’s got family around that use it.”

“Alright, well, me an’ Bo are gonna head back to th’ farm.”

Enos caught his arm and stopped him. “Luke…”

“Yeah?”

“Dixie has t’ be somewhere. Check th’ ditches on th’ way home.”

The man looked at him gravely before nodding his head. “Will do, Enos, will do.”

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.

by: WENN9366 (EnosIsMyHero)

Chapter 4: The Last Word

 

Luke, Bo, and their Uncle Jesse sat in the living room of the small farmhouse in rural Hazzard county. After their last discussion earlier that afternoon about looking for Daisy, no one had had much heart to say anything else.

“Sure is quiet here without her,” said Bo, mostly to himself.

“That it is, cuz,” answered Luke.

“Boys, I’d like ya’ t’ come here for a minute,” said Jesse.

Both stood up and knelt down by the chair where their uncle sat. He looked at them in turn and laid a hand on a shoulder of each before speaking. When he did, his voice was rough. “I jest wanted you boys t’ know how much I love ya’. I don’t know that I tell ya’ that often enough, but I do.

Together both of them hugged him.

“We know that, Uncle Jesse,” said Bo. “You just stop your worryin’. We’ll get her back in no time, you’ll see.”

The older man kissed his nephew on the forehead. “We have t’ remember that it’s not in our hands. It’s in God’s hands, and I think we need to make sure we ask him for help.” Both boys, arms still interlocked with their uncle’s, bowed their heads.
“Lord,” he prayed, “we know that you watch over all of us, and that you hold us in the palm of your hand. You’ve given us each other, Lord, and that’s the greatest gift that we could ever ask for, but now one of us is lost. We ask that you watch over our Daisy and protect her, and send us someone that can help us find her. We..,” a loud knocking at the door interrupted him. The three looked up at each other, confused. “Amen,” finished Jesse.

Bo and Luke got up with him, but he shook his head. “You boys stay here, I’ll see who it is.”

He made his way through the kitchen to the door, flipping on the porch light before answering it. He opened the door and did a double take. Standing in the doorway was none other than the long lost former deputy of Hazzard county, Enos Strate.

“God Almighty…”

“Hi, Uncle Jesse,” he said shyly, “I’m sorry to bother you so late at night.”

“No, no! That’s fine, Enos,” he said, moving aside from the door. “You’re as welcome here as y’ ever were. Come on in.”

“Thank ya’ kindly,” he said as he nervously stepped into the kitchen.

“Enos!” Luke came over to him and gave him a brotherly hug. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, though I wish it were on a happier occasion.”

“I know what ya’ mean, Luke. Hey Bo.”

“Enos Strate,” marveled Bo, “s’been a long time, buddy.” He shook the man’s hand. “Oh shoot.” Bo, too, gave him a hug.

“I sure have missed y’all,” said Enos, “and that’s th’ truth. You’re right, Luke, I wished it were under better circumstances.”

“Come on in here a take a seat, Enos,” said Uncle Jesse. “We’ll tell you what all we don’t know.”

They went back into the living room and told him what had happened to the best of their knowledge, which wasn’t much. Daisy’d been to the bank to pay the mortgage and then she had simply disappeared and hadn’t come home.

Enos thought for a minute. “Did you have Rosco pull the tapes from the bank?”

“Huh?”

“The video surveillance tapes,” he explained. “There’s a camera that captures anyone comin’ or goin’ there. It’ll probably show some of the street, too. If she parked in front, we might be able t’ see if anyone got in with her.”

“Well I’ll be dad gummed,” said Jesse, bewildered. “I would’a never thought o’ that.”

“I s’pose it’s a good thing Rosco called Atlanta after all,” said Luke. He turned to Enos. “There’s a detective gonna be comin’ down from Atlanta tomorrow to work on th’ case.”

“I heard about that, but there’s been a little change of plans there.”

“What’s that?” asked Luke.

“Well, th’ detective ain’t from Atlanta. I’m th’ detective.”

“Come again?” said Bo.

“I had Cooter pull some strings. Ain’t no city-slicker detective gonna be able t’ find anything up there in them hills. You know that, Bo.”

“Yeah, but Enos. I mean, we’re mighty obliged to ya’ an’ all, but…”

Enos felt his face flush. In the last four years, he’d proved himself to the LAPD. He’d practiced religiously until he was an excellent sharpshooter and could avoid tripping over his own feet most of the time and had been accepted onto one of the SWAT teams. Then as a capable detective, rising up through the ranks to become one of the lead detectives on the force. No one here knew about any of that, though. To them he was still the same guy who’d left them with little more experience than how to get his car dunked in Hazzard pond. Still the skepticism on their faces cut into his pride.

“I made detective first class at the LAPD, Bo, and this ain’t the first case I’ve ever had…or solved, an’ I think you know I’d be lyin’ if I said it didn’t mean a lot to me.”

The Dukes shared a quick look between them. “Now hey, Enos,” said Bo, “don’t get your dander up. It’s just been a long time, that’s all. You haven’t really kept in touch, ya’ know.”

“Bo…” Luke gave him a look that meant ‘shut up’.

“That’s okay, Luke,” he said, sadly. “I doubt that my days as Deputy Sheriff of Hazzard would inspire much confidence in anyone.”

“Boys, just back off now,” said Jesse. “Lord knows he’s has had more experience doin’ this sort of thing than we have. Enos, what do ya’ need us to do to help ya’ out?”

Enos’s mind automatically shifted into the role of detective, putting aside the fact that the missing person was Daisy, he focused on what needed to be done. “Well, the first thing I need to know is if she’s had any contact lately with anyone who might want to do her harm. Strange phone calls, letters, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think so,” said Jesse. “She would’ve said something if there was.”

Enos looked him in the eye. “That means from her ex-husband, too.”

Jesse met his gaze. “We ain’t seen hide nor hair of that ol’ sidewinder in three years,” he replied, quietly.

“Enos,” said Luke, “you’re not supposin’ that L.D. had somethin’ to do with this, are ya’?”

He shook his head. “No, most likely not, but I wouldn’t be doin’ my job if I didn’t ask. Would you mind, Uncle Jesse, if I took a look at her room?”

Jesse stood up, and the others followed after him. “No, you’re welcome t’ whatever you think’ll help ya’. Boys, would ya’ get th’ spare room ready? Enos, I know you ain’t going out t’ yer ma’s in th’ middle of the night. You’re welcome t’ stay here s’long as ya’ need to.” Bo and Luke left down the hallway.

“Thank you, Uncle Jesse. That’s mighty kind of ya’. I’ll try not t’ get in your way.”

The old man laid a hand on Enos’s shoulder. “Son, I know what she meant to ya’. I’m awful sorry for what happened.”

Enos dropped his eyes, away from Jesse’s shrewd blue ones. “No matter what happened otherwise, sir, Daisy’s always been like family to me. Just like the rest of y’all are.”

Jesse opened the door to Daisy’s room. “You take all the time you need to in there. The boys’ll have the guest room set up for you whenever you’re done. You remember where it is.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jesse.”

With that the older man left him alone in the doorway of Daisy’s room. Jesse met Bo and Luke as they were coming out of the guest room.
“It’s all set up, Uncle Jesse.”

“Thank you, boys. You best be getting’ some shut-eye, won’t do anybody any good if you’re fallin’ over tomorrow.”

“Say, Uncle Jesse,” said Luke, “why do ya’ reckon Enos wanted to take this up on himself? I don’t think I ever blamed him for leavin’ an’ never comin’ back.”

Jesse turned and could still see Enos standing by the door of Daisy’s room, lost in thought.

“There’s a lot of hurtin’ in that boy, Luke, I can see it in his eyes. There’s a point in every man’s life when he has to decide what’s really important to him, even if it’s takin’ the hard road, but it’s times like those when he finds out what he’s made of. You know, I’m glad it’s Enos instead of some stranger from Atlanta. I know he’ll do everything he can to find her…”

 

Enos finally stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Little had changed from when they were kids, the same furniture, the same bedspread, even some of the pictures on the wall were the same. He felt like he’d been swept into a time machine and stepped out thirty years ago. The last time he’d been in here, Uncle Jesse had nearly tanned his hide.

He’d been thirteen and Daisy eleven. She’d gone on and on about something she’d wanted him to see, some article from one of her cousin’s racing magazines that she’d pilfered from his stash. It wasn’t unusual for Enos to be over at the Duke farm, especially if his pa’ was making a shine run that day. Uncle Jesse had found them in her room, laughing and drawing mustaches and beards on all the people in Luke’s’ magazines. Enos could still hear him yelling at him about how a teenage boy had no business being in a girl’s room, and if he ever found him in there again he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.

Enos and Daisy had been nearly inseparable back then, even though Luke was closer to him in age than she was. They looked out for each other. Both of them came from poor families and her Uncle Jesse and his father, Otis Strate, ran moonshine together. The four of them – Enos, Luke, Bo, and Daisy, had grown up as close as siblings.

The other’s at school didn’t always take kindly to runner’s kids. Enos never minded so much, he had thick skin when it came to insults, but hot-tempered Daisy could never stand by and let it be. He’d invariably end up pulling her away before she got herself in trouble, and they’d cut school and go fishing until things settled down.

As they grew older, their roles reversed. Enos was sixteen when he threw his first punch in defense of Daisy’s honor. She’d let it slip to him one day about a freshman who’d followed her to the creek after school. The boy didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “No”, and Daisy had only just managed to get away from him.
When the boy showed up at school again after missing the next week, he was nursing a broken nose and three cracked ribs along with an assortment of colorful bruises. He told everyone he’d been in a car wreck – there was no way he was admitting to anyone that mild mannered, uncoordinated, Enos Strate had beat the living daylights out of him. He’d been her self-appointed protector ever since then, until she’d married L.D.

Before he’d left for the Police Academy, no one had known Daisy Duke better than Enos. He also knew where she hid her diary, or at least where she did twenty years ago. Hoping against hope, he went around to the far side of her bed and pulled up the bedspread. There was a rip in the fabric of the box springs about six inches long. Doubting that he would find anything, he stuck his hand through the hole. His fingers caught the edge of something, and he pulled out a hardbound notebook about half an inch thick.

Page after page was filled with her neat script. Each day was logged at the top of a new page, but as he flipped through the book, he came to a large section that had been ripped out. Everything from January 28th 1985 to December 23rd of that year was gone. The last journal entry was January 17th 1986. It ended there, with half a book of pages still blank and nothing from the last three years. The missing pages encompassed the entire time between and including when they had almost been married until after L.D. had left her. More importantly it wouldn’t give him any clues at all to her disappearance.

As tempting as it was, Enos refrained from reading any of it. It was none of his business. He was putting the journal back into its hiding place in the bed when it fell from his fingers to the floor. An envelope, placed in the empty back pages, slipped from the book. He picked it up and turned it over. On the envelope was a single name – Enos.

His hands shook slightly as he opened the unsealed envelope, pulled out a piece of paper, and began to read.

“Dear Enos,

It’s taken me a long time to write this, and even now I don’t know what to say. All I know is that “I’m sorry” can never make right what I did to you. There’s a million excuses I could use to make it all sound reasonable, but to tell you the truth I think I might have been the only one who ever believed them.

I pray every night that you’ve made a good life for yourself out in California, Lord knows I sure did a number on mine. I wasn’t ready to be married, not to anyone, and I should have been honest with you about that, but I was so worried about hurting your feelings that I just didn’t know how. Instead I ran away from it, and you know I can do some crazy things when I’m not thinkin straight.

I can’t explain why, but at the time I thought I was doing you a favor, especially after talking to your mom. I wanted you to move on and find someone who deserved you, not someone who was always snookerin you. I know I’ve been guilty more than once of using your feelings for me to get out of trouble, but you’ve got to believe that I never meant for you to get hurt, and now that I can look back on what happened, I’m so ashamed of how I acted. I guess I wouldn’t know what to say to you if you were here, even though I miss you something awful. I guess it’s like Uncle Jesse always says, you don’t appreciate the sun until there’s nothin but rain.

There must be something wrong with me, because if there wasn’t I would never have let you leave. You’re the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man I’ve ever known. I don’t know that I’ve ever understood what love really is or what I’ve been looking for. I wish I…”

The letter ended there, unsigned, unfinished, unsent.

“Possum on a gum-bush,” he whispered, “what the heck was Daisy talkin’ to my ma’ for?”

 

There was nothing else in Daisy’s room that would have given any clue as to her disappearance so once Enos had returned the letter and the journal to its hiding place inside the bed he made his way through the dark farmhouse to the guest bedroom.

The last time he’d slept here was when Boss had fired him and Scanion was trying to kill him. Closer to his heart though were all the nights spent here as a kid when his dad and Uncle Jesse had been making a run, and Aunt Lavinia had come around to tuck them each in with a hug and a good-night kiss. Sometimes growing up Enos had felt more like a Duke than a Strate, though he was close to his pa’.

Otis Strate had been the business end of the shine running between himself, Jesse Duke, and Moses Davenport. Every spring he’d visit each moonshiner in turn, taking orders for runs and checking the quality of the product. He’d absolutely forbid Enos from tagging along when he was younger, but after his son turned twelve he decided that bringing the boy along to hold an extra shotgun mightn’t be a bad idea, besides he figured he could teach his son some business skills. Despite his mother being horrified by the idea of her only child wandering around with his father visiting distilleries, Enos couldn’t have been happier. His pa’ had taught him well, too. By fourteen he’d known every road, every revenuer trap, and every moonshiner in the hills.

He’d learned to respect their way of life, too. Just like he knew his father skirted the law to put food on their table, those people in the hills with only a shack and a still to their name made the Strate’s look like millionaires. Being a moonshiner was a often a hard – but short, life.

Enos finally fell asleep, his mind still running over what needed to be done the next day.

by: WENN9366 (EnosIsMyHero)

Chapter 3: Return to Hazzard

 

Enos filled the rest of the week with catching up on everything that he normally would have put off until later, and the stack of paperwork that he found mind-numbingly tedious melted down to nothing. When he wasn’t working, his thoughts invariably ran through scenarios of what had happened, was happening, in Georgia, and his dreams at night were haunted by nightmares of finding Daisy dead and dumped in Hazzard pond.

As much as he tried to tell himself that she could take care of herself – that it wasn’t his sworn duty or otherwise to protect her anymore and that no doubt her cousins weren’t letting her out of their sight, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that hung over him. Time and time again he’d picked up the phone, her Uncle Jesse’s number running through his head, only to hang up again without calling. Thus passed the next week as well, in fear, doubt, and dread over what could come to pass and anger at himself for even worrying about her in the first place.

Monday, January 23rd, started out like any other at the Los Angeles Police Department. Enos was finishing up his report on an eyewitness they’d had to a hit and run the previous month when Police Chief Roland Dempsey opened the door. Chief Dempsey was a hold over at the department from the first two years Enos had spent there, back when he was just a green-horn tripping over his own feet.

“Sir!” said Enos, standing up.

“Sit down please, detective.”

Enos returned to his chair, noticing that the other man avoided looking him in the eye. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

The Chief sighed and opened the folder that he’d carried in with him. “It says here, Strate, that you haven’t taken a vacation in over three years, and you only took one day off last year…”

“Yes, sir, I had an appointment with the dentist.” He pulled the right side of his mouth open with his finger. “I ha a philphing phal out…”

“I’m not concerned with your teeth, Strate.” The man closed the door to Enos’s office. “You have two months of vacation time saved up, and I want you to take it…immediately.”

“Um…what?” Enos stared back at him, confused. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I can’t just pick up an’ take a vacation. ‘Specially not for two months.”

“You can and you will. I’m placing you on paid leave.”

“What’s going on, sir? I know I’ve been a little distracted lately, but I don’t think it’s been affectin’ my job performance.” Chief Dempsey finally met his eyes, and in them Enos saw nothing but concern mixed with fatigue and a genuine sadness. His heart quickened with a sickening premonition. “What’s happened, Chief?” he asked, his voice seeming far away to his own ears.

“There’s been another disappearance in rural Georgia, son. I think you might know her.” Gently he placed a photograph before him on the desk.

Enos didn’t need to look at it to know who it would be, but he forced his gaze to the table anyway – to the face that had filled his dreams for so long. He jumped up from the desk, for once not tripping over anything, and made it out the door and into the lavatory, which was thankfully not far from his office, just in time to throw up.

The Chief’s voice echoed in the hallway, telling the others to give him some space and go back to work. Enos, shaken, sat down with his back against the wall, his head cradled in his hands. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his tears fell – not only for what had happened, but for all the pain and hurt and confusion that he’d run from for so long, and in that moment he found that the past didn’t matter. Nothing had ever mattered but her, and regardless what she did or had done to him, he was forever hers. He’d given his heart away when they were just kids and he’d never taken it back…even when she hadn’t wanted it after all.

“Daisy,” he sobbed, “oh dear Lord, please…not my Daisy…”

 

Meanwhile, in Hazzard…

“Listen, Jesse,” said Rosco, “I’m doin’ the best I can.”

“Well, your best ain’t gonna cut it, Rosco. Ever’body knows you couldn’t find your ass with both hands tied behind your back!”

“Now, Jesse, that’s not fair. Ain’t never been anything like this happened here before. Maybe you Dukes just have her hid out somewheres so that you’ll get your names in the papers.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Rosco knew he’d overstepped himself. It was one thing to go on about the Dukes when it was a small time crook or hustler he was after, quite another thing when Daisy’s life was actually in serious danger.

“Why you ol’…” The older man lunged at him, only to be restrained by Bo and Luke. “How dare you blame this on my boys. You jest don’t want t’ admit yer too stupid t’ find ‘er!”

“Rosco!” shouted Bo. “Of all the low down, hurtful things to say…”

Rosco fell silent a moment and stepped back, uncharacteristic sadness on his face. “I’m sorry, y’all. That was wrong of me,” he said quietly. “You’re right, I don’t know what do. I’m just as scared for Daisy as anyone is…you…you’ve gotta believe that, Jesse.” Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. “I called Atlanta earlier today and they’re sendin’ up a detective.”

Jesse sighed heavily and answered in a calmer voice. “I know you’re worried, Rosco. An I thank ya’ fer calling Atlanta, but truth is whoever they send down’s just gonna be some city-slicker who don’t know a thing about the people ’round here. If he’s holed up in them mountains somewhere’s, ain’t nobody from Atlanta gonna find ‘er.”

“Well now, Uncle Jesse,” said Bo, “you never know. I mean, they do train them people to do their job.”

“Rosco, would you call us the minute the detective gets here? We’d like to get started on any kind of investigation right away.”

“I will, Luke, I’ll let you know the minute his flat foot hits the pavement.”

“Much obliged, Rosco. We’re gonna get back to the farm, but you call us the second you know anything.”

Together Uncle Jesse, Bo, and Luke left the sheriff’s office. Rosco watched them through the window, feeling ten years older and about as helpful as a fish out of water.

 

Enos walked back to his office, ignoring the stares and quiet whispers that followed him, and closed the door. He sat down at his desk and looked at the picture the Chief had left there. His fingers followed the curve of her face, tracing her hair. He closed his eyes, remembering how it really felt.

Deep in thought, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“United States House of Representatives, main switchboard,” said the operator. “How may I direct your call?”

“Georgia, 4th District, please.”

“One moment.”

There was a click as he was put on hold and easy listening music played softly in the background.

“Representative Davenport’s office, how can I help you?”

“Hello ma’am. Is Cooter…I mean is Ben Davenport there?”

The woman laughed. “Well, he’s actually just about to step out, but he told me if I ever get any calls from anyone asking for “Cooter” to make sure I let him know. Can you hold for a minute?”

“Sure, thank you, ma’am.”

The music came back on as she put him on hold. “…Hello?” Cooter’s voice came through the phone.

“Cooter? Hey this is Enos.”

“…Well I’ll be dipped in…” his voice sounded surprised, but tired, not the jovial tones Enos remembered from the good old days. “Enos Strate…been a long time, buddy. I suppose you heard.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“You caught me just in time, I’m about to catch a flight into Capitol City in a few hours, and then hitch a ride back to Hazzard.”

“Cooter…have you got a minute first? Somethin’ I need t’ ask you.”

“Sure Buddy Roe, what is it?”

Enos sighed. He’d never been comfortable asking others for help, preferring to take care of things on his own. “Well… Gosh dang, Cooter, you know I ain’t never asked you for no favors, but I sure could use one right now…”

 

Back in Hazzard at the Duke Farm, Uncle Jesse, Bo, and Luke were sitting around the table, discussing what they thought they should do. Like Enos, they realized that all the kidnappings and murders had taken place in the area surrounding the mountains of western Hazzard county.

“Uncle Jesse, you know me an’ Bo know those roads like th’ back of our hand…”

“Yeah, let me an Luke go up there an’ do some askin’ around. It sure couldn’t hurt nothin’.”

Jesse waived them aside. “Now boys, you know I’d be the first to agree with you if I thought that would do any good. Fact of the matter is though, you don’t know all them roads up there, not only that but them ol’ ridge runners know you’s always draggin’ Rosco or Cletus behind you. They ain’t gonna stick around t’ answer no questions. Sides that, they shoot first an’ find out who y’are later. No, we’re gonna stay home an’ wait until that detective gets to town. An’ you boys are gonna help him with whatever he needs without bickerin’ and squabblin’.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, Uncle Jesse.”

 

Enos hung up the phone and carefully folded the picture, putting it in his pocket before strapping on his holster and gun. He opened the drawer of the desk and took out his identification and badge and slipped it into his pocket. As he was reaching for his jacket, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find Connie, the receptionist, there.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but the Chief asked me to deliver this to you before you left.” She handed him a nondescript white envelope.

“Thank you, Connie.” He opened it, then turned back inside the door to his office. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping against hope that today was only a bad dream and that he’d wake up in his own room, but the airline ticket to Atlanta, non-stop from LAX in two hours, was still clutched in his hand when he opened his eyes.

It was nearly 8:30 am. He would never make it home to change and pack before he needed to be at the airport. In fact, as busy as LAX was, he needed to leave strait there and soon since he figured on stopping by the bank as well since he had no idea when he’d be back. He did some quick calculations – the flight to Atlanta was four hours, four and a half if you counted boarding times and waiting in line to take off. Georgia was three hours ahead of Los Angeles, so he’d be getting there about 6:00pm Eastern and it was still another two hours drive to Hazzard. He doubted he could catch a plane into Capitol City, most of those flights were commuter planes and only ran a few times a day.

He wasn’t wearing a uniform so he grabbed his LAPD jacket instead of his own. People tended to cut you a little slack when they knew you were a cop, and in this city, Enos needed all the slack he could get.

“Lord,” he whispered, raising his eyes towards the ceiling, “please don’t let me look like a bumblin’ idiot goin’ back there. An’ help me find Daisy. Thank ya’, Lord.”

 

Enos fidgeted nervously in his seat as the plane finally made it’s way down the runway and into the air. He hated flying, not just because he didn’t exactly understand how a huge tin can with wings could stay up in the air, but because of the principal of it. It was too fast, too convenient.

The concept that a mere four hours of sitting in a seat that felt like a cardboard box with scratchy carpet over it beside a little square window could take him to the other side of the United States, to a world where people still looked at him like he was an alien from another planet, was a bit much for his tastes. He supposed that after all was said and done he was still just a country boy from the stix, no matter how far away he lived.

Another thing about flying was that it gave you far too much time to be alone with your thoughts. There was only one person who his mind was focused on, and he couldn’t avoid her anymore. There were no reports to write, no crooks to track down, no endless stream of paperwork. There was only himself and his memories…and plenty of time.

He counted down the time on an ever running clock in his head with three dates etched into its face. February 2, 1985, the day he and Daisy had almost gotten married – though he’d had a sneaking suspicion that there was more pity in the gesture than love on her part, and he supposed hind-sight was definitely 20/20 where that was concerned. He’d given her a chance out of it, by blaming the hives, and she’d taken the out willingly enough, though she’d promised him it was only postponed.

The next day of importance in the time-line of his past was four months later on June 7, 1985, the day he’d left Hazzard for the last time – a consequence of the next day, Saturday, June 8, 1985 – the day Daisy married a man named L.D. Whitehall, a roadie for a band passing through Hazzard. She’d known him all of six days, and Enos hadn’t even learned about their impending marriage first hand.

On Thursday people began to give him sorrowful looks wherever he went and whisper behind his back. He’d finally asked Maybelle, who ran the circuit board (and knew all the gossip in town), what was going on. He would never forget the look she gave him when she realized he was the only one in Hazzard who didn’t know his, at least from his perspective, fiancée was getting married…to someone else. She didn’t tell him herself, she made him wait outside while she called Luke to come into town and talk to him.

He’d never talked to Daisy about it. She’d been avoiding him like the plague all that week and by Friday night, he was gone.

Lord knew it had never taken much for Daisy to snooker him, and half the time he’d let himself be duped just to see her smile, but this wasn’t a simple misunderstanding or a harmless prank. She’d taken his life from him as sure as if she’d shot him dead. The last thing he could bring himself to do was to go to Daisy’s wedding.

He knew eventually she’d track him down and apologize and bat her eyes at him and he’d go on being miserable in Hazzard, having to see her everyday with another man’s ring on her finger that bound his dreams in an iron box with no key to ever unlock them again. So he’d run away, away from Daisy and Hazzard, back to Los Angeles.

Her marriage had barely lasted six months when L.D. left her. He’d drifted back into the life of a traveling roadie without even telling her good-bye. Cooter, ever one to help out a friend, had sent Enos a short letter, to the point, letting him know. He wasn’t sure what Cooter thought he ought to do about it. What was done was done, and he wasn’t about to go back and be played for a fool again.

She’d never bothered to write him, and he’d spent the next three years, seven months, and seventeen days trying to forget her.

This was different, though. No matter what had happened, he knew he could never live with himself if he didn’t go back to Hazzard now. Lord willing, he would find her, and then he would go back to LA – nothing more, nothing less.

As soon as he walked off the plane at Atlanta airport, Enos knew he was home. There was a different feeling here than at LAX, more relaxed and laid back. He went to the car rental lot behind the terminals. He’d need a car while he was here, the problem would be finding the right one. He needed to talk to the ridge-runners up in the hills and for that he needed a car that looked like a runner. Almost not believing his good luck, he spotted an old rusty 1972 AMC Javelin up against the fence, obviously not the choice of most commuters.

“How ’bout that one?” He asked the attendant, pointing to the car.

The man looked at him like he’d gone insane. “Um…that’s not one of the rental vehicles. Just one o’ the boys here has it up for sale.”

“Oh. How’s it run?”

“Okay I guess, he drove it in here a couple weeks ago. He was fixin’ it up, but got tired of it.”

“What’s it got in it?” Anything less than a 350 and it would never pass for a runner car.

“401, I’m pretty sure.”

“How much does he want for it?”

“$400.”

“You got the keys?”

“You bet, hold on a minute.”

The man fished the keys out of a drawer and handed them to Enos who went to inspect the car. He opened the door, which creaked on rusty hinges, sat down in the seat, and put the key into the ignition. He was sure he’d hear a volley of unhealthy noises from under the hood, but was pleasantly surprised when the engine turned over immediately and roared to life. He turned it off and went back to the attendant.

“You think he’d mind if I paid you for it?”

“Hell no! I’m just happy t’ get it outta here.”

Half an hour later, Enos left for Hazzard, racing through the dusty, rural back-roads in the black Georgia night.

 

A/N: FYI, the district Ben Jones (Cooter) represented was Georgia 4th district.

 

by: WENN9366 (EnosIsMyHero)

Chapter 2: Ripples in Paradise

 

The blare of his alarm woke Enos at 5:30am. He shut it off with a groan, feeling for all the world like he’d never slept at all, though given he’d only had a little over two hours of shut-eye it wasn’t surprising. He dragged himself from the bed, only to trip over the clothes he’d been too tired to toss in the laundry basket the night before and fall headlong against the wall, banging his forehead on the windowsill.

“Ding-dang it all, it better not be one of those days,” he muttered.

He picked himself up and dressed, then filled a small saucepan with water and oatmeal, setting it on the stove to to cook. He finished up his morning routine, poured his oatmeal into a bowl, and added a handful of Lucky Charms to the mix.

His mother had a long standing belief that eating sugary cereals was somehow akin to sinning on Sunday, and that anything created after reconstruction was inherently evil. His father, God rest his soul, had been the eternal optimist of the family right up until the day the family still had blown up, sending Otis Strate to ridge-runner heaven. Enos had been fifteen when his father died, but he’d never forgotten the man who had shaped his life.

“Son,” he would tell him, “you find somethin’ t’ do that makes you happy – somethin’ you can be proud of…”

Enos shook his head. Thinking of his pa only brought thoughts of Hazzard, and he’d vowed not to think about that if he could help it. He’d spent the last four years trying to forget it.

He’d always wanted to work for the LAPD, it had been a dream of his ever since he’d graduated from the Police Academy in Atlanta at 19. The excitement of chasing dangerous criminals in a big city had intrigued the starry eyed boy from the back hills who’s family hardly ever had two dimes to rub together. He’d gotten there, too, and the first two years he’d spent in Los Angeles were eye opening to say the least. He’d returned to Hazzard, welcomed back into the small community with open arms.

Four years ago his experience at the LAPD was a pleasant memory of lessons lived and learned, and realization that he didn’t belong there. The only reason he was here now was, well, it was the only other place he knew to go. He’d run away, something that went against everything he’d ever believed in. He shared some understanding with the fugitives he’d captured – he knew what it was like to not be able to go home again.

“I’m not thinking about that,” he told himself resolutely.

He left his apartment and headed down to the subway, catching the 6:15 that would take him into the heart of downtown Los Angeles. He entered the Parker Center, humming the tune to a radio jingle that had gotten stuck in his head as he climbed the 8 flights of stairs.

“My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R…”

The outer office of the LAPD was usually buzzing with activity, but this morning all was silent, a fact that he was too wrapped up in his own mind to notice until he turned towards his office and consequently the television set bolted to the wall in the corner of the waiting area. Everyone in the department was gathered around, watching.

“Hey y’all! Whatcha watching?”

Most of them turned to face him, and something in their expressions made his heart give an odd thump before one of the officers, Alice Kremen, spoke.

“Enos! Hey, haven’t you been watching the news this morning?”

“No,” he said, confused, “I don’t have a television… What’s going on?”

“There’s been another murder in Georgia. I thought you might have heard about it. Isn’t that where you’re from?”

He nodded solemnly. “Hazzard County. It’s north of Atlanta.”

The woman regarded him thoughtfully then gestured to the television. “They found another girl in Choctaw County. You know where it is?”

“Choctaw County! That’s just on the northwest border of Hazzard!” He tried to keep up on the news from around there, but the papers his mother sent him were always a couple weeks behind at best. “Someone was killed?”

“Three so far, all women from around the area as far as anyone can tell. This girl disappeared six days ago from Sweet…something.”

“I don’t keep up with things there as much as I’d like. My mother sends me the newspapers, but she doesn’t get to the post office very much. I’m still in last October.”

“You didn’t go home for Christmas?”

Enos rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I..it’s a long way. Three killed? There hasn’t been a murder around that part of the state since ol’ Whitey Fogbottom ran his wife through a chipper in ’68 over in Chickasaw County.”

Alice paused and looked at him strangely. “Bad way to go. Yeah, that’s one reason they’re pretty sure the murders are all related. They…”

Enos pointed to the television and the reporter who had begun talking about the disappearances and subsequent murders in rural Georgia.

“…Annabelle Murphy, reported missing after she’d failed to return home from her job at a local gas station in Colonial City October 7th. Her car was later found outside Raleigh in Chickasaw County, and her body was found near Lake Choocha-Cooble on October 17th. The body of twenty eight year old Doris Hicks of Hatchape County was found November 21st in Seminole Canyon, only fifteen miles from where Murphy’s body was found the previous month.
The search has been called off now as authorities examine the body of the young woman found near Spartanburg early this morning, believed to be that of Lillie Walker of Sweetwater, missing since December 27th.”

As the reporter spoke, the pictures of the three victims flashed by on the screen – young, smiling, full of life. Enos’s trained eyes picked up other things as well, their height, build, hair color, eye color – all eerily similar, all obviously chosen carefully. His heart skipped a beat as the memory of another girl with long brown hair and hazel eyes flooded his mind. Unconsciously he wiped his hands, now cold and sweaty against his slacks. Colonial City, Raleigh, Sweetwater, Spartanburg – these were all towns surrounding western Hazzard County where he’d grown up, deep in the heart of ridge-runner territory, places where not many lawmen would dare to venture or know how to find their way out if they did.

“You okay, Strate?” asked another officer. “You didn’t know any of them did you?”

Jerked out of his reverie, Enos looked over at him. “No..,” he said quietly. “No, I…they don’t look familiar. ‘Scuse me, I…I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He turned to walk to his office and in his lack of concentration managed to walk into another desk, toppling the flower pot perched on the corner, shattering it against the floor. He grimaced and bent down to pick up the pieces. Placing them back on the desk, he looked sheepishly at it’s owner.

“Sorry Susan…It was a beautiful plant. I’ll get you another one.”

Susan, long used to Enos’s lack of coordination while his mind was elsewhere shooed away his apology. “That’s okay, Enos, I probably would have killed it myself if you hadn’t. I couldn’t get a cactus to grow in the desert.”

Enos closed the door to his office behind him and set down at the desk. His hand hovered over the phone for a moment before picking it up, only to return the receiver to its cradle. There was no one in Hazzard he could call. He briefly toyed with the notion of calling Luke Duke and asking him to keep an eye out on Daisy, but he was sure he and the others were anyway, besides he didn’t want to look like a stalker. He hadn’t talked to any of them since he’d left. Instead he picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

“Name and location, please,” said a cheery voice.

“Choctaw County, Georgia, Sheriff’s Department, please ma’am.”

“One moment.”

Enos waited while she made the connection and the phone began to ring. “Choctaw County Sheriff’s Department,” said a female voice on the other end.

“Mornin’ ma’am, is Sheriff Ragsdale in?”

There was silence for a moment and then the voice, now sounding slightly confused answered, “I’m sorry, sir, Sheriff Ragsdale retired last year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t been in the area for a while. Who’s Sheriff there now?”

“Dewey Wilkes, sir.”

“You don’t say…Is he there now, ma’am?” Dewey Wilkes had been a deputy there last Enos knew. They’d gone to police academy together, and he and Enos went way back.

“Sure, I’ll patch you through to him, one moment please.”

“…Sheriff’s Department, Dewey Wilkes speaking.”

“Lord have mercy, Dewey, what in the world did they go and make you Sheriff for?”

“…Enos Strate, you mangy varmint! Is that you?”

Enos gave a nervous laugh. “The one an’ only, Dewey.”

“You ain’t back in Hazzard are ya’?”

“No, I’m still in LA. Miss it there, though.”

“I gotta tell ya’, it got pretty rough around Hazzard when you left ol’ Rosco and Cletus in charge over there. I can’t tell ya’ how many times I had to drag their asses outta th’ fire an’ back into th’ fryin’ pan.”

“I’m sorry about that, Dewey. I had my reasons.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, too. I’m real sorry, Enos,” said Dewey. “I gotta feelin’ this ain’t a social call, though, is it?”

“No Dewey, I’m afraid it’s not. What do you know about what’s been going on?”

The sheriff sighed, “It ain’t good, buddy – no way, no how. People here are scared – there ain’t been nothin’ like this ever happened. We got two gals dumped here in Choctaw County and that third one down Spartanburg way is the other one, they just haven’t released the name yet.”

“Yeah, I saw on the news here. They didn’t give any details, though, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s not pretty for sure. From what we can tell the guy either picked them up or hitched a ride with them. They’d all been strangled, beat up pretty bad. Here’s something that you won’t find on the news, and I’d like to just keep in the loop if’n ya’ don’t mind…he keeps them alive for quite a while after he takes them.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, of the two girls found here, the coroner says Doris hadn’t been dead for more than a few days and she wasn’t found until nearly two weeks after she’d been missing. Annabelle was still warm when her body was found ten days after she disappeared.”

“Possum on a gum-bush… That means he’s got to be holed up somewhere around. Have you talked to anyone up on Ridge Road, yet?” Old Ridge-runner Road bordered Choctaw and Hazzard counties, the area that was smack dab in the middle of all the disappearances.

“Ain’t none of them ol’ ridge-runners gonna talk to me or anyone else that goes up there – that is if you’re lucky enough to actually find anyone to talk to. They see a police car comin’ and they’re as scarce as a mud puppy in a drought. Look, I know what you’re thinkin’, Enos, and I appreciate your worry, I do, but we’re doin’ th’ best we can.”

“I know you are, Dewey, it’s just…well, the descriptions of the girls are a bit…familiar to hit that close to home.”

“You know,” Dewey answered, quietly, “I actually had a feelin’ you might just call me after it got on the national news. I agree, it’s uncanny. If you’re worried about Daisy, though, you’re best off callin’ Rosco. Not much I can do from this here neck o’ the woods.”

“Yeah, I know, Dewey. I just wanted to find out what was really going on. I’ll think about callin’ Rosco. Thanks for fillin’ me in.”

“Hey, anytime Enos. An’ if ya’ ever need a job, you come see me.”

Enos laughed. “Will do, Dewey. Bye now.”

“Bye, Enos.” Sheriff Wilkes hung up the phone and shook his head sadly. “That poor boy ain’t never gonna get over that girl.”