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doesn’t know anything anyhow. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got an
appointment in town I need to be getting to.”
    Sam
knew the conversation was over given his host’s demeanor. His sixth sense told
him the former sheriff had been less than forthcoming during his visit. He had
certainly hit on a sore spot when it came to his son Bart, but perhaps it was
just a case of Bill being an overprotective father. Sure, Bill’s son was a
forty-four-year-old businessman but Sam realized, as a father of two young
adults himself, that they’re always your kids no matter how old they are.
Still, Sam had to admit to himself that Bill’s reaction was suspicious. One
thing for sure, he was going to have a conversation with Bart and he was going
to have it right now.
    Sam
wasted no time heading straight to Foster Motors. He pulled into the sales lot
and immediately spotted Bart’s bright yellow Corvette sitting next to the
building. Sam parked beside the sports car and walked into the sales office.
    “Hey,
I need to see Mr. Foster,” Sam announced to the woman at the reception desk.
    “I’m
sorry but Mr. Foster isn’t in today,” the woman responded, not looking up from
her paper work.
    “He’s
not? That’s his car parked out there isn’t it?” Sam retorted
    He stopped
just short of questioning the woman’s honesty. He knew the Corvette was Bart’s
latest project which he had been showing around town for the past month. He
kind of doubted Bart would be tooling around in some broken down, second-hand
model off his lot when he could be driving the magnificently restored vintage
hot rod. The chances were that Bart was there - somewhere.
    “He
must have taken another car off the lot,” the woman shot back as she looked up
from her desk obviously not thrilled with the lawman’s inference. “This is a
car lot you realize.”
    Suspecting
he was being put off for unknown reasons, Sam played along knowing Bart couldn’t
avoid him forever.
    “So
any idea when your boss will be back?” Sam asked. “Or better yet, any idea
where I might find him right now?”
    “I
believe he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day,” the receptionist
answered. “I’ll tell him you came by if you'd like.”
    “Sure.
You do that,” Sam said as he left the office.
    However, instead
of leaving straightaway, an idea hit him. Returning to his car he
paused for a moment to scribble out a note before placing it under
Bart’s windshield wiper.
    “Maybe
that will get his attention,” Sam chuckled to himself.
    The
note contained just two words – Red Dog.

GOODTIME EDDIE
     
     
    Eddie
Young didn’t heed the advice of his old friend as he continued his assault on
the bottle of bourbon, killing it off by the end of the day only to open a new
one. Drink as he would, Eddie couldn’t erase the horrific sight burned into his
brain of the ax buried deep into his friend’s skull. He couldn’t forget looking
into his friend’s dead eyes, Andy's dark brown eyes still opened in terror when
he found him lying in a pool of blood.
    Even
worse was that the bourbon couldn’t dull the fear - a fear that was
sitting like a knot in the pit of his stomach - that the same fate may be
awaiting him. After all, they were all equally guilty for what happened, no
matter how many years had passed. The message was not open for interpretation.
Eddie knew exactly what it meant.
    Why
hadn’t Bart called back? He promised to “check into things” and get back with
him yet the day had passed and the sun set without his old friend telling him
anything. His calls to Bart’s cellphone would simply roll over to voice mail
which would announce his mailbox was full thanks to the scores of frantic
messages Eddie had left as the day went on without any word from the old ringleader.
    Given
his intoxication, Eddie was in no condition to go to work prompting him to call
in “sick” for his night shift. His slurred speech likely gave him away despite
his