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  Gone With The Sin

  A Harley & Davidson Mystery Series (Book 8)

  Liliana Hart

  Scott Silverii

  We want to dedicate our eighth book in the series to our friends in Rusty Gun, Texas. That’s you of course, and we appreciate everyone who has joined us in Rusty Gun to share in Hank and Agatha’s adventures. Here’s to you!

  Contents

  Other Books In Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  You Make A Difference

  Sneak Peek: Grime and Punishment

  Also by Liliana Hart

  Also by Scott Silverii

  About Liliana Hart

  About Scott Silverii

  Copyright © 2019 by Liliana Hart & Scott Silverii

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  Published by 7th Press

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Check Out The COMPLETE List Of Books & Learn More About Your AUTHORS

  * * *

  The Harley and Davidson Mystery Series

  The Farmer’s Slaughter

  A Tisket a Casket

  I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus

  Get Your Murder Running

  Deceased and Desist

  Malice in Wonderland

  Tequila Mockingbird

  Gone With the Sin

  Chapter One

  Tuesday

  Agatha Harley loved Rusty Gun, Texas. She loved the quaint scenery and simple way of life, and she loved the quirks of the people who lived there. For the most part.

  The Kettle Café was jam-packed with the early morning breakfast crowd, and Agatha and her best friend, Heather Cartwright, were in their usual booth having breakfast. They tried to get together once a week to stay caught up on the goings-on in Rusty Gun, but since Heather’s unfortunate run-in with the law after her ex-husband’s murder, she’d spent the last several months traveling and flitting back to town whenever she started to miss her current boy toy too much.

  Breakfast had been going well until The Daughters of the American Revolution showed up for their monthly meeting. They took up a long table on the other side of the restaurant, but they weren’t being quiet about the topic of their meeting.

  Agatha gritted her teeth at the screeching sound of her archenemy’s voice. Dot Williams owned the Glamour Shots and Nail Salon across the street, and she’d decided somewhere along the way to make it her life’s mission to get Sheriff Reggie Coil out of office. Since Agatha and Coil were good friends, and she didn’t particularly care for people spewing lies and being obnoxious in general, there had been a small confrontation in the salon that had led to a lot of yelling, and the possibility of a middle finger thrown in Dot’s direction. Though no one could prove it, and she was sticking by that.

  “It’s time for a change in this county,” Dot said, her voice carrying across the restaurant. “As a longstanding Daughter of the American Revolution, and weekend volunteer down at The Rusty Gun War Heroes and Good Citizen’s Memorial Cemetery, we deserve an explanation. This place has gone to hell in a handbasket. Criminals and looting all over the place. And who’s fault is it?” She didn’t give anyone a chance to answer. “Our very own Sheriff Coil, of course. The most incompetent man I’ve ever met.”

  Agatha felt the rage bubbling inside of her. She should’ve cancelled her breakfast with Heather. Her mood had been volatile. Whether it was hormones or something else, there was something simmering inside of her that she couldn’t explain, and it made her all the more angry.

  Several of Dot’s DAR sisters cheered her on and clapped in agreement.

  “Who let that lunatic in here?” Agatha asked, letting her voice carry just like Dot was doing.

  Heather laughed, but she shifted in her seat, looking a little nervous.

  “Lunatic?” Dot screeched, coming over to stand near their table. The whole restaurant was staring at her now. “Your sheriff is allowing grave robbers to ruin this town’s proud historic heritage. Maybe that outlaw gang he associates with don’t care about that kind of thing, but we’re law abiding citizens here in Rusty Gun, and we expect our elected officials to be the same.”

  “Are you taking our order?” Heather asked Dot. “I’ll take the pancakes. Extra syrup.”

  Dot scowled at Heather. “Why don’t you go find another husband to kill?”

  Heather started to come to her feet. “Why don’t you kiss my…”

  “Heather,” Agatha said, putting her hand on her friend’s wrist. “She’s not worth it. Running her mouth about this election is probably the only attention she’s seen in sixty years.”

  Dot gasped. “I’m only forty-eight. Who do you think you are, Agatha Harley?”

  “I know who I am,” Agatha said. “And I’m not trying to ruin a good man’s reputation just because I’m shacking up with his opponent. Because that’s surely the only reason you’d be supporting Oddie McElroy. The man’s dumber than a box of hair.”

  Agatha didn’t know what was wrong with her. This wasn’t like her at all, but she couldn’t seem to stop it now that the ball had started rolling. She didn’t even flinch when Dot’s hand snapped out and slapped her across the cheek.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” Agatha hissed. “I will cut you off at the knees.”

  “Don’t you threaten me,” Dot said. “I ain’t afraid of you. You think no one can touch you because you’re some hot shot writer and sleeping with the entire police department? I’ve got news for you, sister.”

  The glass of orange juice was in her hand before she realized it, and she tossed it in Dot’s face. “Try me, sister.”

  “That’s enough,” Sheriff Coil said.

  The place fell dead silent, and Coil’s gaze zeroed in on Dot and Agatha in the corner.

  “Meeting’s over, ladies,” he said. “I want you out of here. If you can’t have a meeting in a public place without causing a disturbance, then you need to have it on private property.”

  “Well,” Dot said, coming up to her full height. “I never…”

  “Now would be a good time to keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told,” Coil said, giving her a hard look. “Or you’ll be having DAR meetings from behind bars.”

  The ladies at the table scrambled to their feet and rushed out the door. Dot looked like she wanted to argue more, but something in Coil’s face must’ve warned her not to try. She straightened her shoulders and marched past him and out the door.

  The waitress rushed over with a cloth and cleaned up the orange juice.

  “Sorry about that,” Agatha told her.

  “It’s worth the price of the show,” the waitress said, grinning. “She’s a terrible tipper. I was kind of hoping you’d deck her.”

  “Maybe next time,” Agatha said.

  Coil came up to the table and took off his tattered Stetson, hanging it on one of the hooks that were at the top of each booth.

  “What in the world was that about?” Coil asked

&nbsp
; “Agatha was protecting your honor,” Heather said. Then her gaze moved over to Deputy Karl Johnson and warmed. Agatha hadn’t even seen Karl come in. “Look at my little brown bear. So handsome.”

  Karl grinned and took the hand Heather had held out to him, and Agatha rolled her eyes and shared a pained look with Coil.

  “Dot said something about a grave robbery over at the cemetery,” Agatha said. “And then she said something about you being corrupt and not law-abiding and then she slapped me, so I threw juice in her face. I really wanted to break her face though.”

  “Well, if she slapped you first then this would’ve been the time to do it,” Coil said.

  “I know you’re not worried about the politics,” Agatha said. “But if historic graves are being desecrated, then Dot’s going to be able to get people riled up.”

  Coil waved a hand in dismissal. “There’s a lot of time left before the election. I was on my way to meet Hank here for breakfast when I saw an MMA fight breaking out.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Heather said, raising her index finger. “If y’all are about to talk shop, then I’m out of here. I’ve had enough of the police for one lifetime.”

  “What about Karl?” Agatha said, chuckling.

  “Oh, he doesn’t count,” she said. “He’s my little brown bear. Besides, when we play cops and robbers, he lets me use the cuffs.”

  Coil cringed and shot Karl a look, and if it had been possible for Karl to blush, he would’ve been the color of a tomato.

  “You’re on duty,” Coil said. Karl clearly needed the reminder.

  “Come on, sugar buttons,” Heather said, scooting out of the seat. “You can walk me to my car.”

  Coil sighed and rubbed a finger against his temple. “Running a police department is very similar to running a daycare. It’s like dealing with children all day long, only the children I’m dealing with carry firearms.”

  “Which is a comforting tidbit of knowledge,” Agatha said.

  Her attention was caught by Hank coming through the front door, and she stopped and stared as he made his way across the room. For a big man, he moved like a ghost. Agatha always got a kick out of how people stopped talking and stared at him. There was something about Hank’s presence that was intimidating, and most people shied away from him, but she was drawn to him.

  “Good morning,” Hank said, scooting into the booth next to Agatha. “What’d I miss? I just passed a bunch of women on the street who are mad as hornets. I thought for a second they were going to start a riot.”

  “Don’t discount that option quite yet,” Coil said.

  “I’m not going to be so nice next time,” Agatha said. “I should’ve decked her.” She needed to go home. Her emotions had already been churning, and Dot had just made things worse.

  “Come on now, Aggie,” Hank teased, “She’s done nothing to you but choose another candidate for Reggie’s job.”

  “You can be blasé about it now, but it’ll be a different story when your boy here is out of a job come May.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Coil said, taking a sip of his piping hot black coffee.

  “You know what I mean,” Agatha said, waving her hand. “People like Dot Williams and Oddie McElroy don’t play fair. It’ll be a down and dirty election. Never mind all that. Why don’t you tell me what’s going down at the graveyard?”

  “Looks like we had some vandals who got carried away with two of the gravesites,” Coil said. “They dug the coffins up and looted them.”

  “You still thinking it was high schoolers?” Hank asked.

  “Not sure,” Coil replied. “It’s kind of close to Christmas, so burglaries increase. It’s not uncommon for people to look for valuables to steal and pawn, but I don’t know if that’s what this is.”

  “Can you see the skeletons?” Agatha asked, fascinated.

  “Sure can,” Coil said. “You’re talking the eighteen sixties, so there’s not a whole lot left in there.”

  Agatha’s imagination ran wild with story ideas. “I’d love to see them.”

  “I’m heading out there after breakfast,” Hank said. “You’re welcome to come with me as long as…”

  “As long as what?” she asked.

  “As long as you promise not to punch anyone in the face,” he said. “Maybe you’ve had too much coffee this morning.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Agatha said, and took another sip.

  Chapter Two

  The Rusty Gun War Heroes and Good Citizen’s Memorial Cemetery was located a few miles outside of the city limits, and it had been designated as a national historic site when a grouping of headstones had been discovered by a farmer on his property.

  The headstones belonged to five men who’d fought and died at the Alamo. It was tough luck for the farmer to lose his land, but a great opportunity to put Rusty Gun on the map, even if it was the historical map of Texas that almost no one ever read.

  Almost a hundred years later, the farmer’s land now held hundreds of graves. Agatha loved cemeteries. Each and every headstone told a story.

  She fidgeted with the zipper on her windbreaker as Hank parked next to the two patrol cruisers just off the gravel road. She was still in the yoga pants and t-shirt she’d worn to meet Heather for breakfast, but at least the yoga pants were black, and the windbreaker made her look a little less like someone who’d just rolled out of bed and put her hair in a ponytail.

  She had a routine in the mornings—wake up, go for a run to help clear the cobwebs, drink coffee in the shower to keep clearing the cobwebs, and then throw on whatever clothes were at the top of the pile and the most comfortable to write in. It’s a system that had worked for her for years. But sometimes she had to go out in public.

  The five historic graves were in the far southwest corner of the cemetery, and surrounded by a thick copse of pecan trees, which was why it had taken the farmer decades to discover them.

  The November air was cool, and there were more cops in the area than she thought were employed.

  “I’ve visited this cemetery twice a month since I moved here,” Hank said, “and I never knew this place existed.”

  Agatha nodded. “I grew up here, and I’d forgotten these graves were here until Coil mentioned them. I think I saw them once when I was a kid, but I didn’t have much interest in the significance back then.”

  Deputies Joe Springer and Jimmie James were standing just on the outside of the barrier they’d created around the gravesites, and she and Hank walked toward them.

  “What do you think?” Hank asked them.

  James blew out a breath. Despite the cool temperatures, sweat beaded on his upper lip. “It ain’t high school kids,” he said.

  “How you figure?” Hank asked.

  Jimmie James was an experienced cop, but he’d bounced around between about as many agencies as he had years under his belt. He found his first troubles with the Houston Police Department, but his natural street instincts made him a valuable pickup for any department that would tolerate him.

  “I worked on a burglary task force back in Houston, so I know the tools of the trade. Whoever made those markings on the coffin knew what they were doing,” James said. “I’ve seen better, but I’ve also seen the wreck that high school vandals make. Those scrapings ain’t from pranksters. They’re from pros.”

  “Good catch,” Hank said.”

  James nodded, pleased. “I’m off-duty and about to head home, but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” James rambled off and went to let Coil know he was clocking out.

  “How about you, Springer?” Hank asked.

  Springer was in his mid-twenties, and in looks, he was the exact opposite of James’s rugged disposition. Blistering Texas summers took some getting used to, but Hank didn’t know how Springer survived them with his soft, pale skin and ginger buzz cut.

  “I’ve been on duty since this morning” Springer said, “but other than the disturbance over at the cafe I haven’t
heard anything much about this. Didn’t figure it was that big of a deal, or everyone would’ve been talking about it already.”

  “See anything suspicious on your patrol this morning?” Hank asked. “Maybe a car or a van? A naked guy on horseback?”

  Springer wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, and Hank had a feeling his days at the sheriff’s office were numbered. Springer looked at him with a perplexed expression, his forehead wrinkling in thought. Hank was surprised smoke wasn’t coming out of his ears.

  “Oh yeah,” Springer said. “I saw a guy on a bike.” He grinned, obviously proud of himself.

  “A bicycle?” Hank asked.

  “No,” Springer said. “One like you ride. A Honda.”

  “It’s Harley,” Hank said.

  “Yes, sir,” Springer said, nodding. “I see Ms. Harley right there.”

  “No, the motorcycle is a Harley Davidson.”

  “Ha,” Springer said. “Just like y’all. Did you ever think about that?”

  “No, I never realized,” Hank said. “What did the guy on the motorcycle look like?”

  “He was ugly.”

  Hank had never met a cop with as little investigative skills as Springer, and he shook his head.

  “You’ve been a big help, Springer,” Hank said and walked away before he strangled the guy. He was grateful Springer was Coil’s problem and not his own. Hank would’ve fired the guy on the spot if he’d been assigned to his task force, but he was no longer in charge. Thank God.