The Sequoyah Killings- Chapter 1

Prologue:

He folded up the handwritten note with the specified meeting time and location, and replaced it in his pants pocket. A chill mountain wind blew, giving him goosebumps, despite the spring sun that quickly rose through the morning sky, putting off a noticeable warmth. 
“Why’d you want to meet me here?” He asked, looking down. He wound a loose thread from his shirt around his finger and yanked it out, flicking it into the grass. There was no answer. He looked up and froze when he saw the gun pointed right between his eyes. He weighed his options and considered making a run for it. They were out in the open here, though. Nowhere to go for cover. Running was useless. He thought maybe he could swat the gun away, but there was too much space between the two of them. I’d never make it to the gun in time. He was going to have to talk his way out of it.
“Look, I told you I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have said something sooner.”
“Yes, you should have.” 
He saw that the gun didn’t waver, the hands holding it wrapped around it more tightly. He could feel his heart beating in his chest.
He put his hands up in front of his chest defensively, and said, “What do you want from me?”
“It’s too late for that. You had your chance.”
He heard a deafening crack and crumpled to the ground. The last thought to ever cross his mind was that he really should’ve tried to make a run for it. Daniel May was murdered for the first time.

Chapter 1

Tim Stephens stared through the streaky passenger window of the rusty, single cab truck he had hitched a ride on a hundred or so miles ago. The view of golden wheat poking through the melting remains of an early March snow storm reminded him of the sand dunes at Point Reyes, just north of his San Francisco home. It had been months since he’d last been there—months since the tragic attack that had killed dozens, including his wife Marissa, and their two boys, Jack and Lincoln, and had injured dozens more. It was Tim’s fault they were dead. He should have been there to stop it, but he wasn’t. And now, for the last four months, he’d been drifting across the country with nothing more than a few changes of clothes in a backpack, not quite sure what he was looking for. Presently, Tim found himself on Tennessee Highway 441, heading into the Smoky Mountains, as the red sun began to sneak behind the distant peaks, bringing Saturday to a close.
His thoughts were interrupted by the weathered voice of the old man driving the truck, who had hardly spoken for hours.
“Shit,” the man muttered under his breath.
“What is it?” Tim asked.
“Shit,” he repeated, beating his fist on the truck’s dashboard above the radio. Tim noticed the power to the radio had shut off.
“It’s no big deal,” Tim said. “I wasn’t really listening to it anyway.” He didn’t say so, but Tim was glad that the station playing forgotten country songs from decades past had finally stopped.
“It’s not the radio,” the man said, obviously frustrated. “It’s the battery. It’s been giving me problems for weeks.” Before he could finish speaking, the truck lurched, and Tim could see the man fighting to keep control over it. All the warning lights on his dashboard display blinked together once, before turning off completely. The man maneuvered the truck onto the interstate’s shoulder, before shifting it into park and switching off the engine. He reinserted the key into the ignition and turned it, then sighed when he was answered with a click click click click click instead of the engine turning over.
“I’m gonna have to make a call,” the man said, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number and paused. “Hey, honey,” he said. “My battery died again. I’m stuck out on 441 about an hour from home.” He paused and listened, as his wife spoke on the other end. “Ok, thanks,” he finally said and hung up the phone. He turned to Tim and said, “The old lady is coming to the rescue. She should be here in about an hour or so. Feel free to wait it out with me if you want.”
“I appreciate it,” Tim said, “but I saw a sign for a diner a little while back, and I can see the exit ramp from here. I think I’ll walk down there, and catch a ride from there.”
“No problem,” the man said. Tim opened the door, and the crisp pine air filled his lungs. He pulled out his wallet to offer the man a few bucks, making sure to keep at least a ten for a burger and some coffee, but he refused him, shaking his head.
“I was headed this way anyway,” he said, “plus, I enjoyed the company.”
“I appreciate it,” Tim said. “Good luck with your truck.” He began walking towards the exit ramp and thought again of his family. He had made it through the funeral, and then he was gone. Chief Dawes had been gracious. He’d told him to take as much time off as he needed, but Tim had turned in his badge. If he couldn’t protect his own family, he figured he had no right trying to protect a city full of people he didn’t even know. 
After a few minutes, the sun had completely vanished, and with it, the little warmth it had brought that day. Tim felt the chill mountain air biting the backs of his hands and neck. He walked along the road’s shoulder in darkness, hearing nothing but the plodding of his boots on the asphalt, until he came over a hill and a sudden wind picked up, howling in his ears. He could see the lights of a town in the distance.
As Tim neared the town, he came to a welcome sign that read, Sequoyah, Tennessee, population 735. It wasn’t the smallest town he’d passed through these past few months. That had been Wallace, Arkansas, a small unincorporated area he’d been forced to stop at when the semi driver giving him a lift got a flat. The population there had been five hundred and change. But Tim had only been there long enough for the driver to fix the tire. This was his first real stop in a small town. He passed the sign, grateful for the chance to get off the road for a bit.
He followed Main Street until he came to what must have been downtown. There wasn’t much to see. A post office, a hardware store, a grocery store, a doctor’s office, and a few other businesses, all of which appeared to be closed for the night. There was a large stone building with “Sequoyah Town Hall” inscribed across the top. Many of the stores Tim passed had “Doyle” in the name—“Doyle’s Hardware store,” “Doyle’s Laundromat,” and “Doyle’s Pharmacy” were all next to one another.
He noticed several flyers stapled to telephone poles and plastered across storefront windows. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were all identical. Each was a standard size sheet of white printer paper, with nothing more than the words, “Say ‘NO!’ to the New Development Plan” written in bold, red letters. The windows of all the businesses with “Doyle” in  the name were free from flyers.
The only building with all its lights still on was Sammy’s Place, a 50s themed diner at the end of the street, that Tim had seen a sign for on the interstate. He pushed through the door, causing the bells above his head to jingle, and welcomed the warmth from the grill on his chapped hands. It wasn’t a large restaurant, it probably couldn’t have seated more than fifty people between the five booths, the handful of tables, and the row of red leather barstools lining the front counter. Tim didn’t imagine the restaurant was ever running at full capacity anyways. He did get the impression, however, that whoever Sammy was, he took pride in his restaurant. The black and white checkered tile floor was spotless, as if it had just been mopped clean. There were several pictures on the wall of the same middle-aged man, presumably Sammy, with his arm around different smiling guests. Some of them were signed.
He saw a handwritten sign hung on the wall that read, “Seat yourself wherever you’d like,” with a yellow smiley face beneath it, so he made his way to the back of the room and settled into a booth that gave him a good view of the rest of the restaurant. He received strange glances from the diner’s patron’s as he passed by. Sequoyah probably doesn’t get too many outsiders. Tim scanned the room while he waited for a server. About half the tables in the restaurant were occupied by a wide range of people. 
One booth was taken up by a young mother with three children. She made exaggerated looping movements with a spoon, before plunging it into the mouth of a toddler, while simultaneously slapping the back of her oldest son’s head, for shooting a spitball at his younger sister. In the booth behind them, an older couple sat across from each other, holding hands, looking the way he’d imagined that he and Marissa would one day. He noticed that they weren’t smiling, however. As he looked around the room, he realized very few people were. Tim felt a sudden twinge of unease, observing the heavy atmosphere of the diner.
The bright, cheerful voice of the young waitress contrasted with the somber feel of the rest of the room, and it startled Tim.
“Hey there,” she said in a lilting southern drawl. “What can I do ya for?”
Tim looked up at the young waitress, who wore a yellow dress and white apron.
“I’ll just have a burger and some coffee, please.”
“Coming right up,” she said. “What brings you to Sequoyah? We don’t get too many visitors, especially this time of the year. Usually a few will trickle through in the fall, on their way to Clingman’s Dome or Asheville.”
“I’m just passing through,” Tim said. “Just needed a quick bite to eat.”
“Well, where ya headed?” the waitress asked
“Not sure. Wherever I can get my next ride,” Tim said, showing his empty hands.
“I doubt anyone will be coming through here tonight. You ought to stay the night at the bed and breakfast. Rebekah runs it, and she’ll take good care of you.” The idea of spending the night in a bed instead of a stranger’s car was appealing to Tim.
“Yeah, maybe I will, thanks,” he said.
Tim devoured his meal quickly. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been, and the burger was exactly what he had needed. He stretched out his legs underneath the table until his feet touched the opposite booth, and he rubbed the back of his neck. It felt good to sit. He sensed eyes on him, so he glanced up from his coffee in time to see the elderly couple awkwardly look away from him. He noticed that the young mother had been watching him too, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze when he looked at her.
After a few moments, the waitress came back to top off Tim’s coffee.
“People really aren’t used to strangers, huh?” he said. “I’m getting looks from everyone in here.”
The waitress smiled a sympathetic smile. “I think everyone’s just a little on edge today. Daniel May, the only police officer in town, was found murdered behind the church this morning, and nobody really knows what to do. It’s the first murder I can remember here, and I’ve lived here all my life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tim said. It seemed like death followed him everywhere these days. “Did you know him?”
“He was my uncle,” she said flatly.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Tim replied.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “We weren’t all that close, but he was still family.” She paused. “There’s never really been any crime in Sequoyah, so we never needed a full-time police department. My Uncle Daniel volunteered to be a one-man police force a few years ago, and he handled everything. Now that he’s dead, there’s nobody to investigate.”
Tim was silent for a moment. “I was a detective for several years,” he finally said. “I could stay in town a few days and poke around.” At this, the waitress raised her eyebrows.
“Really?” she asked. “What are the odds of that? That would be amazing!”
“Sure thing,” Tim said. He glanced at his watch. The digital face was blank. “Wonderful. My watch is broken, so I don’t have the time. Is there anyone that might be at the church at this time of night that could show me around? If not, I can try in the morning.”
The waitress replied, “Pastor William should be there still. He usually stays late on Saturday nights to get everything ready for Sunday morning. He’ll show ya around.”
“Great,” Tim said. “I’ll head there tonight.” He pulled out his wallet and began to remove a bill, but the waitress waved her hand.
“This one’s on the house,” she said. “Consider it a welcome to Sequoyah. I’m Eleanor May.” She stuck out her hand.
Tim shook it and said, “Well, thanks. I’m Tim Stephens.”
“Pleased to meet ya, Tim,” Eleanor said.
“Likewise,” Tim said. “Can you tell me how to get to the bed and breakfast?”
 “Sure thing,” Eleanor answered. “Just take a right out of here onto Main Street, and head straight until you get to Chestnut Street. Hang a right there, and you’ll come to the library. Take a left once you pass the library, and it’ll be just ahead. You can’t miss it.”
“I appreciate it,” Tim said, standing and making his way to the front of the restaurant. He exited into the chilly night and began walking down Main Street.
He followed Eleanor’s directions straight to the bed and breakfast. He would’ve passed right by it, if it weren’t for the wooden signpost planted into the ground out front that said Sequoyah Bed & Breakfast. There was a vacancy sign underneath the main lettering, and Tim could just make out the “No” made to flip down when the autumn tourists came and claimed all the rooms. Thankfully, it was flipped up, promising Tim a spot for the night. He entered the bed and breakfast and was met with a large woman that he assumed to be Rebekah.
“Good evening,” she said in a warm, gravelly voice. “Welcome to Sequoyah.”
“Thank you,” Tim said. “I’ll take a room just for the night. I met Eleanor at the diner, and she spoke very highly of your place.”
“Oh, that Eleanor is such a darlin’,” Rebekah said. “It’s certainly not the Ritz here, but my husband John and I do our best to welcome folks into town nicely. I’m Rebekah Doyle.” Doyle. Tim guessed that this was one of the many businesses owned by the Doyle family.
“Tim Stephens,” Tim said.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Tim,” Rebekah Doyle said with a motherly smile. She turned to the wall behind her and grabbed a key from a row of about ten hooks. “Room eight is yours. If you go back out the door you came through, and walk around the porch, it’ll be the last door you come to. Breakfast is served in the dining room from seven until ten.” She pointed over Tim’s shoulder into an adjoining room with a couple of mismatched wooden tables surrounded by an assortment of chairs, most of which were likely older than Tim. 
“Great, thank you very much,” Tim said, as he took the key from her. “How much for the night?”
“That will be twenty dollars,” She said with a smile. Tim counted out four fives, and handed them to Rebekah. 
“And can you tell me how to get to the church from here? I’m a former detective, and I told Eleanor I’d look into the murder of her uncle.”
Rebekah’s face lost its warmth.
“Such a tragedy,” she said. “It’s not far from here at all. If you walk back up Oak Street, which is the one we’re on now, you’ll get to the town’s library. Turn right past the library onto Chestnut Street. Follow that road until you cross Main Street and come to the edge of the church cemetery. The church is just over the hill from the cemetery. You can make it there in just a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Tim said, turning to leave.
“Be careful, Tim,” Rebekah said, with a troubled face.
He headed out the door and found his way to room eight. It was cozy, with a queen bed that took up most of the space in the room. The dark hardwood floors were similar to those in his house back in San Francisco. There was a night stand with several travel guides on it, promising breathtaking mountain scenery and diverse wildlife. He tossed his backpack onto the foot of the bed and entered the bathroom. He stared at the mirror, hardly recognizing himself. Tim was only forty, but he looked much older. He had let a beard take over his normally clean shaven face, and the weight of losing his family had turned much of it gray. He didn’t have a large figure to begin with, but all the walking he’d been doing the last few months had taken off a few pounds. There were dark bags under his eyes from all the restlessness. Tim thought about the look on Eleanor’s face when she mentioned her uncle who had been murdered that day, and he remembered when the same look painted his own face on the days following the death of his family.
He wasn’t sure about getting involved in another investigation. He certainly hadn’t planned to ever again. Tim had spent the last few months trying to avoid anything that reminded him of death, and now, here he was offering to investigate a murder. Tim considered handing his room key back to Rebekah and walking back down the highway until another trucker picked him up, no matter how long it took. But he thought of Eleanor, and of how there was no one to find justice for her uncle. He sighed. Before he could change his mind, Tim turned out the lights, washing his room in darkness, and left the bed and breakfast, heading down Oak Street towards the church.