Free The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) by Phillip Quinn Morris Page A

here.”
                  “He was not a well-liked man?”
                  “Not people who had business dealing with him like me.”
                  “Do tell.”
                  “Before he hit the big time, he’d get a partner, an investor, and put up one of his restaurants. And then he would spend all his energy pissing the partner off until he had run him off and bought him out at pennies on the dollar. I know. I was one of his first partners. I should have made hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, but I was more than happy to get my original investment back just to get away from the annoying, back-stabbing son of a bitch. He knew just how to play the borders of ethics and the law.”
                  “I see. You take out any curiosity of wondering who killed the man.”
                  “Did I help you out any?”
                  “Yes, you did.”
                  “My advice is not do anything stupid.”
                  “Like what?”
                  “Like trying to give the five thousand dollars back to his widow or something. Or running and telling the authorities you have some important information on the case. I don’t think it means shit. Hey, let’s go get something to eat. Did I tell you about the time me, my daddy and your granddaddy went deer hunting out in the Bankhead Forest?”

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 12
     
    It was sort of eerie to Rusty. He hadn’t eaten a piece of fried chicken in some time and the fried chicken breast he had at Ma’s Kitchen tasted uncannily like what his mother’s mother made. Maybe he read too much into certain things. Or maybe a non-crispy chicken skin was a non-crispy chicken skin. And then he expected Silas to drone on and on about hunting or something, but the man was a complete encyclopedia, not unlike Cousin Ray, of the bizarre, unusual and conspiratorial.
                  He claimed, as a child, to have witnessed a creature very similar to Big Foot in the Bankhead Forest. Sitting there with the man, Rusty realized he was probably Rusty’s third of kin. There was Ray and Cousin Essie on his father’s side. And then in Winston County he had a bunch of fifth cousins, most of all which he wouldn’t know nor recognize if they walked up to him.
                  After lunch, complete with dessert, Silas invited Rusty to come be his and his wife’s house guest any time. Rusty returned the offer and they shook hands and went their separate ways.
                  Rusty got back in the El Camino and headed straight for Travertine County. Or as straight as you could travel on the winding mountainous road.
                  When he crossed over the Sipsey River in the Bankhead National Forest, Rusty got to wondering. It had been at least forty years. He wondered if it was as a mysterious place as he remembered.
                  He drove to the next intersection--he was still in the middle of Bankhead Forest--and instead of turning right to go to Travertine County. Right when he got out of the official boundary of the Bankhead National Forest, there’d be a gravel road going off to the left.
                  And there it was--the gravel road. This would be a great place to Rusty to get a little rest, to get a second wind. All this Jenny stuff. Now, on top of it, the Katfish King stuff.
                  Everything might be changing all the time. The world might be going to hell in a hand-basket, but Rusty was going to the land that time forgot.
                  The paved road veered off onto a hard packed dirt road. At a small bend, Rusty pulled off the road and over to the edge of a ledge and parked.
                  He reached back behind the passenger seat expecting to find some running shoes and not only found them but an old faded pair of