Chapter 19

Best Laid Plans

"Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens!" Boyd Crowder sang out the name loudly and flashed his mega-watt smile upon seeing his old friend enter his bar. As if making a public announcement to his barfly patrons who were there to drink their lunch, he continued. "Back from our Nation's capital. Thank you for meeting me here. No offense, but your offices . . . cramp my style."

Raylan removed his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. "Boyd. You 'member Deputy Marshal Brooks? And this is Special Agent Rulé from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Ladies," Boyd smiled, nodding at the two women law enforcement officers. He couldn't help but notice the second African American woman accompanying Raylan. She was much taller than the other, and something about her seemed familiar, although he was sure they'd never met.

Not there for small talk, Raylan impatiently asked, "Could we all have a word? In private?"

"But of course. We can convene in my office." Boyd motioned to a young man with close-cropped blonde hair who followed as he led them down the hall, into his office, and closed the door after the ladies entered.

"I said in private, Boyd."

"You have your contingent Raylan. Yet, you'd deny me my right hand man Jimmy here?" Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall.

Sighing, but deciding not to argue, Raylan wasted no time. "We checked out your story about Leon Arndt's daddy, and you were right. There does appear to be bad blood between the Arndts and Limehouses."

"See?" Boyd grinned. "And all this time, you thought the only feud in these hills and hollers was between the Givens and the Bennett clans."

Anna, who was standing behind them flashed a questioning look at Rachel, who slowly and silently nodded her head, indicating that what Anna heard was correct. "Feuds? There are actual feuds in this part of the country?" Anna asked.

"Oh, yes," Boyd knowingly nodded.

"I thought a lot of the talk about feuds was based on folklore," she continued, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Is that a touch of Creole I hear in that accent of yours?" Boyd asked, deflecting her conversation.

"I was brought up in New Orleans," Anna played along. "That's a good ear you have."

"Why thank you," Boyd grinned, looking the Agent up and down. "Of course your name being Ru-lay gave me a clue before you even opened that pretty, little mouth of yours." He showed his teeth again.

The steeliness of Boyd's intense stare made her a little uncomfortable.

"No offense, Boyd, but can we get back to reason why we're all here?" Raylan insisted.

"None taken," Boyd turned his attending back to Raylan.

Raylan pulled a cell phone, not his, out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "What say you give ol' Leon a call, and see if ya' can interest him in some of your services? After all, ya' do so like to blow shit up."

Boyd looked a little confused.

"Arndt's number is programmed into the phone," Rachel informed Boyd. "It's the only number in there."

Taking the phone from Raylan, Boyd stalled for a moment by saying, "Well, don't y'all think of everything." Taking in a deep breath, he asked, "I assume this phone is bugged?"

"Ya'd be assumin' right," Raylan answered.

Boyd scrolled, finding one lone number, just as Rachel described. He hit the 'call' button. After four rings, someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Well, hello." Boyd's voice was as cool as a cucumber. "I'm looking to have a conversation with Leon Arndt. Might that be you, Sir?"

"Who is this?" The voice on the other end of the call was low and stern.

Boyd shifted his weight onto his other foot. "My name is Boyd Crowder. I'm callin' from Harlan County Kentucky. And I thought I might be of service to you in some of your . . . political endeavors."

"How did you get this number?"

"It seems you and I have some mutual friends in the Freedom Movement," Boyd explained.

"Crowder. That name sounds familiar."

"I'm a powder man. Got my training here, in the mines."

"Crowder," the voice continued, sounding as if he was deep in thought. "Aren't you the one who is running drugs in Kentucky?"

"Well. You know. I do a little of this . . . and a little of that." After a pause, he continued. "I also do a little in the Emulex business. You wouldn't by chance be in need of some? You know, to support the cause?"

"Mr. Crowder?" The voice became even sterner. "I don't cater to drug dealers. Not interested."

"Buuuut," Boyd sensed the man's urgency.

The call was abruptly disconnected. The look on Boyd's face was one of both surprise and relief. "No dice," he announced, powering the phone down. "Now what, law man?" he asked, handing the phone back to Raylan.

"Shit," Raylan swore under his breath, pocketing the phone. "I guess I gave that silver tongue of yours way too much credence," Raylan let out a sigh, knowing Karen Goodall would not be pleased with his oversell of the situation. This would surely mean egg on her face and no telling what for his.

Boyd shrugged. "You can't say I didn't try."

Raylan set his jaw firm. "Nope. Ya' did good." Raylan had no one to blame but himself for this one.

"There's always Noble's Holler," Rachel suggested to Raylan.

Boyd flashed another grin. "Would you do me a favor, Raylan? When you go to see Ellstin? Don't mention my name."

Raylan rolled his eyes and scrubbed his face in frustration with his hand. Today was already turning into a very long day.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

The familiar guards stepped out of the shadows as Raylan drove the Lincoln onto the bridge.

Anna, in the passenger seat reached for her gun. "Jesus!"

Rachel leaned forward, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "We should've warned you. They're nothing to worry about. Ellstin is pretty serious about guarding Noble's."

Raylan rolled down the window.

"You again, Marshal?" The shorter of the two men peered into the car, eyes narrowing when he saw Anna. "I know this'n," he said, hooking a thumb at Rachel in the back seat. "But who's she?"

Before Raylan could stop her, Anna flashed her badge. "Anna Rulé, FBI."

The man cast a look over his shoulder at his partner and the taller man approached the car. "Mr. Limehouse is unavailable."

"You tell him Raylan Givens is here, and I'm bringin' someone he'll be interested in meetin'."

"Her?"

Raylan nodded. "Seein' as he's already acquainted with Marshal Brooks."

The second man tugged a phone from his pocket and turned away. A moment later he came back, leaning on the window. "Mr. Limehouse says to come on up." He didn't move. "I don't trust you."

"Good to know." Raylan flashed him a grin and put the car in gear, pressing on the accelerator so the man had to jump back or be dragged along.

"What is this place?" Anna swiveled in the seat to stare at the men as the car went around the bend.

"Noble's Holler. It was settled by freed slaves during the Civil War," Rachel explained. "And today? All its residents want to be left alone, from the white people, the outside world, the law. The government."

"And the elder, self-proclaimed protector of the holler is this guy ya've heard me talk about, Ellstin Limehouse," Raylan chimed in. "He's also been known to hide money for various residents of Harlan County who don't want their money to be found. For a variety of reasons . . . all for a fee, of course. And he's a general snoop and know-it-all wise ass. If ya' want to know the latest gossip in Harlan, he's your man."

Raylan slowly drove up to the diner and parked the Lincoln. Anna could smell barbecue in the air just as soon as she stepped out of the car. The three law enforcement officers entered the rustic establishment where they found patron residents scattered at the bar and at tables, all far too interested in their arrival.

"What's all 'dis here commotion about, Marshal?" Limehouse leered at Raylan from behind the bar. "I understands you brought a female FBI Agent of color. Along wit yo' lady marshal who I already had 'da pleasure of meetin'."

"We were wantin' to know if we could have a word . . . without all your firepower," Raylan tipped the brim of his hat back, off his forehead, referring to his diner full of supporters. "There's no need for that."

Limehouse stared at the three. Raylan owed him a favor or two, and these two gals looked like not much of a threat. "Why don't ya'll follow me out to 'da smokehouse," he finally spoke and motioned, and he led them to the back of the diner.

They walked through the kitchen, out a screen door and then, down a gravel path past a butchering shed. Anna's eyes became large as she spied pig carcasses, suspended from the ceiling.

"This place is giving me the creeps," Anna whispered to Rachel.

"Don't I know it," Rachel agreed. "Remind me on the way home to have Raylan tell you the story of Robert Quarles."

"Quarles?" Anna tried to repeat the odd sounding name.

"Yes. That's it. With a 'Q'," she verified.

Once they reached the smokehouse, Limehouse walked over to a pile of hickory chips and added a shovel full into the fiery pit where a side of pork was roasting on a spit. The flames grew into a flashover, creating a wall of heat that caused the law enforcement offices to back away. Raylan and Rachel surmised Limehouse did this for show.

"Leon Arndt," Raylan shouted over the roar of the fire.

Limehouse flashed a look at Raylan, the whites of his eyes showing under the brim of his hat. "What 'bout him?"

"The government has been investigatin' him for quite some time. For suspicion of instigatin' terrorist activities here in the States," Raylan answered the man. "Resumin' their reign of hate and terror."

"What's 'dat got ta do wit me?" Limehouse asked, loading up his shovel with more of the smoking chips.

"It's pretty well known that there is bad blood between your two families," Rachel added. "That could make you a possible target."

Once again, the fire in a flash wall of heat, as soon as Limehouse added the shovel full of hickory. "'dat was a long, long time ago. I haven't heard anything 'bout the Arndt clan in . . . I can't tell ya' when."

"He's got no love lost for ya', Ellstin," Raylan decided to push a little harder. "We could offer ya' protection."

Limehouse chuckled out loud. "Thanks. But no thanks. No offense, but we been able to protect our holler for over a century, on our own. I ain't really worried 'bout no Arndts. There is only one way in 'dis holler, and one way out." And with that, he stoked the fire with yet another shovel full of hickory to flare the flames.

Raylan rolled his eyes. Ellstin could be so dramatic.

Remembering what Raylan told her about Limehouse being the source of information for Harlan County, Anna finally spoke. "If you do hear from him . . . or anything about him . . . would you call us?"

Limehouse focused his attention squarely on her for the first time. "Well. Since you aksed me so nice." He grinned as he took a card from her and glanced at it. "Are ya' from da' land a crawdads and hot, spicy gumbo . . . Ms. Rulé?"

"You got me," Anna smiled, deciding to try and win him over. "I was raised in New Orleans.'

"And much like da' lady marshal here, you is much too pretty to be an Agent for da' F-B-I."

Anna opened her badge and flashed it at him in a non-threatening manner. "I can assure you I am a bona fide Agent of the Federal Government."

"I can see you is," Limehouse nodded.

Turning his attention back to Raylan, he changed the subject. "How 'dat little matter you came ta' see me 'bout last time work out for ya'?"

Carefully choosing his words, Raylan answered, "I dunno, yet. I'll let ya' know when I know somethin'."

"It seems . . . you and me . . . we is at a Mexican standoff." Limehouse put down the shovel and place his hands on his hips, over his apron. "I got no info'mation for ya' . . . and ya' don't got no info'mation for me."

"Looks like," Raylan countered. "You call us if ya' hear anything. Thanks, Ellstin." Raylan turned on his heel, leaving the smokehouse empty handed, and headed for his car. Rachel and Anna followed as Limehouse watched them all walk away. He did a double take as he watched the FBI Agent walk down the gravel path in a very slow and similar fashion to that of Marshal Givens.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

The drive back to Lexington left Raylan with time to think how he was going to stall a call in to Karen Goodall for a progress report. Anna felt bad for him. He couldn't come up with anything. She could see he how driven he was to solve this case.

To pass the time, Rachel had Raylan tell Anna the story of how Robert Quarles lost his arm at the hands of one Ellstin Limehouse. Anna suggested they were embellishing in order to tell a good story, despite their assurances that every word was true. They even encouraged her to ask Art to confirm the details.

After spending the morning with Rachel and getting a sense of how professional and trusted she was, Anna felt comfortable enough to ask something personal of Raylan in her presence. "So, that Limehouse fellow. Was he the one you went to see when you were looking for information about me?"

Rachel looked out the side window, interested in hearing details but trying to give them some privacy.

"Yeah. That would be him," Raylan answered, his eyes still on the road ahead.

Anna shifted her weight in her seat and turned towards him. "Do you think Limehouse could be my biological father?"

Raylan let out an uncomfortable sigh and glanced over at her. "I dunno. I mean, I thought about that possibility. He wouldn't say anything to me about who the baby's father was. Is." After a silent pause, Raylan added. "We don't know anything yet. But once we get word on our DNA tests . . . if need be? We can start in on that very question."

Anna looked up at him. The always sure of herself, FBI Agent assigned to investigate Domestic Terrorism was looking mighty apprehensive.

"I promise," he nodded, and he reached over and reached over for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

When they cleared out of the holler, Raylan and Anna's cell phones beeped almost simultaneously. Raylan glanced at his quickly, then pressed the phone to his ear. Beside him, Anna did the same.

Winona's voicemail began. "Raylan. I got us dinner reservations for the four of us at Guiseppe's for seven-thirty, so we can celebrate. Don't worry about changing, I asked for a table on the patio. If you're running late, you can meet us at the restaurant. Leslie and Art offered to watch Willa for us. Well . . . Leslie offered. So, we are child-free until after dinner. Love you!"

Celebrate what? Raylan thought. He took a sideways glance at Anna. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line as she listened to her own voice message. She sighed, pressing the end call button on her phone and letting it fall into her lap.

"Somethin' wrong?" Raylan asked after a few miles passed, punctuated by several more sighs. Rachel was silent in the backseat, busily typing something into her own phone.

Anna shook her head. "No, not really. Adam just . . . over-shared a bit with Winona."

Raylan drove on, the setting sun shining through the windows. He figured Anna would either tell him what it was, or he'd find out later from Winona. Then, he had a thought. "It's not about the DNA results, is it?"

"No," Anna assured him. "I'd tell you right away. Anyway, I arranged for the preliminary results to be emailed to both of us." She gazed out the window for a moment, wondering herself when those results would be available.

"Sounds like the four of us are goin' to Guiseppe's for dinner," Raylan offered Anna, changing the subject. "It's a nice, authentic Italian place. Bring your appetite. They've got good food. Even Adam's culinary palette will approve." After a beat, he added, "Seems me and Winona are flyin' solo without little Willa for the first time . . . in a long, long time."

"Do you and Winona every think about getting married, again?" Anna asked a seemingly random question, all the while knowing it didn't work out too well for them in the past.

Was it Raylan's imagination, or did Rachel suddenly sit up straighter in the back seat, interested in his answer? "Sure," he nodded, eyes still carefully on the road. "It just always seems like everything's up in the air with us. Right now? It's her family . . . her dad. Usually, it's my job or . . . where are we gonna live? Lexington? Miami? Georgia?"

"Seems to me it's all tied together," she commented. "With these jobs that we do."

"You ever regret your decision to go to work for the FBI?"

"Oh, no," she answered. "I love what I do. I mean, every once in a while, I'll get stuck on a case that isn't moving forward, or I have to work with a person I don't care for."

"Ya' mean like this stalled case and havin' to work with the likes of me?" he chuckled, knowing it was no joking matter.

"No, I didn't mean it that way at all," she said. "Do I ever regret my job? Most of the time, it suits me. Suits who I am. I could never be happy with a 9 to 5 desk job."

"I know what ya' mean," Raylan concurred, wondering how he was going to be able to keep his, if he couldn't figure out a way to get to Arndt.

(To be continued . . .)