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Chapter 26: Deus Ex Machina

I saw the world through pristine glass
I'd planned for future, present, past.
A solemn road before me lay
No twists or turns obscured the way

Alas, you broke into my life
Slashed through the screen with Cupid's knife
Yanked out the drawers so neatly filled
And scrawled your name across the spill

Where once was quiet, peaceful calm -
Unruly laughter lingers long,
The building where I laid my head
Has now become a home instead.

If given chance to start again,
I'd check the doors were locked, my friend!
But then, you know, sometimes it's nice -
this complicated, messy life.

-K. Kelly, for Evergreen

Enos woke suddenly, disoriented until he remembered laying down to take a nap after coming back from Sault St Marie. It hadn't made much of a dent in his fatigue, but as much as he longed to sleep, someone had to work the night shift while Pete was on vacation.

The wind had picked up after sunset, whistling through cracks in the chinking of the cabin. It rose and fell like waves on the lake, lulling him back to sleep until a scratch of limbs against the metal roof brought him back. He sat up and rubbed the exhaustion from his face, listening to the hollow drip of icicles against the guttering. If the snow was already melting, the roads would be a nasty mess if he waited any longer.

He dressed and made his way down the staircase, missing the last step and catching the railing just in time to save himself from falling. A gasp from across the room told him he'd had an audience; Daisy sat curled in the corner of the couch beneath Lavinia's quilt brought from the lighthouse, a book momentarily forgotten in her hands.

"Are you okay!?"

He shot her a bright smile. "Fine. Just not awake, yet."

She studied him doubtfully. "You oughta be sleeping instead of going to work. A fine kettle of fish it'd be if the Sheriff fell asleep at the wheel."

"I just need some coffee," he said, brushing aside her concern on his way to the kitchen. He took the can of Folgers down from the cabinet before realizing there was already a fresh pot waiting for him. "Say, thanks for making it, Daisy."

"Um hmm. I don't know how you can drink so much of that stuff. It can't be good for you."

He poured a cup and took a seat on the other couch across from the fireplace, glad for the heat warming his tired bones. "What're you reading?"

She held the book up to show him the cover. "Pride and Prejudice. I'm only three chapters into it. I sure hope I like it."

"You talked my ear off about Mr. Darcy and whatever-her-name-is when you read it in high school," he told her. "I reckon you liked it alright." Enos supposed if there was anything good to come of having amnesia, it was that she could now reread all her favorites without knowing the endings.

She grinned. "Not a fan?"

"It's mushy." Her laughter dragged a smile from him as he stood up. "I've gotta get to work or Joy's libel to be madder than a scalded cat." With both Rodney and Rick patrolling during the day for extra protection, it meant Joy had pulled a twelve hour shift and was working on number thirteen.

He pulled on his coat, hat and gloves without looking up, knowing Daisy was watching him instead of going back to her book. The whole scenario reminded him uncomfortably of another day when she had made him coffee before he'd left for work. So long ago...

"Say, Enos?"

Her tone fit so perfectly with his deja vu that he flinched. "Hmm?"

"I just...I wanted to thank you for all you did for me today, and I don't just mean buying me winter stuff. Thanks for spending time with me. I had a lot of fun. I know you're awful busy, but I think we could be good friends if we got to know each other a little better. Except," she faltered, uncertain, "I guess you already know me pretty well."

He gave her the best smile he could muster, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. "I'm glad you had a good time. I've really gotta git." He glanced down at his watch and walked straight into the wall. Gathering his bearings, he ran out before Daisy had the chance to ask him if he was okay.

The crisp, fresh air was a welcome change from the cabin, and the invisible shutter fell in place between himself and Daisy with the closing of the door. He scooped up a handful of snow and held it against the side of his face, hoping he'd only injured his pride and not given himself a black eye.

"Possum on a gumbush," he muttered, shaking his head at himself. If he was going to start acting like a dipstick again, he might as well take a long walk off a short dock. Not having his head in the game would get him killed up here in winter.

Pressing his fingers against his cheekbone, he felt around for anything more painful than scratched skin. Satisfied he hadn't banged himself up too badly, he threw the lump of snow against a tree where it splattered and stuck.

Bells jingled against the door of the station as he kicked the snow from his boots and went in, taking a deep breath of air perfumed by gun powder and printer ink. Comforting scents. Joy had already gathered her things into a pile on the front desk and glanced up from her magazine as he entered.

"Thank goodness!" she huffed, closing her magazine and tossing it on the pile.

"Long day?" She shot him a weighted glance, but held her tongue. He felt guilty about her schedule, but he didn't know what he could do about it. They were stretched thin during the day with the extra patrol around town, and Pete usually covered the night shift. "Did Melinda get hold of you?"

"Oh yeah...I took her down to the gun range."

"So, how'd it go?"

She gave an unamused snort. "Your girlfriend can't hit the broad side of a barn."

"She's never held a gun before," he said, ignoring her jab. "I didn't expect her to be Annie Oakley."

"Yeah well, no offense, Sheriff, but you've gotta find someone else to go over there with her. When I came back, the front door was plastered with post-it notes. Two were from Ethel Sheppard asking you to call her tonight. I already told her the Sheriff's Department can't do anything about all the junk mail she gets, but she wants to hear it from you. Anyway, I can't do my job and babysit Melinda at the same time."

"I'm awful sorry, Joy, but I can't afford to take Rodney or Rick off patrol."

"What about Daisy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Until we get to the bottom of what's going on with this...'thing', all the girls around you better grow eyes in the back of their heads. Have Daisy come and practice with her."

"I'll think about it," he said, automatically dropping her suggestion into his mental trashcan. If Daisy could still drive a car, odds are she could still shoot a gun, but she and Melinda target practicing together was a little too high on his weirdness scale. "Did you find out who sent the flowers?"

"Oh, yeah!" She pulled open her desk drawer and rummaged around before pulling out a notecard. "The florist was very helpful," she smirked, "cause, poor me, I've got this stalker who just won't leave me alone, and I'm worried he's figured out where I work."

"You could've just told him you work for the Sheriff's Department."

"Riiight... Well, so, if the florist was in on it, that'd go over like a lead balloon. Besides it's more fun this way. The funds came from a security company called-" she looked at her notes, "Bezopas in Mykoleev, not spelled like it sounds." She held up her hand. "Before you ask, I looked it up. It's a port city on the Black Sea between Russia and Ukraine."

"The same company that owns the Elcid Barrett?"

"You'd think so, but no," she sighed. "I called the Coast Guard to find out what they had on the ship, and it's registered to a different company out of Malta. The guy I talked to said we'd be lucky to find anything past that point. Apparently, it's a tax haven for shell companies."

"With the playing card, though, there oughta be a connection between them somewhere."

Joy shook her head. "We'll never find it," she told him, "just end up chasing shadows. Besides, that's so far out of our jurisdiction they might as well be on Mars. There was something interesting that came up when I called the FBI, though. They said an employee from the same security company was arrested for high-seas piracy last year, but he couldn't give me anymore information about him."

"He's a pirate? Like Blackbeard?" Enos imagined ancient sailing ships and walking planks. "I thought all them guys were dead."

"People still hijack boats, ya know. There used to be dozens of pirates on the Great Lakes. Ever heard of Dan Seavey?"

He shook his head.

"In the 1920's, he used to set up fake port lights along the lake to lure ships onto the rocks. He'd wait until they ran aground, and then he and his men would steal their cargo before they sank."

"Nice fella." He turned the new idea of piracy over in his mind, but couldn't put two and two together. "The crew of the Elcid Barrett wouldn't need to steal a ship," he mused, "but I keep thinking about them running a whole season empty."

"They could be setting up a smuggling operation," she offered. "Plenty of those on the lakes, too."

He shook his head. "Maybe, but it doesn't make any sense why they would be threatening Melinda, or anyone else here at the station. When I talked to the crew, I really didn't learn anything new. When it docks in December, I'll see if I can get the state police to search it since it's under the state's jurisdiction." He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. "You'd best go home before you drop, Joy. Good detective work."

He followed her to the coat rack and helped her into her jacket.

"How about you let me call Daisy in the morning?" she said. "I'll take her to the range and show her the ropes. It'll give her something to do."

"Fine," he sighed, opening the door for her.

She stopped halfway out and turned back to him. "So how'd it go in Soo today? With Daisy?"

Was that today? It felt like a week ago. "Mostly alright." He hesitated, thinking he should tell her more, but it had been a long day for everyone.

Her smile twisted in knowing sympathy. "Remember, Enos, she's just another cousin."

He nodded. "Careful on the roads."

"Pffft, it's just a little dust."

He watched her car until its taillights disappeared around the corner, then turned back inside and the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk.

Hours later, Enos stretched and sighed as he glanced up at the clock. Next week's schedule was finished, this week's reports signed and dated, and tickets checked. He had even called Mrs. Sheppard, convincing her that the junk mail was really a gift in disguise since she would have extra kindling this winter.

The padded envelope on his desk he'd saved for last, knowing it was the report from the FBI on the playing card from the flowers. He had found no prints when he dusted it but knowing the Feds had better equipment, he'd sent it to them just in case. Slipping a letter opener under the flap, he slid the contents out and opened the report.

"Sheriff Enos Strate,
Reference is made to your letter submitting one Bicycle brand playing card for examination in connection to a threat levied against the Whitefish County Michigan Sheriff's Department and the deaths of Gino Spione and John Allendale, both deceased employees of container ship, S.S. Elcid Barrett, as per your investigation.

You are advised that the item has been examined by FBI Laboratory Personnel and the Bureau's Single Fingerprint Section and one latent print was uncovered using Cyanoacrylate fuming. A search within the Bureau's Identification Division has discovered a matching fingerprint record connected with the unsolved homicide of Andrei Mudrik, age 42 in Brooklyn, New York, on August 14, 1980. If possible, please obtain more information on this suspect and submit them to the Bureau in order that further comparisons may be made. The item submitted is returned herewith along with the lifted print card.

Sincerely,
Director W. S-"

Enclosed was the coroner photo of the victim and his arrest history. Andrei Mudrik, like Gino Spione, sported intricate tattoos. According to the report, he had been shot once at close range through his right eye, and an unidentified print had been lifted from a shell casing found at the scene. Enos flipped to the next page. Andrei's arrest history included only non-violent, petty offenses up until May 1980, when he had been busted for running an underage prostitution ring. At the time of his murder, he had been out on bail.

Enos tapped his fingers restlessly against the desk, trying to decode what this new discovery meant for his own investigation. Obviously, there were elements of the Soviet Mafia in both the death of Gino Spione, the ownership of the Elcid Barrett, and the playing card sent to the Sheriff's Department. But what of John Allendale; the guy poisoned with anti-freeze? Could his death simply be a coincidence?

He stared down at the white card. Beneath a layer of clear tape lay the print, as fragile as a butterfly's wing. The ridges and whorls were as familiar as his own, so that comparing it to the one he'd taken from Gino's boot was simply formality. He did it anyway. They matched.

Grabbing his hat and coat, Enos stepped outside into the night and locked the station door behind him.

The town was deserted, nestled in pre-dawn stillness. He walked towards the lighthouse, passing through a dozen golden circles of streetlights until the town slipped away behind him, leaving only the great Northwoods and the Lake. It made him feel both very small and very alone, stranded in a dark and empty world with only himself and the memories he had left behind. It was a path he took often on long and boring nights, to clear his head or search for answers.

His heart yearned for the quiet, uncomplicated boredom of Hazzard or even the mindless, routine danger of Los Angeles. Now this murder problem (that he'd thought was bad enough) had just grown roots and spread into every area of his life like a festering rot. That fingerprint undeniably bound a Brooklyn murder to Whitefish County, and he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere in the middle of all the mess lay Melinda.

Personal feelings aside, he knew little about her childhood and adolescence. She had been orphaned and raised by her aunt and uncle somewhere in the western USSR near the border of Poland until they had come to America, drifting like many immigrants into Brooklyn, New York. He had given little thought to the details of her life between there and Tamarack, assuming she still had family on the east coast and that, like himself, she had her own reasons for leaving.

He glanced at his watch. It was just after 2:00am - far too late (or too early) to call her now, but if he could sleep a couple of hours, he would see if she wanted to meet him on the porch of the Ashbury. How he would bring up the Brooklyn murder without sounding like he was interrogating her, he hadn't the foggiest. Not to mention that Brooklyn was a big place. She might not know about it at all. Just another coincidence in a long string of coincidences.

It wasn't the break he had hoped for, and it spawned only more questions and no answers. Joy's research, though well done, had led to a dead end and a ghost ship registered to a endless string of shell companies. There was no solid proof anything was connected, except his gut instinct and a child's fairly-tale.

Daisy kicked her snow packed boots against the side of the building as Joy fumbled for the key to the courthouse's basement. The day was overly bright as the snow reflected the sun back up into her eyes, and she reminded herself to find her sunglasses when she got back ho-

No, she caught herself. No matter how cozy it seemed, the cabin was not 'home', and she'd better stop pretending otherwise.

In two months, she would be back in Hazzard and begin the task of reinventing herself all over again. The problem was Tamarack. It was far too friendly and people had welcomed her like she belonged here. Might be, she was the only person in town who didn't see ghosts. Hers were all back in Georgia.

Joy opened the door and flipped on the lights and led them into a windowless, cinder block room. The walls were painted a utilitarian gray with the floor the same color so that it felt akin to being shut into a metal box. At the far end, beyond what looked like open doorways, hung a row of six targets rigged to pulleys.

"Flip that red switch by the door, would you? That turns on a warning light over the door so that anyone coming in will know the range is hot." There was a scrape as Joy opened the metal storage cabinet. "Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"I don't know," she said, flipping the switch Joy mentioned to 'ON'. "Uncle Jesse taught Luke to use a shotgun, on account of you always had to be prepared when you were running a still. I'm sure he taught me when I was older, but I don't remember."

Joy laid a holstered handgun on the table along with an empty clip and a box of 9mm ammo. "I can't believe your family ran moonshine," she grinned. "We studied about Prohibition and bootlegging in history class when I was in high school. About Al Capone running all these underground saloons where he would bring in whiskey from the south. They might've been drinking your uncle's!"

Daisy shrugged. "Honestly, I was too young to remember much, but you should ask Enos about it sometime. Uncle Jesse said Otis Strate was the best ridgerunner in the country."

Joy gaped like she'd told her the moon was made of green cheese. "Wait, what?"

"What?"

"Enos' dad was a moonshiner?"

Too late, Daisy realized she must have let a cat out of a bag. "He didn't tell you that?"

"Nooo!" she laughed. "That explains a lot, eh? I couldn't understand out how he knows so much about booze, like proofs and how it's made and stuff since he never drinks. And he's got no patience at all for people drinking and driving. I had him pegged as a recovering alcoholic."

"Enos was fifteen when his dad was killed in a still explosion. I'm sure that changed the way he looked at things." She hesitated. "I probably shouldn't have told you any of that."

Joy grinned and shook her head. "Oh, don't worry," she assured, "now that I know what happened, I'll steer him into telling me himself someday." She put her hands together and shimmied them like a swimming fish. "So, how did you guys' trip to Soo go?"

Daisy frowned, remembering their conversation looking out over the bay. "Well, it was great until I opened my big mouth and asked him if he'd ever been married." Daisy thought if Joy's eyes could get any bigger, they'd fall out of her head. "He's barely strung two words together since, except to thank me for making him coffee. I should've just asked you about him."

"Me? Getting that man to talk about his past is nearly impossible. I didn't know who Jesse Duke was until Enos went to his funeral. He told me a little about you Dukes then, but not much. I can't see him being married. I mean, I tease him about Melinda, but I'm pretty sure she's driving down a one-lane road, if you know what I mean."

Daisy was pretty sure that Melinda wasn't giving up anytime soon. "I guess he came pretty close," she told her. "He said he'd been engaged to some girl back in Hazzard, but she ran off and married another man."

"While they were still engaged!? Wow, that sucks."

"You ain't kidding." She gestured towards the gun which Joy had forgotten all about in her new discoveries. "So...shooting?"

"Oh yeah! Yeah, so safety first, right?" She handed Daisy a pair of earmuffs and safety glasses. "And Enos'll kill me if I don't make you wear a vest."

By the time she got the ear and eye protection on, Daisy's hands had begun to shake as she fumbled with the buckles on the vest. Joy, ever observant, picked up on her internal struggle.

"Are you nervous?"

Daisy stopped and looked up at her. "I'm about to see if some part of me remembers how to do something I don't remember learning. Like the day I found out I knew how to drive."

Joy smiled, sadly. "That's gotta be unnerving. Take a deep breath." Daisy nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "All you can do is try. No pressure. Heck, I've known guys who learned to shoot when they were kids and still couldn't hit the target. Do you want to try loading the magazine yourself or do you want me to show you?"

Daisy stared down at the table where two handguns lay. "Load it and I'll watch."

"That's fine." She motioned towards the range. "Let's go over there. Never load your gun until you're ready to shoot it." Beside each doorway was a narrow shelf where Joy lay the box of ammo and showed Daisy how to check that the gun was unloaded before she handed the empty gun to Daisy. "Stand right behind the yellow line there and show me how you would hold it."

"Oh. Alright."

As she raised the gun towards the target, her hands slipped into place.

Joy nodded, approvingly. "Well, someone taught you how to hold a handgun correctly." She handed Daisy the magazine. "Okay, moment of truth. I bet Rodney that you'd hit the paper at least once, so don't make me buy him lunch."

It was the sound of the slide release, she would tell Enos later. The solid metallic grind and click of metal against metal. She knew that sound - remembered the feeling of being a weapon with the gun simply an extension of herself. She stared down its barrel and sank every round into the center bullseye of the target.