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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Sand Hill is loaded with mystery, murder, and the mystic of southern living at its best, and for some, it's worse. A nearly seventy-year old lie plunges the next generation of Sand Hill into a rampage of murders. Who can stop the mayhem?

eBook Publisher: Aspen Mountain Press, Published: 2009, 2009
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2009

6 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [328 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [314 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [297 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [963 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [335 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [290 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [319 KB] , hiebook (KML) [752 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [400 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [276 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [347 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [407 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [452 KB]
Words: 108437
Reading time: 309-433 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 978-1-60168-231-4

Matt had been digging for an hour when the tip of his shovel struck something hard and metallic. "What in the world is that?" he wondered aloud. It couldn't be the casket because he wasn't deep enough. Most caskets of the era were wood, not metal. It had to be something foreign to the grave, something buried there recently because he'd received warning bells since the start of the dig. The red Georgia clay was too soft and unpacked. The pickaxe he brought along to cut through such soil had stood near the corner of the hole almost untouched. Someone had been digging before him and recently too, but why? Had anyone else, besides him, put his own suspicions together and realized it had to be here, in this grave?

The metal object in the hole was hard to see in the shadows so he dropped to both knees for a closer look. With his hands, he pushed away the dirt until the outline of a large box was exposed. Matt recognized it as a military cargo crate, air sealed. "So this is what it's all about," he thought just as the clicking sound of a gun hammer falling into place reached him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and he said, "I wasn't expecting any company out here."

A voice behind the gun said, "You've saved me a lot of hard work, Mr. Sanders."

Matt rose to his feet slowly keeping his back towards the voice. He turned his head slightly to get a look at his assailant and recognized the young Ackerman easily enough. He also noticed the gun in Ackerman's hand. The trigger safety was not set forward into firing position. That oversight could buy him a precious second or two when needed.

Slowly he moved his left hand toward the pickaxe and said, "Son, why don't you put that gun away and go on home, I don't want to have to kill you."

The barrel of the handgun trembled slightly at the words but Ackerman's eyes showed no fear. He'd never killed another man before and the excitement of doing so was enthralling. Had he known that Matt Sanders, while in Iraq and other unmentionable places, had killed more men than his recurring nightmares could remember, and most of them younger than Ackerman, then Bobby might not be standing there at this moment.

Matt's hand touched the handle and closed on it firmly. Ackerman wasn't focused or worried about the movement, "Good-bye Mr. Sanders." He pulled against the locked trigger, nothing happened.

His eyes flew open in surprise. He twisted the gun sideways to check the problem, that's when Matt made his move. He swung the axe upward while pivoting his body around off the tip of his left foot. With both hands, he grasped the handle and, using the weight of the tool to gain momentum, finished the 180-degree circuit. The axe blade sank deep into Ackerman's side, all the way to the hilt of the handle. The force staggered Ackerman sideways and he almost fell. The gun in his hand dropped barrel downward spinning around on the trigger finger, then slid off and fell to the ground between them. With body frozen, eyes wide in disbelief, and mouth open, he managed to say, "I have to kill you, Mr. Sanders. I have to..."

Blood spurted out and then poured to the ground at Ackerman's feet. "You had your chance, son. Now who sent you out here to do this and why?"

When there was no response, Matt yanked the axe outward and back then dropped it. In the same motion, he picked up the gun, shoved the safety off, and brought it level with Ackerman's stomach. It didn't take much to realize there would be no need for the weapon because the man was all but dead on his feet. Ackerman crumpled downward into a moaning heap on the ground. With his free hand, Matt swung himself out of the hole and kneeled. "Why Ackerman, why were you going to kill me? What's in that cargo box?"

Ackerman started talking, at first pretty strong for a man with a hole in his side the size of a baseball, but as he talked, the voice faded lower and lower until in one last spurt of words he whispered the final answer Matt sought, and then he died, face down in the cemetery dirt.

Matt stood and looked around, trying to hear more than see through the darkness and determine if Ackerman was alone. Before he arrived, there was no urgent need to be on alert for something such as this. Otherwise, he would have been paying more attention to the night sounds around him and not the constant questions running through his mind. Now he waited, standing over the man he'd just killed, and listened to the rhythms of the night. All was quiet except for the constant singing of undisturbed crickets. He clicked the gun's safety on and stuck the weapon down in his belt. Glancing around once more then down at the body on the ground, Matt thought, "I hope it was worth it, son."

He would have to report this to the Sheriff and then prove he killed in self-defense. It would also mean explaining why he was standing in the middle of the Sanders Cemetery at almost midnight, and digging up his grandfather. "That's a lot of explaining," he told himself. He already had issues with the Sheriff. Making anyone believe this was self-defense when it could be construed as a homicide, might be a problem. In fact, proving self-defense would be hard enough with honest cops in such a situation and not all of them around Pary County were upstanding and honest. "I'll call Frank and get some help," he thought. "But not until I find out who else is involved and why."

Jumping back into the hole, Matt opened the cargo box and confirmed what Ackerman had told him. Shaking his head in disgust, he closed and resealed it, then crawled out and stood. He was still listening and gauging the sounds around him, just in case. When assured he was alone, Matt used the tip of a boot to roll the body of Bobby Ackerman into the hole. "I'll come back and get you later."