Kentucky Feud

By Ryan King

An unmarked grave and a headless corpse stir the embers of old hatreds in Elliot County, Kentucky, where outsider Deputy Maggie Higgins struggles to investigate her first murder case. Feuds are nothing new in Eastern Kentucky, but this long dormant conflict threatens to gain new life as Higgins uncovers a history of murder, torture, and bloodshed that spans generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Three Kings Publishing
• Release date: Jan 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386985068

Ryan King

Ryan King is a career army officer with multiple combat tours who continues to serve in the military. He has lived, worked, and traveled throughout Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. King is married to fellow author Kristin King and they have four young and energetic boys who keep them constantly busy. Ryan King writes post-apocalyptic, dystopian, thriller, horror, and action short stories, short novels, and novels. He has also published the first book in his post-apocalyptic Land of Tomorrow series called Glimmer of Hope. Ryan King also writes under the pen name of Charles R. King for historical non-fiction. He has published 22 works, primarily covering the Punic Wars and late Roman Republican Era which was the focus of his graduate degree. Five of these works are currently on seven different bestseller lists. King is also writing a historical fiction series about Hannibal and the Second Punic War. The first book in that series debuts 2013.

Book preview

Elliott County, Kentucky, 1985

Maggie gazed out upon the deep green valley and admitted she was still awed by the land. The rough hills and dense forests were in parts nearly primeval and seemed to be alive in a way that simultaneously thrilled and frightened her.

The squawk of the radio interrupted her musings, Deputy Higgins, you out there, Maggie? Come back, said Joan, the sheriff's wife and the department's dispatcher.

Joan, I'm here. Go ahead.

Hey, can you run over to Clayton Cemetery? We just got a call about a ruckus, not sure what it's about.

Maggie paused. At the cemetery? What kind of trouble could there be?

Not sure, answered Joan, and Maggie could hear the grin in her voice. Joan seemed to find Maggie's frequent disorientation regarding the idiosyncrasies of Elliott County life amusing. But it sounds like John Bremen is pretty upset. He's supposed to be burying his father this afternoon.

Maggie sighed and cranked her cruiser. Headed over there now. Let you know if there's any trouble.

Sure thing, hon, answered Joan.

How the hell did I end up here? Superficially, Maggie had known that Eastern Kentucky was a different world. Born and raised in the Northeast, not only were there isolated backward hills country, they were a different world altogether.

Her friends and family had tried to talk her out of it. Told her she was crazy. It wasn't just the standard concerns about lack of culture and sophistication; it was the unstated and unacknowledged unease about the unknown. It was as if she were entering an exploratory submersible to be the first to plummet to the bottom of a deep-sea trench or launch out on an interstellar space probe.

The rough people here mirrored their land and often alarmed her. They were nice and polite enough, but you could sense that extreme behavior was only just below the surface. Maggie also knew she would never be one of them, never hope to fit in. Their blood ran back generations, and she would always be an outsider.

But she loved her husband Bradley, and that made everything worthwhile. They might have moved to California or Texas or even Europe after finishing college together, but then his mother had taken ill. Kentucky wasn't all bad, it just wasn't yet home. Hopefully that would come, even if the locals never truly accepted her. Besides, she had enough in her life to keep her busy.

It took Maggie less than five minutes to navigate her police cruiser from the west end of Sandy Hook to the older eastern tip where the cemetery was located. Although the time of day equated to what passed for the lunch rush, traffic was light and easy.

That's another benefit to being here, she thought. Sure as hell beats Manhattan or DC gridlock.

Maggie had no difficulty discovering where the trouble was at the cemetery. The small dark green awning, backhoe, and mound of earth told of an impending burial. She parked nearby and spotted a short paunchy man in a suit talking seriously to a tall, thin, mournful-looking soul.

The short man was John Breman, arguably the richest man in Elliott County due to years of his family's successful strip mining of the coal-rich seams. He stood, accenting each talking point with a forceful finger jab towards the sad fellow who Maggie recognized as Derek Andrews, the owner of the cemetery and funeral home. John was so focused on what he was saying that he didn't even notice Maggie, but Derek's unhappy eyes appealed to her for rescue.

She walked up, mentally assuming her air of authority. What seems to be the trouble here?

John Breman stopped mid-sentence and turned to her. Oh thank goodness. I don't know what kind of craziness Derek is trying to pull here, but I'm not going to stand for it! Not at all!

Maggie seemed to remember that John's father, Leland Breman, had died recently. My condolences to you, sir, on the passing of your father.

Thank you, he said with controlled calm. All I want to do is have the funeral and bury him, but this incompetent jerk can't even figure out how to do that!

Maggie was at a loss. I'm not sure I understand. It looks like everything is ready to go.

Derek started to speak, but John cut him off with a hand wave towards the open grave. Maggie followed him over.

That, said John, pointing to a tombstone with the weathered names and dates of Ashley Bremen and the more freshly carved information for Leland Breman, is the tombstone for my mother and father. John then pointed at the flat grass next to the open pit. There is where my mother is buried. He then turned slightly and pointed at the open hole. That is where my father is supposed to be buried. He stood expectantly with arms crossed, staring at her as if she should understand something.

Ooookayy, she said. So what's the problem?

John Breman was without words and gawked at her as if she were the dumbest person he had met.

His momentary astonishment gave Derek Andrews an opening to speak. When we dug the grave this morning, we found...another resident.

Another resident? Maggie asked. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Exactly! screamed John, pointing. Go look for yourself.

Maggie walked closer and peered cautiously into the new grave, not sure what to expect. The hole was only about four feet deep and looked to have a rusted flat metal surface at the bottom. What am I looking at?

That's the top of a casket vault, answered Derek. "An old one