Pitchfork Hollow — Dean Feldmeyer

IT SURE TURNED INTO ONE HELL OF A DAY OFF...

though it started deliciously, with a mouthwatering heart-attack breakfast courtesy of May June Hall, the wife of the constable here in sleepy Baird, Kentucky. While I preach only to thirty or so people on a Sunday, I like to keep my strength up. And it's a good thing, because Ray Hall burst into the diner announcing that Big John Wisdom had been done in over in Pitchfork Hollow. Ray asked me to tag along on the investigation--it seems that while Appalachian hill folk don't cotton to the law, they rarely take potshots at pastors.

Big John Wisdom was a mean ol' boy--even his momma called him vile and hateful--but he must've been in real deep with someone to get his comeuppance face down in the family four-holer. The thought of such a nasty killer prowling around my parish was unsettling--especially so after I discovered another one of my flock brutally murdered. My snooping got me a good beating about which I don't remember much except some inventive physical therapy from my girlfriend, the lovely Naomi Taylor. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Now I'm just hoping to stop the killer, before I'm denied a proper respite from the rigors of ministering to the gentle folks of this quiet
town....