Murder On Hickory Mountain

Ryder Malone is content to practice indigent defense from his mountainside cabin overlooking Longstreet, the perfect little tourist town. But after a chance encounter with a prisoner in the county jail, he discovers there is a dark underside surrounding Hickory Mountain, and it’s threatening his love and his life. Will he survive long enough to discover who’s murdering innocent men? ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ The prisoner clutched the bars so hard his knuckles were white. His nails were clean, and he wore chinos, a purple Izod shirt, and red-laced boots that looked like they came from Neiman Marcus. He was maybe in his mid-forties, average height and trim, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses. A good haircut. Clean shaven. Not a typical prisoner in any jail Malone had ever seen. “Yes, I’m a lawyer. Ryder Malone.” “I’m Mark Coker. I need a lawyer. They just pulled me over this morning, said I was weaving, then claimed they found a hidden gun in my car. I wasn’t weaving, and I don’t even own a gun. They won’t let me use the phone. I can pay you.” Malone handed him his card and asked, “Where are you from, Mr. Coker? What do you do?” “I’m an architect from Marietta. I was supposed to meet clients on a mountain tract overlooking a lake named Amadahy,” said Coker. “Lake Amadahy is in Nolan County. Next county up.” “Well, I took a dirt road on the right going up a mountain, which was what I was looking for,” said Coker. “But I came to a group of trashy houses and trailers. A big metal garage with tractor-trailer trucks. Parts, rusty equipment scattered all over the place. I figured this had to be the wrong road, so I turned around. When I got back on the highway, I didn’t get far before blue lights lit me up from behind, and I pulled over. Then another car came rushing in with lights flashing, blocking me from the front.” “The second car came in right away?” Malone asked. “It all happened real fast,” Coker said, nodding. “I didn’t know what was happening.” That seemed odd. A coordinated stop-and-block on a weaving case when the guy had just gotten on the road? Malone assumed there was something Coker wasn’t telling him, a common phenomenon in the world of criminal defense. “Have you made any statements?” Malone asked. Coker shook his head. “They haven’t asked me anything. I told them that wasn’t my gun.” “Okay. Don’t make any statements, don’t talk about your case. I have to talk to the DA on Snead’s case tomorrow, I’ll see what he has to say. Maybe he will agree to a bond.” He quoted a retainer, and Coker gave him the names and numbers of his wife and his attorney in Marietta. Malone assured Coker he would contact his wife immediately and started to leave. Then he thought of another question. He turned back toward the cell. “When you turned around where the trucks and all were, did you see or talk to anybody?” A witness who could say Coker wasn’t drunk would help. “There was a man who came rolling out from under a truck on one of those flat things with wheels, you know, like mechanics lie down on. He stood up wiping his hands on a greasy rag, and just shook his head when I asked if the road went to Lake Amadahy.” “What did he say?” asked Malone. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Shook his head no, that’s it,” said Coker.

Ryder Malone is content to practice indigent defense from his mountainside cabin overlooking Longstreet, the perfect little tourist town. But after a chance encounter with a prisoner in the county jail, he discovers there is a dark underside surrounding Hickory Mountain, and it's threatening his love and his life. Will he survive long enough to discover who's murdering innocent men? Excerpt The prisoner clutched the bars so hard his knuckles were white. His nails were clean, and he wore chinos, a purple Izod shirt, and red-laced boots that looked like they came from Neiman Marcus. He was maybe in his mid-forties, average height and trim, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses. A good haircut. Clean shaven. Not a typical prisoner in any jail Malone had ever seen. "Yes, I'm a lawyer. Ryder Malone." "I'm Mark Coker. I need a lawyer. They just pulled me over this morning, said I was weaving, then claimed they found a hidden gun in my car. I wasn't weaving, and I don't even own a gun. They won't let me use the phone. I can pay you." Malone handed him his card and asked, "Where are you from, Mr. Coker? What do you do?" "I'm an architect from Marietta. I was supposed to meet clients on a mountain tract overlooking a lake named Amadahy," said Coker. "Lake Amadahy is in Nolan County. Next county up." "Well, I took a dirt road on the right going up a mountain, which was what I was looking for," said Coker. "But I came to a group of trashy houses and trailers. A big metal garage with tractor-trailer trucks. Parts, rusty equipment scattered all over the place. I figured this had to be the wrong road, so I turned around. When I got back on the highway, I didn't get far before blue lights lit me up from behind, and I pulled over. Then another car came rushing in with lights flashing, blocking me from the front." "The second car came in right away?" Malone asked. "It all happened real fast," Coker said, nodding. "I didn't know what was happening." That seemed odd. A coordinated stop-and-block on a weaving case when the guy had just gotten on the road? Malone assumed there was something Coker wasn't telling him, a common phenomenon in the world of criminal defense. "Have you made any statements?" Malone asked. Coker shook his head. "They haven't asked me anything. I told them that wasn't my gun." "Okay. Don't make any statements, don't talk about your case. I have to talk to the DA on Snead's case tomorrow, I'll see what he has to say. Maybe he will agree to a bond." He quoted a retainer, and Coker gave him the names and numbers of his wife and his attorney in Marietta. Malone assured Coker he would contact his wife immediately and started to leave. Then he thought of another question. He turned back toward the cell. "When you turned around where the trucks and all were, did you see or talk to anybody?" A witness who could say Coker wasn't drunk would help. "There was a man who came rolling out from under a truck on one of those flat things with wheels, you know, like mechanics lie down on. He stood up wiping his hands on a greasy rag, and just shook his head when I asked if the road went to Lake Amadahy." "What did he say?" asked Malone. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Shook his head no, that's it," said Coker.

A Murder Like No OthersLate on the afternoon of October 9, 1905, three boys in Hamilton, Ontario hiked up to the city's Mountain region, intending to search the farmlands and wooded areas for chestnuts. At Limestone Ridge, they ventured into a cluster of hickory trees and stumbled upon the body of a woman, partially concealed by branches and leaves. Too frightened to check for signs of life, the boys ran and summoned help. When local residents and the police arrived, it was obvious to all that the woman had been murdered.She was young - no older than thirty - and solidly built, with rich dark hair that was tangled and bloody behind the right ear. A handkerchief dangled from her mouth and drying blood covered the front of her white shirtwaist. Whoever killed her had tried to conceal the body and burn it, although the fire never made it past the smoldering stage. Who was She? Who murdered her and Why? Scroll back up order your copy and find out!

"Mountain murders brings to the public fifteen legendary Colorado murders, dating from 1909 to the early 1980s."--Page 4 of cover.

A Story of Hard Spirits and Defiant Souls Franklin County, Virginia has long been known as the Moonshine Capital of the World. That history can seem romantic, but the county has a dark and violent past. The descendants of the Scots-Irish who settled its rugged mountains openly defied the law and employed their own notions of justice to defend their traditions and livelihood. During Prohibition, the production of moonshine skyrocketed, but the liquor didn't stop flowing from the mountains when the Eighteenth Amendment was repealed. County and state officials struggled to maintain order in a region where unsolved murders, strange disappearances, and senseless killings were a way of life. The peak came in 1978, with nine murders linked to moonshine and drugs in the county. Historian and Virginia native Phillip Andrew Gibbs tells story of that horrific year and the history behind it.

Murder brings him back to the mountains. A cold case could get him killed. The discovery of a body becomes personal when special agent Garrett Sneed is forced to work the case with law enforcement ranger Madison Lynley, his ex-girlfriend. But when another homicide reveals a possible link to his mother’s unsolved murder, Garrett is out for blood. As a cold case escalates into a murder spree, he must stop a serial killer who has now targeted Madison… From Harlequin Intrigue: Seek thrills. Solve crimes. Justice served. Discover more action-packed stories in the The Lynleys of Law Enforcement series. All books are stand-alone with uplifting endings but were published in the following order: Book 1: Special Agent Witness Book 2: Christmas Lights Killer Book 3: Murder in the Blue Ridge Mountains Book 4: Cold Murder in Kolton Lake Book 5: Campus Killer

In June of 1970, the body of 24-year-old Nancy Morgan was found inside a government-owned car in Madison County, North Carolina. It had been four days since anyone had heard from the bubbly, hard-working brunette who had moved to the Appalachian community less than a year prior as an organizer for Volunteers in Service to America. At the time of her death, her tenure in the Tar Heel State was just weeks from ending, her intentions set on New York and nursing school and a new life that she would never see. The initial investigation was thwarted by inept police work, jurisdictional confusion, and the influence of local corruption. Fourteen years would pass before an arrest in the case would be made, but even then, a pall would be cast over the veracity of the evidence. Met Her on the Mountain is the culmination of former Los Angeles Times staff writer Mark Pinsky's efforts to solve the 40-year-old mystery once and for all. An exhaustive piece of investigative journalism, Pinsky's work, now with a new postscript, dissects this modern Southern Gothic tale and takes readers on a journey to convince them that the truth of Morgan's murder is within reach.