Diffle County Report: Murder and Deer Sausage - 2nd in a Series

Part 1:  http://themutantmousechronicles.blogspot.com/2011/07/diffle-county-report-body-found-in.html

In Pennsylvania We Eat Our State Animal

Written By Rick Fisher

Aunt Carol was stirring the crockpot when Big Don arrived home.  "Honey, the phone has been ringing off the hook for the past hour."  The phone rang as she spoke.

Big Don picked up the receiver and barked "Hello!"  After 10 minutes of answering “Yes”, “No”, and “No, thank you”, Big Don hung up the phone.  "Well, that was a producer for The Nancy Grace Show on CNN. Nancy wants me to be on her show tomorrow night.  Told them,  Thanks but no thanks."   Don shook his head as he sat down for dinner. "I'm thinking we might have to barricade the highway by tomorrow morning."

"NANCY GRACE?!  YOU WERE ON THE TELEPHONE WITH NANCY GRACE?!?!?!  Aunt Carol dropped a spoon, then she dropped the bowl of Deer Sausage Soup. Then she ran out of the room. Don didn't have to worry about the phone ringing the rest of the night.  Aunt Carol took care of that. By midnight, every living person ( and a few near-dead ones) in Diffle County knew about Linda Malone being found dead in Fletcher's Pond.

After cleaning up Aunt Carol’s mess, Big Don helped himself to three bowlfuls of her world famous Deer Sausage Soup (which is a variation on a Dutch recipe created by the Women's Auxiliary of the Friendship Hook and Ladder Company of East Greenville). The meat was perfectly smoked and the soup tasted delicious- “Never better!”, Big Don said out loud, a happy old grin on his face.

“Hey Auntie, is this Father Figure’s sausage?” Big Don hollered to the living room, then murmured to himself “I doubt it is, this is much sweeter and juicier.” Aunt Carol hollered back from the living room.  “Squirrel brought it over. Such a sweet, yet odd little man!’  Don was too busy chomping down soup to offer his affirmative reply.

Aunt Carol kept the phone lines humming half the night. Some folks swear they saw phone lines smoking on the telephone poles.  Big Don finished dinner and then headed upstairs for an early bedtime.  Tomorrow was going to be a long day.  “I don’t know how I do it!” Don chuckled to himself a short while later, just before falling asleep.

The next morning, Big Don had to drive across Bernie Sharp’s sheep farm to get to Maruice Candelharp’s driveway. From there he crossed Beaver Dam Rd. to enter Creek Lane, which is really nothing more than a dirt trail. He then drove his truck through a thicket of blackberry bushes that had overgrown the trail’s end, his truck climbing up the shoulder and onto the pavement of N Fletcher Road which led directly to the rear of the Grinold Township Municipal building.

The State Police had closed the main highway one mile North of Creek Lane, and one mile South of the Township building after 75+ news vans, satellite trucks, and thousands of rubbernecked lookie-loos in cars and trucks of all sizes descended on the pond. Big Don pulled into the township building, having avoided all the congestion.

When he got out of his truck, he was immediately surrounded by reporters.  “Are you in charge here?  Do you have any comment on the Malone murder?  Are you going to provide us with regular updates?  Is it possible to get an interview with you live on our news program? 

Big Don kept walking, a blank look on his face.  “Sorry folks, I’m just here to pick up a permit.”   The reporters melted away, realizing they had the wrong man.  Big Don walked inside and greeted the makeshift police department assembled in the meeting room, then walked out back to the township garage.  The big trucks were lined up, snow plows firmly attached, ready for the coming winter.

At the back of the garage, four worn-out lazy-boy chairs were waiting, though three were already occupied.  Larry, Squirrel, and The Kid were lounging and talking about Linda Malone, each one arguing the merits of the case.

“Thanks for the deer sausage, Squirrel. Aunt Carol made her world class sausage soup. I’m still feeling it.”  Big Don burped.  

Squirrel smiled.  “No problem, Big Don. I had plenty extra.  Tell her to save me a bowl of that soup.  Never had it before.” 

State Police Captain Jonathan Jenkins walked back into the garage. He had been up all night managing the media circus while searching for evidence.  His usually crisp uniform was wrinkled and his tie was stained with tomato sauce, his salt and pepper hair disheveled from a 3 A.M. attempt to nap in one of the lazy boys.

Big Don leaned against a work counter and greeted Captain Jenkins, "Hi John. You look a little tired. Are you close to catching the killer?  I will want my township building back eventually.”

Captain John managed a grin.  “We have some evidence, found some ATV tracks on the lake path. The path leads back to State Game Lands and the parking lot on Carter Hill Road.  We found more evidence in the parking lot. We made a cast of the ire tracks and I have men walking every square inch of the woods in between. We have no idea why someone would have chosen this location to dump her body.  It’s a missing piece in the puzzle, the mot-.”

Captain John paused, realizing he didn’t know everyone in the room. He turned to Squirrel and, without smiling said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Captain Jonathan Jenkins, Barracks Commander of the Pennsylvania State Police.”  

“Nice to um..meet you, Captain.” Squirrel managed to say.  They did not shake hands.

Captain John looked at Squirrel and frowned. “Everything I just said is confidential, understood?  My words never leave this room.  I’ve known these boys a long time.  It only takes one screw-up to get yourself kicked off the need-to-know list.”  Captain John turned to Big Don.  “Don, we are holding a press conference in about 30 minutes.

"Need to Know List," Larry repeated, like a parrot.

"Don, we’d like a local official to answer a few general questions about Grinold Township,”  said Captain John.

"Local Official", Larry repeated.

Big Don smiled and nodded.  “I think we can find someone for that.”   Captain John thanked him gave a general wave, and a longer than normal stare at Squirrel before walking back to the office area.   

Big Don sat down, yawned and stretched. “Well kid, we can do it with you or without you. Squirrel, looks like you made a lifelong friend at the State Police barracks. Better not drink and drive.”   Squirrel shrugged, his gray-blue eyes slightly larger than normal.

"Do it with or without you", repeated Larry

The Kid shook his head repeatedly. “I’m not going up there, Don. No way.  I’m just a Township employee.”  The kid squirmed in his chair, adjusting the John Deere cap on his head.


“I will tell you what to say.  Remember that time you needed a gift for your girlfriend and we helped you pick it out?  Don was smiling so hard, his face was about to crack.

“HELP ME OUT?  You told me to buy new equipment for bow hunting.  That she would appreciate the fresh meat.  She was furious!”   The Kid kicked at some dirt on the floor.

"Help you out.," said Larry, as he read the Diffle County Daily Reporter.

“We didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”  Big Don laughed out loud.  “OK, here is what you’ll say.  Grinold Township has been around longer than most can remember.  We have clean water, beautiful lakes and streams, plenty of hunting and fishing.  Now, if you need more information than that, Diffle County has elected officials who need votes. Go talk to them.”

The kid shook his head.  “I ain’t goin’ up in front of those cameras, Big Don.”

Thirty minutes later, The Kid, also known as Timothy Westin, Grinold Township Public Relations Director, talked for 30 minutes about hunting and fishing in Grinold Township.  Most of the reporters had already left by the time The Kid was finished with his speech.

Afterwards, Captain and Big Don had a private talk in Don’s office.  The only unusual thing in the woods that the police observed was a deer had been killed and gutted not far off the ATV Trail. Hunting season was at least two months away. Big Don didn’t think much of that until he burped.

Smoking Deer Sausage

All characters are fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, incidental, and not meant to hurt, harm, nor offend your tender sensibilities.  

Diffle County Update: Aunt Carol's Deer Sausage Soup Recipe

This writer has had a busy week after our perfect vacation. Because of that, my characters in Diffle County have been less than cooperative.  While I almost have the entire murder story figured out, I still have to talk to the Reilly clan and maybe Big Don one more time to make certain I have all the facts straight. In the meantime, why not take a look at Aunt Carol's recipe for Deer Sausage Soup!  

And remember, if Deer sausage is out of season (not likely in Diffle County), you can use regular, boring smoked sausage.  If you do, try to use one of the local butchers like John Hemstattler & Sons, over in East Greenville, just past the traffic light on the left.  Look for the cow in the window.

Aunt Carol's Deer Sausage Soup

4 lg. potatoes, peeled and diced (like for potato salad)
1 lg. onion, diced
1 lg. green pepper, diced
1 lb. smoked deer sausage, cut into small pieces
Cover with water, add salt and pepper to taste, cook until potatoes are
done, then add: 1 can red kidney beans (don't drain)
2-3 Tablespoons of sugar
Heat to boiling point and thicken with flour water (just thicken slightly)
**sausage can be browned before cooking, if desired)

Diffle County is a work of fiction, however the recipe is true.  All characters reside in the mind of the author. Any resemblance to persons now living or already gone to meet their maker is purely coincidental, incidental, and not worthy of your frivolous lawsuit.  Spend your money on something worthwhile like a vacation. Go somewhere nice, like Washington State, or perhaps, Diffle County, where you thought you were in the first place.

Diffle County Report: Body Found in Fletcher's Pond

"Everybody gets dead, it was his turn." -John Wayne, as Hondo

There is a great spine that runs, like the back of a dinosaur, from Georgia to Maine. Across it's most inaccessible pinnacles, winds a small walking trail, officially known as "The Appalachian Trail". Plummeting down it's ravines and swales, around, over and across several mountain tops are thousands of small, rural communities -  This is Appalachian country.    

Folks who live near the trail rarely walk upon it. We have enough big rocks to climb over in our own backyard.  We sure as hell don't need a trail to remind us of where we live. Besides, Appalachian folk prefer trails that cater to ATVs and snowmobiles.  We don't want to hear a coyote howl unless we are chasing it down.

From stick-built cabins deep in woods to the brick-fronted buildings on Main Street, Appalachia is more than a place. The mountains and rural hills along the Eastern mountain spine are the epicenter of family, history, folklore, and friendship. We celebrate our lives with food, music, art, snowmobiles, atv's, guns, and blue dog politics.  Diffle County sits comfortably in the upper Eastern spine of the Pennsylvania Appalachian mountains.

In the heart of Diffle County, nearly cut in two by the Appalachian Trail, sits The Old Grin, i.e. Grinold Township.  The Townfship of Old Grinolde was founded in 1783 by  Walter and Louis Grinolde, two wealthy brothers from Philadelphia in search of adventure. Soon after arriving, Louis was killed in an Indian attack (this fact is disputed by some in the Grinolde family).

Louis did not live long enough to meet his sister-in-law Lois Fletcher.  Walter met Lois at a social in Easton and courted her for two years. They were married in Easton and honeymooned in a tent on the edge of a small lake in the Townfship of Grinolde. In honor of the love of his life, Walter Grinolde named the lake Fletcher's Pond.

Now there's a body floating in Fletcher's Pond and  The Old Grin is about to be fished out.

Captain Johnathan Jenkins of the PA State Police was standing in the doorway to his office at the East Greenville barracks when the 911 call came in.

"Diffle County Control Center, What is the nature of your emergency?"
"Jill, it's Uncle Larry.  Get the State Police on the horn,  get me Captain John right away." 
"Uncle Larry, I need to get the basic information first.  I can transfer you after that."
"Jill, there's a dead girl floating in Fletcher's pond.  I'm at the Grinold Township building, now patch me through to Captain John."
"Ok, transferring now. Say hi to Aunt Carol for me."


Within 40 minutes of receiving the phone call, Captain John Jenkins and  Homicide Detective Ralph Gower  were interviewing Bobby LaFleur about his discovery while two patrolmen carefully removed the girl's body from the lilly pads.  Diffle County Coroner  Jim Gehler stood at the water's edge, waiting to examine the body.  An ambulance stood at the ready.  The fire police were on the scene, directing traffic around the crime scene, which now occupied  the shoulder and South-bound lane of old Route 39.

This was bad, real bad.  The girl appeared to be in her twenties.  Her hands had been duct-taped behind her back and more tape was across her mouth. There were signs of strangulation on her neck. A few minutes after the coroner declared her dead, the State Police Regional CSI unit arrived to secure the site and gather evidence.  Captain John called in the Diffle County Search and Rescue to dive under in search for more evidence.  Coroner Jim Gehler thought the girl looked "awful familiar" but there was no identification on her body.

Meanwhile, the telephone wires were burning up, first in Grinold Township, then all across Diffle County. A reporter and a photographer from the Diffle County Reporter arrived, skirted past the police tape, and snapped a couple pictures before a patrolman ushered them across the street.  The crime scene was extended, closing Route 39.  A detour route onto 2nd street and through the Township parking lot was quickly arranged.

One of the CSI unit investigators, Sgt. Becci Nillson, recognized the victim, and quickly took Captain John by the arm, deliberately walking him away from the scene and out of earshot of everyone there.
"Becci, what have you got?"
"Captain, we will need back-up, all the support we can find, public relations, top investigators, the best in the State.  That girl is not just any girl, the girl is Linda Malone."
Captain John's mouth dropped wide open.
"The girl who killed her son then went on a 10-day cruise? The one who was found not guilty?  But she was from Georgia. Oh shit. This will be a circus before tomorrow morning. Thanks Becci"

Captain John  Jenkins called the entire team together.

"We have temporarily ID'ed the victim." announced Captain John Jenkins to the team  "From this point forward, I would advise you to keep your mouth shut and do your job. Do not discuss this with anyone. Do not make any comments to the press, unless you want to find yourself answering to the District Attorney."

Captain John looked over at the reporter and photographer standing just outside the yellow tape.

"Get that reporter at least a block away from here. Move the whole crime scene back. I'm calling in every off-duty patrolman to canvass this town and the lake.  Ladies and Gentlemen, If  Sgt. Nillson is correct, our victim is the infamous Linda Malone."

There was a moment of silence and then a collective gasp as the reality of the situation became clear. Six months ago, Linda Malone was acquitted of drowning her own 5-year old son in a case that captivated America. For months the media saturated the public with the story of a murderous drowning, a basement burial, and the 10-day Bahama cruise.  Convicted in the general public by a bloodthirsty media, she was found not guilty by a jury of her peers.

The defense successfully argued that the crime scene was tainted by sloppy evidence gathering and an expert pathologist stated that the evidence pointed to an accidental drowning. Her lawyers insinuated that her ex-husband might be the true killer, that she could not have dug a grave in such hard ground. Finally, they argued that there simply was no hard evidence to convict.

The jury agreed but America disagreed. Death threats were sent across social media platforms like spam. After the verdict and her release from custody, Linda Malone climbed into a private Lear jet and disappeared into the night sky.

Rumor had it that she was living in seclusion somewhere along the East Coast, writing her 10 million dollar memoir, and travelling into a major city once a month for plastic surgery.  In truth, the press and the general public hadn't seen her since she was released from prison.

Fletcher's Pond was the last place anyone expected to find her.  The Old Grin bore a wicked smile.

Tim Cardin, recently college graduate with a degree in Journalism and now a poorly paid reporter, shook his head. He watched the police gather together as the crime scene expanded like a balloon filling with air.
"Something's up, Kerry. This is weird. I don't think this is a drunken boater who fell overboard."

Kerry Nordstrom, local photographer and occasional stringer, nodded in agreement. She scrolled back to look at the two pictures she snapped before being moved out of the crime scene.  She whistled and then burst into a short laugh, beaming at Tim. "Are you ready for this?, her blue eyes were full of taunting mirth, "Better yet, do you think you can handle this? She readied her Cannon camera for HD video, checked her batteries, and started running back towards the crime scene.

"What are you doing?  Wait a minute! You know who the victim is! Spill it, Nordstrom!" He followed behind her as she moved closer in preparation to film the body and crime scene.  "Who is it?  Tell me!"  Tim Cardin caught up and grabbed Kerry's shoulder, slowing her down. She turned to him, her face bursting with excitement.

"Linda Malone!  The dead girl is Linda Malone! Now come on.  This is the story of our life. Call your Editor. Call CNN. Get your recorder out. Tonight, we are the national spotlight. And inside my camera is a million dollar photograph!"   Kerry ran towards the yellow tape, camera in full record mode.  

Back at the Grinold Township building, Big Don was about to kill the lights and close up shop when Captain John walked in.  "Big Don, I'm going to need the Township building as a temporary base of operations. Mind if we commandeer the building""

Big don chuckled, "Sure can, Cap. There's a coffeemaker in my office and a fridge with sodas and a few heartier liquid refreshments. Help yourself. Just don't try to drive the trucks.  I don't think you have a CDL license and we wouldn't want you getting a ticket."

Captain John laughed. "I won't drive the trucks.  Listen Don, prepare yourself. The victim is famous or infamous, depending on who you talk to. This is going to be the biggest circus you've ever seen."

Big Don smiled at Captain John.  "Well, let the circus come.  No hotels within 25 miles, no cell phone reception, and only Fletcher's Pond Inn for food and drink. Folks travelling here aren't going to find it very comfortable. Now I gotta get going.  Emma's made deer sausage soup for dinner. I'll check in on you later. Should I bring back some soup and fresh bread for you?"

"Thanks but no thanks. I'll grab dinner at the Inn." replied Captain John.

"Your loss", said Big Don as he walked to the front door. The Township phone rang and Big Don stopped to answer it.  "Grinold Township. What? Who is this? ABC News? No, I don't know anything about that....yes, I've heard of her....( Big Don winked at Captain John).....no, sorry there isn't anyone here and I'm late for dinner...you too..Bye now."

Big Don hung up the phone and walked out, got into his Ford F-150 and drove home. Captain John checked his cell reception, then pulled a Township phone over to the meeting table. Before he could pick up the receiver to dial out the phone started ringing again.

This is a fictional story. All characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real-life folks is incidental, accidental, and completely unintentional. For directions to Diffle County, please use Google maps. Perhaps there is a street view of my house there.  Written by Rick Fisher. Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved.

Diffle County Update: Jim Lackey's Response

Ed. Note:  Jim Lackey, former Lincoln Township Supervisor, has requested space on this blog to respond to our article of July 9, 2011 concerning his Election loss and arrest for driving under the influence (DUI)


Dear Mr. Fishfire,


I am writing this letter to clear up a number of misconceptions, untruths, vulgarities, and downright lies that you propagated in your column of yesterday.   


Son, you are not from around here.  Although your Grandpappy on your Momma's side was a Diffle County native, and a well-respected East Greenville Councilman to boot, your daddy was not born in these parts. After your Grandpappy insisted (by shotgun) on a proper wedding between his 16 year old daughter and your cradle-robbing father, your parents were obliged to move away.  After reading your article, I suspect you take after your father.


Out of respect for your Grandpappy, most of us in Diffle County have accepted you as an almost-local. But lately, some of us are questioning whether you have enough experience and common knowledge to write about our community in the manner you have chosen.   You need to ask more questions, offer fewer opinions, and get your stories straight. If you don't- you could end up looking down the barrel of a Diffle County shotgun, just like your daddy did.


I intend to clear the record.  I do admit that I was driving under the influence that night and I did not protest nor appeal my arrest.  Did you know who I was having dinner with at the Smithville Inn, the Friday before the election?  No, I don't suppose you do because you didn't bother to check.  His name is Captain Johnathan Jenkins and he is Commanding Officer of the Greenville State Police Barracks. 


John is an old friend of our family. In fact, had you checked the County birth records, you would have discovered that the Jenkins and Lackey families are related.  Captain John's Uncle (James Weatherhill) was married to my Aunt Sarah Johnston. 


On the Friday evening of my DUI, I was enjoying anniversary beers with Captain John and Terry Reeder, Lincoln Township Road Foreman. Terry was a damn good roadmaster, worked hard for the past 18 years, knew every ditch and driveway in Lincoln Township. For your information, Terry Reeder was the first person Chuck Tomato fired after the election.  


How did you like the roads in Lincoln Township this past winter, Mr. Fishfire?  Most folks will tell you they can now tell when they are entering Lincoln Township. Our roads are the only ones still covered in ice and snow ten days after a storm. Maybe you should be writing about that instead of dredging up this old story.


Anyway, at one point in the evening Captain John leaned over the table and suggested I take a different route home. A sobriety checkpoint was being set up on Smith Road.  For the past 6 months, young folks have been drag-racing on Smith Road every Friday night.  They sit and drink six-packs in the Inn's parking lot, and then cut over to Smith Road for some friendly racing.


A few months before the election, one of the racing cars lost control and hit a tree. Two local kids were badly hurt.  Afterwards, I called Captain John and asked if there was something the State Police could do about the racing before someone gets killed. Captain John suggested a sobriety checkpoint, which I thought was a helluva good idea.


After Captain John told me about the checkpoint, I switched to Coca-Colas and hung around for a couple more hours. I even enjoyed one of Katie Smith's delicious Chicken Pot-pies. Have you ever tried one? She bakes the finest Chicken Pot-pies in Diffle County.


After dinner, I felt sober enough to leave and wanted to get home before the Police fireworks began, so I put the new Ford in gear and headed for home. I drove out the back entrance onto Smith Road, generally out of habit more than anything else.  


As I approached the checkpoint, I was directed to the opposite side of the road by one of the officers.  I thought he intended for me to drive on through. I waved to Patrolman Richard Lackey, who I recognized and who just happens to be my nephew.  


I guess I should have stopped, maybe even waited longer to leave the Smithville Inn.  But I was not "tomatoad" in that photograph. I only failed the breathalyzer by .01 units.  I was not even close to driving drunk. Had I waited at the Smithville Inn a half hour longer, I'd still be a Lincoln Township Supervisor.


Now let's get a few more things cleared up before I quit writing this letter. I have never, ever taken a bribe in public office.  After twenty years in office, a politician gets to meet people from all over the State.  I served as Diffle County Chair of the Democratic party for over ten years and attended at least three golf tournaments in support of Senator Ken Reynolds relection campaign.  Senator Reynolds is Roland Reynold's brother and their daddy once lived down the road from my Aunt Hilda's farm.


It's time for a short history lesson. Our family settled in Diffle County in 1876, My Great Great Grandpappy served in the Pennsylvania regiment that fought at Gettysburg. After the war was finished, he bought 250 acres of prime farmland in the West end of Diffle County.  That land was handed down through the family and ended up with my Aunt Hilda Johnston.


Next to my Aunt's farm was a wetland and beyond that a small tract for farming before it rose up too steep to be of any value.  The Reynolds clan bought that tract of land and built a hunting cabin there.  Lots of folks built hunting cabins back then. One day, my Aunt walked outside to hang up the laundry, and there in the middle of the backyard was a stake with an orange ribbon tied to it.


The Reynolds clan had hired a surveyor out of Harrisburg. His name was Robert L. Pickens, R.S. and he claimed that there was a hole in our deed and 50 acres of our land belonged to nobody at all. The Reynolds filed a Quiet Title action in Diffle County Court to take our land.  


Aunt Hilda sold off 10 acres on the West side of the farm to raise money to pay the lawyers.  She fought the Reynolds for 10 years in the courts. Each time she won a judgment, the Reynolds would appeal to a higher court.


Finally, they ran out of judges and the case was flushed down the toilet where it belonged. But the Reynolds clan couldn't leave it alone.  Seems they made their fortune stealing people's land until they tangled with a woman made of iron and stone named Hilda Johnston. But their fortunes changed after that.  


A few years later, some lawyer discovered that Mr. Pickens was more carpetbagger than land surveyor. His license was checked into and discovered to be a forgery- he was using his father's seal, Robert L. Pickens, Sr.  Junior might have known how to triangulate, but it wasn't the kind you need to find a stone marker on a property corner.


A bunch of folks sued the Reynolds clan, and settlements were made. Aunt Hilda wanted nothing more to do "with them snakes and muskrats", and was content to have her whole farm back, less the ten acres she sold to James Weatherhill.  It's a small town, Mr. Fishfire, just like High School, except we don't live out of our lockers anymore.


When Scott Reynolds showed up wanting to build a shopping center, I met with him privately and asked if he would be willing to donate money to the YMCA fund.  


East Greenville is trying to raise funds for a County YMCA and nearly every businessman has offered to donate to the "smooth sailing" YMCA fund.  However, Mr. Reynolds was offended and likened my request to a bribe, called it "extortion", and whispered those words into more than a few local ears.


As for the Reynolds Site Plan, it would be hard to trust a family that steals land and hires consultants who certify drawings with the survey seal of their dead daddy.  


And finally, there is no truth to the rumor that I forced people to use local builders.  What I did was mention to those folks wanting to build in Lincoln Township that our local builders offered a 10% discount for buildings constructed in their home Township. I always tried to support our local economy. If that is a bad idea, then our entire Country had better hoist a Communist flag and surrender now.


Thank you for allowing me the space to write this response. I hope in the future, you would do a little more research and a little less soapboxing.


Sincerely,
Jim Lackey
Former Lincoln Township Supervisor
   
Diffle County is a fictional place. All characters are fictional. Any resemblance to non-fictional individuals, living or dead, is purely incidental and unintentional. The Author is a real person. His involvement in Diffle County affairs appears suspiciously fictional as well. 

Diffle County Report: Jim Lackey Loses an Election

If you've never lived in Diffle County or her Southern sister, Nother County, you might not be able to fully understand how their political systems operate.  If you have lived in either county, you already know you don't want to understand. You just want your roads plowed in the winter and potholes fixed in the Spring- and no new Ordinances.

Diffle County is located in Eastern Pennsylvania, near the border with New Jersey, close enough to the Delaware River that you can smell the sewer outfall pipe from East Greenville's sewage treatment plant. There are three elected County Commissioners, no major cities, six townships, and three boroughs and several unincorporated villages.  

The townships are responsible for plowing local roads in the winter, then fixing the winter road damage in Spring and Summer.  Each township is governed by three elected supervisors. Each Borough is governed by an elected Town Council and Mayor.  The Council conducts the daily business while the Mayor waves from Miss Bettie's Chevy Convertible in the Memorial Day parade.  

Sometimes the Mayor casts the tie-breaker vote when Council is deadlocked.  Otherwise, the Mayor has no real power whatsoever.  It is a common fact that Town Councils rarely need a tiebreaker. Government is run by majority vote, and voters elect majorities. Yet everyone wants to be Mayor.  The reason why is simple and sweet.

Just like Senators and Presidents, once you are elected Mayor, people call you Mayor for the rest of your life- even if you only serve one term. When you die, your title gets all the attention in the local newspaper. For example,  "Former Mayor Dies of Heart Attack"  could be your death headline and the obituary might read "Mayor Paul Pounders, Age 78".  This is cool to some people- even a dead big fish in a small pond is still a big fish.   

But local government doesn't actually operate as described above. Over in Lincoln Township, Jim Lackey, Chairman of the Board of Supervisors, ran his township with an iron fist for over twenty years.  His friends got their projects approved, his enemies got violation notices from the Zoning Officer.  If you wanted to build a house there, you used a local builder from Lincoln Township.  To do otherwise could be costly.  Incomplete design reviews, surprise inspections, and Stop Work Orders were common for those who didn't meet with Uncle Jimmy before choosing their builder.

Finally, a local tomato farmer, fed up with the abuse of power, and also angry that Uncle Jimmy made fun of his wife at a public meeting, decided to challenge  Lackey in the general election. Chairman Lackey was unconcerned.  Chuck "Tomatoad" Tody could win the primary unopposed, but had no strong support base for the general election. Since announcing his candidacy, "Tomatoad" noticed a significant drop in sales at his fruit and vegetable stand on Kidder Road.  Lackey supporters were sending a message.  

Besides, Jim Lackey was busy with the art of governance. Scott Reynolds, a young developer from Harrisburg, wanted to build a small shopping center in Lincoln Township. He wanted to do this legally, without making a cash contribution to Uncle Jimmy's private bank account. This type of upstart behavior was unacceptable.  

Lincoln Township had several issues with the Reynolds Site Plan. Month after month, modifications were denied and the plan was tabled. The common consensus was the Reynolds Shopping Center would never get approved by Uncle Jimmy and Lincoln Township. Some folks grumbled about this, since the township really needed a larger grocery store.  Lackey argued publicly that the shopping center was exactly the kind of growth the Lincoln township didn't need.  Privately, he urged Scott Reynolds to make the required "smooth sailing" payment and avoid further costly delays. Cash in a plain brown envelope, please.     

Since local folks pay little attention to elected officials in Harrisburg, no one in Lincoln Township thought to compare two identical last names. Could Scott Reynolds might somehow be related to State Attorney General Roland Reynolds? In reality, they were father and son and that's a game changer.   

Jim Lackey would have won the election, had he not driven away from the Smithville Inn, firmly planted behind the wheel of his brand new Ford Explorer. Every Friday evening, Uncle Jimmy would drive to the Smithville Inn, enjoy dinner and libations (mostly libations), and then leave the bar from the rear entrance, returning home via Smith Road  (T-0224). 

This back-road journey was an easy-peasy two mile drive and the very same road Uncle Jimmy plowed every winter for Lincoln Township. Jimmy could drive this route blindfolded, drunk, and drugged, with one arm tied behind his back, and a black bear tearing up the upholstery in the back seat. 

At the Reynolds Annual Labor Day Cookout, Scott and his dad had a long talk about Jim Lackey. Roland had high aspirations. He wanted to be Governor one day. He wanted to campaign as an aggressive prosecutor of fraud, white collar crime, and political oppression.  The rise of the Reynolds kingdom could be partially built upon the ruins of  a Lackey fiefdom.  The Attorney General made a few phone calls.

On the Friday  night before the general election, about a half-mile from the Smithville Inn, on a desolate stretch of Township Road No. 0224, the State Police set up a sobriety checkpoint.  For the first three hours, only two cars passed through. Around 9 pm, Jim Lackey's Ford Explorer approached the checkpoint from the opposite side of the center line.

Uncle Jimmy drove right past the State Police officers, smiling and waving.   He failed to notice the photographer from the Diffle County Reporter snapping a picture of him waving off uniformed police officers as they jumped back to avoid getting struck by his SUV.   

The State Police pursued the Ford Explorer and arrested James Johnston Lackey at the entrance to his driveway.  The second photograph on the front page of the Diffle County Reporter was of Uncle Jimmy in handcuffs, bent over the front of State Police cruiser, his smiling, tomatoad face laying flat against the hood of the car.  

Charles Reginald Tody won the election in a landslide. He runs Lincoln Township with an iron fist.

Diffle County is a fictional place. All characters are fictional as well. Any resemblance to the hundreds of politicians I know is merely coincidental and meant to stay that way.

Diffle County Report on The Johnston/Reilly Feud

(Author's Note: Diffle County is a fictional place, located in the Eastern Pennsylvania foothills. All characters are based upon folks I may or may not know. All events are fictional as well, although a truck did get pushed into in a ditch by a Johnston driving a backhoe, while pulling the remains of his neighbor's fence about twenty years ago.  This story has nothing in common with that one-except that they were similar in nature, with alcohol involved and a feud in progress. )

Our story begins...

Back in Diffle County, the boys had a Wikileak problem of their own.  Seems like Charlie Johnston got a little "tired" after too many beers on New Years Eve  and finally decided to remove the fence that Joe Reilly built  on the Johnston property. A witness to the removal called the newspaper, and the next day the Diffle County Record had a page-one picture of  the Diffle County's brand new Ford 150 upside-down in a ditch, along with Charlie's backhoe laying on its side and pieces of fencing scattered like toothpicks all over the highway.

 It all began last summer, when neighbor Joe Reilly decided that Charlie's weekend partying (especially the one that ended with Charlie running around Joe's backyard starkers) was too downright awful a sight to watch. Joe bought and built a six-foot high stockade fence (without a zoning permit) on the property line between them. That property line location was kind of determined by Joe, his step-son Billy, and a string line between two stakes. This did not sit well with Charlie Johnston, not well at all.

Family history

Joe and Charlie go way back, all the way back to Pre-K school at the Garret YMCA.  There isn't one thing one doesn't know about the other.  Now you would think that would make them the best of friends.  On the contrary, they act like two cats in a bag.

Their family history is a tad convoluted too.  Recently, Charlie's niece, Vera Johnston-Reilly  married Joe's oldest brother, William.  The Johnston family now has the singular opinion that William Reilly is a cradle-robbing pedophillic, trophy-wife hunting, loveless, screwed up son of a bitch who has twisted and coerced Vera Johnston's innocent soul and beautiful body into loving him. William also has a ton of money and most local folks wonder which bank he robbed to get it.

If you ask Vera, she will tell you (in hushed tones) that William has three redeeming qualities she can not resist- a 1968 Ford Shelby Mustang GT-350 bright red and in cherry condition, a ton of money, and the biggest "weiner" she ever laid eyes on.  It was love at first sight.

Charlie and Joe's history goes even deeper- something to do with grandparents, a tree, and a monument with a misspelled name.  That is a story for another time.

Why the fence was built

Six months ago, before the fence was built, on a warm, sunny Monday morning, Joe Reilly stormed into the town office. He was ready to raise holy hell.  According to Joe, the following incident occurred: Charlie and his wife, a bleached blonde-three hundred pound screamer named Sheila (with a mean streak wider than Saturn's rings), got plastered on JD and Corona chasers, and snuck into Joe's backyard. They wanted to take a naughty midnight dip in the Reilly's brand-new in-ground swimming pool.  "Let's pop its cherry!" Charlie said.

First they got naked (not unusual) and had loud sex on the pool steps.  Afterwards, Joe took a sweet, long pee into the pool  from the concrete edge. This angered Sheila, who was still in the pool, floating on her back.   As her voice rose to a decibel level usually reserved for planes taking-off, Charlie vomited on a lounge chair.  At about this time, Joe Reilly, usually a deep sleeper, stepped outside with shotgun in hand, shells loaded to the max with rocksalt.

Joe chased them off, with a stinging spread of salt in their naked behinds. He spent the next several hours  cleaning and super-chlorinating his pool.  The next day, he went to the town office to complain. Since Charlie Johnston works on the township road crew, Joe decided this was a community problem and he wanted Charlie Johnston fired.

Big Don, deer sausage therapy

Big Don, elected town father, handled Joe Reilly in the usual manner- with a dose of humor, a shrug of the shoulders, and a reminder to sign up for the recycling containers.  When Joe left the office an hour later (after a free hot dog lunch) he was carrying a pound of deer sausage under his arm, courtesy of Big Don. At that point, Joe had completely forgotten about Charlie Johnston's drunken disaster. "Whew, I'm not sure how I do it!", Don exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with mirth.  We're not too sure either.

Joe Reilly didn't forget his Reilly problem for very long. When he arrived home, Sheila was standing in her driveway, screaming full throttle at her kids, who were either ignoring her or completely deaf as they climbed up into Joe Reilly's favorite maple tree.  The next day, Joe bought a stockade fence at Home Depot and had it installed that weekend.  On Monday morning, Charlie Johnston filed a complaint with the zoning officer.

The township did their job, took Joe Reilly to local court and he paid a five hundred dollar fine.  But he refused to get a permit and a showdown was now brewing in Diffle County Court.  Yet Joe would visit town hall every Monday at lunchtime for a  free hot dog lunch, courtesy of Big Don.


Reilly goes to the shore , Johnston gets creative

On the Saturday following Labor Day, Joe Reilly packed up his tiny peep of a wife, and his 19-year old step-son Billy, and drove to the Jersey shore for a nice, relaxing week at his brother's vacation home in Avalon.  Finally, he would get away from the hoots, hollers, loud music, and wild parties next door.  The only sound he wanted to hear was the surf crashing against the beach.

Five minutes after he pulled out of his driveway and steered his jet-black Altima towards the Garden State Parkway, Charlie Johnston went to work on decorating Reilly's fence.

A short history on Jimmy, the hubcap hunter

A few weeks earlier, Charlie Johnston  ran into Diffle County Senior Judge William Butler at the Moose Lodge.  In early April, Judge Butler arrived home a half-day early from a weekend seminar to find his 18-year old daughter, Jennifer, in bed with 26-year old  Jimmy Beaver.

Beaver was well known for having a grand collection of hubcaps. He spent hours every day on his bicycle, canvassing Nother and Diffle County roads. Jimmy was a hubcap hunter. You couldn't miss him, he always wore the same red and black tartan flannel shirt and a bright orange hunting cap (the one with the fuzzy sides snapped up). His  long dark, greasy hair would be sticking out in all directions, and a bead of water was always hanging off the tip of his long beak of a nose.  Hubcaps were bungied to his bicycle in every way imaginable, and in a few ways no one but Jimmy could imagine.

Jimmy would place these shiny treasures all over his 1/2 acre property- Ford caps on the right side yard, Chevy caps in the front yard, Dodge caps in the left side yard, and Jap/Korean/Yugo caps in the rear yard.  Near the main road, there was a hand painted sign that read, Hupcabs,  2 dolar  Fin em yerself  leeve $ in jar   Next to the sign was a big glass jar- empty as a pauper's wallet.

The Judge was not happy that his daughter (who must have got her smarts from her mother's side of the family) was bedding anyone, especially that moron, Jimmy Beaver (to quote the judge, off the record). Senior Judge William Butler, wielding a #3 wood,  ran a half-naked Jimmy Beaver off his property that Sunday morning.

On Monday, State revenue agents showed up at the front door of Beaver's 1965 brown and tan, single-wide trailer.  They wanted to know why Jimmy Beaver hadn't sent in his sales tax money for his hubcap sales.

On Tuesday, the zoning officer knocked on Beaver's paper-thin trailer door, then hand-delivered a Notice of Violation for operating a hubcap business without a permit, in a residential zone, in violation of setbacks.

On Wednesday, two squirrelly-looking dudes from the Department of Environmental Protection were poking  Jimmy's yard with soil samplers, looking for spilled oil- based on an anonymous complaint they received.

On Thursday, Jimmy received an audit notice from the Internal Revenue Service and he lost electric for 12 hours when a County landscaping crew accidentally dropped a tree on his electric line while clearing brush along the highway.

On Friday, he was pulled over by the State Police and given a $70.00 ticket for riding a bicycle without a helmet.

Senior Judge William Butler's deal of a lifetime

Saturday morning dawned with sun-filled splendor.  Jimmy Beaver was sitting on the rusted metal front steps of his mobile home, drinking coffee, when black Lincoln town car with tinted windows pulled into his rutted, dirt driveway. The rear car door opened and out popped Judge Butler. He walked over to Jimmy and gingerly leaned on the rusted railing.  Their conversation went something like this,

Judge Butler:   "Beautiful morning!  Why look at all these hubcaps!  You got some business here, Jimmy."
Jimmy:            (frowns) "What do you want?  You need a hubcap or something?"
Judge Butler:   "How was your week?  I bet you got plenty of visitors here, eh?"
Jimmy:            (shrugs) "A few too many this week, Judge, thanks to you."
Judge Butler:   "That may be true or not, but I will tell you this. I can make it all go away with a phone call".
Jimmy:            "I ain't got no phone.  Got cut off,  right in the middle of talkin' to a man from the IRS."  
Judge Butler:   "I think two reasonable men can come to an agreement concerning my daughter."
Jimmy:            "What kind of agreement you thinkin' about, Judge?"
Judge Butler:   "How about I give you a dollar for every hubcap you have here." 
Jimmy:            "Gotta be a string attached to that somewhere..."
Judge Butler:    (interrupting) "You can never have any contact with my daughter ever again."
Jimmy:            "I got a lot of hubcaps, 10,795 of 'em to be exact.  I like to count, Judge."
Judge Butler:   "That's fine. I will write you a check, and I will have someone remove them all."
Jimmy:            "I got a string attached too."
Judge Butler:   "What do you want, son?"
Jimmy:           "I rode my bicycle out to Lincoln township yesterday. 
                       Heard you owned a couple hundred acres there, nice and flat, 
                       big tall spruce trees up to the sky. Sounds pretty."
Judge Butler:  (frowning) "Yes, I own land in Lincoln Township."
Jimmy:            (wiping his nose on his sleeve) "I got a ticket on the way back for not havin' a helmet. Made 
                      me get to thinkin' about that land. I would love to own that land"
Judge Butler:  "I'm not giving you that land, son."
Jimmy:           "I would never ask you to give me land, Judge. I wanna buy it. For 10,795 dollars. 
                      When that check o' yours clears the bank, I'll write one back to you."
Judge Butler:  "That's preposterous! I paid over 200 thousand for that land!"
Jimmy:           "Judge, your daughter Jenny loves me. Told me so on Saturday night, 
                       right before we did it in your bed.  You put the price on love, Judge. So can I.  
                       I could tell her you came here and tried to bribe me." 
Judge Butler:  "But you don't love her."
Jimmy:            (sniffs) "It will be hard to not love your daughter, but with that land, it would be a lot  
                       easier. Would forget all about her, like we never happened at all."
Judge Butler:  "May I ask what you are gonna do with 200 acres of the finest land in Diffle county?" 
Jimmy:           "Am gonna build me an airport. You can land there anytime you like- for free"  

And that is how Jimmy Beaver and Jennifer Wilma Butler broke up, how Jimmy ended up with 200 acres of the finest land in Diffle County, and how Senior Judge William Butler ended up paying monthly rent on a storage unit containing exactly 10,795 hubcaps.

How to decorate your fence for interactive play

At the Moose Lodge, another deal was made. Charlie Johnston accepted the generous offer of 10,795 free hubcaps. All he had to do was remove them from Judge Butler's storage unit.  A whole new plan was born.  Charlie called back into the kitchen, and out walked  Marshall Beets, registered surveyor and Moose lodge manager.  An hour after the Reilly family arrived in Avalon, Marshall Beets surveyed the property line, set two iron pipes on the Reilly side of the fence, and placed his seal on the blueprint- declaring Charlie Johnston as the rightful owner of Reilly's fence.

Charlie made a few phone calls and within an hour, the entire Johnston clan (except for Vera Johnston-Reilly) was standing alongside the fence, hammer in one hand nail and hubcap in the other hand.  It took 3 days and 10 cases of Budweiser, 4 quart bottles of Jack Daniels, a case of wine from the Merranti Brothers Diffle Valley Winery, and a bottle of New York State Champagne for the christening.  When it was all finished, it kind of looked like this:

Hubcap Fence  (typ.)

Joe Reilly returned home late Friday night, and drove directly into his garage, utilizing his automatic garage door opener.  His side of the fence was exactly as he built it- all wood and six feet high. The next morning he walked outside to check the pool.  All seemed normal, nothing foreign floating in the water, no extra large panties stuffed in the pool filter.  Then he saw something gleam through a crack in the fence. It looked like shiny metal reflecting the sun.

Joe walked down his driveway to the end of the fence. There, facing his property was a "No Trespassing" sign posted on a stake, directly behind the orange-painted survey pipe.  Joe peeked around the end of the fence.  Then he stepped past the pipe, passed the sign, walked 10 feet onto Charlie Johnston's property. he turned and stared at the hubcap side of the fence.  He stared for about ten minutes.  He never heard Charlie sneak up behind him until Charlie spoke,
 "She's a beauty, ain't she?"  Charlie said with false pride, patting Joe Reilly on the back.

Joe Reilly never turned around, never said a word, he simply marched back into his house and slammed the door.  Charlie laughed all day long.

After nightfall, Charlie Johnston got a rifle out of his closet. He bought it when he was 15 years old, a BB shooter, powered by a Co2 cannister. Charlie opened his bedroom window, stuck the rifle out, aimed at a hubcap and fired.  The tinging sound rang out through the sleeping neighborhood.  For the next week, every night, when Charlie got up to get a drink of water, or use the bathroom, or just because his alarm went off at 3 a.m., he would open the window, fire a few shots, ring Reilly's bell, and then return to sleep. Charlie Johnston had created a real-world first-person shooter game.

Good for the goose, good for the gander

Meanwhile, Joe Reilly paid another visit to Big Don.  Joe didn't want a recycling container.  He didn't want a hot dog.  He didn't want a story and he didn't want deer sausage.  Joe Reilly wanted Charlie Johnston cited for building a fence without a permit. Also, he wanted Johnston cited for owning a junkyard.  Big Don referred Reilly to the zoning officer, who declined to investigate on account of not knowing for certain who owned the fence, and the fact it was a feud.

Joe Reilly hired a fancy lawyer and sued to have the fence, along with the hubcaps, removed.  Joe Reilly wanted monetary damages too- for pain and suffering.The case was assigned to Diffle County Senior Judge William Butler. Charlie Johnston was ordered to remove the hubcaps, to cease from shooting at anything within the line of sight of Joe Reilly's house.  He was also ordered to not remove the fence, since it was built by Reilly.  Then Judge Butler ordered Reilly to move the fence back to his own property or tear it down. Reilly appealed to the State court and swore he'd take it all the way to the Supreme Court.

After the Hearing, Charlie Johnston drove home, called everyone in the family, and they helped him  remove 10,794 hubcaps from the fence.  He returned the hubcaps to Judge Butler's storage unit. He left one Chevy hubcap on the fence (he was a Chevy man)- in what he thought was his last act of defiance. Joe Reilly sued over that last hubcap too. And he won.

And that's how we got to this moment...

On New Years Eve, having been told that the fence was legally his, Charlie Johnston decided to remove it. He drank till he was drunk and brave enough, started up his John Deere backhoe, tied a cable to four sections of fence, and pulled it over. He repeated this until a screaming Joe Reilly came running out of his house.  He had a handgun and was shooting wildly, apparently trying to kill Charlie Johnston.  Charlie took off down the county road in the backhoe, with four sections of the fence still on the cable, dragging behind him.  Joe called 911, who dispatched the State Police.

Meanwhile, John Primer, Diffle County road foreman, was driving the County's brand new Ford F-150 over to Marin Lane, after getting a complaint of a tree down on the road.  He heard the police dispatch for Johnston on the truck scanner.  That had to be right up ahead, he thought.  Within seconds, he saw a backhoe heading straight for him. John, in a moment of heroism, tried to block the road with his truck, but Charlie Johnston didn't stop. The backhoe's front bucket hit the passenger side of the truck, and Charlie pushed John and the County's Ford truck into a storm ditch on the side of the road.  The truck flipped over, and the backhoe fell on its side. Then, out of darkness, came a photographer to get the picture for page one of the local scandal-rag, The Diffle County Reporter.  

Big Don just wants to know, "Who dropped the dime on Charlie Johnston? Must have been one of those Wikleaks people. Was it you Ricky?" and then, "John Primer should have known, you never block a Chevy man with a Ford." Then, after lunch, "I wonder if Judge Butler has a hubcap for my daughter's 2004 Chevy Lumina?  I better give him a call."  And that is how Big Don ended up with a side business- hubcap sales.