Dancing in the Oaks

Go, Leave Please

We sat down to eat at 5:57 PM. We sat at the bar counter in the bar stools. "Your whole father situation falls into the perfect timeline. I mean, 32 years, y'all have lived there that long. This town had no crimes. When was the Schmidt family's arrival?" The biscuits tasted so good. They were perfect. "I ain't ever had a biscuit like this before." The taste of butter, bread, and beef filled my mouth. It was savory with the perfect consistency. I could feel each flake of the biscuit. They tasted just like my Nonna's biscuits.

"The Schmidt's got here 12 years before my father did. It only makes sense. We need more evidence. There were no crimes until my father arrived in town. Got that? The funeral home is supposed to give us a tip tomorrow. If it is my father I would want him caught. I've always wondered who's next?" That question made both of us shudder.

"Exactly my point now! If they got here ten years before your family, and there were no problems, then we can move him down the suspect list. Seriously though, these biscuits are delightful. Ain't never had one as good as this." I stared at our little road map on the butcher paper.

He wrote more content on the paper. "Another odd coincidence: the Schmidt's actually live about 30 minutes away from here. They wouldn't have enough time to buy to murder everyone and then escape. They only know the Southern part of Oak Ridge. For some reason they would rarely even leave their corner of Oak Ridge. My father, on the other hand, only lives a half a mile away. All of the crimes occurred right around this area. He knows this area very well. I wouldn't put it past him to do that. Everyone that died is in a mile radius of our land. They wouldn't think it was him because they all know him. He is only a menace to some. He's got a fairly good reputation in this town. All around except for him had problems." His fingers ran through his longer hair. "I also feel that I need to mention that my father was arrested for trespassing when the Merchants lived here."

My head shook in disbelief. "That makes sense though. I'm totally confused at the fact that your father would actually do something like that." Why would someone hurt their friends and family so bad? I guess everyone has their own motives.

"My Mother used to make the best biscuits. I learned from her, so all credit goes to her. I can show you when you feel better." I noticed that his eye seemed a little swollen. I had not noticed that earlier. It was ever so slight.

"Alright, I'm down for that! What happened to your eye?" I asked kind of invasively. I wanted to know so that I can better understand his situation as well. I did not want to take the spotlight over him.

"Uhm. I got in a fight; a fight with my father last night. He wasn't really happy at the fact that I wanted to take care of you. It's all good. I'm happy now. I gotta go soon." He wiped his eyes.

"No you're not okay. Why did you have to endure that?" I leaned over closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder. I have no idea why I did so. I just did it. He didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah I'm good now. Another thing that I realized was when my father came back from Nashville he wasn't himself. This was also around October 12th of probably 6 years ago. He came home all distracted and out of it. So see, he's been in trouble with the law before." The horse neighed back through the window as if she was agreeable with the statement.

"Did Dareck, your father, by chance know the Merchants?" I asked.

He drew a picture of an oak tree. "Yes, yes he did. He didn't get along well with them. The Merchants seemed to be really nice despite the difficulties with the relationship between my family." The map was getting more detailed as we sat and talked. Each corner filled in with more connected images, names, words, and lines. The map seemed more and more incomplete. Arrows pointed to suspects and pencil markings crossed out people who were fine.