Harold Butler is on trial for a crime he swears on his mama's grave he didn't commit. But the townsfolk are plumb giddy at the thought of a hanging taking place right in their back yard, and they want justice, justified or not.

Murder in Breakbroke Pass is a satire, set in a small Tennessee town in 1976. Though a body hasn't been found, a local wealthy widow is presumed dead, and the evidence is stacked against Harold . . . as are the town's dirty little secrets.

An interesting cast of characters takes the observer through, as one reader stated, ". . . more twists and turns and surprises than any book I've ever read."

You'll be introduced to a good number of Breakbroke Pass residents to love, to hate, and to hoot 'n' holler for. And just when you think it's about over, keep your eyes peeled for what comes around the bend next. Written in the voice of old down-home storytelling with a wink and a grin.

Chapter 1: Disappearing into the Night

A full moon backlit treetops and peeked through branches, casting long shadows of four men across the dirt just outside the tattered old cabin in the woods. A twig snapped under a boot. A screen door eased open and floorboards creaked.
A raspy voice grumbled, "Who's there?"
Five men fought and struggled in the darkness, arms flailing, bodies slamming against walls, wrestling, grunting, kicking, biting, swearing. A leather blackjack came down hard and one man fell to the floor.
A cricket chirped. Feet shuffled briskly out of tempo. A screen door swung open and five men disappeared into the night-four of their own accord.

Chapter 2: Dirty Deeds and Wrongdoings

Murder. Amongst all the dirty deeds and wrongdoings and drunken shenanigans and other crimes that could be committed by a person, murder was the worst. And it was the main topic of discussion throughout the small Tennessee town of Breakbroke Pass that particular, unbearably hot and miserable month of August in 1976.
Usual talk of moonshining and county fairs and who was cheating on who with whom had been replaced with gruesome discussions about the latest and most horrific travesty that had befallen the entire valley in years. Perhaps the entire state.
A local man, a loner, had been accused of the ultimate crime and was soon expected to be brought to justice. And the townsfolk? Well, they were plumb giddy at the thought of a potential hanging taking place right in their back yard.
"That's one mighty fine gallows," one would say to another, taking a gander at the grand wooden structure behind the town courthouse, his thumbs securely anchored behind the shoulder straps of his denim overalls. "Ain't been used in a gator's age, but it's right sure to get the job done, I reckon."
"Reckon so," the other would say, spitting a wad of wet tobacco to the ground. "Reckon so."
It was true, it had been quite some time since good use had been made of the town gallows. Aside that is, from earlier that spring when the local quilting society had used the old railings of the rickety framework to display their crafts for the annual May art fair.
Prices had to be drastically reduced due to snags and splinters, but most of the quilts did sell, as they did help to keep a person warm on those cool winter nights and were easier to haul into the house than cords of firewood. Replacement sales would be good the following year, seeing as how the quilts were also just as flammable.
Roosters cock-a-doodled, the sun broke over the mountains, and dew glistened in the light of the fresh new morning. Bootlaces were tied, eggs and bacon were fried, and ripped screen doors with rusty and squeaking hinges opened and slammed shut on paint-peeled frames. Folks were up and about and headed to the north end of town. .......