Chapter 2

Linda Raintree, the drab brown western style shirt and pants of a rural Sheriff unable to hide her slender yet curvaceous body, stood by her desk with cell phone plastered to her ear.

“Now Dad, promise me, not a drop -- no I didnʼt say only one, I said not a drop today. Please, Dad, okay? All right, Iʼll drop by tonight to check in on you. No, of course itʼs no trouble.” Her brown orbs were alight as she listened but they were troubled.

“Why donʼt I bring some Chinese? Pepper steak okay -- and noodles? All right, then, see you about eight -- Dad, not a drop. You know what happens. Okay, eight oʼclock. Dad, promise me!”

Deputy Brad Thurmond leaned against the door frame, holding the two cups of steaming coffee, admiring her good looks. Glistening straight black hair flowing to her waist gave away her Native American heritage. That and the high cheekbones, darkly browned skin tone and sculpted nose and mouth which gave her an earthy yet somehow refined aura. He kept trying to tell himself it was simply her great looks that had gotten her instead of him elected sheriff in last yearʼs election. But he also knew she was personable and highly intelligent and had already proven herself by spearheading the bust of a local drug ring. The truth was, he told himself, she was good and he was glad now that he had accepted her offer of the deputyʼs position even if he did have to swallow a little pride. She was demanding but fair. What more could you ask of a boss? Besides, she wasnʼt seeing anyone and even though it was against her policy -- well you never knew. As she folded the phone and attached it to her weapons belt he moved to her side offering the coffee.

“Morninʼ. Howʼs Ben?”


“Same old, same old. He just canʼt seem to face the day without...”

“My uncle was that way. Drank himself to death. We all tried everything. Nothing worked.”

“Before she died, Mom said Dad just started drinking out of the blue. No reason. It just got worse and worse. Thatʼs why she left him. I havenʼt had much luck either.”

“Speaking of luck...” came a mature female voice from the doorway of her office.

Linda looked around to find Sheila Bradley, a somewhat overweight 55 year old whose hair never seemed to find a place to land, standing expectantly. The radio operator/secretary/clerk was a seemingly permanent fixture having served no less than three sheriffs before Lindaʼs election.

“I donʼt like the tone of that voice,” smiled Brad.

“Neither do I,” replied Linda.

“Okay, Sheila, whatʼs up? I donʼt suppose weʼd be so lucky as to simply have another lost camper to find.”

“Donʼt I wish,” said the older woman.

“Call just came in. A woman was murdered last night. Body was found on an abandoned fire road by a couple of teenagers about ten miles north of here. Boy and girl. Seems they had gone up there to...”

“Yeah, I think we can guess why they were up there.”

“Anyway, the kids called their parents, but as I understand, it was pretty gruesome. The parents waited until this morning to report it. Apparently they wanted to talk to their lawyer before talking to us.”