Curtis Wall had made no secret they thought Marshall won the election because of his family name and not his own qualifications.
John Bailey had been well liked and respected by nearly everyone, save for a few lawbreakers in certain segments of the population. Before Marshall’s father, Marshall’s grandfather had served as chief of police of Haven Point for many years and his great-grandfather before that.
For the Baileys, being in law enforcement was a proud legacy, almost a family tradition.
Marshall wanted to think he had earned the office because the voting public believed he was the best man for the job. He had promised new ideas and a commitment to making sure every representative of the sheriff’s department carried out his duties with integrity, honesty and transparency.
So much for that.
Somebody was stealing money from inside his department, at least two of his deputies practiced open insubordination, a county commissioner wanted his badge and somebody hated him enough they were willing to run him down.
He hadn’t done a very good job of keeping his election commitments.
“What about dash cam? Anything there?”
“The guy has on a balaclava, so we can’t see anything. For all we know, it could have been Frosty the freaking Snowman driving the car.”
“I’m beginning to think he might be our prime suspect. Who else could have melted away like that?”
“There’s got to be something we’re missing,” Ruben said. “But I can’t think what it might be. Whoever did it was extremely lucky or extremely smart or both.”
Lucky, smart and vicious. It wasn’t a good combination. “For now, just keep an eye out and I’ll continue looking into the missing funds from here.”
“You got it. Nobody can be that lucky or that smart forever.”
The doorbell rang before Marshall could answer and Ruben raised an eyebrow. “You expecting somebody?”
“Not that I know about.”
The distinct sound of the door opening a moment later sent Ruben into instant protective mode, his hand sliding to his sidearm and his muscles tense and alert, ready to pounce.
“Sheriff Bailey?” a woman’s voice called out. “It’s me, Andie Montgomery.”
Ruben shot him a quick look, eyebrows raised, and Marshall gestured for him to stand down.
“In the den,” he answered her, before adding in a lower voice to his deputy, “She’s my neighbor. Wyn blackmailed her into helping me out for a few days. I can’t manage to convince her I don’t need help.”
His gaze slid to the cheery little wreath hanging in his window that filtered the morning sunlight in splotches of color. Every time he caught sight of it, he remembered the quiet, nervous little girl staying in from recess to make it for him.
Andie came into the room carrying a large wicker basket that contained something warm, at least judging by the steam curling from it. Her cheeks were pink and she looked bright and fresh in a light-blue-and-white parka and matching knit cap.
“I made cinnamon rolls this morning for a friend and thought you might like some. They’re still warm and—” She stopped short when she spotted Ruben there in his brown sheriff’s department uniform.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“We were basically done,” Marshall said. Ruben’s visit had been a big waste of time anyway, since all they had was a whole lot of nothing.
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