Casey Colton dashed up the large stairway from the first floor of the sheriff’s department building in Sur County, Arizona. As deputy sheriff, he was used to taking orders, but the curt phone call he’d just received from his boss, Jeremy Krester, was more of a command. Jeremy was usually fairly laid-back, so that worried Casey.
“Hi, Bob,” he said as he entered Jeremy’s outer office, not stopping behind the desk stacked with folders but swerving around toward the door behind it.
Apparently Bob Andrews, a fellow deputy, had been informed of his pending presence. “Go on in,” said the young, wide-eyed guy, who was wearing a beige uniform that matched the one Casey wore. “Sheriff Krester’s expecting you.”
As Casey knew well.
He reached out, turned the doorknob and hurried inside. And stopped near the doorway. Sheriff Krester wasn’t alone.
Of course, Casey had expected to see his tall, thin, gray-haired boss sitting at the desk facing the door of the sizable office. He wore a similar uniform to Casey’s, too, but with a lot more decorations than the normal colorful shoulder patches of the Sur County Sheriff’s Department. And his badge was even more prominently displayed on his chest.
But the other guy? That was a surprise.
So was the fact that he paced the wood floor and only stopped for an instant as Casey entered, barely maneuvering around him before continuing.
It was Clarence Edison, the town selectman of Cactus Creek. He was dressed in a suit, as he usually was, and was all business.
In his late sixties, Clarence hadn’t gone completely gray but still had more darkness in his hair than Jeremy. He’d been a selectman for many years, but he was known just as much—maybe even more—for owning the successful OverHerd Ranch, outside of town, where he raised Angus cattle. Casey had only seen the large ranch when driving by it.
And, yes, its name—OverHerd—was intended to be a pun, he’d been informed. Not that he was surprised. The selectman was a kidder, someone who liked keeping things light. Casey had noted some of that, too, when he’d attended city meetings, where Clarence got people laughing at times—possibly to make other government officials or even local citizens lighten up. And, therefore, do things his way.
Casey had met Clarence now and then at various town events when the sheriff’s department helped to keep things civil and in order. He seemed like a nice guy. He was smart and enjoyed being in charge and talking to large groups, even having fun with them.
But what was he doing here now? And why was he pacing that way?
“Sit down,” Jeremy ordered Casey as he waved at one of the three chairs facing his cluttered desk. Jeremy also glanced at Clarence, but his expression toward the selectman appeared to be more of a suggestion than a command.
Casey obeyed as he eyed his boss without looking at the town elder. His curiosity increased even more but he couldn’t push things. Not with these two men, who were both used to being in charge.
But it didn’t take long for Clarence to start talking even as he did deign to take a seat, and then turned his chair to face Casey.
“Need your help, Deputy,” Clarence growled in a low voice Casey hadn’t heard before, his blue eyes intense. “I understand you helped catch a cattle rustler a couple months ago.”
Was that what this was about? But what had Jeremy told him? “That’s right, although it wasn’t a big deal. There were only a few cattle involved—one bull and two cows. And it turned out it was a family-feud kind of situation.”
