Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (3 page)

“I’ll be there in about three minutes.”

Once he’d come on board as a deputy, Dad had taken him on a tour of their patrol area, telling him which lands the bank had foreclosed on before he'd moved back to Westen. At least with all the recent spring rains the brush around the abandoned place wouldn’t be dry. The fire shouldn’t spread to the Turnbill farm. Had it been the dead of summer, with the occasional drought and dry grasses the area had, the story would be different.

As he drove by the Turnbill’s the smell of smoke filled the air. Farther up the road the gray-white fumes hovered over the charred remains of an old barn. Both volunteer fire engines flanked the road, the men milling close by continuing to pour water onto the site.

He parked his vehicle behind one truck to leave room for the county fire truck, whose approaching sirens filled the air as he climbed out of his cruiser. One of the best things the town—with his dad’s prodding—ever did was form and train the volunteer fire teams. The county’s response time was under four minutes in the larger city and county seat, but out in the rural areas it took more than ten minutes for them to get to a fire. The volunteers kept the fires contained until the bigger units with full-time fighters arrived.

Before closing the door he pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his glove compartment. A solitary figure separated from the group of men keeping watch on the barn’s smoldering wood and headed his way. John Wilson’s tall, thin, and slightly bowed frame announced him as a man who worked long hard days in his farm’s fields eking out a living for his family.

“Glad to have you here, Gage.” They shook hands then approached the burn area.

“Do you have any idea how the fire started?”

“Not really.” John pointed to the barn’s side. “My best guess is it started on this side and spread. Aaron said he’s been seeing vehicles go past his house late at night lately, ever since the weather warmed up. What with all those warnings about the dangers from crystal meth labs the State Fire Marshal’s been sending out, I kept my men out of the actual fire area. Figure the professionals have the equipment and experience, so they can go in and figure out the cause.”

“Makes sense to me.”

Meth lab fires produced toxic fumes, and he’d too just as soon the volunteers, who were mostly farmers, stay clear until an actual cause was determined. He looked around at the volunteer fire team. “Is Aaron around?”

John shook his head. “Said he had to finish planting his soybeans before dark, but he’d come back over as soon as he finished.”

“Good. I’ll see if he can give me a description of those suspicious vehicles he’s been seeing.”

The county fire truck and EMS squad arrived. While John stepped over to fill the captain in on the fire and their actions, Gage circled the perimeter, careful to stay out of any area that might still smolder. Off to the rear of the barn he found a pile of empty beer cans. He squatted down and with a pen he lifted the can and sniffed. Just beer.

Several butts of rolled cigarettes littered the area. He pulled on his gloves, lifted one and sniffed. Grade A pot.

“Find anything, Gunslinger?” A deep gravelly voice spoke from behind him.

“Hey, Deke.” Gage shook his head at the high school nickname as he stood and held the butt toward his old friend, Deke Reynolds. “Looks like someone’s been smoking pot and drinking beer out here.”

“Any sign of a burn pit?”

“Nope.” Gage scanned the area once more. A burn pit was an area away from the building where a meth lab was housed, with stained soil or dead vegetation from the meth cooks dumping their chemicals or waste. “I don’t see any trash other than beer cans and pot, either. I’d guess just some local kids partying.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and that’s all this will turn out to be.” Deke bagged the cigarette butt and beer can before walking to the perimeter of the fire area where several of his men had donned hazardous-chemical suits and masks.

As County Fire Chief and a detail-oriented man, Deke donned his own suit and mask and led them through the nearly dilapidated pile of charred lumber.

As he watched his friend give orders to his men Gage’s stomach rumbled. Once he finished here, he’d best get some lunch over at the Peaches ’N Cream café. Low blood sugar wouldn’t make dealing with his other problem—one small, nicely shaped female with the impaired belief that she was a private detective—any easier.

Just as the café owner’s daughter, Rachel, refilled Gage’s mug with fresh coffee, Mayor Tobias Rawlins slithered into the booth with him. Two members of the town council and the owner of the local paper, Rawlins’ constant entourage, scooted in with them.

Great. Just what he needed today. First his dispatcher breaks a hip, next a PI comes to town, errant cows cause a traffic jam, a fire, and now small-town politics.

Couldn’t he eat in peace?

Seven more months to play sheriff in this town then someone else would be elected to watch over the crazies and he could move back to the city. Nothing could induce him to stay one more second than was absolutely necessary. Sometimes what this town needed more than a sheriff was a zookeeper.

To relieve the ache talking to the town’s chief politician always caused, Gage rubbed his forehead and looked at each of the other men. “Something I can do for you gentlemen?”

“Sheriff, we want to discuss the situation with regards to Ruby Martin,” Rawlins said just loud enough for anyone in a two-booth radius to hear.

And that’s exactly what they did. Lorna and the café’s staff stopped serving, the banker and his two managers stopped their daily lunch meeting, even the two ladies from the antique store all leaned his way to hear the news on Ruby. In this town, no matter what you tried to keep secret, sooner or later the whole town knew your business. You couldn’t fart without someone spreading the news.

“What situation do you mean, Mayor?” he asked, as he cut another bite of Lorna’s killer meatloaf and ignored the multitude of curious stares.

“Well, frankly Ruby should’ve retired years ago. And now, with her falling on her way to work this morning, we’re just wondering if she’ll try to sue the town for not providing adequate transportation.” The mayor sat back and adjusted his suit, waiting for his reply. The three councilmen nodded like bobblehead dolls.

The sheriff’s office had employed one secretary-dispatcher for the past fifty years, Ruby Martin. Working for the department was what kept her young, that and the fact she walked to work daily. Unfortunately, today she broke her hip on the way into work which had left him shorthanded. And here Tobias was trying to score political points at her expense.

Gage cut another chunk of the meatloaf with his fork, scooped it through thick brown gravy and ate, chewing slowly and letting the quartet wait on his answer. He hated politicians, he hated attention seekers, he hated people who used other’s problems to make themselves look important, but today he really hated anyone getting between him and Lorna’s meatloaf special.

“Gentleman,” he said as he finished, setting his fork on the rim of the plate. “Rest assured that Ruby has no intention of suing the town.”

“Are you promising us there will be no repercussions?” Richard Davis, the newspaperman asked, taking out his pad and pencil.

“No, Dick, I can’t.
But off the record
,” Gage said loud enough for everyone to hear him, “I’d say Ruby won’t want to bother. Everyone knows she kept working because she liked the stimulation. She walked to work because she liked the exercise. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

He managed to leave the café with only a dozen people stopping him to inquire after Ruby’s health.

***

Bobby looked at her watch again.

Breathe. Exhale. Breathe again. It wasn’t that bad.

She’d managed to survive her first hour locked in a jail cell. Albeit a very
small
cell.

Cut it out. The cell was probably a standard size
.

From her sister’s conversations over the last few years she knew the overbearing sheriff couldn’t hold her for more than twenty-four hours without formally charging her with something. So technically she had twenty-three hours left to go. She could do this.

Her stomach growled.

Great.
This morning she’d been so excited to get started she’d inhaled a sausage sandwich and coffee on her way out of Cincinnati and nothing since.  Weren’t they required to feed prisoners?

She leaned into the cell’s door. “Officer?”

No response. Up front the deputy’s shoes shuffled across the wood floor and his low muttering filled the silence as he talked to himself.

“Deputy?” She called a little louder. “Excuse me, Deputy?”

A moment later he filled the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could I have something to eat and drink? Please?” Her mother always said a man loved a sweet voice more than a sour face.

“Ma’am, Gage didn’t give me permission to leave.”

“Please call me Bobby, Deputy. You don’t have any water or snacks up there in the office? Or maybe you could give me my purse. I have a bottle of water and a granola bar in it.”

He looked like he was going to refuse, but her stomach picked the most opportune time to growl very loudly. The deputy grinned at her and turned away. A moment later he returned carrying her bag. She reached for it, but he held it out of her way.

“Now, the rules say you’re not supposed to have access to your belongings while in jail, but Miz Ruby told me never to rummage through a lady’s purse without her permission. So, I’ll just get those things out while you’re watching. Okay?”

What was she supposed to do, refuse? Besides, he was being nice enough to give her the water and snack bar. That was more than she could say for the pigheaded sheriff.

“That’ll be fine, Cleetus.” She smiled when he blushed just like one of her middle school students. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have known Gilbert Byrd?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Gil lived here in town all his life.” Cleetus handed her the water then fished out her oatmeal-and-chocolate-chip bar. “He died about six months ago, found him dead in his house. Doc Ray said his heart finally gave out.”

“Doc Ray? Is that the local doctor?” She twisted the plastic cap until the seal broke and took a long drink. Even warm it felt wonderful. Who ever knew being arrested could make a person so thirsty?

“Used to be. Doc Ray retired not long after Gil died. Said he didn’t want to end up the same way without taking Caroline to see the world. His nephew, Clint, is the new town Doc.”

Doc Clint. Okay, there was someone she’d need to talk with just to be sure Mr. Byrd died of natural causes.

She took a bite of the bar, hoping to seem innocent in her questions. “Did Mr. Byrd have any family close by?”

Cleetus rubbed his chin, staring up at the ceiling. Again he reminded her of one of her students who always looked just the same way when he was trying to find the right answer to a history question. She hid her smile behind another bite of the unexpectedly delicious granola.

“Can’t say as I ever met any of Gil’s people.”

The phone rang before she could think of any other questions, and blessedly before the deputy could question her interest in a dead man. She settled herself on the corner of the mattress and nibbled on the bar. So the deputy didn’t know Mr. Byrd’s nephew, Norman—the man who hired her sister to investigate Mr. Byrd’s holdings as listed in the will.

Interesting
. She doubted Cleetus was lying to her. After eighteen years of teaching, she knew when someone was telling her the truth and when she was being fed a line of horse crap. Did anyone in the town know Mr. Byrd had a nephew? If so, who?

And what had happened to the letters her sister sent the bank? When no one could find them in the files when she called yesterday, she
knew
she had to come to Westen and investigate in person. Dumpster diving had been a long shot, but she’d hoped someone had panicked and simply thrown the letters out.

All that great idea had done was land her in this itty-bitty cell.

Looking around she sucked in a breath as the room seemed to shrink a little more.

Slamming of file drawers and muttering from Cleetus in the front room caught her attention.

“I don’t know where Ruby kept that file, Mayor. I looked under T for tickets and S for speeding.” Cleetus paused as if listening. “Yes sir. I’ll keep looking…yes sir, I’ll tell the sheriff when he gets back…No sir, I won’t forget.”

Who was Ruby? And where was she?

A few more file cabinets opened and closed hard.

“Dang, Gage isn’t gonna be happy about this.” The poor man sounded really distressed.

She went to the cell door and leaned far to one side to see into the front room. Cleetus paced past the door. “Cleetus? Is there something wrong?”

He stopped mid-stride, turned and came to the door. “Our dispatcher fell and broke her hip today.”

That answered the who and what about Ruby.

“The Mayor wants the quarterly traffic violation reports and I have no idea where she filed them. Ruby has her own filing system that no one else can make heads or tails of.”

“Aren’t they on the computer?” she nodded at the monitor sitting on the desk behind him.

Cleetus shook his head. “Nope. Ruby said she’d been doing the filing for fifty years and didn’t need a computer to tell her where things were.”

“And the sheriff didn’t want to update the system?” She couldn’t imagine the man not ordering his dispatcher to learn and use the computer system. He’d certainly had no qualms about ordering her around. “Seems like a waste of taxpayers’ money, not to use it to its full potential.”

“Gage’s dad, he used to be sheriff, purchased them just before he took sick. Lloyd said he wanted to bring our department into the computer world. When he died, Gage took over his position, but hasn’t gotten around to changing things. Says he’ll leave it for the next sheriff.”

So, the sheriff didn’t plan on being re-elected. Given his public demeanor toward her, she’d guess his evaluation of his chances was correct. “You know I’m pretty good with filing. Maybe I could figure out Ruby’s system for you.”