The Accidental Sheriff

by Cathy McDavid

“Counting the gold strike twenty years ago up on Quail Butte,” Mr. Dunstan explained, “there have been a total of three significant mining operations in a three-mile radius.” He drew an invisible circle on the map with his finger.

  Carolina and Neil stood beside the assistant curator, one on each side. The overhead light illuminated even the smallest detail on the map. It also burned into the top of her head and the back of her neck. Another minute of the intense heat and she’d break out in a sweat. Holding Neil’s heavy jacket didn’t help. She shifted it to her other arm, afraid to lay anything down in the cluttered office in case she damaged an artifact.

  “Here’s the illegal mining operation.” She tapped the map near the center of the area Mr. Dunstan had indicated.

  “More like here.” Neil’s finger lighted a few inches from hers.

  “Perhaps they’ve located the mother lode.” Mr. Dunstan’s brows lifted. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Mother lode?” Carolina sputtered the question a scant second ahead of Neil.

  “All three mines played out relatively quickly. According to the assayer’s records, old newspaper stories and the journal of a particularly colorful young man from Iowa, there were rumors of a mother lode running through the ridge. No one’s ever found it.” Mr. Dunstan paused for effect. “Not yet.”

  Carolina immediately conjured up a dozen what-ifs. The most significant one: what if Jake’s experts from the Arizona Geological Society reported they’d found gold?

  In the meantime, she had a great kicking-off point for her story.

  “Do you think whoever’s behind the illegal mining operation knows about the mother lode?” Mr. Dunstan asked.

  The firm set of Neil’s mouth led her to believe he was already considering the possibility.

  “Wow” was all Carolina could say.

  “Would you like to read the journal?” Mr. Dunstan asked. “It’s very interesting and gives an insightful account of life in our budding metropolis during the late 1800s.”

  “I’ll have one of my investigators contact you and make arrangements to pick up the journal and the map,” Neil said.

  “I’d like to read the journal, too,” Carolina said.

  “It may be evidence.” He glared at her over the assistant curator’s head. “Along with the map.”

  “Not a problem.” Mr. Dunstan appeared unaware of any friction between his guests. “I can’t release the originals, of course. But I have copies of each. Excuse me a moment, and I’ll instruct my secretary to get them for you.” He left the room, his rubber-soled shoes falling softly on the hardwood floors.

  Neil’s boots thumped as he walked to the window then back again to stand beside her.

  “I told you, I don’t want you involved,” he said in a harsh whisper.

  “I already am.”

  “You don’t have to do the story on the mining.” He inched closer.

  She used his jacket as a shield. “Yes, I do.”

  “No job is important enough to put your safety on the line.”

  “This isn’t just about my job. Someone has stolen from my family and vandalized our property.”

  “Attempted to steal.”

  “The distinction is a tiny one.”

  “I understand wanting to help your family.”

  “I should think so. It’s what dictates your entire life. Your every decision. Your relationship with every person you know.”

  He retreated a step and drew himself up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That was uncalled-for.”

  “Have you considered what might happen if word spreads about a potential gold strike on your family’s ranch?”

  “A boom in reservations?” Her tone was more flippant than necessary, but then his had been annoyingly condescending.

  “It’s possible. But you might also get trespassers, either curiosity seekers or undesirables itching to help themselves to some of your gold. Unless the mine shaft is secured 24/7, trust me, there will be break-ins.”

  “He’s right.” Mr. Dunstan returned, carrying a pair of large manila envelopes and two maps rolled into tubes and fastened with rubber bands. “Especially if there is a mother lode. You’ll notice there are quite a few instances in the journal of fights over claims. If you haven’t already, you might want to check with your attorney.”

  “I will.” Carolina hadn’t thought of that.

  “He or she can also verify who owns the mineral rights on your land. According to some of the old deeds we have here, the rights didn’t always transfer.”

  Carolina’s knees went a little weak.

  She needed to call Jake right away. Their grandparents had purchased the ranch over fifty years ago. Who even knew anymore what the original deed said and what rights Grandpa Walter and Grandma Ida had kept or given up?

  NEIL SAT at his desk and studied the copy of the map the assistant curator had given him. If it held any secrets or clues, they were hidden to him.

  Mary Twohorses entered his office. The distraction wasn’t a welcome one.

  “Here’s the latest report of your phone records,” she said.

  He didn’t ask if she’d read it already. She had. Nothing much at the station slipped past her.

  “Anything of value?”

  “No. The numbers, there’s two of them, are from pirated cell phones.”

  Neil raised his eyebrows. The person behind the prank calls was going to a lot of trouble to hide his identity.

  “And the duration of the calls is too short for the phone company to pinpoint the location.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good anyway. You can bet the user is busy right now obtaining another pirated one.”

  The question was why? Since taking over as acting sheriff, Neil had done nothing that wasn’t routine.

  Mary sat down in the chair across from his desk, automatically swinging her long braid over her shoulder to lie in her lap. From old pictures hanging in the break room, she’d been wearing her hair in the same style since the day she started with the department. The only difference was the amount of gray interspersed in the braid.

  “What’s up?” Neil asked. Mary rarely sat down and only if she had something important to say.

  “I know you have to leave soon to pick up Zoey from day care, but I thought you should see this first.”

  She laid the evening edition of the paper on the desk in front of him, open to the editorial page. There were six letters to the editor, all of them about Neil. He picked up the paper and sat back in his chair. His blood pressure rose with each letter he read.

  Neil was the first to admit he had plenty of faults. Being a bad cop, however, wasn’t one of them, and having the authors of the letters imply as much angered him to no end. Two of the letters even suggested Neil’s appointment be reversed. Not that he’d wanted to be acting sheriff. But there was a huge difference between voluntarily stepping down and being forced to step down.

  His gut screamed that there was more going on here. His head, however, cautioned him to proceed slowly. The media onslaught and prank calls were not unlike what he’d gone through during his Internal Affairs investigation after Lynne’s death, and he might be overreacting.

  Why hadn’t this come out when he was first hired on as deputy sheriff?

  Because whoever was behind the smear campaign hadn’t considered him a threat until now.

  He tossed the paper onto his desk.

  As much as he hated involving Carolina, maybe he should take her up on her offer and have her check with her sources at the paper. It would also give him a reason to talk to her again. Not that he wanted to start anything, he just wanted to hear her voice. If anyone had asked him last month what part of a woman he found the sexiest, a dozen other attributes would have popped into his head. Since the day he’d responded to the fender bender involving Carolina’s niece, a slightly husky, sultrily sexy voice had jumped to the top of the list.

  Hearing her on the radio every morning no lo
nger satisfied his craving.

  “The last letter isn’t so bad,” Mary said.

  Neil skimmed it. “The person doesn’t defend me as much as sympathize with me for losing my wife.”

  “Sheriff Herberger’s contacted the editor and requested they cease publishing letters about you. The paper has a history of supporting him and the department.”

  “I wish he hadn’t. People are entitled to express their opinions.” Even if they were ill informed and their opinions half-baked. “It’s one of the rights we, as law enforcement officers, protect and defend.”

  “The editor offered to interview you and run the article on the front page.”

  “Forget it.” No more interviews. The first one with KPKD had caused him enough trouble.

  “You might think it through a little more before turning them down.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I say. They’ll slant the article the way they choose in order to sell papers.” He’d been down this road before. The one interview he’d given after Lynne died had been a fiasco. The reporter took everything he’d said and either quoted it out of context or twisted it to make Neil sound like he’d cared more about the glory of bringing down a notorious serial killer than the lives of his wife and child.

  “Your decision.” Mary folded her hands neatly in her lap. “It’s just that I’ve worked for this department a long time, under three different sheriffs, including you. In my experience, ignoring problems has never solved them.”

  “I’m the acting sheriff. This is a temporary job.”

  “It could be permanent. Otis will retire eventually.”

  Neil laughed. “I won’t run for the position.”

  “Why not? You’d be good at it.”

  Because being sheriff would put him and Zoey in the spotlight and elevate the risk to their safety.

  “What else?” he asked when Mary still didn’t leave.

  “Hank’s in the break room.”

  “Okay.” The deputy sheriff’s shift was due to start soon.

  “He’s talking to the men about you.”

  “I take it he’s not singing my praises.”

  “You might want to hear for yourself.” Mary’s message was clear enough.

  Whether he wanted the job of acting sheriff or not, he had it. Neil didn’t shirk his responsibilities, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let any of his men get away with talking trash about him.

  “See you in the morning.”

  “Have a nice evening.” Taking the hint, she stood, a smile on her lips. Mary showing any emotion was a rare sight. He found his own smile lingering after she left.

  The break room resembled an efficiency apartment, minus the bed. A kitchenette and dining set occupied one half of the room, a couch, recliner, bookcase and TV the other. Lockers lined the wide hall leading to the room, large enough for each man to stow his personal belongings.

  The setup was a far cry from the station where Neil had served back in New York. But as a place to gripe and air disputes, there was no difference. Hank wasn’t happy with Neil and anyone within earshot was hearing about it.

  “I figured he was hiding something from the start. Now we know.”

  “Bull crap. You figured squat.”

  Neil waited by the lockers, listening to Hank bellyache and R.J. jump to his defense.

  “Ask Willie if you don’t believe me.”

  “You don’t like Neil because he beat your scores.”

  It was true. Until Neil came to Payson, Hank had held the marksmanship record for the department.

  “He got lucky is all,” Hank argued.

  “Three times? That ain’t luck, pal.”

  “Yeah? Well, I didn’t kill my wife.”

  Neil almost doubled over. Four years, countless accusations, and he still reacted as if slugged in the gut.

  “Neither did he.” R.J.’s voice took on an edge. “And I’d stop spouting my head off if I were you. Like it or not, he’s our boss.”

  “Not for long,” Hank grumbled.

  “Is there a problem in here?” Neil stepped out around the lockers.

  “Not at all, Sheriff. Me and R.J. was just shooting the breeze before shift starts.”

  Neil sent Hank a look that the other man would have to be dense not to understand. “Well, if you have anything important to discuss, why don’t you do it with me later? Away from the station.”

  “I’ll do that,” Hank said evenly.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Neil replied.

  “Hey, did someone call a meeting or what?” Willie entered the break room. Like Neil, he was heading off duty.

  “Waiting on you,” Neil said. He briefed R.J. and Hank, letting Willie provide input, then left to pick up Zoey from day care.

  As usual, the line of vehicles outside the school stretched to the end of the parking lot. The encounter with Hank had put Neil a few minutes behind schedule, and he had to wait longer than usual. Zoey, never patient to begin with, would be giving the monitor in charge a run for her money.

  Instead, his daughter was sitting on the low cement wall surrounding the flagpole and got up only when he pulled alongside the curb. Her backpack dragging on the sidewalk, she trudged toward him, eyes glued to the ground in front of her.

  A knot of concern formed in the pit of Neil’s stomach. Something had happened. Another fight with her best friend? An unsatisfactory mark on her progress report? Tomorrow’s riding lesson canceled?

  Her problems might pale in comparison to the ones Neil had dealt with all day at work, but to her, they were important and therefore to him, too. By the time she opened the cruiser door and crawled in, he was more than ready to listen.

  “What’s wrong, pumpkin pie? You seem sad.”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled unconvincingly.

  He pulled ahead to the exit and turned right. “You sure?”

  No reply.

  In fact, she said nothing until they were a few blocks from home. He was just beginning to think she might be sick and that he should take her temperature as soon as they got inside when she said, “Some of the kids at school were talking today.”

  Neil’s foot hit the brake and the cruiser came to a stop.

  Zoey turned her small face to him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you shoot my mommy?”

  His heart stopped, then started again with a painful thud.

  “No, sweetie, I didn’t.” When had the talk gone from him being responsible for Lynne’s death to actually pulling the trigger? “I told you, your mommy died in an accident. A terrible accident.”

  He pulled to the side of the road before someone rear-ended them. Carolina had warned him of this happening. He should have listened to her.

  Zoey’s eyes had taken on a distant look, and Neil was suddenly terrified. Did she think he was lying? He reached over, unbuckled her seat belt and pulled her close to him.

  “Don’t listen to what those kids are saying. They’re just being mean.”

  “Why, Daddy?” She buried her face in his jacket sleeve.

  Neil stroked her hair, struggling to come up with a good explanation that his sweet little daughter could understand.

  “You know Sheriff Herberger’s sick and that Daddy’s taking his place until he’s well again, right?” She nodded.

  “Not everybody is happy about that.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t think I should have gotten the job.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we haven’t lived here very long. Not like the other deputies. Some people don’t want a stranger as acting sheriff. They think if they say bad things about me, I’ll quit.”

  “We’re not strangers.”

  “No, we’re not. And I’m a good acting sheriff. They’ll see that and stop saying lies about me.” Or once Otis was back on the job, Neil would no longer be the focus of attention.

  “Tell me again about my mommy.”

  Neil continued to stroke Zoey’s hair. She’d been so young when he
r mother died. She didn’t remember Lynne at all. Photographs and stories were his daughter’s only connection. He made sure she had plenty of both.

  Ignoring passing traffic, Neil recounted for at least the hundredth time how he and Lynne met and how happy they’d been when she was born. When he was done, her mood was greatly improved.

  “Would you like to go to Dairy Queen for supper?” he offered on impulse. The leftover fried chicken he’d been planning on serving could wait until tomorrow. “Yes!”

  One of her school friends was at the restaurant. The girl must not have participated in the day’s cruel taunting because Zoey was overjoyed to see her. While they played, Neil took out his cell phone and made a call.

  “Hello,” Carolina answered, a bit warily. “I didn’t realize I gave you my number.”

  “You didn’t. I have resources.”

  “Of course.”

  He thought he heard a trace of amusement in her voice and was glad. Now wasn’t the time to offend her.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Again? That seems to be a trend with you and me.”

  He didn’t comment. She was right, and he was already having trouble keeping his emotions in check.

  “I’d like to take you up on your previous offer,” he said.

  “Which one?”

  “To call the newspaper and see if you can find out who’s behind the articles on me.”

  “I already did.”

  He should have guessed as much. Before he could ask her what she’d found, Zoey came running back to their booth. Her friend’s family was leaving.

  “I can’t talk now,” he told Carolina. “Is there any chance you can swing by my house before you head home?”

  “Sure, but I won’t be leaving for another thirty minutes.”

  “That’s fine.” He winked at Zoey and indicated for her to finish up her hot dog. “Let me give you my address.”

  “No need. I have it.”

  “You do?”

  “I have resources, too, Sheriff Lovitt.”

  That shouldn’t have surprised him.

  “ANOTHER GREAT STORY, Carolina!”

  “The phones haven’t stopped ringing since yesterday!”

  Carolina walked down the hall at the station, accepting accolades from her coworkers. Inside, she was tingling with happiness. Her twice-daily reports on the illegal mining operation couldn’t be going any better and were generating high ratings.