Murder One: A Colby Tate Mystery by Kent Allen

Author:Kent, Allen [Kent, Allen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781733217354
Amazon: B081X94R25
Goodreads: 48926897
Publisher: AllenPearce Publishers
Published: 2019-11-22T08:00:00+00:00

17

Marti looked up expectantly when I pushed through the office door, then quickly back down at whatever she was typing. Not a warm “welcome back.” Grace hunched forward at her desk, her cell squeezed between chin and shoulder, one hand scribbling notes while the other sorted through a loose stack of papers.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can, Jim,” she said patiently into the phone. “I’ve got the description of the trailer and the license number, though I’d guess whoever took it will have swapped the plates. I’ll call the Arkansas patrol and the sheriffs’ departments in the counties south of the line. They’ve been running these trailers down there and repainting them. Maybe we can catch it while it still has Bowman Cattle Company on the side.”

She listened for a moment, then said, “Good. I’ll tell them it’s also etched into the underside of the tongue. Smart thing to do.”

I skirted her desk, not escaping an icy stare.

“Be right back with you, Jim,” she said evenly and swiped the phone from her chin with the notetaking hand.

“Good of you to stop in.” She took a quick glance at the Fitbit that served as her watch. “Must have been able to do a little more investigating this afternoon.”

I tried to ignore the sarcasm but felt it tighten the muscles along my jaw. “We made another stop at the Greaves place,” I said too defensively. “Verl’s gone, and we found the place boobytrapped. Officer Joseph’s gone back up to Springfield to get some help sweeping the building. And . . .” I pulled the bag with the cartridge out of my pocket. “. . . we found a spent casing up on the ridge road. Thirty-thirty caliber.”

“Nice work,” she said coolly. “Fortunately, crime in the county has come to a complete standstill while you’ve been playing detective, except . . .” She glanced down at the page of notes that had been occupying her writing hand. “. . .someone just stole Jim Bowman’s stock trailer. The big one he keeps chained beside the barn out on his south section. And Maria Hernandez called to complain that her husband was beating her up again. And . . . let me see . . . the school district called to report two children with bruises they think need to be investigated. And the Ridenours think someone may be cooking meth in an old shack at the back of their place. . . Shall I go on?”

“And Nettie Suskey got murdered in our county,” I snapped back at her. “That hasn’t happened while I’ve been in this job.”

“But something like that will happen again. And you can’t just stop doing everything else when it does. There are only two of us here in the office, and that’s what the state police and your little investigator friend are out there for.”

“It’s our jurisdiction. They’re just supposed to be additional resources.”

“As much resource as we need to allow us to get other work done,” Grace argued.

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