The Rosewood Casket by Sharyn McCrumb

Author:Sharyn McCrumb [McCrumb, Sharyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-10-07T23:49:10+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

I can’t say I was ever lost, but I was bewildered once for three days.

—DANIEL BOONE

Garrett Stargill had no trouble finding the sheriff’s office. The business district of Hamelin was one street that widened after a few blocks into a state road that snaked its way up Buffalo Mountain to a series of farms and communities in higher valleys, among steeper mountains. The sheriff’s office stood behind the courthouse, an old two-story brick house on a side street. It had a small porch with newly painted gingerbread trim, and a planter of geraniums on either side of the steps. Garrett looked at the geraniums, and wondered if he had seen more of death than these lawmen had. He’d bet on it.

He parked his truck in the gravel lot and crossed the street, cradling the box in his arms. Its heaviness was the wood of the box itself; the small bones within added little to the burden.

Garrett stopped at the steps to the brick house, studied the wooden sign that said “Sheriff’s Office,” and wished he had worn his uniform. He would have felt more credible dressed as a soldier—one uniform to another, instead of a civilian facing a uniformed lawman. He resolved to mention his rank in his first breath.

He balanced the box, turned the knob, and went in. “I’m Warrant Officer Garrett—” A blond girl—she couldn’t have been much more than twenty—with long straight hair and mascara too dark for her coloring, blinked up at him. She must be the receptionist, he thought. A name plate on her desk said “Jennaleigh.” Garrett decided that he needn’t explain his errand to her. “Is the sheriff in?” he asked, careful not to smile.

The young woman looked at Garrett’s stern face, then at the box. She seemed to think better of questioning him herself. “Wait here. I’ll get Sheriff Arrowood.” She tapped on a door at the back of the reception room, and disappeared inside.

Garrett set the box down on a straight-backed chair, but he felt no inclination to be seated. He paced the pine floor, and studied the notices posted on the bulletin board. There were a couple of federal wanted posters, some legal notices headed “State of Tennessee,” and a typewritten document entitled “Tax Auction,” which he had been about to read when the sheriff appeared.

“Spencer Arrowood. What can I do for you?”

Garrett turned, speechless for a moment, at the sight of a blond man of about medium height, about his own age. He was wearing a badge on his khaki uniform, and a 9mm Glock holstered on his hip. It was several seconds before Garrett remembered to extend his hand. “Sorry to act so startled,” he said. “I’m Garrett Stargill, Warrant Officer, U.S. Army. Pleased to meet you, Sheriff. You kind of caught me off guard there for an instant. It’s stupid, I know, but—I was expecting Nelse Miller.”

The sheriff nodded. “Nelse passed away quite a few years back, Mr. Stargill. He’s still missed, though. Not least by me.

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