Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Read Free

“Some of the old parts are still working pretty good by gawd. Bet I could still write my name in the snow if I wanted to. How ‘ bout you dog? You gotta go pee?” Lester finished his business, opened the screen door, and held it against the spring , but Harley held his ground. The dog wasn’t keen about the odds of him being fed if that door slammed shut.
    “Go on now. I’ll wait for you.” The dog stepped off the porch, went to the nearest rose bush, glanced back to make sure the door was still open, and lifted his leg.
    “Aw geez, Harley. Why is it that particular bush every stinkin’ time? I got ten acres of brush and fence posts and trees for you to pee on but no, you gotta spray the roses. I planted those in memory of Mary Alice just so I could look out here and remember how much she loved her flowers. And then you come along and hose it down. You got no respect for anything or anyone do you?” The dog ambled back to the house, passed by Lester without stopping, and plopped down by his oversized food bowl, waiting. Lester shook his head. “Worthless hunk of hair and bone, that’s all you are. When you gonna start earning your keep around here?”
    From under the sink, Lester brought out a can of dog food, cranked around the top with the opener, and dumped the entire contents in the bowl. Three gulps later, the bowl was empty. Harley did a couple extra licks around the edge to make sure he hadn’t missed anything and looked up.
    “No, that’s it for you. You’re overweight as it is.” Lester held the door open once again. “Go on out there and check the perimeter. Protect me while I eat my breakfast.” Still in his boxers, Lester poured oatmeal in a bowl, added milk, stuck it in the microwave , and set it for one minute. Through the window, he watched the dog do his rounds.
    First stop was the little red barn, faded but sound with good lumber and solid doors. The barn was what prompted Lester to buy the property. It was exactly the right size for the horse that he intended to buy…some day, when he got around to it. Lord knows the house wasn’t much, a two bedroom clapboard affair built forty years ago and in bad need of a paint job, but it would do for an old fart living alone.
    Harley did little more than stick his nose in the half-open barn door before moving on to what remained of the wildflower garden —now more weeds than flowers—that Lester fussed with every spring. The dog was hoping that some careless rabbit might have mistaken the plot for a safe haven. It was not to be and the Lab moved on, working his way down the fencerow.
    The sound of gravel crunching in the lane broke Lester’s reverie as a solid black 1995 Z28 Camaro jerked to a stop. Deputy Billy Ray Ledbetter slid out and made his way across the lawn favoring one foot, the limp noticeable . Lester met him at the door as Harley raced to join them.
    “Jesus, Sheriff, you still in your skivvies? I thought we had a missing person to find.”
    “Don’t get your panties in a wad , Billy Ray. Sit still a minute and talk to the dog. I’ll be ready when I’m ready.”
    For the better part of a year, Lester and Billy Ray had worked together busting meth labs in southeast Sequoyah County. But it wasn’t the same job after Lester retired and rather than stay in law enforcement, Billy Ray joined the Army. It was an unfortunate decision . His military career was shortened by a rocket propelled grenade exploding into a boulder next to where Billy Ray had taken shelter during an attack . The shrapnel shattered several bones in his right foot, prompting a medical discharge. Back in the states and after months of rehab, Billy Ray needed a job. The Sequoyah County Sheriff’s office had promised him his old job back if he wanted it , but when he inquired, he was told that there were no openings at the moment. The goods news, he found, was that Sheriff Morrison had gone back to work and was now living in the Panhandle . Billy Ray made a call.