Grab & Go (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 2) Read Free Page B

eyes.
    I scratched at my stiff shirt where Hank’s blood had seeped through the opening in my jacket. Getting married, my happily ever after — it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
    “Nora?” A deep voice.
    My eyes flew open. The sheriff.
    “Your turn.” He stretched out a hand and helped me out of the chair. “Long day, huh?”
    “For you too,” I replied.
    He studied the tip of his sturdy boot as it tapped slowly on the floor. He sighed and brought his eyes up to hold mine. “We’ve released your car. I’d like you to come in to the office. Think we could talk more comfortably there. I make a mean cup of coffee.”
    What could I say? I nodded acquiescence.
    Outside, a deputy lifted the crime scene tape and waved me onto the county road. Sheriff Forbes pulled in front of me in a white Jeep Grand Cherokee with a light bar and led the way to the May County Sheriff’s Office.
    Which turned out to be a lean-to type bump stuck to the side of the May County Fire District #1 station — a pole barn with three gigantic garage doors, all closed. The coffee the sheriff had offered was actually produced with fire department equipment — in the narrow galley kitchen at the back of the bigger building which we accessed through a cutout doorway that hadn’t yet seen a finish carpenter.
    “Classy joint,” Des said from behind his raised mug. He must have noticed my gawking. “Tax base being what it is—” he shrugged and led the way back to his tiny office where the Sheetrock was taped and mudded, but no paint graced the walls.
    Once we were settled — surprisingly comfortably — in worn, padded rolling chairs, Des leaned back and laced his fingers together across his midsection. “So you have a federal security detail. You happen to be the only person in my county with that distinction.” His tone of voice was neutral. I couldn’t tell if he was accusing me of bringing trouble to his jurisdiction or just making a basic observation.
    “I’m sorry,” I replied.
    Des spread his palms and shook his head. “Sounds to me like you need it. Just made it a little tricky for me to stake my claim on this investigation since you were present at the scene. But it’s strictly a local matter. Unfortunately, I know these boys inside out.”
    “Why does everyone keep calling them boys?” I blurted. “I saw them, and they surely aren’t.”
    Des ran his fingertips along his brows, pressing them out, but they immediately re-buckled into tense arches. “Because they’re not men in the best sense of the word. Hooligans, rednecks, rabble-rousers, whatever. But they crossed a line today. Tell me what you saw.”
    So I did. I started with the first bullet whizzing by my head and ended with the moment I noticed that Hank’s chest had a hole in it. The whole event only took a couple minutes, and my telling of it was just as short. “What are their names?” I finished.
    Des eyed me, but I think he knew I’d easily get the answer from someone else if he didn’t divulge it. “Waylon Darrow and Travis Heppner. They’re cousins.”
    “Which one was the shooter?”
    Des pursed his lips and tipped back in his chair. He was going to clam up on me.
    I leaned over the desk and poked the paper he’d been taking notes on. “The one with the collar-length, straight brown hair and flat nose, skinny arms and a tattooed band around his right wrist. The one who was leaning out the window with the gun in his hand. What’s his name?” My voice rose higher than I meant it to.
    Des frowned, but he relented. “That’d be Waylon.”
    “Thank you,” I whispered and shifted back into my seat.
    Des pitched forward, the worry that seemed to trace his face back in full force. He stabbed a forefinger at me. “Don’t go anywhere near him. You understand? He’s not exactly chivalrous.”
    His eyes bore into mine, and I knew exactly what he meant. I nodded.
    “Do you know where he is?” I asked.
    “Not at home. And since I have a deputy