Page 4 of A Small Town Risk

“Thank you for coming, Sheriff. I’m sorry this happened again.”

“Not a problem.” I nod at the spread. “What do you have going on here?”

“Just baking. Would you care for some?”

Ample time has passed since the burritos and Coke entered my system, so I have room. I’d have made room even if it hadn’t.

“Let me unlock the car first.”

“Okay. It’s in the garage. You take care of it, and I’ll get the milk.”

“Be right back.”

Since I’m experienced at unlocking this vehicle, I’m back in about three minutes, sitting at the table.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Dig in.”

I take a bite of a brownie, savoring the rich, chocolaty taste. “These are great.”

She’s standing, watching me in her yellow velour tracksuit and perfectly done gray hair.

“Please sit, Mrs. Kramer.”

“I think I will.” She settles in and starts talking. And can she ever talk! She and her friends spend most of their time at the hairdresser, diner, and bakery, and they stay connected. There’s nothing they don’t know.

So, for the next half hour, I eat and say a few “Uh-huh’s” and “You don’t say’s,” and then it’s time to go.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Kramer. Nobody cooks like you do.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did.”

She walks me to my car, watches me get in, and waves as I drive off.

What a wonderful old woman.

At a stoplight, I rub my belly. The Flame Throwers are getting to me. I shouldn’t have eaten them. I tell myself that every time.

The light changes to green, and I roll ahead while a gray Bently with Nebraska plates coasts by, going the other way. A peach fuzz driver glances at me, widens his eyes, grows pale, and stiffens. I contact dispatch. “Peg. Run these plates for me.”

I rattle numbers and letters off and make an ugly, cumbersome U-turn. Horns honk and fists shake.

He’s a block ahead when I finally straighten out

“Sheriff. The vehicle was reported stolen nine hours ago.”

The driver hangs a right.

“Looks like he’s up for a game of cat and mouse. He just turned offMain, going south onDozer. Send Mike downBensonand James downJoseph. We’ll funnel him toMeyer Road.”

“The dead end?”

“If he’s not from around here, he won’t know.”

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