Page 5 of Redeeming Melodies

And I was finally ready to cross that finish line.

SMALL TOWN SHADOWS

Dispatch's voice cut through the quiet cab of my cruiser, where I'd been parked watching the empty streets of Main Street like I did most nights.

"Sheriff Thompson, we've got a possible break-in at the Randall farm. Mr. Randall reports suspicious noises near his barn."

I straightened in my seat, already reaching for the ignition. "Copy that. En route."

Old man Randall had called three times this month already - usually just raccoons getting into his feed bins. But that's the thing about being sheriff in a town like Oakwood Grove: every call matters, even if it's just to give some peace of mind to a worried resident.

The cruiser's headlights cut through the darkness as I turned onto Meadow Road, tires crunching over gravel. Past Nina's bar, closed for the night but still showing signs of life as she cleaned up inside. She waved as I passed, probably wondering what trouble had stirred up our sleepy town this time.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up to the Randall farm. The place looked exactly like it had during my last visit - weathered barn standing sentinel over acres of pasture, farmhouse needs a freshcoat of paint, ancient pickup truck that probably hadn't moved in years.

Mr. Randall was waiting on his porch, shotgun cradled in his arms like a security blanket. Shit. Armed civilians and darkness never mixed well.

"Evening, Mr. Randall." I kept my voice calm and steady as I approached, making sure to stay visible in the porch light. "Want to tell me what you heard?"

He lowered the shotgun slightly but his weathered face remained pinched with worry. "Banging from the barn about twenty minutes ago. Thought it was them damn raccoons again at first, but this was different. Heavier."

I nodded, pulling out my flashlight. Standard issue, but I'd upgraded the bulb. Amazing how much darkness there was in a small town, how many shadows needed checking. "Anyone else on the property tonight? Workers? Family?"

"Just me and the animals." He gestured toward the barn with his chin. "Betty usually helps with evening feeding, but she's got that flu going around."

"I'll check it out," I said, maybe a bit too gruffly. "Stay here, please. And Mr. Randall? Let's put the shotgun inside."

He hesitated, then nodded. Smart man. Would've been easier in my deputy days, just following orders. Being sheriff meant every decision carried more weight, especially when you had to tell armed citizens what to do.

The path to the barn was muddy from yesterday's rain, my boots leaving clear impressions. But there - alongside my tracks - other footprints. Fresh ones. Two sets, heading toward the barn. None coming back.

Shit.

I drew my weapon, keeping it pointed down but ready. The flashlight beam caught the barn door, highlighting what I'dhoped not to find: fresh scratches around the padlock. Amateur work, but determined. Someone had definitely tried to get in.

A soft thud came from inside the barn, followed by whispered cursing. I pressed myself against the wall, radio at my lips. "Dispatch, possible suspects still on scene at the Randall farm. Request backup."

Standing there in the dark, the familiar weight of my badge pressed against my chest like a reminder. Fifteen years ago, I was the one causing trouble on these farms, not stopping it. The memory hit me like a sucker punch - me and my football buddies, thinking we owned this town, thinking our pranks were harmless fun. We never saw the damage we left behind. Or maybe we just didn't want to.

Mr. Randall's voice cut through my thoughts. "Sheriff Thompson?" He'd moved closer, shotgun finally left inside like I'd asked. "Betty mentioned seeing you at Caleb's ranch last week. Said you were talking to Liam."

My jaw tightened. Of course Betty had seen that. In Oakwood Grove, everyone saw everything. "Just checking in on a noise complaint, Mr. Randall. Standard procedure."

He nodded slowly, years of farming etched into the lines around his eyes. "You know, some folks wondered why you came back here after the academy. Why you'd want to be sheriff in a town where everyone remembers-" He trailed off, but the words hung in the air between us.

"Where everyone remembers what an asshole I was in high school?" I finished for him, my voice steady. No point dancing around it. "Maybe that's exactly why I came back."

Something shifted in the old man's expression - not quite approval, but understanding maybe. "Betty says you've changed. Says you're not that angry kid anymore."

"I'm trying not to be." The words came out rougher than I intended. "But that kid's still part of me. Helps me spot trouble before it gets worse."

Mr. Randall considered this, hands stuffed in his weathered jacket pockets. "Well, you're here now, dealing with my barn problems at midnight. That counts for something in my book."

“Deputy Ramirez is en route. ETA fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes. Might as well be fifteen hours out here in the dark, with God knows who inside that barn. Protocol said wait for backup. But if they spooked and ran, they'd be long gone before Martinez arrived.

I moved to the side door - always unlocked, according to Mr. Randall's previous complaints. My hand found the latch, cold metal against my palm. One deep breath, then another. The door creaked as I eased it open, making me wince.

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