folder.
“I’m sorry you were the one to find him,” August said, switching his focus back to Shaye. “That was a grim bit of business.”
She stood up straighter, shaking off the chill of memories. “It was . . . difficult.”
Without appearing to, Tanner watched her closely. If she realized that August was interested in her as a woman, she didn’t show it.
“Okay,” Feldt said, clearing his throat and paraphrasing from the paper he held in his hand. “ ‘It is the judgment of this expert that the deceased, one Lorne Maximilian Davis, residing at’—hell, you know where he lived—‘is hereby ruled to have died from natural causes, likely stemming from cardiac arrest due to the age of the individual.’ ”
“Bullshit,” Tanner said flatly.
Shaye gave him a sideways look.
“Ex-cuse me?” August said, coming to his feet.
“Can’t be the first time you ever heard the word,” Tanner said, his voice flat.
“What Tanner is saying,” Shaye said in a calm voice, “is that there are some new facts he’d like to add to the investigation.”
“Not what I said,” Tanner muttered in a low growl, but only she heard him.
“Yeah, I figured that out all by myself,” August said. “He must be some kind of city expert come to teach us rural folks how it’s done.”
Feldt looked very unhappy.
“It doesn’t take an expert, city or otherwise, to notice my uncle wasn’t wearing a hat,” Tanner said. “You know any rancher in the valley who doesn’t put his hat on before his boots?”
August said, “Feldt, what’s the time of death there?”
“Hard to tell. Body wasn’t exactly in prime shape, what with the scavengers and all.”
Shaye’s mouth thinned at the reminder.
“What does the report say?” August asked bluntly.
“Uh, best they could decide, it was probably Wednesday, give or take.” Feldt looked at August. “If it was night, he maybe wouldn’t need his hat.”
“Then he’d need a jacket,” Tanner said. “He wasn’t wearing one.”
Feldt looked intently at the report, a man hoping to find a jacket. There wasn’t one.
“Then there’s the question of his boots,” Tanner said.
“He was wearing boots,” Feldt said, tapping the report. “We got ’em all wrapped up waiting for someone to claim them.”
“His regular work boots were on the bench inside the house,” Tanner said.
“The ones on his feet were shiny,” Shaye added.
August lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his thick hair, and resettled the hat. “I thought about that, even brought it up to the sheriff more than once. But it didn’t have much weight.” He shrugged. “Not enough to order an investigation, for sure. From where we are, you can’t even see circumstantial.”
Point made, Tanner thought. August tried to do cop work and was shut down by the sheriff.
“So you’re sure it was an accidental death?” Shaye asked.
There was a flash through the front window, sun glancing off an approaching car. August looked over Tanner’s shoulder to the front door behind him. His suntanned hand closed around the newspaper once again.
The front door opened, rattled in its frame by someone in a hurry.
“Morning, Sheriff,” August said.
The cop in Tanner knew that August had deliberately ignored Shaye’s question. What Tanner didn’t know was why. Unless it was Conrad’s presence. Turning slightly, he got a good look at the sheriff.
Without the stage lighting of the Conservancy gala, Sheriff Conrad had the command presence of dryer lint. His long, slight frame was drawn. Dissatisfaction with life radiated from him like heat ripples off asphalt.
Two cell phones hung on the sheriff’s belt. Instead of making him look important, they made him look ridiculous, especially as one of them was a cheap piece of crap any kid could purchase by the handful at a convenience store.
Since Conrad had settled for being sheriff of the rural county of Refuge, Nevada, Tanner doubted that the man could
“I’m sorry you were the one to find him,” August said, switching his focus back to Shaye. “That was a grim bit of business.”
She stood up straighter, shaking off the chill of memories. “It was . . . difficult.”
Without appearing to, Tanner watched her closely. If she realized that August was interested in her as a woman, she didn’t show it.
“Okay,” Feldt said, clearing his throat and paraphrasing from the paper he held in his hand. “ ‘It is the judgment of this expert that the deceased, one Lorne Maximilian Davis, residing at’—hell, you know where he lived—‘is hereby ruled to have died from natural causes, likely stemming from cardiac arrest due to the age of the individual.’ ”
“Bullshit,” Tanner said flatly.
Shaye gave him a sideways look.
“Ex-cuse me?” August said, coming to his feet.
“Can’t be the first time you ever heard the word,” Tanner said, his voice flat.
“What Tanner is saying,” Shaye said in a calm voice, “is that there are some new facts he’d like to add to the investigation.”
“Not what I said,” Tanner muttered in a low growl, but only she heard him.
“Yeah, I figured that out all by myself,” August said. “He must be some kind of city expert come to teach us rural folks how it’s done.”
Feldt looked very unhappy.
“It doesn’t take an expert, city or otherwise, to notice my uncle wasn’t wearing a hat,” Tanner said. “You know any rancher in the valley who doesn’t put his hat on before his boots?”
August said, “Feldt, what’s the time of death there?”
“Hard to tell. Body wasn’t exactly in prime shape, what with the scavengers and all.”
Shaye’s mouth thinned at the reminder.
“What does the report say?” August asked bluntly.
“Uh, best they could decide, it was probably Wednesday, give or take.” Feldt looked at August. “If it was night, he maybe wouldn’t need his hat.”
“Then he’d need a jacket,” Tanner said. “He wasn’t wearing one.”
Feldt looked intently at the report, a man hoping to find a jacket. There wasn’t one.
“Then there’s the question of his boots,” Tanner said.
“He was wearing boots,” Feldt said, tapping the report. “We got ’em all wrapped up waiting for someone to claim them.”
“His regular work boots were on the bench inside the house,” Tanner said.
“The ones on his feet were shiny,” Shaye added.
August lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his thick hair, and resettled the hat. “I thought about that, even brought it up to the sheriff more than once. But it didn’t have much weight.” He shrugged. “Not enough to order an investigation, for sure. From where we are, you can’t even see circumstantial.”
Point made, Tanner thought. August tried to do cop work and was shut down by the sheriff.
“So you’re sure it was an accidental death?” Shaye asked.
There was a flash through the front window, sun glancing off an approaching car. August looked over Tanner’s shoulder to the front door behind him. His suntanned hand closed around the newspaper once again.
The front door opened, rattled in its frame by someone in a hurry.
“Morning, Sheriff,” August said.
The cop in Tanner knew that August had deliberately ignored Shaye’s question. What Tanner didn’t know was why. Unless it was Conrad’s presence. Turning slightly, he got a good look at the sheriff.
Without the stage lighting of the Conservancy gala, Sheriff Conrad had the command presence of dryer lint. His long, slight frame was drawn. Dissatisfaction with life radiated from him like heat ripples off asphalt.
Two cell phones hung on the sheriff’s belt. Instead of making him look important, they made him look ridiculous, especially as one of them was a cheap piece of crap any kid could purchase by the handful at a convenience store.
Since Conrad had settled for being sheriff of the rural county of Refuge, Nevada, Tanner doubted that the man could
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