chief and waited for her to acknowledge her.
One of the Dickey brothers noticed Jordan’s hands were free.
“Someone ought to put that suspect in handcuffs,” he said. “Someone who ought to know her job by now,” he added.
Jordan stepped forward. “Are you the one who hit me?”
He didn’t look her in the eye when he answered her. “No one hit you,” he snapped.
“For God’s sake, Randy, look at her face. Someone sure as hell hit her,” Maggie Haden yelled. “And there’s a witness.” Because the sheriff looked so surprised, she added with a nod, “Yes there is. A witness who saw your brother slap the cell phone out of this woman’s hand and then hit her with his fist.” Lowering her voice, she said, “So you can see nothing can be done or changed now. It’s too late. There could be a potential lawsuit over this.”
J. D. had been slouching against the hood of the sheriff’s car and shouting his jabs at the police chief, but when he heard about a witness, he lunged forward.
“What witness? Who saw what? If I’m going to be accused of something I didn’t do, I should get to know this witness’s name.”
“In good time, J. D.,” the chief said.
“Chief Haden, I want to press charges,” Jordan demanded.
“You be quiet,” Haden snapped.
“I want you to arrest him,” Jordan insisted.
The chief shook her head. “I don’t care what you want. Now keep your mouth shut.”
J. D. nodded his approval and then said, “Randy, doesn’t it seem curious to you that the chief is ranting about a little rough treatment subduing a violent suspect, and that suspect murdered a man. You can’t argue with that. The evidence is right there for anyone to see. The body ain’t in my car or yours, Randy. It’s in her car. And since when do we care about manhandling a murderer?”
The Dickey brothers were two of the most unattractive individuals Jordan had ever encountered. They were both built like used-up wrestlers who’d let their muscles go to flab. Their necks were thick, their shoulders round. J. D. was taller than his brother, but not much. Randy carried quite a paunch, and his face was elongated by a double chin. Both men had small eyes, but J. D.’s were set close like a ferret’s.
The chief of police finally turned her attention to Jordan.
“My name is Chief Haden,” she said. “And you are?”
Since she was holding Jordan’s driver’s license in her hand, the chief knew exactly who she was, but if she wanted to go through the formalities, Jordan wouldn’t argue. She told her her name and gave her address.
“I want some questions answered right here and now. Do you know who the man in the trunk of this car is?” she asked. “The deceased. Do you know his name?”
“Yes,” Jordan answered. “His name is Professor Horace Athens MacKenna.”
“How do you know him?” she asked.
Jordan quickly explained where and how she’d met the professor and why she was in Serenity. Chief Haden didn’t look like she believed a word Jordan was saying.
“You’ll be coming with me to the police station,” she said. “You’ve got a lot more explaining to do. We’ll wait here until the coroner arrives, so don’t give me any trouble or I’ll cuff you right now.”
Without a word, Sheriff Randy and his brother walked back to their car. J. D. had a disgusting smirk on his face.
“Chief Haden, may I ask you a question?” Jordan asked. She was still seething with anger, but she kept calm. Pleasant was too much to ask for.
“Make it quick.” The chief’s tone was snippy.
“How did the sheriff know there was a body in the trunk?”
“He said his brother got a tip on his cell phone. I can’t say if he’s telling the truth or not.”
Sheriff Randy ignored the comment. His brother didn’t. Whirling around, he shouted, “Did you just call me a liar?”
When the chief didn’t answer, J. D. said, “Are you going to take the word of a murderer over a law-abiding
One of the Dickey brothers noticed Jordan’s hands were free.
“Someone ought to put that suspect in handcuffs,” he said. “Someone who ought to know her job by now,” he added.
Jordan stepped forward. “Are you the one who hit me?”
He didn’t look her in the eye when he answered her. “No one hit you,” he snapped.
“For God’s sake, Randy, look at her face. Someone sure as hell hit her,” Maggie Haden yelled. “And there’s a witness.” Because the sheriff looked so surprised, she added with a nod, “Yes there is. A witness who saw your brother slap the cell phone out of this woman’s hand and then hit her with his fist.” Lowering her voice, she said, “So you can see nothing can be done or changed now. It’s too late. There could be a potential lawsuit over this.”
J. D. had been slouching against the hood of the sheriff’s car and shouting his jabs at the police chief, but when he heard about a witness, he lunged forward.
“What witness? Who saw what? If I’m going to be accused of something I didn’t do, I should get to know this witness’s name.”
“In good time, J. D.,” the chief said.
“Chief Haden, I want to press charges,” Jordan demanded.
“You be quiet,” Haden snapped.
“I want you to arrest him,” Jordan insisted.
The chief shook her head. “I don’t care what you want. Now keep your mouth shut.”
J. D. nodded his approval and then said, “Randy, doesn’t it seem curious to you that the chief is ranting about a little rough treatment subduing a violent suspect, and that suspect murdered a man. You can’t argue with that. The evidence is right there for anyone to see. The body ain’t in my car or yours, Randy. It’s in her car. And since when do we care about manhandling a murderer?”
The Dickey brothers were two of the most unattractive individuals Jordan had ever encountered. They were both built like used-up wrestlers who’d let their muscles go to flab. Their necks were thick, their shoulders round. J. D. was taller than his brother, but not much. Randy carried quite a paunch, and his face was elongated by a double chin. Both men had small eyes, but J. D.’s were set close like a ferret’s.
The chief of police finally turned her attention to Jordan.
“My name is Chief Haden,” she said. “And you are?”
Since she was holding Jordan’s driver’s license in her hand, the chief knew exactly who she was, but if she wanted to go through the formalities, Jordan wouldn’t argue. She told her her name and gave her address.
“I want some questions answered right here and now. Do you know who the man in the trunk of this car is?” she asked. “The deceased. Do you know his name?”
“Yes,” Jordan answered. “His name is Professor Horace Athens MacKenna.”
“How do you know him?” she asked.
Jordan quickly explained where and how she’d met the professor and why she was in Serenity. Chief Haden didn’t look like she believed a word Jordan was saying.
“You’ll be coming with me to the police station,” she said. “You’ve got a lot more explaining to do. We’ll wait here until the coroner arrives, so don’t give me any trouble or I’ll cuff you right now.”
Without a word, Sheriff Randy and his brother walked back to their car. J. D. had a disgusting smirk on his face.
“Chief Haden, may I ask you a question?” Jordan asked. She was still seething with anger, but she kept calm. Pleasant was too much to ask for.
“Make it quick.” The chief’s tone was snippy.
“How did the sheriff know there was a body in the trunk?”
“He said his brother got a tip on his cell phone. I can’t say if he’s telling the truth or not.”
Sheriff Randy ignored the comment. His brother didn’t. Whirling around, he shouted, “Did you just call me a liar?”
When the chief didn’t answer, J. D. said, “Are you going to take the word of a murderer over a law-abiding
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