by Kieran York
Royce slapped her leg and Chance rushed to her side. Together they walked out to Royce’s SUV. The darkening sky was cooling. It was the late spring’s sky with a thin chilliness of so many Colorado nights.
As Royce and Chance climbed into the SUV, tears spurted from the sheriff’s eyes. She tightly hugged Chance. She recalled the day over a year ago when Chance arrived in Timber City. Royce had just lost her trusty companion, Deputy Smoky, a schnauzer now memorialized in bronze on Main Street. Nick had just arrived back from a trip to Denver, on business. Part of his business was to bring a trained police dog back to Timber, and to Royce.
His handsome, sweet face had grinned, even when Royce said that she didn’t want the dog. He argued that she couldn’t be returned. She’d flunked out of K-9 training. She was too small, and she never listened. She had been named ‘Not a Chance’ by her trainers. And, he continued to convince the sheriff, that she needed a dog. The dog needed a home. Finally, Royce relented, and said she’d give the dog a chance. But she wasn’t naming this potentially problem pooch ‘Not a Chance’ – She would call this German shepherd Chance. And hope for the best.
Not only had it been for the best, Chance became a disciplined, courageous deputy of the Timber County Sheriff’s Department. Royce’s hug squeezed Chance to her. Nick had given her one of the best gifts she ever had. He brought Chance into Royce’s life. And into the county she served as K-9 Deputy Chance.
Chapter 2
Royce felt a reassurance. Morning was opening in Hertha’s embrace. Chance rested at the end of the bed, and little Louis, the terrier, took the other edge. Cleo the cat snuggled gently against Royce’s back. Batting her eyes awake, Hertha kissed the sheriff’s neck.
Her pulse began to pound. She thought of Nick. “I hope Nick is okay.”
“You didn’t get a call, so I’m assuming things are status quo or better.” Hertha looked at her phone. “No messages. Do you want me to call Wanda, or maybe Sam or Terry?”
“No, it’s early.”
“I’m glad the kiddoes are sleeping in,” Hertha spoke. Although her voice sounded in control, her face was troubled.
“Are they okay?”
As Hertha gathered her robe around her, she asked, “How can they be. They’re aware of Nick being shot. I tried to talk with them last night before you got home. I told them Nick would be okay. That was a hopeful response. The medics don’t seem very optimistic.”
Royce’s jaw seemed tightened. Finally, she said, “He’s tough. Resilient. If anyone can make it, he can.”
After they’d showered, and fixed breakfast, both Royce and Hertha remained quiet until Hertha’s hand covered Royce’s. “I’ll take the kiddoes to visit your mom later. Molly usually is comforting. Vannie tried not to show her tears, but Antero broke down several times. They are old enough to realize what’s happened.” Vannie would soon be eight, and Antero seven. And they were bright youngsters. “They said they were worried about you, Royce.”
“I’m fine. I don’t want them to worry,” Royce commented. She squeezed Hertha’s hand. “I’m also worried about Nick’s kids. Sarah is eleven and Andy is nine. They’re undoubtedly devastated. Look, someone shot Nick. It wasn’t an opportunistic crime. The guy had called and made an appointment for a ride-along. He wanted to kill Nick. We have a person of interest.”
“Kirk Dillard. But you don’t sound convinced.” Hertha set the table. Royce was pouring coffee, and placed tea in front of Hertha. “Thanks, lover. Do you have doubts about the Dillard guy?”
“I’m not seeing a motive. Lots of shootings come without motive. Anyway, we’re trying to locate him. Whoever called the department gave his information. So, the probability is that Kirk did it, or was involved. It doesn’t make sense that Kirk would have wanted Nick dead. Nick had checked him out. The kid was clean. Nothing at all. Just got back from graduating college, had absolutely no charges of any kind.”
“Gwen told me that his father is Lyle Dillard. She claims that Lyle is still angry about the election, and the gambling ordinance the county turned down. So maybe it was a revenge shooting.”
Royce pondered as she reached for a piece of toast. “If Lyle still had an axe to grind, he could easily afford a hitman. I don’t think he’d send his own son to do his dirty work.” Royce paused, as she sipped coffee. “I’ve got the Dillard’s name down on my list as possible enemies. But there were a couple other run-ins Nick had. The guys up at the derelict encampment. I guess Nick told them to be moving on if they didn’t hold with the fire regulations. But I’ve done that myself. And the prospector, Chris Wyatt. I can’t take that serious. I’ve known him for years.”
“The guy that runs Wild West Gold Panning?” Hertha asked.
“Yes. Nick caught him off his own property, sluicing down river, on his neighbor’s land. The neighbor was always complaining. Nick threatened to ticket Wyatt a time or two. Finally did.”
Hertha said, “Wyatt seems very mellow to be fighting with anyone. He had an old mixed breed dog he called Jackpot. Jackpot was brought in to the animal hospital here, so I got to know Wyatt. Two years ago, Jackpot died of old age. Wyatt got a beautiful Bernese mountain dog. A puppy he named Gus. A lovely dog. I’m with you, Royce. Wyatt has been a client for years. He always took such great care of old Jackpot. And now Gus. He just had Gus in here for his two-year exam. I can’t see him shooting anyone, much less Nick.”
“When Nick finally wrote him the ticket for going on a neighbor’s property to mine gold, Wyatt lost his temper. Nick probably wouldn’t have even ticketed him, but the neighbor was a tight-ass. He wanted a report written,” Royce said shaking her head. “Nick’s sensitive about the law, but I don’t think he would have ticketed him if the neighbor wouldn’t have been so insistent.”
“I just can’t believe anyone from around here would have tried to kill Nick”
“Whenever there’s a scuffle, someone goes away angry. Angry at their adversary, and often angrier at the enforcer.”
“That’s a concern. But it isn’t as though you and Nick, or any of the deputies, don’t try to be fair.” Hertha sipped her herbal tea. “Maybe it was an angry person from out of town.”
“Yes, it could have been a visitor to Crystal or Timber. And then, there are always the criminals we’ve locked away. They certainly had a reason to shoot Nick or me. I asked the D.A.’s office to look through the case files, and cross check to see if any of them have been recently sprung. Criminals often hold a grudge a very long time.”
Hertha smile was hollow, “Royce, that’s hardly reassuring to me. We’ve got to be optimistic.”
Royce’s eyes clouded. “I’m still suffering from disbelief. Hertha, when I woke, I thought I was having a terrible dream.”
Hertha stated, “I was at the hospital with Beverly when he came out of emergency surgery. And I’m sure when you got there later; he was still looking to be severely traumatized. But Royce, that’s always the most frightening time. Let’s see what today brings.” Hertha looked across the table. “Please be careful.”
“Hug Vannie and Antero for me. Tell them not to worry.”
“They love you, Royce.” Her voice wavered as she tried to keep her eyes dry.
“Would it help if Chance stayed to watch them?’
“They are worried about you, not themselves.”
“I don’t want you to let them outside, in front of the animal hospital. Keep them in, or near. I have no idea who the shooter is, so stay safe. I’m having deputies from Elk County help with surveillance of both Nick’s and our family.”
“That being the plan, definitely take Chance with you.”
Smiling as she put her Stetson on, Royce commented, “I think you believe Deputy Chance is a better enforcer than I am.” Her grin lifted.
“You do realize you’re talking with a veterinarian?”
Royce leaned into Hertha’s kiss. “Chance and I both love you.”
***
Chance rushed ahead of Royce as th
ey made their way across the street to Molly’s Pantry. The small bakery/café was enchanting. With a display case of cakes, cookies, and various breads and pastry, there was a small-town intimacy. The scent of fresh baking wafted from the backroom kitchen. In the bakery, there was a counter with stools, and a couple of tables where people could enjoy a breakfast or lunch. Clean and comfortable, Royce’s mother, Molly, described it as that. Others believed it was quaint and lovely.
Royce watched on as Molly delivered breakfast rolls. Her mother seemed never to change. She was short, and stocky. Royce had her father’s height and slimness. Molly’s beige, short hair was streaked with gray. Her face was round, and tawny, and her smile was huge. Royce inherited her mother’s smile, and the deep dimples that Molly was known for having.
Molly gave Royce a hug. “Any word on Nick?”
“Last night Beverly updated me. The neurosurgeons thought they would be taking him in for further surgery sometime later today. The shoulder wound isn’t life threatening at this point. But they’re very concerned with the head wound. I know Bev’s parents and Nick’s parents are with Bev now. I thought I’d wait and go up at noon. Terry, and also the office, will notify me of news. Terry’s insisting on staying there, even though she had a deputy to relive her.”
“I thought I’d stay here and get meals prepared for family, and deputies. Pearl said she’d take the food up to the hospital, and over to the Sheriff’s Department.” Molly’s hands went to her hips. She announced, “Why you know how I take baked goods and meals to anyone in need. Well, some of the folks I buy from are contributing their goods – flour, and fixings, because they heard I was providing food. And if that isn’t nice as all get-out, some of the church ladies came over to help me fix up meals. Bless them. People are so good.”
“Yes, most of them are.” Royce looked at the wall. Molly still saw the good.
“Why Gwen also said she’d drop by the hospital and check. I can always get a smidgen of news from Gwen. Royce, I know how close you are to Nick. He’s like a brother to you. Of course, I’m worried about him. I’m also worried for you.”
“Yes.” Royce blinked. “The brother I never had. We always could count on one another to put the pieces of a case together. I still have the other deputies, and they are working so hard, but I keep thinking about if Nick would have some important input. I need to find the perpetrator.”
“You will, Royce. Oh, Plato Wallace wants to talk with you.”
“I’ll go out the back way, Mom. He’ll be in the alley.”
When Chance exited the bakery, she immediately rushed ahead of Royce to Plato Wallace’s side. Plato was Royce’s confidential informant, and had been for a few years. The small, very thin man was elderly, and dressed in Western clothing, and boots, with a cowboy hat. His time-cracked face showed the abuse of a life lived on the rodeo circuits, and in barrooms. He told Royce he wanted to be known as an informant, certainly never as a snitch. Royce kept her promise to him to do just that. Her C.I. had helped her on various cases, and she had provided him with cash.
“Howdy, Sheriff.”
“You wanted to see me?” Royce asked Plato.
“Yeah, checkin’ to see what I can do. All this about Nick is danged tragic. I wanna help out.”
“Do you know the fellas at the encampment out of town?”
“Sure do. From Denver. They come up here summers and head back to Denver winters. Like a doggonit bunch of snow birds. They lay around out at the camp. Lazybones. We used to call ‘em hoboes. I talked several times to ‘em over the years. There’s a guy named a Claude Myers. Don’t know him too much. When he comes to town, it’s just for buyin’ a couple quarts of bourbon. Spuds Flanigan, now he’s a talker. Then Duffy McCord is an ex-Viet Nam vet. Nice guy. He’s got him an antique Jeep.”
“I recall meeting them a couple times,” Royce said. “I just dropped by to tell them to watch their fires. Wild fire season here is now year-round. Do a wellness check. Also warned them not to get into trouble. Nick has had a couple altercations. He mentioned the name Myers.”
“Myers says he’s had a brush with the law. But never said much about it. Only that a psychiatrist gave him all the voodoo tests and he passed. He gives a big hoopin’ laugh and sez if the test found him sane, then they must need their brains checked.” Plato cackled. “The guy is off the rail.”
Royce laughed. “Or as they say now, his brain goes offline sometimes.”
Plato continued sputtering. “I like that one. I betcha Myers is a bad guy. Sinister evil fellas can liquor up, and be dangerous. I kinda keep myself away from him. He does have a noggin’ full of nonsense. In spite of what them psychiatrist say about him bein’ sane.”
“I never considered the three very dangerous. But as you said, anyone can give off different impressions of themselves.” Royce took a deep breath. “I’m trying to find out what problem they might have had with Nick.”
“I don’t think none of them would kill deputy. Not over having a beef with a ‘em.”
“Plato, if you see them, check them out. See if they have a gun out at their camp.”
“Yep, I’ll just say how’s I think they probably couldn’t have been involved, cause they ain’t got no gun. Then that blabber mouth Spuds will speak up if they do have any guns. He a boasting loudmouth.”
“Thanks.” Royce shoveled a ten-dollar bill into his hand. “Keep me informed.”
“I’ll be keepin’ my eyes open, Sheriff.”
Royce and Chance walked away, up the alley. Royce muttered to Chance. “Our best intel is Plato and our citizens.” She slipped a disk of butterscotch hard candy into her mouth. “I’m thankful for both. They’re plenty amazing.”
***
When Royce entered the District Attorney’s Office, she was surprised to see her Gran. Dora Madison was a proud octogenarian. She was short, thin, and energetic. Her white hair, and piercing blue eyes, and her animated face, made her a favorite of everyone she knew.
It had only been a few months ago District Attorney Michael Parker’s grandmother, Debra Parker, moved to Timber City. She was in her early seventies, and had just retired. She found the charm of Timber City irresistible. The fact that her prized grandson now resided in Timber was a selling point. She and Dora Madison became fast friends, and soon she was moving in with Royce’s grandmother. Royce was thrilled because she’d moved back in with Hertha and the children, and worried about her grandmother living out of town in a remote cabin.
Dora and Debra’s story of friendship was one of a wonderful one. It was an immediate bond of affection. The two women were not only retired, but they enjoyed similar events, hobbies, and had the exact same interests. Royce could tell her grandmother was happy, and that was what mattered.
“You two are up early,” Royce said.
Mike chuckled, “They brought us a morning snack. It is going to be a very long morning. And I’m going to be needing to buy a size larger wardrobe.”
Royce and the others sat around his desk laughing when the proper district attorney got up and shimming to prove he might need a new pair of trousers soon. Michael Parker’s courtroom presentation was certainly one of professionalism and seriousness. Not yet thirty, he was pleasant looking, with a sense of humor, and a love of the law. Once in that courtroom, he was a vicious and tenacious prosecutor.
“Have you found out anything yet?” he grilled the sheriff.
“We check phone calls made to Kirk Dillard’s cell phone. Nothing. Kirk used his phone at nine. He called a track-phone, and the conversation lasted less than five minutes. Whoever this hot woman he was supposed to meet up with, went to the trouble of getting and using a trace. I’m guessing she set up a meeting place with Kirk. I’m curious about her involvement. Had they set the shooting up together? Accomplices?”
Mike frowned. “We also checked Kirk’s social networking. You mentioned that his father claimed he was meeting a woman he just met? Or any brunch date. So, we wondered if they communicated o
n social media.”
“No clue on his plan with the woman?” Royce questioned.
“Nothing. He may have told his father about the new woman in his life. But none of his internet communication talks about a woman. On social networks, he mostly talked about his mother looking for some antiques for her business in Wyoming. But nothing about a possible new love interest.”
“Today’s crime is sometimes less difficult to trace because of e-media. Everything’s technical now. Crime detection needs to rush to keep up.” Royce sighed.
Mike leaned back on his office-chair; his hand locked behind his head. “I’m not going to say anything that will link me to a homicide on social media. I sure didn’t see anything on his Facebook page that made him look like he was hungering for a dating site.”
Royce’s radio interrupted. “Sheriff Madison,” she answered brusquely. After hearing the message, she instructed, “Sam, I’m on my way to Crystal. I’ll stop in and talk with Kirk’s parents, then let’s meet at the Crystal Auxiliary Sheriff’s post.”
She turned to Mike. “I’m on my way to meet with Lyle and Courtney Dillard. Lyle called earlier to tell us that Courtney, Kirk’s mother, took a redeye into Crystal. I’m meeting them at Lyle’s apartment. I’ll let you know what I find out.” After departing, Royce and Chance went to the Golden Nugget Apartment building.
When the sheriff arrived, she quickly took the elevator up to the penthouse. Lyle opened the door. His cocky, elitist demeanor had changed from the last time Royce had called on him. “Courtney is very upset,” his sentence rushed. “She’s very concerned.”
Holding her hand out to greet Courtney, Royce said, “We’re all concerned. I have questions to ask you both.”
“However, we can help,” Courtney answered. Her voice had the plush elegance of an Ivy League scholar. She was attractive, and held herself with belief in herself.
