Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
That was before Dillon’s partner was shot, and before my marriage collapsed.
“How would you like to start as a detective?” Dawson asked.
I was shocked but tried not to let surprise register on my face. I had always wanted to make detective; in Nashville, that was all I could ever think about. But I had come out to the country to take a step back, to reevaluate my life. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to jump back into all the stress and responsibilities being a detective would entail.
Dawson saw my reluctance and made his pitch. “We have the officer position, but I can fill that from the local high school. What we really need is someone who knows their way around a crime scene, someone who has experience putting a task force together.”
“I wasn’t lead on the task force,” I said.
“But you know how it works,” he countered. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. It’s not every day someone with your qualifications walks in the door. The salary’s double what an officer takes home. You could make a real difference in the quality of life in this town.”
I sighed. It was more than I’d bargained for, but it was a job. Hell, it was a promotion and a way for me to get settled. “I accept,” I said, holding my hand out across the desk.
“I’m glad to hear it,” the police chief said, grasping my hand in both of his. “I’m going to need you to start right away.”
Istayed and worked the rest of the day. The case they needed help with was straight out of a crime drama. There was a new drug floating around that was causing instant overdoses. It was nearly unheard of in this small town for something like this to happen, and they were scrambling to figure it out before it got worse. There were four bodies buried in the past month, four people with families who were never coming home. The chief of police had shared all the files: the coroner’s reports, the toxicology labs. I spent five hours familiarizing myself with names, places, and dates so I could get an early start in the morning.
I figured I could reinterview some of the family members, see if there was any new information I could uncover. But right now, I needed a place to sleep. There were two hotels in town, one little roadside place that reminded me too much of a pay-by-the-hour establishment. The other hotel was an inexpensive chain with bland corporate rooms. I chose the latter and rented a room for the week.
Now that I had a paycheck, I could relax. I needed something to eat. It had been a long day, and I felt like I hadn’t had a meal in weeks. I dumped my luggage in my hotel room, locked the door, and slipped outside to find some dinner.
There was a diner across the street from the police station, but I wasn’t in the mood for coffee. Beer was more my speed, and after just two blocks, I found what I was looking for. The sign on the door read “Lucky Lady” with a stencil of a drunk lady holding on to a pint. I pushed my way through the door to the bar.
“Can I see a menu?” I asked the bartender.
There were a few couples scattered around at tables and a group of locals playing pool.
“Passin’ through?” the barkeep pulled a menu out and laid it on the bar.
I shook my head. “You’re looking at Singer’s Ridge’s newest detective.”
“Detective.” The barkeeper grinned. “Have a pint on the house.” He grabbed a frosty mug and filled it with amber ale from the tap.
I thanked him with a nod, took my menu and my beer, and went to sit down. After taking a sip and staring out the window, I noticed a free real estate magazine stand on the street outside. I jogged outside to grab one before settling back in my booth.
“I’ll have the steak and eggs,” I said when the waitress came to take my order.
“You thinkin’ of buying property?” She pointed toward the magazine.
“Yeah.” I held out the menu. “Actually, I am.”
“My sister’s trying to sell her house,” the waitress said, sticking the menu under one arm. “I could give you the address if you like.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take it.”
She flipped the order pad up one sheet, wrote quickly, and tore the page out. “It’s a nice little house right downtown.” She placed the address on the table and moved away to serve another customer.
I picked up the magazine and leafed through it as I sipped my beer. As nice as the waitress had been, I wasn’t really looking for something downtown. I had been downtown for most of my adult life, and what I was really looking for was somewhere away from the center of it all. Dillon used to talk about a cabin in the mountains, with quiet and solitude and room to breathe. I liked that idea and had already been investigating cabins for sale. The magazine had a section in the back with some more rustic offerings, but I had one particular piece of property in mind.