Page 10 of What She Saw
Taggart and Deputy Jed Paxton were the only LEOs available to work the festival’s security tonight. Despite assurances from the mayor, he worried this event was an accident waiting to happen.
“What could go wrong?” the mayor had asked.
Taggart had forbidden that question among his long-range recon team when they were in North Vietnam. Anyone stupid enough to tempt Fate found himself isolated by the unit and exposed to land mines, stray bullets, or a fall off a cliff. Fate had no problem punishing the naive or stupid.
He moved into his office and hung his hat on a peg behind his desk, which had a pile of pink message slips on it. He’d already learned that most calls were mundane. But to assume there were no issues would irritate Fate.
“Sheriff.”
Taggart met his deputy’s gaze. Jed Paxton was twenty-two and had been with the department a year. Paxton had been born in Dawson, and his father had once been mayor of the town. Paxton was tall, with big shoulders and thick black hair. He had been the star of the localfootball team, and women still flirted with him because he’d always be the high school hero.
By the same age, Taggart had been a marine for five years, been shot in Vietnam, and completed a sixty-day rehab stint in a Tokyo military hospital. For Taggart’s twenty-second birthday, Uncle Sam had ordered him to Okinawa as a military police officer.
“What do you need, Deputy?” Taggart asked.
“Mayor Briggs is on his way. He wants to talk to you about the music festival.”
“Is there an issue?” He’d written a detailed critique of the festival proposal.
“He’s not happy with your security recommendations.”
No surprise that the mayor had not liked Taggart’s memo. The top brass, civilian or military, rarely listened to common sense.
“Anything else?” Taggart asked.
“No, sir.”
“When’s he stopping by?” The pink messages reported noise complaints, a missing dog, and gunshots near the Nelson farm.
“Now.”
Taggart glanced at the clock: 9:00 a.m. This amounted to a surprise inspection. He singled out a pink slip. “Who called in the report of gunshots near the Nelson farm?”
“Mrs. Nelson. She thinks the Crawford boys are target shooting in the woods again.”
That section of the county was wooded, and the land was billy-goat steep. “Remind me. Who are the Crawford boys?”
“Zeke and Sammy. They live on the mountain across from the Nelson farm in a small cabin. They’ve lived up there since they were born and know the mountains like the backs of their hands. They like to target shoot and hunt.”
“It’s out of season.”
“They don’t recognize the government. They hunt when they want to. Getting them off the mountain would require an army.”
“Are they a threat?”
Paxton hitched his thumb to his gun belt. “Beyond not paying the fifteen-dollar hunting license fee and growing weed, no. They keep to themselves.”
For now, Taggart had bigger issues than hunting licenses. In the outer office, the door opened and closed. He ran his hand along his tie and straightened his shoulders, straining the starched creases of his uniform. Mayor Briggs appeared in the doorway.
Taggart didn’t extend his hand. “What can I do for you, Mayor Briggs?”
Mayor Briggs glanced at Paxton. “Hey, Jed. Tell your dad I’m looking forward to our tee time tomorrow.”
“Will do, sir.” Paxton moved toward the door. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, thank you. Close the door on the way out.”
Paxton nodded, not glancing in Taggart’s direction, and closed the door.
