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“Griffin. I’m in Gaffer’s Ridge. I’ve got a big problem here with the local sheriff. He’s not accepting my credentials and I’m with a civilian, a woman, I can’t protect. It’s not looking good. I need your help. Can you come?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad?”
“Might be inching up to a ten.”
A pause. “I’ll try to be there tomorrow, if I can.” Another slight pause, then, “Sherlock’s been in a car accident. She’ll be fine, but I can’t leave her yet. Tell me what happened, Griffin.”
Griffin saw the sheriff coming out of the house, staring toward them. He talked fast until the sheriff roared, “You give me that cell phone!”
“Is that the sheriff? Okay, do as he says, hang up. I’ll make some calls, see if I can throw my weight around. I hope you didn’t do anything to make me regret it?”
“Nope, I was a Good Samaritan.”
“Enough, boy!” The sheriff grabbed the cell and both Carson and Griffin could see he was weighing whether or not to smash it. He didn’t. He slipped it in his shirt pocket.
Marv and Haddy came out of the house, the larger Haddy with Rafer Bodine slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his head and wrist bandaged. Weren’t they worried about other injuries? Weren’t they trained? They watched Marv lean into the ambulance and slide out a gurney. Rafer was quiet, maybe from drugs—or maybe because of a warning from the sheriff, his uncle?
