Barbecue and Bad News by Nancy Naigle Read Free Book Online Page B

Calvin sat behind his old metal-and-wood desk and pushed a fancy ivory-colored envelope to the side. There was something just not right about getting an engraved invitation to something that would probably cost more than he made in a year. Especially when they were giving him an award for something that was clearly in his job description.
    He wanted to forget about that night when they took Frank Goto down, but somehow that case just wouldn’t let go. Officially, it was closed, but inside he knew that this case left behind links to more . . . more he wished he could ignore.
    He picked up the envelope and slid out the invitation. Mike Hartman had gotten one too, but he’d already declined. Getting recognized in a public forum wasn’t Scott’s cup of tea, especially when it was for keeping his community safe. That was what he was paid to do. When Frank Goto committed those crimes all those years ago it had shaken the whole state, no question about it, and it still blew his mind that the guy had been paroled at all. He’d love to know how that had happened on the down-low.
    You’d think they’d have swept the whole case under the carpet rather than give out awards. It would only bring up more conversation and potentially stir up controversy or expose poor judgment on someone’s part, which wasn’t going to be good for anyone. Let the whole damn situation die on the vine, that’s what they should do. The bad guy was dead and gone. Didn’t make him proud to kill someone, but he’d really had no choice. The right thing had happened. He had to wonder, though . . . would they be making such a big deal out of this if it had happened in a city? Why was it that people thought because he was enforcing the law in a small town, it somehow made him less skilled than someone working in a highly populated area? He took his job seriously, and when others didn’t, it had a way of getting right under his skin.
    “Hey, Sheriff.” Deputy Taylor leaned in the doorway.
    Scott tucked the invitation into his desk drawer. “You headed out to the concert?”
    “Yeah. Shortly. Just wanted to let you know that Jelly was in one of his moods again today during the parade.”
    Scott leaned forward. “He’s harmless.”
    “I know, but I hate seeing him so worked up. He was begging people to come with him to see something that was evil. I think he was kind of freaking them out. I heard people complaining that he was drunk.”
    Scott knew that even if Jelly might look like a drunk, he wasn’t one to take to the bottle. He’d been living down by the creek near the park for as many years as Scott could remember. In fact, Jelly had lived there before the park was the park. Guy must be every bit of sixty by now, maybe even closer to seventy. “Anyone file a formal complaint?”
    “No. Not yet. Probably just a matter of time, though.” Deputy Taylor looked genuinely worried. “I just wonder if he’s kind of losing it.” He tapped the side of his head. “Like dementia or something.”
    “I’ll talk to him.”
    “Thanks,” the deputy said with a look of relief. “I’m out of here.”
    “Have a good one.” Scott’s mind was all over the place today. He didn’t need another thing on his plate, especially Jelly. He knew exactly what had Jelly all flustered. The old man had stopped him in the park and made him go to Happy Balance and look at the mural in the men’s locker room with him a couple of weeks ago. He’d thought the old guy would forget about that mural once they’d talked about it, since Scott had assured him he’d look into it, but it looked like he wasn’t going to let it go.
    Scott grabbed his hat and headed outside. He walked down Main Street and then crossed the road at the old bank building toward the park. It was unusually quiet in the park today. There were only a couple of joggers. It seemed that folks had cleared out and headed home after the parade.
    Jelly’s camp was more like a fort a kid would build