Buck Fever (Blanco County Mysteries) by Ben Rehder Read Free Book Online Page A

minutes north of Johnson City in Burnet County, but his family had moved into Blanco County when he was three. His father had been sheriff of Blanco County in the 1970s, a firm but fair public servant respected by citizens countywide. Bobby's master plan—and he was a meticulous planner—included holding the same office himself. Several friends and neighbors had already encouraged him to run for sheriff, even at the age of thirty-four, but he was biding his time. His father always told him that if he didn't win the first election, he wouldn't win a second.
    Being a precise man, Garza was one minute early for his ten o'clock meeting with Lem Tucker, the county coroner. Garza parked his cruiser and waited outside the tiny county morgue, which used to be a Dairy Queen. The windows were painted black and the signage had been removed, but the festive red-and-white exterior seemed much too lively for its purposes. There was even a sticker on the inside of the front door that said, Y'ALL COME BACK. Garza often chuckled about the irony, though nobody else seemed to notice.
    Lem Tucker pulled in at five minutes past ten, driving his huge old Chevy Suburban instead of his county car. He climbed out wearing work clothes—old jeans, muddy boots, and a faded shirt. He was a few years older than Bobby Garza, but just as trim. The men had know each other for years, as most residents did in the area. They had a friendly relationship and were occasional hunting partners.
    “You didn't have to get all dressed up on my account,” Garza teased, leaning against the fender of his car.
    “Sorry. I was just out fixing up a few blinds. You ready for deer season?”
    “Just sighted in the thirty-thirty last week.”
    “You still using that old brush gun? You'd think a lawman like you would know a little something about firearms.”
    The men exchanged a little more small talk as they made their way to the front door. Once they stepped inside, the bantering stopped, as it usually did. Tucker flipped on the lights, revealing the standard floor plan familiar to Dairy Queen customers the nation over. The large main room was sparsely furnished with a few filing cabinets and battered desks. A smaller adjoining room led to the walk-in freezer, the chief reason the old building had been selected as the new morgue site. Lem pulled the handle on the freezer and both men walked in.
    “I'm afraid I don't have a lot to tell you at this point,” Lem said as he pulled back the sheet that covered the body. The blue tarp the body had been wrapped in was safely tucked away at the sheriff's office as evidence, along with the man's clothing. There was no jewelry or identification.
    “There's no obvious cause of death,” Lem said, “but we're hoping the autopsy will tell us something.”
    “Any wild guesses?”
    “Actually, no. I'll admit I'm stumped. Appears to be a healthy male in his early twenties. Body's in pretty good shape considering where it was buried. The materials they used to build that low-water bridge helped preserve it. The exposed right hand is the only part with any significant decomposition.”
    “But no sign of trauma?”
    “Nothing. Not even any bruises. So it's gotta be something internal. That's what I'll find out tomorrow. How's things on your end?”
    Garza shook his head. “I talked to the contractor, a guy out of Blanco, and he was absolutely no help. Says they laid the bridge materials down in layers over several days. Somebody could have snuck in overnight and dug a pit for the body. Next morning, the workers would have paved right over it.”
    “You buying it?”
    “No reason not to. I talked to his whole crew and they all backed him up. Truthfully, anyone looking for a good spot to stash a body could have put it there. It would have taken a few hours of shovel work, that's all.”
    “And no ID yet, I guess?”
    “Nobody seems to know him, so I don't think he's local. We're running the Polaroids in the paper on Tuesday, so