Plains Crazy by J.M. Hayes Read Free Book Online Page B

more questions after I talk to the others. Where will you be?”
    The college kids pulled a tarp off the load in the Dodge’s bed. The sheriff was surprised to see a stuffed buffalo in there. Daphne was more interested in one of the workers, a blond guy who had peeled off his shirt and revealed washboard abs.
    â€œI’m gonna see if I can use somebody’s computer,” she said. “Check my email, maybe watch some music videos. I mean, it’s been like a week.”
    The sheriff didn’t ask for further clarification. He was sure any of the young men who crowded this camp would be able to tell him where Daphne was if he needed her again.
    The sheriff turned back to the Dodge. “A stuffed buffalo, huh?”
    The man he addressed was older, but not old, hair dark but graying dramatically and prematurely. The sheriff guessed he wasn’t a student.
    â€œWow! You must be another example of local law enforcement, with powers of deduction like that.”
    The sheriff was wearing jeans and boots and a cotton shirt, as well as his Stetson. His badge was pinned over his heart. Wise guy, he thought. He was still upset about what had happened with Judy this morning. He briefly considered inviting the man to visit the Benteen County jail until his attorney, wherever he might be, maneuvered through local legal channels and forced him to be charged or released. Too bad he didn’t work that way. Besides, the guy had obviously had to deal with Wynn Some.
    The sheriff decided to give him a second chance. “It doesn’t take deductive powers so much as getting enough votes every four years. I’m Sheriff English. Who are you and what’s the buffalo for?”
    â€œSorry, I’m having a bad day.” The man had the good sense to seem faintly embarrassed. “I’m Bradley Davis, Brad, director of this mini-series turned major disaster. I’ve filmed all over the globe—including in the middle of civil wars—and never lost a cast or crew member until now. Then one of your deputies spent the morning asking everyone here, including me, why we killed the kid.”
    â€œGood help is hard to find on our budget. What’s with the buffalo?”
    â€œUhh, target practice, actually.”
    â€œBows and arrows?”
    â€œYeah.” The man brushed some dirt from his cargo pants and adjusted his polo shirt. “That’s probably not a good thing to admit right now, is it? But look, you know what we’re trying to do out here, right?”
    â€œPretend I don’t.”
    â€œYou get PBS?”
    â€œWith a satellite dish,” the sheriff said. “Or cable, if you can afford to pay them to run you a hook-up. Most people have one or the other. Not much else to do here after dark, unless you’re young and in love.”
    â€œHave you seen our program
Manor House
?
It ran just a few weeks ago. Or
Prairie House
last year?”
    The sheriff nodded. “I saw
Prairie House
, and some of that last
Upstairs,
Downstairs
thing.”
    Davis bobbed his head. “Then you know the concept. This is just like those programs. We take modern people, give them some basic training, then set them down in a historical lifestyle to see how they manage. It’s high-brow reality TV.
Survivor
for people who wouldn’t be caught dead watching
Survivor
.
    â€œWe’re stretching things further with this one. Taking people back to the 1860s, sticking them into the daily routine of the people who shared these prairies with our ancestors.”
    â€œCheyenne Indians, in this case.”
    â€œExactly! And we thought it would be fun to find actual Native Americans, people who trace their ancestry to the way of life we’re trying to recreate. Only finding westernized Native Americans willing to try the old ways didn’t turn out to be easy.”
    Considering his brother’s obsession with that very thing, the sheriff would have guessed