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He rolled his eyes. Alice Morehead was a fucking pip. Stuck-up and extremely judgmental, she seemed to forget he was the sheriff for the entire county and had numerous deputies on duty who could easily take her complaint—whatever it was. A few others were like her, but thankfully, not too many.
As the Corvette’s rear end disappeared in the distance, Grady let out a heavy sigh. Alice was probably the lesser of two evils right now. He doubted an encounter with her would end with her sitting in one of his jail cells.
He couldn’t say the same for another run-in with Ms. Amanda Sparks.
Twenty minutes later, Grady left the women’s clothing boutique with a pounding headache and flagged down the three teenagers on skateboards Alice had bitched about.
“Hey, guys. Sorry, but you can’t use the boards on the sidewalks here. Head over to the playground or the elementary school parking lot.”
“We really need a skateboard park, Sheriff Minor,” one of them whined. “Someplace we can ollie and grind.”
Grady suddenly felt every one of his fifty-four years because he had no idea what the kid meant beyond the park. Skateboards hadn’t been his thing when he was younger. A dirt bike, his horse, or his own two feet had gotten him where he needed to go before he bought his first pickup. Still, he could sympathize with the three youths.
“I hear ya. Why don’t you have your folks bring you to the town board meeting next Wednesday night and explain why you think Antelope Rock needs a skateboard park? I’m sure you’re not the only ones who’d love to have one. Tell your friends to come too.”
If word got out that he was sending a mob of teenagers and preteens to a town board meeting, he’d be inundated with angry phone calls from the elected members. But since they’d pissed him off at the last meeting, turnabout was fair play. He almost chuckled as he imagined their faces when a pack of eager, stubborn kids descended on the next meeting.
“You think they’d listen and build us a park?” the tallest of the three asked.
Grady shrugged. “Won’t know unless you try, right?”
“I guess. Anything would be better than the school parking lot. It’s too flat.”
“Then give it a shot. What do you have to lose?”
“He’s right,” the first teen said. “Come on. Let’s tell everyone we know to go to the meeting next week!”
“Do me a favor—keep me out of it,” Grady called after them, getting two waves and a thumbs-up in return.
He wasn’t certain his name wouldn’t still come up, but if it did, it wouldn’t be the first time the board members had reamed him a new asshole. Politics was the only thing he truly hated about the position he’d held for the past eighteen years. He’d already spent fifteen years as a deputy when the previous sheriff retired. Grady had been groomed for the top spot and ran uncontested in that first election and every one since.
Either the county’s residents loved him, or no one else wanted the job.
Some days, he wasn’t sure which.
As he strode toward his SUV, his portable radio squawked. This time, it was one of the male dispatchers.
“Headquarters to two-oh-one.”
Jeez, it’s going to be one of those days—one call after another.
“Two-oh-one,” he responded dryly.
“Sheriff, the state troopers are getting numerous calls about a multi-vehicle accident with major injuries and at least one fatality on Highway 62 between exits eleven and twelve. An off-duty firefighter on scene is reporting three semis and four or five cars involved, with one vehicle fully engulfed in flames. All three northbound lanes are completely blocked. Fire and EMS are responding from exit twelve, heading south in the northbound lanes. The troopers are requesting our assistance shutting down the highway and rerouting traffic at exit eleven.”
Grady’s day had just gone further into the shitter. “Two-oh-one copies. Are the troopers on scene yet?”
“That’s a negative. Their ETA is three minutes.”
If the shoulder beyond the backed-up traffic was clear, he’d probably reach the accident about the same time as the troopers.
“’Kay. I’m responding from my last location. Send two units to reroute traffic at exit eleven, another to direct traffic at Route 42 and Baker Street, and another at 42 and Kingman. Have a fifth unit meet me at the scene. I’ll let you know if we need anything else. Make sure the helicopter is on standby in case we need a medevac.”
As the dispatcher proceeded to do what he did best, Grady jumped into his SUV, put it in gear, flipped on the lights and siren, and took off for the interstate.
A glance at the dashboard clock told him it was almost four. If the accident was as bad as reported, the troopers would need all the help they could get. First, they'd take care of the victims. Then they’d have to reconstruct the accident to determine who or what had caused it, and that could take hours. Afterward, they still had to clear the wreckage before all three lanes could reopen.
To top it all off, rush hour was approaching, and the local roads that would absorb the diverted traffic would be a mess.
