Seventeenth Dawn

2) The Detective

The sheriff, a small, squirrely sort of man with no beard to conceal his wrinkles, opens the door with a frown on his droopy face. His squinty eyes look past me and he yells, "What am I paying you for, Jake? You're supposed to deal with upset citizens!" He grumbles something under his breath. "I'll deal with'er."

The front desk intern looks perfectly nauseated by this, and slumps back down in his chair with his jaw set.

"Whattaya need, girl?" The sheriff asks, turning his attention back to me.

His lack of social skills is absolutely revolting, but I keep that to myself because I want his help. I draw myself up to my tallest height--not exactly a huge accomplishment--straightening my spine. I say to him with the most respect-commanding tone I can muster, forcing my words out with a distinct resonance, "Sir, I require your help finding three of my classmates who went missing over the past month."

"Didn't I just authorize a search party for two missing boys?"

"Yes. You did. But now my best friend is missing, too."

"I'm sure she just got confused. Or was searching for attention, so she faked her disappearance." He frowns down at me. "Girls tend to be a bit off like that sometimes, and I'm sure you are no different. Don't you be stirring up trouble, now."

"He was not confused. And he did not fake his disappearance!" I cry out. "Why are all of you so heartless and useless around here? There are three accounts of missing persons, and all you want to do is make an excuse to not look into them! I am fed up with you and your laziness and sexist assumptions!" I storm out, lopsided and infuriated, with crescent-shaped cuts in my palms and aching sides from leaning so desperately into my crutches.

"Casey, wait!" Officer Benson calls from behind me. He hurries down toward the parking lot suited for no more than ten cars, large stomach flopping as eagerly as his stubby legs move. "The sheriff has been in a bad mood lately. His wife left him and he was declined a raise by the state again."

Why am I not surprised about either? "What are you getting at, Officer Benson?"

"I want to help in some way..." he snaps, grinning fully now, and says, "I know! How about I drive you to the state police station?"

My head tilts to the side, pondering the offer. I think with a wry frown on my thin lips about the tracasserie of my now dysfunctional smartphone. Hand palm up and slightly cupped, I ask, "Do you mind if I borrow your phone? I need to ask Uncle Vic."

Benson pulls his old, grey flip phone out of his uniform pocket and smacks the warm object into my open hand, causing it to sting a bit because the cold had gotten to my fingers first. "Of course you may, Casey."

My numbed fingers fumble around the keys, dialing the number with rote memory before my brain even thinks about it. Uncle Vic picks up by the second ring, as always. "Hello?"

"Hey, Uncle Vic. It's Casey. I just wanted to let you know I'll probably be late for dinner. Officer Benson offered to drive me to the state police."

I hear his hesitation. "I don't know, Casey. I would feel more comfortable if you wait until you have a working phone."

"I trust Officer Benson," I reply pointedly, nostrils flaring.

He doesn't hesitate at the bite in my voice. "As do I, of course, but with everything going on, I don't think you should get yourself wrapped up in this too much. Let me call the state police, and you can come safely home."