Prairie Gothic by J.M. Hayes Page A

spoken in Benteen County.
    The sheriff unsnapped his holster and pulled his Smith & Wesson. After Simon’s attempt to draw a gun on him, he had no intention of giving Levi the same opportunity. The sheriff flattened his back to the wall beside Mrs. Burton’s open door. “Benteen County Sheriff! Levi, come out with your hands up!”
    No one came. No one answered. The sheriff gathered himself, silently counted down from three, and threw himself inside. As he cleared the door he found himself face to chest with the mountainous Hornbaker boy. That was when his radio squawked.
    â€œEnglishman!” it demanded in a tinny imitation of Judy’s voice. “Where are the Heathers?”
    It surprised the hell out of both the boy and the sheriff. They stood there, exchanging baffled looks, until something heavy popped the sheriff on the head and things went dark and dreamy inside.
    ***
    Judy tried again. “Englishman! Damn you! Answer me!”
    Mrs. Kraus ran the sheriff’s office with an iron hand. Nobody came behind her counter without an invitation. Nobody touched the department’s radios without her say so. Nobody strode through her crowded reception room, filled with people demanding to know about a baby murderer on the loose, shoving them aside in single-minded determination to get an answer to her question…except Judy English.
    Mrs. Kraus recognized the look in her eye and got out of the way.
    Supervisor Bontrager, back with his followers for more, didn’t. He got bumped. He’d been explaining to folks that Supervisor Hornbaker had already reported from his personal reconnaissance. He had shared knowledge about the case they couldn’t release just yet, but that they had things under control. The collision knocked his hat off and Bontrager lost his balance and stepped on it. Bontrager’s blood pressure spiked as he came around the counter and tried to take the radio away from Judy.
    â€œYou just hold on now, Ms. English. That’s county property. Not for personal use. And you can’t use language like that over the public airways.”
    Judy twisted away from his ineffectual grab for the radio.
    â€œEnglishman, damn it! Are you out there? Is anybody?”
    Bontrager reached again. “Now see here, missy!” Mrs. Kraus could have told him not to do that, but, deep down, she thought she would enjoy the results more if she didn’t interfere.
    The radio made Rice Krispy noises as Bontrager got a hand on it, then found Judy English’s face right in his. “Bontrager, you kumquat. You are a pompous, incompetent, bureaucratic joke. If you don’t take your hands off me, I’ll break them.”
    Mrs. Kraus smiled a little, even though she knew she could kiss one vote for the budget that might have funded her raise goodbye. That vote had been pretty unlikely anyway. A few of the folks crowding the sheriff’s office nodded in agreement with Judy’s outburst.
    Mrs. Kraus didn’t have any kids of her own, but she knew you put yourself at risk if you got between a worried mother and her children.
    â€œMr. Supervisor,” Judy continued, backing Bontrager against the counter with the power of her maternal rage. “Unless you can tell me where my daughters are, you will stop bothering me and get out of my way.”
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with the radio, Judy,” Mrs. Kraus said. “The sheriff was about to check on something over to the Sunshine Home, last he called in. That was just minutes ago. I’m sure he must still be there.”
    Judy turned her back on Bontrager. “The Sunshine Towers?”
    â€œYes ma’am.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Kraus.” Judy flipped the radio over her shoulder and Mrs. Kraus caught it just before it smacked Bontrager in the face. Judy headed for the exit. Everyone in the room scrambled to clear her a path.
    ***
    â€œOh, oh!” the Heathers