The Tamarack Murders by Patrick F. McManus

you’d find any openings, Bo.”
    Tully shook his head. “Just my luck. Alway a day late and a dollar short.”
    He told the agents he would see them later and then drove over to the courthouse and parked in the spot reserved for the sheriff. His three-thousand-dollar alligator-skin boots klocked nicely as he went up the stairs. A man who knows his boots notices such things. Boots were the only thing Tully splurged on. Anyone wearing boots that expensive instantly drew respect in Blight County. He had paid for them with money from the sale of one of his watercolors. That was the most he had ever been paid for one of his paintings and he knew, finally, that he could now make a living from his art, modest though it might be. The boots had earned him the respect of the county commissioners, even though they knew he hadn’t paid for them with graft. They may have been ignorant of the art world, but they understood graft. The holder of a public office never buys anything that showy and expensive with graft. It would set off alarms all over the place. Commissioners go around with holes in their jackets and the soles flopping on their old shoes. But as all the residents of Blight County knew most of their local politicians were corrupt. But they could be bought cheap. Even a poor person could own at least one. As long as the politicians kept themselves affordable, Blight citizens put up with them. The system worked, and nearly everybody was satisfied. It was the Blight way.
    When he got to the briefing room, all the deputies were out on patrol. Only Daisy, Lurch, Herb, and Florence were there, Herb reading his newspaper as usual, Daisy on the phone.
    â€œWhy thank you, dear,” she said sweetly. “We always try to be of service in situations like this. You’re very welcome, dear.”
    She hung up the phone and shouted at Tully. “You volunteered me to do what! Sit all night with the grieving widow of a man who has just been murdered! Are you out of your mind, Bo?” She had inserted a popular expletive randomly throughout the diatribe.
    Tully shrugged and walked over to Lurch’s corner. “Find any info on Vergil Stone?”
    â€œYeah, but nothing you don’t already know.”
    Tully went into his office. Daisy followed him in.
    She pointed to his window. “I hope you like the view. One of the janitors about drove us crazy scraping the paint off. The screeching was awful. I still get shivers up my spine.”
    â€œYour screeching probably got on his nerves, too.” Tully spun around in his chair and looked at the lake. For as much as the window paint had irritated him, he hadn’t even noticed it was gone. He swung back around and pointed to a chair. Daisy sat. “One of your jobs from now on, Daisy, will be to watch for any boat out on the lake with a man in it holding a rifle.”
    â€œSure, Bo, no problem. I was just hoping you would come up with an extra chore for me when I wasn’t sitting with the widows of murder victims.”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” he said. “You have such a hard job. So maybe you can tell me the name of the weather girl at the TV station?”
    â€œDon’t you ever watch the weather on TV, boss?”
    â€œOnce in a while, but the weather girl is so cute I don’t hear what she’s saying.”
    â€œHer name is Wendy Crooks.”
    â€œSee if you can get her on the phone for me.”
    Daisy frowned at him. “I can’t believe you want to talk to a weather girl!”
    â€œI need her to help me solve a murder.”
    Daisy laughed. “You really are desperate, Bo.” She went back to her desk and a few minutes later yelled at him. “Wendy on line one, boss!”
    Tully picked up. “Wendy, I need you to help me solve a murder. Is there anyway you can check your Doppler thing and tell me the exact time we got a brief snow flurry out on Chimney Rock Mountain, say between six and ten