“There’s something going over near Orchard Ridge,” Nellie said.
“What happened?”
“Cassie Pritchard called 911 a couple of minutes ago. Becky Defibaugh showed up at their house covered in blood.”
“Shoot. What happened?”
“Cassie didn’t know. I told Jim to head out that way and check it out. Ambulance is on the way, too.”
“Why didn’t you get me on the radio?”
“Tried. Couldn’t.”
Em swore under his breath and walked over to the radio set. He picked up the mike and tried to get Jim Sykes, one of his officers. Nothing. He flicked through the channels, trying to get him. Or anyone. Nothing but static. He looked at Nellie. She shrugged.
“The snow, maybe?” she said.
“It shouldn’t.”
Em looked at Coyle, sprawled out and placid in the chair. He should take care of that, first. But he never was a big fan of paperwork. He grabbed his coat off of the rack, put his hat back on his head.
“I’m heading over.”
“Jim can handle it.”
“I know that.”
“Uh huh?”
“Damn it Nellie, I’m the chief.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Em had the distinct feeling that she was resisting the urge to tap her foot. Emmerson Swift was, as bosses went, a pretty good boss. Everyone liked him including, semi miraculously, the town council, and he was as fair as he could be. If he had a flaw as a boss, it was the inability to delegate.
“What?”
“Jim can handle it.”
Em frowned, and hesitated.
“I’m going. If you want to help me delegate, you can help Mr. Coyle with his paperwork.”
Emmerson Swift stepped out into the storm.
Note: Short update today.
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