CANYON CITY WAS already under six inches of snow from a recent storm when he got there. The downtown had Christmas lights on all four buildings as well as on the three oak trees that lined the street, with their venerable, sprawling limbs exposed. He had to admit that the effect wasn’t half bad.
His first stop was the last storefront on the right, two signs above it showing that it doubled as the post office and as the sheriff’s center of operations. He could see bars on the side windows. Canyon City was the jailhouse of choice for most of the towns in a hundred-mile radius, or so he’d learned after some fast research on his laptop at the coffee shop where he’d stopped for a sandwich on his way up.
“You won’t be able to use that thing in another twenty miles,” the owner of the shop had told him. Nathan had been the only customer.
“Why not?” he’d asked, guessing the answer.
“It’s what we call the dead zone, just like those ads say, you know? No towers. No cell phones work, no computers. Unless you got some really good satellite link. I’m always losing connections.”
That was all he needed, Nathan had thought, tapping the keys as he ran a search on Canyon City.
Now he scanned the downtown area as he parked, the car skidding on ice that lay under the snow layer. His sedan wasn’t made for a rural winter in the middle of nowhere.
“Well, Detective Nate Byrne, you got here in plenty of time,” a voice said as Nathan opened the door to the storefront and stepped in. In one corner was a boarded up window with the hours for the post office printed on it in magic marker and a decal of the American flag above that.
Nathan gave a cursory glance over the usual posters and signs of police work scattered around, but it was Sheriff Harry Turner who got his full attention as the man stood up from behind a massive desk that took up a third of the room.
He was a good five inches taller than Nathan and had the build of an athlete. His uniform was tailored to accommodate his bulk. His eyes were such a deep brown they looked black, and Nathan had the feeling the man had sized him up, with accuracy, in the first three seconds. Exactly what the sheriff had assessed wasn’t so clear, for he kept his expression neutral as he shook Nathan’s hand.
“Understand you’ve been sent out here so you’re not in Colin’s way.”
“What?”
Turner chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t know anything that matters. Colin is a secretive son-of-a-bitch in the best of times, but a lieutenant who’s been in Homicide and in charge of a detective squad for the last two years doesn’t arrive in Canyon City voluntarily. You’re not the first one Oberson has sent up here for rest and rethinking, though it’s been awhile, maybe three years or so. Thing is, I always need the help.”
“It looks pretty quiet,” Nathan said, gesturing toward the window that overlooked the main street.
“Sure enough, for now. Maybe it’ll stay that way. I don’t make predictions. Hey, I’m forgetting my manners! We need to get you settled in. Any idea how long you have to reside in our little neighborhood?”
“Not yet,” Nathan said, realizing it was true. He didn’t understand Oberson’s behavior at all, but he assumed he’d be back on the force eventually, and his time in Canyon City was temporary.
“Doesn’t matter. While you’re here I’ll get my money’s worth. I’m planning on that.”
Nathan didn’t ask what he meant. Would he find himself cutting down trees or shoveling snow?
YOU ARE READING
The Magic Hour
Mystery / Thriller"It was not exactly dark, but a kind of twilight or gloaming. There were neither windows nor candles, and he could not make out where the twilight came from, if not through the walls and roof." -Childe Rowland "T...
