They both looked back at Paul before Carl returned to his desk. “There was a car accident similar to the one the other night. Angie didn't want you to hear it. She didn't know how you'd react.” Carl said.
"Who was it?” Paul pulled up a chair.
"Don't know yet. But it didn't sound serious. The victims didn't need an ambulance.” Carl ran his hands over his face. “Thank God it wasn't as bad as the other night. I still can't believe the whole Fossum family was wiped out in that accident."
Carl tried to erase the image as he recalled the horrific scene of Richard Fossum impaled on a piece of splintered fencing. “It must be hard to lose your business partner."
"Yeah,” Paul said, barely audible, as he stared at the folds of fabric in his lap.
"Want to talk about it? You know you should. He was your business partner. It's not good to keep it bottled up."
"Nope.” Paul cleared his throat. “I still don't see why you think the judge will rule in your favor. If Sadie wouldn't sell him the resort, why would he want you to have it?"
"Because I put a bug in his ear,” Carl said. “You know what a fishing fanatic he is. All the judge wants is a place to fish. He doesn't want the whole resort. I told him if I won, I'd make sure he had free use of one of the cabins.” Carl smirked. “I also threw in a boat and all the bait he could use for the rest of his life."
"Judge Kimmer doesn't need any freebies. He's been rolling in money for the past several years."
"He dabbles in all kinds of things,” Carl said. “I know he likes to putter with inventions. Or at least that's what he told me. Plus he's involved with a group of investors."
"Sounds like a conflict-of-interest to me,” Paul said.
"Why? Because he tried to buy the resort? It was never for sale. So it can't be a conflict. If Sadie uses that as a defense, no one will believe her. Who'd believe a crazy woman who babbles to invisible friends?"
"Her sister isn't crazy. Did the judge think about that?” Paul said.
"It doesn't matter. It won't come to that anyway."
Paul nodded his head toward an office near the dispatch desk. “What's Deputy Friborg doing in the sheriff's office?"
"He just finished a phone call. Apparently he wanted privacy.” Carl flung the glass-paneled door open. It rebounded with a bang. “Hey, Lon. Did you see the front page of the newspaper?"
Startled, Lon Friborg pulled his feet off the sheriff's desk so quickly they hit the floor with a thud. “Holy balls. You scared me. I thought you were the sheriff."
"If I play my cards right, I will be.” Carl leaned against the door frame. He crossed his arms and waited for Lon's reaction.
"You? The sheriff?” Lon put his feet back on the desk.
"If you'd pick up a newspaper once in a while, you'd see I threw my hat in the ring.” Irritated at Lon's look of disbelief, Carl knocked the deputy's feet off the desk.
Carl was fed up with the shock everyone expressed over his entering the election. Lon was the third person this morning who acted surprised, and not one of them said it was a good idea. Stupidity. That's what it was. They weren't intelligent enough to understand the big picture. He absolutely refused to tolerate the laughter that gushed from his wife when he told her his plans. What did she know? She was so ignorant she couldn't remember to wear her underwear.
Lon bent to pick up the scattered papers. “Are you serious? You're running for sheriff?"
"Damn right I'm serious.” Carl followed Lon back into the deputies’ office. “I've planned a platform that'll guarantee victory. And in case you haven't noticed, I've started parking my squad car in my driveway instead of in my garage. It'll be good advertising. Kind of an ‘in your face’ approach."
"Your platform better include proving the Fossum crash wasn't an accident,” Lon said.
Carl's jaw stiffened. “I thought I told you to drop it. The sheriff said it was an accident. Fossum hit a deer. That's all it was. An accident."
"And if you remember,” Lon said, “I told you why I disagreed.” Lon held up an index finger. “Skid marks for starters. I've known Richard for years. He was a good driver. The skid marks indicated a sharp wheel turn to the left. Richard knew better than that. He knew to tap on the brake and ride it out. Those skid marks didn't indicate braking."
Carl rolled his eyes. “That's lame. That's no reason to investigate. People swerve after hitting a deer all the time."
"What would it hurt to investigate a little further?” Lon said. “Did you see deer hair on the car? Or blood or skin? I didn't."
"You're blowing smoke out your ass,” Carl shouted. “It was an accident. Get over it."
"Did you tell Paul about my concerns?"
"No he didn't,” Paul said, looking at Carl for clarification.
"Paul's got enough grief right now. Losing his partner was bad enough.” Carl glared at Lon as he returned to his desk. “And besides, it's bullshit."
"This needs to be investigated. If you're not going to do it, then I will."
Carl inched closer to Lon. “You do, and you'll jeopardize my chance of winning the election. People will think I'm not doing my job. I'm not about to go on a wild goose chase just because you've got a hunch."
"I'm telling you, Carl, Richard hadn't been himself before the crash. I'd never seen him so withdrawn,” Lon said. “There's got to be something else going on."
"Richard was prone to mood swings,” Paul said. “There was nothing else going on. I should know."
"Listen to yourself, Lon. You're just as loony as Nan 's ex.” Carl looked toward Angie as another dispatch call blared over the speaker. “When he made up stupid stories, everyone wrote it off to the booze. You're going to lose credibility just like he did."
Lon turned his back on the men and walked over to the coffee pot. He pulled three mugs off the rack and filled them with coffee.
"You need to hear my campaign strategy,” Carl said. “It's based on what the people need.” Drawing a sip of hot coffee, Carl spit it back into the mug. “Has this been brewing all morning? It tastes like mud. Make a fresh pot so we can have something decent to drink."
"Yes sir, Mr. Sheriff,” Lon said. “Whatever you say."
Carl ignored Lon's remark. “I'm bored with being a deputy. I need a challenge. I happen to know what the bigwigs in this town want. That will be my platform. If I act like I believe in what they want, I'm guaranteed a victory."
Grabbing the brim of his cap and raising it off his head, Carl scratched his scalp with his little finger. As he replaced his cap, he elbowed Paul. “Word has it the sheriff isn't going to run again. He's useless anyway. If I'm lucky, I'll run against some dumb stiff who thinks he can do a better job."
Lon slipped his Kevlar duty vest over his head. He reached around the corner and grabbed his shirt from a hanger.
Disgusted at Lon's lack of interest, Carl waited while he buttoned his shirt.
"Once I'm elected, I'm going to do what I want. I'm going to put them damn Indians back on the reservation where they belong.” Carl sat forward in his chair. “Our current sheriff,” he emphasized the word ‘sheriff’ by making quotation marks with his fingers, “isn't making them a priority. I know several council members who are upset with his attitude."
"You're not going to build a campaign on an issue like that. Pinecone Landing's got one of the biggest diversity groups in the state. Besides, the Indians have their own judicial system. It's federal law. You'd be a fool to think you can change it. And why would you? It works."