“Somebody’s been putting bowls of water out on Main Street for dogs. Some lady from Madison stepped in one outside the antiques store. She turned her ankle and wants to file charges.”

“And?”

“Permission to bribe her with free tickets to Rodeo Days?”

“Granted.”

“Secondly, a complaint call about campaign activity on county time and property. Guilty party is a Kick supporter. Just FYI.”

“Vigdis Torkelson? At the library?”

“Yup. Homemade button. I’m With Heidi Kick-Ass.”

“I like it. Who complained?”

“Well, how can I explain?” Denise answered. “OK, how do you sink a submarine full of blondes?”

“Um… tell me.”

“You knock on the submarine door.”

“Oh. So you mean it was Becky Rilke-Rickreiner?”

“Bitch wasn’t even in the library. She was just walking past with her kids on the way to the pool. She had to make a special trip inside to read the button.”

The sheriff sighed. “Are any of these items important?”

“Numbers three and four are keepers,” Denise said. “Three, Dr. Kleekamp submitted fingerprints, and CrimeNet sent back four machine-matches needing human review, which could take a couple of days.”

“Are there mug shots?”

“Yes. And our guy looks like he—Hang on,” Denise interrupted herself. “Just sec.”

She disappeared for the time it took the sheriff to drive alongside and then over Spring Coulee Creek. She normally saw fishermen but not lately. She had heard that for the first time in her life the water had become too warm for trout. So did they die? Or where did they go? Denise came back.

“Our victim looks like he could be one of them. You’ll see from the mug shots when you get here.”

Sheriff Kick hesitated. Another mile south, she would turn off the highway to go home. She could see the intersection through thermic waves wriggling up from the asphalt. She glanced at the Charger’s clock: already after four P.M.

“Denise, I need to stop by home. Harley’s out of town, his mom is helping out, and I need to check on the kids.”

“You can do that here,” Denise said.

“What?”

“Item number four is your ma-in-law just showed up here looking for you. The kids are in the van. I guess they’re waiting for you.”

Her heart sank. Lately, the moment anything went wrong on Belle’s watch, the erratic old woman loaded them up and brought them to their mom the sheriff as if to say: Here, look at what you’ve done.

Denise said, “I guess there was some trouble with Taylor at the pool.”

CHAPTER 11

For several miles, with “Gypsy” by the Moody Blues haunting the air from the Tercel’s dashboard cassette player, Fanta followed the white pickup at a ticklish distance, heading north toward Farmstead. He stipulated aloud over a chugging chord bridge that he was probably chasing a farm wife on a run to Piggly Wiggly. Oh, well. He was “retired.”