Carnosaur Crimes by Christine Gentry

moment. One more drawing and I’m done with the Argentine book. Then all I have to worry about are eight other pictures for a couple of magazine articles, preparing a lecture and slide show for a Pangaea Society Conference in October, and designing my murals for the new POP Center.”
    â€œThat’s the science place being built at Elk Ridge, right?”
    â€œRight. The Preston Opel Paleohistory Center. The construction is in the final stages. It’s taken over a year, but it should be completed by Christmas if the weather holds out. Of course, we need rain badly. All the ranchers and farmers are suffering. Even the Arrowhead is barely operating. I’m really concerned about my father. I’ve never seen him look so glum and tired.”
    Dorbandt’s eyebrows knitted. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”
    â€œNope. I can’t even help. It’s in Mother Nature’s hands. That brings us to you. How have you been?”
    â€œGreat. Busy, like you.”
    â€œStill jogging five miles a day?”
    â€œWeather and job permitting,” Dorbandt said. “I’d go stir crazy otherwise. It’s how I decompress.”
    Ansel surveyed his trim, athletic form. Everything about Dorbandt was built for stamina and speed like a high-strung, riata mustang. What a waste of manpower, she mused. In the last year, she’d learned that he’d never been married and didn’t have a current girlfriend. She really liked him despite his cop attitude and couldn’t deny her sexual attraction to him on certain occasions. The problem was Dorbandt’s tunnel vision. His intellectual focus upon his job and bringing in the bad guys made him continually suspicious and aloof.
    Just like, me, Ansel considered, reflecting on her half Indian heritage in an Anglo society. No wonder we both attract and repel one another at the same time. No matter. They were friends, and he’d saved her life.
    A gray-haired waitress in a Muu Muu and waist apron approached the table and took their orders. Dorbandt got his sandwich and another beer. Ansel ordered the chili but passed on the dumplings. She also ordered a glass of water. No ice.
    As the woman shuffled away, Ansel said, “Are you sure a sandwich will be enough?”
    â€œWait until you see it. So tell me about these BLM guys.”
    â€œIt was a guy and a gal actually. The man was an Assistant Special-Agent-In-Charge named Broderick from the state office. Very testy. The woman was a ranger from the Redwater station named Eastover. Very unhappy about working with Broderick.”
    Dorbandt finished his beer before speaking, but the gears in his head were obviously spinning. “State office. That seems like overkill to me. The tracks weren’t stolen just threatened. The local Incident Commander could handle this case, even if the FBI was involved.”
    â€œWell, Broderick treated me like a criminal. He questioned my work on the Allosaurus model and if I’d ever seen anybody suspicious at the museum. Then he brought up the shooting last year. He was concerned about my involvement with the Pangaea Society murders. I told him to talk to you if he had any problems.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œThere’s something else, Reid. Ranger Eastover slipped up and told me that the attempted fossil theft was one of three that went down Friday night as part of a poaching ring.”
    Dorbandt’s eyes grew larger. “That’s interesting. Sheriff Combs is trying to verify if other counties were working on similar cases. Did Eastover say where the crimes occurred?”
    â€œNo.” In a split second, she decided not to tell him about the fossil thefts in Glendive or Sidney. Those were her leads.
    â€œWell, in the meantime, don’t worry about Broderick. He’s shooting blanks.”
    Ansel shook her head. “You don’t understand. Broderick told me he’s bringing in a fossil expert to