Murder at the Courthouse by A. H. Gabhart

her, no one ever denied that. Long, wavy black hair, blue velvet eyes. She could have been a movie star. The boy takes after her.”
    Anthony’s hair was black and wavy, and his eyes were a dark blue. A good-looking boy who never acted like he cared how he looked. “You know who his father is?”
    â€œNope, and stop looking at me that way. Roxanne and I talked. That’s all. Besides, the kid was already a year old before I started working this territory. I was over in Wingate for a while.”
    â€œI didn’t think it was you,” Michael said. “I just thought maybe you knew who it was and that maybe whoever that was might help the boy out. Give him a little money for school or something.”
    â€œYou’re dreaming, Mike.” Buck gave him a look. “Nobody’sgoing to step forward and claim that kid after sixteen years. Besides, Roxanne didn’t mess much with hometown folks. She latched on to the guys passing through. Said they were less trouble.”
    â€œSounds as if she had it figured out. All except for Anthony.” No wonder the kid was messed up. Deserted by his mother at five.
    â€œYeah. Who can figure people? Just like shooting a guy on the courthouse steps. There have to be a million better places.”
    â€œI don’t know. We didn’t catch him.” Michael glanced back down the street toward the courthouse.
    â€œDon’t you worry about that. We will. If we can keep Little Osgood out of our way.” Buck pulled his keys out of his pocket. “What are you going to do?”
    â€œRoutine stuff. Ask a few questions. Find out what people saw this morning. How about you?”
    â€œI’ll head out to the lake. See if any of the tourists came up missing today.” Buck started away, then stopped. “By the way, best keep in mind this guy got shot. That means somebody shot him, so be sure your gun’s loaded. Could be you might need it.”

8
    Michael guided his cruiser through the dusky shadows down the winding lane to his log house on the lake. He’d rather be driving his old Chevy pickup that he called Old Blue. Rust was spreading like cancer on the wheel wells and along the dent in the driver’s side door where somebody had sideswiped it while it was parked up in the city. Old Blue didn’t ride all that smooth, but it still got him where he needed to go when he wasn’t working.
    In ways, the truck had helped him fit in again when he came home to Hidden Springs. Folks saw the old truck he’d always driven and decided maybe he was the same old Michael too.
    His city friends told him he was crazy to move back to the sticks. What was he going to do? Pull dandelions out of the sidewalk cracks for fun? Watch to see when the corn tasseled out? Arrest people for shooting groundhogs? They warned him his mind would dry up and blow away.
    When he assured them intelligent people lived in Hidden Springs, they laughed. And they began to look at him as if he lacked some gray matter up top as well. It was easy to seethey thought he lacked the courage or ambition to make it in the big world.
    Michael didn’t care what they thought. He was glad to be back in Hidden Springs. He had gone to Columbus after he got out of school. A man needed to try new things, new places. At least that’s what he thought then. Big towns had more opportunities. He could get more training. Be a detective on the force or even land a job with the FBI.
    A man needed ambition. A man needed to amount to something. Especially if he wanted to impress certain women who moved through life to a fast tune of ambition. Women like Alexandria Sheridan. Alex’s ambitions far outstripped Michael’s. Right out of law school, she got a position with a high-powered law firm in Washington, DC. There wasn’t any way she would ever be impressed with a guy walking a beat no matter what city he was in.
    When they were teens, they used to talk about