Nightzone by Steven F. Havill Page A

known—and well liked—around the community.
    Dayan grimaced, and I could understand his conundrum. Newspapers didn’t relish collaborating with law enforcement agencies. Once independence is lost, once it’s more than just buying a cup of coffee for a friend, it is hard to go back. “I thought I’d show you, and let it go at that. I can’t return the cash, since I don’t know where to send it. Maybe they’ll come pick it up in person.”
    â€œLet’s hope not,” I said. “I’ll mention the ad to the sheriff and undersheriff if you want me to, but beyond that…”
    â€œWell, you know everybody on the planet, and I thought you might have some ideas who would send something like this.” He offered me a sympathetic smile, but it quickly vanished. “You think this,” and he held up the envelope, “is related to this vandalism?”
    â€œAt this point, I wouldn’t hazard a guess, Frank.” I reached out and tapped him on the chest. “But you be careful.”
    He puffed out his cheeks in exasperation, then shook his head. “You haven’t had such good luck staying retired lately.”
    â€œI’m just being helpful right now,” I said. “I don’t know anyone who would write nonsense like this. But do talk to Bobby or Estelle. They both understand the ticklish position you’re in. That’s my advice.” I hesitated. “Between you and me, I got roped into this mess just because I was sitting up there on the top of Cat Mesa,” and I turned and gestured toward the northeast, “stargazing and pondering deep thoughts. I saw the flash of the transformer when it hit the ground, and gave the S.O. a shout. And here I am, a material witness now. No good deed goes unpunished, Frank.” As compelling as it might appear in print, I did not add that I’d also seen a vehicle leaving the scene at a high rate of speed.
    I nodded at the envelope. “If you want me to talk to Bobby, may I have a copy of that ad?”
    â€œYou can take this one, if you want. I have the original in our safe.”
    I held the envelope up so the lights caught it. No printing or label on it whatsoever. “Is this the original envelope?”
    â€œYes. I took the ad and cash out.”
    â€œWho else besides you has handled this?”
    Frank looked uncomfortable. “You mean, like fingerprints?” I nodded. “Nobody other than you. I picked it up off the floor below the mail slot. Nobody else in our office touched it. I didn’t show it to anyone, because I didn’t want office rumors spreading something.”
    â€œGood man. Then it’s got your prints and mine, and maybe of someone else interesting.” I held the envelope gingerly by the corners. “You just never know. Leave the money and paperwork in your safe. Don’t mess with it until you hear from the Sheriff.”
    â€œI haven’t had the chance to talk to Miles Waddell yet. Should I?”
    â€œWell, let me ask you a favor. Of course, you’re free to talk with anyone you want, Frank. But it seems to me that the tighter we keep this just now, the better off we are. Let me take this, show it to Bobby and Estelle, and maybe talk to Miles. Whoever wrote this nonsense is talking about Waddell’s property, and he should be up to speed on what’s going on behind his back.”
    â€œYou’ll keep me in the loop?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd no word yet on the victim?”
    â€œEstelle will release all of that as soon as she can, Frank.”
    He turned and looked east. Dawn was thinking about it. “I’d like to try for some pictures in a bit.”
    â€œSuit yourself.” The image of a power line leg kicked high on top of an old juniper post, with a crowd of folks with bags under their eyes, might make for good camera fodder. I didn’t need to be included.
    I left Frank with