Shadow of Vengeance by Kristine Mason Page A

felt as if he’d taken several steps back in time. From the look of things he guessed the building hadn’t seen an update since the 1970s and probably hadn’t been cleaned since then either. The stale smell of cigarette smoke and some flowery bathroom spray hung in the air. The walls, chipped, filthy, and stained brown from nicotine, had been painted dark mustard. The scuffed linoleum floor, an ugly olive and gold, actually matched the walls.  
    A young brunette sat behind a desk that had likely been built a couple decades before she’d been born. “Can I help you?” she asked.
    “We have an appointment with Sheriff Tyler,” Rachel replied and gave her their names.
    Seconds later, a man Owen placed around his age, entered the foyer from a back hallway. Dressed in a light brown shirt, with the town and state insignia on the sleeve, and a pair of jeans, he approached them. “Miss Davis?”  
    When Rachel nodded, he extended his hand. “Jake Tyler.”  
    As Owen introduced himself to the sheriff, he ignored Rachel’s smug smile. He’d been wrong to assume the sheriff was a decrepit old man counting his days until retirement, and was certain Rachel would remind him later.  
    “Come on back,” the sheriff said.  
    “Jake.” The receptionist stopped him. “Abby’s running late for her shift and I have a class in thirty minutes. What do you want me to do? I can go to class late.”
    The sheriff puffed his cheeks, then blew out a breath. “No, Melissa. School’s important. Adjust the switchboard and have the calls go to my cell phone.” Then rubbing the base of his neck, he led them down the back hallway and into a cramped office.  
    “Sorry about the mess. Our basement flooded around the first of the month, and there’s not a whole lotta places for storage. You should see the jail cell.” He moved stacks of file boxes off the chair in front of the desk, then retrieved a folding chair that had been hidden behind more boxes along the wall. “Please, have a seat.”
    Ever the gentleman, Owen gave Rachel the cushioned chair. Although worn and the upholstery cracked, the chair beat the hell out of sitting on metal.
    “Is your receptionist a college student?” Rachel asked as she sat.
    “Yeah. I have eight students who split all the shifts. It usually works out fine…” He shrugged, then said, “Honestly, I don’t mind if I have to occasionally deal with the calls. When I took on this job, the woman who’d been running the front desk was a Townie—born and raised—and a real problem. With barely twelve hundred people living in Bola, you tend to know everyone. She spent more time gossiping than doing her job. I couldn’t have her tying up the phone lines so she could call her friends and give them all the dirty details about how so and so was spending the night in jail for such and such.”
    Rachel smiled and shook her head. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
    “You have no idea. I’m down to three deputies when I should have six. The salary isn’t enough to entice anyone with a law enforcement background to move to the area and I refuse to hire anyone from town. Long story, but I tried that route once and ended up arresting that deputy and throwing him in jail.”
    “How long have you been on the job?” Owen asked.
    The sheriff leaned into the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Six years.”
    “And before that?”
    “I was a Marine.”
    “You’re not from Bola?”
    “Pittsburgh.” He held up a hand just as Owen planned to throw him another question. “Look, I’m sure you two are wondering what the hell the dumb hick sheriff has been doing while college kids go missing.”
    Owen looked to Rachel, who shook her head as if he were a jackass. Realizing he’d inadvertently been playing twenty questions with the sheriff, he said, “Sorry, Jake, I didn’t mean to insult you. But understand it from my point of view. You were obviously in high school when the first student went