I parked my truck in front of the station house just after 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

I stepped out of the truck, grabbed the revolver I'd never fired at another human, and put it back in my holster.

It was uncomfortable to drive with it on my hip.

I grabbed the coffee thermos I'd used every day since I'd been elected sheriff of our sleepy

little town six years earlier.

I'd been re-elected two years ago, after my first four-year term had ended.

But when you're running unopposed, there's not much drama in it.

I hoped I could keep my track record of not using my gun going. The thermos?

Well, I'd have to replace it sooner rather than later. I stepped through the door of the little

station house, located conveniently right on the main drag, and waved to Deputy Donnie, who handled

dispatch most of the time.

Morning, Sheriff, Donnie said.

Had you sleep?

I glowered at him, and he chuckled.

I'd been sleeping in a highway motel outside of town

ever since my house had been flooded a month earlier.

The whole town, which some genius had built right next to a river, had been flooded a month earlier. The whole town, which some genius had built

right next to a river, had been flooded. And there just weren't enough contractors to go around,

so much for the benefits of being sheriff. I couldn't even expedite the work on my house.

Much longer on that damn bed, and I'm not going to be so chipper in the mornings,

I said, walking past the front desk to get to my office. This is chipper? Donnie said, smiling.

The toilet flushed in the bathroom at the back of the wood-paneled station house and outstepped

...