"He's not here," she said and returned to her textbook.

Jim waited but no other explanation came from this impersonal public servant. "Do you know when he might be available?" he asked making his distaste for her attitude known through his tone.

She looked up at him, sighed, and said, "He went out on a call with one of the deputies. A call down near the Air Force Range. We don't know when he'll be back."

It hit Jim that this woman must have been the sheriff's daughter or some kind of family member. He probably gave her this job so she could work while attending college. Or there was something more going on that was letting her have such disregard for citizens, but he wouldn't entertain that thought.

Suddenly a screech came over the radio at the end of the counter against the wall. It was an old mounted CB radio with a microphone attached. It reminded Jim of the one in Sam's kitchen. "Base one," the thin voice of Sheriff Biggalow came over the little speaker.

The woman reached over and cleared her throat. "Go ahead, this is base one," she said into the silver microphone while holding down the talk button.

"Sam's been shot. He's dead," he said with no emotion.

There was ear-piercing static after every word from the sheriff. Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sam was dead? What Sam? Was it Sam Hauk? "Ask him something for me," Jim blurted out and watched the pretty woman's romantic eyes roll.