Dead on the Fourth of July (David Dean Mysteries) (Chapter IV, page 1 of 12)


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"The whole day has been a disaster," Dean said as he settled into an easy chair in his bedroom, a shopping bag in his lap. It was four o'clock and he'd just returned from Montrose to find Cynthia still damp from her shower. The lingering rage at being so unceremoniously busted, and by a snippy woman storm trooper to boot, was only now beginning to melt away in the peace of his quarters. Cynthia stood there, towel-wrapped and smelling like heaven. She gave him a quick "don't look" which he ignored as she turned and began to dress. He related his tale of woe while enjoying the never-ending pleasure of seeing the woman he loved in various stages of nakedness.

"I haven't had a speeding ticket since I was eighteen," he ranted. "To make matters worse, she was so damned smug and unprofessional about it. She scared the hell out of Martha. The woman has no idea how to deal with a child."

"Fire her as soon as you're elected sheriff." Cynthia said as she snuggled on her pantyhose. "Just drive more slowly until August."

"August is only the primary," Dean answered, but they both knew in the near one-party County of Ouray, that was tantamount to the final election.

"If there wasn't so much else happening, I'd think the whole business was funny. I can just picture you spread-eagle over your Jeep, being frisked by some woman as all our friends drive by! Who is she? I thought Jake Weller already had an under sheriff."

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