flu shot this year?” he demanded, knowing he’d sent a memo out to all staff. Did he send them to dead air? Did no one read his emails?
“I did, sir.”
“Well, I guess I’m lucky you pay attention. We get to cover while the others recover. What about Duane?”
Duane Cooper was the entirety of Piedras County’s marine emergency response team. While he technically only responded to marine incidents, those were limited this time of year, and he was also a qualified deputy.
Uncertainty flashed across Birdy’s face. “I’ve been meaning to bring something up with you, but with everything going on, I didn’t want to burden you.”
“Can I make myself some coffee before hearing whatever additional bad news you have to tell me?”
The damn glazed doughnut felt like a rock in his stomach. It was going to be a long few days for the two of them, and the most Mat could hope was that neither he nor Birdy came down with the flu as well—and no random crime sprees, no more arson, no more car prowls, just a nice quiet few days until they were back to full staff. Why did he think that wasn’t going to happen?
Birdy nodded, and Mat veered into the tiny break room. Opening one of the cabinet doors, he pulled the bag with his special roast off the top shelf. The rich aroma of the beans went a long way toward soothing his frayed temper. The steps of grinding, measuring, and pouring water into the coffee maker were routine, and Mat found it somewhat soothing.
As soon as there was enough coffee in the carafe, Mat poured himself a cup, the liquid black and dark as his mood. Gripping the mug, he made his way back to the main room, where Birdy waited. The mound of paperwork on his desk seemed to have doubled since last week. Whatever happened to going paperless? Not ever going to happen in police work was the answer, Mat knew. All paperless meant was that now they had actual paperwork and also had to enter everything into the department’s database. Shoving the paper and files aside as much as possible, Mat set his coffee down and carefully plopped into his chair, noticing the box of doughnuts had moved to one of the empty desks. Probably a good thing.
“Spill.”
Birdy opened a desk drawer to pull out a beige file folder, which she held in front of her chest, the lightweight cardboard crumpled in her grip.
“You asked me to reconcile the budgets and get all the departments organized, especially with the reorganization.”
Right, because the island council got it in their heads that a reorganization of the sheriff’s department needed to happen. To Mat it meant they were gearing up to cut the budget. Likely he’d have less money and more to be in charge of. The council had been making noises about the move for several years, but Mat had managed to head them off—until now.
“No offense, sir, but there’s a lot of paperwork kind of everywhere.”
When Mat had returned to the island and been elected sheriff following his father’s death, he’d simply kept the same managerial system Sean Dempsey Sr. had, reasoning that what had worked for his father surely would work for him. That had been ten years ago, and he’d never found the time or money to update all the systems.
More recently, Mat had come to the conclusion that the department needed to be better organized, more streamlined. When the island council asked questions, he wanted to be able to answer immediately—and, he decided right then, he was going to ask for an entire new computer system for the department, screw waiting for the right moment.
“Okay, what did you find?”
“Some accounts don’t reconcile. Not exactly. I mean it could just be my error.”
Right. The chance of it being Birdy’s error was about one in a thousand.
“The files he sent over are kind of skimpy. Funny thing is, it’s not that he spends too much, it’s that he spends too little. He never uses his entire budget, and,” she leaned forward, confident in her data, “he doesn’t exactly have the biggest budget in the organization. I visited East Bay, where the boat is moored, and the small office where he keeps his log, and things just seem weird.”
“Clarify.” Absentmindedly, Mat took a big sip of his coffee; it burned its way down his esophagus. As he wheezed and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, Birdy continued, a human steamroller.
“There’s a