a felon by the name of Jeremiah Berman?”
“Can’t say that I do,” she replied. “But then, I know so many felons.”
“I wonder why the pardons and paroles board would be notifying Roe about his release.”
“Sounds routine to me. He must have put the guy away.”
“No, it says here, ‘At your request, we are notifying you…’” He gave a little grunt and put the letter aside—in his pile, not Roe’s. “See what you can find out, will you?”
“Sure thing. Do you want me to call the—” He could tell by the way she broke off that she had been about to say “the sheriff.” It was a common slip, and it didn’t even bother him anymore.
“Just pull the file,” he suggested, saving her the embarrassment of correcting herself.
“Will do.” She started to leave and then turned back. “By the way, did you see the election forms I left on your desk?”
“Yeah, I saw them.”
“Did you get a chance to fill them out?”
“Not yet.”
“The deadline for filing is Monday, you know.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to fill them out for you?”
“No, that’s okay.”
She hesitated, looked as though she wanted to say something else, but settled on, “Well, give me a holler when you’re finished. I can run them down to the county clerk’s office in a jiff.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Because the deadline’s Monday.”
“Got it.”
“What deadline is that, young lady?” a familiar voice came from behind her, and Rosie broke into a broad smile as she turned.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” she said and didn’t even bother to correct herself this time. “We were just talking about you.”
“My ears were burning.”
Roe was a round, balding man with an easy disposition and a quick smile. He’d lost a little weight since the doctor and his wife had forced him into a heart-healthy diet, but the most striking change in his appearance over the past year was the simple absence of a uniform. These days he spent most of his time trying to coordinate a volunteer cold-case squad for the neighboring mountain communities, and his uniform was typically jeans and a sweater. Even Buck sometimes had to blink before he recognized his former boss without his khakis.
Roe came into the office, and before Rosie could settle down for a nice chat with her former boss, Buck reminded her, “You want to see about that file?”
She looked puzzled for a moment and then remembered. “Right on it.”
Roe said, “So how’s everything in the law-and-order game?”
“Understaffed, overworked, underpaid.” Buck picked up the stack of mail and handed it to him.
“Sounds about right.” Roe took the mail and glanced through it without interest. “Finding plenty of spare time for all that paperwork, are you?”
“Not by half.” Buck got up and crossed to the coffee maker on a small table next to the door—perhaps the only perk of the job. He poured a cup and offered it to Roe, who shook his head.
“Guess that’s why you haven’t gotten around to filing the election forms yet,” Roe observed.
Buck ignored that and took the coffee cup back to his desk. “Say, Roe, what do you know about a felon named…” He took up the letter from the pardons and parole board and glanced at it. “Berman?”
“Not a thing that I can recall.”
Buck handed Roe the letter and watched the other man’s face change as he read it. It wasn’t a dramatic change—just a flicker of recognition, a passing shade of concern, and then, perhaps the most telling sign of all, a deliberate smoothing of his features into neutral. His only comment was, “Huh.”
“Did you send him up?” Buck pressed.
“Never met the man.”
“It’s not like they were releasing him back into our neck of the woods. Says there his last known residence was Georgia.”
“So it does.” He glanced again at the letter and couldn’t quite hide the small frown that creased his brow as he read the date. “Looks like he got out almost three weeks ago. When did this get here, anyhow?”
“Just today. I guess they get backed up on paperwork up at the parole board, too.” He looked at his former boss intensely. “What’s going on, Roe?”
“Nothing,” Roe said, folding the letter. “Probably nothing.” Then he looked at Buck. “Listen, if you don’t mind a piece of advice…”
Buck managed to keep a straight face. Since he’d taken over the job, he had gotten more advice from Roe on how to do it than he’d counted on, asked for, or needed.
“You need to hire yourself another deputy,” Roe said.
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You’ve been down