Читать книгу Small Town Monsters - Craig Nybo - Страница 11

Craig Nybo

4

perfect place? People had their secrets; but people always had their secrets. Kurt had his own secrets; he had left them, along with a couple dozen open homicide cases, back in Los Angeles. He had come to DePalma Beach to start fresh—to wipe his slate clean. He wanted to look life in the eye again, man-to-man, rather than be beaten down by it.

“Kurt, you there?” the voice of Clay Hickman squelched through the radio.

Kurt picked up the handset. “Just leaving Abigail’s. What’s up?”

“I think we got something.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Just got a call. Looks like wolves or coyotes got to Buren Peoples’s herd.”

Kurt sighed. “What does he expect me to do about it?”

“Buren’s in an uproar. He says it might be aliens or Bigfoot or something.” Clay chuckled.

Kurt sighed. “Can you meet me up there?”

“Oh, come on, Kurt.”

“Clay, who’s the chief around here?”

“Okay, I’ll head up there. But lunch is on you.”

“Deal.”

“It’s a waste of time if you ask me.” A new voice came over the radio.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “General, is that you?”

“Old man Peoples is a menace and a hermit. You boys’d be best to leave him alone and find something else to do.”

“General,” Kurt said into the handset, “I can’t stop you from listening in on the police band, but I’ve told you a hundred times, this is not a public channel.”

“I’m doing my civic duty,” The General said.

“Look, I know you have the best intentions; but if you don’t stay off this band, I’m going to have to cite you.” Kurt hated to threaten the old man. The General was a nice old codger, a veteran of World War II, always eager to tell a story about the front lines in the European Theater. Somewhere along the line folks had taken to calling him The General. The old man