The vast expanse from the station door to Ollie’s island desk took a lifetime to cross before I halted in front of him and asked, “Just how unhinged is that Aidan Peale?”

Ollie gaped. Settled back in his chair, thick fingers interlaced behind his head, he’d been enjoying the authority of the only lawman in the enormous room. His smooth skin shone like coffee-colored quartz in the low light. The scene reminded me of railroad magnates reveling in their mastery of mountain passes. Maybe it reminded Officer Ollie Gerulis of the same.

I set my hips against the sturdy edge of his mahogany desk, arms crossed defensively. “Aidan just told me he doesn’t have a daughter. That she’s not real.” I sighed, allowing sufficient angst that had been building to bleed off. “Said that Kayla is an angel sent to reform us and that he’s building a castle to keep her in.”

Ollie tensed, brow furrowed in concern. “That’s unsettling, irrational talk about the girls,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Not like him.” Worry modified his congenial style. His eyes darted nervously toward the entrance, and he kept his manner restrained. “Keeps the crazy confined to everyone else.” 

I checked the bank of windows in the back, curious if they hid a sheriff in their darkness. “So this is new? This kind of doomsday thinking?”

“No not that,” he said. “He seems to talk on the end of the world often enough.” He looked straight at me. “A bit different than that Hugh Jenkins who has a bunker hidden behind his house somewheres. Aidan is more like God Almighty has your number and he’s here to remind you like an Old Testament Prophet.”

I bent a little closer to align with the intrigue. “But the talk about an angel child meant to change the world, that’s new?”

“I’ve not heard him carry on that crazy talk about either of those two girls of his.” Ollie gave a little shudder at the thought. “It’s usually just the rest of us, outsiders you could say, who have to deal with his madness.” 

“It seems alarming to me,” I said, holding his gaze. “Seems like something a lawman might want to check on.”

Ollie turned away, settling back in the chair. It gave a little squeak that he winced at. “Well, I got to follow the sheriff’s lead. Anyways, I heard you were heading out to visit the Jenkins’ place. They got a bit of the same kind of End of Days out there, like I was saying. Did you stir anything up with Hugh? He doesn’t care much for government types poking around his property.” He gave me a playful smile. Ollie had relaxed a bit, returning to the gentle town lawman everyone liked. 

The sly attempt to drag me off-topic annoyed me. I grimaced, then rolled with the idyllic mountain narrative. Ollie gave the impression that he didn’t like the position he was in, beholden to Sheriff de Lude regarding the little Peale child, but his loyalty held strong all the same. I could tell pushing wasn’t likely to help me out. Not right here, not right now. 

“I thought the townspeople liked them for babysitters,” I said.

“Not exactly that,” Ollie countered. “More like they’re convenient, usually available, easy to find. At least that was the case before Faye took on the diner.”

“But you don’t like them.”

“Preppers. Especially the husband. Give us all kinds of trouble whenever we head out there.” He rocked forward in the chair. “Get a complaint every once in a blue moon. That Hugh, he’s got more paranoia than a cowboy in Sturgis during Bike Week.”

Sheriff de Lude emerged from the door of his office. Once again, he’d gotten the drop on me by hiding in the shadows behind the glass. “Folks have the right to raise a child in the best way they can, Mr. Pierce,” he told me, graveled vocals harsh with sleep. The chocolate-colored jacket and ball cap were gone, the top two buttons on his tan shirt undone. That thick caterpillar mustache hid the movement of his lips. “No need for you to get hip deep in local matters.”

“Sheriff,” I said, the word tumbling recklessly out at his sudden appearance. My fingers fidgeted at the fabric of my coat sleeve, but I stopped them quick. “Just trying to find the little girl for her mother.” I witnessed no sign of sympathy or understanding in his weathered face. 

“Maybe so. Man’s gotta make a living.” His age showed more prominently against the gloomy background of his darkened office. “But the kind of work you do stirs up trouble and then disappears into history, leaving the trouble behind to fester.”

The weight of the missing child’s predicament had grown heavier since the last interaction with her father, driving me past intimidation of the imposing lawman. “I can appreciate your knowledge of the folks in your county, Sheriff. But it seems a matter of common sense and decency. A child is missing. Does it matter if she’s been missing a hundred times before? She’s five.”

De Lude tipped his head a notch toward the floor. “We got a finger on the pulse.”

“What does that mean, Sheriff? What is the County doing about Kayla Peale?” My frustration got away from me just then, raising the heat in my throat. “It’s starting to look like you don’t care much for children up here.”

His back hitched up, pulling his shoulders into swinging position. Those bear-sized hands hung loose at his sides and ready. “That Peale girl is fine. We’ve been through this before. Hell, I saw her the other day.”

“You saw her?” My jaw swung open with the words and stayed open for a long second before I worried a fly might get in and choke me off. “Did you tell her mother? Where is she? It’s my understanding that Aidan Peale is only supposed to have her every other weekend.”

“Listen, Pierce, we’ve been through this with the Peale’s many a time.” The giant shoulders relaxed a bit as he let some of that combative tension melt off. “The judge tries to do his best to bring balance into the child’s life. But Lorna Peale’s methods, her way of raising a kid—got a nannyboy with the morals of a hangnail slinking around her bedroom—isn’t up for any parenting awards. Sure, Aidan’s got strange ideas. Ain’t nothing the kid won’t get over.” The speech seemed to deflate him and the slough of indifference regained dominance. 

After his reaction to Renée, mentioning my visit to Aidan Peale was unlikely to inspire cooperation. The grumpy bastard could end my investigation, kill any chance of finding the child and cut me out of my Christmas money. 

That little koala coaxed me from within my jacket pocket. Outside, the sky rumbled its own brand of moral responsibility.

“I’ve been out to Aidan Peale’s,” I offered. “This morning. He talks like the child is dead.”

De Lude’s head came up. The shadows surrounding him made it hard to tell if the light behind his eyes came on. “You’ve been out to see him?” He turned his attention to Officer Gerulis. “You know about this Ollie?”

Ollie said, “Well, yeah, Sheriff. Mister Pierce came by to let us know the Peale women had a bug about Aidan having the child. I thought we was letting him have a little rein on the case is all.” The joviality in his voice was now strained with a timbre of embarrassment. 

De Lude leaned forward enough so I could tell he’d pinned his glare on me. “I can’t see it’s any of your business, Pierce. Aidan tends to get stirred up easy like. What might sound nefarious to you is likely his own brand of metaphorical nonsense. The man talks crazy like that all the time with no intent to harm.”

The commanding growl in his voice inflamed my own grievances against malevolent grown-ups. My mouth felt dry and bitter, the taste of anger and resentment clinging to my tongue. 

Rage formed at the base of my skull, born from a fierce protectiveness of my own baby girl. “Sir, I’ve got a little girl of my own.” It took a deep inhale through my nostrils to cool the burn. “These aren’t words out of the side of my mouth. If some kind of harm came to her because no one wanted to stir up trouble—” I stopped the flow by clamping my jaw so hard it hurt. The battle for control of my emotions bit into the heels of my hands, nearly breaking the skin. This crowd was chapping my ass, but my anger wasn’t going to raise their IQs. I spun on my toe and pushed off.

On my way out, Sheriff de Lude spouted more hillbilly wisdom, the country drawl thickening to punctuate his simplified solution. “We been running Lincoln County for a good bit, Mister. Best keep your distance.” It was a threat invigorated by the single-minded ideology of small-town law, and backed by the biggest badge in Lincoln County. 

I heard the Sheriff biting a chunk out of Ollie’s tail as the door slammed behind me. Despite the man’s simple dislike of outside interference, I was hard-pressed to figure out why Sheriff de Lude’s lack of interest in this so-called mundane domestic case stirred such hostility.