Read Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek: A Samuel Craddock Mystery (Samuel Craddock Mysteries) for Free Online Page B

her my knee is flaring up.
    “You can stay here. It won’t be the first time.” I stayed at her place for several days after someone tried to burn down my house last year. She saw the flames and called the fire department before the fire could get too far, but not before my house was so smoked up that I couldn’t stay there for a while.
    I pick up my hat. “I’d better get on home, if you can lend me a hand. Tomorrow morning I’ve got a job to do.”
    It’s a good thing she’s got some heft to her, because I have to lean on her to get back to my house. She fetches me an icepack for the knee and I take a couple of pills for the swelling. When I lie down with my knee all trussed up, I feel pretty sorry for myself.

“You’ve got some nerve coming over here gloating. I heard about that secret meeting where they decided you’d take over the police department. You’ve always wanted Rodell’s job. Now see how you like it. Nobody appreciates anything the chief of police does.”
    Rodell Skinner’s wife, Patty, hasn’t invited me in, so I’m standing on her porch, hat in hand. I’ve come here to see if she knows how long Rodell will be out of commission and to tell her I’ve been temporarily appointed to Rodell’s job. I was hoping to smooth things out with Rodell, but it’s not going quite as I’d planned.
    “Patty, I’m sorry I upset you. It’s a hard situation. The meeting wasn’t meant to be secret, but something had to be done—and it had to be done fast. The town is flat broke. A lot of people are being affected by this.”
    “That’s what you say. But you watch—Rusty Reinhardt will find the money to do what suits him. That’s the way government always works. They take hard-earned money from people who work for a living and use it for whatever suits them.”
    I don’t bother to tell her that the salary I’m getting is a token dollar a year. Finding that out would stir her up more. I don’t know what more I can do here. “Patty, my intention was to extend a hand to Rodell,” I say. “I’d appreciate knowing when he gets back from rehab.” I turn around, clapping my hat on my head. I’m barely two steps away before the door slams behind me.
    The way Rodell has always carried on, I don’t know why Patty is such a big defender of his. I suspect she’s so mad at him she can barely see straight and thinks if she doesn’t defend him everybody will guess how mad she is.

    Alan Dellmore’s house, one of the oldest and grandest in Jarrett Creek, has a sedate, comfortable feel to it, with rocking chairs on the wide porch and potted plants in the corners. The Dellmores both grew up in Jarrett Creek and are not inclined to put on airs.
    I raise my hand to knock on the door, but I hear loud voices inside—angry voices. I hesitate, not wanting to intrude on a family argument, but I remind myself that I’m no longer a private citizen. I’m the chief of police. I have to do the job even if I’m walking in on an embarrassing situation.
    Before I can knock, though, the front door opens and Barbara Dellmore shoves open the screen door. I dance backward to avoid her running into me.
    “Oh! You startled me. I’m just leaving.” Barbara’s face is flushed and her voice is sharp. She barrels past me and down the steps to her car.
    I don’t try to stop her, but I do wonder what has her so flustered. I hold the screen door open and call out, “Hello? Clara, Alan?”
    When Alan comes to the door, he’s a pitiful sight. His face looks like somebody has gouged furrows in it. His wrinkled corduroy pants and baggy sweater look like they’ve been slept in. “Come on back,” he says. “Clara and I are in the den.” I follow him inside and he shuffles in front of me like an old man. He’s several years older than me, but I wouldn’t have thought of him as old until today.
    The den is a big TV room with a picture window that draws my eyes out onto the bleak-looking backyard with its patchy stubs of