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behind-the-scenes problems that might have something to do with the shooting.”
    Parker slid behind the wheel.
    â€œUpdate me as you go, Deputy. If Buffalo Springs is safe and Mad Dog’s not clearly guilty, I need you back out here as soon as possible.”
    Parker dipped her chin in a crisp affirmative. “We could use outside help if there’s anything to this bomb.”
    The sheriff agreed. “If we can get any.” He knew his own budgetary problems were echoed in law enforcement agencies throughout the state. Parker nodded again, more doubtful this time. She wasn’t used to the reality of rural Kansas policing yet.
    Parker created her own dust cloud and the sheriff headed back toward the creek. Deputy Wynn was climbing up the path beside the bridge to meet him, followed by a spectacularly built young woman wearing tight shorts and a tighter halter. Pretty face too, the sheriff thought, but vacuous.
    â€œI know who done it,” Wynn proclaimed, breathing hard, from excitement or from the effort of walking back to the bridge.
    â€œMad Dog?” The sheriff’s question took the wind out of Wynn’s sails.
    â€œHow’d you know?”
    The sheriff shrugged. How hard was it? Bald jogger out running with a wolf-like dog. They were less than two miles from Mad Dog’s place and he ran with Hailey almost every morning. Add to that Mad Dog’s commitment to all things Cheyenne and you had narrowed the list of suspects.
    â€œWell, big thing is we got a witness who can identify him. Sorry, Sheriff, I know he’s your brother, but Daphne here says she saw him clear as day. Can pick him out of a lineup, no problem.”
    The sheriff thought that was probably true, unless they came up with a group of similarly large men who also shaved their heads. It didn’t matter, though. He was already convinced the jogger was Mad Dog.
    â€œThat true, Miss?”
    The girl seemed to expect to be the focus of masculine attention. The sheriff watched her blossom as she got it.
    â€œThat’s right. I saw super clear. The moonlight was like real bright.”
    â€œDescribe him for me, please.” The sheriff pulled out his notebook.
    â€œBig guy,” she said. “Several inches more than six feet, I’d say. Bulked up. Big dog, long legs, like a wolf.”
    â€œHair?”
    â€œThat was what made the guy unforgettable,” she said. “He didn’t have any. I mean, he wasn’t just some baldy. There was no hair on his head at all.”
    Mad Dog, sure enough. “How was he dressed?”
    â€œJust running shorts and a sweatband,” she said. “No shirt, that’s how I could tell he was so buff.”
    â€œHe carrying the bow and arrows, or were they strapped across his back?”
    â€œOh wow!” she said, looking suddenly puzzled. “You’re right. He wasn’t carrying anything.”
    Wynn looked disappointed.
    â€œThen somebody else shot Michael.”
    ***
    â€œI’m still thinking about it.” The Chairman of the Benteen County Board of Supervisors frowned at the flier Jud Haines had thrust between him and the platter of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage Bertha had just delivered to his table by the window overlooking Veterans Memorial Park. Chairman Wynn would prefer to concentrate on breakfast, but Jud Haines was a supervisor, an up-and-comer in a big hurry—maybe in a big hurry to take over as chairman.
    â€œI tell you, Mr. Chairman,” Haines enthused, “opportunity knocks, we gotta answer. This is the biggest thing to hit Benteen County since wheat.”
    The chairman folded the flier and slipped it into the inside pocket of his sports coat. “Why don’t we talk about this at the office,” he suggested, pointedly reaching for the ketchup. He liked it on practically everything.
    â€œI’ll be there,” Haines said. “But you think about this. We’re talking