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piece of pizza out of the box between them and sneaked the crust to Simon.
    â€œYeah, I need to look up that sheriff—Howard didn’t you say?”
    â€œMora County. His office’s in Las Vegas.”
    â€œI’ll give him a call in the morning.”
    ***
    The gold lettering on the door said Sheriff Lewis Howard. Dan paused, then knocked. He had been dreading this. Obviously, he hadn’t known the old man who had given him a ride but still, he certainly hadn’t wished him harm. It hadn’t been any solace to know that asthma had brought on the coughing fit, but being pinned by the truck had killed him. Dan wished he’d been able to do something.
    He was startled by the yell “Come in.” It certainly didn’t lack in volume. The man who got up from behind the desk was a big man—not fat, just a gym-induced solidness that made him intimidating. Something from the brick-shithouse genre that seemed to get people hired in this sort of job out here. He instantly thought of a certain lawman in Tatum.
    But this man seemed to have some things going for him, according to the pictures on the wall. The sheriff with grade-schoolers at a soccer tournament handing out a trophy, sheriff at the fairgrounds crowning Miss Mora County, sheriff with a group of uniforms standing in front of new cruisers. Must be about ten years his senior, Dan thought. Ought to be staring retirement in the face. He idly wondered if someone like Lewis Howard would stay close or take off for a cabana by the sea. Dan was pretty sure he knew what he’d do in the same situation. It was tough to adjust to one-horse towns. He dreaded the “where should we live?” discussion that he’d have to have with Elaine one of these days.
    â€œHave any trouble finding me?”
    â€œNo, your directions were great.” Dan shook hands, took the proffered chair in front of the desk and waited for Sheriff Howard to return to his.
    â€œFirst of all, I want to say I’m happy to see you up and around. There could have been another outcome.”
    â€œI’m all too aware of that. I was sorry to hear about Chet Echols.”
    â€œYeah, his eightieth birthday was coming up in February. Shame. He had some good years left. Sheriff Howard blew his nose on a red square of material that he pushed back into a center drawer of the desk. Dan ruled out any emotion in favor of allergies. He waited while the man took a small spiral-bound notebook out of another drawer.
    â€œLet’s get started by you telling me what happened that afternoon.”
    â€œAnything in particular?”
    â€œHow ’bout lapse of time from when the Cherokee gave out and Chet showed up with a ride.”
    â€œProbably not more than five minutes. One-thirty to one thirty-five. I considered myself lucky to get a ride so quickly. There’s a lot of empty highway out there.”
    The officer looked up from his notes. “You’d never met Mr. Echols before?”
    Dan shook his head, “Funny, Chet seemed to think I should know him. That his name should ring a bell.”
    â€œIt didn’t?”
    â€œStill doesn’t. Who was he anyway?”
    â€œAn old stunt driver—right out of Hollywood. Back in the forties and fifties, he was the best. Lots of articles on him over the years…enjoyed some minor celebrity. Big in this part of the country—born in Roy. Performed in state fairs until a couple years ago. There aren’t a lot of celebrities from out this way unless you include Tommy McDonald. Remember the running back for the Philadelphia Eagles? There was a deserving Hall of Famer if there ever was one. A real Roy High School Longhorn. Lived up to all our expectations.”
    Dan was sitting forward, “Wait, you said Chet was a stunt driver? Just don’t tell me his specialty was rolling cars.”
    â€œActually, it was.” The sheriff paused to study Dan. “I don’t want to