Anne Shillolo Writer

Addictive Crime Fiction Book Series!

The town of Elk Ridge opened up in front of me. I had been following a narrow, twisting highway with walls of evergreens instead of guardrails. Suddenly, it gave way to an expanse of sky that was full of storm-colored clouds. They clutched at mountain peaks on three sides of an open valley. In terms of my career, Elk Ridge was the Last Chance Saloon. By the time my van halted at the stop sign marking Mountainview Drive, I spotted the police station just down the block to my right. I shivered, fought back a surge of adrenaline, and took a deep breath. And then told myself not to be silly. Policing in Elk Ridge promised a daily diet of vandalism, drunken tourists, and fender benders. Not shootings, corruption, and gangs. I’d be the big fish in a small snowdrift, not a law enforcement executive clawing my way up the ladder and taking no prisoners as I climbed. I had maybe a decade to go before I could collect a livable pension and I planned to do it here. One missing pet at a time. I made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the station. It was a new building, tucked in between a ski shop and an Italian restaurant. I gazed in admiration. It was set back from the street a bit, a small one-story timber frame structure with a cantilevered roof, red cedar beams, and lots of glass across the front. Police HQ could pass for the welcome center of a resort, and I was OK with that. Stepping out of the van, I clicked the lock, walked slowly around the rear of the vehicle, and kicked my way through the pile of snow that had already formed a foot-high barrier between the road and the sidewalk. Before I could take a step towards the door, a gruff voice shouted from behind me, “Caz, is that you?” I froze. My blood literally ran through my veins like ice. It was impossible. For a moment, I thought my heart would stop. I slowly turned. “Son of a swordfish! It’s really you!” the voice exclaimed. I almost got back in the van and high-tailed it out of town. If there was one person I had hoped to never again encounter in this life, it was George Rundle. Known by his friends and enemies alike as Goat. When I’d worked with him, he was a young constable, already portly and lazy, with a gravelly voice and a loose interpretation of police procedures. He had a repertoire of anecdotes and tales that went over well in a bar after work, where he had no trouble attracting female company. And he’d almost gotten me killed. I closed my eyes, hoping he was in town for a ski vacation and not work. Fat chance. The next words out of his mouth were, “Sergeant Goat Rundle at your service, ma’am.” “Oh, shut up,” I looked over at him and scowled. “It’s the 21st century. Don’t call me ma’am. Ever.” I turned on my heel and strode into the station. A civilian employee sat at a desk behind a glass barrier. Her badge said Riley Mills. She glanced up with a cautious expression. “Inspector Casgrain?” Great. It looked like Goat had already blackened my name with my new employees. I flashed her my warmest smile. In the past, it would have been reserved for the mayor, the police chief, and the chair of the police commission. Now, I turned on the charm for a young woman who was likely making minimum wage. “Good morning, Riley. I’m delighted to meet you.” I thought if I gave her a raise, too, I could cement our budding relationship and stave off anything Goat might do to undermine my authority. No doubt he had a long list of plans. A flash of surprise flickered across her pale face, and she tucked her curly fair hair behind her ears and returned my smile. “We’re all really glad you’re here, Inspector.” I was skeptical. I knew it would be a frosty Fourth of July before a rag-tag staff in a small police force would be pleased to see a new superior officer. I gave Riley points for trying, however. “The feeling is mutual,” I replied, hoping she wouldn’t see through me. Not right away. “Sergeant Rundle will show you your office,” she said with a business-like nod at Goat. “Wonderful,” I lied. “Right this way, Caz,” he said, passing me and heading across the foyer. I didn’t move. “Sergeant,” I said, in a voice that was low and steely. “If I ever again hear myself called anything other than Inspector or boss, you’ll find yourself an unemployed son of a…” “Understood, Inspector,” he said quickly, managing to look insincere and nonchalant. I followed him down a wide hallway and, at the end, we made a left turn into a spacious office with a magnificent view of Elk Ridge forming a backdrop at the south edge of town. It looked like they had managed to furnish the new building from scratch with chrome and glass desks and tables, and comfortable looking chairs. It was nothing like any police station I’d ever set foot in. “It’s beautiful,” I said. There was no need to be churlish. If I had to deal with Goat Rundle on a daily basis, I could make it work. And I honestly thought the whole building was nice. I settled in behind the desk and gestured to one of the guest chairs facing me. Rundle sat down, and I took a good look at him. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been much change. He had shorter hair with more gray mixed in with the brown, and the same prominent nose and heavy dark brows, but he was still the same size and build. I could hardly fault him for carrying 20 extra pounds at his age. His fun-loving gray eyes were clear. It sure looked like the western lifestyle had been good for him. Maybe it could do the same for me. Not that I was looking at Goat Rundle as a role model. I asked, “Where is the superintendent? I thought he was planning to be here.” Rundle shifted in his chair and stared over my shoulder at the scenery. “Well, Inspector, that might be a bit of a problem.” “He’s busy elsewhere?” I knew that Superintendent Fraser McBride was in charge of two additional small stations somewhere in the mountains near here. I figured I’d visit those other locations soon enough and meet my counterparts. “No, not exactly.” There was silence. I lowered my brows and frowned over at the sergeant. He cleared his throat. “He, er, has a touch of cancer.” I could feel a cloud of anger descending and willed myself not to explode. Gritting my teeth, I said, “Explain.” “We haven’t been given the details.” I saw that for the equivocation it was and made the universal hand signal for ‘get going and talk.’ Goat could probably recite the poor man’s medical chart by now. He sighed. “No one knows for sure. He’s undergoing some heavy-duty treatments in Vancouver. Started four days ago, and they’ll go for at least 12 weeks.” I was stupefied. “What’s the chain of command in the meantime?” “You.” “What do you mean, me? Who do I report to?” He shrugged. “There’s a police board made up of some town councillors from the region, but it’s not like back east. The best thing I can say is that most of them mind their own business and don’t interfere.” And then, I got a surprise. It seemed as if Goat Rundle had decided to grow up since I’d last seen him. He looked directly at me and said quietly, “I know we don’t like each other, and I don’t really care. This force might be small but it’s effective. We’re proud of what we’ve built here. Just don’t mess it up. Inspector.” For a split second, I was mortified. Could Rundle have heard about what had happened back in Ontario? Then I took a deep breath and counted to five. No. It wasn’t possible. All I said was, “I was told accommodations had been arranged.” Rundle stood. “I’ll bring the cruiser around to the front, and you can follow me.” The cruiser? As in one, single cruiser? What had I gotten myself into?