M. Sellars - In the bleak midwinter

“What’s going on here?” she demanded. Her voice was still stern and volume slightly elevated, but she was no longer shouting. She threw a quick glance to her left at the little girl who was slowly but steadily increasing the distance between herself and them. She was already to the street and showing no sign of stopping. Throwing a sideways gaze back on Sheriff Carmichael, she called out over her shoulder, “Merrie! Stop!”

She threw another fleeting glance to the left. The child continued on, having trudged across Evergreen Lane as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Still focused on the sheriff and keeping her sidearm trained on him, Constance demanded again, “Dammit, Skip, tell me what the hell is going on here!”

“DROP YOUR WEAPON!” a new voice suddenly came from her right. “NOW, Special Agent Mandalay!”

Constance slowly shifted her eyes and turned her head just enough to see Deputy Broderick. He was only a few feet away with his own weapon trained on her, having come up from a position behind. Apparently, the fact that she was wearing a vest hadn’t escaped him as the muzzle of his pistol was pointed straight at her head. At this distance, unless he was the worst shot on the planet he wasn’t likely to miss.

“You aren’t going to shoot a federal agent,” she said, fully cognizant of the fact that the comment sounded like dialogue from a cheesy movie. It was the kind of thing the main character’s two-dimensional sidekick always said to the villain right before getting riddled with bullets and becoming a martyr to be avenged with rocket launchers and air strikes. But then to Constance the whole past three days had seemed to play out like a bad movie. Why break the streak now?

“Yeah, sugar,” Sheriff Carmichael grunted as he stood up a little straighter and grimaced again. “He will if he has to, but that’s not where any of us want this to go. Just hand over your weapon and we can get on with what needs to be done.”

“I don’t think so,” she barked.

“Dammit, Constance,” he grumbled. “You can have it back in a few minutes. I just need to show you something first.”

“That little girl…” she started.

“I know,” he interrupted her. “That’s exactly what I need to show you. Now if you aren’t gonna hand that thing over, at least holster it, okay? We’re all on the same side here. Nobody needs to be getting shot.”

Constance glanced between Sheriff Carmichael and Deputy Broderick. She was in a stalemate and she knew it, but she wasn’t about to relinquish her weapon. At least he’d offered the second option, but that didn’t fix anything as long as Broderick was pointing his firearm at her. Ben’s words were still echoing through her brain on an endless loop as she searched for a way out of this.

Skip stared back at Constance. Her resolve must have been obvious in her expression because he sighed. “Goddammit you’re stubborn…” He directed his attention to the deputy. “Broderick… Stand down.”

“But, Skip…” the deputy started.

“Stand down,” he repeated, cutting him off.

Deputy Broderick hesitated for a moment, then lowered his weapon and slid it into his belt holster. Constance tossed her gaze back and forth between the two of them.

“Hands behind your head,” she ordered the deputy.

“Do what she says,” Skip told him.

Mandalay divided her attentions between them while he complied.

“There,” Sheriff Carmichael said, directing himself to her. “How about you put yours away too.”

Constance carefully stepped back and turned so that they were both in her line of sight. “Where’s Deputy Johnson?” she demanded.

Skip snorted. “If I had to guess, he’s sitting at a desk back at the office where I sent him about nine last night. Probably has his feet up while he’s drinking a hot cup of coffee,” he replied.

“The office?” she spat. “He was supposed to be watchi-”

He cut her off. “No need in all of us freezing our asses off, young lady.”

“But you were supposed to be watching the outside of the house.”

“We were. Did you see anyone come in?”

“That’s not the-”

“Dammit, Constance,” he retorted, cutting her off again. “Just put your damn pistol away and I’ll give you whatever answers I have. I promise.”

She mulled it over, staring back at both of them as a rising surge of wind whipped her hair around her face. It moaned dolefully through the trees before tapering off to nothing.

“Why should I believe that? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me so far.”

“I think you just saw my reason for that.”

She continued to stare at him but didn’t reply.

After several heartbeats he appealed, “We really don’t have a whole lot of time. Merrie is going to be waiting.”

Every ounce of training Constance had told her to cuff them both, then call the Missouri Highway Patrol for backup, then her SAC, and then just sit on this until it could all be sorted out. She’d been lied to, physically attacked, and on the wrong end of a gun, and those were just the high points. She was sure there could be plenty more charges filed without even cracking the spine on a law book.

But that was her training. Her instinct was telling her something completely different. It was being entirely contradictory, and she couldn’t follow both of them. Not simultaneously. She had to make a choice between brain and gut. She knew it was a coin toss. She also knew there was much more at stake than who got the ball.

Going with her brain would be the safe bet. But then there was that little girl, trudging half-dressed through the snow, and somehow she knew that’s what this was really all about. Following her gut might well be the option that would bring some sense to all of this.

“Constance, if you want answers, put the gun away. But I’m telling you now, I don’t have time for this. No matter what, in about one minute I’m going to walk to my car and go do what I have to do. You can either come with me, or you can shoot me. Honestly, I’m kinda hoping for option number one.”

“What is it you have to do, Skip?”

“Come with me and you’ll see.”

She stared back at him and sighed. This was crazy. She needed to just arrest him and his deputy and be done with it. That would be proper procedure. Then again, it would have also been proper procedure for the bureau to send her up here with backup and a complete file on this case to begin with. There was nothing SOP about any of this.

“I must be insane…” she finally muttered.

Against her better judgment, Constance slowly and carefully held her arms out to the sides and then just as carefully slipped the Sig Sauer back into her belt rig.

“That’s better,” the sheriff grunted, lowering his hands and touching his fingertips to his bloody lip, then pulling them away and giving them a quick inspection. “Lovely,” he mumbled, then looked at her and asked. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts like hell,” Constance said, looking at him in earnest. “Tell me what’s going on, Skip…”

He pointed off in the direction the little girl had gone. She looked and saw the trail through the snow, but no sign of Merrie.

“I should probably just show you,” he said, then started ambling across the yard toward the street. There was an obvious pained hitch in his gait. As he passed her he added, “Come on. My car is just around the corner.”

THREE blocks from the house on Evergreen Lane, Sheriff Carmichael lazily cranked the steering wheel and brought the cruiser into a wide arc around the corner. He and Constance had been riding in relative silence for the small handful of minutes it had taken to traverse the distance, neither of them speaking a word. The only real sounds to join them were the tires against snowy pavement and the drone of warm air pushing out of the vents.