Read Online Murder at the Courthouse by A. H. Gabhart - Free Book Online Page A

the jail behind the courthouse.
    â€œThen how come they didn’t dump the body on the city hall steps where the mayor’s office is?” Michael couldn’t keep from asking.
    When the old man got a confused look on his face, the sheriff shot a hard look at Michael before he smoothed things over. “Now that’s an idea, Roy. About the extremists. We’ll be sure to check into that.”
    They left the old man looking satisfied with his theory again as they went on out the back door to the sound of the mop licking the floor.
    Once outside, the sheriff said, “You’re going to have to learn to humor folks, Mike. What might seem foolish to you makes perfect sense to them, and it’s a comfort for them to think they’ve got things figured out.”
    â€œSorry, Sheriff, but it’s been a long afternoon and I’ve heard just about every wild idea you can think of, from it was escaped convicts we don’t even know have escaped yet to the mob. The mob’s probably the front-runner right now.”
    â€œCould be they’re right, Mike. They know about as much as we do at this point. But it’s better if we don’t make a big mystery out of every little thing.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œLike those keys. Roy’s getting old. In all likelihood he hung those keys on a different hook himself. Not that it matters. Can’t see how that could have the first thing to do with that stiff out on the steps, can you?”
    â€œI guess not.”
    The sheriff clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Now go on home and get rested up so you can listen to a whole new bunch of theories tomorrow. Just think of the ideas folks’ll be able to come up with after a whole night to ponder on it.”

9
    At the time, Michael had managed to pull out the smile the sheriff had expected, but now as his cruiser bounced around a chughole in his lane, he groaned at the thought of more half-baked theories. He had about used up all his patience that afternoon, talking to people on the street and in the stores.
    As hard as it was to believe, nobody had seen or heard anything. Not even from the three businesses across from the courthouse. Jim Deatin had come in to his auto supply store about eight o’clock, but he never opened up till nine. So he’d spent the time in the back figuring out his new order and hadn’t even looked out when he unlocked the front door.
    The yellow lines were already flapping in the wind over on the courthouse lawn when Reece Sheridan got to his office. Reece had come in a little earlier than usual because his secretary’s little boy had an ear infection, but that was still after nine. He claimed nobody ever needed a will or a deed drawn up before ten o’clock in the morning anyway, and that was about the only kind of legal work Reece did anymore. His main job these days was puttering around the lake in his boat, catching fish.
    Joe Jamison got to work early, same as any other day. Since his wife died a couple of years back, Joe drank his coffee and read the paper at his shop in case someone showed up early for a trim. Joe’s Barbershop had been across from the courthouse ever since Michael could remember. When he was a kid, he hated getting his hair cut there, because no matter what he told Joe, the barber invariably cut his hair the same way. Some of his friends had talked their parents into taking them to Eagleton for haircuts, but Michael’s father wouldn’t even consider that.
    â€œHow would we like it if Joe went to Eagleton to church?” he asked.
    At thirteen, Michael hadn’t cared where Joe Jamison went to church. He just wanted a haircut that would make the girls notice him, and Joe’s haircuts weren’t doing the trick.
    It had never happened. After the wreck, Michael had bigger worries than the right haircut. Such as his parents being gone, learning to walk when one of his legs didn’t work