Ann stayed to answer the sheriff’s questions and watch them prepare the arm to be sent to a forensics lab in Portland. The sun had burst through the granite colored clouds and warmed up the beach. Passersby gawked from a distance, but all they saw was a large cooler, the collection kit and a small shovel. A couple of wet dogs wandered in too close and had to be shooed away. Afterwards, Ann decided it was time to leave and handed back Mitch’s jacket. When the sheriff paused in cutting tape with a knife she sensed his eyes turning up toward her. A cold ball of tar dropped to the bottom of her stomach. She never did feel comfortable around the man. Back in school he always had a way of turning up at every girl’s carwash fundraiser with more caked-on mud than normal. And you knew he was around by the waft of his aftershave-heavy, like dead cow lilies steeped in tequila. Behind his back some called him Lady Dawkins.
“I need to ask you a favor, Ann.”
“What is it, Sheriff?”
Dawkins put a cigarette in his mouth. But each time he tried lighting it, a gust would blow out the flame. Ann watched the movement of his hands as they tried to outwit the wind. After several attempts he set them on his knees and waited for a break. Ann noticed the lack of a pinkie finger on the ruddy hand holding the cigarette. A waxen nub stood in its place. The rest of the digit had been lost since before she was born, when there’d been a mill down on the bay and the sheriff was still a pimple-faced boy saving up money for his first car.
“I’m hoping you’ll not talk to anyone about what you found this morning. It could affect the investigation if you did.”
“I understand.”
“It might take weeks before forensics has a chance to get to it. Small towns like us aren’t exactly at the top of their list.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“I’ll have Mitch let you know later what we find out.”
Grunting, Dawkins shifted around on the log until his back faced her. She heard the snick of his lighter and curses at the wind, Mitch’s stifled laughter coming from behind. She was surprised by how much more she liked Mitch now, wondered if he ever really was the stereotypical jock she’d once pegged him for.
“You don’t have to keep me in the loop, Sheriff,” Ann said to the slumped figure. “I’m really not that interested.”
But she wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her.