7:49 PM

12
7:49 PM

     "Oh, Horace, you horse's ass. You've been out drinking again, haven't you?" Myra said as soon as Horace closed the door behind him. Somehow she could tell from the way he had had trouble with the keys. 
     Sheriff Donnelly smiled and careened slightly. "I may have had a couple."
     "Well, Horace, you have your blood pressure to think about."
     "I know. I do."
     He took his hat off and sat down in the easy chair.
     "Don't bother thinking I'm going to serve you dinner in the living room. You'll have to come to the table if you want to get fed."
     "Yes, dear," he said, and got back up and walked to the kitchen.
     He sat down at the head of the table.
     "David is coming with his new girlfriend on Sunday. Make sure that you're there. I want to make a good impression."
     "Yes, dear. Problem is, this murder case."
     "Oh, yes. That murder case."
     Myra sat down next to him, waiting patiently for him to begin.
     "There's nothing to say, Myra," he said. "Except that it might not be figured out in time for Sunday dinner with David and his new girlfriend."
     "Nothing? Not anything?"
     "We got a lead, but no suspects."
     "The pastor of that Baptist church south of town?"
     "No, we don't make him for it."
     "We?"
     "The FBI agent and I, Myra."
     "FBI! Well, just call you J. Edgar Hoover."
     "Ginger asked after you."
     "Ginger did, did she."
     "Yeah."
     "She want something?"
     "Cherry pie."
     "Cherry pie! Ha. Well, that I don't mind giving."
     "So it's not that pastor, huh? Somebody else in town that's got it in for the doctor."
     Sheriff Donnelly looked over. "I'm not taking media inquiries at this moment, Myra."
     "Yeah, you wish. Put your picture on the five o'clock news."
     "Once I solve this case, how can they keep me out of it?"
     "You about ready to?"
     He smiled and winked.
     "Oh, Horace, you're a dumb one, but I guess it don't take smarts."
     "I guess not."
     Sheriff Donnelly slowly chewed at his food in the solace of their house, the night gently falling on their corner of Texas. Some dog barked off in the distance, and a big rig hummed down the highway some miles off. The hum of cicadas started up, ready for the nightfall.
     Soon, a blanket of stars and, etched against the sky, an old windmill in the neighbor's yard.