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off base or could there be some connection between the dead teens and the runaways Ginger spoke of? Dexter had referred to something odd in some files at the sheriff’s office. Were they the same ones he’d mentioned in the note?
    I blew out a long breath. Obviously, I had my work cut out for me. On a new page, I made a note to go through past issues of the Sun and study the stories Dexter had written on the two cases. Step two would be the doozy; tactfully asking to see the files without agitating Roy Hollingsworth whom I’d finally met for the first time the previous Friday. Tugg had assigned me to cover the police blotter, or log as they called it. That would put me in the sheriff’s office at least once a week.
    I’d been surprised when I met Roy. From Tugg’s description, I had expected to encounter a thoroughly uncooperative, disagreeable, perhaps even dangerous man. He appeared to be none of those, greeting me with a wide smile and a neighborly handshake. Standing well over six feet tall, his substantial stomach protruding over a gigantic turquoise belt buckle, he looked less like an adversary than he did a big, friendly bear. In uniform.
    As we chatted, I couldn’t help but stare at his curious eyebrows. They were light blonde, very fuzzy, and perched over his silver blue eyes like two giant caterpillars. I hid my surprise when he brought up the subject of John Dexter.
    “Morty’s been real unhappy with me over our manhunt for John Dexter, but as I tried to tell him, we can’t produce the man out of thin air. Me and Deputy Potts, along with members of the sheriff’s posse and other law enforcement agencies, combed this area for weeks and couldn’t find a trace of him.” Shrugging his aggravation, he added, “It’s been real frustrating for me, too.”
    He was very convincing. I began to wonder if Tugg was on the wrong track. “I’m sure we’ll hear from him sooner or later. When did you last see him?”
    “Julie,” he shouted. “Pull the file on John Dexter for me.” Moments later, a slender, dark-haired girl appeared from another room and handed him a folder. The sheriff rifled through it as Julie and I exchanged introductions.
    “He disappeared on March 29th, and I may have been the last person in town to see him. The reason I know that is because I wrote him a speeding ticket that day.”
    Tugg hadn’t told me that. “Where did you ticket him?”
    “Heading south on 89 toward Phoenix. He seemed real nervous when I stopped him. Agitated. He was…well, let’s say, verbally abusive, but for John that wasn’t out of character.” He smiled wryly. “So you see, I don’t think anything unusual happened to John. I think he had something else going. Why he didn’t give Morty notice, I don’t know.” When he frowned, the two blond caterpillars fused together into one.
    While he shuffled papers into the file, I decided either he was being quite up front with me or he was a remarkably good actor. He’d ushered me to the door, inviting me to come anytime or call him if I had any questions. Because he’d been so damned likable, it would make my job all the harder.
    A car backfire jolted me back to the present. I closed the notebook and rose stiffly from the bus bench. The meeting ran for over two hours, and it was late afternoon when I returned to the newspaper office. Ginger greeted me with a smile reminding me again of dinner the following evening. I hauled out three boxes of back issues of the paper to take home with me.
    The wind was blowing across the desert floor, whipping up funnels of yellow dust when I reached the house. Before going inside, I paused as I always did to admire the spectacle of Castle Rock. Ever changeable, depending on the angle of the sun, it glowed in shades of peach and burnished copper.
    After an early dinner, I phoned my parents. They seemed pleased I was settling in. Dad asked about my job, Morton Tuggs, and my asthma. With forced enthusiasm, I told them about my