Free Fit to Die by J. B. Stanley

holding up his hand like a traffic director. “That tape is there to keep civilians like yourselves safe from harm.” He looked directly at Lucy as he said this, deliberately taunting her for being an administrator in the Sheriff’s Department and not a bona fide member of law enforcement.
    “This is my place,” Willy said calmly and stepped over the tape. “I need to know what’s happened here.”
    “We’ll inform you in due time.” Donovan stepped in front of Willy and ran a hand through his unkempt orange hair, which was flecked with ashes and other debris. “Damn!” he yelled, shaking his head violently as black flakes flew onto his shoulders and trickled down the front of his uniform. As he focused on dusting himself off, Willy walked briskly past him and approached Sheriff Huckabee.
    James could hear him politely introducing himself before the Sheriff could utter the slightest protest over his presence within the restricted area. The sheriff’s face was unreadable, but he shook Willy’s hand in apparent sympathy and then pulled him farther away from James and the others and began to talk in a hushed tone as he gestured between the ambulance and the ruined building. As James watched, Willy suddenly covered his face with his hands and moaned loudly. Sheriff Huckabee gazed at him with compassion and patted him awkwardly on the back.
    Spotting Willy’s friends, Huckabee’s walrus-like mustache suddenly flared in anger and he bellowed at Donovan. “Get them out of here, Deputy!”
    Although Keith Donovan did his best to push and shove the remaining six onlookers back beyond the tape, most of them, including James and Lucy, caught a clear glimpse of the gurney as it was wheeled to the silent ambulance. A figure lay unmoving under a thin shroud. James stared at the form, which was completely covered beneath a white sheet that had a sickly yellowish tinge below the headlights of the truck.
    “What happened, Keith?” Lucy asked Donovan quietly. “Is it Pete?”
    “Oh, come on, Lucy,” he answered crossly instead. “You’ll stick your nose into everything soon enough. I’m sure you’ll have read every single one of our reports and tell all your friends here every tiny, little detail by noon tomorrow.”
    Lucy’s brow clouded. “Well since I have to type the reports, I guess I will be reading them, but it doesn’t take a deputy to know that Pete was scheduled to be working in that ice cream shop tonight. If it’s not Pete, then who is it?”
    Her taunting succeeded in confirming their worst fears. Donovan gave James a final shove directly into the tape and spat, “So it’s Pete. Good for you, Miss I-Went-To-College. But since you can’t get near the scene, bein’ it’s a crime scene, I guess you won’t be figurin’ out how exactly Pete met his fiery end, now will you?”
    “I guess I’d have to start by wondering if he drank all of the contents of those two whiskey bottles you brought out as evidence,” Lucy said, using a mockingly innocent tone.
    Donovan’s freckled white skin grew mottled with anger. “I’ve got work to do! Why don’t you and your friends go hang out at the Shoney’s buffet and let the rest of us do our jobs?” And with that rejoinder, Donovan stalked away.
    The group watched as Donovan began to confer animatedly with Sheriff Huckabee. As they spoke, the paramedics slammed the rear door of the ambulance, asked Huckabee to apply his signature to a document on their clipboard, and then drove off. The ambulance wheels crunched over small pieces of wood and dark shards of broken glass, and then glided silently through the empty parking lot and out of view over the top of the hill. Huckabee followed the departing vehicle with his eyes while pulling roughly on his mustache, then he sighed loudly, checked his watch, and gestured toward Willy. After placing a kind hand on the man’s shoulder, Huckabee steered him over to Donovan’s car and opened the passenger door for him.