Free Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek: A Samuel Craddock Mystery (Samuel Craddock Mysteries) by Terry Shames Page B

financial end of things. It’s probably in separate folders. I expect Rusty can find that for you.”
    Marietta glances at her dashboard clock. “Oh, shoot! That took longer than I thought it would. I’m supposed to meet a client for a signing. It’s kind of exciting. She’s moving here from Houston to open a store in that new block downtown. I guess poor Alton was right to put money into street renovations. She’s the third new business that’s coming in.”
    “You mean Ellen Forester? I met her at the bank this morning. She seems excited to move in and get started.”
    “Yes, but I’m worried she’s picked the wrong town for her store.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because she’s doing some kind of arty thing. I don’t know how much business she’ll have here. But you’re right—being in real estate, I ought to be happy for new business of any kind. Between you and me I’m not sure she’s in it for the money anyway. Seems like she has plenty.”
    A small Honda ahead of us pulls into the Grange Realty parking lot. “There she is,” Marietta says.
    Marietta parks and starts to open her door but pauses and looks back at me, her sudden good cheer gone. “Samuel, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but Jim Krueger has been talking behind your back.”
    “He’s mad that James Harley is out of a job,” I say. “Can’t blame him.”
    “I suppose, but he seems to have built it into some kind of personal grudge. You might want to tread softly there.” Then her smile lights up again. “Listen to me! Telling you how to do your business. You let me know if you want to see the contracts on that land deal.”

Marietta’s words send me straight to the high school to nose out Jim Krueger’s complaint. When you’re investigating a crime, you don’t let sleeping dogs lie. A police chief is obligated to poke sleeping dogs.
    It’s after hours, but I suspect that high school principals don’t keep banker’s hours. Krueger’s receptionist is packing up for the day, but she buzzes him for me. Being in this office gives me a touch of nostalgia. Jeanne worked here for twenty years as a receptionist while also being a sounding board for kids who needed an ear.
    At least Krueger doesn’t play the game of keeping me waiting. I’ve barely sat down in one of the uncomfortable straight-backed chairs designed to intimidate wayward students when two hangdog teenage boys come slinking out of Krueger’s office and he motions me inside.
    Krueger’s shorter than his son, with thinning hair that he wears a little too long. James Harley already has a bowling ball gut, and when you look at his daddy you can see who he inherited it from. Jim’s gut pokes out over his pants and strains the buttons of his shirt. He peers out of his dark-rimmed glasses like he’s lost his way. Although he looks like somebody teenagers would make fun of, people say he’s popular with the high school kids. That probably means he’s fair. He points me to a chair and sits down behind his desk.
    Normally, I’d lead in with a little small talk, but Krueger’s tight manner with me discourages chat. As soon as we’re seated, I say, “Jim, I wanted to follow up on our conversation yesterday. I’ve taken this position as police chief as a temporary fix to the financial situation. I have no intention of beating your son out of his job.”
    Krueger’s shoulders slump. “I know that. I had a good, long talk with myself last night when I got home. It wasn’t right for me to take it out on you. Like everybody said, we’re lucky to have you. And quite frankly I’m not sure James Harley is cut out for police work anyway. I think he ought to look into other jobs.”
    I can’t put up a big argument to that. “He’s young. He’ll find his place before too long.”
    “Not that young. He’s over thirty.”
    “Knowing he was going to lose his job, James Harley’s ego is probably a little scalded. If you think it might help, I’ll be