Free Spin Out by James Buchanan Page A

the harness and shucked his turnout coat. “Kabe!” I yelled up at him and caught his attention. “Bring on down some more rope, we may have to force the door and I want to tie this baby in solid.” He flashed me two thumbs up and disappeared behind the vehicles.
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    Chapter 8
    The things I disliked about my job were few and far between. Times like yesterday, helping the woman in her car, made me feel proud and special. This particular duty, however, I could have lived without. Put it off until the end of my shift, ‘cause I knew from experience, I’d be in no shape to do much more than head on home and lose myself in looking at the TV. Telling someone that their worst fear has come true…well it’s darn near impossible not to come away raw from watching a family hear the news.
    I hit where Highway 12 morphed into Main Street, Escalante. The town weren’t more than a few cafes, tiny markets and sports outfitters serving Dixie National. Peppered here and there, a couple small motels managed to eke out a living from the tourists. Yeah, it boasted a high school, but that serviced the town and all the farms within twenty miles and sat within spitting distance of the elementary school. What I remembered most about Escalante was creaming the Moquis in football…heck, I was big, Mormon and went to Panguitch High, that meant I played tackle for the Bobcats. There’s really two main religions in Utah: LDS and Football.
    I turned off the main drag onto one of the side streets filled with little houses set off in neat rows. Another turn and then another and the houses thinned along stretches of rural road. Homes out here were pretty sparse, you’d get a cluster of residences then maybe half a mile down the way there might be a barn or a trailer. Horses, hunkered together for warmth, watched my SUV drive on by with something passing for curiosity.
    A little box of a house with blue siding and a gray roof crouched behind a sad old tree. Tacked on additions strung out along the side, each one slightly smaller than the next. The split rail fence separated the snowbound front yard from the mud and slush marking the road easement. The number on the fence post told me I was where I would really rather not be.
    I parked off the lip of the pavement. By the time I got out and walked on through the gate, a lady had wandered out onto the concrete slab of a front porch. She looked dimmed down, like someone had washed most of the color out of her. Taking off my Stetson, I asked, “Mrs. Walker?” Figured it’d likely be her, but thought I ought to ask to be polite.
    She knew why I was there. Saw it flash across her face about my third step up the walk. “Oh, no.” She clapped her hands over her mouth and screamed from behind her fingers, “No! No!” Shaking her head, she backed toward the door. “No, he isn’t. He can’t be.”
    I’d made it to her side by then. “Ma’am, I am so sorry.” I took hold of her arm and tried to guide her through the door. “Let’s get you inside and sit you on down.” Instead of moving she just sorta sagged into my body. Managed to get one arm up under both of hers so she didn’t go over. “Come on, it’s cold out here.”
    I heard someone running up behind me. “Liz, what’s—”
    Couldn’t quite turn around, what with Mrs. Walker sobbing into my chest. “Who are you?”
    “Nancy.” She came around beside me. Looked like she’d run out the door when Mrs. Walker screamed—sweater, galoshes, white hair pulled up under a knit cap, but her house dress certainly weren’t meant for forty-five degree weather. “Nancy Fellows.” She added her last name as she pulled Mrs. Walker along. “Come on Liz, let’s get you inside.” Between the both of us we managed to move her on into the house and get her situated in an old stationary rocker. “I’m here honey, I’ll stay with you.” Mrs. Fellows patted Liz Walker’s face with a set of thin hands, joints