Free Meadowview Acres by Donna Cain Page A

still thirsty, so he made his way over to the concession stand for a drink and a candy bar. “Margy will never know,” he snickered to himself.
    He looked onto the field as he made his way toward the concession, but the Jaguars had the ball so Jeff wasn’t playing. Friends and neighbors greeted him as he walked. The air was warm for a late October night, and it felt good to have the night off. He hadn’t realized how wrapped up in that case he had been until it was over. Stress can do that, just sneak up and live inside you until it feels like a normal part of who you are. It isn’t until you feel the relief of it leaving that you realize how bad it had made you feel.
    Sheriff Buchanon was quite content munching on a chocolate bar and watching the game. The score was 21-7 and the Mustangs had the ball. Jeff was lined up and ready for the snap. When it came a few seconds later, the crunch of pads was clearly audible. The father in him cringed, but the man in him yelled for his son. Jeff had made a good tackle, and he was proud of his boy.
    As the teams lined up for the next play, Sheriff Buchanon’s walkie-talkie crackled to life.
    “This is the sheriff, what is it Rachel, you’re making me miss a good game.” He teased the dispatcher not anticipating anything serious, maybe a drunk kid in the parking lot or an unruly customer at the Gas N Go.
    “Sorry, Sheriff,” Rachel began, “but we had a call in from a couple of kids around where they’re building the new subdivision on Route 68. They found something, Donald.”
    Sheriff Don Buchanon perked up immediately. The only time Rachel used his given name was when it was something bad – really bad.
    “What’d they find, Rach?” He asked reluctantly.
    “It’s Mr. Jackson, Don. Claymont Jackson. Looks like he died on the site. The kids said he’s still in his dozer.” He could tell Rachel was upset.
    “On my way. Over’ n out.”
    He turned with a purposeful stride and made for the exit. His stomach was in knots. “Shit. Claymont Jackson. His kid is out there on that field playing right now. I know Agnes is here somewhere. Shit!” Sheriff Buchanon thought.
    He made it to his car and called dispatch to talk while he drove. Rachel said that she had Deputy Clay and an ambulance on the way but with no lights. They didn’t want to alert anyone yet, and the kids had made it clear that there was no hope of resuscitation. The kids, she said, were Elivan Andrews and Hunter Massey. Bug Hamilton was there as well.
    The knot in his stomach pulled tighter as he passed by the construction foreman’s trailer and headed toward the lights in the huge clearing. They were just car lights, not flashing. Good call on Rachel’s part. News like that would travel quickly and he didn’t want Agnes and Darren to hear any mixed up version of events.
    He parked the cruiser and got out. He saw the kids sitting on a tree at the edge of the woods and walked over to them. They looked like they were in shock. “Are you kids all okay? Anyone hurt?” He looked each of them over.
    He was thinking that somehow the big bulldozer had gotten out of control and wrecked. It was dark, so he really couldn’t see if the Cat was damaged, but he could see that it was very close to a clump of maple trees.
    The kids all mumbled pretty much the same thing. They were fine, just fine. Shaken up a little, that’s all.
    Deputy Clay walked over to him. He looked like he had aged a good ten years from the time the sheriff had seen him that morning. The worst part of their job is when you know one of the victims. Deputy Clay always seemed to take it a little harder, though. His family had deep roots in the community. His great-great grandfather had been one of the first Town Council members.
    “Hey, Michael, what have you found so far?” The sheriff asked as he took out his notebook.
    “Not much, really, Sheriff,” Michael started in his thick southern drawl. “The kids said that Eli had been chasing