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Flies buzzed. The air reeked.

Floyd was slumped over his desk and wasn’t moving.

Tanya ran to him and felt for a pulse. Floyd was way passed having a pulse. He was cold and moving into decomp.

“Oh, my God, Floyd, you’re dead.” Tanya screamed and ran from the room looking for her purse with her phone inside.

She collapsed on a kitchen chair and called the Sheriff.

Harlan and I were on our way to the station with a squad load of prisoners when Tanya Boyd called. She was screaming and sobbing, and her words were all mixed up.

“Slow down and tell me again.”

“Floyd is dead. Now do you believe me? I didn’t kill Tory and whoever did, killed Floyd now too while I was in jail. Floyd is stone-cold dead. You’ve got to hurry, Sheriff. I’m losing my mind here.”

“I’m heading north on the interstate on my way to Shelby, and I’ll be as fast as I can. Do not touch anything in the room your husband is in. Go into the kitchen and have a shot of booze and lie down until I get there.”

“Okay. I’ll do that. Please hurry.”

I called Doctor Olson and asked him to stop by the Boyd residence in Shelby on his way back to Cut Bank because we had another murder.

“I’ve got no room in my van, Travis.”

“We’ll pile him on top of the others, Doc. Always room for one more.”

“This isn’t funny. Not one bit.”

“No, I guess not.”

When we got to the Boyd house, Tanya was a wreck. I took a peek into the office where Floyd was resting his head on the desk and judging by the fly population and the stench in the room, he’d been dead for a while. Maybe a day or two. The killer might have been waiting for him the night before when he came home from work. Doc Olson would know better.

Doc Olson arrived in a pissy mood after the mess I’d made at Joe Mendenhall’s house, and I could hardly blame him.

“It’s poison,” he said after his preliminary examination of Floyd Boyd’s body.

“I’ve got the list of possible poisons from Tory Masters’ phone.” I pulled the paper out of the pocket of my jeans and gave it to him.

“Okay, thanks. That’s something I can work with.”

“Harlan and I will come back tomorrow and run the office. Right now, I have the squad full of prisoners and I have to get to the station and book them.”

Harlan and I helped Doc pile Boyd’s body bag on top of the others in the back of his van and he was noticeably testy.

“Thanks for the help, Travis. I’ll be in touch.”

I smiled. “Waiting for your call, Doc.”

He shook his head as he climbed behind the wheel.

Tanya had another drink in her hand, and she was wobbly as she stood on her front step.

“Call somebody to come and stay with you, Tanya. I’ll be back tomorrow to examine the scene. Close the office door and don’t go in there.”

“I won’t. That’s the last place I want to be.”

Sheriff’s Office. Coyote Creek.

The two guys who surrendered and chose not to die at Joe Mendenhall’s house in Conrad were Alex Telford and Rod Chapen. Both of them had served several short sentences for possession and trafficking.