Page 4 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

When my phone rang as I left the café, I checked the caller, then answered.

Not my mother. Not my soon-to-officially-be stepdaughter. Not any wedding-associated contractors.

Though, in fairness, most of them called my mother or sometimes Tamantha. They’d developed that habit after trying to talk to me a couple times.

“Hi, Diana,” I said to the video call screen.

“So, who was the stranger alternatively described as dreamy or scary?”

Diana Stendahl is KWMT-TV’s best shooter — that’s cameraperson for the squeamish or those outside the biz.

Arguably the best I’ve worked with, including stints in Dayton, St. Louis, Washington, and New York, with intermittent assignments overseas.

Being an information gatherer is among her skills.

That’s often underrated for shooters, but it shouldn’t be.

They’re a team with the person in front of the camera and they can add a lot to the pool of information. Or not.

So, I wasn’t surprised she knew about my visitor, nor the adjectives used.

“Tullie called him dreamy. Dale called him scary.”

I was showing off, but just a little. Neither was much of a stretch. Tullie hadn’t masked her opinion. And Dale, the news aide who’d directed Colonel Crawford to my desk, was more likely than anyone else in the newsroom to have said scary to Diana.

I did have a question, barely waiting for her confirming “Yup” before asking, “Tullie contacted you?”

That seemed more enterprising than I would expect.

“No. Dale told me you’d gone to lunch with a scary stranger, with a bit of a description.

Then Tullie was on the phone with Penny while I was going through the line at the supermarket.

I heard some of it because Penny was holding the phone with her shoulder — somebody should get her earbuds or a headset. She’ll ruin her neck doing that.”

“Bite your tongue about her getting earbuds or a headset,” I scolded Diana. “It would eliminate potentially overhearing something the way you did. It’s annoyingly rare as it is.”

Hearing it directly would be so much easier than needing to bob and weave through the onslaught of disconnected phrases that formed Penny’s monologues.

“Fair point. Anyway, Penny thought she’d get more out of me, but since I didn’t know a thing, she lost out for once. What did this stranger want?”

I explained.

Diana’s first question after I finished was, “Shelton sent him?”

“I know. Interesting, huh?” I didn’t linger on that. “Nola reported and shot the fire footage herself, didn’t she?”

Nola Choi was Mike Paycik’s prized first hire after he bought the station, inexperienced, but talented.

I don’t shoot video, because I’m a fossil from an earlier age of TV journalism, while Nola is in the growing generation of multi-media journalists. I’m also an artifact from the ways of big cities and large newsrooms compared to Sherman and KWMT.

Fossil and artifact. Could I make myself sound any older? I was not a senior citizen tying the knot with my cutely decrepit beau, even if I could see that stage coming toward me from the corner of my eye.

“Uh-huh. The first and second day. Today, she’s doing the intro and voiceover for footage Ted shot.” I raised one eyebrow at her.

She responded with a raised shoulder, agreeing with my unspoken assessment of one of the station’s cameramen, and said, “Standard stuff, decently done. You’ll want more. I can’t go now, but I should have this assignment wrapped up in another thirty, forty minutes. I could go out there then.”

“Hey, I didn’t say we’d look into this or—”

“You didn’t tell the colonel we wouldn’t, so we are.”

She won that round.

“I’ll meet you there,” I said. “That gives me time for a chat with Sergeant Shelton.”

She clicked off mid-chuckle.

* * * *

The first surprise came when I walked into the Cottonwood County Sheriff’s Department office. It and the fire department’s headquarters occupy utilitarian buildings at the back of the same block that the stately county courthouse dominates in front. Parking and a bit of grass separate them.

Deputy Ferrante wasn’t behind the counter.

And the young woman who was there smiled at me.

Should have said the first two surprises, with a smile from anyone behind that counter qualifying as its own surprise.

The third came when she said, “Ms. Danniher, right? Sergeant Shelton said to send you back to his office.”

I did not stammer, but it took me nearly until I was out of her sight, heading to the hallway that led to the offices, to return the smile.

As I passed the office that doubled for observing the now-empty interview room next door, I saw Ferrante handing a younger man in civilian clothes what looked like a written test.

The setup, seen as a snapshot, gave me a job applicant vibe.

Keeping Ferrante occupied earned the guy a passing good luck thought from me.

At Shelton’s open office door, I held a pose until he looked up. “The woman’s a big improvement over Ferrante for citizen interface. Need to hire more women.”

An infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes recognized I hadn’t acknowledged the surprise of being sent back to his office like an honored guest, unlike his usual greeting. Almost immediately, the recognition expanded, saying my not acknowledging it actually was an acknowledgment.

I tipped my head slightly as I sauntered in and took the chair across his desk from him. It was a remarkably uncomfortable chair, as I knew from previous occasions. I’ve always thought that was deliberate.

My head tip acknowledged his recognition of my not acknowledging . . .

You get the idea.

And so did he, as his responding head tip showed.

All that head tipping, acknowledging, and recognizing wore us both out, so we sat in silence for a couple beats.

He ended it.

“Enjoyed your lunch, eh.” Not a question.

Not showing off on his part, either. Not in Sherman. From Tullie to Penny to . . . whoever . . . to Shelton. Easy-peasy. “I did. Interesting man. Interesting situation.”

He snorted. “Fine for you. We deal in real crime.”

“Give it up, Shelton. If you hadn’t thought there might be something to it, you’d have shut the door on him pronto.”

“I’m working cases that definitely have something to them. Go bother Alvaro,” he said.

Arguing would give Shelton points in our ongoing back-and-forth.

I produced near perkiness to say, “Great. Someone reasonable.” I stood with alacrity. And not solely because it got me out of that chair.

I added a wiggly-finger wave as I exited, which I knew he saw because of the grunt that followed me out the door.