Page 11 of What She Saw

Taggart motioned toward a set of two chairs angled in front of his desk. “Would you like to have a seat?”

They’d attended the same high school, but Taggart had been five years ahead of Briggs. Whereas Briggs took summer vacations during his high school years, Taggart had been changing oil, spark plugs, or transmission fluid in his stepfather’s garage.

“I won’t be here that long.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Your evaluation of the festival has a few of the council members worried.”

“I have real concerns. I want to cancel it until Colton addresses the issues.”

“We’re not shutting it down. Canceling now would be like leaving the bride at the altar. We got to go through with it.”

“I sent a request to the state police for officers to work the music festival. This job is too much for Paxton and me to cover.”

“The promoter has promised to hire private security.”

“I’ve reached out to Mr. Colton twice, and he’s not called me back.”

Briggs cleared his throat. “I’m in an election year, Sheriff Taggart. The locals aren’t fond of state government. And they won’t appreciate seeing state police patrolling their festival. Besides, we can’t afford the extra manpower.”

Frustration scraped under his skin. “The extra patrols are for everyone’s own safety.”

“They won’t see it that way. And like I said, we can’t afford the state guys.”

“I’ve seen the lineup of the bands. They’re not family friendly. Estimates put festival attendance at five hundred people. That’s too much humanity for three men to police. And what if the crowd size surges?”

“We won’t see a surge. We’ll be lucky to get the five hundred. This is a small regional concert with second-rate bands. Mr. Colton has assured me that he’s hired extra security.”

Rafe Colton made a lot of promises, but the follow-ups never happened. Taggart worried this could be a problem. “I need him to call me back and tell me how many extra men he’s hired.”

“Security is his problem. It says so in his contract. You’re there to be the town’s representative.”

Five hundred people was still five hundred potential problems. “If the festival gets out of control, it lands on me. Once night falls, people change. They get drunk, horny, and start thinking they can get away with more. And if you pack them into a small space, the chance of trouble goes up.”

Briggs shook his head. “You keep assuming that there won’t be enough security.”

“Colton has not given me any solid numbers.”

“Let me worry about Colton.”

Taggart’s relationship with Briggs was new and untested. But he had always struggled to keep his opinion to himself. “Colton is cutting corners.”

“You’re in the civilian world now, CJ,” he said. “Time to be more flexible.”

Taggart nodded even as his jaw pulsed.

“I’ve heard your concerns, but I’m telling you, this event is going to be fine.”

Tension sliced up Taggart’s spine, but too many years of respecting the chain of command kept him silent. “Roger that.”

Mayor Briggs’s frown flipped into a quick, easy grin of even white teeth. “Excellent. I appreciate you’re trying to keep on top of this, but it’s going to be fine. The Depot is poised to make a nice fee off their food stand at the festival. And the T-shirt vendor has invested too much in the festival inventory. The economy is still soft, and they’ve all taken a hit in the last few years. This is their chance to get ahead.”

Main Street had several boarded-up businesses. Last year, the pharmacy and the bank had moved thirty miles east to Charlottesville. The few remaining businesses didn’t get the traffic they had five years ago. The local furniture factory had shuttered, and though tourism was a moneymaker, it wasn’t enough. The school budget was getting cut, and whatever forensic supplies Taggart’s department needed remained on a wish list.

The mayor and town council were eager for new business. They offered tax credits like candy, but so far, no bites. And until they filled the abandoned factory, tourism would have to make up the difference. Festival posters peppered the store windows, and folks were excited about its earning potential.

After walking Briggs to the front door, Taggart rubbed the back of his neck as he moved to the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sipped, reminding himself this wasn’t war, and no one was shooting at him. Dawson was a quiet town. A couple of decades hadshrunk his past problems with the town down to almost invisible. He hoped they stayed small. “Little problems going forward.”