to get away."
"He won't," Joe said in a somber voice.
Joe pointed. Frank looked through the smoke. Debris from the collapsed roof littered the floor in a huge pile. A human hand was thrust up through the wreckage. The fingers did not move. The grenade's metal pin was still wrapped around the man's forefinger.
"The authorities will be here pretty quick," Joe said, stumbling away. "We'd better put in a call to Sheriff Kraft. We may need him to verify who we are."
They found their way out into the night as the first sirens sounded.
The fire was an orange-and-gold inferno seen through a billowing haze. The firefighters' sooty faces looked grotesque in the light from the burning building. Shafts of water raised great arcs of gray smoke.
Frank and Joe were sitting alone in Sheriff Kraft's squad car. The store owner had arrived ten minutes before and kept repeating, "Grenades, grenades; we don't stock grenades," to anyone who would stop to listen.
Sheriff Kraft approached his car wearily. His hat was tilted back on his head, and he had bags under his eyes. He didn't speak at first but leaned in and picked up a thermos and some cardboard cups.
"If you're anything like me, you could stand a cup of coffee," he said, sounding exhausted. Joe nodded numbly.
"Most people don't almost get themselves killed twice in one day." Sheriff Kraft poured some coffee into one of the cups and handed it to Joe.
Joe blew softly on the steaming coffee. "I see they brought the body out."
Sheriff Kraft handed Frank a cup. "I know it makes you feel bad, son. But it wasn't your fault. That man was playing with death, carrying that grenade. You couldn't have known it would blow up the stored ammunition in the hunting sales area."
"Is that what it did?" Joe asked.
Sheriff Kraft sipped his own coffee. "You didn't know?"
"We couldn't see much after it went off," Frank said. "Joe stumbled on the body."
"Well, there's no identification on the man. Bus driver doesn't know who he was. In fact, he's still up the hill, trying to get that blamed horn unstuck. Sounds like a banshee!" Sheriff Kraft brushed a hand through his thinning hair.
He sipped his coffee, careful not to get any on his short mustache or beard. The steam from the cup fogged his glasses.
"We've got two deputies patrolling the area, looking for the black van. Couple of folks saw it, but they said it took off when the store exploded. Looks like the whole town came out to see what happened."
Joe stared moodily into his cup of coffee. "Well, it's obvious that Brand set up that surveillance on us."
Sheriff Kraft wiped the edge of his sleeve across his glasses to clear them. "Mind telling me how you came to that conclusion?"
"Who else have we asked about Biff?" Joe argued. "I think Brand realized we weren't going to give up the search, so he had us bugged to learn what our plans were. And when he heard us discussing going to the bus station, he had his Biff impersonator head out there fast." Joe stopped suddenly. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."
Sheriff Kraft smiled grimly. "I see." He gave them a long look. "I think you boys watch too many movies and TV shows about southern sheriffs."
He took a sip of coffee and looked up at the smoke. "Well, being a lawman was what I always wanted to be. The sheriff's face grew serious. "I know you probably think I'm against you two meddling with this Ultimo Camp thing," he said.
"Maybe you even think I've got you labeled as troublemakers." He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the gutter and then looked from Frank to Joe.
"I'm here to tell you there's nothing further from the truth."
Joe glanced at Frank.
"I have a plan in mind," Joe said hesitantly, and climbed out of the car. Frank joined him.
"Well, now's not the time to keep it to yourself, Joe," said the sheriff. "I think we've decided we're on the same side. You know, I don't like having an armed camp right in the middle of my jurisdiction." He stared down at Joe.
"I want to
"He won't," Joe said in a somber voice.
Joe pointed. Frank looked through the smoke. Debris from the collapsed roof littered the floor in a huge pile. A human hand was thrust up through the wreckage. The fingers did not move. The grenade's metal pin was still wrapped around the man's forefinger.
"The authorities will be here pretty quick," Joe said, stumbling away. "We'd better put in a call to Sheriff Kraft. We may need him to verify who we are."
They found their way out into the night as the first sirens sounded.
The fire was an orange-and-gold inferno seen through a billowing haze. The firefighters' sooty faces looked grotesque in the light from the burning building. Shafts of water raised great arcs of gray smoke.
Frank and Joe were sitting alone in Sheriff Kraft's squad car. The store owner had arrived ten minutes before and kept repeating, "Grenades, grenades; we don't stock grenades," to anyone who would stop to listen.
Sheriff Kraft approached his car wearily. His hat was tilted back on his head, and he had bags under his eyes. He didn't speak at first but leaned in and picked up a thermos and some cardboard cups.
"If you're anything like me, you could stand a cup of coffee," he said, sounding exhausted. Joe nodded numbly.
"Most people don't almost get themselves killed twice in one day." Sheriff Kraft poured some coffee into one of the cups and handed it to Joe.
Joe blew softly on the steaming coffee. "I see they brought the body out."
Sheriff Kraft handed Frank a cup. "I know it makes you feel bad, son. But it wasn't your fault. That man was playing with death, carrying that grenade. You couldn't have known it would blow up the stored ammunition in the hunting sales area."
"Is that what it did?" Joe asked.
Sheriff Kraft sipped his own coffee. "You didn't know?"
"We couldn't see much after it went off," Frank said. "Joe stumbled on the body."
"Well, there's no identification on the man. Bus driver doesn't know who he was. In fact, he's still up the hill, trying to get that blamed horn unstuck. Sounds like a banshee!" Sheriff Kraft brushed a hand through his thinning hair.
He sipped his coffee, careful not to get any on his short mustache or beard. The steam from the cup fogged his glasses.
"We've got two deputies patrolling the area, looking for the black van. Couple of folks saw it, but they said it took off when the store exploded. Looks like the whole town came out to see what happened."
Joe stared moodily into his cup of coffee. "Well, it's obvious that Brand set up that surveillance on us."
Sheriff Kraft wiped the edge of his sleeve across his glasses to clear them. "Mind telling me how you came to that conclusion?"
"Who else have we asked about Biff?" Joe argued. "I think Brand realized we weren't going to give up the search, so he had us bugged to learn what our plans were. And when he heard us discussing going to the bus station, he had his Biff impersonator head out there fast." Joe stopped suddenly. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."
Sheriff Kraft smiled grimly. "I see." He gave them a long look. "I think you boys watch too many movies and TV shows about southern sheriffs."
He took a sip of coffee and looked up at the smoke. "Well, being a lawman was what I always wanted to be. The sheriff's face grew serious. "I know you probably think I'm against you two meddling with this Ultimo Camp thing," he said.
"Maybe you even think I've got you labeled as troublemakers." He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the gutter and then looked from Frank to Joe.
"I'm here to tell you there's nothing further from the truth."
Joe glanced at Frank.
"I have a plan in mind," Joe said hesitantly, and climbed out of the car. Frank joined him.
"Well, now's not the time to keep it to yourself, Joe," said the sheriff. "I think we've decided we're on the same side. You know, I don't like having an armed camp right in the middle of my jurisdiction." He stared down at Joe.
"I want to
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