“Excuse me,” he called in his deep voice. “Is anyone here driving a red SUV with Oklahoma plates?”
A young man in jeans and chambray shirt raised his hand. “Yes. I am,” he called. “Anything wrong, Officer?”
Kilraven walked to his table, spotted Winnie and Keely and nodded politely before he stood over the man. “Did you pick up a deer from the side of the road, sir?” he asked.
The young man laughed. “Yes, I did. It was just killed by a car, I think, because it was still warm and limp when I picked it up.” The smile faded. “I was only going to take it home and cut it up for my freezer. Did I do something wrong?”
Kilraven cleared his throat. “You might want to call your insurance agent.”
The young man looked blank. “Why?”
“The deer wasn’t dead.”
“Wasn’t…dead?” He nodded.
“And it left the vehicle rather suddenly, through your windshield.”
The young man was still nodding. “Through the windshield?” He stiffened. “Through my windshield? In my brand-new truck? Aaahhh!”
He jumped up, overbalancing his chair so that it fell. He almost trampled a couple getting out the door. His scream of dismay could be heard even with the door closed.
Kilraven shook his head as he paused beside Winnie. “The deer was just stunned,” he said with faint amusement in his silver eyes. “We had a man make that same mistake about six months ago during hunting season. But fortunately for him, the deer came to before he could lift it into his truck.”
Outside the café, the screams were getting louder.
Kilraven glanced outside and chuckled. “He’ll want a report for his insurance agency. I’d better go write him up.”
“Have they found Macreedy yet?” Winnie asked with a drawl and a grin.
Kilraven groaned. “He surfaced over in Bexar County about five yesterday afternoon trailing forty cars in a funeral procession. They were supposed to be headed for a cemetery in Comanche Wells, where they were due at three o’clock,” he added, because Keely was looking puzzled. “He did finally get them to the right church…after several cars stopped to get gas.”
“That’s twice this month. They should never let Macreedy lead a funeral procession,” Winnie pointed out.
Kilraven chuckled. “I told Hayes Carson the same thing, but he says Macreedy will never learn self-confidence if he pulls him off public service details now.”
“Doesn’t he have a map?” Keely wanted to know.
“If he does, he can’t ever find it,” Kilraven said with a sigh. “He led the last funeral procession down into a bog near the river and the hearse got stuck.” He laughed. “It’s funny now, but nobody was laughing at the time. They had to get tow trucks to haul everybody out.”
“Hayes should cut his losses and put Macreedy on administrative duties,” Winnie said.
“Big mistake. Hayes put him in charge of the jail month before last and he let a prisoner out to use the bathroom and forgot to lock him up again. The prisoner robbed a bank while he was temporarily liberated.” He shook his head. “I don’t think Macreedy’s cut out for a career in law enforcement.”
“Yes, but his father does,” Winnie reminded him.
“His father was a career state trooper,” Kilraven told Keely. “He insisted that his son was to follow in his footsteps.”
“Hayes Carson is our sheriff,” Keely said, confused. “Macreedy’s a sheriff’s deputy.”
“Yes, well, Macreedy started out working as a state trooper,” Winnie began.
Kilraven was chuckling again. “And then he pulled over an undercover drug unit in their van just as they were speeding up to stop a huge shipment of cocaine. They’d been working the case for weeks. The drug dealers got away while Macreedy was citing the drug agents for a burned-out taillight. Macreedy’s dad did manage to save him from the guys in the drug unit, but he was invited to practice his craft somewhere else.”
“So Hayes Carson got him,” Winnie continued. “Hayes is his second cousin.”
“Sheriff Carson could have said no,” Keely replied.
“You don’t say no to Macreedy’s father,” Kilraven retorted.
