When she was a girl, her father had visited Tackett from time to time, mostly to talk local politics. Boring talk, but Tina had been thrilled just to have her father take her along, and to have the sheriff 's office to explore. There was an antique globe in one corner, not far from the a table upon which the sheriff almost always had a vase of fresh flowers. Tackett's penchant for flowers had seemed odd to her, even as a child. She wondered if he kept them around because he enjoyed the scent, or if he felt it took some of the edge away from his status and demeanor. For Sheriff Tackett's demeanor had always had an edge. This morning that edge seemed to have been worn away. "Tina, we'll get to the bottom of this. I promise we will," Sheriff Tackett told her. His eyes were crystal blue sky, not a trace of tears, but the way his lips were pinched together beneath his thick mustache revealed the emotion roiling in him. The rage and the grief. Or, at least, that was the way Tina interpreted his expression.
