Jed parked in front of the stone two-story building, the small city hall that the sheriff’s office was in. He strode up the concrete steps two at a time and then went down the old tiled hallway to the double glass doors that read “Sheriff.” He pushed them open and stopped at the front counter. A deputy with dark-rimmed glasses was behind the sterile brown counter. He glanced up at Jed.
“Is the sheriff in?”
The guy looked over his shoulder. “Can I tell him your name?”
Jed leaned his elbow on the counter. “Yeah. Jed Friessen.”
The deputy picked up the phone and said, “There’s a Jed Friessen here to see you, sir.” He nodded and hung up the phone. “Go on back.” He buzzed the gate. Jed pushed through, and the deputy pointed to an office at the back.
Jed knocked on the open door. “Sheriff?”
