In the Ground (David Wolf Book 14)

into her phone, looking in the opposite direction.
As Cain accelerated south on Highway 734, Scott Reed, Patterson’s husband, rolled into the parking lot from the opposite direction. Their five-year old son, Tommy spilled out of the back seat.
"What happened to Mommy?" he asked.
"Aw, she'll be okay,” Wolf said. “She just messed up her ankle.”
“Messed up? What does that mean?” Wolf couldn’t help but smile. The kid was his mother’s son.
"I'm not sure. That’s what the doctors are figuring out right now.”
Tommy nodded, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.
Scott scooped Lucas, the two-year old, out of the car seat in back while Tommy stepped in front of Wolf. “Does that mean…is she going to…have a different, other cast, but on her foot now?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to see.”
Another SBCSD cruiser drove into the parking lot and parked next to Scott. Deputy Hanson stepped out.
Scott gathered a shoulder bag out of the hatchback, turned and shook hands with Wolf. "How's she doing?" Scott looked dead tired. “Hey, Hanson.”
Hanson stepped up. “Hey there. Hey kids. How’s Patty doing?”
"She's doing okay,” Wolf said. “Not sure if it’s a break or a sprain. They’re taking X-rays right now."
"Well, I guess it could be worse,” Scott said. “Like that guy you found up at the mine."
Wolf nodded.
“What guy at the mine?” Tommy asked. “You found a guy up at the mine?”
“No,” Scott said, rubbing Tommy’s head. “I said a guy found gold up at the mine.”
Tommy shot him an angry look. “But you said it could be worse.”
“Let’s go see Mommy. Come on.”
“I have to head back to the office,” Wolf said. “You guys go give your mom a hug.”
Feeling mildly guilty for leaving, he extricated himself after saying goodbye and climbed into his SUV.
Heading north on highway 734, the lingering clouds overhead turned orange, slowly fading with every mile. With the fragrant air flowing through the vents and sparkling landscape outside, he felt more alive than he had in months.
He tried to remember the last time he'd spent so much time outside. It was like old times, back when he was a deputy, patrolling the far reaches of Sluice County.
In those days he used to daydream about what it would be like to be sheriff as the miles turned over on the odometer. His father had been sheriff before him, but in a simpler, smaller time. Now the department covered double the square miles, with ten times the number of deputies.
Once back in high school he’d done so well on a physics test that his teacher, Mr. Hogan, had recommended he pursue higher mathematics as well. Mr. Hogan had pulled some strings and landed Wolf a spot in an AP Calculus class. At the time Wolf had been thinking that would look good on college applications so he’d gone along with it.
After a semester of working his mind numb, Wolf had just managed to get a passing grade in the class, but he’d rarely ever felt on the same page as any of the other kids. He’d always been playing catch up with all the problem sets and homework. And during class? He’d always been that silent student in the corner of the room wondering just what the hell was going on, resolving to figure it out for himself later. Which he would then sometimes do, sometimes not, but always at the expense of having a social life or doing something else more enjoyable.
That’s how being sheriff this time around was beginning to feel. He was working his fingers to the bone, or, more accurately, his backside through the cushion of his office chair, trying to keep this huge machine called the Sluice-Byron County Sheriff’s Department running smoothly. And apparently paperwork was the grease for this machine. Mounds of it. They were more problem sets. More homework.
And here he was hauling ass back to the office because he’d missed something, playing catch up again. He could only be thankful this time around was almost over. Did he get a passing grade? Frankly, as long as he was back behind the desk as Chief Detective come the end of it all, which, according to MacLean was exactly what was going to happen, he didn’t care.
He cracked the window, letting the cool breeze blow away his negative thoughts.
The echo of Patterson’s two kids’ voices still bouncing in his head, his thoughts shifted to his own son Jack and daughter-in-law Cassidy. And to little Ryan. Although Wolf was barely in his fifties now, becoming a grandfather to Ryan was a role he settled more easily than he could have imagined possible.
Wolf longed to see Ryan again, with his joyous smile and waddling walk. They were only a few dozen miles away, but there was a mountain range between them that took an hour and a half to drive up and around. It had been weeks since he’d last seen them.
He picked up his phone and dialed Jack’s number.
The digital ringtone purred through the speakers of his cruiser.
“Hey Grumpa,” Cassidy answered, using Ryan’s name for Wolf.
"How are you?" Wolf asked.
"Great.” There was clinking and noises of the kitchen in the background. "Just cooking up some dinner. How about you? Sounds like you’re driving.”
“Oh you know, keeping busy.”
“How are your final weeks going as sheriff? Are you going to miss it?”
“It’s going well. And I’m not sure I’ll miss it that much.”
“Really? Wow, Jack never told me that. I’m glad it’s almost over for you, then.”
Wolf listened to the sound of her cooking. Now in their early twenties, Jack and Cassidy were following in the footsteps of Wolf and his deceased ex-wife, Sarah, having a crack at married life and raising a kid at an early age. They were doing a better job than he’d done.
“Hey, speaking of not missing things that much,” Cassidy said, “I was down in Aspen yesterday and went past Lauren’s art gallery and saw it was closed up."
Even with all the therapeutic sessions with Dr. Hawkwood over the last two years, Wolf still felt a