Sheriff Jim Daniels had spent twenty-five years in law enforcement, and in all that time the worst crisis he’d ever handled was a drunk cow that wandered onto Main Street and held up traffic for three hours while deputies tried to coax it back to Miller’s farm with a bucket of sweet feed. Silver Flats wasn’t crime-ridden. It was quiet. People wanted peace, pie, and maybe a winning lottery ticket once in a while. That was the bargain: live slow, die old, don’t make waves.
