Whisker Of Evil

33

Blood was lightly splattered over the windshield of the white Jeep.

When Deputy Cooper arrived, the motor was still running.

Jerome Stoltfus slumped to the side of the steering wheel. He had been shot in the back of the head, the bullet exiting through his forehead and out the front windshield.

Cynthia double-checked her watch. Ten twenty-one P.M., Wednesday night, June 23. She pulled on thin latex gloves and felt for a pulse in Jerome’s neck. None, which she expected. The body was cool but not yet cold.

She peeled off the gloves, walked over to Little Mim. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Little Mim’s face was bone white.

“Excuse me while I call Rick. Then I’ll ask you a few questions and you can go home.”

“Coop, you do whatever you have to do,” Little Mim, who was shocked but in control, replied.

Cooper punched in to the dispatcher. “Get me the sheriff. Wake him up if he’s asleep.”

Within minutes she heard the familiar voice. “Better be good.”

“Jerome Stoltfus. Shot through the back of the head. Yellow Mountain Road, about two miles from the entrance to Rose Hill.”

“Be right there.”

Cooper returned to Little Mim. “Did you see any other cars?”

“No. Nothing. I was coming back from Aunt Tally’s and I noticed the Jeep pulled off the road. I slowed because I knew it was Animal Control, and I wondered if Jerome was picking up an injured animal since I couldn’t see him. So I pulled up behind and walked to the embankment, but I still didn’t see him. That’s when I looked in the car. And that’s when I called the sheriff’s department. I knew he was dead the second I saw him.”

“It’s a shock to see someone like that.” Cooper was genuinely sympathetic.

“Yes, it is,” Little Mim answered slowly, “but what went through my head was, ‘Who got him first?’ I mean, everyone was furious with him.”