Sheriff Riverdale Novels & Stories

She hasn't seen Draco all day but it’s not like she sees him everyday too. She stands at the cafeteria counter, “I would like the—” She is interrupted by a tap on her shoulder, noticing the hush that suddenly falls upon the normally loud cafeteria. Raven quickly realises why when she turns around to be met with two police officers, one of them pulling out his badge, “I am officer Tanner and this is my partner, officer Sloan. We have some questions for you concerning the disappearance of Scott Rivera. ”

asked Brick curious. "Dale Fisher," replied Sheriff Tillman. Brick seemed to know the man due to the expression on his face. Dale Fisher was the sheriff of the second to the last town they had ridden through after bringing in a collar at another Sheriff's behest. "I'm listening," replied Brick as he turned his attention to the case file. "Former local thug's name is Darren Hiller," said Sheriff Tillman. "Son of a bitch is wanted for attempted robbery and the near-fatal beating of his battered wife Michelle while she was pregnant with his now dead third child."

So, he may learn to blend someday. "What bad news do you have to wake me up with, Chief Dylan?" I asked ruthlessly. First, he squeezed his face and then spoke. Did I mean to say he was a bad news? Maybe. After all, my life itself was bad news. "Damien, the sheriff of this pack was killed by a truck driver few minutes ago. News had it that the truck driver escaped and was nowhere to be found. His name was Mr. Rivers." He said exuding the very core of his profession.

Swampville City was the largest and most scenic tourism city in Riverdale Province. “Swampville City!” When he heard that Winifred would be tagging along with Snow and the photography team for a photoshoot there, Tyr narrowed his eyes. He suddenly recalled something.

And the supernatural world does our best to keep them safe, but the danger still lurks. By the time I make it to the clinic, the air has already heated to unprecedented levels. The receptionist, a woman with chipmunk cheeks and a permanent sunburn from her time swimming at the old quarry, named Darla June flags me down as I walk in the door. “There’s trouble down the old closed highway,” she whispers, not quite meeting my eyes. The chipmunk shifter in her can sense a bigger predator, and it tends to make our conversations short before she skitters away. “Sheriff’s up there with the McClellan boys. Car went off the ravine, and it doesn’t look good.”