He grinned and said, “I try not to think about the years you and I weren’t part of each other’s lives.”
“Good one,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I thought so.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh.
“Did you like it?”
“Like what?”
I groaned. “Playing dominoes,” I said sarcastically. “What do you think I’m talking about? Did you like boxing?”
I could tell by the look on his face he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying himself immensely.
“What’s not to like? Your body is in top physical shape, and you get to punch people. I can’t do that anymore.”
“That’s the life of a respected elected official.”
“Yeah, it sucks.”
“Though I will say your body is still in peak physical shape.”
“I appreciate the support.”
“Maybe your mom has pictures of you boxing,” I said. “I’ll ask her.”
“That’s low and dirty,” Jack said.
“All’s fair when you’re keeping secrets. I’ll get the details somehow. Some way. You’ve trained me well.”
“I’ve created a monster.”
“I don’t think that’s what you were saying when you were asking for five more minutes this morning.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I forgive you. You can do no wrong.” He winked and said, “That’s Danny.”
Jack pulled into a paved parking lot filled with white trucks with the King Construction logo on the side.
Danny King was waiting on the steps of the double-wide trailer that served as King Construction’s field office, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand. He was a big man—six four at least, with shoulders that strained the seams of his work shirt and the weathered, sun-darkened face that came from spending a lifetime outdoors. His hair had gone mostly gray, cropped short and practical, and his hands—when he lifted one to shield his eyes from the sun—were scarred and calloused, the hands of someone who’d started swinging a hammer before he was old enough to vote and never stopped.
“Jack Lawson,” he said as we climbed out, and a warm smile spread across his face. “It’s been a while. How are your folks doing? I keep meaning to call your dad about that barn renovation he mentioned last time I saw him at the hardware store.”
“They’re good. Dad’s staying busy—you know how he is. Can’t sit still.” Jack shook the hand Danny offered, and I could see the easy familiarity between them—not close friends, but men who’d known each other most of their lives like people did in small counties where the same families had been neighbors for generations. “Danny, this is my wife, J.J. She’s the county coroner.”
Danny’s smile faltered. His eyes moved from Jack’s badge to my face, and I watched him do the math. Sheriff and coroner, showing up together in the middle of a workday. That equation only had one answer.
“Ma’am,” he said, shaking my hand. His grip was firm but careful. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
“That’s always a relief.”
Danny studied Jack’s face for a long moment, reading whatever he found there. The warmth in his expression faded into something more guarded. More braced.
“I’m guessing this isn’t about barn renovations,” he said.
“No,” Jack said. “It’s not. Can we talk inside?”
“Come on in,” he said. “I’ve got about twenty minutes before I need to be at the Riverside site, but I’m guessing this is more important.”
The trailer’s interior was organized chaos—blueprints stacked on every flat surface, coffee cups in various stages of abandonment, a calendar on the wall so covered in scribbled notes and circled dates it looked like a work of abstract art. Photos lined the walls too—job sites in various stages of completion, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, a younger Danny shaking hands with men in suits. The air smelled like coffee and paper and the faint ghost of cigarette smoke, though I didn’t see any ashtrays. Old habit, maybe. Something he’d given up but couldn’t quite escape.
