Cheryl was a great gal.Smart, steady, funny in a dry way that could take the sting out of a bad shift.Knowing that didn’t make it simple.Work had to remain work.In a county this small, a sheriff dating his dispatcher would become breakfast talk before the first kiss had cooled.
Besides, since Selena, his ex-wife, had come back to town to help with a case and then left again, Connor had found himself less interested in new romance than in old damage.Poring over the memories.Wondering what went wrong, and whether he could have ever made it right again.
He knew those thoughts didn’t help anyone.But by God, he couldn’t help but have them.
His phone rang, disturbing his thoughts.
Connor looked at the ID and then clicked the hands-free button."Hey."
“Connor, my man,” Victor said, sounding as gregarious as always.“There’s a vicious rumor you’re off work today.Fancy a round of golf?”
“That would have been nice, Vic,” he said with a sigh.“But something’s come up with work.”
Victor laughed.“Has Selma Brown’s cat gotten into Roy’s chicken coop again?”
“If only it were that simple, Vic,” Connor said.
“Oh… Jeez, Connor.I can tell it’s somethin’ bad.I don’t think I care to know what.”
Connor squinted as the sun streaked through the windshield.“It’ll be all around town in an hour, no matter how much I try to keep a lid on it.You know what it’s like around here.”
"Ain't that the truth?"
The lodge appeared ahead through the trees, low and tired-looking against the slope.Weathered siding.A porch with bowed boards.A roof patched in two places with mismatched shingles.The sight of it filled him with dread.The thought of what was inside was worse.
“Vic, I gotta go.”
“No worries, buddy.I’ll catch up with you soon.”
“And…” there was silence for a moment.“Whatever this is… Don’t let it get you down.Things always look worse than they really are.”
“Sure thing.Speak to you soon, Vic.”
Connor ended the call as he neared the lodge.
A county cruiser sat near the porch.Behind it, a dark pickup truck was parked at an angle, tailgate toward the trees.The cruiser was Arnold’s.The sight of the truck washed over him with sadness.That one was Warren Holt’s.A friend.An old card buddy.
Connor pulled in beside Arnold’s cruiser and killed the engine.
Deputy Arnold Shaw stood near the steps with his thumbs hooked in his belt, trying to look older than twenty-eight.The attempt never quite worked.Blond hair stuck out from beneath his hat, and faint acne marked his jaw under a patchy attempt at stubble.
Arnold turned as Connor got out.
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
“Not so far.”Connor shut the SUV door and nodded toward the lodge.“Is it true?”
Arnold looked back at the building before answering.“Yeah, Chief...Sorry.Matt Price is inside doing his assessment.Body’s Warren Holt.”
Connor stopped walking for half a beat.
“You guys used to play cards, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.Still do.”
Warren Holt had been loud at card tables, mean to cheap beer, generous after two drinks, and impossible to shut up once he started talking about land taxes.Connor had known him for twenty years.They weren’t exactly best friends, but in Harlan County, proximity had a way of becoming its own kind of closeness.Warren was just always there.And now he was gone.
“Who found him?”Connor asked.
