Highway 24 Read Online Free Page B

a white T-shirt filled the gap left by his unbuttoned collar. “You’re already here. So we might as well talk.”
    The receptionist raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
    “Come in and have a seat.” The sheriff’s tone implied a command from someone unaccustomed to disobedience.
    Paul followed him into the office and sat in one of two metal chairs. The sheriff sat in a padded, black leather chair behind a solid wood desk stained a reddish brown that emboldened the grain’s jagged black lines. Gouges and rounded edges belied the desk’s ancient heritage. The clutter free desktop allowed Paul to admire the beauty of the piece. Behind the sheriff loomed a gray steel door. A gun belt and wide-brimmed hat hung from pegs on the wall.
    “This desk belonged to my grandfather,” said the sheriff.
    Paul nodded. “You can’t find new ones like this anymore. My father used to make furniture but he never created anything this impressive.”
    The sheriff studied him, evaluating him. Paul shifted in his seat, wondering what the sheriff already knew. “Last night…” Paul began.
    “What were you doing out on twenty-four?”
    The opening move carried the ring of an accusation. “That’s…” Paul stopped to clear his throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “I think I saw an accident. Were you out there investigating it?” Paul’s heart thumped. He licked his lips to alleviate his sudden cottonmouth.
    “I’m not at liberty to discuss official business. And if it wasn’t official, it would still be my business.”
    Paul kept his voice steady. “Then how do I know if you know about the accident?”
    “I’ll ask the questions.” The sheriff took a notepad and a click pen out of his top desk drawer. He clicked the pen multiple times in rapid succession. “What did you see?”
    “A girl on the road. She had been hit.”
    “What was she wearing?”
    “A pink dress, some sort of formal thing.”
    The sheriff wrote none of this on the notepad. He stared blankly beyond Paul’s shoulder at some distant point in the temporal landscape. His eyes clouded with gloom, losing their fiery aggression. The sheriff’s sudden bout of melancholia left Paul disconcerted and unprepared. He fidgeted in the metal chair.
    “Why didn’t you stop?” asked the sheriff.
    “I don’t know. I guess I was going too fast and...” Paul stopped himself from sinking further into a confessional quagmire. Sweat dampened his forehead. Heat flushed his cheeks.
    The sheriff emerged from his reverie. “You were going too fast to see a body sprawled on the pavement in front of you? She was hurt, ya know.”
    “I came back.”
    The sheriff snorted, leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since Paul met him, smiled. “It doesn’t matter. That girl is already dead.”
    “So, you were investigating it.”
    “Not really. Everyone knows about her. It happened seventeen years ago. Some bastard knocked the life out of her. A hit-and-run. People see her now and then, running or sprawled across the road, always at that same spot. Sometimes I head out there late at night.” He paused, and then continued with obvious remorse. “But I’ve never seen her.”
    “So, you’re saying lots of people have seen her.”
    The sheriff nodded. “That’s what I said.”
    Paul’s body sagged with relief. He wasn’t insane after all. “Is she a ghost?”
    “What else would she be?”
    Paul shrugged. “What was her name?”
    “Amanda Mills. Big news. At least it was then.” The volume of his voice trailed off as he rambled on. “No one talks much about it anymore, unless someone’s seen her. And then it’s only some morbid curiosity. No one’s looking for the bastard anymore. They’ve all given up the search. Say it doesn’t matter anymore. Except me.” His gaze drifted over Paul’s head.
    Paul stood and thanked him. On his way out the door, he glanced back. The sheriff’s eyes had glassed over. His