Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold Read Online Free Page A

she keep giving me the stink eye?”
    Callie was opening the passenger door when she finally spoke. “The Sister can … look into people.”
    I slid behind the wheel, digesting that. “She sees something in me she doesn’t like. Doesn’t that concern you? Because it’s freaking me the hell out.”
    “Language, Sam,” Callie said sharply.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Heck. It’s freaking me the heck out.”
    Callie spoke slowly, as if to a child. “You’re a good man, Sam Harlan. You’ll get through these changes. Jack survived them. You will, too.”
    I stuck the key in the ignition and fired up the Chevy. “Do I have to remind you what happened to Jack?”
    Before Callie could speak, I threw the truck into reverse, backed out of the parking space, and headed for I-74.
    We had crossed the Illinois River and were headed up a hill when I heard Callie finally murmur, “I haven’t forgotten.”
    I didn’t have a comeback, so I focused on brooding while I drove. We headed east to Bloomington, then south to Decatur. Small town after small town whizzed by, little Podunk out-of-the-way places that were little more than a gas station, a small school, a few houses, and a fast-food joint if they were lucky.
    We roared through the darkness. The empty fields outside were an endless sea of grayish black with no evidence of the snow we had left in Iowa. I took the I-72 exit on the north side of Decatur, and we were almost past the edge of the city when I said, “Do you want to see where Katie died?”
    Callie had been staring into the darkness, but she turned and frowned. “What did you say?”
    “Warren’s house is just a few miles south of here,” I said, “along the lake. That’s where Pearl killed her.”
    Callie shuddered and turned to stare out the window at an oil rig slowly pumping away in the middle of a nearby cornfield. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t want to see where Katie died. No more than you want to go back to Arcanum.”
    I sighed. She was right.
    What’s done is done.
    We reached Monticello, a small community halfway between the cities of Decatur and Champaign, around seven. I took the first exit, drove over the Sangamon Creek and past the sewage treatment plant, and stopped at a four-way light next to the Super Pantry gas station.
    “Father Jameson is meeting us at Hardee’s,” Callie said, pointing at the garish building to our right.
    The light turned, and I made the right and then a sharp left into the parking lot and parked near the back, well away from the few cars in the lot. “Is Jameson inside?” I asked.
    “Yes,” Callie said. “He said there’s nowhere to get coffee in Bement.”
    “Every town should have a good coffee joint,” I grumbled, then pointed to the restaurant. “When this becomes your best coffee bet, it spells doom.”
    Callie offered a rare smile, and it warmed me to my toes. I immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Callie as a person, but I still had mixed feelings about her sister.
    Sometimes when we were preparing to go to sleep for the night, me with my Kimber in Jack’s old room and Callie with her Bible in the spare bedroom she had claimed as her own, I could almost imagine she was Katie.
    Then I would blame myself for letting her sister die at the hands of Pearl Mills. And, after that, I would feel even worse as I remembered how I had loved my wife, Stacie, and how my feelings for Katie had risen before Stacie was even dead.
    Completely dead, anyway.
    I shivered, even though the cold air no longer bothered me.
    * * *
    Father Jameson sat with another priest at a corner booth. They were the only customers in the place. Normally I have found the greasy smell repellent, but it made my stomach growl with a hunger that went all the way to my core. I motioned for Callie to join them as I made my way to the counter and placed my order.
    I paid the plump woman in the red shirt and took my bags and my large coffee and headed to join them.