The Dead Don't Dance Read Online Free Page A

pain.
    â€œD.S.?” Amos brought his face closer to mine. “Have you been here since you left the hospital?” He was still out of focus.
    â€œI don’t know. When did I leave the hospital?”
    â€œTuesday,” he said, shading my face with his hat.
    I swatted at it because it looked like a buzzard. “What day is today?” I asked, still swatting.
    â€œThursday.” Amos crinkled his nose and waved his hand. “And it’s a good thing it rained, too.” Waving the air with his hat, Amos said, “D.S., you stink bad. Whatchoo been doing out here?”
    I reached for the tractor, pulled at the tire rod, which my grandfather had bent twenty-one years ago pulling stumps, and tried to pull myself up. I could not. I thought for a minute, but I couldn’t remember. “Thursday?”
    I pulled my knees up and scratched my neck and the four itchy bumps on my ankles under my jeans.
    Amos looked doubtful.
    I guessed again, “Tuesday?” The rush of blood to my head caused my head to bob, rock, and crash into the cornstalk that was growing up out of an anthill.
    Amos caught my head. “Here, you better sit still. I think you been sitting in the sun a little too long. How long you been out here?”
    Ordinarily Amos’s English is pretty good. He only drops into the South Carolina farm-boy dialect when talking with me. After twenty-five years of friendship, we had developed our own language. People say marriage works the same way. “I need to get to the hospital,” I muttered.
    â€œHold on a minute, Mr. Cornfield. She’s not going anywhere.” Amos tapped the plastic cover on the tractor’s fuel gauge. “And neither is this old tractor. We got to get you cleaned up. If it weren’t for Blue, I’d still be driving around looking for you.”
    Blue is a blue heeler and the most intelligent dog I’ve ever known. He’s seven years old and is better known as the “outdoor dog” that sleeps at the foot of our bed.
    I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. No improvement. Amos was about to brush my shirt off with his hand, but he took a second look and thought better of it.
    â€œMy truck’s low on gas. Where’s your car?” I said. “Can you take me there?”
    Seeing me return to life, Blue hopped off the tractor, licked my face, and then sat between my legs and rested his head on my thigh.
    â€œYes, I can,” Amos said, articulating every letter. “But no, I will not. I’m taking you to work.”
    Amos wasn’t making a lot of sense.
    â€œWork?” I looked around. “Amos, I was working until . . . well, until you showed up.” I shoved Blue out of the way. When he gets excited, he drools a good bit. “Go on, Blue. Quit it.”
    Blue ignored me. Instead he rolled over like a dead bug, turned his head to one side, hung out his tongue, and propped his paws in the air.
    â€œD.S.” Amos ran his fingers around inside his deputy’s belt. “Don’t start with me. I ain’t in the mood.” He put his hat back on, hefted his holster a bit. Then he raised his voice. “I’ve been looking for you all morning in every corner of every pasture. All thirty-five hundred acres.” Amos waved his hands as if he were on stage or telling a fish story. He could get animated when he wanted to. “Then a few minutes ago, I’m driving past this field, and I see this rusty old thing your grandfather called a tractor sitting driverless and parked out here at the intersection of Nowhere and No Place Else. Except one thing sticks out and grabs my attention.”
    Amos reached over and began scratching Blue between the ears. “Ol’ Blue here is sitting at attention on top of your tractor like he’s trying to be seen. So I turn the car around and think to myself, That’d be just like that old fool to go through one week of hell and then walk out of