Lucky Day Read Online Free Page A

Just three letters and three punctuation marks (overkill that, he thought) poised above two yearbook-quality photographs of smiling, fresh-faced girls. He had nothing to prove it but statistics and gut, but he was sure Cara was as dead as Samantha. Dead Girl One and Dead Girl Two, he thought of them now; they had probably never looked better in their lives, and would certainly never look anywhere near as good in death.
    Byline by Doug Weathers, of course.
    For the second time in as many weeks, the town of Lobo’s Nod—
    “Let me guess, Doug,” G. William said aloud, covering the rest of the story with a fleshy hand. “The town of Lobo’s Nod has been rocked by a senseless crime.”
    He peeked under the hand.
    —has been stunned by a senseless crime.
    Close enough. He ambled into the outer office for a cup of coffee. Early in the morning—shift change—the place was busy, but it fell silent when he emerged. Par for the course. A cop shop under stress has a thousand eyes, ten times as many ears, and no mouths. No one wanted to be noticed. No one wanted to be the object of G. William’s wrath.
    That’s assuming you’ve got any wrath, honey, Joyce said. Are you going to bite someone’s head off this morning?
    No. Not this morning. He filled his cup and retreated to his office, closing the door.
    The leftover coffee from the midnight-to-eight went down like paving tar on a July afternoon. Still more pleasant than Weathers’s screed (he couldn’t think of it as a story). He read the whole thing, dutifully turning to page A7 when instructed, there to witness fulsome quotes from his electoral opponent, as well as comments from local citizens who had clearly spent too much time watching cop shows on TV and didn’t understand how real police work functioned. Weathers didn’t come right out and say that Cara Swinton was most likely dead, but he paced the perimeter of the idea long enough for people to get the gist of it. “On the question of whether the two girls could somehow be linked,” he finished, “the Lobo’s Nod sheriff’s department has offered no comment.”
    He read the story a second time and then called the editor of the paper.
    “Tommy? G. William.” He’d known Tommy Shanahan for thirteen years, back when he was a wet-behind-the-ears assistant editor right out of J-School.
    “Let me guess,” Tommy said.
    “Your boy Doug sure does understand the meaning of objectivity, doesn’t he? I half expected a bumper sticker for my opponent to fall out of the paper.”
    “Your opponent’s opinion is relevant.”
    “Really? You think if someone else was sheriff none of this would have happened?”
    Tommy hesitated. “No.”
    “Funny, ’cause that’s not what your paper says this morning.”
    “I guess if you read between the lines…”
    “These days, seems like that’s all people do. Could have at least let me get my side out there, Tommy.”
    “Doug says he tried to talk to you, but you no-commented him and had him dragged off.”
    G. William pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to three, slowly. He didn’t have the patience to get to ten. “I was at the damn crime scene, Tommy. I was staring down at a dead girl. Not the time or the place for an interview.”
    “I’m sure Doug would be happy to come right over for an exclusive.”
    “Not a chance.”
    “If you’re worried about appearing defensive—”
    “No. I just don’t like that guy, Tommy. He’s more interested in being the story, in ginning up the story, than in telling the story. We’ve had run-ins.”
    “I know. But this is his story, G. William. He’s been on it from the start, and I’m not taking him off just because you guys don’t get along.”
    G. William huffed and nodded. Being beat up in the paper wasn’t conducive to good police work, but that was the job.
    “Well, thanks for listening, Tommy.”
    “Sure. Hey, G. William?”
    “Yeah?”
    “How are you holding up? Not the murders. I mean…”
    “I