Lucky Day Read Online Free Page B

know. I’m okay. Really.”
    “She was a hell of a woman.”
    “Don’t I know it.”
    He couldn’t just sit at his desk and stare at the telephone, so when he was done with Tommy, he stood, stretched—something new popped in his back—and returned to the outer office. Murmurs and chuckles drifted into the hallway, and when he rounded the corner, he spied Hanson leaning back in his chair, head thrown back, and Billy Dent perched one-hipped on Hanson’s desk, gesturing wildly.
    “I interruptin’ something?” G. William asked.
    Hanson immediately bolted upright in his chair; Billy cleared his throat and stood, still relaxed. “Sorry, Sheriff. My fault.” He spoke before Hanson could even form words. “Came by to drop off the donations for the PBA and got to chatting with Darrell.”
    “Sheriff,” Hanson blurted out, “we—”
    G. William waved it off. There was nothing to do, after all, while they waited for the lab reports on Samantha Reed. And Billy Dent was hardly cause for alarm. A good ol’ boy in multiple senses of the word, Billy was one of those rednecks who had just enough sense and civilization in them to come across as charming, not outdated. Among other things, he ran the semiannual charity drive for the Policemen’s Benevolent Association…and still managed to raise a teenager as a single dad. Few were the places in Lobo’s Nod where you might not stumble across Billy Dent joshing with someone good-naturedly.
    “Not a problem,” G. William said. “Just wondering what all the ruckus is.”
    “Just telling Darrell about the last out of the season,” Billy said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his own memory of it. “I swear to God, G. William, this kid gets down on one knee for a grounder, just like you’re supposed to, and the ball—I swear, I am not making this up—the ball rolls up his glove and rolls right up under his sleeve, into his shirt! And then…”
    Billy regaled them with the tale of the Grounder Gone Wrong, pantomiming the poor infielder’s reaction, acting out the disbelief of the base runner with the skill of a practiced comedian. Despite himself, G. William chuckled, but when the story was over, he retreated to his office again. A nice break, but he wasn’t in the mood for jocularity. Rationally, he knew that blowing off a little steam was a good thing for contents under pressure. But in his heart…
    In his heart, he liked keeping the contents under pressure. Kept him honest.
    Billy rapped at the doorframe a few moments later, just as G. William had managed to absorb himself in a flyer about some stolen cars from the state police. “Can I help you, Billy?”
    “Was sort of thinking maybe the other way around.” Billy held up a paper towel with a cruller centered on it. “I didn’t just bring in the donations.”
    “Not enough you raise money, now you have to raise my cholesterol, too?” He’d meant it to come out as a grumble, but crullers were his weakness. He beckoned Billy into the office.
    Billy set the cruller down on the desk and—after a moment’s hesitation—slid into a chair opposite. He glanced at the corkboard and then, very quietly, asked, “You doin’ all right, G. William?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “I don’t believe you,” Billy said with the wisdom of a man raising a teenager.
    “I’ll survive.” He was aiming for snappy and breezy, but the words clogged halfway up his throat and he croaked them instead. Even he didn’t believe himself.
    Billy was too polite to comment. As G. William took the first bite of the cruller, Billy slapped his knees with both palms and stood. “You’ll forgive me for indulging my, well, my paternal side, right? Can’t seem to help worrying about everyone these days.” He turned to go, pausing at the corkboard, where photos from the Samantha Reed crime scene had joined the Swinton evidence. Linked here, at least. His cool blue eyes took in the photos, the reports. “A goddamn shame,” he