Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“The odd meth dealer.”
“Exactly. Upstanding citizens.”
Matt smirks, showing off those dimples.
“What about you? How are things?”
“Same old shit. Cameras are smashed, staff keep calling in sick … my car’s bleeding my wallet dry, in and out of the shop every other week.”
“Maybe it’s time to bench her permanently.” The last time I saw that old mint-green Honda, the back bumper was only still affixed thanks to a generous helping of duct tape.
“Hell no! She’s my little beater. Been with me through thick and thin.”
I chuckle. “Good thing you’ve got that truck.” It’s hard to miss Matt’s white Toyota Tundra around town, with its lifted suspension and oversized tires. “Getting time in at the lake?” He’s shown me pictures of his off-grid cabin built on an acre island on Lake Temagami, a little over an hour southwest of here and one of my favorite places to go in the summer.
“Not as much as I’d like.”
The sound of shoes shuffling across wood pulls my attention to my left. My face bursts with a wide, genuine smile as the white-haired man approaches, pint in hand. “Sergeant Malkovich.”
“Good afternoon, Staff Sergeant McAllister.” Stan’s cheeks are rosy. I’d wager he’s been here a few hours. “Bravo on handling Big Benny. I was worried I’d have to step in.”
Stan must be in his early seventies. That would not have ended well. “I haven’t seen you at the station in a while. Everyone misses Barb’s cookies.” Stan retired before my father died and I came over to run the detachment, but we could always count on him to show up with a platter of his wife’s baking and an itch for police gossip.
“I’ve been meaning to, but her arthritis has been acting up. Not that I don’t have my own aches and pains these days.” He shrugs, holding up his pint. “Taking my medicine.”
He wouldn’t be the first person I know to search for release from life’s challenges at the bottom of a bottle. “And the little ones? How many are there now?”
“Five grandchildren.”
I whistle.
“And they’re not little anymore. They grow up fast. But you know that. How’s Isla?”
I check my watch. “Likely sitting in a penalty box.”
“Just like her feisty mother.” He chuckles, but it falls off with a frown. “Say, I heard the Landry boy was finally comin’ home.”
And so it begins. “Got in early today, actually. How’d you hear about it?”
“Wilcox.”
Another retired officer with too much time on his hands and a lot of friends still on the force.
Stan scratches his chin. “So, what do you make of him? He gonna be a problem?”
“Doubt it, but we’ll see. Thought I’d give him a minute before I showed up there. I’ve gotta get back to station—”
“I’ll bet Annie’s pleased as punch,” Stan goes on, not taking the hint.
“Who we talkin’ about?” Matt butts in.
“The Landrys,” Stan offers. “Holt’s youngest son.”
“Holt Landry has a son?” Matt frowns. “I’ve only ever seen him with Jon.”
“Matt’s not from around here,” I remind the old officer.
Stan’s eyes light up. He’s always enjoyed telling tales from the past, even the morbid ones. “He had two sons.” He holds up his index and middle finger to emphasize his claim. “Logan’s been in prison, and Jason was shot dead, along with one of the Murphys. You’ve probably heard that name. They might as well have a reserved cell, the number of times we brought them in. Most of ’em don’t have murder in them, but Ian Murphy got in with bad folk.” Stan’s bushy white eyebrows arch in meaning.
Matt cocks his head at me. “How have I not heard this story?”
“I have no idea.” Matt works the bar almost every day. That the Landrys’ dirty laundry hasn’t been aired before him yet is surprising, to say the least. Then again, it was a long time ago.
“Jason was the oldest,” Stan goes on. “By how much, Emery?”
“Can’t recall.” Five years, but I’m not about to play fill-in-the-blank.
“I reckon four or five years, seeing as Annie lost a baby after him, and then they had Sarah and Logan.”
Leave it to Stan to remember the minute details. Dad always did say he was one of his sharpest officers, simply because he could count on him to note the color of someone’s mittens. I’m glad age and a dependence on booze haven’t robbed him of that yet.
“That boy, Jason, he was always a bit of a wild card.” Stan shakes his head in dismay. “I caught him myself once, liftin’ chips from the Beckers when he was, oh, maybe ten? You should have seen Holt’s face when I dropped him off. No doubt he whipped him good. Guess it didn’t sink in, though, and then he went and corrupted his little brother.”
“Logan was not involved with that crowd,” I counter evenly. He hated Ian.
“In any case, sure picked a bad night to get mixed up with it.”