haunted you every day of your life – harder, maybe, than losing a family member or a spouse.
Cook was still leaning back in his chair, fingers laced over his belly. ‘You took me for the sheriff, huh?’
‘Sorry?’ Jeffrey asked. His mind had been wandering. ‘Yeah,’ he answered, realizing what the man had said. ‘My mistake.’
‘I’ve been wearing this uniform going on forty years,’ Cook proudly stated. ‘Finally threw my hat into the ring for the sheriff’s job. Lost it to Jake.’ Jeffrey knew that the sheriff’s office was an elected position. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to campaign every two years to keep his job. It was a good position if you could get it. The sheriff’s pension and benefits were some of the best in law enforcement.
Cook said, ‘Jake Valentine,’ with a chuckle. ‘Sounds like some kind of soap opera star. Boy ain’t been off his mama’s tit more than three years.’
Jeffrey wasn’t in the mood to gossip about the sheriff. He wanted to know more about the explosion, whether it was deliberately set, who else was hurt, and what in the hell Lena had to do with any of it. He knew Cook wasn’t about to offer up answers on a silver platter, so he asked, ‘Do you know Hank Norton?’
‘Sure I do. No-good piece of shit is what he is.’
Jeffrey realized that he was relieved to hear the man talking about Lena ‘s uncle in the present tense. He asked, ‘Has Hank been in trouble?’
‘Caught somebody passing meth at his place three weeks ago. We closed it down, but Norton was so wasted I doubt he even noticed.’
‘I thought he was sober now.’
‘I thought my wife was a virgin when I married her.’ Cook blanched, remembering Sara. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’ He leaned his elbow on the desk, directed his words toward Jeffrey. ‘Lookit, Norton’s been a junkie from the word go. Must’ve started when he was around sixteen, seventeen. You don’t stay away from that kind of thing for very long.’
‘Speed, right?’
‘So the story goes.’
The elevator dinged, and Jeffrey heard the metallic whir of the doors sliding open. Two sets of footsteps echoed up the hall. The pair was having an animated conversation in hushed tones. As they drew closer, Jeffrey saw that one of them was a nurse. The other had to be Sheriff Jake Valentine.
The young nurse seemed to be hanging on the sheriff’s every word as he described an elaborate scuffle he’d had with a drunk driver. Cook had been right about Valentine. The man looked about eighteen if he was a day. He was so tall and lanky that the gunbelt around his waist was pulled to the last hole, the end flopping out of the buckle like a tongue. A smattering of facial hair over his upper lip seemed to imply a mustache and the wet spot on the crown of his head suggested a cowlick he’d tried to tame before coming to the hospital. He was at least two inches taller than Jeffrey, but the stoop in his shoulders and the turtle-like bend in his neck blew the advantage. Jeffrey imagined that his mother had spent every day of his young life telling the boy to mind his posture.
‘Jake!’ the nurse shrieked, punching him on the arm.
Cook made a groaning noise, indicating he’d heard the drunk driver story the sheriff was telling one too many times. He said, ‘Jake, that chief’s here to see you.’
Valentine seemed surprised to find Jeffrey standing in front of the nurses’ station. Jeffrey wondered at the act. Even if Cook hadn’t made the phone call, the hallway wasn’t that dark.
‘Jake Valentine,’ the sheriff offered, shooting out his hand.
‘Tolliver.’ Jeffrey returned the gesture. Despite Valentine’s slight appearance, the young man gave him a firm handshake. ‘This is my wife, Dr. Sara Linton.’
Sara shook the man’s hand and managed a forced smile.
The nurse went behind the counter and Valentine’s demeanor changed to solemn as if a switch had been flipped. He told Jeffrey and Sara,
Cook was still leaning back in his chair, fingers laced over his belly. ‘You took me for the sheriff, huh?’
‘Sorry?’ Jeffrey asked. His mind had been wandering. ‘Yeah,’ he answered, realizing what the man had said. ‘My mistake.’
‘I’ve been wearing this uniform going on forty years,’ Cook proudly stated. ‘Finally threw my hat into the ring for the sheriff’s job. Lost it to Jake.’ Jeffrey knew that the sheriff’s office was an elected position. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to campaign every two years to keep his job. It was a good position if you could get it. The sheriff’s pension and benefits were some of the best in law enforcement.
Cook said, ‘Jake Valentine,’ with a chuckle. ‘Sounds like some kind of soap opera star. Boy ain’t been off his mama’s tit more than three years.’
Jeffrey wasn’t in the mood to gossip about the sheriff. He wanted to know more about the explosion, whether it was deliberately set, who else was hurt, and what in the hell Lena had to do with any of it. He knew Cook wasn’t about to offer up answers on a silver platter, so he asked, ‘Do you know Hank Norton?’
‘Sure I do. No-good piece of shit is what he is.’
Jeffrey realized that he was relieved to hear the man talking about Lena ‘s uncle in the present tense. He asked, ‘Has Hank been in trouble?’
‘Caught somebody passing meth at his place three weeks ago. We closed it down, but Norton was so wasted I doubt he even noticed.’
‘I thought he was sober now.’
‘I thought my wife was a virgin when I married her.’ Cook blanched, remembering Sara. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’ He leaned his elbow on the desk, directed his words toward Jeffrey. ‘Lookit, Norton’s been a junkie from the word go. Must’ve started when he was around sixteen, seventeen. You don’t stay away from that kind of thing for very long.’
‘Speed, right?’
‘So the story goes.’
The elevator dinged, and Jeffrey heard the metallic whir of the doors sliding open. Two sets of footsteps echoed up the hall. The pair was having an animated conversation in hushed tones. As they drew closer, Jeffrey saw that one of them was a nurse. The other had to be Sheriff Jake Valentine.
The young nurse seemed to be hanging on the sheriff’s every word as he described an elaborate scuffle he’d had with a drunk driver. Cook had been right about Valentine. The man looked about eighteen if he was a day. He was so tall and lanky that the gunbelt around his waist was pulled to the last hole, the end flopping out of the buckle like a tongue. A smattering of facial hair over his upper lip seemed to imply a mustache and the wet spot on the crown of his head suggested a cowlick he’d tried to tame before coming to the hospital. He was at least two inches taller than Jeffrey, but the stoop in his shoulders and the turtle-like bend in his neck blew the advantage. Jeffrey imagined that his mother had spent every day of his young life telling the boy to mind his posture.
‘Jake!’ the nurse shrieked, punching him on the arm.
Cook made a groaning noise, indicating he’d heard the drunk driver story the sheriff was telling one too many times. He said, ‘Jake, that chief’s here to see you.’
Valentine seemed surprised to find Jeffrey standing in front of the nurses’ station. Jeffrey wondered at the act. Even if Cook hadn’t made the phone call, the hallway wasn’t that dark.
‘Jake Valentine,’ the sheriff offered, shooting out his hand.
‘Tolliver.’ Jeffrey returned the gesture. Despite Valentine’s slight appearance, the young man gave him a firm handshake. ‘This is my wife, Dr. Sara Linton.’
Sara shook the man’s hand and managed a forced smile.
The nurse went behind the counter and Valentine’s demeanor changed to solemn as if a switch had been flipped. He told Jeffrey and Sara,
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