Read Online The Far Empty by J. Todd Scott - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Todd Scott
Tags: Mystery
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and Melissa about to give BBC another quarterback?”
The room got small, hot. Chris felt sweat bead on his forehead and neck, kneading his hands together. They looked huge to him, unwieldy and dirty and wind-raw. He wasn’t sure what to say.
Mel fucking hates it here and pretty soon is going to hate me too and I don’t know what to do about it or if I can do anything about it all.
“No, sir. Nothing like that. Nothing like that at all.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Not meaning to pry, Chris, it’s just we need new blood here in Murfee. Places like this don’t last withoutnew blood. I don’t mean half of Mexico, either. I mean men like you, coming back home, raising families, settling down. It’s a good thing. It’s necessary.”
Chris couldn’t admit that he’d never planned on coming back. Would the sheriff’s own son, Caleb, finally leave Murfee and never return? Chris had passed a handful of words with him here and there, nothing serious. He was a thin mystery in a black hooded sweatshirt, always standing at the margins, opposite in a thousand obvious ways from his father.
Chris could see—everyone could—how his mother’s up and running off had hit him hard, but wondered if the boy struggled not because he couldn’t understand why she’d left Murfee, but because he understood perfectly why she did.
“Yes, sir, that’ll happen for us, just not now. I guess we aren’t ready.”
“You never are, Chris, not really.” The sheriff sat down, shuffling Chris’s report beneath other papers, dismissing him, but first there was a noise: Duane Dupree coming up the stairs, stopping in the doorway. The chief deputy had his hat off, turning it over and over again in his hands, like a pinwheel. He was tall and thin, but always stooped, feral, with his short-sleeve duty shirt revealing a rancher’s sunburn, as if he’d been tattooed by the sun. He kept his thinning hair slicked back hard against his skull with a handful of pomade, and his smile, like now, was always dust-blown—there and gone again. He’d been with the sheriff for almost as long as anyone could remember, and nothing much happened he didn’t have a hand in or a comment about. He’d been pushing Chris hard for a day now to close out that body from the ranch as a John Doe, or as he liked to call it, a
Juan Doe
.
“Judge . . . Cherry, sorry to bother . . .” He bobbed his head up and down, but didn’t retreat. He remained there, listening. Chris stood,his knees tight. “About that call to Austin, sir? I was going to make it today, get those remains shipped out, if that’s okay?” He pointed at the place where Chris’s report had disappeared.
He needed the sheriff’s signature, couldn’t do it without it. Duane could sign off on some things, but the chief deputy had made it clear he wasn’t inclined to, not on this, not over a dead beaner in a ditch. The release and DPS request form were stapled to Chris’s write-up, now buried on the sheriff’s desk. Something passed in front of Sheriff Ross’s kilowatt smile, a brief flicker, a shadow, like a moth circling a porch light. There, and then gone again.
“Of course, Deputy. If you still think that’s what we need. Let’s get it done.”
7
ANNE
T here had been a note for her on her desk this morning, written on Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department stationery—polite, professional. It was signed in Sheriff Stanford Ross’s firm, almost antiquated cursive, welcoming her to Murfee.
All in all, it had been a good week. A decent one. A normal one, if she even knew what that was anymore. She still hadn’t spent much time with the other teachers, only passing a few polite words here and there with Lori McKutcheon, who taught civics.
Polite
, just like the sheriff’s note. She’d caught more than a few slowing steps by her door, the others pausing to listen to her teach . . . listening for what, exactly? Clues? Because there was so much to catch up on, she didn’t
The room got small, hot. Chris felt sweat bead on his forehead and neck, kneading his hands together. They looked huge to him, unwieldy and dirty and wind-raw. He wasn’t sure what to say.
Mel fucking hates it here and pretty soon is going to hate me too and I don’t know what to do about it or if I can do anything about it all.
“No, sir. Nothing like that. Nothing like that at all.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Not meaning to pry, Chris, it’s just we need new blood here in Murfee. Places like this don’t last withoutnew blood. I don’t mean half of Mexico, either. I mean men like you, coming back home, raising families, settling down. It’s a good thing. It’s necessary.”
Chris couldn’t admit that he’d never planned on coming back. Would the sheriff’s own son, Caleb, finally leave Murfee and never return? Chris had passed a handful of words with him here and there, nothing serious. He was a thin mystery in a black hooded sweatshirt, always standing at the margins, opposite in a thousand obvious ways from his father.
Chris could see—everyone could—how his mother’s up and running off had hit him hard, but wondered if the boy struggled not because he couldn’t understand why she’d left Murfee, but because he understood perfectly why she did.
“Yes, sir, that’ll happen for us, just not now. I guess we aren’t ready.”
“You never are, Chris, not really.” The sheriff sat down, shuffling Chris’s report beneath other papers, dismissing him, but first there was a noise: Duane Dupree coming up the stairs, stopping in the doorway. The chief deputy had his hat off, turning it over and over again in his hands, like a pinwheel. He was tall and thin, but always stooped, feral, with his short-sleeve duty shirt revealing a rancher’s sunburn, as if he’d been tattooed by the sun. He kept his thinning hair slicked back hard against his skull with a handful of pomade, and his smile, like now, was always dust-blown—there and gone again. He’d been with the sheriff for almost as long as anyone could remember, and nothing much happened he didn’t have a hand in or a comment about. He’d been pushing Chris hard for a day now to close out that body from the ranch as a John Doe, or as he liked to call it, a
Juan Doe
.
“Judge . . . Cherry, sorry to bother . . .” He bobbed his head up and down, but didn’t retreat. He remained there, listening. Chris stood,his knees tight. “About that call to Austin, sir? I was going to make it today, get those remains shipped out, if that’s okay?” He pointed at the place where Chris’s report had disappeared.
He needed the sheriff’s signature, couldn’t do it without it. Duane could sign off on some things, but the chief deputy had made it clear he wasn’t inclined to, not on this, not over a dead beaner in a ditch. The release and DPS request form were stapled to Chris’s write-up, now buried on the sheriff’s desk. Something passed in front of Sheriff Ross’s kilowatt smile, a brief flicker, a shadow, like a moth circling a porch light. There, and then gone again.
“Of course, Deputy. If you still think that’s what we need. Let’s get it done.”
7
ANNE
T here had been a note for her on her desk this morning, written on Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department stationery—polite, professional. It was signed in Sheriff Stanford Ross’s firm, almost antiquated cursive, welcoming her to Murfee.
All in all, it had been a good week. A decent one. A normal one, if she even knew what that was anymore. She still hadn’t spent much time with the other teachers, only passing a few polite words here and there with Lori McKutcheon, who taught civics.
Polite
, just like the sheriff’s note. She’d caught more than a few slowing steps by her door, the others pausing to listen to her teach . . . listening for what, exactly? Clues? Because there was so much to catch up on, she didn’t
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