Page 62 of Forever Dead

“You want one?” he asked.

For the first time, the sheriff’s smile seemed genuine.

“The day I’ve had, yeah. But I can’t.”

Curtis twisted the cap off against the metal opener fixed to the counter.

The sheriff remained by the door.

“Curtis.”

“What?” Curtis asked.

“I want to believe you.”

Curtis stopped with the bottle halfway to his mouth.

Connor continued, “I know it’s hard to turn over a new leaf. To change. If you’re doing that here, great.”

Curtis waited.

“But if you’re not, and if you had anything to do with this, I’ll be watching.”

The old anger moved again.

Curtis held the bottle tighter.

“Understood, Sheriff.”

Connor opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Get that car fixed,” he said.

Curtis did not answer.

The door closed.

He remained in the kitchen until he heard the SUV start outside. The engine idled for several seconds, then tires moved over gravel.

Curtis lifted the beer and drank until the bottle was nearly empty.

When he lowered it, his hand was trembling.

“Wonderful.”

He finished the rest in two swallows and set the bottle hard against the counter.

Miss Marsh.

Of all people.

Curtis walked back into the living room and stood beside the window. The sheriff’s taillights disappeared around the bend.

He could already imagine how this would go. Old records dragged out. People interviewed. Every stupid thing he had done laid end to end until it became the only version of him anyone cared to see.

Maybe the sheriff meant what he said about wanting to believe him.

Maybe not.