The sheriff had aged a bit since James was home last, but even so, stilled looked younger than his true age—which Duane refused to divulge. His girlish secrecy had been a constant source of teasing back in the day, especially considering how masculine Duane really was, wrestling trophies, and all.

“How’s it going, preach?”

“Coffee, Duane?” Loretta slipped in.

“Black would be beautiful.”

“Thanks, Loretta,” James said.

She grinned at him and offered a salute with the glass coffee carafe and then filled the white porcelain mugs. “You’re looking handsome as ever, Jimmy.” She winked and then walked off.

James moved his attention to the man across the table. The tan uniform and its accoutrements made Duane look formidable.

“Wow! Everyone was starting to think you’d forgotten about us. We usually get you at least two, three times a decade. Been a while, stranger.”

James smiled, the tension falling from his shoulders for the first time in days. “You darn near killed me.” He rubbed his neck for effect.

Humor lit Duane’s gaze and reminded James of the good times they’d shared as teens.

“And I woulda if Loretta hadn’t stepped in and saved your sorry butt.” Duane glanced at James, the humor dulling. “Man oh man. It’s good to see you, Jimmy. Seriously. I hear you might be sticking around for a while.”

“That’s the plan.” James caught movement in his peripheral; his attention pulled to a table across the way. The woman quickly lowered her head. A man at a different table did the same. As his gaze traveled back to his friend at the other side of the table, the scrutiny of so many pricked James in the gut.

“Good to hear it. Good to hear that.” Duane sipped on his coffee, evidently oblivious to the other town-folk or James’s discomfort.

James cleared his throat of the unease. “Hey, you want to get out of here?” He leaned across the table. “I want to know about Travis, but not in here…”

Duane rested both forearms across the edge of the Formica table and dipped his head low.

“C’mon, Duane,” James urged, not quite understanding his friend’s obvious reluctance. He still couldn’t fathom that even the mention of Travis’s name made people nervous.

Duane took a quick, covert glance at the room and then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He sighed. “OK, buddy.”

The words were so hushed that it took James a moment to register Duane’s answer.

James pulled out a few bills and left enough money on the table for his and Duane’s meals and then they stepped into the winter stillness outside the diner. The never-changing town had sadly changed since James’s last trip home. Boarded windows and empty buildings lined the main street. Shrouded by the grey sky, deserted storefronts mirrored the vacancy of spirit that James had felt from the moment he arrived.

A lone worker, bundled in a stocking cap and winter parka, perched high on a ladder hanging Christmas decorations on a streetlamp. The festoon seemed an oddity against the somber atmosphere, and James thought of Travis more deeply. “Tell me,” he said simply.