Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
It wasn’t long after he came home that he’d discovered skeletal remains out on Matty Bulger’s cow pastures, changing his whole life. It could be argued that the lives of everyone around him, everything he touched after, changed that day as well, including Murfee itself. Constantly preying on Chris’s mind was the idea that the course of the years since had been forever fixed by that one forsaken moment when he’d knelt down to the exposed skull of DEA informant Rudy Reynosa.
—
“SHERIFF?” Marco asked, gently. His voice was caught in the wind, nearly taken away by it. Down here below the mountains, unprotected, the wind took a lot of things.
“Sorry,” Chris said, closing the tailgate. “I was looking back there at our old school, like you were a moment ago, and at that damn stadium. It’s hard to believe, but it seems even bigger to me now.”
“Yes, sir. You know, I might start helping out with the boys’ basketball team. I played varsity my last three years.”
“Is the team any good?”
Marco smiled. “Nah, not so much. They can’t be if they asked me to help coach.” He leaned against Chris’s truck for a moment, wandering his own memories. “You were a pretty good football player, though, right? I used to see all your pictures up in the hall by the front offices, all those awards in that glass case. A big-time quarterback.” The deputy looked at Chris closely, like he was trying hard to imagine it. Chris had been much bigger then, weighed maybe fifty pounds more than he did now, but the Big Bend had weathered so much of him away. “They still say the team’s never been as good since you graduated.”
Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Well, that was a long time ago.”
Marco shrugged. “I used to go to all the Friday night games. Trust me, the team did suck, for a long time.” He pushed away from the truck with a grin, turning his back to his old school, taking another good long look at the signs stacked in the flatbed. “Are you worried about this?”
“You mean the signs? No, I can get those fixed. Probably get them turned around in a few days.”
Marco hesitated. “No, I mean the whole election. I hear people talk . . .”
Chris stopped him, so his deputy wouldn’t have to say things he didn’t want to. “I do, too. Trust me, I’m fine. Bethel Turner’s popular, and he’s a good man. He’s got lots of experience. Decades of it.”
Chris didn’t have to add: Not like me.
“But he’s not you, Sheriff,” Marco said. “He’s not from Murfee, he didn’t grow up here.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing. Does it matter?”