Chili Con Corpses (23 page)

James grinned at the look of rapture on Lindy’s face and pushed the button for the elevator. At the same moment, Lucy unfolded the note he had written. Her mouth curved upward in a small smile and her eyes twinkled.

“Sheriff,” she said proudly, “I accept your offer. I’d like nothing more than to be a deputy of the Shenandoah County Sheriff’s Department.”

Huckabee shook her hand with excessive firmness and then ordered her to get some rest. After he left, Lucy stared and stared at the single phrase written upon the note until she eventually grew too weary to look at it anymore and fell into a contented sleep.

When the nurse arrived thirty minutes later to check Lucy’s vitals, she gently removed the piece of paper from her patient’s limp hand.

Reading the one sentence, the nurse shrugged and placed the scrap on the nightstand. The words
We wouldn’t be the Flab Five without you, so don’t go
meant nothing to her, but judging from the peaceful smile on her patient’s wan face, it was something quite precious to Lucy Hanover.

“Good work, boy.” Doc Spratt slapped James heartily on the back. “You’re down to a normal range again. One thirty-five over eighty-five.”

James let out a relieved sigh. “Well, that’s good to hear. Still, I feel like there’s nothing I can eat anymore, doc. No fat, no salt, no sugar, no carbs. What’s the point? I can’t live on salad, water, and grilled chicken!”

The old doctor chuckled. “I know how you feel, son. Have what you want, in moderation, and then, every now and again, say to yourself ‘what the hell’ and go whole hog. Eat a donut, get the popcorn with the cup of butter, have those mashed taters drownin’ in gravy …”

He patted James on the arm, made some notes in a file, and then snapped it closed. “Live your life, James Henry. Make it a full one, for the sake of those that didn’t get the chance.” He met James’s eyes and held them for a minute and then pretended to pull an orange lollipop from behind his ear. “Now where did that come from, I wonder?”

After settling his bill, James stepped outside the medical office building and into a fresh inch of snow. It was blindingly white and pure beneath a muted blue sky. James could feel the blood pulsing through his veins and the crisp air tingling his lungs. He inhaled deeply, his arms wide open as though he might embrace the Blue Ridge Mountains emerging from the snowy hillsides like giant ocean waves. He glanced at the orange lollipop and then, with a smile on his face, headed in the direction of the building housing
The Shenandoah Star
, his boots crunching through the crust of snow.

It was getting late, but he saw lights shining from the windows above newspaper offices. He quickened his pace, seeking the warmth of Murphy’s welcoming home. Ringing the doorbell, he hid the lollipop behind his back and thought about Doc Spratt’s advice.
Live your life, James Henry. Make it a full one, for the sake of those that didn’t get the chance
.

When Murphy answered, James handed her the lollipop and then took her in his arms.

“It’s cold out there,” he whispered. “Let’s light a fire.”

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Holly, Anne, and Mary for their reading and commentary—you gals are the best. Thanks also to Mary for bringing me enchiladas after Sophie was born. You gave me that idea to write about Spanish and Mexican food. My gratitude to the fab Midnight Ink team: Barbara Moore, Karl Anderson, and the skilled artists including Ellen Dahl and Linda Ayriss who created this wonderful cover. For their expertise in the world of finance, I’d like to thank my brothers, Mead and John, and Dad for supplying me with information on front running. Thanks as well to Dr. Ted Stanley for tips on carfentanil citrate. And to my friends at the Short Pump Panera (John, Dave, Brad, Ellen, Robert, Theresa, et al.) for coffee and good company.

And last but never least to my darlings—Tim, Owen, and Sophie—for pulling me away from the computer to enjoy real life every now and then.