Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop by Downs Tim

Author:Downs, Tim [Downs, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2009-09-30T07:00:00+00:00

The sheriff limped to the open doorway and glared in. He saw the twisted wreckage of the screen door and the floor littered with dirt and rock and shards of broken glass. The door to the blue-bright office stood open, and within the office one exterior door swung slowly on its hinges.

From seventy-five yards away he had watched Kathryn turn and flee toward the far side of the building. He hobbled forward, clutching his left thigh where the door handle caught him just below the hip. The impact had knocked him twenty feet and left a throbbing fist-sized knot of purple and green. He never lost consciousness, but it had been a full minute before he struggled to his feet and spotted the despectacled head of Dr. Polchak bobbing like a buoy above the sea of yellow-green. He drew his sidearm and leveled it—but Kathryn’s shout made him rush his shot, and he fired harmlessly overhead, cursing himself for his lack of discipline.

He stopped and swept the field with eyes as dark as blood.

There.

A hundred yards away in the center of an open meadow Kathryn stood perfectly still. She faced away from him with her head slightly bowed, and her arms seemed to disappear at the elbow as though her hands might be folded in front of her. She looked to him like that goddess in the picture book at the Holcum County Library, majestic and holy and alabaster-pure, but without arms—because the goddess reaches out for no one, but waits eternally for someone worthy to reach for her.

But he was unworthy … he knew that now.

He limped forward. She heard him approach like the slink of a jackal.

Ten yards away he stopped.

“Kath,” he said softly. “We got to talk.”

She never moved—not a twitch, not a nod, not even a breath. She stood motionless, implacable, and mute. Her auburn ponytail hung down, tied by an artist into a thick sable brush, swaying from side to side and painting a masterpiece of soft curves and perfect forms—a masterpiece that he would never touch again. Her jeans were spotted and soiled but still crisp and tight. Her T-shirt draped between her shoulder blades with sweat.

And two white shoestrings met in a bow at the center of her back.

“Okay,” he said. “Then just listen. I know you’re mad at me—hey, I don’t blame you. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just want you to try to understand—about Andy, about Jimmy, about everything.”

He took a step forward.

“Yes, I was mad when you married Andy. But what could I do? I knew Andy loved you. I knew Jimmy loved you too—we all did. But when I saw you and Andy together, I knew you loved him back. And that was okay—really. I figured it was just sort of his turn.”

He stepped forward again.

“Remember what I told you? I always knew we were meant to be together. I never knew when—I just knew it had to be. Finally, eventually, someday. And I figured lots of things would probably happen before that day.

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