Heads You Lose Read Online Free PDF

thought of Hart, but every day she got better at forgetting about him.
    Lacey was loading mugs into the dishwasher and trying to solve the mystery of the headless body in her backyard when she was interrupted by an unnecessarily booming voice.
    “Coffee. Black,” said Sheriff Ed Wickfield, as if he were introducing himself.
    Lacey turned around.
    “Hi, Ed. How are you doing?”
    “Surviving,” Ed replied, with the tone of a cop whose work might involve undercover narcotics operations in Central America. In truth, Ed mostly dealt with traffic violations and run-of-the mill drunk and disorderly calls.
    “Glad to hear it,” Lacey said.
    Then they did the dance of Ed trying to pay and Lacey waving him away. The owners of the café never let the sheriff or the fire marshal pay for coffee. Ed always put two bucks in the tip jar. Lacey wished that made her like him, but it didn’t. She always had this unnerving feeling that Ed was waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and seize his glory with a massive bust.
    She could never decide if his small talk amounted to innocent questions or thinly veiled interrogations.
    “How’s that brother of yours?” Ed asked.
    “Okay, I guess,” Lacey replied. “You’d have to ask him if you want the full report.”
    “Is he keeping busy?”
    “It’s all relative.”
    “How does he fill his days?” Ed asked.
    While it did seem to be a pointed question, it was a question that a handful of locals asked. How Paul filled his days was a mystery to everyone except Paul. Since Paul didn’t want to get a cover job, they decided to tell people that he was slowly draining his inheritance and killing time the way so many young men kill time—computers, television, and video games. Sometimes when Lacey was feeling hostile, she’d add that Paul had a minor addiction to porn. Mostly, she’d add this detail when speaking to any single, relatively attractive woman in the area. When she was feeling more generous, she told people that Paul was a nature enthusiast and spent hours studying the local flora. At least that was in the vicinity of the truth. Mostly she wanted to give him an alibi for when he didn’t pick up the phone because he was in their basement tending to an entirely different type of vegetation.
    Lost in the various thoughts clouding her head, Lacey forgot the question.
    “I’m sorry. What was that, Ed?” she asked.
    “How does Paul fill his days?” the sheriff repeated. The tone remained friendly.
    “We have satellite TV,” Lacey answered.
     
     
    During her break, Lacey strolled the two-block stretch of Mercer that made up the town center. She picked up the local paper and opened the flimsy rag. Every day was a slow news day in Mercer. As far as she could remember there had never been a murder or a missing-persons report. She looked today and there was nothing to speak of. Not a single mention of Darryl Cleveland.
    And why should there be when he was walking into the hardware store right in front of her.
     
     
    Lacey followed him inside.
    “Darryl?”
    She knew it was him, but for some reason she had to say his name like it was a question. Darryl turned around and smiled. Lacey was so happy to see him alive and with a head and everything that she threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. Then she realized that she had never hugged Darryl before and stopped abruptly.
    “It’s been a while,” she said, by way of explanation.
    “I guess so,” Darryl said, uncomfortably.
    “How have you been?” Lacey asked, not sure what purpose the answer would serve.
    “Surviving,” he replied.
    Lacey looked him in the eye. Something about him was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It could have been the unprecedented embrace, of course.
    “So what’s been happening?” Lacey asked.
    “Same old, same old,” Darryl replied.
    “Are you sure?” said Lacey, knowing otherwise.
    Darryl looked confused. “I ain’t sure about anything, Lacey.”
    “Me