Read Paradise County for Free Online Page B

working on.”
    Josh’s eyes widened on his father’s face. “Dad!” he protested. “I’ve been grounded for a week! I did everything you told me to! I won’t smoke any more cigarettes, I promise! Please let me go!”
    Welch frowned as he seemed to consider. Then he nodded once.
    “Okay. Put Victory Dance up and you’ve done your time. Tell Eli I said it was okay for him to drop you off over at Burke’s on his way to basketball practice.”
    “Yes.” Josh pumped his fist. Turning, he moved to untie Victory Dance. Alex patted the big red horse one more time before he was led away.
    “Is there a place where we could talk—privately?” Alex asked Welch in a low but determined voice before he could fall into conversation with the other two men, who were discussing the merits, or rather the lack of them, of the retreating animal.
    “Sure. Come on into my office.” He nodded toward the closed door opposite. “Such as it is.”
    “Cary must’ve been drunk as a damned skunk! That’s the worst-looking animal I’ve ’bout ever seen.” This, addressed to the dentist and accompanied by a woefully shaken head, came from the sheriff in a disbelieving undertone.
    “Just let it go, Tommy, would you?” Welch overheard, and his eyes glinted ominously as he looked at the sheriff. Again Alex registered the man’s intimidation potential.
    “Sorry, Joe.” The sheriff sounded repentant rather than intimidated. Welch’s expression didn’t soften as he glanced down at Alex.
    “This way,” he said, nodding toward the door.
    Alex moved toward it, her boots sinking soundlessly into the well-raked sawdust. Welch reached around to open the door for her, then stood back, allowing her to precede him inside.
    The room was small, perhaps eight by ten feet, and certainly not fancy, with white-painted drywall, a gray-speckled linoleum floor, and a suspended ceiling crisscrossed with strips of aluminum to hold it in place. A single frosted light panel in the ceiling provided unflatteringlybright illumination. In the center of the room stood a metal desk with a wood-veneer top that was cluttered with papers. A black vinyl desk chair on metal casters sat askew behind the desk, and another table with a switched-off computer and a telephone was pushed up against the rear wall. On the left were do-it-yourself shelves holding a motley collection of trophies, photos, books, and papers above perhaps half a dozen black metal file cabinets. Two more office chairs—metal arms and legs, molded vinyl seats and backs—had been placed in front of the desk.
    “Have a seat.” Gesturing in the general direction of the two visitors’ chairs, Welch unzipped his coat without removing it and walked behind the desk, pulled the black vinyl chair into position, then glanced at her and hesitated, obviously waiting for her to sit down before he did. Southern men were known for their manners, but Alex wouldn’t have expected this man to be so punctilious. She sat and he followed suit, rolled his chair close to the desk, placed his hands flat on top, and looked at her levelly.
    “Shoot,” he ordered.
    Slightly uncomfortable and annoyed at herself because of it, Alex stalled for time, crossing her legs and placing her folded hands on her raised knee before meeting his gaze.
    “There’s no pleasant way to say what I have to say.”
    His eyebrows rose.
    She’d done this what seemed like a hundred times since the funeral, but it was still not easy. The staffs of four houses had been dismissed, and the houses themselves had been put on the market. The crew of her father’s yacht had been told to seek other positions, as had the crews of his private planes, and the boat and planes were in the process of being sold. Accompanied by a phalanx of lawyers, she’d addressed the employees of each hospital, each nursing home, each HMO, personally delivering the bad news that they would be sold or closed, although her lawyers could and would have done it for