“I know.” Luke had his own good-luck piece, but it was more a reminder of survival than something that went bang. “Glad I can return it to you.” Luke stood and unlocked the file cabinet behind him.
“Man, you are good,” Knight said as Luke set the gun on his desk. “Any idea who stole it?”
Luke added the clip and extra bullet he’d emptied from the gun when he’d stashed it. “I found it in a backpack belonging to Kyle Winters. He’d left it behind when he’d been squatting at the Flutterby.”
“Abby’s place?” Knight’s face lost some color. “Oh, man, no one was hurt, were they?”
“No, they’re fine. I figure the kid was carrying it for protection. Whether he’s the one who stole it or not, I’ll ask him when we find him.”
“Winters.” Knight chewed the inside of his cheek. “I know that name. Kid’s father wouldn’t be a bleached-blond action-movie-reject kinda guy, would he? Hangs out at the Dirty Rose outside town?”
Luke nodded. “He’s currently in county jail waiting on his prelim hearing for assault.”
“Nasty piece of work there. I’m guessing the apple didn’t fall far from the tree?”
“I’d love to be able to tell you,” Luke admitted. “Kyle’s got a record, not too bad, but it’s getting there. When I arrested his father, the kid clocked me before I could even cuff dear old dad.” The slice in his head throbbed as if waiting to be mentioned.
“Probably putting one in the bank for when his old man gets home.” Knight cringed.
Luke quirked his head, narrowed his eyes.
“It’s what I would have done,” Knight explained. “When my father let loose on me, if someone tried to help, it was better to go after that person and make it look as if I was defending him. Good favor for later, if you get my meaning.”
That was exactly the reason Luke hadn’t pursued any charges against Kyle. “Sounds as though your father and mine had a lot in common.”
“Well mine’s fifteen years in the ground. You?”
“Eight.” Not nearly long enough.
“Always told myself I’d drink a fifth and dance on the old man’s grave,” Knight said. “I did the dance. Skipped the Scotch.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Luke would always skip the Scotch. “I’ll go ahead and write up a report on returning the gun to its rightful owner, get this off the books.”
“Sounds good.” He picked up the firearm and ammunition as he got to his feet. “Appreciate the help. Let me know if I can return the favor sometime.”
“Where’re you working?” Luke pushed himself up.
“Odd jobs here and there.” Knight shrugged. “Nothing steady. Why? You lookin’ to hire?” His expression told Luke he was kidding, but Luke wasn’t.
“I’ve been given a discretionary budget. I was thinking about hiring a part-time receptionist, but if you’re looking for extra work, I can do with another deputy. You interested? Provided you pass the background check.”
“I’d pass with flying colors, man.” Knight blinked away his shock. “It’d be great to have a steady job again.” His excitement faded as he glanced down at his leg. “You sure you want me on board?”
“We all have our scars,” Luke said. “They might help make us who we are, but they don’t define us. It’s not as if we have a lot of foot chases in town. Give me your Social and we’ll go from there.”
“Excellent.” Knight grabbed a sticky note and scribbled his name and Social Security number along with his cell number. “Do I get one of those?” He pointed at Cash and the dog’s ears perked.
“Afraid not,” Luke said. “He’s one of a kind.”
* * *
“SHERIFF LUKE, COME HERE!”
Luke lugged yet another load of trash out the back door of the youth center. The cleanup was never ending, but finally, after four days, Tuesday dawned with promise that the final phase—fresh paint on the walls—would be done by the end of the day. Progress.
“What’s up, Simon?” Luke unlocked the padlock on the trash can as Matt hefted his own two trash bags out.
“You said to let you know if I saw him. Kyle Winters.” Simon pointed over the rock wall. “There. Down at the shoreline.”
“Okay.” Luke pushed Simon’s hand down, appreciating the enthusiasm, but they had to work on the boy’s stealth skills. “We talked about this, Simon. I know you and Kyle don’t get along—”
“He hates me. He hates everyone,” Simon added. “He’s a bad guy.”