Page 3 of Playing Dirty
“Yup. County ain’t ready to announce it yet, but it’s happenin’. Darlene says she’s seen the spreadsheets. Called it a ‘preliminary adjustment.’”
“That’s a fancy way of sayin’ ‘bend over,’” Sawyer said.
Joe laughed. “Ain’t that the truth?”
Sawyer leaned forward, glass in hand. “Speaking of things on the decline, you boys hear about the funeral home?”
Easton raised a brow. “What about it?”
“Old man Keever’s puttin’ it up for sale. Says business ain’t what it used to be.”
“Guess people finally figured out they don’t need a gold-plated casket to die properly,” Colt said.
Joe snorted. “Or maybe folks just don’t want to sit in that godawful viewing room anymore, starin’ at velvet drapes and fake ferns. They’re gettin’ cremated and spreadin’ their ashes over Lake Lovelace.”
Sawyer nodded. “Cheaper and prettier. Can’t argue with that.”
The fire popped in the hearth like it was agreeing with us. Cards shuffled. Glasses refilled. The kind of rhythm that only happened when no one was in a rush to be anywhere else.
Then Joe leaned back and cleared his throat like he was winding up for the closer.
“Now, if y’all want somethin’realjuicy?—”
“God, here it comes,” Sawyer said.
Joe held up a hand. “I’m just sayin’… someone was in the feed store the other day—one of the Keel boys, I think—talkin’ like Matt, the grocery store manager, got more goin’ on than he lets on. Somethin’ about having a Wyoming driver’s license. Or maybe a connection to folks outside of town.”
Colt let out a snort. “Matt? Come on. Man manages melons and coupons. What’s he gonna be? Undercover banana king?”
“Probably just small-town speculation,” Easton said. “Bored minds make busy stories.”
“Still,” Joe added, lifting a brow, “he’s got a good-lookin’ woman playin’ house with him now.”
Everyone chuckled.
Everyone except me.
I just watched the swirl of smoke curl toward the rafters and let my expression stay blank.
It was stupid. Nothing real. Just talk.
But I knew where Callie Hart was living these days.
And something about the way Joe said it… didn’t sit right.
The game was winding down, cards loose in our hands and drinks sitting lower in the bottle. The fire had burned down to a bed of red-gold coals, but it still threw enough heat to keep us from noticing the draft leaking in around the old windows.
Easton yawned and pushed his chips toward the middle. “I’m out. Not broke—just bored.”
Sawyer groaned. “You’re always bored when I’m ahead.”
“You’ve never been ahead,” Easton said, stretching. “That’s just me letting you think you’re clever.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping what was left in my glass when Colt’s voice cut through the noise, too casual to be an accident.
“You seen Callie lately?”
