“Still smoking, huh?”

Charlie Curtis, the county sheriff, looked across the table at his friend just as Miles took his place at the table.

“I don’t smoke,” Miles answered quickly.

Charlie raised his hands. “I know, I know-you’ve already told me that. Hey, it’s fine with me if you want to delude yourself. But I’ll make sure to put the ashtrays out when you come by anyway.”

Miles laughed. Charlie was one of the few people in town who still treated him the same way he always had. They’d been friends for years; Charlie had been the one who suggested that Miles become a deputy sheriff, and he’d taken Miles under his wing as soon as Miles had finished his training. He was older-sixty-five, next March-and his hair was streaked with gray. He’d put on twenty pounds in the past few years, almost all of it around his middle. He wasn’t the type of sheriff who intimidated people on sight, but he was perceptive and diligent and had a way of getting the answers he needed. In the last three elections, no one had even bothered to run against him.

“I won’t be coming by,” Miles said, “unless you stop making these ridiculous accusations.”

They were sitting at a booth in the corner, and the waitress, harried by the lunchtime crowd, dropped off a pitcher of sweet tea and two glasses of ice on her way to the next table. Miles poured the tea and pushed Charlie’s glass toward him.

“Brenda will be disappointed,” Charlie said. “You know she starts going through withdrawals if you don’t bring Jonah by every now and then.” He took a sip from the glass. “So, you looking forward to meeting with Sarah today?” Miles looked up. “Who?”

“Jonah’s teacher.”

“Did your wife tell you that?”

Charlie smirked. Brenda worked at the school in the principal’s office and seemed to know everything that went on at the school. “Of course.” “What’s her name again?”

“Brenda,” Charlie said seriously.