He knew she’d have to come back at some point, even if it was just for a change of clothes. He’d left her a note on the kitchen table, just in case she came back while he was gone: Back in an hour. Wait for me, babe. Don’t go.

Sure enough, she’d been here. But she hadn’t waited. He hadn’t seen her anywhere on the road.

“Come on in,” he said.

“Nah,” Sheriff Poole said. “Thanks, I can’t stay long.”

Poole stood a couple inches shorter than Vince, about half as wide. He had a razor-burn complexion and a watchful air. They were about the same age, though the sheriff had three grown daughters. Vince had pulled one of the daughters and her half-rolled Sunfire out of a drainage ditch a few years back. He’d been picking up side work towing for the county ever since.

“Everything okay, Sheriff?”

Poole nodded his head. “I guess there’s a little something we ought to talk about.”

Vince shoved his hands in the pockets of his coveralls. It was fifty degrees out by now, and he needed to take off about three layers of clothes. Water gurgled in the eaves troughs; way out in the trees, it sounded like rain.

“Got a call this morning from your old neck of the woods,” Myron Poole said. “A Captain Torres with the Omaha Police. This was a couple hours ago, I guess.”

Vince felt something fold up in his chest. They didn’t need him out on the rig. He’d known that. He’d known it the minute he saw Poole’s car.

“Fuck.”

Sheriff Poole gave him a curious look.

Vince said, “What happened?”

“How do you mean?”

“Matty.” Vince had been waiting for something like this. Now he didn’t want to hear. “What happened?”

“Oh,” Poole said, waving his hand. He looked apologetic, maybe even slightly relieved. “Shoot, Vince, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Your brother’s just fine, at least as far as I know. Sorry for the scare.”

“Jesus.” Vince let out a long breath. Keep your shit together. “Yeah, okay.”

“Call I got was about you.” Poole folded his arms and dipped his head. He might have been thinking, or counting the driveway rocks poking up through the slush. “I guess I probably shouldn’t be out here. I’ll just tell you I debated awhile.” He nodded to himself. “But the fact is, I’ve always known you to be real reliable, Vince, and I know you do fair business with folks. And I don’t know anybody around who doesn’t think pretty high of Rita. So I decided I’d rather come on out and have a chat before anything else.”

When Poole looked up, Vince studied his eyes. He couldn’t read much. He said, “What are we chatting about?”

“Seems like Omaha PD wants me to put in some paper with the county attorney,” Poole said. “Search warrant for your grounds here.”

“Search warrant? What the hell for?”

“Don’t know all the details yet.” Poole was lying about that. Vince could tell that much. “But PD seems to think they’ve got cause to have a look for some stolen property out here.”

“What stolen property?”

Poole raised his hands. Take it easy. “Listen here. The truth is, something like this happened one other time. I just never told you about it.”

Vince looked right at him. “What the hell are you talking about, Myron?”

“This was seven, eight years ago.” Sheriff Poole shrugged.

“Didn’t ask how long ago it was.”

“State patrol over there had picked up a guy, turned out to be one of your old running buddies,” Poole said. “You were a few years closer to your parole period back then, remember. Anyway, they called, looking for a truckload of stolen microwaves.”

“Microwaves.”

“Don’t know if their suspect was trying to give them the runaround, or if you were just the first place they thought to look.”

Vince wondered if the sheriff was talking about Buck Lavelle. He remembered Buck going through the occasional appliance phase.

“Point is, they found their merchandise in a warehouse somewhere that same afternoon.” Poole smiled. “Called me back, apologized for wasting my time. That was that.”

“Jesus,” Vince said. Fucking Buck Lavelle. He remembered, now, why he’d stopped running around with that asshole in the old days.

“I told Captain Torres that story this morning,” Sheriff Poole said. “Also told her they’d need a little more than they had to get me comfortable. But I get the feeling she knew that already.”

The longer Myron Poole spoke, the more Vince understood the purpose of the sheriff’s visit. He claimed this had happened before, yet today was the first Vince had ever heard about that.

Because this time was different. Whatever Captain Torres from the Omaha Police Department had told him might not have been enough to sell the sheriff on a warrant, but it was enough to send him out here personally.

“Listen, Vince.” Sheriff Poole kept his arms folded, looking at the ground again. “I know you’ve got some history behind you. I also know you’ve worked pretty hard to keep your nose clean out here all these years.”

“That’s goddamned right,” Vince said.

Thinking: Not even a week. Matty, the college boy, had it all figured out. And they hadn’t even made it a goddamned week.

“I also know you two have had it a little tough out here lately.” Poole looked off toward the scrap yard. “Money-wise, I mean.”

Vince said, “We’re getting by.”

“I know you are.” Poole finally looked at him. “Also know you hooked up a vehicle for me thirteen months ago. My brand-new, twenty-one-year-old deputy, who I ended up firing two months later anyhow, had forgotten fifty-six hundred dollars in cash evidence bagged up in plain view on the dashboard. You had that vehicle in your sole possession for a good hour.”

Vince didn’t say a word.

“But every dime of that money ended up in my evidence locker,” Poole said. “Wouldn’t have been too hard for a guy to slip a couple hundred into his pocket, leave it looking like a green rookie miscounted the amount. Especially a kid everybody knew couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a GPS.”

“Yeah, well.” Vince looked off toward the smoke from the incinerator shed. “That was thirteen months ago, you said.”

“Hell,” Poole said. “I don’t figure people change too much in a year. Not where it counts, anyway. I just wanted to come on out as a friend, let you and Rita know you might be seeing me back later. With some other folks, I’d imagine. If it comes to it.”

“Nothing here worth hiding, Sheriff. Come on along.”

“That’s what I told Captain Torres you’d probably say.”

Sheriff Poole clapped him on the arm and headed back toward the Bronco. Over his shoulder, he called, “Tell Rita I hope her mom feels better.”

“I’ll do that,” he said.

Rita’s mother was healthier than Vince and Myron Poole put together. Seventy years old and the woman jogged six miles a day.

As Poole climbed back into his Bronco, Vince said, “Sheriff?”

“Yep?”

“Appreciate the hand with the luggage.”

“Didn’t do much. Like I said, caught her heading out.”

Vince tried to put a chuckle in his voice. “Just out of curiosity, how much she take with her this time?”

“Oh, I’d say she’s pretty well set.” Poole laughed. “Three big suitcases and a couple of those, what do you call ’em? Garment bags. Wasn’t sure we’d get the trunk closed.”

She never packed more than the one small suitcase. A few changes of clothes and a sketch pad or two. I’m coming right back, she always said.

Poole slammed the door and waved through the open window.

Vince raised a hand back. He stood and watched the sheriff turn around, roll down the driveway, and disappear around the bend.

The sun was warm. The sky was blue.

All around, the shape of the land seemed to be changing. Drifts and ridges shifted in place, gradually collapsing on top of themselves. Everything had been white a few days ago. Pretty soon, the last of the snow would soak into the mud.