Free The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volume 1-4 by Craig Johnson

through the top row and was now working the collapsed fringe toward the backdoor. “At the risk of sending you into a tailspin, Martha has been dead for four years.”
    “Three.” He stopped and leaned against the door facing, the other hand at his side.
    The sausage popped, sending a small splatter to the plywood floor. I looked at the splatter mark; it was relatively contained, with a few scalloped edges due to the height of trajectory, ray-emitting tendrils reaching for the center of the room. If the object emitting the splatter is in motion, the drops will be oval and have little tails, which will project in the horizontal direction that the drop was moving. As the top of the teardrop lands last, splatters on a wall can tell you if the assailant is left- or right-handed. I knew a lot about splatters. I wondered how Vic was doing. I looked at the unopened manila envelope sitting in my chair, a priority set of pictures illustrating the next-to-final resting place of Cody Pritchard. I had been so tired by the time I had gotten home that I had thrown them on the recliner, too exhausted to concentrate. Ruby’s handwriting looked personal and out of place: Scene Investigation Photographs, 9/29/2:07 A.M.
    “Four.” His eyes were level, and his voice carried a tired resignation to the battle joined. “Walt, it is time to get on with your life . . . I mean college kids live better than this.” I didn’t know what to say; I had had a kid in college and then in law school, and she had lived better than this. “But I have a four-fold plan for your redemption.”
    I sipped some more coffee and stared at the floor. “Does this involve getting me a woman?” He pulled the spatula out of the nearest box. I advised him to wash it, which he did after making a face, then set about breaking up the brick of meat in the pan.
    “Getting you a woman is the third part.”
    “I like this plan, but I think we should move the third part up.”
    “We have to get you to the point where you are worthy of a woman.”
    “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like the other parts of this plan?”
    “Walt, your life is a mess, your house is a mess, and you are a mess. It is about time we did some cleaning up.” He looked around the cabin, I’m sure for dramatic effect. “Let us start with the easy stuff. This was a nice little house when you first got started, but that was five years ago.” I thought it was four. “You have got to get some gutters so the run-off stops cutting a moat around the house. You are going to have to use a bleach solution to cut the gray off the things and then put some UV protection on them. You need a porch, and a deck out back would not be such a horrible thing . . .”
    My head hurt. “I don’t have the time for all that, let alone the energy.”
    He found the opener on the counter and began opening a number of small cans. “We are not talking time, energy, or money, which will be your next argument. We are talking inclination. Now, I know these two young men . . .”
    “Oh, no. I’m not going to have a bunch of thieving redskins roaming around my place while I’m not here.”
    He choked laughing, his arms spread wide to encompass the entirety of the room. “What would they steal?” He had a point. “These boys just started up their own contracting firm; they are hungry, cheap, and they are good. I can have them over here tomorrow morning at eight.” I looked around the room at the stud walls, exposed wiring, and dirt-encrusted plywood floors.
    I sighed. “Okay, what’s part two?”
    “We get you in shape.”
    I took another sip of coffee; it was getting cold. “Oh, I’m past that shit.”
    “I want you to think about part three.” He smiled. “I want you to think about part three while we’re going through parts one and two.” He bumped me in the shoulder, and I spilled a little coffee. More splatters. He turned and dumped a small can of green chilies into the pan.
    “I