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

He grunted. “I will withhold comment on whether Ferg and his bunch could slap their ass with both hands.” He frowned at the frying pan, spooned the pooled grease into a measuring cup that he must have used to apportion tomato paste, and flipped the majority of the contents. “Meteorite?”
    I had to smile. “The more people I talk to, the more I am convinced that this may have been an act of God.”
    “Hate to see the Supreme Being take the fall for this one.”
    “He sees even the smallest sparrow fall.”
    “That would pretty much describe the decedent, but would this not be stretching the jurisdiction thing?”
    “Maybe.” The mood had lightened, and it was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up. “Hey?”
    “Hmm?” He looked at me, and the expression his face carried was one of open concern for a friend who had all but accused him of impeding a murder investigation. My heart wasn’t in the question, but I had to ask. “You know the scuttlebutt on the Rez?”
    “What, you worried about the Indian vote?” He smiled to let me in on the joke, but it still hurt. “What?”
    “The Little Bird rape case . . .”
    “Melissa.”
    “Melissa.” I was feeling lower and lower. “What’s the general feeling on the Rez about the job I did?” There was a brief look of irritation as he flipped his hair back and trapped what would have been a fine tail on a good cutting horse in a leather strip he had pulled from the back pocket of his jeans.
    “General feeling”—he pointed up the phrase as silly white-man talk—“is that you could have done better.”
    “And what is the basis of my failure?”
    He turned his head and looked into the distance at the log wall only two feet away. “Two years suspended sentence, two years parole.”
    “People don’t think Vern Selby and a jury had something to do with that?”
    “These people do not have any bond with that judge or jury, none of whom were . . . Indian, and they do with you.” He paused. “You should take that as a grave compliment.” He opened a ziplocked bag of preshredded cheese and offered me some. I took a pinch and stuffed it in my mouth. Pepper jack. “Anyway, the goodwill of these people is not going to have much effect on your condition. There is only one person who can offer you absolution in this case, and he is a difficult individual with whom to deal . . . he forgives everyone but himself, and he never forgets.” We stood looking at each other, chewing. “You should go take a shower. Part three said she would be here for kickoff at two.” He pulled open the door of the oven and checked on his biscuits. The smell was marvelous.
    “Part three?”
    “Vonnie Hayes expressed a desire to participate in the bonding ritual this afternoon. I thought it might lead to a more desirable ritual between the two of you later this evening.”
    I took a moment to reply. “I just saw her yesterday morning. She didn’t say anything.”
    “Women seem to enjoy surprising you, perhaps because it is so easy.”
    I looked around the house at the piles of books and accumulated dirt on the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. “Oh, shit . . .”
    He followed my eyes and shook his head. “Yes, it is very bad, but we will tell her you are under construction. Red Road Contracting, the young men I told you about, will be here tomorrow morning.” He pulled the biscuits from the oven and placed them on one of the front burners. “Go take a shower.”
    I started, but turned. “What’s part four?”
    “Spirituality, but that may have to come from somebody else.”
    * * *
    I turned the water on in the shower and spent the time waiting for it to heat up by inspecting my bullet holes. I had four: one in the left arm, one in the right leg, and two in the chest. I looked at the one in my left arm since it was the closest. It was 357/100ths of an inch with two clean, marbled white dots on either side. The one on the inside had well-defined edges and was about the