What We Remember. Michael Thomas Ford

grinned. “Not me,” he said. “I was all set to get the hell out of this shithole once I graduated. I had big plans. I was going to go to California and be a rock star.”

      “So what happened?” James asked him. “Why’d you stay?”

      “Well, your sister for one thing,” said Nate. “Other than that, I really can’t say.”

      “I guess some places you just can’t get away from,” James remarked.

      “You did, though,” said Nate.

      James nodded. “So far,” he agreed. “But here it is, sucking me back in.”

      “Sounds like you’re doing pretty well for yourself,” said Nate. “Celeste says you’re working for a senator now.”

      “Just a state one,” James replied. “It’s not Washington, DC, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

      “All that stuff is too complicated for a boy like me,” said Nate. “I leave that to you college guys.”

      James didn’t respond. He had the feeling that Nate was mocking him, but he didn’t take the bait. For one thing, he’d promised Celeste that he wouldn’t. For another, it wouldn’t do him any good. He needed Nate.

      “So what’s happening with Dad?” he asked. “Anything to go on?”

      Nate shook his head. “Nothing firm yet,” he said. “But we’re working on it.”

      “What are your thoughts about it?” James said, hoping to draw Nate into conversation.

      “Don’t really have any as of yet,” his brother-in-law replied. “I was hoping you might have some.”

      “Me?” James said. “No, I don’t. I mean I assume you’ve already run a list of the people Dad helped put away. But that’s got to be a couple hundred. I guess then you’d try to narrow it down by cross-referencing it with the threat file. I assume they still have that?”

      Nate nodded. “It’s still around,” he said.

      “Anything helpful in it?” asked James.

      “Just the usual ‘you’d better watch your ass’ letters,” Nate answered. “We don’t get as many now that every scumbag on the planet has access to e-mail. But at least we can trace those more easily. Most of them have AOL addresses. I don’t know why.”

      “Did any of the letters you do have give you anything?” said James.

      “There were three that I pulled,” Nate told him. “Two were written by guys who were already back in prison at the time Dan disappeared. The third one wasn’t signed, so we don’t know who wrote it. So I guess that would be another big no.”

      James leaned back in his chair. “That’s not much to go on,” he remarked.

      “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Nate said.

      James looked at him. “I’m not slamming you or your people,” he said. “I’m just saying it’s frustrating.”

      Nate said nothing. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the desktop for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do. Finally he said, “Have you heard anything from Nancy?”

      James, shocked, said, “Nancy? No. Not for years. I didn’t think anyone had.”

      “We haven’t,” said Nate. “I just thought maybe she would have contacted you.”

      “I don’t know why you’d think that,” James said. “I mean, you’re her brother. If she was going to contact anyone, I would think it would be you.”

      “Half brother,” Nate reminded him.

      “She hasn’t even contacted her father?” James asked.

      “Not that I know of,” said Nate. “But she always was a weird one.”

      James bristled at the comment. He wanted to contradict Nate and say that Nancy had been anything but weird. But Nate was sort of right. Nancy had begun to act strangely. Right around the time she broke up with me for good, he thought. It was something he had never understood, then or now. Apparently, Nate wasn’t able to tell him anything he didn’t already know.

      “So what happens next?” he asked.

      “I’m working on a few things,” said Nate. “Right now I’d like to keep them to myself, if you don’t mind. It’s nothing personal—I just don’t want anything to get out that might jeopardize the investigation.”

      “Who would I tell?” James asked, incredulous. He couldn’t believe his brother-in-law would think he might reveal information to anyone.

      “I’m not saying you would,” said Nate. “At least not on purpose. But you know how it is—someone accidentally mentions something to someone, who mentions it to someone else. It’s best just not to say anything for now.”

      “Jesus Christ,” James muttered, shaking his head.

      “Hey, I’m just doing my job,” said Nate. “Your dad would have done it the same way.”

      No, James thought. My father would have had answers by now.

      He told himself to calm down. There was nothing to gain by getting into something with Nate. It would just upset Celeste and make it more difficult to get information when Nate did have something. Still, he was reminded why the two of them had never gotten along particularly well. Nate had been stubborn back in high school. He simply hadn’t changed. Not that you have either, he reminded himself.

      “Okay,” he said, standing up. “Well, let me know what I can do to help. I’ll be at the house.”

      Nate stood as well. “Will do,” he said. “Thanks for coming in.”

      James left the office. Nate didn’t follow. As he was walking down the corridor, James heard someone call his name. He turned to see a tall, rather heavy, balding man walking toward him.

      “Frank!” he said, delighted to see the deputy.

      Frank reached him and, without hesitating, gave James a bear hug. Laughing, James clapped Frank on the back. “It’s good to see you,” he said as Frank released him.

      “You too,” said Frank. Then he looked solemn. “I’m really sorry about your dad,” he said.

      “Me too,” said James. Frank Despirito had been his father’s right-hand man when he was sheriff. James had always liked him. “So,” he said, unable to resist. “How do you like the new boss?”

      Frank grinned. “He’s not your dad,” he said.

      James suppressed a laugh. Then a thought came to him. “Hey, you have time for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

      Frank nodded. “Do cops like donuts?” he responded. It was a line Dan McCloud had coined to express agreement, and hearing it again made James feel at home in the station for the first time since he’d walked through the doors.

      The two men left the building and walked the two blocks to the Over Easy, a diner popular with the town’s heavily blue-collar population. At a little after nine in the morning it was fairly empty, the regular customers having long since left to begin work. James and Frank settled into a booth near the front window.

      “Morning, boys,” said the waitress.

      “June,” James said. “You’re still here?”

      “Where the hell else have I got to go?” the woman replied. Easily 70, she had gray hair cut short, and her blue eyes sparkled. Her mouth moved from side to side as she chewed on some gum, and the lipstick she wore was a garish shade of pink. “How are you, sweetie? It’s been a few years.”

      “It has,” James agreed. He was amazed that June still looked the same