The Wind Knot
Page 31
On a clear and chilly Sunday morning, the acting sheriff packed a lunch and cruised through sharp fall colors all the way to Wal-Mart in Marquette. Luce County, viewed at her leisure along the way, felt orderly, calm, familiar … lucid, actually. Like she understood the way things worked. Like she could deal with whatever arose if she had to. And all the way she wondered excitedly which one of them she should call first: Billy “All-Star” Rowntree or Paul “Fry Cakes” Rudvig? Those two had cut a water deal in a buggy swamp somewhere. She knew it. She had them both nailed.
And after that?
Then, well, it was like the question she was already asking herself, only bigger. Life just got that way, apparently. Life got bigger and wider and more full of moments when you had to know yourself and pick your fights, when you had to relax and feel the trickles of yourself collecting into one whole, flowing, beautiful body, ninety-seven percent water.
So now what?
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