Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (best management books of all time txt) 📕

We all have bad days.” Kimberley picked up her freshly filled drink and took a sip.

“It’s not an excuse, but…” He paused, taking another drink of his whiskey, his words hanging in the air. “It’s the two-year anniversary of my wife and son’s death.”

Kimberley gasped, her eyes widening.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Kimberley started, but Sam cut in, putting his hand up.

“I didn’t tell you in order to gain your sympathies.”

“Why did you tell me then?”

Sam looked over at her. His eyes scanned her face, then locked with hers. “I don’t know. I just… wanted you to know.”

Kimberley nodded, unsure of what to say. Why did he want her to know this? Did he just want someone to confide in? Someone to understand him?

“How’d it happen?” Kimberley gave him a sympathetic look, although she didn’t mean to. She knew that wasn’t what he wanted, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, shaking his head and taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Like what?” She feigned ignorance.

“Like you feel sorry for me. Like I’m some wounded animal on the side of the road,” he said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t lie. It’s written all over your face.” He bumped his shoulder against hers.

Kimberley tried to make her face look mad, furrowing her brow, pursing her lips, but her eyes gave it away. They were big pools of sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her head, looking down at the brown whiskey in her glass.

“Car accident. A drunk driver hit them. Someone from this very town. So, when you said that I couldn’t wrap my head around one of my own committing murder, that was wrong. My head is too wrapped around it.” He looked around the bar at the patrons and then back at his glass of whiskey. “I think anyone is capable of anything,” he added.

The last line hit Kimberley with a pang of guilt. This whole time she thought Sam had blinkers on when it came to his town, tunnel vision staring right out of Dead Woman Crossing, but it seemed he was doing that to protect his own conflicting feelings, his own biases.

“I know you don’t want to hear it. But I’m sorry for what happened to your wife and son.” Kimberley placed her hand on Sam’s.

He looked over at her and said, “Thanks, Detective King,” with a nod.

She let her hand stay on his for a moment before pulling it away. Sam drained the rest of his whiskey and threw down a twenty-dollar bill.

“I should get going,” he said, standing up from his stool.

“Let me drive you home,” Kimberley offered, pushing her half-empty drink toward the edge of the bar and dropping a ten-dollar bill down.

Sam rubbed his head. “Actually, maybe that’d be a good idea.” He gave a small grin.

Kimberley nodded and walked out of the bar with Sam stumbling behind.

“You good?” she asked, turning back.

“Yeah, parking lot is a little uneven.”

“I’m thinking you’re a little uneven.” Kimberley smirked. She stopped, letting Sam catch up, then put her arm around him, fitting into the crux of his shoulder, holding him up and stabling out his walk.

“How many did you have?” she asked.

“A few… too many.”

Parked in front of his small ranch house, Kimberley got out of the vehicle and helped Sam inside. The lawn was well maintained, grass cut, hedges trimmed. She expected that out of Walker. He seemed like the type of guy that would take pride in his landscaping.

The front door opened to the living room, which was typically furnished like every other one; coffee table, television, couch, loveseat, recliner. But it differed in its décor, which was sparse. She could see rings of dust where things used to be. Outlines on the wall where things used to hang. It looked as though he had been slowly getting rid of items around the house, working through his grief, trying to let go of the past.

At the front door, Sam struggled to get his boots off. Kimberley took it upon herself to walk further into the house. A single framed photo hung on the far wall. As she got closer, she realized it was a family picture. His wife was blond and beautiful. His son had to have only been three years old. Then, there was Sam. She had never seen him look like that, a griefless face—pure and utter joy and elation. He was a little more worn now, but loss would do that to a person. Kimberley realized the photo had to have been taken shortly before his family passed.

“This is my humble abode,” Sam said, standing upright now that his shoes were finally off.

Kimberley turned to look at him so he wouldn’t notice that she had seen the photo. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Sam flicked on the hallway light, then walked to the end of the hall, flicking on his bedroom light. He stumbled to the side of his queen-sized bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ll get you a glass of water and some Tylenol,” Kimberley said, averting her eyes as he started to undress.

She walked back down the hallway passing a bathroom, a guest room and another room with its door closed. In the kitchen, she rummaged through the cabinets until she found a glass and Tylenol. She filled the glass with water from the sink and walked back toward the bedroom where she found Sam standing with his shirt off. She swallowed hard as her eyes ran over his toned and sculpted body. She hadn’t expected him to look like that underneath his sheriff uniform, and she also hadn’t expected the way it would make her physically react. Cheeks reddened. Heart rate quickened. Eyes widened.

“Here you are.” Kimberley cleared her throat, holding out the glass of water and three Tylenols.

Sam looked at her with a drunken smile, taking the glass and medicine.

“I guess now we’re even,” he said with a grin.

He tossed the pills in his mouth and drank nearly the whole glass.

“Even?” Kimberley raised an eyebrow.

“Walking in on one