Wish You Well by David Baldacci Read Free Book Online

carried a long, hand-whittled cane fishing pole and a dented tackle box, which appeared to have once been blue. There was a black-and-tan mutt of a dog next to him, its lumpy pink tongue hanging out. The boy put his pole and box through the Hudson’s open rear window and climbed in the front seat like he owned it, his dog following his relaxed lead.
    “Howdy-howdy, Hell No,” the stranger boy said amiably to the driver, who acknowledged this newcomer with an ever-so-slight nod of the head.
    Lou and Oz looked at each other in puzzlement over this very odd greeting.
    Like a pop-up toy, the visitor poked his head over the seat and stared at them. He had more than an adequate crop of freckles on his flat cheeks, a small mound of nose that carried still more freckles, and out of the sun his hair seemed even redder. His eyes were the color of raw peas, and together with the hair they made Lou think of Christmas wrapping paper.
    “I bet I knowed me what, y’all Miss Louisa’s people, ain’tcha?” he said in a pleasant drawl, his smile endearingly impish.
    Lou nodded slowly. “I’m Lou. This is my brother, Oz,” she said, with an easy courtesy, if only to show she wasn’t nervous.
    Swift as a salesman’s grin, the boy shook hands with them. His fingers were strong, with many fine examples of the countryside imbedded in each of them. Indeed, if he’d ever had fingernails, it was difficult to tell under this remarkable collection of dirt. Lou and Oz both couldn’t help but stare at those fingers.
    He must have noted their looks, because he said, “Been to digging worms since afore light. Candle in one hand, tin can in the other. Dirty work, y’all know.” He said this matter-of-factly, as though for years they all had knelt side by side under a hot sun hunting skinny bait.
    Oz looked at his own hand and saw there the transfers of rich soil from the handshake. He smiled because it was as though the two had just undertaken the blood brother ritual. A brother! Now that was something Oz could get excited about.
    The red-haired young man grinned good-naturedly, showing that most of his teeth were where they were supposed to be, though not many of them were what one could call either straight or white.
    “Name’s Jimmy Skinner,” he said by way of modest introduction, “but folk call me Diamond, ’cause my daddy say that how hard my head be. This here hound’s Jeb.”
    At the sound of his name Jeb poked his fluffy head over the seat and Diamond gave each of the dog’s ears a playful tug. Then he looked at Oz.
    “That a right funny name fer a body. Oz.”
    Now Oz looked worried under the scrutiny of his blood brother. Was their partnership not to be?
    Lou answered for him. “His real name is Oscar. As in Oscar Wilde. Oz is a nickname, like in the Wizard of.”
    His gaze on the ceiling of the Hudson, Diamond considered these facts, obviously searching his memory.
    “Never tell of no Wildes up here.” He paused, thinking hard again, the wrinkles on his brow crazy-lined. “And wizard’a what ’xactly?”
    Lou could not hide her astonishment. “The book? The movie? Judy Garland?”
    “The Munchkins? And the Cowardly Lion?” added Oz.
    “Ain’t never been to no pitcher show.” Diamond glanced at Oz’s bear and a disapproving look simmered on his face. “You right big fer that, now ain’tcha, son?”
    This sealed it for Oz. He sadly wiped his hand clean on the seat, annulling his and Diamond’s solemn covenant.
    Lou leaned forward so close she could smell Diamond’s breath. “That’s none of your business, is it?”
    A chastened Diamond slumped in the front seat and let Jeb idly lick dirt and worm juice from his fingers. It was as though Lou had spit at the boy using words.
    The ambulance was far ahead of them, driving slowly.
    “I sorry your ma hurt,” said Diamond, in the manner of passing the peace pipe.
    “She’s going to get better,” said Oz, always nimbler on the draw than was Lou with matters