“You’re very good at answering a question with a question. Where’s your place?”
He pointed to a staircase across the aisle. “Loft apartment.”
“Were you here last night?” I asked.
“Are you viewing me as the murderer or just an accomplice? Is this the time I should confess how much I wanted him dead?”
His flip attitude was getting under my skin. “You don’t have to answer my questions, but Sheriff Peters will get answers from you. It might be better if I heard them first.” I looked up to see Kip standing in the doorway. The expression on her face was impossible to read. She was staring at Bud Lynch’s back.
As if he sensed her, he turned around. “Kip, are you okay?”
She stifled a sob and turned and ran.
Bud started after her, and I was right behind him.
Kip pounded through the barn aisle, with Bud gaining on her. “Kip!” He called her name. “Hold up a minute.”
“Go to hell!” she shouted over her shoulder.
He was about to reach out and catch her when I saw the wooden rake handle slide out of a stall door. Bud’s long legs tangled with the wooden handle and he went down hard.
Rolling, he came up on his feet. For a second he stood in the barn aisle, panting, then he turned to Roscoe. “Old man—” His voice was filled with anger, then he glanced back at me. Slowly he dusted off the front of his jeans.
“Leave her alone,” Roscoe said. “She’s been through enough, and you and your tramp’ve been little help.”
Bud started to say something else, but instead he turned and walked back to me. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to get some horses worked. We’ve got shows coming up, important shows. With Lee in jail and Kip gone, I’ll have to work all the horses.”
“Where—” I started. “How did you know—”
“I overheard Kip tell Roscoe.” He called back down the barn aisle to the old man. “Roscoe, the shavings are ready to be picked up. You need to go get them. Now!”
Before he could walk away, I put a hand on his forearm. “Where were you last night?” I fell into step beside him as he walked back to the office.
He faced me before answering. “I wasn’t alone. All night.”
“I’m sure you have witnesses to corroborate that?”
“One very satisfied witness.”
“Cute,” I replied, about to lose my patience with him. “I’ll need that name.”
He paced the room; then his gaze finally caught mine and held firm. “Are you really a friend of Lee’s?”
I nodded. “I’ve known her since we were six.”
With that answer, his entire mocking demeanor changed. “Kemper was a cruel bastard. He should have suffered a lot more. There were better ways to handle it.”
I filed that away for further thought. “When did you hear of his death?”
“Lee told me this morning. She’d already called the sheriff.” He raised his eyebrows. “Messy.”
His eyes were gray, with tiny flecks of golden brown around the irises. Holding my gaze wasn’t a problem for him. “Can you say in court that you saw Kemper abuse Lee?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I never saw him hit her. The bastard was too smart for that. Lee would never admit that he was the cause of her injuries. At least not to me.” His jaw tightened. “She knew I’d fix him.”
I filed that away. “Did you see or hear anything last night that might bear on this case?” I pressed.
He shook his head.
I remembered the old man cleaning the stall. “What about Roscoe? Do you think he might have witnessed something?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Bud said. “Roscoe’s old, and he can’t half remember what he’s supposed to do. You can ask him, though, when he gets back from the sawmill. Should be about an hour.”
I didn’t have time to wait. “I’ll be in touch.”
He tipped an imaginary hat in a gesture that was more Texas than Virginia. I finally placed his twang.
“How long have you been here, Bud?”
“Going on a year. Hard to imagine a cowhand training jumpers, but I seem to have a knack for it. Truth is, horses just like to do what I ask.”
Somehow I didn’t think it was only horses that were eager to do his bidding.
3
Kip dropped her duffel bag on the floor of the bedroom that was to be hers. She touched the eyelet canopy that Aunt LouLane had loved. “Sort of prissy.”
“You’ll learn to live with it.” I wanted to ask her about Bud Lynch, but later would be better.
“Why don’t you fix this place up more?” she asked, going to the window and looking out. “I’ll bet it was really beautiful once.”
It was the first seminice thing I’d heard pass her lips. “It was, before my folks were killed.” She turned to see if I was trying to set her up. “Car accident. I was just about your age.” I hadn’t realized it until that moment. “Lately, money has been kind of short.”
“Money.” She turned to look back out the window. “It doesn’t matter how much there is, it’s never enough, and it’s the only thing in life that matters.” Turning around abruptly, she gave me an innocent look. “Did you know you can hire a hit man for four hundred dollars, cash?”
“Really,” I said, forcing my voice to show no surprise. I was wise to her tactics, but I was also concerned. Violence was a recurring theme in everything she said. “Where?”
She waved a hand. “It isn’t hard to find one, if you know where to look.”
“And you would know?” I said with just a pinch of skepticism.
“I’m an excellent researcher,” she said, completely unruffled. “Four hundred dollars. Of course, it’s a local hit. But then, the target is just as dead, isn’t he? Or she.”
She refused to look at me as she talked and I wondered if she was deliberately trying to scare me. She walked around the bedroom, dragging her fingers along the eyelet bedspread. “Kids my age are killing people all the time now.” She suddenly threw herself backward on the bed. “I’d like to be alone,” she said. “I need to think.”
I closed the door and went to my room on the other side of the house. Kip would bear watching. Careful watching. Lee had not exaggerated that need.
Kip had brought her boom box and a crate full of CDs. I wasn’t familiar with a single artist or song, and I was anticipating the worst. As I closed my door, I found Jitty standing behind it like a naughty child caught eavesdropping.
“How long?” she demanded.
“Until Lee gets out of jail.”
“That could be months!”
“I’m aware of that.” Stepping over some clothes on the floor, I flung myself onto my bed. I heard this strange thumping and leaned down to find my red tic hound, Sweetie Pie, stuck under the bed. The only thing able to move was her tail, which was wagging furiously. She was wedged in. “How do you do that?” I leaned over further, grabbed her back legs, and pulled her out.
“What you gone do with a teenager in the house for months? You can’t stand your own company for more than two hours in a row.” She gave Sweetie Pie a disdainful eye. The only animal Jitty wanted in the house was a man.
“I don’t know.” I also didn’t want to argue with her. Kip wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, but she was here, and here she’d stay until Lee could get her.
“She talks dangerous,” Jitty said. “Is she?”
“I don’t know.” Kip worried me. She didn’t make threats, exactly. She’d dreamed of burning the horses and had researched finding a hit man. While not exactly what I would consider normal teen behavior, it was a far cry from actual violence. She’d also just lost her father, and her mother was in jail for murder. “I remember when my folks were killed. I was so angry. Everyone said it was an accident. They said it was a tragedy. I only knew that the two people I loved most in the world had been taken from me. Aunt LouLane...” I felt a rush of gratitude for my old-maid aunt. “She tried hard and she put
up with a lot. I guess in some ways I was a bit like Kip.”
“She walked the floor many a night worried about you,” Jitty agreed.
“There’s probably room for a little acting out in Kip’s life right now.”
“All the same, I’d keep a close eye on her,” Jitty said. She pointed to the bedroom door. “Maybe you should lock it.”
I shook my head. “She troubles me, but she’s just a kid.”
“Right,” Jitty said. “Does the name Menendez mean anything to you?”
“Stop it,” I whispered to her. She was spooking me.
“What about that fourteen-year-old down in Pascagoula? Killed his entire family with a bat. Or the two sisters who stabbed their mother to death. Or—”
“Jitty!” I spoke louder than I intended. I held up a hand to listen for Kip. She’d wonder who in the world I was having a conversation with. “When did you start collecting statistics on kid crimes?” I asked her.
She sniffed. “I can be useful.” She pointed at the computer. “Like reminding you to check your E-mail?”
I leaned up on my elbow to give her a curious look. “I thought you hated the computer. Tool of Satan. Wasn’t that what you called it?”
She shrugged. “Got to get with the times. I didn’t like cars, either, but they certainly make it easier for you to get groceries to the house. Lookin’ at that waistline, I don’t have a doubt what a top priority food is around here.”
I got up and went to the Pentium III I’d recently bought to help with my detective business. I was a long way from competent, but I’d discovered some fascinating information by surfing the Web. The little mailbox icon was blinking.
“That Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan found love by writing E-mail to each other.” Jitty was hovering over my shoulder. “You’ve got mail!”
“I’m not Meg Ryan, and this isn’t a movie.”
“Obviously. When her hair is tousled, it looks good.” Jitty sniffed. “I was hoping when you teamed up with Tinkie that she’d have some influence on your appearance.”
I turned around. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”
“I thought maybe if you could see how bad you look in these things you’d go buy you a sharp-looking joggin’ suit.” She pointed to the screen. “Check that message.”
“Jitty, think about this. If I found love on the Internet, there would be no issue. Cybersex is completely without congress.” I was more than a little proud of that statement.
“Honey, normal folk use it to say howdy and then set up a time and a place to meet. Of course, you’d have to try to turn it into a congress.” She pointed to the screen. “You’ve got mail.”
Puzzled by her sudden interest in “demon technology,” as she called it, I moved the mouse to check my E-mail. In a moment a message from Cece Dee Falcon, society editor for The Zinnia Dispatch, popped up on the screen. Cece had a “juicy assignment” for me. I sometimes picked up freelance work writing for Cece at the newspaper. Entrée as a reporter, I’d quickly learned, was another invaluable detecting tool. I read the message. Cece wanted me to meet her for coffee.
“Now how does this E-mail thing work?” Jitty asked.
“I don’t actually know. All that matters is that it does work.” She was hovering over me. Although she looked as real as any of my other annoying friends, her touch was only a whisper, a draft passing through a room.
“There’re dating clubs on computer. Big story on the news.”
I turned slowly and faced her, a sudden reality dawning. “I’m not that desperate.”
“Liar,” she answered calmly.
“Do you know how many maniacs are out there? And what’s to keep them from lying? I mean just because they say they’re six four, there’s no way to check it. They’re all probably five two and live with their mothers.”
“Who cares if they carry a step stool, as long as they’re in working order,” Jitty said. “This is a new millennium, Sarah Booth. This isn’t about marriage or ‘happy ever after.’ This is about global opportunities. Show me how to work that thing.”
I turned the computer off. “Never. I’m going to see what Cece wants,” I said, getting up. “I’ll tell Kip I’m leaving, but you keep an eye on her.” That should keep Jitty too busy to meddle in my affairs.
Cece was waiting for me in Millie’s Café, along with my partner, Tinkie. They were both blond, beautiful, smart, and born into old Delta families. There the similarities ended. Tinkie was everything a Daddy’s Girl aspired to be, with the unfortunate—to her male family members—addition that money and security weren’t enough to fill her days. Hence her association with me.
Cece, on the other hand, should have been a candidate for the Buddy Clubbers. A trip to Sweden and extensive hormone therapy had exhausted the Falcon inheritance and turned Cecil into Cece. She was one of my few wealthy friends who had actually bought a measure of happiness with her legacy. For most of them, money had become a sort of prison. One with very nicely furnished cells, I might add.
“Hello, dahling,” Cece said, brushing air kisses on each of my cheeks. “You look marvelous, Sarah Booth. You’ve lost a pound or two, haven’t you? Those love handles aren’t quite so prominent.”
Cece had the lean hips of a male and never failed to rub it in. “Men like something to hang on to,” I said, taking a seat and signaling Millie, proprietress of the establishment and another good friend, for a cup of coffee.
Tinkie only grinned at us. “Bring some milk for the kitties,” she called out to Millie. “Maybe if we feed them the fur won’t fly.”
Of all the folks in Zinnia, I felt closest to these three women. “What’s going on?” I asked Cece. I had big news, but I wanted to get the most play out of it.
Cece scanned the room for would-be eavesdroppers. The only patrons were a few businessmen, some ladies of leisure—meaning they’d married well—and some tourists who were likely on their way to Batesville, Greenwood, or further south along the river to make the annual spring pilgrimages to old plantation homes that had become big-dollar industries.
Leaning forward, Cece finally spoke. She did know how to milk a moment. “Since you’re already working for Lee McBride, I thought you might want to do some columns about what you discover?” Cece’s grin was wide and wolfish.
“How did you find out I was working for Lee?” I was shocked. I’d only been hired a couple of hours ago. Looking from Tinkie to Cece, I realized they both knew.
Millie brought coffee and dishes of hot peach cobbler for four. Eyeing the café to make sure everyone had his order, she took a seat with us. “Are you going to be able to get Eulalee off?” she asked me.
“Does the entire town know?” I asked.
They nodded.
“You went out to Swift Level this morning. What did you find? Other than that little hellcat Kip, who I understand you’re baby-sitting?” Millie asked. They all leaned forward so I could lower my voice.
“Lee’s medical records show extensive abuse. I can tell you that much.”
“And Kip?” Cece pressed. “I’ve seen her around town. Trouble with a capital T.”
“She’s angry,” I conceded. “I couldn’t say no to Lee.”
“And how did you find Bradford Lynch to be?” Cece said. She licked one corner of her mouth in a subconscious gesture that told me exactly how she found him.
“Evasive,” I said, digging into the cobbler. “What do you know about him?” I looked from one to the other.
“He comes in on Saturdays sometimes,” Millie said. She arched an eyebrow. “He has a presence. Every woman in the room stops talking and just watches him walk by. Really cute ass.”
“Yes, he is one fine man,” Cece agreed.
Only Tinkie looked unsure. “He’s a cowboy, isn’t he? I mean, I always wondered why Lee hired a cowboy to train her horses. The crowd at Swift Level doesn’t chase cows, they chase foxes.”
“He said something to the same effect,” I said, leaning a little closer. �
��He also said it didn’t matter. Horses do whatever he tells them.”
“Honey, I’d get on my hands and knees and buck if he told me to,” Cece said. When our laughter died, she looked at me. “So what about the columns? I’ve already heard that Lee is insisting on defending herself. She’s going to try to convince a jury that Kemper deserved what he got.”
Tinkie’s gasp was reflected in the doubt on Millie’s face. “Most of the men I know need killing,” Millie said. “I don’t think that qualifies as justifiable homicide.”
“That’s her plan,” I confirmed. “She won’t hire a lawyer, and she won’t listen to reason, but I’m hoping Coleman can work on her.” I shot a glance at Tinkie. “And you, too. She might listen to you.”
Cece snorted. “If you don’t remember Lee, I sure do. Once her mind is made up, she’s not going to budge,” she said. “Remember back in high school, when she insisted she could climb that old water tower and spray-paint her name on the side? The steps broke and she fell and fractured her arm. The day after the cast came off, she went back with ropes and some kind of harness. She was going to do it or die, and she did. She won’t change her mind about anything.”
Silence settled on the table. I knew Cece was right. We all did.
“That’s why I think the columns are such a good idea,” Cece said. “Lee can present her side of the story. By the time her case goes to trial, we’ll have everyone on her side. The jury will acquit her in ten minutes.”
“They have to select jurors who haven’t been exposed to the facts, or gossip, of the crime,” I reminded Cece.
“What planet do you live on?” she asked archly, tapping one perfectly manicured Orange Tango nail on the table. “The more publicity Lee gets, the better her chances. As long as it’s the right kind of publicity. That’s where you come in.”
I had my doubts. “I’ll ask her,” I agreed, because I knew that Cece was as stubborn as Lee when it came to getting a story.
“What can I do?” Tinkie asked.
Tinkie was my wedge into society, and I had very specific plans for her. “What do you know about foxhunting?” My riding lessons had been curtailed, but Tinkie, as had all the Daddy’s Girls, had ridden for years. Although they seldom continued the sport after marriage, it was considered a social necessity to be able to sit a blooded horse and ride to the hounds.
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