"I know this has been terrible." I tried to find some way to connect with this . . . young girl. I had to keep reminding myself that she was only fourteen. "I'm so sorry about your father."
"I don't need your sympathy."
I looked at her, and she glanced back, daring me to contradict her sentiments. "I'm sorry," I said simply. "I didn't know Kemper very well, but now my concern is for Lee. We're old friends, and she's asked for my help. To do that, I'm going to need your help."
"Bite me." She turned around and started to walk away.
It took all of my restraint not to reach out and grab a fistful of that nasty spiked hair. I took a breath. "Where's the phone?"
"Find it yourself," she said, heading up the stairs.
"You might want to hear this conversation. I'm calling DHR. That's the Department of Human Resources. As a minor, you can't be left here alone in the house. Lee asked me to take you home with me, but I have no desire to have you in Dahlia House. I guess you'll be going to juvy hall or some institution, until they can find foster placement."
She halted on the stairs but didn't turn around. She was thinking it through, wondering if I was bluffing, weighing the merits between life with me or life in an institution. It wasn't a difficult choice.
"The phone's in the library," she said, slowly turning. "But you don't need it."
"Oh, I disagree," I said softly. "I told your mother I'd look out for you as a personal favor to her. She failed to tell me that you were rude, obnoxious, and a pain in the ass. The deal is off."
I saw the fear in her eyes then, and it took all my strength not to buckle and relent. Then I remembered something my aunt LouLane had told me when she'd come into my home to finish the job of raising me after my parents had died. She said that the first encounter with child or animal sets the tone for the rest of the relationship. With Kip, I couldn't afford to lose this round.
She inhaled, thinking. "I don't want to go to DHR."
"So I have something you want—a place to stay that doesn't involve rigid rules and communal showers." I waited for her to nod. "And you have something I want—help for your mother." Again I waited for her to nod. "I think we can reach a deal, but it's going to cost you."
"How?" she asked, the defiance returning to her green eyes suddenly reminding me of Lee in her jail cell.
"You'll be courteous and polite in my home. You'll obey the ground rules I establish, and you'll work with me on saving your mother from a life sentence in prison." I held up a hand. "I don't care what your sentiments toward your mother might be. You're going to help."
"And I can have my music and a telephone."
It was a statement, not a request.
"Played at a moderate level, and you can use the phone line I had installed for the computer, except when I need it for work."
She nodded. Grudgingly.
"Okay, now help me find the records for the horses," I said, not wanting to show my relief. I would never have been able to turn Kip over to DHR. Lee had already extracted my word that I would care for her.
She stalked past me, headed across the porch and down the steps. "They're in the main barn, in the office."
"How long have you been riding?" I asked, catching up with her. She was the most unlikable kid I'd met in a while, but she was Lee's daughter and her father had just been killed so I thought I'd try to engage her in some conversation.
The look she gave me was scathing. "Since before I could walk. That's my life, riding. That's who I am to Mother and what I was to my father. That's all that mattered to either one of them, those damn horses." She gave me a sideways look that was sly and cunning. "You know, sometimes at night, I entertain myself by dreaming that they all burn to death in the barns."
She was watching me, waiting for a reaction of shock and horror. It was all I could do not to oblige her. She was a cunning and manipulative young girl, and one filled with anger and hatred. Lee had not been exaggerating when she said someone needed to keep an eye on Kip. My stomach in knots, I walked past her without comment.
The barn smelled of leather and cedar, reminding me of my childhood riding lessons. I had just begun to jump when my folks were killed in an automobile accident.
Kip led me into the biggest of the barns. A central aisle split two rows of stalls. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, we were greeted by soft nickers and neighs. Glancing at Kip, I saw that she was unmoved. She walked past the stalls without ever once looking at any of the magnificent animals.
Down the aisle a half dozen yards, an older man was mucking out an empty stall. He gave me a long, intense look.
"It's okay, Roscoe, I'm going to be staying with her for a day or two. She's a friend of Mother's. Through her efforts, Mother and all the horses will be saved." Kip didn't bother to hide her contempt for me.
"Miss Kip, don't act thataway," Roscoe said, leaning on his rake. "I know you're hurtin', but so is Miss Lee."
"At least Father's out of his misery." Kip stalked away, leaving me to follow or not.
"This is a sad place," Roscoe said to me. "Miss Kip's not bad, she's just messed up. Got plenty of cause to be, if you ask me."
I did want to ask him a few questions, but Kip called me down the aisle. "The records are in there," she said, pointing. "The file cabinet. Alphabetical order." She picked up a manure fork and headed toward a stall. "I have chores to do."
"Kip, I think it would be okay if you let it slide today. Maybe you should go and put some of your things together."
Her laughter was loud and brittle. "Not around here. Nothing interferes with chores and duties and responsibilities. Water, muck, turn out, ride, transport, hay, rake, bush hog, paint." She nearly spat each word, but a slant of sunlight coming through a stall window caught the glint of a tear in her eye. "My question is this. Where did Mother find the time to bash his brains out? There's always so much work to be done." She turned and walked past me.
The prospect of Kip was so daunting, I wondered if I could come up with Lee's bond myself. Maybe Tinkie would chip in some cash. I sighed and went into the office to begin my search.
Lee's medical file was two inches thick and right where she said it would be. I leafed through it. Over the last three years, there were at least fifty trips to the Sunflower County emergency room or to private physicians in the region. Flipping through the dates, I saw that Kemper's attacks against Lee had grown increasingly frequent. And vicious. I was still troubled by the lack of physical marks on Lee's back. The beating she'd described as preceding Kemper's death would have been severe enough to leave some kind of injury, and there was solid medical evidence that he'd hurt her in the past. Why hadn't she filed charges against him long ago?
The medical records would prove Kemper's history as an abuser, but I was still troubled by the fact that Lee had lied about Kemper hitting her the night he was murdered. Why was she lying? More important, was Coleman aware of her lies?
I was so caught up in my reading that I didn't hear anyone enter the office. I sensed him before I saw him; there was that vague tingle that comes when someone is staring at you. I turned around. A man was leaning against the wall, one booted foot crossed over the other. His arms were crossed, too. It was obvious he was waiting me out.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"A good question. Why don't you answer it?" He righted himself without seeming to move a muscle. Arms still crossed, he walked up to me. He had light eyes that took me in, head to toe.
"You're not one of the ladies who come to ride. You're not a relative, and you're not media. So, who are you?"
"Sarah Booth Delaney," I said. "I'm a friend of Lee's." I closed the file and pulled it into my lap. "So, who are you?" He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a cotton shirt streaked with dirt. His movements blended grace and confidence, yet he wasn't what I might have expected at Swift Level.
"Bradford Lynch, but most folks call me Bud. I'm the trainer here at Swift Level."
I had never seen a man hold himself so quiet and yet so p
oised for action. "So you're the live-on-the-premises trainer?" I asked.
His smile was slow. "What are you, some kind of plainclothes detective?" He once again took in my jeans and camp shirt. "I remember when female cops used to look like linebackers."
"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.
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