I checked in my bedroom, where the computer screen saver shifted from Mickey Spillane to Dick Tracy and a host of other cartoon renderings of detectives. Kip had been at work on the computer and failed to shut it down.
I knocked at her door. No answer. Feeling as if I were committing a crime, I opened the door of her room. Her clothes were all over the floor, along with CDs, books, magazines, and makeup.
"She's gone."
I turned to find Jitty peering over my shoulder. "So I see."
"She's very unhappy," Jitty said.
She wasn't telling me anything I didn't know. "I'm worried about her."
""Worried that she's unhappy, or worried that she has a reason to be unhappy?"
While I couldn't confess my concerns to anyone else, I could tell them to Jitty. She couldn't repeat them, because no one else could hear her.
"What if she killed Kemper?" I asked, nudging a CD with my toe. The band on the cover looked as if they could be Satan worshipers.
"What if she did?"
It was the crux of my dilemma. Lee had not hired me to prove her innocence; she'd hired me to prove that Kemper was a bastard. The reason for this fine distinction might very well be Kip. I saw Lee's strategy very clearly now. She had confessed, which would prevent a full-scale investigation of the murder. She wanted me to provide the evidence that Kemper was a worthless piece of work, which no one disputed. That would keep the focus of the trial on Kemper—and away from Kip. Lee had stepped onto an oily tightrope. If she could actually convince a jury of her peers of Kemper's role as abscess on the butt of the world, the right jury just might acquit her. She was correct; it had happened before. Barring that, she might get manslaughter and a sentence that amounted to county jail and probation. She could still keep Swift Level up and running and Kip safe. But it was a dangerous, dangerous game.
The thing that troubled me was Lee's first lie—that Kemper had attacked her and provoked his death. There had not been a single mark on Lee in that jail cell. A smart prosecutor, and Lincoln Bangs was not stupid, would have noticed that. That and the fact that Lee had never reported Kemper's repeated abuse of her, not one single time.
"Look at this mess." Jitty's voice pulled me back to the disarray of Kip's room. Had it not been a perfect reflection of my own room, I would have been forced to have the old "cleanliness is next to godliness" conversation with Kip. Spared by my own vices.
I turned around to leave and felt something crack beneath my shoe. Mascara. A black makeup kit was open on the floor, the contents spilling out. A tip of blue plastic caught my eye. I looked over at Jitty.
"She's your responsibility," she said.
I knelt down. The syringe was still in the plastic case, unused. I dumped the lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner pencils onto the floor. There was nothing else. No vials of medicine, no plastic bags of white powder. Just the syringe.
The phone rang and I walked to my room to answer it.
"Sarah Booth, it's Virginia. You need to come out to Swift Level right away."
I barely knew Virginia Davis. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's Lee's daughter. She's out here and she's in a real state. The girl is acting crazy."
"I'm on the way."
Since Virginia had called, I went to the main house instead of the barn. There was a gold Lexus in the driveway, and a green Mercedes. The only other vehicle in sight was a big black truck with dual rear tires, parked at the barn.
I walked into a scene so thick with tension that I stopped. Kip was sitting in a chair, her face streaked with makeup and dirt. A handsome man in casual slacks and a white shirt sat on the sofa, chatting with Virginia.
"Sarah Booth," Virginia said, as soon as she saw me. "Thank goodness." She gave Kip a wary glance as she walked past her to take my hand.
"What happened?" I addressed the question to Virginia.
"Kip had a little tantrum," the man said. He stood up. "Mike Rich. Pleased to meet you, Miss Delaney. I've heard a bit about you from my wife."
I'd heard his name, but I couldn't place it. My focus was on Kip.
"What happened?" I asked her again.
"I was looking for something." She kept her gaze on the floor.
"She's torn up Mr. Lynch's apartment," Virginia said with disapproval. "Her mother would be so disappointed in the behavior."
Kip was on her feet. "Let her be disappointed! What about me? Does it matter that I'm disappointed? She lied to me. She lied to everyone. You can all just go to hell!" She ran out of the room. I heard the front door bang.
"How did she get out here?" I asked.
"I brought her." Mike Rich had remained standing. "I stopped by your home to discuss a business matter with you. You weren't home, so I mentioned that I was coming out here to look at Swift Level for the benefit concert." He paused for a moment, his gaze on Virginia. "Kip asked for a ride out here, and I obliged."
Virginia cleared her throat. "I've already told Mr. Rich that a concert is out of the question here. We're in the midst of preparations for the Chesterfield Hunt Ball on Saturday."
That was a sticky wicket I didn't want to touch. My only concern was Kip. "Are you often in the habit of giving teenage girls a ride?" I asked. I was angry with Mike Rich. At the very least, his actions fell in the category of stupid.
"Kip isn't exactly a stranger. I knew her father," he said with one eyebrow lifted. "I'm Krystal Brook's husband."
Mike Rich, star-maker. Now I placed his name.
"What are you going to do about that child?" Virginia asked. "She's been in trouble at school. I was hoping that psychiatrist would put her on medication. There are times I worry that she's a danger to herself or some . . . one . . . else." She let her sentence stumble to a halt. "Excuse me, I need to check on the carpenters. We're installing the scaffolding for the floral arrangements."
Virginia left the room, and I found myself alone with Mike. I could feel him watching me as I walked to a beautiful old piano. I touched the ivories, drawing out a few simple chords.
"Krystal didn't tell me you were musically inclined," he said. "I thought your talent was sleuthing."
"You said you were at Dahlia House to discuss a business proposition."
"Yes, security for Krystal's benefit concert. Since you're in the private eye business, I thought you might be able to recommend some muscle. I'll need at least four trained men. One at the door, one backstage, and two in the crowd. I pay Nashville wage."
"I'm afraid I don't know any reliable 'muscle,' " I said. It was an interesting term. "Why don't you check with the sheriff?"
"He's agreed to attend the concert, of course. He's a friend of Lee's and also of my wife. But Sheriff Peters's staff is small, and he doesn't encourage moonlighting."
I closed the piano. "I'm sorry, I can't help you." I had to find Kip. I'd given her a few moments to calm down, but I was going to have to talk to her.
"I know you're not Kip's mother, but let me give you a word of advice. That girl needs to be taken in hand. She's famous for pitching fits at horse shows, refusing to ride. She's high-strung, but that's no excuse for the tantrum she threw here." He followed me to the front door. "Maybe some medication wouldn't be a bad idea. Something just to level her out for a while."
"I'll take it under advisement," I said as I walked across the porch and down the steps.
Kip was sitting on the ground, her back against the wheel of my car. She climbed into the front seat without a word. I backed up, hesitating before I put the car in gear. "Do you want to see the horses before we leave?"
She shook her head, burgundy spikes wobbling.
"Kip, what happened out here?"
She shrugged. "I lost something in Bud's apartment. I was looking for it."
"Did you ask his permission?"
"He wasn't around." She shot a glare at me. "Besides, it's my place, not his. He's just a hired hand. He doesn't own anything."
"Only a few hours ago, you were defending Bud," I reminded her.
/>
"That was then." She turned away from me so that I could see her jawline. It reminded me of Lee's, the stubborn strength of it.
"What happened?" I asked her.
"That bitch Carol Beth Bishop was in the barn. She and Bud. Together." Her voice was swollen with hurt and anger. "He said before it was because he was trying to help Mama, but that was just another damn lie. Since Mama's in jail, I guess they can screw in the barn aisles if they want to. They all lie so they can do whatever they want to do." She reached across her seat and grabbed the seat belt. "Can we go?"
I set the car in motion, going slowly out the drive. "Was she after the horses?" I asked.
"The horses, Bud, whatever she can get. I hate her." She was staring out the windshield, and a strange blank look came over her face. "I hate her," she said slowly. "She's always here, always hanging around. I wish she'd die." The expression on her face shifted chillingly in the spring light. "Maybe she will."
My mouth went dry. "What are you saying, Kip?"
She looked at me, a long, appraising glance. "I know what it's like to hate someone, to hate them enough to do something awful."
My pulse quickened. "What kind of awful thing are you talking about?"
She lowered her chin, tucking it almost to her chest. Her glance was sidelong, considering. "You don't really want to know, Sarah Booth. Trust me, you don't. Because if I tell you, then you'll have to do something about it, and that would make Mama really upset."
7
Propped up on pillows in my bed, I tried to focus on the book I'd selected to read. It was a defense lawyer's recounting of cases, many of them involving women who'd killed their spouses. I was hoping for some help, but my mind refused to cooperate. I couldn't stop thinking about Kip.
She had hammered me with her bitter assessment of my cowardice. I'd failed to question her about the syringe in her makeup kit. She was correct—I didn't want to know the truth. Not until I had an idea of what I would do with it. What I should do with it. What my role as Lee's private investigator and my ethics required me to do with it.
I felt a chill in the room and lowered the book I wasn't reading to find Jitty standing at the foot of the bed.
"You've got yourself in a fine mess," she said softly. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her weight undetectable. "Have you figured out what you're gonna do?"
I shook my head. "I have a hypothetical question. If Lee chooses to sacrifice herself for her daughter, do I have a right to try to stop her?"
Jitty shifted, semireclining so that the moonlight falling through the bedroom window was softly gathered into the folds of her sheer nightgown. "This entire case is about the future, Sarah Booth. Lee's and Kip's. If you had a daughter, what would you do?"
Imagining the future was difficult. Imagining the future with a teenage daughter was even harder. But I knew the answer. Deep inside, there was no doubt. "The same thing Lee is doing. The same thing Mama would have done for me."
Jitty nodded. "There is no sacrifice too great for your child."
I sighed. "What about the truth?"
"Whose truth?"
There were times when Jitty's wisdom superseded her pain-in-the-ass qualities, and this was one of them. "Did you ever have children?" I asked.
She shifted off the bed in one fluid movement and went to the window. Her gown shimmered on a soft spring breeze, and I saw no trace of childbearing in her lean and supple body. But Jitty was a ghost. She was beyond the scars and failings of mere mortals.
"No children. But like you, Sarah Booth, I've had many losses. Children are the hope of the future. Kip is Lee's future. That child is what she lives for."
"What should I do?" I was firmly wedged between duty and honor.
Jitty turned to face me, and in the moonlight I saw the glint of her smile. "It seems to me your friend is hanging on to the past and trying to preserve the future. I don't think she can do it. I don't think anyone can."
She left the window and drifted to the door.
"Don't go," I said. Her words had left me with a sense of vague dread.
"I have an appointment." Jitty's moment of pensiveness was over. She did a slow turn so that the gown swirled from her hips to her ankles in one shimmering swirl. "One of us has to exercise the old libido." She was gone, but her voice, faded and hardly more than a whisper, came back to me. "Be careful, Sarah Booth. Be careful."
I snapped off the light. The dark was velvety soft, the best of the Delta before the arrival of humidity and savage, biting insects. I could hear the soft throbbing of the frogs, and the chirr of the crickets, sounds I'd come to expect as part of my life, part of the first awakening of spring.
For most of my life I'd slept in this room, except for a few years of misadventuring. Jitty's comments had thrown my past and my future into sharp relief. I saw myself clearly hung on the cusp of the present. I had no past or future. One was lost in the fog of time and the other didn't exist. Would a child connect me to both, as Jitty implied? I wasn't certain.
At last I felt the pull of sleep, and I tried to shake free of the bonds of anxiety that held me in wakefulness. Eyes closed, I slipped into a dream. I was alone in the middle of a darkened room. As I glanced at a wall, a light snapped on, highlighting a black-and-white photograph. I went closer, to examine the image.
The child that looked back at me was dark-haired and smiling, a beautiful little girl holding on to a horsehair sofa for support. I knew her. She was my daughter. Her name was—
I wasn't certain what startled me out of my dream, but I was fully awake, tensed, and listening. Someone was walking by my bedroom door.
The steps were sneaky, a tiptoe on the stairs, a pause whenever a board creaked or moaned. Easing out of bed, I cracked my bedroom door and looked out into the dark hall. A slight figure was descending the stairs. Kip.
Listening closely, I waited for her to make it to the first floor before I followed. Moving with great care, I slipped down the stairs, alert to every tiny sound. Kip had gone through the parlor and the dining room, and I heard the soft shush-shush of the kitchen door swinging closed. Maybe she'd gotten up for a snack. But that didn't explain her furtiveness.
I continued behind her, stopping at the swinging door. I could hear her in the kitchen, and after a few seconds I knew what she was doing. She was on the phone.
"I found out today that she has my horse," she said. There was a pause. "I'm positive. The man who bought her was put up to it by Carol Beth." Another pause. "I don't care. I don't care! I'm going to kill her."
I took a long, slow breath through my nose.
"I hate her. She's tried to take everything. She's greedy and awful, and I hate her!"
Kip's voice had begun to rise, but she got control of herself. "She's going to pay," she said in a calmer, more deadly tone. "I can't call you. My phone privileges have been revoked. She pretends not to, but she's watching me all the time."
I could hear her opening a bag of chips as she talked. "Good idea. Maybe that'll keep her off my back so I can finish what I started."
There was the click and fizz of a soda opening. "Okay, that sounds good. Whenever you can stop by. Just don't call."
The receiver was returned to the hook.
I crept back up the stairs and crawled into bed. I was not afraid of Kip, but I was afraid of what I would learn about her. Before I opened this can of worms, I needed hard facts. If Kip had committed one violent act, there was a likelihood that she might do it again.
When Kip was safely back in bed, I picked up the telephone in my room and hit star sixty-nine. I counted the seven musical beeps, a local number. The telephone rang and rang, but no one answered. Digging up the phone records to reveal Kip's partner in crime would take too long. I needed to make Lee understand that she could protect Kip from everyone but herself.
Mornings are normally my favorite time of day. There is a magic in the first moments of wakefulness, a tear in reality when anything is possible. My night had been restle
ss, and I awoke groggy and filled with a sense of dread.
The pale yellow light of morning spilled through the window and across the foot of my bed, filling the room with a soundless presence. I realized then that Sweetie Pie wasn't beside my bed. Normally I could hear her light snoring. She was undoubtedly in Kip's room. The girl did have a way with animals.
"If you're gonna play mama, you'd best get yourself down to the kitchen and make breakfast."
Jitty was sitting in the rocker in a corner of the room. Gone without a trace was the compassion she'd shown the previous night. She'd finally changed out of my sweats and was wearing a red shorts-and-halter set. Forties? Nineties? I couldn't exactly pin down the era. Jitty had an annoying habit of traipsing through the decades in search of an identity. "Whatever place in history that outfit had come from, it was definitely hot. The material was shiny and clingy. Spandex? Her white sandals were strappy, with a three-inch heel.
"You're looking anything but maternal," I said, throwing back the covers and standing up to stretch.
"Somebody around here's got to look presentable. What are you gonna do about a date for that big ball? Might be fun to conjure you up a man out of thin air. 'Course that might be the only place you'd find one willin' to be your escort."
"I have other, more important things on my mind, Jitty." I'd gone over every available man I knew and hadn't come up with a single idea for a date.
"Keep on pretendin'," she said, walking across the room with a strut that could have made a grown man cry. "You ought to get on one of those computer dating services."
I was tired of this harangue. "You do it if you're so smart."
Jitty did a three-quarter turn like a runway model. She must have practiced the move for weeks. "You know I can't type."
"Never too late to learn a useful skill." I retrieved a pair of shoes from beneath some clothes on the floor.
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