Sandra Brown

by The Witness [lit]

  "And keep in mind that until a few days ago, Matt Burn wood didn't even know he had a son. I don't think he's too happy with his ex-wife for keeping that boy a secret from him."

  He smiled faintly. "You haven't seen the baby yet, have you, Ricki Sue? I've seen him. I've held him. He's a cute little guy. Looks a lot like his mother, your best friend."

  "Stop."

  He added in a bland, matter-of-fact tone, "In the course of my career, I've investigated a lot of unspeakable crimes. But I have to tell you that what I've learned about the Burnwoods and the Brotherhood over the last few days has made my blood run cold, and we've barely skimmed the surface."

  He leaned down again, bringing his face close to hers. "I can envision these fanatics performing some kind of ritualistic killing on the baby, just to prove that they're chosen. Holy. Above the laws of man; even above the laws of God. Do you want little Kevin to wind up looking like th is? He held the photo of Lottie Lynam up to her face.

  "Stop it!" Ricki Sue knocked the picture out of his hand and tried to stand.

  Pepperdyne pressed her shoulder, keeping her in the chair.

  "If you know where Mrs. Burnwood is hiding, you'll be saving her life by telling me."

  "I swear I don't know," Ricki Sue said, sobbing.

  "Think! Where would she go?"

  "I don't know!"

  Pepperdyne straightened up and gave a deep sigh. "Very well, Ricki Sue. Don't trust me. Don't tell me. But by keeping silent you're placing two lives in grave danger, not to mention Marshal McGrath's."

  He laid his business card on the table. "On the back I've written the local number where I can be reached. We've set up an office in the Sheridan Police Department. Someone there will know where I am twenty-four hours a day. If Mrs. Burn wood calls, tell her to come in. Beg her to come in. I swear we'll protect her."

  Ricki Sue wiped her running nose with the back of her hand. "You'll protect her? Like you did before?"

  She derived some satisfaction from getting in that parting shot. Pepperdyne was frowning when he stormed from the room.

  Chapter 31

  "Mamas madder than a wet hen." Looking glum, Henry hung up the pay telephone and turned to his brother.

  Luther was eating a bean burrito and drinking a Big Red.

  Absently, he offered a bite of the burrito to Henry. His attention had been drawn to the three teenage girls who were pumping gas into a Mustang convertible in one of the self service bays at the convenience store.

  "They ought not to run around half-nekkid like that," Luther observed, taking a swig of his soda. "Their britches are so short their butt cheeks are showing. And look how skimpy those tops are. But if a guy like me was to try and take some of what they're showin' off, there'd be hell to pay. Jailbait," he grumbled.

  Henry glanced at the girls but was too crestfallen to appreciate the view. He had just received a tongue-lashing from Mama, which was almost as painful as the whippings his daddy used to give him with a strop. Mama's harsh criticism could almost raise welts. "Did you hear what I said, Luther? Mama's pissed at us."

  Luther finished the burrito in one huge bite, wadded up the wrapping, and dropped it on the ground. "How come?"

  "On account of what happened last night."

  "How were we supposed to know the feds would be inside that old lady's house? I thought it was damn clever of us to trace Mrs. Burnwood to that house. Did you tell Mama that?"

  "I tried. But I don't think she got it all. She was yellin' too loud. You know how she gets. When she's on a tear, she ain't interested in listenin'."

  Luther nodded. The girls passed him on their way inside to pay for the gas. They were so involved in their giggling conversation that they didn't give him a second glance. Rich girls like that, who drove shiny new cars their daddies gave them when they turned sixteen, were worlds above him. They looked through him as if he were invisible, like he was trash.

  Luther resented that.

  "There ought to be a law against them letting their tits jiggle like that," he muttered. "I mean, Jesus! They know damn well what it does to a guy."

  "Will you stop jerking off and pay attention," Henry shouted.

  Henry was only a few minutes older than his twin, but he took the role of elder sibling seriously. He was the planner, the worrier. It had never been cause for conflict between them.

  Luther submitted to his brother's leadership qualities. He preferred to be free of the responsibility. He did what he was told to do. He could be counted on to do his part in any undertaking, legal or not, but his participation was physical, not mental.

  Henry was still despondent over Mama's lecture. "She said that even if our brains were combined, we'd come up short.

  She said even a damn fool could figure out Mrs. Burnwood wouldn't go back to her granny's house, that it was the first place everybody'd be looking for her."

  "Can I tell you something, Henry?" Luther asked. "Swear to God you'll never repeat it, especially to Mama?"

  "What?"

  "I peed my pants when those feds came running after us, shooting. I ain't never been that scared."

  "Me neither. We got lucky, is all, or our asses would be in jail right now."

  The mention of jail immediately reminded them of Billy Joe and the hardships he continued to suffer because of the woman they sought. Occasionally their zeal would diminish, as they became tired, or discouraged, or bored with this difficult undertaking.

  But each reminder of their little brother, locked behind bars with queers and weirdos of every color, having to live the rest of his life as a freak with only one arm, fanned the fires of hatred and rekindled their vows of vengeance.

  "Well, we're wasting time standin' around here," Henry said. "Every minute that passes, her trail grows colder."

  "I'll be right back." Luther headed for the entrance. "I want me another burrito."

  Henry grabbed the back of Luther's shirt and hauled him to the car. "Burrito, my ass. You want another gander at those girls."

  "Nothing wrong with looking, is there?"

  For an hour they cruised the streets of Sheridan, hoping that something in Kendall Burnwood's hometown would spark an idea, hoping that they would absorb by osmosis a clue that would lead them to Kendall's hiding place, which they'd learned the hard way wasn't inside her late grandmother's house in a sparsely populated area on the outskirts of town.

  They hadn't figured it would be so hard to find her. They were discouraged and homesick. Back in Prosper, Mama was furious over their failure. If they didn't produce something quick, she would have their hides for sure.

  After an hour of aimless driving, Henry pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse. "What the hell are you doing here, Henry?" Luther glanced around nervously. "Cops are thicker than flies on a dead possum."

  "They didn't get a good look at us or our car. The papers said we were 'unidentified intruders." For all they know, we were thieving kids looking for a stereo to fence for dope money."

  The explanation did nothing to calm Luther's jitters. "I still don't get it. What're we doing here?"

  "Watching."

  "Watching what?"

  "Just watching to see what we can see. We might pick up something. I don't figure we're going to find that bitch by ourselves. Somebody's gonna have to lead us to her."

  Luther slouched down in his seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He whistled tunelessly through his teeth and entertained lewd fantasies in which the three teenage girls in short shorts and crop-tops were enthusiastically granting his every wish. He must have dozed, because he jumped when Henry poked him in the ribs.

  "Come on, let's go."

  He sat up and yawned. "Where to?"

  "See those men crossing the street yonder?"

  Luther followed Henry's pointing finger. "In the dark suits?"

  "They just came out of the courthouse. What do they look like to you?"

  "Feebs, as I live and breathe."

  "Uh-huh." />
  "Ain't that the building where Mrs. Burnwood used to work? They're in a hurry to get there."

  "That's why I think this might be important," Henry said.

  They left their car and hastened across the street, following the FBI agents into the building that housed the Bristol and Mathers offices. They had already done some amateur sleuthing around the building, but it hadn't brought them any closer to finding their prey.

  "They're up there all right," Henry remarked as they entered the lobby. "See where the elevator stopped? Fifth floor."

  They loitered in the lobby, trying not to look conspicuous, although they were so remarkably alike that nearly everyone who came into the building did a double take when they saw them.

  Luther soon grew bored and began complaining, but Henry refused to leave. It was half an hour later when their diligence paid off. The elevator emptied the three men into the lobby. They were obviously agitated. One was talking as briskly as he walked.

  "I still say she's holding back. She's much more afraid of betraying her friend than she is of us."

  That was all the Crooks heard before the three men went through the revolving glass door. The twins looked at each other. "What do you reckon that was all about?" Luther asked.

  As though in answer, the elevator doors opened again and a large, busty woman with a totem pole of red hair marched out. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were puffy and red, making it obvious that she'd been crying.

  Even as Luther and Henry watched, she put a tissue to her nose and honked loudly. She didn't notice the twins because she was focused on the trio of federal agents who were now making their way across the street to the courthouse. As soon as she got outside, she shot them the bird. Although the agents missed the gesture, it seemed to give her immense satisfaction.

  "Who's the gal?"

  "I don't know," Henry replied thoughtfully. "But there's no love lost between her and the feeds, is there? And who else could they have in common except Kendall Burnwood?"

  Chapter 32

  "She's disgusting."

  Gibb swept the stack of Playgirl magazines off Ricki Sue's coffee table "Filth Rubbish. Just what you'd expect to find in the house of a whore." Matt stared down at the magazines on the floor, but if he found them as repulsive as his father did, he didn't show .

  He had been virtually unresponsive since leaving the motel, where they had killed Lottie and left her body.

  "This woman is loud and obnoxious. Always making led innuendos. Remember how she embarrassed us at your wedding, son?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Not at all a proper friend for the wife of a Burnwood."

  "No, sir."

  "But then, as it turns out, you were married to a traitor."

  "Yes, sir."

  For several hours they had been in Ricki Sue's house, searching for a clue to Kendall's whereabouts. They had emptied every drawer and read every sheet of paper in the house, whether it was a tax return, a diary, or a Post-it with a handwritten reminder.

  So far they had turned up nothing about Kendall, but they had a clear insight into Ricki Sue's lifestyle. Besides having the largest supply of beauty products outside a drugstore, she had an extensive collection of erotic books and videos.

  They had discovered a supply of condoms in her nightstand drawer that would rival a pharmacist's inventory. There as a full range of designs, colors, and sizes.

  She liked overly sweet floral perfumes and bath gels. Se owned a vast amount of lingerie, including one floor-len plaid flannel nightgown and two pairs of crotchless panties

  Her kitchen cupboards were stocked with cookies, pole chips, and diet sodas. In her refrigerator they found only quart of milk, four six-packs of beer, and a cloudy jar of olives.

  Ricki Sue was not a meticulous housekeeper, but by the time Matt and Gibb finished their search, it didn't matter.

  They had thoroughly ransacked the place. They were now making one last walk-through to make certain they hadn't overlooked anything.

  "Did you look under the bed?" Gibb asked.

  "No, sir."

  They had stripped off the covers when they searched beneath the mattress, but neither remembered looking beneath the bed. Matt knelt. "There's a box down here, Dad."

  Gibb was instantly alert. "What kind of box?"

  Matt retrieved the ordinary shoe box and raised the dusty lid. When he saw that it contained a stack of personal letters and postcards, he showed it to Gibb. "There might be some thing in there from Kendall," Gibb said excitedly. "Let's get started."

  They went to the living room, where there was more room to spread out the pieces of correspondence. Before they started sorting through them, Gibb held up his hand for quiet. He crept to the front window and peered out. "She's here. Her car just pulled into the driveway."

  He gave the collection of pornographic books a glance of unmitigated disgust, then slowly moved his eyes to Matt.

  "We must take advantage of this opportunity, Matthew. We were sent here to do this, son. It was meant to be. Why else would she come home unexpectedly, hours before her normal workday ends? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Without a word of contradiction or misgiving, Matt nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Gibb signaled for him to hide behind the door. Gibb stepped into the dining alcove, which kept him partially hidden while affording him a view of the front door. Both men's eyes were on the doorknob as Ricki Sue inserted her key.

  "Hey, Red!"

  The shout came from the street.

  At this unexpected turn, Matt looked to Gibb for further instruction. Gibb was peeping between the slats of the blinds, trying to see who had distracted Ricki Sue.

  "Hey, what?" She left her key in the lock and turned from the door to see who had shouted at her.

  "We're looking for Sunset Street. Do you know where it's at?"

  "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," she answered saucily.

  "Care to come over here and discuss it with us?"

  Gibb's features turned rigid with outrage. He jabbed the air with his index finger, indicating that Matt should look outside. An old Camaro was parked at the curb. Inside it were Henry and Luther Crook.

  "What are they doing here?" Gibb whispered.

  Ricki Sue had sauntered over to the car and was leaning into the driver's window to give directions to Sunset Street.

  She was flirting, and the twins were obviously dazzled by her abundant figure.

  "They must be doing the same thing we are," Gibb said after a moment. "They're trying to locate Kendall because of Billy Joe. They blame her for his unfortunate accident." He snickered.

  "They want vengeance, so they've got to find her before the authorities do." He looked at Matt. "The same as us, son.

  Except they don't have the Higher Power on their side like we do. It was probably them who walked into that FBI trap at her grandmother's house. The newspapers have speculated that it was us. As though we'd be that stupid."

  Matt listened, continually nodding in agreement.

  Ricki Sue was gesturing broadly, telling the twins how to reach their destination.

  Gibb moved behind Matt and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  "Let's go. Obviously the Lord changed his mind. The time isn't right. When it is, he'll let us know. Bring the box."

  Gibb headed for the bedroom and the back window through which they had let themselves in. Wordlessly, Matt followed.

  Chapter 33

  The Sheridan policeman stepped into Pepperdyne's temporary office. "somebody wants to speak to you, sir. She refused to talk to anyone else. Line three."

  "She"? Burnwood? With a surge of hope, Pepperdyne snatched up the telephone receiver and depressed the blinking button. "Pepperdyne speaking."

  "You son of a bitch

  "Pardon?"

  "You heard me. you're a scum-sucking son of a bitch! And that's just for starters When I run out of the all the dirty names I know in English, I'm going to start on foreign languages until you get
the general idea of how loathsome I think you are."

  Pepperdyne sighed. "I get the general idea, His. Robb.

  Want to tell me what prompted this obscene call?"

  "You know why I'm calling, you lowlife prick!"

  Her shout was so loud that other agents in the room could hear her through the receiver. They stopped what they were doing and looked at Pepperdyne. Most of them probably wished they had Ricki Sue Robb's nerve.

  "Those lousy bastards tore up my house," she yelled.

  "What lousy bastards?"

  " Your lousy bastards. They pawed through my drawers. And I mean that literally. My undies are scattered all over the floor"

  "Wait a minute." Pepperdyne sprang forward in the reclining chair.

  "Your house has been ransacked?"

  "No shit, Sherlock."

  "And you think my men did it?"

  "Don't play dumb with me. They"

  "I'm on my way." He hung up on her. Barking orders for two of his men to come with him, he yanked his suit jacket from the coat tree and jogged to the nearest exit.

  Five minutes later, he was facing Ricki Sue at her front door. She was trembling with indignation so intense that her hair sculpture was beginning to crack.

  "The FBI needs to give you a crash course in manners, Special Agent Pepperdyne. First you send a couple of perverts over here to trash my place, then you hang up on me. I'm not paying another red cent in taxes if this is the best the fucking federal"

  "My 'perverts' didn't trash your place." He moved her aside, went in, and began firing questions. "Is this exactly the way you found it? What time did you discover the break-in? Have you noticed anything missing? Have you touched anything?"

  While the two other agents milled around, assessing the extent of the damage without disturbing anything that might later become evidence, Ricki Sue took root in the middle of her living room, her fists planted solidly on her wide hips.

  "Are you jerking me around, Pepperdyne?"

  "No," he replied. "For an authorized search, you would have been served a warrant. We're playing strictly by the book on this one, just in case a judge with more compassion than brains, or ethics, chooses to dismiss the case later on a technicality.