Splintered Bones (7 page)

"Your dog has a friend coming over?" Kip looked from me to Sweetie Pie.

"Chablis. Tinkie's dog." I hesitated, then took the plunge. "I think you'd like the little vermin. She's terminally cute, and she has a lot of heart. Why don't you come down and meet Chablis and have some strawberry pie with me and Tinkie?"

She looked as if I'd asked her to perform a ballet on a bed of nails. "I'm not hungry."

"Kip, please come down. A grilled cheese sandwich won't hold you for long. You haven't eaten enough to keep a bird alive since you got here."

"Why do you care?" Her green eyes didn't flinch, but the
please
had gotten to her.

"I won't pretend to like you, but I do care what happens to you."

"Because of my mother?"

"Partly. Also because of you. I have a feeling that if you'd give me half a chance, we might actually like each other."

She rubbed her eyes as if suddenly aware the makeup was gone. "Why aren't you married?" she demanded.

The question took me by surprise. "I haven't found the right man." I glanced past her to see if Jitty, somehow, had invaded her room and her brain. "It hasn't been my sole mission in life."

"All the women who come to the barn talk about their husbands, or the men they're screwing. That's all they talk about." She said this with complete disgust. "What's wrong with you?"

"Now that's a question that will take at least half an hour to answer. If you come downstairs, I'm sure Tinkie will be glad to fill you in."

Her lips pressed together. "I can leave if I want?"

I nodded. "But once Tinkie starts dishing the dirt on me, you'll be too fascinated to depart."

I didn't give her a chance to refuse. I walked away. Kip was furious with everyone and everything associated with her parents. I'd found only one thing that she seemed to like--dogs. Sweetie Pie had slipped beneath her defenses. Chablis was the next tool I had to attack the wall of armor Kip had so efficiently built.

6

Tinkie's tiny fists pounded against the old oak of Dahlia
House's front door. With one eye on Kip, I opened the door. As usual, Tinkie sailed past me, Chablis tucked under one arm. "I'd adore some coffee, Sarah Booth," she said. "And some pie. I'm desperate for--" The sight of Kip, standing at the bottom of the stairs, halted her.

"Is that Katrina Lee Fuquar?" Tinkie asked as she began to circle Kip as though she were some exotic animal liable to pounce at any moment.

Kip held her ground. "My name is Kip." She stared at Tinkie unflinchingly, enduring the inspection.

"As you well know, Kip is staying with me," I said, grasping Tinkie's arm and propelling her toward the kitchen. "The coffee's perking." Tinkie could almost always be distracted with food.

I looked over my shoulder and motioned Kip to follow us. Tinkie was still craning her neck to look back at the teenager as I pushed her through the dining room and into the kitchen. Without further ado, I parked her at the table.

The afternoon sun was coming through the white lace of the eyelet curtains, which danced on a tickling spring breeze. The strawberries smelled sweet and ripe, a promise of summer. Long ago, on just such a spring morning, I'd sat at the table and watched my mother make strawberry pies. "Nothing like fresh fruit in season," she'd said, holding out a washed berry for me to eat. The white curtains had filled with her laughter, fluttering like shards of sunlight.

"Sarah Booth?" Tinkie said, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

I was saved from answering by the sound of footsteps in the dining room. To my surprise, Kip pushed through the swinging door and took a seat at the table. While Tinkie stared at Kip, Kip was mesmerized by Chablis.

"She's beautiful," she said, holding out a hand for Chablis to sniff.

The miniature fluffball leaped from Tinkie's arms and skittered across the table into Kip's lap. Her overbitten little jaw worked furiously as she licked Kip's face.

Sweetie Pie butted through the swinging door, tail thumping everything in sight. She rushed to Kip, put her front paws on the chair, and joined in the frenzy. Her long tongue slurped Kip's other cheek.

"She has a way with animals," Tinkie said, fascinated. "She must get that from her mother."

"The only things I got from Mother are green eyes and the knowledge that I'll never marry." Still holding Chablis, Kip stood up. "Can I take them outside?"

"Sure," Tinkie and I said in unison.

Kip banged out the back door with Chablis in her arms and Sweetie Pie on her heels.

"That hair," Tinkie said. "I think we should shave her head. She might have lice."

"She's having a hard time," I said, putting a slice of pie and a cup of coffee in front of Tinkie.

"And what about you?" Tinkie asked. "How are you managing with her in your home?
It concerns me. Have you considered another"--she knew she was treading on thin ice--"place for Kip to stay? She has a reputation for having a really bad temper."

Lee had asked for my help, and I had given my word. But Tinkie was acting only as a concerned friend. "I'm fine with Kip being here. We set some ground rules. Kip may have a temper, but she also has a good brain. It's in her best interests to keep me satisfied with her conduct."

My reputation for stubbornness was well known. "If you say so," Tinkie said as she speared a lush strawberry and held it to her mouth. I watched in fascination as she simultaneously bit and sucked, her
Tawny
Port
lips moving over the berry in the most extraordinary fashion. Not a hint of moisture escaped her. I was immediately thrown back into the past. Ninth grade, high school cafeteria. Tinkie eating a strawberry in exactly the same fashion. It had brought Simon Mills, the chemistry teacher, to his proverbial knees. Tinkie had a lot to teach me.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked her.

She looked at me, all wide-eyed innocence. "Do what?"

I shook my head. "What did you find out?"

"You're going to love this," she said, pushing the almost empty plate away and leaning forward. "The hunt season is over. There's going to be a big ball." Her eyes sparkled. "And I've gotten both of us invited!"

I was impressed. I'd never run in the hunt society, but I knew the social events were always exclusive. "This is perfect. How did you manage it?"

She shrugged one shoulder in a modest gesture that was completely sincere. "Since Lee's in jail, Virginia Cooley Davis is hosting the ball. Let's just say she owes me a favor or two." Tinkie smiled.

"
Virginia
?" She'd been a delicate young girl who played the piano and read novels. I couldn't imagine her riding a horse in a blood sport, and said so.

"She doesn't ride. Her husband is a whip in the hunt, and she handles the social calendar." Tinkie retrieved the pie and opened her mouth for the last strawberry. When she finished, there wasn't even a smudge of whipped cream on her perfect lipstick. A Daddy's Girl had many talents.

"This is the final ball of the season," Tinkie continued, "and
Chesterfield
always has a very, very elegant affair. The men will wear tails with the colors of the hunt on the collar, and the ladies"--she grinned--"we wear ball gowns fit to kill." Her expression changed to one of worry. "Can you find a date? You have to have an escort."

"Of course I can find a date," I replied, cut to the bone. "You act like no one will go out with me."

"Have you been out since
Hamilton
the Fifth went back to
Europe
?" she asked pointedly.

"I've been busy, and--" Truth was,
Hamilton
, the focus of my first case and the man who'd touched my heart, was often on my mind.

"So, the answer is no. It doesn't sound like your dance card has any marks on it."

I glared at her. "You know, you're beginning to remind me of Brianna Rathbone." Brianna had figured prominently in my last case-- as primary suspect, primo Daddy's Girl, former schoolmate, former model, wannabe biographer, and bitch extraordinaire.

Tinkie only laughed. "Well, put your thinking cap on, because you need an escort. And don't think you can fall back on Harold. I hear he's already got a date." She tilted her head, watching for my reaction.

"Who?" My attempt to play uninterested was a failure.

"This is the other thing I found out." She slowly sat back in her chair, playing out the moment like Gloria Swanson waiting for her close-up. "Harold's taking a married woman because her husband can't attend. Carol Beth Bishop!" At my blank look, she continued with some exasperation. "She was a Farley."

I inhaled. "No!" I remembered her perfectly.

She nodded. "In fact, she's in town right this minute. Even better, she's out at Swift Level, and she's claiming that she owns Lee's prime breeding stallion and four of her best mares. She has a bill of sale from Kemper, signing the horses over as collateral for a debt."

I stood up so fast my chair spilled over backward. There was a startled yelp at the kitchen window, and I caught a glimpse of Kip stumbling away. She'd been eavesdropping.

"Carol Beth Farley! She's the person claiming Lee's horses?" Now I knew why Bud Lynch had been so desperate to talk to Lee. Carol Beth took what she wanted, when she wanted it. Anyone who got in her way was flattened.

Tinkie nodded. "She's already called the sheriff on that trainer, Lynch. He won't turn over the horses to her."

"Bravo for him." His stock rose a notch in my eyes. At least he was good for something. "Carol Beth Farley," I said, pacing the kitchen. The moment that defined her for me was a sixth-grade piano recital competition held the spring after my parents' death. She'd worn a designer gown, her mahogany brown curls piled high on her head and a glittering tiara nestled on top. She'd taken one look at the plain satin dress Aunt LouLane had made for me and twisted up one corner of her mouth. "Appearance is three quarters of the performance," she'd said, and then gone on to prove it. She'd won.

But the story was more complex than our childhood rivalry. Frankie Archey was, hands down, the best pianist in the school. Three broken fingers on his right hand had forced him to withdraw from the contest. The day before the recital, when he was practicing alone in the school auditorium, Carol Beth slammed the piano cover on his hand. She said it was an accident. Frankie said nothing at all.

"How did you find out about Carol Beth?" I asked Tinkie.

"
Virginia
told me. She was at Swift Level making preparations for the ball. It's still going to be held there, even with Lee in jail. Lee has insisted, though Heaven knows why. Anyway,
Virginia
heard the whole exchange between the trainer and Carol Beth." She bit her lower lip, then let it pop out from her teeth. I'd borrowed that little gesture to good advantage in the past.

"Good work, Tinkie."

"There's one other thing." She paused.

"What?"

"
Virginia
said several of our old crowd have been taking riding lessons from that horse trainer. It seems Bud has quite a following among the ladies."

I caught a glimpse of Kip, back at the window. Judging from the expression on her face, she wasn't as indifferent to what was happening as she wanted to make out.

Once Tinkie and
Chablis had gone, I went up to Kip's room. She was lying on her unmade bed, a magazine open in front of her.

"We need to talk about school," I said. I needed to keep Kip busy and out of trouble.

"I'm not going back." She didn't bother to look up from the magazine. I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Kip, you can't drop out of school."

She closed the magazine, revealing a horse and rider clearing a big fence. "Mr. Hayden said I could do my classes on-line if I can borrow your computer. I just can't go back to school now."

"I'll talk it over with your mom," I agreed.

"Do that," she said. "She won't care. I missed school all the time to ride." She flipped the magazine open again and began to read an article. I was dismissed.

Kip was heavy on my mind as I drove to
The Zinnia Dispatch to
see what Cece had dug up on Kemper. Because I'd already eaten peach cobbler and a modest portion of strawberry pie, I decided to forgo the cheese Danish that was my usual offering to Cece. Poor decision. Cece was always nicer when fed.

Cece's door was open, and I slowed and stopped just outside when I noticed the well-dressed man sitting in front of her desk. He was groomed to perfection, and sat with one ankle crossed over a knee, perfectly at ease.

"An industrial park isn't exactly a society page story," Cece said in a tone that showed her patience had worn thin.

"
Sunflower
County
has
no
development," the man said patiently. "What I'm proposing will bring jobs here. And my ideas on development are far from merely industrial. I envision great things for
Sunflower
County
. This is a land rich in history and heritage. These are all things that can be capitalized on."