Splintered Bones (18 page)

"Kip, there are a lot of things we need to talk about, but this can wait until Lee is out of jail. Just don't do it anymore, okay?"

She nodded. "I'll delete your profile."

"Thanks," I said. "And that's it for the computer. Use it only for schoolwork and nothing else. And no phone. And no music. That's punishment for leaving the house last night and worrying me to death."

She looked up, surprised. "That's it? That's the punishment? What about Carol Beth's truck?"

"I know why you vandalized the truck. What you did was wrong, but I'm not willing to punish you for it. When your mother gets out of jail, the two of you can sort it out. I'm not your warden, Kip. But there is something I want you to do for me."

"What?"

"Who told you that Carol Beth had bought your horse?"

Her gaze slid back to the pot of sauce, which she began to stir with a vengeance. "I can't say."

"I certainly can't torture the name out of you, but I will tell you that whoever did it was either very irresponsible or very cruel. Does knowing where Mrs. Peel is make you feel better?" She didn't say anything, but I knew she was getting my point. "Has it helped your feelings in any way? Or has it just made it worse?"

"Worse," she whispered. "Before I found out Carol Beth had her, I could pretend that the young girl was riding her, and loving her the way I do."

"Who told you where the horse was?"

"Mr. Rich." She spoke the name so softly I wasn't sure what she said.

"Mike Rich?"

"Yeah." She picked up a pasta spoon and pulled up several spaghetti strands to test them. "He didn't know it was a secret."

"And did he pick you up last night?"

The look she gave me was desperate. "Don't get him in trouble. I lied to him. I said I had to talk to Carol Beth about something else. Mike was the only one of the men who came to the house who was ever nice to me. He came to the shows, too, and sometimes he'd sit at the trailer and talk to me. He knew I loved Mrs. Peel. He thought I'd want to know she had a good home."

She was holding back the tears by sheer will. "Okay, Kip," I said. "It's okay."

"Carol Beth is a bitch. She wants everything. She hung out at the barn, chasing Bud and wanting all of the horses. She took Mrs. Peel because I loved her, and Mrs. Peel loved me!" Red splotches bloomed on Kip's cheeks, and her throat was an angry red. Her eyes glittered, but not from unshed tears. She was furious. "I hate that bitch. I hate her! I hate the two of them, Carol Beth
and my father."

She dropped the spoon she held and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I heard her door slam.

W
hen dinner
was
ready, neither Kip nor I had much of an appetite. We toyed with the pasta and salad before we decided to call it a night. Before I saw Coleman in the morning, I had to decide what I was going to tell him about Kip.

I crawled into bed, book in hand. Instead of ideas for my case, I had only worries. LaCoco's man at the Holiday Breeze Motel had ignited my anxiety fuse. Kip was more than I could manage, and another day had passed with Lee still in jail.

Since there was nothing I could do until morning, I opened my book. Kinky was in rare form, as author and as character. I slipped into the story, hoping that somehow, somewhere, I'd find a bit of detecting that might help me with my own case.

I was too tired to even turn off the light when I felt the book slipping from my fingers. I simply let loose of consciousness and fell into a deep sleep.

The smell of baking muffins teased me awake, and I discovered that I was fully dressed and already pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Coffee perked on the counter, a sound and smell that offered good possibilities. What I didn't expect was the black-hatted stranger sitting at my kitchen table, twirling a cigar.

"Jitty said you'd be down soon," Kinky Friedman said, and I knew that I was dreaming. "And by the way, some women find cigars sexy."

"How'd you get in?" I asked.

"You should get a puppet head to hide your key," he recommended. "Of course, that won't do much good if you don't lock your doors."

"What are you doing in
Mississippi
?"

"I heard you were having trouble with your case. I thought I'd drop by. Mind if I smoke?" He didn't wait for a reply. He fired up the cigar and puffed to the ceiling. "From what I gather, you have a friend who's confessed to the murder of her worse half."

"She's innocent," I said.

"All the best ones are."

He wasn't as sympathetic in a dream as he'd appeared in a book. "I need to
prove
she's innocent," I told him.

"She's bound to be guilty of something. All the best ones are."

I poured us both a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. "If you aren't going to help, then let me sleep in peace."

"What's she guilty of?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that?" I demanded.

"The right kind. What's she hiding? Why's she lying? The question I'd get an answer to first is why she stayed with her louse for all this time. Once you know that, maybe you can pick up the scent of other interesting things. And remember, if at first you don't succeed, ask and ask again."

He was gone, leaving only a curl of cigar smoke wafting in the early morning light.

I woke to the sound of Sweetie scratching on my bedroom door, and in my brain the humming of a question that demanded an answer.

13

On Friday, Kip had her own date with destiny in the form of
Coleman Peters. Although she had a new do and better makeup, the sullen demeanor on her face was old and familiar.

Kinky's nocturnal visit had reignited my faith in myself, and I tried hard to be firm yet comforting with Kip. "Just tell Coleman the truth," I reminded her as we turned toward the courthouse square.

"Why do I have to talk to the sheriff?" she asked for the fifth time, as we pulled into a parking space at the courthouse.

"Because he wants to talk to you." I was losing patience, though I was trying hard not to.

"I don't know anything."

"It sure sounded like you did at the funeral. You accused your mother of lying. 'Tell them the truth.' I think that's a direct quote. It made your mother look very, very bad."

She fell silent, staring down at her hands in her lap. We were parked beneath oak trees, and the young leaves were apple green. Even the shade cast by the trees seemed dusted by green.

"Kip, if you know something, please tell me now, before you tell Coleman."

"He won't do anything anyway."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"He used to come out and see Mama. Last year." Her face was lowered and she cut her eyes over at me with a slanting, knowing look. "They were very good friends."

She knew exactly what she was implying. "Coleman? Are you sure?" Call me naive, but I was dumbfounded.

"Sheriff Peters," Kip said. "He would come when Daddy was gone. They'd build a fire in the ladies' parlor and drink brandy or something. Sometimes Mama would play the piano."

This was too much. I'd never taken Coleman for the type who'd play country gentleman in a parlor with a piano, especially not to another man's wife. I knew that he and his wife, Connie, were having a rough time. They'd been near divorcing for the past five years, but Coleman wasn't an adulterer. He just wasn't. This went further than a gut instinct--it went all the way to the womb.

When we arrived in the sheriff's office, Coleman was at his desk on the phone, but his gaze studied Kip. I searched his features for guilt, but saw none. Men were somewhat immune to the feelings of guilt, remorse, and regret. That was the holy trinity of the female.

Coleman put the phone down and motioned for Kip to enter his private office. I got up to follow.

"I'd like to speak to Kip alone," he said pointedly.

"Lee has made me Kip's unofficial guardian. I think it would be better if I stayed with her." I looked to Kip for confirmation, but she was sunk beneath her own thoughts. She sat slumped in a chair, refusing to acknowledge either me or Coleman.

"It's within my right to question Kip," Coleman said.

"Yes, it is." I hated to play hardball with Coleman. He could squash me like a gnat. "But it may be in your best interest to have a witness."

He caught my drift, and I saw a splotch of red touch his cheeks. Guilty! He motioned us both into his office and closed the door.

"Kip, you said at the funeral that you wanted your mother to tell the truth. What truth is that?" Coleman sat down behind his desk as Kip and I took the two remaining chairs.

"I just wanted her to say she didn't kill Daddy." Kip spoke in a monotone. "She didn't."

"Who do you think killed your daddy?" Coleman's tone was far gentler than I expected. I glanced surreptitiously at him. He was leaning forward, elbows on his desk, face earnest. "I'd like nothing more than to let your mama go home. She and I have been good friends for a long, long time. You know that."

"Yeah, good
friends."
Kip didn't bother to hide her sarcasm.

Coleman ignored her. "I don't think your mother killed your father. I don't think she's capable of it. So who would want to see your father dead?"

Kip snorted and finally looked up, her green eyes blazing with fury. "He owed money all over the place. You saw those men at the cemetery. What do you think they wanted? Daddy lied to everyone. He treated everyone like shit. He hit Mama, and he hit the horses. He only pretended to care about people when he needed them for something." Her eyes filled with tears. "He was going to hit me, once, at a show. But Bud told him he'd kill him if he laid a hand on me."

Coleman kept his face very composed. "Did you ever see any of those men from the funeral at Swift Level?" he probed.

"No. Daddy's
friends
came late at night and they went to the barn." Her voice was barely audible and her gaze was once again on the floor. "I don't know anything except that Mama didn't kill him. She should have, but she didn't."

Coleman changed directions. "What do you know about insurance policies?"

I sat up and began to pay attention. LaCoco and his men were still very much on my mind.

"I don't know. Nothing. Daddy's office was in the barn. All the important papers were kept in a safe there." Kip shrugged. "Ask Bud."

"Did your father ever talk to you about insurance?"

"Like he talked to me about anything but winning. Riding and winning, that was what we discussed. Or that's what he talked about. I never got a chance to say much."

"He changed his policy two weeks ago, and made you beneficiary. Did you know that?"

Kip looked puzzled. "He did?"

Coleman nodded. "Okay. I only have one more question. Why did your mother stay with your father if he abused her all the time?"

It was almost as if Kinky had also visited Coleman. He was asking my question.

"Ask Mother." Her voice was a monotone.

"I have. She doesn't have an answer. I thought maybe you would."

Kip picked at the seam in her blue jeans.

"Kip?" Coleman pressed.

She looked up at me. "I don't know."

Coleman wasn't going to back off. "That's a lie, Kip. You won't help your mama by lying, and you might get yourself in trouble."

"Coleman ..." I didn't intend to let him frighten her or use guilt to pry answers from her.

"Stay out of this, Sarah Booth. Lee could have divorced Kemper. This is a question the prosecution is going to ask, and Kip had better be prepared to answer it."

Kip's confusion was evident as she looked up at Coleman. "You said you were Mama's friend. If you think she's innocent, why do you keep her in jail?"

That cut Coleman to the bone. He sat back in his chair. "I have to uphold the law."

"Even when it's wrong?"

He picked up a pencil and twisted it. "Lee confessed to murder. I didn't go out and arrest her, you know."

Kip stared at him, and the teenager disappeared before my eyes, replaced by a cold, angry young woman. "You were part of the reason she didn't divorce him. Whenever she threatened to, he'd say how he would countersue and blame you. He said he'd ruin you politically and also ruin your marriage. He told her the damage he would do could never be repaired." Her nostrils widened slightly as she leaned toward his desk. "That isn't the answer you wanted, is it?" She stood. "Am I done?"

The door of
Coleman's office slammed shut behind Kip. I was left sitting in my chair and staring at the floor. When I finally looked up, Coleman was watching me. His voice was low when he finally spoke.

"Lee and I were always good friends in high school. About three years ago, we both found ourselves in a bad place. I started going out to Swift Level when I knew Kemper was gone. He spent a lot of time down on the
Gulf
Coast
." He held my gaze, though I wanted to look away. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want to be Coleman's priest.