Splintered Bones (19 page)

"We'd have a drink and sit around the fire and talk. It was good for both of us. Connie and I couldn't--can't--pass a civil word. It was worse with Lee and Kemper, though I didn't know he was hitting her."

"Please stop," I said abruptly. "This isn't my business."

"Yes, it is, Sarah Booth, because I care what you think about me. I care a lot. I didn't want to question Kip, but it had to be done."

"Why? You didn't learn a damn thing worth knowing." I was suddenly angry, and I stood and began to pace. "You've hurt her and Lee and yourself. For what? Just so you could say you did your job? That's a crock, and you know it." He had also hurt me. I believed in Coleman. I believed he was a man who knew the difference between right and wrong, and stayed on the side of the angels.

"My job is the only thing I have right now," Coleman said so quietly that it made me halt. "Connie's seeing a lawyer. She's filing for divorce. We're legally separated. It's just a formality now."

"Is Connie naming Lee?" That would be too much.

He shook his head. "The grounds are incompatibility. Connie wants kids and I don't. I work all the time. I neglect her. Connie's list of complaints is longer than my arm."

"I'm sorry, Coleman."

He shrugged. "My marriage was dead a long time ago. We should have ended it then."

It was ironic that now Lee's marriage was dead, too. Dead because someone had killed her husband. "You make a pretty good suspect in Kemper's death," I said. I meant it as a joke, but I also recognized the truth of it. So did Coleman. He dropped the pencil and stared at me in silence.

"If I were Jack Webb, I'd have to ask you where you were on the night that Kemper was murdered." I tried to make it sound like a joke.

"I don't have an alibi," he said, and he was not joking. "I was riding around out by
Opal
Lake
. Connie and I had another fight and I just got in my truck and started driving. I didn't go home until nearly dawn."

A strange lump had worked its way into my throat. Coleman was throwing himself in front of the train. He was willing to become a suspect to take the heat off Lee. "If you want to help Lee, it would be a lot more beneficial if you said you had her in the truck with you. Even better, you could really give her an alibi by relating gritty details of making love on the seat like some teenager." I didn't understand why I was so mad at him.

He stood up. "I wasn't with Lee. There was a time, back in high school, when I thought we were suited to each other. Both of our lives would have been very different." He opened the door to his office. "But that's not what happened." His mouth set in a firm line, closing that avenue of conversation. "Boyd Harkey stopped by to see Lee this morning. She was crying when he left."

"What about those men at the funeral? Did you find anything?"

"Tony LaCoco has gambling interests in
Mississippi
and
Louisiana
, most of them illegal. Kemper owed money, a lot of money. LaCoco has stated a claim to funds, once the will is probated, but I don't think he'll give Kip any trouble."

"I wouldn't be so sure." I told him about the brief encounter at the Holiday Breeze. I could tell that he didn't like anyone threatening Kip.

"I'll have a talk with Mr. LaCoco," he said. "What were you doing at the Holiday Breeze?"

That was a question
I
didn't want to answer. I ignored it. "How much did Kemper owe those men?"

Coleman sighed. "About four hundred thousand."

"How much is the insurance policy?"

Coleman got up and walked to the window so that his back was to me. "A million dollars. But there's some question as to whether the policy will pay off if Lee's convicted of the murder."

"But Kip is the beneficiary?"

"Yes," Coleman said. "There's another thing you need to know. Swift Level belonged to Kemper. From the very first. Lee's name was never on the deed."

14

My intense desire was to get in my classic convertible and
drive through the open fields of
Sunflower
County
until I came to terms with at least some of the issues that were troubling me. My brief stint in the study of psychology at Ole Miss had given me an understanding of the complexity of emotions--and the ensuing damage that came from
not
sorting through them.

Unfortunately, I was missing one emotionally volatile and very angry teenager. There was an old bench in the shade of an oak on the courthouse lawn. I sat down, knowing that it was useless for me to hunt Kip and that when she was ready, she would find me. The cement bench was cool, and I enjoyed the contrast between my cool seat and the warm sun on my shoulders as I watched the cars circle the courthouse square. Some were looking for parking while others were merely exercising the American right of curiosity. The courthouse was still the hub of
Sunflower
County
. It was where the action was.

When I was a kid, I loved to ride my bicycle around the courthouse square and the town, flying along the sidewalks and less busy streets. My father had hauled the old Schwinn from Dahlia House in the trunk of the car. Daddy was a circuit court judge, a man of influence. My mother was a character, a woman ahead of her time.

"Lovely day, isn't it, Sarah Booth?"

The sonorous tones of Boyd Harkey made me sit up straight on the bench. I felt as if I'd been caught naked. I didn't like Boyd, and he didn't like me. He was a shark, and he only came around when he smelled blood. The fact that he was being pleasant to me made the hair on the nape of my neck stand.

"It is a nice day, Boyd." My early training as a Daddy's Girl dictated that I maintain the veneer of pleasantness.

"Since you're on Lee's payroll, that means you're working for me now. I'm her lawyer, in case you haven't heard."

I tried to hide my surprise. Lee had emphatically stated she would handle her own defense. She also held Boyd in the same contempt I did. "When did she hire you?"

"Today. I'm in charge of her case, and that means you work for me."

I looked up to see if he was kidding. He was staring at the courthouse, his leonine head lifted, chin forward. He was a big star in the local theater, and he was adept at striking poses. This was one of his better ones.

"Mrs. McBride is not as clever as she thinks," he said.

No surprise there. Only Boyd was as clever as he thought. Still, the fact that Lee had gotten professional help was a relief. "Can you prove she's innocent?"

He stared at me, his eyes too wide apart in his large head, his flowing gray hair groomed to a sweeping perfection. "I don't even think about it. I'm not paid to think about guilt or innocence; I'm paid to get my client off. That's why I'm talking to you. If you want to help Lee, find me a scapegoat, someone I can point the finger of blame at. I need a Plan B for this case, Sarah Booth, and I've decided that you're the person to give it to me."

"Has Lee agreed to this?" I had my doubts. "She hired me to gather evidence showing that she had justifiable reasons to kill Kemper. I tried to convince her to help me find other potential murder suspects, but she was adamantly
against
that kind of defense tactic."

Boyd's smile was more of a sneer. "Lee is a fool. She's perfectly suited to breed horses and cowboys. Anything else is out of her league. I'm in charge of this case. She's already stupidly allowed herself to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. Now temporary insanity is out of the question. I have to have something else by next Friday, when we go before the grand jury. Reasonable doubt is the next best thing."

"Lee's not going to accept the idea of fingering someone else as a possible killer," I pointed out. When the finger of blame moved away from Lee, it would point directly at Kip, and Lee would not tolerate that.

"You can take your marching orders from me, or you can clear out of the way. I won't have you screwing things up." He put his hand on my shoulder and then let it slide down my bare arm. "Find me a scapegoat and be quick about it. Her current defense is ridiculous. Everyone in town is relating it to that song. A Dixie Chick defense," he added in disgust.

I knew the song about Earl and why he had to die. The lyrics had struck a chord with women across
America
--and ignited the ire of a certain kind of man.

"Instead of strategizing, why don't you--"

"Find me suspects. Check out that group of horsewomen. They're a talented lot. They've figured out how to screw their husbands in all the classic ways. Surely you can find me a motive for murdering Kemper in that group. Reasonable doubt is all I need." He squeezed my hand so tight that it took all my restraint not to pull away from him.

There was a soft, feminine laugh from behind us. "Boyd, I see you're still ordering women around. And using physical force, when necessary. I suppose that's why you always married children. A mature woman wouldn't put up with you for thirty seconds."

I turned to find Lillian Sparks leaning against the huge oak tree that shaded us. I had no idea how long she'd been listening, but her presence made Boyd drop my hand as if my skin had suddenly become too hot. Instead of hot, though, I felt cold. Boyd's touch was not sexual; it was even more intimate, more obscene--the witch feeling Hansel's finger to see if he was fat enough to eat.

"Lillian," Boyd said with fake joviality, "I was going to call on you later today. We may need an expert on horse behavior. Would you consider it?"

Lillian came toward us. I often forgot she was in her seventies until she moved. Her ankles were so badly swollen she could hardly walk, and I wondered how she'd sneaked up. "I'll be glad to testify in Lee's behalf. But about what?"

Boyd's smile was superior. "Perhaps we'll throw suspicion on that horse. Paint a scenario where Kemper was alive in that stall."

"The forensic evidence--" I tried to say.

"Juries don't want forensics. They want a good, dramatic story."

Lillian exchanged a look with me. "I'd like to believe the average citizen is more intelligent than you obviously think, Boyd."

He laughed out loud. "They're morons. Fools to be led to whatever conclusion the best lawyer conjures for them. The jury is the ignorant masses, and the lawyer the magician that makes them believe in illusion. You know it in your heart, Lillian." He laughed again. "All of you dreamers, wanting things to be different. Well, they aren't, and they won't ever be. You just have to figure out how to make the best of the situation and turn it to your advantage."

"Thanks for the lesson in life," I said. I had things to do. Nothing Boyd had told me was news, except for the date of the grand jury. Next Friday. A week from today. What he had accomplished was to sharpen my focus. Lee did need a Plan B, and I was going to have one ready for her. One that wouldn't risk her daughter or Avenger.

Boyd walked away, striding across the greening lawn. Lillian, sighing, took a seat on the bench.

"I saw Kip. She looked upset," she said.

"She is." It occurred to me that Lillian would probably know the details on Swift Level. Her father had been one of the premier horse breeders in the Southeast at one time.

"Do you have a financial line on Swift Level?" I asked.

"Historical or current?"

I considered. "Both. It's for the case."

"Kemper bought the Parker estate, and it was a good thing, too. He had money, but he was gambling like mad. Lee insisted that he buy the property. She was about to have Kip, and it looked like her parents were actually going to finally accept Lee for who and what she was. Then something happened. I'm not sure what, but the rift between Lee and her folks was permanent. She'd obtained some of her inheritance, enough to get Swift Level remodeled and the pastures and barns up and running. The rest of it, Lee earned on her own, by the sweat of her brow and by sheer, damned determination."

"So Kemper owned the physical property--"

"Which Lee has vastly improved."

"And she owned the horses and everything of value."

Lillian nodded. "It was a stalemate. She couldn't really divorce him, and he didn't want to divorce her. She was his constant source of income, and Swift Level was the showplace that Lee had created out of a dream. They were twined together in a terrible partnership."

As Lillian got up to go, I couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't something else there, something more than money.

I
was still
sitting on the bench when Kip found me. She was sullen and uncommunicative, but she followed behind me when I stood and walked to the car. We drove slowly back to Dahlia House, each of us staring at the passing scenery and trapped in our own thoughts.

There was a call on my answering machine from Millie. She was brief and to the point--the gossip about Bud Lynch and his riding students was all over town. Carol Beth had set up camp in a back booth of the restaurant and spent the morning slandering Bud. It crossed my mind that Carol Beth was laying the defense she planned to use to her husband. I wondered how smart Benny Bishop could be.