Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [47]
“No. My brother was Sioux. What I said to those douche bags was how I really feel because they were wrong disrespecting you and you deserve better.”
She snorted. “But you running into me at the medical center wasn’t a coincidence?”
“No.”
“It was a con? A way for you to sneak in, in plain sight? A way for you to get my trust?”
“I can explain—”
“Save it.” Luella started to shut the door.
“Please. Listen. I know Vernon Sloane was your client—”
“Was? ” She went motionless. “Dear God, what happened to him?”
“He’s been missing for the last couple of days. We found him this morning.”
“Where?”
I hated being the bearer of bad news.
“Tell me.”
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“Outside the complex on the east side.”
Shock caused her to slump against the door frame.
“Outside?”
“Yes. Evidently no one noticed he was missing. When someone did, a staff member from Prairie Gardens finally reached his granddaughter, who was out of town. We met with the manager and the police this morning on her behalf.”
“Police? Was there a search party?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find him?”
Karmic bad luck. “That’s not important. What is important is that you help us determine how this happened.”
“I have nothing else to say.”
Luella slammed the door in my face. And locked it. I’ll admit I was a bit stunned by her rude behavior. Why? You tricked her. You expect her to confide in you now? To trust you?
As I returned to my truck, I questioned for about the millionth time what the hell I was doing. Scarcely six hours ago I’d been snuggled up in my bed, hopeful about a new day.
The lesson in this? Optimism doesn’t pay. Ever. Halfway home my cell phone rang. Annoying fucking 161
thing. Caller ID read: Brittney.
I exhaled another lungful of Marlboro goodness.
“This better be about the gift you brought me back from Denver.”
“Hey, sis! I did bring you a souvenir.”
“It better not be a butt-ugly Broncos jersey.”
She giggled. “It’s not. Much cooler, because it’s useful and you’re gonna love it. So when can you come out here and pick it up?”
Never.
Brittney hadn’t noticed my hesitation. She blithely continued on. Her constant exuberance grated on my nerves. And I didn’t analyze why it did, which was unusual for me.
“—Mom said I could.”
“Said you could what?”
“You weren’t listening.” She sighed dramatically.
“Mom said I could surprise Dad and load up some hay from haystacks out by the road. By myself.”
“With what?”
“With the tractor.”
“Which tractor? The garden tractor?”
“No. The big one. The old one.”
“You think you’re old enough to run the tractor by yourself?”
“DJ did it when he was eleven.”
“Then why isn’t he doing it today?”
“He’s at a rodeo club meeting.”
“Why isn’t Dad doing it?”
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“His hand got infected because he was out doin’
chores when he shouldna been.”
Stubborn fool. “Don’t you guys have a hired man to do shit jobs like that? Isn’t he back by now?”
Brittney got quiet. Real quiet.
“Britt? What’s wrong?”
“Nuthin’.”
“Come on, kiddo, I know something’s up when
the chatterbox stops running.”
“Are you changing the subject because you don’t want to see me?”
Guilt, go away.
Stony silence.
The kid wasn’t a teenager yet and she already had sullen silences down to an art. “What?”
“Why are you always like this?”
“Like what?” Half the time the kid was a serious brat, alternating blame and guilt. Part of me knew all kids had a thoughtless, selfish streak, but she attempted to disguise hers with saccharine words that burned like vinegar in the aftermath.
“Like, I thought you of all people would be happy I’m getting to do something only the guys get to do, driving the tractor.”
The feminist in me cheered; the pragmatist
remained skeptical. “I am. But why does it have to be today? Why can’t you wreak havoc with the tractor when it’s warm and the fields aren’t full of snow?”
“Because I want to help out.” Her voice turned 163
snotty and snappish. “Not that you would understand the hard work and what it’s like to help out around here on the ranch. I heard Mom and Dad talking last night about the hay that