Read Online Blood Ties by Lori G. Armstrong - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori G. Armstrong
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Women Private Investigators, Crimes against, Indians of North America, South Dakota, Murder Victims' Families
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exactly talking.”
“Can you think of a reason why someone would kill 75
your daughter?”
My eyes fl ew open in time to see Shelley fl inch.
“No, the police asked the same question. I’ve had nothing but time to think about it.” She concentrated on manicuring a ragged hangnail to perfection with her teeth.
“Th
e answer hasn’t changed.”
Kevin glanced at his watch and pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his sport coat. “We’ve got to go, but if we need to, can we come back?”
Shelley nodded without enthusiasm.
“If you think of anything else, call. Day or night.”
I added my phone number on the back and slid it next to her cigarettes. “Same goes. You need anything, call.”
We moved toward the door and Shelley stayed motion-less.
“Julie?”
Th
e quaver in her voice chilled me. “Yes?”
“No matter how she’d been conceived . . . she was still mine, and I loved her.” She wiped a fallen tear and repeated, “I always loved her, even when I had a piss-poor way of showing it. No matter who killed her, I want them to pay.”
I didn’t respond. I turned away and reached for the warmth of Kevin’s hand, knowing I couldn’t console her, but at least I could comfort myself.
Kevin signed us out and I made a beeline for fresh air.
Standing in the slate courtyard, the hills behind the rehab building appeared darker, more ominous than when we’d entered. Th
e rain had stopped, but puddles clogged the sidewalk; clouds the color of wet cement hung low, obscuring the view.
It’d seemed months since I’d felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin. I fantasized about current temperatures in Jamaica or Cancun or Ixtapa, any place that required a full bottle of sun block. Anything bright to keep my mind off the shadowy corner of hell I’d just witnessed.
Rain is depressing. I’d never survive in Washington or Oregon. I’d pull a Kurt Cobain inside a year. Most people say the same thing about living in rural South Dakota, but at least the weather doesn’t require umbrellas twelve months out of twelve.
77
Cold, damp and miserable, inside and out, I fought off a shiver.
I made it to my car before the shakes started. My keys dropped to the ground, I retrieved them only to hear the jangling clank when they hit the pavement again. Kevin picked them up without a word, led me to his car and bundled me inside.
When he fi red the motor, I closed my eyes, and like a coward, feigned sleep. Kevin was patient, but not stupid. I couldn’t avoid his questions forever.
Th
e fact I’d been raped had shocked him. But not as much as the fact I hadn’t told him.
Truthfully, the time I was raped hardly crossed my mind any more. I’d buried it where it belonged, in the past.
It hadn’t changed my attitude toward sex or men; it aff ected the way I view situations. I don’t hang out in unfamiliar bars, restaurants, or churches. I don’t take for granted anyone’s sage advice that so-and-so is a “good guy.” I don’t go on blind dates and I absolutely do not date men with beards. Or facial hair of any kind. Never. No exceptions.
“Julie?”
My eyes opened but I directed my gaze out the window. “Not now, Kev, okay?”
He mumbled as he hit the gas and pulled onto I-90.
Th
e wheels clicked over the grooves on the interstate and the clacking rhythm pacifi ed me as I watched the scenery change. Open fi elds and rolling hills stretched into 78
steeper, rocky embankments with patches of dirt the color of powdered Tang. Houses were springing up all over; a couple of ranches, a variety of businesses had popped up along this stretch of highway between Rapid City and Sturgis in the last fi ve years. Mostly manufactured home displays, RV and car lots, heavy equipment sales with an occasional restaurant and convenience store. Billboards were scattered every few hundred feet.
In such wide-open spaces with cheap advertising, every tourist business within
“Can you think of a reason why someone would kill 75
your daughter?”
My eyes fl ew open in time to see Shelley fl inch.
“No, the police asked the same question. I’ve had nothing but time to think about it.” She concentrated on manicuring a ragged hangnail to perfection with her teeth.
“Th
e answer hasn’t changed.”
Kevin glanced at his watch and pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his sport coat. “We’ve got to go, but if we need to, can we come back?”
Shelley nodded without enthusiasm.
“If you think of anything else, call. Day or night.”
I added my phone number on the back and slid it next to her cigarettes. “Same goes. You need anything, call.”
We moved toward the door and Shelley stayed motion-less.
“Julie?”
Th
e quaver in her voice chilled me. “Yes?”
“No matter how she’d been conceived . . . she was still mine, and I loved her.” She wiped a fallen tear and repeated, “I always loved her, even when I had a piss-poor way of showing it. No matter who killed her, I want them to pay.”
I didn’t respond. I turned away and reached for the warmth of Kevin’s hand, knowing I couldn’t console her, but at least I could comfort myself.
Kevin signed us out and I made a beeline for fresh air.
Standing in the slate courtyard, the hills behind the rehab building appeared darker, more ominous than when we’d entered. Th
e rain had stopped, but puddles clogged the sidewalk; clouds the color of wet cement hung low, obscuring the view.
It’d seemed months since I’d felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin. I fantasized about current temperatures in Jamaica or Cancun or Ixtapa, any place that required a full bottle of sun block. Anything bright to keep my mind off the shadowy corner of hell I’d just witnessed.
Rain is depressing. I’d never survive in Washington or Oregon. I’d pull a Kurt Cobain inside a year. Most people say the same thing about living in rural South Dakota, but at least the weather doesn’t require umbrellas twelve months out of twelve.
77
Cold, damp and miserable, inside and out, I fought off a shiver.
I made it to my car before the shakes started. My keys dropped to the ground, I retrieved them only to hear the jangling clank when they hit the pavement again. Kevin picked them up without a word, led me to his car and bundled me inside.
When he fi red the motor, I closed my eyes, and like a coward, feigned sleep. Kevin was patient, but not stupid. I couldn’t avoid his questions forever.
Th
e fact I’d been raped had shocked him. But not as much as the fact I hadn’t told him.
Truthfully, the time I was raped hardly crossed my mind any more. I’d buried it where it belonged, in the past.
It hadn’t changed my attitude toward sex or men; it aff ected the way I view situations. I don’t hang out in unfamiliar bars, restaurants, or churches. I don’t take for granted anyone’s sage advice that so-and-so is a “good guy.” I don’t go on blind dates and I absolutely do not date men with beards. Or facial hair of any kind. Never. No exceptions.
“Julie?”
My eyes opened but I directed my gaze out the window. “Not now, Kev, okay?”
He mumbled as he hit the gas and pulled onto I-90.
Th
e wheels clicked over the grooves on the interstate and the clacking rhythm pacifi ed me as I watched the scenery change. Open fi elds and rolling hills stretched into 78
steeper, rocky embankments with patches of dirt the color of powdered Tang. Houses were springing up all over; a couple of ranches, a variety of businesses had popped up along this stretch of highway between Rapid City and Sturgis in the last fi ve years. Mostly manufactured home displays, RV and car lots, heavy equipment sales with an occasional restaurant and convenience store. Billboards were scattered every few hundred feet.
In such wide-open spaces with cheap advertising, every tourist business within
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