of the crumpled steel, still cocooned in my car seat. I didn’t actually remember the accident or anything about my birth parents or older brother. Something like that makes a girl tough, right?
After the accident, with no relatives around to claim me, I’d been placed in a group home. I would have stayed there until I was eighteen if the Patterson’s hadn’t agreed to foster me. So what if my upbringing was unconventional? At least I’d had a home, and by God, I was tough enough to handle this little mess.
As much as I hated to admit it, this situation still had the makings of an elaborate con. Well, except for the dead body. I swiped angrily at the tears and thought about my foster parents. June and Matt Patterson had been running cons for years before they’d brought me into their lives. To their minds, dragging a kid to a scam gave them instant credibility. “Gee, Mrs. Smith, I know we had a meeting set for this morning, but my daughter wasn’t feeling too well, so I needed to bring her along. I hope you don’t mind.” I would flash my deep blue eyes and be polite.
I was taught early never to feel sorry for the mark. It wasn’t our fault if a woman was dumb enough to give us her money. And it was always a woman. Matt was a fine-looking man who grew more distinguished with age. He always made the pitch and June played the previously satisfied customer who could vouch for his honesty. I played daughter to Matt’s heartbroken widower. It was effective as hell.
The last time I’d seen Matt and June was at the Los Angeles County Courthouse nearly ten years ago now. I’d been thirteen and the California Juvenile System became my new family. Six years in lock up at a California Youth Authority farm will either make a girl tough or break her. And damn it all to hell, I was tough, I reminded myself.
Quinn finally came back inside and interrupted my trip down memory lane. I stared into the fire while he poured himself a fresh drink. Neither of us said anything until he joined me on the couch, bringing the bottle with him.
“All right, KC. Everybody’s gone, but the photographer will be back in the daylight for another photo. I think we both know this wasn’t an accident. Someone is sending a pretty strong message. What is it you’re not telling me? Do you know something about Jason’s murder? Something else you’re holding back?” Quinn asked, his sheriff’s mask perfectly in place, his cop eyes blank.
I shook my head. “So these are definitely related?” I asked. Something about that was gnawing at me, but I didn’t know what.
“You don’t think they are? You can find two bodies in your backyard on the same day and imagine one has nothing to do with the other?
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
“Is there someplace I should search besides Jason’s room? Did he stay in here with you last night?”
“God, no! After what he wrote about me in the paper?”
“So what? It was all true,” Quinn said coldly.
“Just because it’s true, doesn’t much mean I want others to know. That life is long behind me now.”
Quinn smiled a tight smile that didn’t change the look in his eyes one iota. “Sounds like a motive for murder. Was it revenge or were there more secrets coming that you don’t want known?”
“Fuck off, Sheriff. You don’t come into my house, drink my finest whisky, and accuse me of murder.” My voice was cold, eyes steady. “You want to charge me? Go ahead. Otherwise, this line of questioning is over.”
We stared at each other a long time, but he looked away first. I thought I might have won the skirmish. Then he took my hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the bruised knuckles.
“Will you tell me how this happened?” he asked softly.
I sighed. He was good; I’d give him that. He was playing the bad cop and the good cop. I answered him anyway. “I hit Jason. He arrived late and asked for a room. I decked him and dropped the room key by his head. I left
After the accident, with no relatives around to claim me, I’d been placed in a group home. I would have stayed there until I was eighteen if the Patterson’s hadn’t agreed to foster me. So what if my upbringing was unconventional? At least I’d had a home, and by God, I was tough enough to handle this little mess.
As much as I hated to admit it, this situation still had the makings of an elaborate con. Well, except for the dead body. I swiped angrily at the tears and thought about my foster parents. June and Matt Patterson had been running cons for years before they’d brought me into their lives. To their minds, dragging a kid to a scam gave them instant credibility. “Gee, Mrs. Smith, I know we had a meeting set for this morning, but my daughter wasn’t feeling too well, so I needed to bring her along. I hope you don’t mind.” I would flash my deep blue eyes and be polite.
I was taught early never to feel sorry for the mark. It wasn’t our fault if a woman was dumb enough to give us her money. And it was always a woman. Matt was a fine-looking man who grew more distinguished with age. He always made the pitch and June played the previously satisfied customer who could vouch for his honesty. I played daughter to Matt’s heartbroken widower. It was effective as hell.
The last time I’d seen Matt and June was at the Los Angeles County Courthouse nearly ten years ago now. I’d been thirteen and the California Juvenile System became my new family. Six years in lock up at a California Youth Authority farm will either make a girl tough or break her. And damn it all to hell, I was tough, I reminded myself.
Quinn finally came back inside and interrupted my trip down memory lane. I stared into the fire while he poured himself a fresh drink. Neither of us said anything until he joined me on the couch, bringing the bottle with him.
“All right, KC. Everybody’s gone, but the photographer will be back in the daylight for another photo. I think we both know this wasn’t an accident. Someone is sending a pretty strong message. What is it you’re not telling me? Do you know something about Jason’s murder? Something else you’re holding back?” Quinn asked, his sheriff’s mask perfectly in place, his cop eyes blank.
I shook my head. “So these are definitely related?” I asked. Something about that was gnawing at me, but I didn’t know what.
“You don’t think they are? You can find two bodies in your backyard on the same day and imagine one has nothing to do with the other?
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
“Is there someplace I should search besides Jason’s room? Did he stay in here with you last night?”
“God, no! After what he wrote about me in the paper?”
“So what? It was all true,” Quinn said coldly.
“Just because it’s true, doesn’t much mean I want others to know. That life is long behind me now.”
Quinn smiled a tight smile that didn’t change the look in his eyes one iota. “Sounds like a motive for murder. Was it revenge or were there more secrets coming that you don’t want known?”
“Fuck off, Sheriff. You don’t come into my house, drink my finest whisky, and accuse me of murder.” My voice was cold, eyes steady. “You want to charge me? Go ahead. Otherwise, this line of questioning is over.”
We stared at each other a long time, but he looked away first. I thought I might have won the skirmish. Then he took my hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the bruised knuckles.
“Will you tell me how this happened?” he asked softly.
I sighed. He was good; I’d give him that. He was playing the bad cop and the good cop. I answered him anyway. “I hit Jason. He arrived late and asked for a room. I decked him and dropped the room key by his head. I left
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