Read Online Splintered Bones by Carolyn Haines - Free Book Online

twisted up one corner of her mouth. "Appearance is three quarters of the performance," she'd said, and then gone on to prove it. She'd won.
    But the story was more complex than our childhood rivalry. Frankie Archey was, hands down, the best pianist in the school. Three broken fingers on his right hand had forced him to withdraw from the contest. The day before the recital, when he was practicing alone in the school auditorium, Carol Beth slammed the piano cover on his hand. She said it was an accident. Frankie said nothing at all.
    "How did you find out about Carol Beth?" I asked Tinkie.
    "
Virginia
told me. She was at Swift Level making preparations for the ball. It's still going to be held there, even with Lee in jail. Lee has insisted, though Heaven knows why. Anyway,
Virginia
heard the whole exchange between the trainer and Carol Beth." She bit her lower lip, then let it pop out from her teeth. I'd borrowed that little gesture to good advantage in the past.
    "Good work, Tinkie."
    "There's one other thing." She paused.
    "What?"
    "
Virginia
said several of our old crowd have been taking riding lessons from that horse trainer. It seems Bud has quite a following among the ladies."
    I caught a glimpse of Kip, back at the window. Judging from the expression on her face, she wasn't as indifferent to what was happening as she wanted to make out.
    Once Tinkie and Chablis had gone, I went up to Kip's room. She was lying on her unmade bed, a magazine open in front of her.
    "We need to talk about school," I said. I needed to keep Kip busy and out of trouble.
    "I'm not going back." She didn't bother to look up from the magazine. I sat down on the edge of the bed.
    "Kip, you can't drop out of school."
    She closed the magazine, revealing a horse and rider clearing a big fence. "Mr. Hayden said I could do my classes on-line if I can borrow your computer. I just can't go back to school now."
    "I'll talk it over with your mom," I agreed.
    "Do that," she said. "She won't care. I missed school all the time to ride." She flipped the magazine open again and began to read an article. I was dismissed.
    Kip was heavy on my mind as I drove to The Zinnia Dispatch to see what Cece had dug up on Kemper. Because I'd already eaten peach cobbler and a modest portion of strawberry pie, I decided to forgo the cheese Danish that was my usual offering to Cece. Poor decision. Cece was always nicer when fed.
    Cece's door was open, and I slowed and stopped just outside when I noticed the well-dressed man sitting in front of her desk. He was groomed to perfection, and sat with one ankle crossed over a knee, perfectly at ease.
    "An industrial park isn't exactly a society page story," Cece said in a tone that showed her patience had worn thin.
    "
Sunflower
County
has no development," the man said patiently. "What I'm proposing will bring jobs here. And my ideas on development are far from merely industrial. I envision great things for
Sunflower
County
. This is a land rich in history and heritage. These are all things that can be capitalized on."
    "It's a news story, not society," Cece insisted.
    "Mr. Erkwell, at the bank, specifically told me to talk to you," the man said.
    He was not big of stature, but he had grit. Either that or he was dumb as a post. I lingered just outside the door, shamelessly eavesdropping.
    "I'll have to thank Harold," Cece said. She leaned forward on her desk. Her perfect breasts pressed against the pale yellow sweater she wore, and I saw the gentleman's gaze lock on them. "You need to talk to someone on the news side, Mr. Walz. I can't help you."
    "On the contrary, Miss Falcon. One positive mention of River-bend Development Company in your column could open a lot of doors for us. We need the support of the community." He leaned forward in his chair as he continued to talk to her breasts.
    "Mr. Erkwell explained to me how so many people, especially the . . . landed gentry, shall we call them, frown on development. I concede that