BoneMan's Daughters Read Free Page B

now. She squealed. And despite her loathing of little girls who jumped up and down
     with their fists clenched, she did just that. Squealing like a little girl.
    Patty’s voice squealed over the line with her. “I knew it, I knew it, I freaking knew it! Read it to me.”
    Sitting back down, out of breath and feeling slightly ashamed of her display of emotion (thank God no one had seen her), Bethany
     read the email to Patty.
    “Uh-huh, just the freaking beginning, what did I freaking tell you?”
    “Is everything
freaking
with you?”
    “Heck yeah! Now it is. And I’m going with you.”
    “To New York?”
    “Where else? Broadway, baby.”
    The complexities that might result from this small trip to New York to become the next poster child for
Youth Nation
began to present themselves to Bethany. For starters, it was now late August and school started next week. School meant cheerleading,
     and she’d landed leader on the varsity squad. Leader had to make every practice; the rules were clear and Coach Carter wasn’t
     the kind to bend them for a magazine cover.
    “When is homecoming this year?” she asked.
    The phone was silent.
    “Second week in September?”
    “I think you’re right. That’s not good.” Patty clearly understood the importance of the issue, should it arise. But her appreciation
     for all things pop culture, not the least of which was fame, outweighed her appreciation for leading two thousand red-blooded,
     Texas-bred teenage boys in a cheer while wearing a miniskirt—though it had to be a close call.
    “Forget homecoming. You’re going to be famous.”
    Predictable.
    “I’ll call you back.”
    “Hold on, hold on! Where are you going?”
    “I’ve got to tell my mother.”
    Bethany hung up and flew down the stairs two at a time, spun around the railing at the bottom, and ran for the kitchen. She
     slid to a stop in stocking feet and faced her mother, who was on the phone.
    “Mom—”
    Her mother’s hand flew up, palm demanding silence as she bore down on her own conversation.
    “I got it!”
    Her mother snapped her fingers and pointed at her face, scowling. Her way of saying,
Shut your mouth; can’t you see I’m on the phone?
    Of course I can, Celine. Can’t you see that your daughter has something more important to say than anything you’re gossiping
     about at the moment?
    She didn’t say it, of course. Instead she crossed her arms and drilled her mother with a stare that Celine hated with a passion.
    “They’re letting him out? He’s only been locked up for two years.” Celine walked to the far side of the kitchen to avoid the
     heat of Bethany’s stare. Bethany stepped around the counter and waited, ignoring a quick glare.
    “What about all the evidence? Surely they can’t just set him free on a technicality. You nailed that freak.”
    Her mother was talking to Burton Welsh, the district attorney. Now there was an interesting thread in her convoluted web of
     relationships. How Celine managed to work her way into the lives of such powerful people never ceased to amaze Bethany. Celine
     should have been a politician.
    She’d met the DA during his investigation of the BoneMan after the killer had abducted a girl from Bethany’s high school,
     Saint Michael’s Academy, where Celine served on the PTA board. The rest was history, as they said.
    Bethany slid to her right so that her mother could see her.
    “What does this mean for you?” her mother asked, turning her back again. She had to be nearing the limits of her tolerance.
    In a softer voice now, “It’ll be fine, Burt. Don’t let them back you down.” A pause. “I have to go, I’m sorry. My daughter
     seems to think that the sky is falling.” She offered a short, forced chuckle. “I will. Good-bye.”
    She clicked off and turned quickly, waving her cell phone. “How many times do I have to tell you how rude that is? Was I on
     the phone when you crashed in here?”
    “I got it.”
    “I don’t care what