No Good Deed Read Free Page A

the trailer. Chauncey went like a lamb. Sonora gave them one backward look. Renquist moved like a marine, maybe he’d been one. Chauncey had a peculiar walk, head down, one foot forward, the other scooting behind in a soft shuffle that whispered low self-esteem.
    Sonora glanced back at the trailer. The little girl was gone. The porch light, dim already, flickered once and went out.

Chapter Four
    The gate to the paddock had been white some years ago. The bars had rusted through, two of them had separated, and the whole mechanism sagged crookedly, wedged in a mound of dirt. Sonora passed through and stepped into knee-high clumps of sawgrass, ironweed and purple-topped thistles. She was wearing her newest Reeboks and the khakis that made her look skinny. She prayed to the god of detergents that she would not get anything on them that wouldn’t come out.
    No body, no smell.
    It was a good walk to the end of the backfield, and the sky was going darker. Sonora took a breath. You could almost taste the metallic hum in the air. They’d better get this crime scene processed. It would be raining soon.
    Wind ruffled the bright yellow crime scene tape, a loose end flapping. One of the horses took exception to the tape and took off, stampeding them all.
    Something had come through the fence, smashing through an entire eight-foot section. Broken slats, the wood raw and splintered, hung on either side like badly broken bones.
    A riding boot lay in the grass, maybe eight to ten feet from the broken fence line.
    Sonora ducked under the crime scene tape, looked around till she spotted Sam – wearing Levi’s, so he’d already been home. He was studying the edges of a broken fence board. He’d lost weight and she hadn’t even noticed. Must be the jeans.
    â€˜Hey, buns of steel. You got a clue or something?’
    He turned, and Sonora realized that it was darker than she had appreciated. Either that or her eyesight was going. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Sam.
    The man grinned. ‘Have we met?’
    Sonora had lately been in the habit of looking at men and thinking up reasons why she was happy not to be married to them. She was missing romance, though, missing lust even more. And beginning to wonder if her heart had deadened somehow, from one too many extremes.
    One look at this guy, and she knew she was all right.
    She extended a hand. ‘Detective Blair. I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Who are you, anyway?’ And what are you doing in my crime scene?
    He had a firm handshake, as well as other things. He was tall and dark-haired, had brown eyes and broad shoulders and a lot of other things Sonora liked.
    â€˜Hal McCarty.’
    â€˜Specialist Blair. Detective Blair. What exactly are you doing, Mr McCarty?’
    â€˜Interfering in your crime scene, Detective. You look annoyed. Or maybe you’re just embarrassed.’
    â€˜Hard to tell, isn’t it?’
    â€˜I’m a neighbor – I lease the barn next door.’ He nodded his head to the right, frowned, voice dropping. ‘Dixon stopped by my house earlier and asked me to help him find Joelle.’
    â€˜What time was that?’
    â€˜A little before six.’
    She heard the swish of footsteps and turned. Sam. Still wearing the wrinkled khakis and sports coat he’d had on when they parted no more than two hours ago.
    â€˜Mr McCarty, if you’ll stand to the side over there, I’d like to ask you a few more questions, once I’ve come up to speed.’
    â€˜Look, Detective—’
    But she was turning away. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that he did not look happy to be dismissed, but he moved away, turning once and giving her a second look over his shoulder to see if she was still watching.
    She was.
    â€˜About time you got here.’ Sam ran a hand through his hair, which blew every which way in the wind. He had loosened his tie.
    â€˜That’s mine,’ she said,