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8
Long Way FromOver
I pushthe car to its limits getting back to the farm. Jade is barely holding it together, not only at her mother’s sudden reappearance (if it really is her mother) but that she’s not there to protect her baby sisters.
Lando’s already at the farmhouse when I pull up. I want a police presence here, but not an official one until we know what we’re dealing with. As soon as I stop the car, Jade unsnaps her seat belt and is out and running.
We catch her at the front door. I snag her around the waist and hold her back while Lando slips in front of her. He’s got his gun with him but hasn’t pulledit.
In answer to his knock, we hear footsteps and then Quinn’s voice. “Who isit?”
“Police.” She may not recognize his voice, but it’s better if everyone in there knows there’s a cop outside.
The door opens, just a crack at first, then wide when Quinn sees who’s there. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s been crying. When she sees her big sister, she almost crumples. I let Jade go and she pulls Quinn into a quick, fierce hug while Lando and I scope out the interior.
Everything’s quiet, but not peaceful. The air fairly crackles with tension. Quinn leads us to the parlor, where I sat with Jade — was it really only this morning? It feels like a long timeago.
Inside, a supremely pissed-off Brianna is standing, arms folded, glaring at the man and woman lounging on the sofa. One look at the woman, and my gut says she’s telling the truth about being the girls’ mother. Her face is bloated and lined, probably from years of indulgence, but I can see her features stamped on all three of the sisters, albeit subtly.
The hardness around her eyes and mouth, however, says she’s trouble. If her daughters need protecting from her, I won’t hesitate.
The man next to her looks to be around fifty. He’s a big guy, not even counting the beer belly. He scowls at us and demands, “Who the fuck areyou?”
“Police,” Lando says again, in that authoritative voice that cops somehow master. “Who the fuck areyou?”
Brianna smirks. The man lunges to his feet; Lando puts a hand on the butt of his gun, and the guy sinks down again, but with a look on his face that says he’s ready to pick a fight.
The woman says, “I’m Deirdre Callahan, and I’m these girls’ mother. I—”
“His name, please?” I say, nodding my head at theman.
Deirdre isn’t happy at being interrupted. “This is Buford. He’s an old friend of mine. As I was saying, I got news that my husband had died—” she stops to dab at an imaginary tear at the corner of her eye—”and came straighthome.”
“This isn’t your home,” Bree snaps.
The woman has all the maternal warmth of a loan shark. “The law says itis.”
That’s my cue. “Until you’ve established your identity, and proven that you were still legally married to Mr. Callahan, you’re trespassing. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Deirdre narrows her eyes at me. “You a cop, too?”
“No, I’m a lawyer.”
I don’t miss the flash of dismay in her eyes, quickly concealed but there all the same. This woman may in fact be the girls’ mother, but she’s running a con. Glancing at Lando, I see he’s drawn the same conclusions.
“You heard the man,” he says. “Until we can get this sorted out, you’ll need to be on yourway.”
Deirdre’s gaze, sweeping the room, fixes on the sisters, who are standing in a cluster to my right, Jade in the front. A grotesque mockery of a smile stretches the older woman’s face. “There’s my Jade. You always were a pretty little thing.”
Jade takes a step forward, her hands balled into fists. “How dare you.” Her voice is low and lethal. “You abandoned us and our father, and you have the nerve to come back here now, to try to steal what’s ours, and act like you’re family? You’re nothing to us. Getout.”
I’m proud of her, but there’s no time to savor it. Fury twists Deirdre’s face. “That’s no way to talk to your mother.”
“You stopped being our mother when you left. Now get. Out!”
Her voice rises to a shout, and that’s apparently enough to snap Buford’s control. He comes up off the couch and lunges at her. It all seems to happen in slow motion: his movement, my answering step forward, and the vicious uppercut I plant on the underside of hisjaw.
He arcs backward and lands with a crash, arms splayed out, his head barely missing the coffee table. Deirdre jumps up and starts to shriek. “That’s assault! I’ll file charges! I’ll sueyou--”
