"Blood trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Box C. J.)

6

SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD SHERIDAN PICKETT was at her desk in her upstairs room under the pretense of doing homework, which she'd actually completed an hour before. The door was shut, meaning she didn't want to be disturbed. Which, of course, meant nothing to her younger sister, Lucy, who opened it and stuck her head in. "I need to use the computer."

Sheridan quickly hid what she was doing. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Unfortunately, Lucy could see the computer screen from the doorway and the three IM conversations Sheridan had going.

"I've got homework too," Lucy said. "You've been in here for two hours and I need the computer. Do you want me to tell Mom you won't let me use it? What are you doing, anyway?"

"I said I was busy. Do I need to start locking my door?"

"You do that and Mom and Dad will move the computer to the living room."

Sheridan mumbled a curse under her breath because her sister was right.

"Give me ten minutes," Sheridan said.

"Five."

"Ten!"

"I'll be back."

Sheridan sighed and uncovered her project. She was writing a letter. A letter! Until recently, she'd never written one and rarely received them. With text messaging, IM, and e-mail, letters, she thought, actual letters that were folded and placed in envelopes with a stamp on them were a thing of the past, like phones with dials. She didn't even know where to buy stamps until a few months ago. The little booklet of stamps she purchased was hidden in her purse, and the envelopes and stationery were folded into her dictionary, a gift from Grandmother Missy that she never used because she had SpellCheck. But she'd found out the only way to communicate with her mentor was by sending a letter. THE LAST few months had been tumultuous. In addition to starting her sophomore year at Saddlestring High, her family had moved from her grandmother's ranch into town. Since Sheridan had grown up isolated from neighbors and traffic, she found the new situation both liberating-her friends were a bike ride away and after all these years she no longer needed to ride the bus to and from school-and stifling. Everyone was so close to everybody else. She no longer saw the mule deer as they floated in the half-dark to the river to drink, or the elk that fed in the shorn hay meadows. It took a month to get used to the sounds outside the house at night-cars racing up the street, dogs barking, sirens. She wasn't sure she liked it.

Her mother's company, MBP Management, continued to do well, even though her mom rarely talked about it like she used to. Since her mom had decided to trim back her hours and turn over more of the workload to her employees, she was able to be home more. Which was good, since her dad was gone so much on special assignments around the state. He called every night, though, except when he was in remote areas without telephones or cell service. Several of her mom's new client businesses were start-ups on the reservation that bordered Twelve Sleep County and was occupied by Northern Arapaho and Eastern Shoshone. The proximity of the new businesses made it easier for her mom to stay close to home. In fact, Sheridan thought, after so many years out on Bighorn Road or on the ranch, their lives were achingly, numbingly dull. When she mentioned this to her mother, Marybeth smiled and said, "Dull is good, sweetie. Dull is good."

Dull was certainly better than the last few months on the ranch, with her parents and her grandmother battling. Grandmother Missy, who didn't look or act like a grandmother at all, wanted them to stay so she could keep some control over them. She was into control. She was also into what she had heard her mother refer to as "trading up." Grandmother Missy, who was still beautiful and petite and looked like a porcelain doll, was on her fourth marriage, this time to rancher and good guy Bud Longbrake. Sheridan liked Bud, who was jovial, hardworking, and kind to her and Lucy. But Missy wanted more, and the rumors of her spending time with a multimillionaire named Earl Alden who had bought a ranch in the area turned out to be true. Everybody in Saddlestring knew about the affair except Bud Longbrake, it seemed. Not that Sheridan was involved in any discussions between her parents on the subject-they weren't like that. Her mother was THE MOM, not a gossipy friend like some of her friends' moms. Sheridan's mom kept a parental distance that used to infuriate her before she realized, slowly, that it was an indication of trust, love, and maturity and not proof of unreasonable shrewishness after all. For Sheridan, this was a revelation, and she was beginning to respect her mother for being a parent and not her best girlfriend. It was the same with her father, although he was easier to manipulate because her moods and tears turned him into the male equivalent of a Labrador.

What she knew she had learned by overhearing, or what she could intuit from looks or gestures her parents gave each other, or the way they behaved after interacting with Missy on the ranch. Sheridan had overheard her parents agonizing over whether or not to tell Bud and finally deciding it was best to leave, to buy their first-ever house and move out, which they did during the summer. Bud helped them by loaning them a ranch truck and an empty stock trailer. Missy spent the moving days in her bedroom with the shades drawn and didn't say good-bye.

Grandmother Missy had not been to their new house, and Sheridan's only contact with her was a birthday card on her sixteenth birthday. Sheridan put it in a drawer. The situation was different with Lucy, though, who received not only a card but a dozen presents-including an iPod Nano and designer clothing. Sheridan considered her sister her grandmother's in-house spy, her way of infiltrating the new Pickett household. Lucy denied the charge, saying she didn't know why she'd been showered with gifts but at the same time saying she had no intention of sending them back.

"Why should I?" Lucy had said. "A girl needs clothes." To prove her loyalty, she offered to give Sheridan the iPod. Instead, they decided to share it. "WHAT WERE you doing in here?" Lucy asked again when she came back ten minutes later, her eyes darting from the computer to the desk to the drawer Sheridan had just hidden her half-written letter in.

"Working," Sheridan said. "None of your business."

"Dad's home," Lucy said. "Maybe you can ask him about a car now."

Since Sheridan had turned sixteen, she was legal to drive and she'd already passed the driving test and had a permit, but the idea of driving herself around was intimidating. She liked to be taken places. So did Lucy, who was unabashed in her desire for Sheridan to get a car so she could get rides with her sister. Lucy loved living in town.

"How's the mood?" Sheridan asked.

"Intense."

"What's going on?"

Lucy said conspiratorially, "Some hunter got shot. But it's much worse than that."

"What?"

"That's what Dad said," Lucy said, then paused for effect before whispering, "And whoever did it cut off his head and took it."

"Oh my God."

Sheridan scrambled out of her chair and both girls huddled near the partially open door to listen. Sheridan heard her dad say, "The governor formed a team to go after whoever did it. He's also bringing in an expert in tracking."

Mom asked a question they couldn't hear, but they heard Dad say, "You've heard of Klamath Moore? He's giving some kind of press conference tomorrow. This thing might turn out to be real big." Sheridan noted the name.

"Honey," Dad said, "it was probably the worst thing I've ever seen."

"I can't imagine," Mom said. "Actually, I can. It makes me sick."

Lucy whispered to Sheridan, "He said the man was gutted out and hung from a tree."

Sheridan felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

They listened for a few more minutes until they could hear dishes clanking and their parents sitting down for a very late dinner.

"That's horrible," Sheridan said.

"It is," Lucy said. "You probably shouldn't ask about a car tonight." "WHAT'S THIS, a letter?" Lucy asked, sitting down at the desk and opening the drawer.

Sheridan quickly snatched it from her sister and put it behind her back.

"Who are you writing to? Who writes letters?"

"That's none of your business."

"Does Mom know?"

Sheridan hesitated. "I don't think so."

"Does Dad?"

"Maybe."

"Oooooh," Lucy said, smiling wickedly. "Let me guess."

"Lucy…"

"I think I know."

"Just do whatever you have to on the computer and leave me alone."

Lucy turned with a smirk.

"Before you get going, do one thing for me," Sheridan said. "Google the name Klamath Moore. I'll spell it."

The search produced dozens of entries. Lucy clicked on the top one, which turned out to be Moore's organizational website. There was a photo of him-he was tall, fat, with a flowing head of hair like a rock star-surrounded by Hollywood celebrities on a stage. Behind the stars was a big banner reading STOP THE CRUELTY-LIVE AND LOVE LIFE ITSELF.

"Bookmark it," Sheridan said. "I'll read it later." SHERIDAN PUT her pajamas on and got ready for bed while Lucy did her homework, a paper on global warming assigned by her fifth-grade science teacher. As she printed it out, Lucy asked her sister, "So, does Nate Romanowski write back?"

Sheridan considered lying, but Lucy could read her face. "Yes, he does." She knew her face was burning red.

"What does he say?"

"He's schooling me in falconry. He's the master falconer and I'm his apprentice."

"Hmmm," Lucy said smugly, tapping the edges of her report on the desk to align the pages. "That's interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, it's just interesting."

"Knock it off."

"And knowing this probably means a lot of rides when you get your car."

"I'd rather have a falcon than a car, if I had to choose," Sheridan said. "I think I'd like to start with a prairie falcon, maybe a Cooper's hawk."

That set Lucy back. "God, you're weird."

Sheridan shrugged.

"Sherry, you're in high school. The boys like you-you're a hottie on everyone's list. If you start walking around with a stupid bird on your arm…" Lucy was pleading now, her hands out in front of her, palms up. "People will think you're some kind of nature girl. A geek. A freak. And they'll think of me as Bird Girl's little sister."

"Could be worse," Sheridan said.

"How?"

"I could, like, I don't know, like goats or something. Or emus. You don't understand. Falconry is a beautiful art. It is known as the sport of kings. Think of that: the sport of kings. It's ancient and mysterious. And it's not like the birds are your pets. You don't just walk around with them on your arm like a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder. God, you can be so juvenile sometimes."

Lucy took a deep breath to reload when there was a knock on the door. "You girls all right in there?" said their dad.

"Sure," Sheridan said, "come in."

He stuck his head in but didn't enter, his eyes moving from Lucy to Sheridan and back, knowing he'd interrupted something. Sheridan noted the sparkle of gray in his sideburns she'd recently noticed for the first time. He was excited about something, motivated. There was a glint in his eye and a half-smile he couldn't contain, the look he got when he had a purpose or a cause. "Better get going," he told Lucy, who was notorious for extending her bedtime, "no stalling tonight."

After he'd left, Lucy picked up her report in her most haughty manner. "There may not be any more falcons left if the earth keeps heating up," she said, "so you might as well get that car."

"Do you realize that what you just said makes no sense at all?"

Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Good night, Lucy."

"Good night, Sheridan." And over her shoulder as she skipped out of the room, "Nature Geek. Bird Girl."