The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,111

to quiver. She looped her hand through Charlie’s arm as if they were taking a walk in the park. “I had forgotten the sociolect of the native Appalachians.”

Charlie laughed. She placed her hand over Sam’s.

“What’s that?” the tall girl said. “What’d she call you?”

The glass doors banged open.

They all recoiled from the loud sound.

A menacing-looking young man stomped down the walkway. Not tall, but thickly muscled. Here was the jangling sound: the chain linking his wallet to his belt swung at his side. His wardrobe ticked all the stereotypical redneck boxes, from his sweat-stained ball cap to the ripped-off sleeves of his red-and-black flannel shirt to his torn, filthy blue jeans.

Danny Culpepper, Zachariah’s youngest son.

The spitting image of his father.

His boots made a heavy stomping sound as he jumped down the three stairs. His beady eyes homed in on Charlie. He made a gun sign with his hand and pretended to line her up in his sights.

Sam clenched her teeth. She tried not to relate the young man’s stocky build to Zachariah Culpepper’s. The hedonistic swagger. The way his thick lips smacked as he took a toothpick out of his mouth.

“Who we got here?” He stood in front of them, arms out to his sides, effectively blocking their way. “You got a familiar look about you, lady.”

Sam tightened her grip on Charlie’s arm. She would not show fear to this animal.

“I gotcha.” He snapped his fingers. “Seen your picture from my daddy’s trial, but your head was all swoll up with the bullet still in it.”

Sam dug her fingernails into Charlie’s arm. She begged her leg not to collapse out from under her, for her body not to shake, for her temper not to annihilate this disgusting man outside of the police station.

She said, “Get out of our way.”

He did not get out of their way. Instead, he started clapping his hands, stomping his foot. He sang, “Two Quinn gals standing in the lot. One got fucked, t’other got shot.”

The girls yapped with laughter.

Sam tried to walk around him, but Charlie grabbed onto her hand, effectively nailing them both in place. Charlie told him, “It’s hard to fuck a thirteen-year-old girl when your dick doesn’t work.”

The boy snorted. “Shit.”

“I’m sure your dad can get it up for his buddies in prison.”

The insult was obvious, but effective. Danny jammed his finger in Charlie’s face. “You think I won’t get my rifle and shoot off your ugly fucking head right here in front of this police station?”

“Make sure you get close,” Sam said. “Culpeppers aren’t known for their aim.”

Silence cut a rift through the air.

Sam tapped her finger to the side of her head. “Lucky for me.”

Charlie gave a startled laugh. She kept laughing until Danny Culpepper brushed past her, his shoulder bumping Charlie’s.

“Fucking bitches.” He told the two girls, “Get the fuck in, you wanna ride home.”

Sam pulled at Charlie’s arm to get her moving. She was afraid that Charlie would not take the win, that she would say something vitriolic that brought Danny Culpepper back.

“Come on,” Sam whispered, tugging harder. “Enough.”

Only when Danny was behind the wheel of his truck did Charlie allow herself to be led away.

They walked arm-in-arm toward the stairs.

Sam had forgotten about the stairs.

She heard the rumble of Danny Culpepper’s diesel truck behind her. He kept racing the engine. Being run over would take less effort than mounting the stairs.

She told Charlie, “I don’t—”

“I’ve got you.” Charlie would not allow her to stop the forward motion. She slipped her arm under Sam’s bent elbow, offering a sort of shelf to lean on. “One, two—”

Sam swung her left leg, leaned into Charlie to move her right, then her left took over and she was up the stairs.

The show was wasted.

Tires screeched behind them. Smoke filled the air. The truck peeled off in a cacophonous blend of engine grumble and rap music.

Sam stopped to rest. The front door was another five feet away. She was almost breathless. “Why would they be here? Because of Dad?”

“If I were in charge of the investigation into who stabbed Dad, the first suspect I would pick up is Danny Culpepper.”

“But you don’t think the police brought him in for questioning?”

“I don’t think they’re seriously looking into it, either because they’ve got bigger fish to fry with this school shooting or they don’t care that somebody tried to kill Dad.” Charlie explained, “Generally, the police don’t let you drive yourself and your cousins to the station when you’re being questioned for attempted murder.