The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,36

the old white dog, take a right at the crooked oak tree.”

“That’s good news for Kelly, I guess.” Rusty could break a search warrant that didn’t have the right address or at least a proper description of the house. The odds were against Ken Coin to come up with either. There were hundreds of rental houses and trailers up and down the Holler. No one knew exactly how many people lived there, what their names were or whether or not their children were attending school. The slumlords didn’t bother with leases or background checks so long as the right amount of cash showed up every week.

Charlie asked, “How long do you think we have before Ken locates the house?”

“No idea. They brought in a helicopter from Atlanta an hour ago, but from what I can tell, it’s on the other side of the mountain.”

Charlie knew that she could find the Wilson house. She was in the Holler at least twice a month chasing down past-due legal bills. Ben had been horrified when she’d casually mentioned her night-time excursions. Sixty percent of the crime in Pikeville was committed in or near Sadie’s Holler.

Lenore said, “I packed a sandwich for you.”

“I’m not hungry.” Charlie looked at the clock on the dash: 11:52 AM. Less than five hours ago, she’d been looking inside the darkened front office at the middle school. Less than ten minutes after that, two people were dead, another was shot, and Charlie was about to get her nose broken.

Lenore said, “You should eat.”

“I will.” Charlie stared out the window. Sunlight strobed through the tall trees behind the buildings. The flickering light flashed images into her mind like an old-timey slideshow. Charlie allowed herself the rare indulgence of lingering on the ones of Gamma and Sam—running down the long driveway to the farmhouse, giggling over a thrown plastic fork. She knew what came later, so she fast-forwarded until Sam and Gamma were firmly back in the past and all that remained was the aftermath of this morning.

Lucy Alexander. Mr. Pinkman.

A little girl. A middle-school principal.

The victims didn’t seem to have much in common except that they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Charlie had to guess, she would assume that Kelly Wilson’s plan was to stand in the middle of the hall, revolver out in front of her, and wait for the bell to ring.

Then little Lucy Alexander rounded the corner.

Pop.

Then Mr. Pinkman rushed out of his office.

Pop-pop-pop.

Then the bell had rung and, but for some quick-thinking staff, a sea of fresh victims would have rushed down that same hallway.

Goth. Loner. Held back a grade.

Kelly Wilson was the exact type of girl who got bullied. Alone at the lunch table, last to get picked during gym, attending the school dance with a boy who only wanted one thing.

Why had Kelly picked up a gun when Charlie hadn’t?

Lenore said, “At least drink that Coke in the cooler. It’ll help with the shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“I bet you think your nose isn’t broken, either.”

“Actually, I do think it’s broken.” Lenore’s persistent mentions of Charlie’s health finally made Charlie aware that her health wasn’t that great. Her head was in a vise. Her nose had its own heartbeat. Her eyelids felt like they were weighed down with honey. She gave in for a few seconds, letting them close, welcoming the blankness.

Over the hum of the engine, she could hear Lenore’s feet working the pedals as she shifted gears. She always drove barefooted with her high heels on the floor beside her. She tended toward short skirts and colored stockings. The look was too young for a seventy-year-old woman, but considering that Charlie currently had more hair on her legs than Lenore, she couldn’t sit in judgment.

“You need to drink some of that Coke,” Lenore said.

Charlie opened her eyes. The world was still there.

“Now.”

Charlie was too exhausted to argue. She found the cooler wedged against the seat. She took out the Coke but left the sandwich. Instead of opening the bottle, she held it to the back of her neck. “Can I have some aspirin?”

“Nope. Raises the risk of bleeding.”

Charlie would’ve welcomed a coma over the pain. There was something about the bright sun that had turned her head into a giant, ringing bell. “What’s that thing you get in your ears?”

“Tinnitus,” Lenore said. “I’ll stop the car if you don’t start drinking that Coke right now.”

“And let the police get to the Wilson house before we do?”

“They’d have