Bleeding Kansas by Sara Paretsky

ever abused their children or raped a heifer or did any of the other grotesque things that went on day in and day out somewhere in Kansas, even right here in Douglas County, if you could believe Curly and Chip.
    â€œMom, if he’s climbing their trees and staring in the window at them, they have a right to know who he is—or, at least,” Lara corrected herself conscientiously, “who I think it could be. And they should let Sheriff Drysdale know, because otherwise Arnie Schapen will just use it as an excuse to lock up Eddie, or come in here and snoop around.”
    She turned to Autumn and Gina. “The Burtons live down the road to the south—Schapens are to the west. You can’t see Burtons’ from here because it’s off behind the Ropeses’ house, but if you drive up the county road toward Highway 10 and see a rundown place with about a hundred cars up on blocks in the yard, that’s Burtons’. And Arnie—Mr. Schapen, I mean—he’s a deputy sheriff, so it could have been him who came out this morning to check on your car, but the Burtons are, like—”
    She caught her mother’s headshake before she brought out the word retarded and changed it to, “They don’t always, well, catch on as fast as most people. Especially Eddie. He was at Kaw Valley Eagle when I was, even though he’s a whole lot older, and his whole lesson, every morning, was saying the alphabet, which he never could remember past the letter f, and then he’d get a nosebleed and have to—”
    â€œBut does he climb trees and spy on people?” Gina interrupted.
    â€œOh! That’s the first I ever heard of him doing that, but he used to crawl under the bathroom doors to look up our skirts, me and Kimberly’s, and now he likes to set fires—”
    â€œLara,” Susan cut her off. “You have to get into town for basketball practice.”
    She turned to Gina. “If you wouldn’t mind bringing the pie pan back when you’re done—I used one of our real ones. They make better pies than the throwaway pans. And, please, people out here are friendly. Don’t get the wrong impression just because of one little incident.”
    â€œYes, indeed,” Gina said. “They might burn down your house if you’re an abolitionist, but perhaps since it was winter they just wanted to be helpful, heat the place up for you. So they climb the tree outside your bathroom to make sure you haven’t frozen during the night. That sounds very friendly indeed.”
    Lara giggled, but her mother shepherded her from the room. As they walked down the back stairs to the kitchen, Lara heard Autumn Minsky say, “Honestly, Gina, when I told you Lawrence was a center for the arts in the Midwest I wasn’t expecting people to reenact In Cold Blood for you. Maybe you should rethink staying here. It smells and it’s cold—”
    â€œAnd it’s cheap,” Gina said. “My uncle isn’t charging me anything but utilities and taxes to stay here. Nowhere in New York could I find a place that cheap, let alone a gothic horror like this. Maybe I’ll write a novel about it while I’m out here, Cold Comfort Farm meets In Cold Blood —I’ll call it something like Cold-Blooded Farm. ”

Eight
UNDERGROUND WARS
    O N THE WAY to Lara’s basketball practice, mother and daughter talked over their morning with Gina Haring.
    â€œShe can’t really be poor, the way she says she is, can she?” Lara said. “Did you see her cappuccino machine? Or her clothes! Did you notice that sweater? It must have cost a hundred dollars, easy.”
    â€œEasi ly ,” Susan corrected automatically. “I can’t imagine what it cost—your aunt Mimi sometimes spends a thousand dollars on an outfit, but even her clothes aren’t that fine. I think Gina’s husband was very wealthy—she probably has the wardrobe