Eyeshot by Lynn Hightower Page A

face. She could almost feel the air-conditioning being sucked away, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
    Sam stood on the front porch, glancing over his shoulder at a pickup truck pulling a maroon fishing boat.
    â€œThat hurts,” he said, grimacing, turned to Sonora and screamed.
    â€œOh shut up. I don’t look that bad.”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    Sonora noticed that he looked good. Freshly showered. Khaki pants and a denim shirt.
    â€œYou’re going to burn up in that shirt,” she told him.
    â€œI’ll roll up the sleeves and show my biceps.” Sam followed her in through the door. “You got anything I can eat while you get a shower?”
    â€œWe going somewhere?”
    â€œTo work, girl. Talked to the Clinton, Tennessee sheriff’s department.” He checked his watch. “Something like an hour ago. Julia Winchell’s turned up.”
    Sonora paused on the steps. Sheriff’s department. So Julia Winchell was dead. She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping. “Where’d they find her?”
    â€œSome of her. Head, hands, and feet, bound up in a plastic trash bag. Snagged on somebody’s trotline in the Clinch River. Guy went out and checked it early this morning.”
    â€œPositive ID?”
    â€œNot confirmed, but the sheriff there seemed pretty sure. Gar had gotten into the bag, but there was the long hair and the widow’s peak.”
    â€œShe had a widow’s peak?”
    â€œYeah. Didn’t you notice, in the pictures?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œAnyway, we’ve been invited to go down for a look, and I said we’d be on our way.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you call me?”
    â€œLine’s busy.”
    â€œUse the business one.”
    â€œThat one’s busy too.”
    Sonora headed into the kitchen. “You dialed it wrong, Sam, nobody’s been on the phone all day. Heather just got up, and the boy never stirs till late afternoon.” She glanced at the kitchen extension, saw two blinking red lights. “Well hell.”
    â€œHi, Heather,” Sam said.
    Sonora glanced at her daughter, absently pulled the long dark hair off her shoulders and out of the cereal bowl. “Heather, give Sam some Lucky Charms while I go kill your brother.”
    Tim was still in bed. The room was thick with dust and an electric guitar was parked on the floor next to a practice amp. Sonora stepped over a pile of clothes that emitted an odor that would do a locker room proud.
    â€œMom, do you mind not just barging into my room?”
    Tim’s hair, short and spiky, stuck up from where he’d been sleeping on it. His face had broken out along the chin. The sheets of his bed were wadded along the side and he had clearly been sleeping on bare mattress.
    â€œOff the phone,” Sonora said.
    â€œBut, Mom—”
    â€œAnd then you explain why you’re on my business line.”
    His eyes widened. “I thought it would be okay, because it’s Sunday.”
    â€œIt’s never okay. I’m a cop, Tim. People get murdered on the weekends too. Consider yourself a prime candidate.”
    He glared. Mothers rarely amused fourteen year olds. “You don’t have to yell.”
    â€œThis, I promise you, is not yelling. Why are you talking to two people at once?”
    â€œI’m doing a conference call.”
    Sonora looked at her son and wondered if teenagers went through phases so you wouldn’t miss them when they moved out.
    â€œYou have one minute to get off. Sam’s here. I have to go to work. They found—”
    â€œSomething horrible, I don’t want to hear it. Mom, everybody’s going to Kenneth’s to swim. Can you drop me on your way?”
    â€œWhat about Heather?”
    â€œI have to baby-sit ?”.
    Sonora backed out of the bedroom. Shut the door hard.
    Sam wandered into the hallway, cramming a handful of dry cereal into his mouth.