The Fame Equation by Lisa Wysocky Read Free Book Online Page A

friend,” he said, looking at me, “a good friend, but don’t get too wrapped up in her career.”
    I looked back at him, and rather than anger and fear that I was going to leave the bulk of the workload once again to him, I only saw concern.
    “I’m just going to check on her. It’s probably nothing. A sudden case of the flu. Or maybe she overslept and is embarrassed.”
    Just then Sally chose to produce so many bubbles in her water bucket that much of the water overflowed into her stall.

    Inside my farmhouse I shook out my mouse brown curls, ran a brush over the worst of it, and re-fastened the mess into a ponytail. Then I dabbed on some lip gloss. It was much cooler today than it had been yesterday, so I grabbed my good winter jacket, the one without hay stuck in the lining and horse slobber all over the sleeves, and shrugged into it.
    Agnes called my landline just as I was ready to go, and then Annie Zinner texted me with information about the horse she and Tony were going to drop off here on Sunday. Next, Darcy’s school counselor called to okay the requested early dismissal on Friday so we could check out the riding center. She was quite chatty and by the time I had dealt with all of the calls and texts, forty-five minutes had passed.
    When I finally opened my back door to leave, I found Keith standing there, his right arm elevated and his hand balled into a fist. He either was ready to punch me or knock on my door. I hoped for the knock.
    “Now Melody has missed a lunch with our label head,” he said, shoving both hands into the pocket of a handsome, black leather jacket. “Davis had to fake excuses, lie for Melody, and he was not happy.”
    Keith had an animal-like electricity to his anger.
    “I’m headed to Melody’s house now,” I said. “Buffy asked me to go.”
    Keith nodded then shook his head from side to side. “I can’t believe she did this.”
    “I’m sure she has good reason. I’ll call you when I have news.”
    He nodded again, then squeezed through the hedge that separated our properties.
    I went back into the kitchen for my cell, which I had left on the counter, and when I opened the back door to leave for the second time another man was there, also ready to either knock on the door or punch me, and with this man, it really could have been a punch.
    Hill Henley had been the owner of what was left of the Henley Plantation and let’s just say his gene pool could have used a little chlorine. His ancestral family home, Fairbanks, was a tall, pale, L-shaped structure located about a hundred yards east of my property line. It was the most prominent plantation home in the area during the Civil War. Hill, however, had let the antebellum mansion fall into ruin, and after he sold it he moved a flimsy single-wide onto the only twenty acres that he had left. There, he trained Tennessee Walking Horses, caroused, got drunk, and was an ineffectual single parent to his eleven-year-old son, Bubba, his wife having run off some years ago. Bubba was a local mischief-maker, but had, in a way, saved my life back in February, so I was partial to him.
    A visit from Hill was never pleasant, especially now, as I needed to get to Melody’s.
    Hill took a grimy ball cap off his head to reveal long wisps of grimier hair. “I came askin’ if Bubba can stay the weekend, from Friday after school to Sunday just before supper.” Here in the South, many people called lunch dinner and dinner supper. Hill was one of those people.
    I sighed and looked at my watch. Then I realized I wasn’t quite as polite as I should have been. Until recently Hill would have left Bubba by himself while he was gone. Some months back I had asked Hill to let me know if he needed a place for Bubba to stay and here he was, hat in his hands, asking.
    “Sure, Hill,” I said as I forced my freshly-glossed lips into a smile. “I take it you don’t plan to be around?” I would not have put it past Hill to drop Bubba off and then enjoy a