The Witch of Agnesi by Robert Spiller Read Free Book Online Page B

there’s a connection between Pey-ton’s disappearance and Stephanie’s death?”
    “I bet you do.”
    She felt heat rise to her cheeks. This former student could read her too easily. “It occurred to me.”
    “It occurred to me, too.”
    Come on, Franklin, you can do better than that.
    After a long awkward silence, he said, “Listen, I’ve got a lot to do.”
    Not so fast, youngster. “I’ve got a few questions of my own.”
    “Nothing doing, Missus P. We’re talking murder here and this is an ongoing investigation.”
    “And I’m part of it.” She went on before he could object further. “About nine last night, Missus Tem-pleton picked up Ali Griffith and Stephanie from the Academy. I assume you talked to the parents. What time did the Templetons get home?”
    “They dropped off the Griffith girl and made it home about ten o’clock. Let me save you the trouble of asking. Both the mother and daughter were tired and went to bed right away. Lights off before ten-thirty.”
    What in hell makes an exhausted girl leave her bed and travel five miles to her death?
    “Did Stephanie die at Fulton Hill, or did her killer dump her body there?” She expected him to try to put her off and geared herself up to be good and pissy.
    “From the amount of blood found, our people have determined she died at the hill. Now, that’s enough. If you think of anything else give me a call.” He hung up.
    Think of anything else?
    Hell, a dozen thoughts flashed across her mind. The last of which was Wendy Newlin racing away down Pe-terson Avenue in her silver SUV, too scared to confront her husband. What kind of night did that poor woman have? First her son runs off then her son of a bitch husband comes home? Too bad it couldn’t be the other way around.
    Bonnie checked her watch. Four o’clock straight up. She had three hours until she promised to meet Armen. The thought sent a shiver through her. She certainly wasn’t going to sit around and be a nervous ninny until then.
    Before she could change her mind, she punched in Wendy Newlin’s number.

CHAPTER 4

    B ONNIE LAID INTO THE GAS. SOMETHING in Wendy Newlin’s voice came across unnat-ural, bordering on creepy.
    Not so much what the woman said— “Why sure, honey, come on by. You know the way?”—sounding more like Scarlet O’Hara graciously inviting a poor neighbor to barbeque than a woman whose son was missing.
    Yes, definitely creepy.
    She slapped the steering wheel. “We would have been there already, Alice, if you hadn’t taken so long turning over. I’ve got no use for a persnickety Subaru. It would serve you right if I just traded you in for some-thing more reliable.” She lowered her voice. “And faster, dammit.”
    An idle threat.
    She’d drive Alice until the car’s wheels fell off. Hell, longer. A year and a half ago both the front wheels had come off. And yet, here was the old hag, still chugging across the plains.
    Ben loved this car. He cursed it—more than once promised to send Alice to that great scrap heap in the sky—but he was the one who named the car Alice after a girl he’d kissed in the second grade.
    Bonnie inhaled deeply—a faint reminder of pipe smoke and instant coffee. “I can still smell you, my love.” She wrinkled her nose. “Truth is, you kind of stink.”
    The familiar double row of poplars appeared in the distance. Bonnie slowed.
    The Newlin ranch sat close to the southern edge of East Plains. She’d once taken Peyton home after a Knowledge Bowl practice and was surprised at the metamorphosis in the place. The mysterious military family transformed what had once been a working ranch into a palatial estate.
    They’d torn down the paddocks, the outbuildings, and the main redwood log cabin and replaced them with a sprawling adobe split level complete with arches and arcades of stucco. A bright green tennis court sat in incongruous decadence against the dull tans and browns of the surrounding desert. Like Twelve Oaks of