Winter's Child by Margaret Coel Read Free Book Online Page A

he didn’t keep records. Everything is in his notes.”
    â€œThere was nothing helpful in the notes.”
    â€œWell, Clint was thorough but concise. I’m sure he would have filled you in on the details when he came to your office.” She took a moment before she went on: “I can check his computer, but I don’t expect to find anything else.”
    â€œPerhaps some other case Clint was working on that might have worried him?”
    Evie shook her head. “He spent all of his time recently on the Little Shield case. He interviewed a lot of people.”
    â€œAnd didn’t make notes?”
    This stopped the woman, as if a brick wall had descended. “Like I said, I can check his computer in case he left something else.”
    â€œI’ll speak with the Little Shields,” Vicky said. “I can’t agree to anything until I hear what they have to say.”
    Evie nodded. “They’re good people, and little Mary Ann has a happy home.”
    Vicky left the woman standing in the small office surrounded by the items that had belonged to Clint, the space permeated by his presence. She made her way across the living room, visitors shifting about, new visitors coming through the front door that closed with a sharp thwack.
    She let herself outside and, hurrying down the sidewalk to the Ford parked at the curb, checked her text messages. One message from Annie: “Vince’s mother called.”
    Vicky slid onto the driver’s seat and started the engine. Cold air blasted out of the vents. She pulled her coat around her, found Betty White Hawk’s number and pressed the call key. Five rings on a cell phone somewhere on the reservation, then a voice said: “Hi, this is Betty.”
    Vicky was waiting for the familiar leave a message when the voice went on: “Vicky? I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
    â€œHave you heard from Vince?” Vicky checked her watch. Still several hours before the time she had promised to deliver Vince to the sheriff.
    â€œNot yet, but I’ve left messages all over the rez. He’s got a lot of no-good friends, but they’ll tell him to call me. I have to give them that—they don’t want a lot of cops creeping around their places looking for him.” The faint sound of hope broke through the weariness in the voice. “Soon’s he sobers up, I’m sure he’ll call and tell me where he is.”
    â€œCall me as soon as you hear anything.” Vicky was about to end the call when she said, “If you talk to Vince, it might be best not to mention that I will come by to pick him up wherever he is.”
    â€œI got it.” The voice was faint with apprehension.
    Vicky pulled into the lane, turned onto Federal, and drove south toward Lander. She was coming around the bend past Hudson when the cell rang. Annie again. “You just got a call from Eldon Little Shield. He wants to see you right away. I told him you’d work him in this morning.”
    Clint Hopkins wasn’t dead twenty-four hours yet, and the Little Shields wanted to talk to another lawyer. “That’s fine,” she told Annie before she hit the end key. It was the way it was. No matter the horror of what had happened, the Little Shields wanted to adopt their little girl, and nothing would prevent them from trying.

6
    They might have been any family on the reservation. At the powwows, tribal meetings, celebrations at Blue Sky Hall, dozens of get-togethers. A serious look about them: responsible, involved. Good people, Vicky would have said if anyone asked, the best of her people. The man in a parka, blue jeans, boots. The woman in a red flower-print dress, coat hanging off her shoulders. A little girl, about five years old, with hair the color of sunshine and eyes like blue ice.
    â€œEldon Little Shield.” The man advanced across the office, hand extended, a warrior leading the way into unknown