Page 37 of River Justice

“Did you give her something of Holly Jo’s?” His expression must have given him away. “That’s what I thought,” Birdie said. “Please. Isn’t finding the girl what we all want?”

He’d sworn under his breath and started to tell her that he didn’t have anything handy, when he remembered the small stuffed duck he’d picked up in Holly Jo’s room, bagged and put into his pocket.

With a sigh, he reached into his coat, pulled the bagged duck free and held it out to her. “Anything else, Ms. Malone?” As tired, worried and scared as he was about this case, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to go off on Birdie Malone.

“No, this will do.”

He reminded himself that she had given him the one and only lead they had in the case. “Now leave me alone.” Let her take the duck to Lulabelle. It would get her out of his hair.

As he watched her walk back to her SUV, he saw that Brand was sitting in the passenger seat. What was it with these two? He’d been shocked when Birdie had offered Stafford an alibi. The alibi became even more suspect seeing the two of them together again. Hadn’t Deputy Dodson said they were together at the café when he’d picked up Brand? He shook his head, reminding himself that the only thing that mattered was finding Holly Jo.

“I’ll bring it back,” Birdie called as she climbed behind the wheel of the SUV.

He started to call back, “Let me know if Lulabelle—” but stopped himself. He didn’t think the woman knew any more about the kidnapping than he did at this point. Which was nothing that could save Holly Jo.

BIRDIELIKEDTHEidea of surprising Lulabelle even at this late hour. She liked catching people unaware. She thought it made them more honest, although she had no proof that was true. She just remembered how her mother acted when she answered the door to an unexpected social worker or bill collector.

While she’d heard about Lulabelle, she’d never seen her up close until the woman opened her door. Her mass of bottle-red hair appeared to have been caught in a cyclone. Her blue eyes were half-closed. A crease was left in one cheek from having fallen asleep on something wrinkled. She wore hot-pink sweats and a large tie-dyed T-shirt. Her feet, toes painted a variety of bright colors, were bare.

Lulabelle blinked, her gaze going from Birdie to Brand and back again. Her deep, raspy voice boomed when she spoke. “Wrong time of year for Girl Scout cookies.”

“I’m Brand McKenna,” he said. “This is Birdie Malone. Her father was—”

“Murdered and dumped in a well.” Eyes now wide-open, Lulabelle let out a donkey laugh. “Wow. To what do I owe this honor so late at night?”

“It’s only ten twenty,” Birdie said.

Lulabelle chuckled. “Spoken like the young thing you are.” Stepping back, she said, “You’d better come in.”

“Aren’t you going to ask us why we’re here?” While Brand had asked the question, it was Birdie the older woman looked at. She winked and grinned.

“You need my help,” Lulabelle said and waved them into her house. The decor was much like the woman, loud, colorful and over-the-top. Birdie liked it, but she could tell that Brand was taken aback, reminding her how different their environments and situations had been growing up.

The woman motioned them to two overstuffed colorful chairs. The room was full of almost a dozen of them, all different colors and shapes scattered around the large living room. No couch or end tables or much floor space—just chairs.

“You have a lot of friends?” Birdie asked as she picked a club chair in purple, yellow and black stripes. Brand, she noticed, had taken a brown-and-white animal-print one.

Lulabelle dropped into a lime-green high-back chair, tucking her bare feet under her. “I just like chairs. I see one I like...” She shrugged. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my decor.”

Birdie couldn’t help but like the woman and her idiosyncrasies because, in Lulabelle’s case, they weren’t for show. “We need your help in finding Holly Jo Robinson,” she said, since Brand was busy glancing around as if questioning why she’d thought coming here was a good idea.

“Robinson? That’s the name she goes by? Huh. The sheriff didn’t mention that when he stopped here,” Lulabelle said and shook her head. “I can’t believe Holden thought I had taken the child. He should know I’m more direct than that. If I wanted something from him, I’d tell him to his face.” She laughed. “I’ve done it enough times.”

Birdie reached into her purse and took out the bag with the small stuffed duck inside. “This is Holly Jo’s.”

Lulabelle took the bag as if it contained something rare and fragile. She looked at Birdie, then at Brand, before she slowly unzipped the bag. She bent, took a whiff and closed her eyes. Birdie watched her.

She didn’t know if this woman was clairvoyant or not. But she firmly believed that everyone had at least a little sixth sense. Most people didn’t recognize it. She thought about her father and their connection. She’d felt that connection snap all those years ago. She’d only been a child, but she had been able to feel his presence even apart. Until that one night.

Lulabelle was still breathing in the duck, eyes closed. Brand looked ready to leave as he slid forward a little in his chair. Birdie wasn’t finished yet. “Do you have any idea where she might be or who might have taken her?”

“She’s alive,” Lulabelle said, opening her eyes. “I can’t tell you where she is... It’s dark.” She seemed to hesitate before she took another deep breath and closed her eyes again. She sat perfectly still. “She’s still in the Powder Crossing area. Near the mountains. The building... I can’t... It seems to be abandoned, but not for very long... I smell sour milk.” She opened her eyes. “A milking barn?”

Lulabelle looked down at the toy, then up at them. She must have seen their disappointment since her description fit a lot of the ranches and farms in the basin area and in all of rural Montana.

“She’s safe,” the seer said. Her unspoken words seemed to hang in the air.For now.Her expression was grim as she met Birdie’s gaze. “She’s afraid. She thinks he plans to kill her. And she might be right.”

Birdie felt a chill. The message was clear. Holly Jo had to be found—and soon.

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