Broken Toys Read online

  “Hell, I don’t even drink—which is more than I can say for Sam. If Dad doesn’t loosen up a little, I may have to start.”

  Leaning her back against the bed, she tugged on her boots. Crawling up the footboard to a standing position, Bree bent forward from the waist and dragged a brush through her hair. She flipped it back, smoothing the flyaway hairs from her face. Grabbing her lipstick off the dresser, she touched up her lips. She stepped back and checked out the finished product in the mirror from several angles. She grabbed her lipstick and pink, custom-made pocketknife off her dresser but discovered her jeans were too tight for them to fit in her pockets. Instead she stuck the tube of lipstick down into the top of her left boot and her knife into the right. She spun in circles, then smiled at herself in the mirror. Prince Charming will love this outfit on me. I hope.

  Guilt skittered through the back of her mind. Why doesn’t Dad trust me? I’m not Mom. Anger mixed with the guilt. I’ve never done one thing—not one teensy, tiny, itty-bitty thing—to give him any reason not to believe in me. As if on cue, barking split the air as her phone rang with her father’s personalized ringtone.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay on the home front?”

  With a fast glance around the war zone of her room, she lied her ass off. “Sure.”

  “Anything happen at school today you want to tell me about?”

  “Really, Dad?” I’m not falling for that. “Save it for Maddie. I’m not five anymore.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, okay, we’ll talk about school later. Can you make sure the girls get fed? I’m tied up on a case but should be home by bedtime. Let Maddie know I’ll be there to read her a story and tuck her in.”

  Sure you will. Fat chance on that promise. I’ll be dealing with Maddie’s tears…as usual. Thoughts of PC rushed through her. Shit. “But, Dad, I was going to Jenn’s house tonight. Can’t Sam do it?”

  “Sweetie, I need your help. I want to have a house to come home to when we’re done. Remember the last time Sam tried to cook? The kitchen curtains still smell like smoke. Why don’t you invite Jenn to our house? And remind Sam she’s still grounded.”

  “But Dad…” Bree stopped mid-whine. What a great idea. Dad won’t be home. I can invite Prince Charming over for dinner. “Fine, Dad,” she muttered in one of her best I-hope-you-realize-the-sacrifice-I’m-making-for-you voice.

  It wouldn’t do for her father to figure out she now wanted to stay home and cook. He’d get suspicious if she gave in too easily. Pouring on the sarcasm, she continued, “I’ll give up another night of freedom to take care of your children for you. It’s not like I have a life or anything.”

  “Okay, sweetie.” Her sarcasm never registered. “I appreciate it. Maybe I can make it up to you this weekend. Listen, Uncle Noah needs me. I’ve got to run. Love you.” The phone disconnected before she could respond.

  Aaaarrggghhh!

  Bree squeezed her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, shrugged out of the oversized work shirt, tugged off her boots, and danced down the hallway to the kitchen. “Maybe after I put Maddie to bed, Prince Charming and I can snuggle up and watch a movie. Just the two of us, all alone, in the dark. I wonder if I can get Sam to sneak out and spend time with her friends?”

  She sent him a text.

  —Trapped at home. Want to come to dinner?—

  —Sure—

  Excitement tingled as she sent a quick text to Jenn. —Don’t need u to cover for me. Deets later. Love

  ya—

  She bounced on her toes as she waltzed around the kitchen gathering ingredients for jambalaya.

  Five-year-old Maddie wandered into the kitchen dragging Fred, her bedraggled, well-loved teddy bear. She hopped up on a rustic brown, high-backed, swivel bar stool at the moss-green granite countertop and perched Fred on the stool beside her. Fred had been a gift from Uncle Noah. “Whatcha’ doing?”

  “Cooking dinner. What are you doing?” Bree added the chopped green onions to the fresh crushed garlic, yellow onions, and red cayenne peppers sautéing in the melted butter.

  “Can I help?”

  “Not right now, baby, but you can add the rice when I’m ready, okay?”

  “Okay.” Maddie twisted a length of hair the color of corn silk around her finger. “I’m bored. Where’s Daddy?”

  “He’s at work with Uncle Noah.”

  A pout clouded the pixie face. She grabbed Fred from the seat beside her and hugged him to her chest. “Daddy’s always at work.” Tears filled her eyes. “Why does he like work better than us?”

  “Oh, baby.” Bree tossed the chicken chunks into a pot of boiling water already containing slices of link sausage and cubed ham steak, washed her hands, and scooted around the counter to gather Maddie into her arms. Thanks a lot, Dad.

  “He doesn’t like work more than us. He promised he’d be home in time to read you a bedtime story.”

  “Yeah, right.” Maddie pouted.

  Bree glanced at the ground sausage and venison waiting to be browned with the sautéed onions, peppers, and garlic. She closed her eyes. Lord, give me strength. Opening her eyes, she asked, “Where’s Sam? Why don’t you and Fred get her to read a book to you? Or better yet why don’t you read one of your new library books to Sam?”

  “She’s too busy putting gunk on her face.” Maddie’s lower lip stuck out. “Nobody wants to play with me.”

  “Gunk?”

  “You know, like Unca Noah says, paint for what you ain’t.”

  Bree gave Maddie a little squeeze and walked back to the stove. “Why is she putting makeup on? She’s not going anywhere. Dad said she’s grounded.”

  Maddie lifted one shoulder up in a shrug. “She said if you didn’t get grounded for the stunt you pulled at school today, then she wasn’t grounded either. Are you grounded? What did you do? You don’t get in trouble. Sam and her friends call you Miss Goody Two Shoes.”

  A hot flush crept up Bree’s chest. She slammed the glass lid down on the stock pot. “Goody Two Shoes? I’ll show her Goody Two Shoes.” Deftly, she drained the grease from the ground meat before liberally adding Slap Ya’ Mama Cajun seasoning. She stirred the mixture, viciously scraping the wooden spoon hard against the sides of the pan.

  “Bree?” Maddie’s voice trembled.

  She took a moment to paste a smile on her face before turning to face her sister. “What, baby?”

  Maddie peeked over the top of Fred’s shabby, semi-bald brown head. In a tiny, squeaky voice, she asked, “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, I’m not mad at you.” She lifted the pan of seasoned meat and dumped it into the stock pot where the chicken, link sausage, and ham boiled. Setting the now empty pan down gently in the charcoal granite sink, she wiped her hands on the ivy-printed kitchen towel hanging on the oven door. “You can add the rice, shrimp, and the crawfish, but be careful. Don’t let the water splash you. It’s boiling and will burn you.”

  Maddie dropped Fred on the bar stool, grabbed a kitchen chair from the breakfast table, and dragged it across the hardwood floor. Bree hurried over and picked up the chair before it could scratch the wood.

  After they finished stirring in the final ingredients, including Bree’s super-secret one, Maddie proudly put the lid back on the stock pot. Bree turned the heat down to medium-low. She took her youngest sister by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go see what Sam’s up to.”

  Sam stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom attempting to straighten her naturally curly hair. Anyone looking at the three girls side by side would never guess they were sisters. Bree resembled her mother—at least as best as the teen remembered her mother. Petite, barely topping four foot eleven inches and curvy. Board-straight, waist-length copper hair cascaded down her back. Wispy bangs framed high porcelain cheekbones dusted with freckles.

  Sam, on the other hand, took after their father. At fifteen, she stood five foot eight inches—only an inch shorter than her dad—with no curves whatsoever. Not
to say she was a stick. Sam’s frame leaned more toward athletic. Graced with curly, blue-black hair, olive skin, and dimples, Samantha would make a great runway model if she put any effort into it. Unfortunately for the modeling world, she would rather work on muscle cars and play football with the boys. The only trait shared by the two older girls were their eyes. Upturned, almond-shaped hazel eyes laced with flecks of gold and green sparkled in both their faces.

  Maddie resembled neither of the sisters nor her dad. Waves of thick, platinum-blonde hair surrounded golden tan skin, chubby pink cheeks, and chocolate brown eyes. When Sam was being mean, which was often, she would tell Maddie they’d found her under a rock and hauled her home for a pet. This invariably caused a storm of tears from the sensitive five-year-old.

  A hint of sage with undertones of burning hair lingered in the bathroom despite the fan sitting on top of the toilet tank, blowing air out an open window.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Bree asked.

  Sam stuck her chin up and out defiantly. “Great-Grandad said smudging the house chased away negative spirits.”

  Bree waved her hand in front of her face, fanning away the smoke residue. “Do you really think sage will hide the smell of skunk weed?”

  Samantha drew herself up to her full height, puffed up like a bullfrog. “It’s not—” Avoiding eye contact with Bree, Sam turned back to the mirror, adding another coat of midnight black mascara to lashes that didn’t need it. “I am quite sure I have no clue what you are talking about.”

  “Right.” Bree drew the word out. “Where do you think you are going?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Bree tapped the toes of her right foot on the ceramic tile floor, her arms folded across her chest, as she stood in the doorway. She waited without saying another word.

  “Fine.” Sam fluffed her hair. “I’m going to meet my boyfriend at the park. And I’m late already.” She shoved her way past Bree. “He can’t stay long because he has to have dinner with his family at his grandmother’s house.”

  Maddie piped up. “Bree said you’re not going anywhere because you’re grounded. And you can’t have a boyfriend. You’re too young. Dad said so. I’m telling.”

  “Shut up, pipsqueak,” Sam growled.

  Maddie darted behind Bree and snuck a peek out around her waist. The five-year-old stuck her tongue out at Sam. “I am not a pipsqueak.”

  Sam made a fast movement toward Maddie who squealed and ducked back behind Bree.

  Bree said, “I didn’t ground you. Dad did.”

  “I don’t care what he said. You publicly disrespect a teacher and the principal, and you don’t get grounded. I commit one teeny-tiny prank, and I’m grounded for the rest of my life. It’s not fair.”

  Maddie piped up like a parrot. “Dad said life and fair are both four-letter words, but that’s all they have in common.”

  Sam stomped toward Maddie. “If you don’t shut up, I will rip your little head off.”

  “Sam, stop it. Maddie, shut up.” Bree shifted away from the bathroom door. “And Sam, shutting the school down for three days by putting a chemical concoction in the air-conditioning ducts is not a ‘tiny prank.’ It’s borderline terrorism. You’re lucky they didn’t press charges. You cost the school district a ton of money, and now we have to go to school on our bad-weather days to make up for it.”

  “What do you care? You like school.” Sam shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal was. It was funny. No one got hurt.” She stopped and examined Bree as if seeing her for the first time. “What are you all dressed up for? And where is Dad anyway?”

  “Dad caught a case. He’s working late.”

  “Nothing new there.” Sam grimaced. “He’s always at work. Not sure why he even had kids in the first place. You still didn’t tell me why you’re all dolled up.”

  Bree glanced over her shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers, not that anyone else was in the house. She stared at Sam, measuring. “Promise not to tell?”

  “Of course. We’re sisters, aren’t we?”

  She would love to share her delicious secret with someone who would understand and keep it a secret. She cast another quick glance around, her gaze landing on Maddie. “Mads, why don’t you take Fred and go to the living room? You can watch any movie you want.”

  Maddie eyed her sisters, looking from one to the other and then back again. The little girl shook her head side to side. Waves of silky, baby-fine blonde hair whipped around her face as if in a windstorm. “Nope. No way. No how. I’m not going anywhere.” She folded her arms over her chest and dug her heels into the hallway flooring. “I’m your sister, too, and you can’t make me.”

  Sam cracked her knuckles. “Wanna bet, pipsqueak?”

  “Enough already. Fine, but you can’t tell anyone either, okay?” Bree turned to Sam. “I mean it. Neither one of you can share a word of this with anyone.”

  “What about Daddy?” Maddie asked.

  “Especially not Dad, understand? Pinky promise?”

  Sam held up her hand, little finger extended. “Pinky promise.”

  “I still don’t know why I can’t tell Daddy.”

  “Maddie!” Bree glared at her baby sister. “Either promise or leave.”

  Mimicking the older girls, Maddie held up her hand. The three girls interlocked pinkies and shook.

  Bree leaned toward her sisters and whispered, “Since Dad won’t be home until late, I invited my boyfriend to supper.”

  “Boyfriend?” Sam fell back. “Shut up. You mean Mr. Hottie also known as Prince Charming in your journal is real? I thought you made him up.”

  “Wait, what?” Heat crept up Bree’s neck. “You read my journal? How could—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, her guilty sister squealed in delight. “He’s here. His Mustang just pulled up. Love those pipes and glass packs.” She paused for a moment as if confused by something. “How did he find out where I lived?” She shook her head and beamed a smile that lit the room. “Who cares? Just shows how smart he is, right? I bet he got tired of waiting at the park because I am way late. He has to go to his grandmother’s. He doesn’t want to, but his parents demanded he show up for dinner.”

  Bree and Maddie trailed Sam as she dashed to the front door. Bree watched Sam fling open the door, squeal in a most un-Sam-like way, and raced into her boyfriend’s arms.

  To be more exact—she raced directly into the arms of Bree’s Prince Charming.

  Chapter Five

  As the sun disappeared beneath the curve of the horizon, the roar of generators powering the halogen lights filled the air, and the mobile crime scene unit rolled up. Noah and Rhyden climbed out of the pickup truck where they'd waited, soaking up as much air conditioning as possible following the Schmidts’ departure for their afternoon round of doctors’ appointments.

  After handshakes and introductions all around, the senior crime scene technician asked, “So what do we have here?”

  Black and yellow caution tape fluttered in the breeze, blocking off the crime scene. As Noah spoke, he pointed to the yellow, plastic evidence markers dotting the driveway. “We’re hoping you can tell us. We’ve located what we believe is a hip implant and possibly some tar-covered bone fragments.”

  “What makes you think it was a hip implant?” the tech asked.

  With a wince, Noah instinctively rubbed his left hip. “Unfortunately, I have one of my very own. Souvenir from a wreck I had back in my teens.”

  “Ouch,” she replied, face grim. “Well, alrighty then, a sifting we will go.”

  The tech walked to the rear of her van and helped her partners finish unloading equipment as two unmarked Bennett County vehicles arrived on scene. Damon Tesler and Brian Coer, investigators from the sheriff’s office, climbed out of the trucks and strutted up to the scene.

  Noah chuckled. “Brooke wasn’t kidding. They really do coordinate their outfits.” He gave them a quick once-over. “Matchy-match right down to their g
un rigs.”

  Tesler and Coer both wore black jeans, lime green shirts, and fluorescent yellow ties. Their leather gun belts matched their boots. They headed straight to the temporary command station where boxes of pizza sat.

  Rhyden shook his head. “They may dress prissy, but honestly, they do an excellent job. Did you see how quickly they cleared the Vasquez murder? Most ricky-tick. They impressed me.”

  He and Noah followed the crime scene tech to the back of the van and offered to help carry equipment. After she turned down the offer, Noah handed the tech a business card. “Keep me informed on whatever you find, please. We have several patrol deputies on standby if you need them, and I see Bennett County’s finest have just arrived on scene as well.” Gesturing toward the card, he said, “My cell number’s on the back. Call if you need anything or if you find anything important.”

  ****

  As the moon rose above the horizon, in response to a call from the crime scene unit, Noah and Rhyden returned to the Schmidts’ residence. Upon their arrival, the lead crime scene technician led them past the screen shakers to a long, white plastic table set up under a blue canvas tent. The yellow numbered evidence markers now sat in shallow bins on the table. With a somber expression, the tech gave both men a tour of the evidence collected from the driveway.

  Turning back to the truck, Noah squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger before dragging his knuckles across his forehead in an attempt to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. I don’t have time for a migraine. Not now.

  “Been a hell of an evening, hasn’t it?” Rhyden took a deep swallow from the semi-cool bottle of water he had just rolled across the back of his neck. He held a second bottle out to Noah.

  “Thanks.” He twisted the cap off. “That’s one way to put it. A hip implant, thirty-seven possible bone fragments, and a handful of teeth. Hell of a nuisance call, huh?” He took a long swig off the bottle as he examined the remains of Mr. Schmidt’s driveway.

  Rhyden shook his head. “Who the hell crushes up a body and uses it for road base?”