Left Hanging Read Online Free PDF Page A

prompted the do-over.
    “Excuse me. I’m E.M. Danniher from KWMT. I have a few questions about your reaction to the death of Keith Landry.”
    At my first words he jumped like he’d been poked with a bull horn—the kind with a point, not the kind that makes noise.
    His head snapped up, and the glare he sent me indicated his answer would be, “Hell, no, I’m not talking.”
    But he had no chance to say it.
    “What are you doing? What are you doing?” demanded a female voice.
    In another half a second, a female form interposed itself between me and Cowboy Number Three.
    She was the same age as Cowboy Number Three, wearing a glittering western shirt of a chartreuse so bright it made my teeth ache, a stripe of glittering rhinestones down the outside of each leg of her tight black jeans, and a pink cowboy hat with—I wouldn’t kid about this—a tiara attached around the front of the crown.
    It required another look to take in the girl inside the outfit. She wore heavy makeup and her long hair teased and sprayed into the stiff bigness of another era. Beneath it all was the attractiveness of a young, healthy, fit female.
    “I have a few questions for  . . . ” I left it for either to fill in the name of Cowboy Number Three. No such luck.
    “Can you not see he’s getting ready to compete ?” Brain surgery, rescuing a toddler from a raging flood, or pilots taking off to save the planet from a plunging asteroid—none rivaled the importance she gave that word.
    “He’s not competing yet.”
    “You can not be serious! You do not interrupt a man’s preparations.”
    “Heather,” Cowboy Number Three said from behind her, one hand cupping her shoulder in a familiar way. “It’s o—”
    “No, it is not. It is not the least little bit okay.”
    He shrugged and went into the competitors’ area, where I was not allowed.
    At this point, though, I was at least as interested in her as in him. Talk about an over-the-top reaction.
    “I’m E.M. Danniher with—”
    “I don’t care who you think you are, asking questions all over the place when it’s none of your business. It is not acceptable to break a competitor’s concentration. You might not be from around here  . . . ” Dramatic pause for a scathing look at my decidedly unsparkly attire, as well as unforgivable lack of cowboy hat, much less tiara. “. . . but it’s only good manners no matter where you come from not to barge right in like that.”
    “And your name is?”
    “Honey,” came a new voice, practically dripping that substance. “You go get ready.”
    “But Mom—”
    “Now.” Ah, this honey could carry a sting. Quickly soothed. “Go on, now. You don’t want to have to rush for your ride.”
    Ms. Tiara did what she was told.
    With the hierarchy clear, Cowboy Number Three at the bottom, then Heather/Honey, then Mom, I turned to greet the top of the pyramid, prepared to spread honey of my own if it got me what I wanted.
    No need.
    “You’re Elizabeth Danniher with the TV station, aren’t you?” Her smile was gracious and warm, with a touch of wryness. She didn’t look around for a camera, but I had the feeling she’d already determined there wasn’t one.
    “I am.” I held out my hand. “And you are?”
    “Vicky Upton, Heather’s mom.” She gave a good handshake in return. Firm, not rough. Well-tended hands. Well-tended everything. But perhaps the most well-cared for was the iron determination in the eyes and jaw. “I do apologize if Heather was overzealous. She’s keyed up, what with getting ready and all. It’s not the big event like it will be next week, but they are having her do the rodeo queen’s ride tonight, and it’s her first time. Plus, she always has been protective of Cas.”
    Her smile invited me to be indulgent with young love. I was more interested that Cowboy Number Three had at least one name.
    “In fact, they’re protective of each other,” she added. “They’ve been sweethearts practically from