Dani sent a text. “We’ll have one of us in the house to listen for the phone until the FBI can get into the phone.”

Bob handed his phone to Tanner. “Call Beck back. I’ll tell her she has full permission to tap the lines.”

Tanner made the call. “On it,” said Beck. “What’s with the sirens?”

“Dead body,” said Bob. “Near my home. Will keep you informed. Hunter out.” He hung up and pocketed the phone.

Bob called Dispatch as soon as he saw the dead man. The dead guy was in the bushes four blocks up, and two over, in front of a brown ranch house with a silver Kia in the front yard. The man used to have a mask on. The mask had been clawed off his face. He was young; early twenties, with sandy blonde hair, a beard, and a well-kept mustache.

“Never seen him,” Bob said to Herja. He pointed to the bruise on the man’s jaw. “Sidekick, I’d say. Your style.”

“Taught it to all my sisters,” said Herja. “And Skuld taught it to me. So, probably Reece, or maybe your wife. We’re doing a grid, nothing nearby so…”

“Ogagn!” yelled a female voice.

Bob kept the pace with Herja. “What the…”

“Hurt,” said Herja.

They ran four blocks over; one up, and an African-American woman with hair braided down one side had Xenia up against a tree. Xenia’s face was a mass of bruises, and blood was running down from her temple to her cheek.

“Medic!” screamed Herja.

Bob called it in. “S-34, I need a bus, my wife has been found. Blow to the temple.” He said it in a rush, while kneeling to check her pulse at the neck. “Pulse thready.” He got off the mic, and he let Tanner take over.

A woman with blonde hair streaming behind her, braided on one side, came rushing up, with a bag in her hand. She knelt, put on gloves, and checked the wound.

“Nasty crack, laceration, probable concussion. Would say this was done with a gun butt.” She looked up at Herja. “Find these guys and take them out,” she said.

“Still missing Reece and Diana,” said Bob. “Honey, can you hear me?” His wife remained unresponsive.

“She’s out cold,” said the woman. “I’m Doctor Evie Applebaum. Your wife will be okay. We’ll take care of her. Go after your child.”

“Blood trail,” said Herja.

They ran forward, looking for the trail. Bob tried not to look back at his wife. He clearly saw her in his mind, screaming at him to go, to find Diana. They ran faster, stopped, doubled back, then turned. Herja was like a bloodhound. He wondered if they were backtracking or moving forward, but it was all they had to go on. They cut through a yard, scaled a fence, kept running, and then scaled it again on the other side. Finally, they heard grunting, a smack, something toppling, and a wail. Bob ran, his hand on his gun, ready to kill anyone that made Diana cry.

Reece had the guy in a chokehold, and now, Bob pointed his gun at the masked figure, while Herja ran past, like an Olympic runner, leaping over a knocked-over lawn chair to get to the baby who was on the ground. She grabbed Diana, then circled Reece. She popped the guy once in the stomach and once in the knee, so fast that Bob could barely see the movement. The man tried to take in breath to howl, but Reece finished by choking him out. He collapsed to the ground.

Diana screamed lustily, infuriated, while Bob put cuffs on the man. He pulled back the mask to reveal an older man. In his mid-thirties, buzz-cut black hair, dark eyes, skin weathered by sun, wind, and probably even the rain. A check of the pockets revealed nothing. Bob stepped back and claimed his daughter.

“Got Mom,” said Bob, jiggling his daughter. She grabbed his finger and held on, her cries lessening. “Bet you want Mama, little girl,” said Bob.

The homeowner came out, a wizened woman in a bathrobe. “I’ve got the cops on the line. Are you S-34? Whatever the fuck that means.”

“Yes, tell them we need a car to take this one to prison. And probably an ambulance.” Bob checked the infant for injuries, but she seemed good. It was her angry cry, with a dose of hungry. Usually, it was the other way around.

Herja had her hand on the back of Reece’s neck, and Reece, exhausted, put her hand up to the back of Herja’s neck. “With your shield,” said Herja.

“Or on it,” said Reece.

“What the actual fuck?” said the woman in the pink bathrobe. She hung up the phone and slipped it into the pocket of her bathrobe. Next, she pulled out a Marlboro from its hard, red pack, and she lit it up, drawing back on it like it was fresh, alpine air.

“It’s a Valkyrie thing,” said Bob. “It grows on you.” He turned to Reece. “You protected my baby,” he said. “I owe you…”

“Shut up,” said Reece. “You could have fucking come home on time.”

Bob snorted, then looked down at Diana. She was trying to eat his finger. “Damn right I was late,” he said. “Damn fool, me.”

“Let’s get the fuck to the hospital,” said Herja, holding up Reece.

“Who the fuck is that guy? And why did he and the dead guy kidnap you three?” asked Bob.

“Don’t know. Does it matter?” said Reece. “He wakes up, I’ll kill him too.”

“Kidnapping is a capital offense,” said Bob. “Dumbasses, kidnapping a sheriff and her child.”

The man groaned. Bob held up his hand to hold back Reece. “We need answers. The other guy can’t tell us squat.”

“Damn,” said Reece. “Was looking forward to you taking that guy out.”

The sirens stopped a few blocks away. “Picking up Xenia,” said Bob.

Another siren came around the corner. Xenia’s second, Deputy David Rodriguez, hopped out. “Glad to see you’re all in one piece,” he said. “You have to shoot him?”

“Nope,” said Bob. “Reece choked him out and Herja kicked him. Several times. Need a bus for him. And to check out Diana, but I think she’s okay. Reece is a bit of a mess.”

“Fuck you,” said Reece, limping forward. “Take out the trash, willya, Dave?”

“Always, for you,” said Dave, giving her a little bow.

“You people are absolutely crazy,” said the woman in the bathrobe, still puffing away on her seemingly-perfect cigarette.

“No more than usual,” said Bob.

An ambulance drove up. “Everybody in,” said the EMT, the same woman that had been working on Xenia. Bob hopped in with the baby.

Herja handed Reece in. “Meet ya there,” said Herja. They were crowded.

Bob looked at Xenia and said, “Hey, love, got our baby.”

Xenia groaned and held her head. The paramedic had an ice pack on it to reduce the swelling. “Diana!” she said, her eyes popping open. Diana let out a wail. “Gimme,” groaned Xenia. Bob handed Diana to her mother. Xenia popped out a breast and fed her right there.

The paramedic said, “Motherhood. The cure for being knocked in the head, apparently.”

“Bastards hit… Reece!”

“Here,” said Reece, as the paramedic poked at her. “Ow, Tanya. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Xenia. “Two males, twenties on one, think thirties on the other. Broke in, put a gun to Diana’s face. Texted someone. Mentioned a name. Greeley.”

“August Greeley?” asked Bob.

“Who the fuck is August Greeley?” asked Reece. “Ow.”

“Cracked ribs,” said Tanya. “And a busted hand.”

“Mover and shaker in the asshole business,” said Bob. “Busted his ass ten years ago.”

“Man killed his wife,” said Xenia, her words slurred. Tanya was quick with the barf bag. Xenia was noisily sick.

Tanya checked her eyes when she was finished throwing up. “Pupils still equal and responsive to light,” said Tanya. Xenia knocked the light off her eyes.

“You guys taking the route through China?” Bob asked. “Got three patients back here.”

“Get Greeley,” said Xenia.

“We’re here,” said Tanya.

They were hustled out. “What happened?” asked the doctor on call. She was short, with red hair. Her name tag said, “Angel.”

“A kidnapping attempt that went horribly wrong,” said Bob.

“Wife was pistol-whipped, her defender here has two cracked ribs and a broken wrist. Baby needs a once-over,” said Tanya.

“Fuckers,” said Doctor Angel.

“Damn right,” said Bob, heartened. “My wife and her bodyguard took them out. One’s headed to the morgue, and one to jail.”

“Okay, get me a CBC and chem 7 on the mom, get Pediatrics down here, get the bodyguard here to x-ray,” said Doctor Angel.

“I’ll carry the baby to Pediatrics,” said Bob.

“You couldn’t get that baby off of Mom with a crowbar,” said Doctor Angel, dragging everyone inside, including the gurney.

They got a cast on Reece by having Herja threaten to kick her out of the Valkyries if she didn’t take care of herself. Taping the ribs was easier. They kept up a conversation in old Norse while the taping and casting was done.

Bob stayed with his wife and child. Tanner showed up to take everybody’s statement. Bob called the FBI, and called them off. “Already on our way,” said SAC Beck. “Glad everyone was okay. Who the fuck is Greeley?”

“August Greeley is the only one I remember with that name. Tanner’s looking into anyone else with that name, too. His first wife was violent, abusive, and loud. Emily Greeley. Nice name, vicious woman. Accused her husband in public; in church, of carrying on with another woman. She died in a slip and fall in the kitchen, before my time. Two years later, he married Annabelle. Annabelle was short, quiet and meek. She started showing up around town with bruises. Greeley had two kids, both daughters, one by each wife. Sheriff Borroy gave Greeley a talking-to; tried to get her to press charges. But he could never get her to do it. He went years between hitting her, according to Paul (Sheriff Borroy). That is weird, because it doesn’t fit the pattern. Assholes usually do it and just get better at hiding it. One night, she ended up dead. Strangled in her own bed. Forensic accounting showed all kinds of nastiness, including skimming, embezzling, money laundering. Guy was an accountant with all sorts of clients. Could never prove mob connections. Probably from marijuana growers. Even now, the number of plants is carefully regulated, so you can make millions growing weed out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll get Frenchie on it. Did you arrest him?”

“Yes, I was there that night, but this was about nine months before I was elected sheriff, so I wasn’t the main one involved. I did some investigating, sure, but that was mainly Minnie. Minnie Thargood, our forensic accountant. We borrowed her from Reno, and she went back there when she was finished. Have no idea where she is now. Borroy’s dead. Ate his gun not two months after the trial. Not how I wanted to take office, you know? No indications that Borroy was depressed, either. Damnedest thing.”

“Where’s Greeley now?”

“Have no idea. Was doing twenty-five to life, not including the other charges.”

“Somebody has the hots for you, Hunter,” said Beck.

“Someone does,” agreed Bob. “But why go after my wife and child? Thank the universe they’re bad asses, or this could have gotten nasty.”

“Well,” said Beck, “It did get nasty. Someone’s dead, and two of your people are in the hospital. The baby okay?”

“Yes, thank the universe,” said Bob. “My wife would have driven down there to the jail, even with a head injury, and beaten him to death with a ball peen hammer if there had been a scratch on little Diana. Concussion, and no skull fracture on Xenia. Doing an MRI now.” He jiggled Diana. She belched, then cooed.

“Well, we’ll be there soon. Keep me posted.”

“Will do,” said Bob. He hung up, more confused than ever, but with a desire all the way down to his toes to run this down, right until he knew what the hell was going on.

* * *

Tanner found the files on Emily Greeley and Annabelle Greeley. Emily was tall, with brown hair and deep brown eyes. Then, wide shoulders and large hands. The crime scene photos caught her in a pool of blood, her blood and hair were also on the corner of the kitchen table.

“Call Tatch. Tell him we’ll send him scanned copies of the forensics,” said Beck to Frenchie. “Her neck is at a weird angle. Methinks that’s odd.” She grabbed her magnifying plastic out of her wallet, and looked closer. “Shadows around her neck, possibly bruises.”

Frenchie called Edwin Tatch, M.D. “Eddie, we got a weird one. Was declared a kitchen accident, but Beck thinks she sees bruising around the neck. Gonna send you wife number two, as well. That one was declared murder and the husband went to prison.” Frenchie looked at Tanner. He pointed to the desk scanner. “Right,” she said.

Beck passed Frenchie the other file. She opened Annabelle’s file. “This is so-obviously strangulation in bed,” said Beck. “Second time husband has returned home from ‘driving around after work,’ and ‘working late when no one else was in the office,’ and then found wifey ‘dead in bed.’ This one was strangled. She was wearing yoga pants and a soft tee. The other one a dress. This one, the hyoid bone was broken.”

Frenchie checked the other autopsy report. “No mention of the hyoid bone at all. Wonder if someone was asleep at the wheel.” The hyoid bone was usually broken during strangulation. “A Doctor Werner Steuss did the autopsy.”

“Retired,” said Tanner. “Fishing somewhere; I think Michigan.”

“Pammy did this one,” said Tanner. “She’s been here for about two years before Sheriff Hunter got elected.”

“So, no coverups with number two,” said Beck. She held up the autopsy photo of Annabelle. “Pretty woman; short, buxom, small hands and feet. It seems he doesn’t have a type.”

“Yes, he does,” said Tanner, looking up from the computer. “I’ve been researching old property records. Went digital in ‘89. Anyway, Emily had property, money, and all from a rich daddy. The place they moved to was hers. He inherited it all, about six hundred thousand, plus the house. Worth a lot more seventeen years ago. Then, he met and married Annabelle Church-Pryse. Daddy was a Church, Mama a Pryse. Car dealership, real estate. New house was hers.”

“So why not make number two look like an accident?” asked Frenchie.

“Working theory,” said Beck. “Somebody knew about wifey number one, and framed him for wifey number two. Someone as cold as ice. And where was she getting the bruises? There’s no evidence that he abused wife number one. And why so long in between bouts? Abusers are nothing, if not consistent.”

“And pathological,” said Frenchie. “Two daughters; one from the first marriage, and one from the last.”

“Marybelle Taton and Louanne Pryse. Louanne married her half-sister’s brother,” said Tanner.

“So, Louanne’s the oldest,” said Beck. “Wonder if they got any money, and how old their husbands and friends are.”

“Think they’re in on it?” asked Frenchie.

“Pissed as hell, and yes, I do, at least the older one. Maybe resentful of Mommy number two, and knows damn-well that Daddy killed Mommy. Maybe Daddy loved Mommy number two and she wanted to punish him for the first murder, and rub it in by killing the woman he loved.”

“That is so twisted,” said Frenchie. “I like it.”

“Let’s prove it,” said Beck.

“I’ll get warrants,” said Tanner.

“I love this one,” said Frenchie. “So twisty, dark and deep.”

“And miles to go before you sleep,” said Beck. “Chop-chop, people. Frenchie, scan and email those reports. Tanner, get warrants for the current financials on the current players. I’ll get some warrants of my own.”

Olivia Benefields was their current data monkey in Reno. Beck got the particulars from Tanner and made the call. “I need everything, from the moment they breathed. How fast can you get it done?”

“Beck, I’m hurt. I can make data jump, dance, swim, and stand on its little-data-head. Will sent a hefty email in fifteen.” Olivia hung up.

“Hot-damn, we’re getting somewhere,” said Tanner. He pulled up pictures of all their drivers’ licenses, printed them out, and put them up on the whiteboard.

“Oooh,” said Frenchie. “The Pryse that Louanne married, Denver —who names their kid Denver? Hmm, is in his early thirties… yep, our guy in jail.”

“More info before we interview,” said Beck.

“Other dude is a lot younger, makes sense since Marybelle was twelve years younger. Married Jason Taton,” said Tanner, pinning up the pictures, and drawing lines to show their relationships.

“Our dead guy,” said Frenchie.

“Don’t mess with the Valkyries,” said Tanner.

“And they are…” asked Beck.

“A motorcycle club,” said Frenchie. “Of badass women. They train with The Society for Creative Anachronism, and learn to shoot a variety of weapons. Love crazy shit like freeclimbing and jumping out of perfectly good planes. Adrenaline junkies. Ride Harleys. Have rides for people that need help, like veterans with PTSD. The Hispanic community calls them chingona, or badass women.”

“I would have thought kidnapping a sheriff married to another sheriff was a bad enough idea,” said Beck.

“These guys are eight kinds of stupid,” said Tanner.

A delivery driver rang the doorbell. Tanner went to find out what was going on, with a hand on his gun, because he hadn’t ordered anything. He took his hand off his gun when the driver took off her helmet, and deliberately exposed her black braids to the camera. He came back with two paper bags full of food.

“From the diner,” said Tanner. “The Valkyries paid for it.”

“Well, hot-damn,” said Frenchie. “They got that soup Xenia keeps raving about? Blue corn? Yeah! Score!”

“Frenchie,” said Beck, “your ADD amazes me.”

“And I get more work done than two agents, and that’s why you love me,” said Frenchie, as she fished around in the bag for a spoon.

Olivia called back. Beck used her little box that was plugged into her computer to project her up on the empty side of the whiteboard. “Cool,” said Olivia. “Okay, here’s the skinny. Louanne was twelve when Mommy died. Daddy inherited, and Mama died before she created a trust. Apparently, Mama was in the process of making one, and there was some sort of messed-up paperwork, and she was doing it again. Your data retrieval person is da bomb.”

“Cynthia Coran. She wanted every single piece of paper (everywhere) scanned. She works with Dispatch to scan stuff, and all of us when we are not on the road or doing our own paperwork.” Tanner smiled. “Never realized how really cool that was. I’ll tell her in the morning.”

“Anyway,” said Olivia, “Mommy died before she fixed the paperwork, so Daddy got everything. He bought a car dealership. From the court case, it seems that he was investing in real estate, much of which never broke ground, gambling on —and offline, online naked girls, and a tad bit of a prescription drug problem. So, he married wife number two, Annabelle Church-Pryse, who never took her husband’s last name. Good idea, because she already had two.”

Tanner snorted, and took some mushroom soup. Frenchie and Tanner touched spoons. “Focus, people,” said Beck. “Louanne seems to have moved out and gotten married on her eighteenth birthday; nearly to the day, to Denver. Had a miscarriage that may or may not have existed, never went to the hospital, but it was in the trial transcript. Still no kids. Pretended to be pregnant to get married,” Beck speculated. “Well, Mommy number two gave birth nearly immediately to Marybelle. Marybelle was smaller, and a little sickly. She lost her mom at… wait for it… age twelve.”

“Hot-damn,” said Tanner. “History repeats itself.”

“You would have thought that fact would have been important at the trial, but there was a motion to suppress; the first one was ruled an accident, now and forever, until we started digging.”

“Daddy murdered the first wife, and so his money didn’t get lost in a trust,” said Beck.

“So… Louanne murders her stepmom? I can’t see a twelve-year-old deliberately murdering her mom,” said Frenchie.

“Payback, if he really loved her,” said Tanner. “You took my mom, so I’ll take your wife.”

“So, Louanne’s the current baddie. What the fuck were they trying to do? And was Marybelle in on it?”

“Doubtful, if she knew Louanne killed Mommy.”

“Where the fuck is Daddy?” asked Beck.

“Still in jail,” said Tanner. “Dying of lung cancer and, it would seem, AIDS. Had a case of pneumonia that looks suspicious.”

“So, a smoker,” said Frenchie. “And probably contracted AIDS in prison, unless it was from some hooker. Someone went off their nut because he’s dying?”

“What if he swears he didn’t murder his second wife, and his second daughter believes him?” said Tanner, slowly.

“Wait,” said Olivia. “There’s more. Daddy dissipated the money. The house, which at least one of the daughters should have gotten, had three mortgages on it. And, this time, Mama made a trust… in secret.”

“Little scaredy-cat got some balls,” said Frenchie. “Daddy couldn’t have killed her off to prevent it, because he didn’t know about it.”

“She got holdings, not the house, but other properties protected from Daddy. And, get this, Louanne lives in one of them.”

Beck stood, and wrote on the board about the holdings. At the same time, Olivia read them to her, the trust, all of it. “I think I’ve got it,” she said.

“So do I,” said Olivia.

“Daddy killed his first wife. Louanne killed the second one,” said Beck.

“Agreed,” said Frenchie.

“Daddy told second daughter Marybelle he didn’t do it, and that he was railroaded. May have even thrown down the chestnut that he was suspected of murder of his first wife, but he didn’t do it. So, sheriff and deputies were mean and railroaded poor Daddy, who genuinely can’t figure out why he’s in prison,” said Beck.

“Good news is,” said Frenchie, “that Daddy did do one murder, so he’s doing time for murder… just the wrong one!”

“If we’re right,” said Beck. “She convinces her husband to go after whoever they can reach.”

“Why?” asked Frenchie. “It wasn’t money. Nothing was taken from the house.”

“Maybe force Bob to reopen the case?” said Tanner.

“You would think that Marybelle would NOT want that to happen. She killed her second mother,” said Frenchie.

“Nope, she was for it,” said Olivia. “Remember, she’s reliant upon the sister for her lifestyle. She does nails. Her husband is in construction. Her sister has the money, and her honey is a freeloader, a ‘consultant’ that doesn’t seem to consult about anything much at all. He’s written a few little apps, nothing that’s sold, ‘cause there’s better everywhere else. Time management software stuff.”

“Okay, so she goes along because the evidence is a slam-dunk. Blood in the car, something easy for Marybelle to plant. And, Daddy Dearest is dying anyway,” said Frenchie.

“If Daddy does get out, he’s dying, and will die horribly in hospice care. He’ll get better health care in prison,” said Tanner. He took a breath when the women all stared at him. “The justice thing aside.”

“Daddy murdered the first wife, so his money didn’t get lost in a trust,” said Beck. “Justice was served, in a twisted way.”

“So, the boys go after Bob to force him to reopen the case,” said Frenchie. “I hope someone got paid. Makes the case make more sense.”

“Promises,” said Beck. “Marybelle gets the house?”

“We need to get eyes on the other two before they run,” said Beck. “They had to know that something went really wrong by now, or missed a check-in.”

“Got Valkyries on them,” said Tanner. “No one’s moved yet.”

“Not happy about non-law-enforcement watching our suspects,” said Beck.

“Lots of them are ex-military, current law enforcement, firefighters, or paramedics,” said Tanner. “And I’ve got a call out to Judge Reyes. She’s a Valkyrie, too. Was waiting on getting a line of reasoning first. Since they’re married to the perpetrators, we can hold them as material witnesses.”

“Let’s be a tad more delicate than that,” said Beck. “Tanner and Frenchie, go get them. Olivia, keep digging. I want this tied up in a tight-ass bow.”

“On it,” said Tanner.

Frenchie grabbed a bag. “Road tacos, and cans of Coke,” she said.

“Sweet,” said Tanner. Beck waved them off.

Charges

Tanner dialed up Bob, and put him on speakerphone. “Bob, Tanner, on speaker with Frenchie.”

“Hi, guys,” said Bob. He sounded exhausted. “Wife and daughter are sleeping. Unpleasant having to wake the wife up every hour to check her eyes for blown pupils. A random Valkyrie took Reece home. Herja’s standing guard, just in case.”

“We’ve got movement,” said Tanner. “Think we’ve got it figured out, too.”

“Lay it on me,” said Bob. “At this point, pistol-whipping my wife makes zero sense. I did talk more to Reece, and she said that the guys kept trying to force her to call you, but they wouldn’t say why. Said she and Reece figured it was a trap to kill you off.”

“No, it was a way to get you to open a closed case. It seems these idiots had no idea that your wife was either a sheriff or a Valkyrie. We’re picking up the wives. Turns out the younger wife is behind it, or so we think.”

“Hold up. Question everyone first. Get it nailed down. Then, call me back. I can’t be anywhere near this, for several reasons. First of all, this is a conflict of interest, a crime against my family. Or a lot of them. I mean it’s assault, kidnapping, and a minor involved, so it’s special circumstances. Second of all, the FBI is a really big gun, and I say bring out the heavy artillery. Thirdly, I had to keep myself from reaching in and removing the guy’s spleen with my two fingers and a thumb. Bad idea to get me in the same county as him, let alone anywhere near the interrogation. Fourth, I’m exhausted and so angry that it’s gone cold inside.”

“Dangerous,” said Frenchie. “Almost as dangerous as an angry Valkyrie.”

“You join up yet?” asked Bob.

“Not that much of an adrenaline junkie, and I travel all the damn time in a car. The Harley would just sit and gather dust, a crime against Harleys everywhere.”

“A shootin’ offense,” agreed Bob. “So, prosecute this case, and prosecute it hard. And then tell me when they’re all remanded for trial.”

“I love them too much to let them sit,” said Frenchie, “But, when I retire, got my eye on a low-rider. We’re digging hard. Talk to you later,” she said, and hung up.

Marybelle Taton lived on a quiet cul-de-sac in a four-bedroom ranch. A blue Jeep was parked in the driveway. They parked, and walked up the short walkway to the house. Tanner knocked, and they had their IDs ready.

They identified themselves, and Frenchie said, “Your husband is at County,” she said. She didn’t finish the sentence, which would have included the word “morgue.” “Can you come with us?”

Marybelle looked lovely. She wore a pretty, blue top, and black, expensive jeans. She had her mother’s tiny hands, and brown hair. She adorned her brother’s flat nose. “Of course,” she said, as if coming into the police station was on her agenda, every day.

She went quietly. She didn’t seem nervous or upset. They dropped her off with Beck, and went back up to pick up Louanne. Louanne lived in a smaller house, in the middle of the street. It was brick rather than adobe, and covered much less of the lot.

“Aha,” said Tanner, as they drove up. “Murder just to own a smaller house.”

“Or to work your way into a bigger one. Marybelle is a real estate agent. Got her start by selling one of her extra houses.”

“Oh ho,” said Tanner. “And Louanne manages a small clothing store. Bet she’s dressed better than Sister because of her discount at her job.”

“No bet,” said Frenchie.

They identified themselves. Louanne wore blue, silk, dress pants and a lighter blue, tunic top, and some very nice silver jewelry. They arrested Marybelle outright, as a killer. They cuffed her, read her rights out to her, and took her in.

Beck and Tanner began the interviews. They started with Denver. He had scratches on his face, taped ribs, and a wrapped hand. He was in leg chains, and one hand was handcuffed to the rail.

“That crazy lady with the baby kicked me. I wanna press charges.”

“That’s your right,” said Beck. “I am Special Agent Beck, FBI, and this is Deputy Tanner.” She went over his rights, and had him sign a paper. Then, she told him the interview was being recorded, and had him sign another paper. “I’ve been given some confused stories about what happened tonight. When did you enter the house with the two women and the baby?”

“What house?” asked Denver. He wiped his hand over his hair, down his broad face and over his squashed nose, then scratched his chin.

“The sheriffs’ house,” said Denver. He failed to mention that there were two sheriffs living in a house, not one. “You were picked out of a six-pack, twice,” he said. “We have the knife,” Tanner went on, and held up a skinning knife with an ugly hook on the opposite side of the curved blade. “It was found in your possession, and it has your fingerprints on it. Both women described the knife, perfectly.” He laid down a picture of the knife, and put the knife back into a box. “The gun, which wasn’t fired inside the house.” He held up a bag with a little black gun with a long barrel. “This is a Luger P08. Both of them described the gun.”

“Didn’t have it on me,” he said.

“Not at the time of your arrest, no. It was kicked out of your hand by one of the women. Was right where she said it would be. Found it in a bush, just a block from the house.”

“Fucking woman kicked Jase,” said Denver. “Bet his wife had a cow. He in the hospital?”

Tanner slid over a morgue photo. “He’s dead.”

Denver’s eyes got huge. “He was kicked in the head. He was fine.”

Tanner pulled out a picture of the scene from the scene folder. “See his neck,” said Tanner. “Not a normal angle.”

Denver blew out a breath through his nose. “So, how come that bitch isn’t in here gettin’ questioned, instead of me?”

“Because you kidnapped two women and a baby,” said Tanner. “She gets a walk. You don’t.”

“Kidnapping? What the fuck?” said Denver. “We wanted them to make a phone call!” His voice broke.

“To whom?” asked Beck, leaning forward. “Who were they supposed to call?”

“The damn sheriff. Was supposed to be at work. Hit the lady in the face.”

“Yes, and we have her epithelial cells and blood on the butt.” Denver looked confused. “Skin,” said Beck, and sighed.

“So, we’ve got you hitting the wife,” said Tanner. He cringed internally.

Xenia was on a pedestal to him, and this covering up her identity was making him sound like he didn’t value her. He also knew that, eventually, she’d see the tape of the interrogation.

“That happened on the back porch. Found a blood drop on the outer edge, and in the soil. So, you struck her on her property.”

“That was after she wouldn’t call him,” said Denver.

“Did you strike her when she was holding the baby?” asked Tanner.

“Naw,” said Denver. “The other lady had the baby. Wait. It was her baby?”

“The baby stuff all over the house might have been a clue,” said Tanner. “So, you hit the lady when she wouldn’t call. Then, she ran, and you chased her down and hit her.”

“Jase had the gun. The knife is mine.”

“An unregistered gun,” said Tanner, (as if he was adding on charges to a dead man). “So, she ran, then you hit her. The other woman ran, too, with the baby.”

“I chased her down, and she kicked me. A couple o’ times.”

“I know,” said Tanner. “Did you hit her when she was holding the baby?”

“Once or twice,” said Denver. “She got away with the kid, though.”

“So, that’s a home invasion,” said Tanner. “You busted in, held a knife and gun on the kid and the women, and demanded they call. They didn’t do it, and tried to run away, so you said Jase hit the woman with the gun.”

“Yeah,” said Denver.

“Then the other woman killed Jase, and you ran, and the other woman hurt you.”

“Yeah,” said Denver.

“So, when did your wife want you to call to say you’d done it?” asked Tanner.

“What time is it now?” asked Denver.

Frenchie, behind the glass, pumped a fist. She had all four phones, and dumped them to Olivia. Olivia found a series of text messages about “doing it,” “getting the job done,” and “getting the call made,” all between Louanne Pryse and her husband, Denver, and similar ones about “getting it done” from the now-deceased Jason to his wife Marybelle Taton. She had enough, but wanted her boss there when each woman went down.

Tanner slid over a pen and a legal pad. “Write it down. We’ll try to make the judge go a little easier on you, since you’ve lost a friend and all, but I can’t promise a thing. It’s up to the district attorney.”

Georgina Quall, called “Georgie,” the district attorney, stood next to Frenchie. “Got one. Let’s slam-dunk the other ones.”

“I bet Marybelle will squeak ‘lawyer’ as soon as possible. Louanne already did,” said Frenchie.

“Still gotta run the bases,” said Georgie.

They hit up Marybelle next. “Ms. Taton,” said Frenchie. “I’m Agent Cinna French, and this is Deputy Tanner,” she said, and read the rights and the fact that the interview was being recorded. “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband is deceased.”

Marybelle was confused. “Deceased?”

“Dead,” said Frenchie. “He was kicked by a woman, and his head twisted, and then he died.”

Marybelle’s eyes filled. “Dead?” she asked, again.

“I have the pictures,” said Frenchie. She showed the same two photos Tanner had, the on-scene photo and the morgue photo. “Is this your husband?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Marybelle.

Frenchie handed over a small packet of tissues. “When was he supposed to contact you?” asked Frenchie.

“To-tonight,” said Marybelle. “He was supposed to send a text when he was done.”

“Calling a police officer?” asked Frenchie.

“A sheriff.”

“Why didn’t you just call the sheriff’s office, directly?”

“I did,” said Marybelle. “I talked to a Deputy Harris.”

“What was it about?” asked Frenchie, in all sympathy.

“My father did not kill my mother,” said Marybelle. “He did not wish to listen to my concerns.”

“Your father was convicted, was he not?” asked Frenchie.

“Yes, he was,” said Marybelle. “But he says he didn’t do it, and he’s dying. I believe him.”

“We’re looking into that,” said Frenchie. “Now, what did you send your husband and your half-sister’s husband to do?”

“Do?” asked Marybelle.

“Did you send them to the sheriff’s residence?”

“They were supposed to tell his wife to call him.”

“And you couldn’t come into the station and do the same thing?”

“I did, twice. They said he was out,” said Marybelle.

“This one?” asked Tanner, confused. He’d never seen this woman before.

“No, at the other one.” She gave the location of the other sheriff’s office, the one for the county, not the city.

“Okay,” said Frenchie, trying not to get bogged down. “What were they supposed to do to the women?”

“Do?” asked Marybelle, again.

“What were they supposed to do to get the wife to call them?”

Marybelle shrugged. “They’re big guys.”

“Did you happen to look on the wall at the station where you went to talk to the sheriff?” asked Tanner.

“Nope,” said Marybelle. “I was in and out. They gave me a card, but I lost it.”

Tanner sighed. “Your husband and your half-sister’s husband entered the house, pistol-whipped one of the women, threatened a family friend with a knife, and there was a week-old infant in there as well.”

“What?” said Marybelle.

Tanner laid out all the evidence —the gun, the knife, pictures of Xenia’s bruised face, a shot of Deputy Reece’s broken hand.

“Well, fuck,” said Marybelle.

“So, this was supposed to be a break-in and an intimidation by the husbands to get the wife to call the sheriff?” asked Frenchie. “Sheriff Bob Hunter?”

“Yes,” said Marybelle.

“Did you talk to your sister about this?” asked Frenchie.

“Yeah, a couple of times. She was on board,” said Marybelle.

“Did anyone, at any time, say no to this?”

“No,” said Marybelle.

“Write it down,” said Tanner, and pushed over a pen and paper.

“Why?” asked Marybelle, who still hadn’t wiped away her tears.

“The woman kicked your husband and killed him,” said Frenchie. “We kind of want to know why.”

Marybelle took the non-sequitur as a valid reason for doing so. She began writing. When they got it back, they asked the same questions again.

Then, Tanner said, “The office you went to, had a sheriff, Sherriff Xenia. She’s the woman your husband pistol-whipped. She was trying to protect her baby, who is only a week old, and her husband. The woman who drop-kicked your husband is a sheriff’s deputy. Your husband broke into a home and attacked two police officers and a week-old infant. This was a conspiracy you set in motion, so that makes you as responsible as they were. Please stand up,” she said, and Frenchie went around and cuffed her. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit a home invasion.” She kept listing charges, and Marybelle just looked confused. Sad, and confused.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Frenchie. “It is quite likely that your father did not commit the murder. But, your sister-in-law, Louanne, probably did.” Marybelle’s jaw dropped, and she was led away.

Beck turned to Georgie Quall. “This is just… sad. Disturbing and sad.”

“Welcome to Idiot Central,” said Georgie. “We seem to raise dumb criminals here.”

Beck shook her head. “Nope, it’s that way everywhere. The worst thing is…”

“She was in the wrong office,” said Georgie. “This all began because she didn’t have any idea that there were two offices.”

“This is…” said Beck. “I’ve got to write this thing up.”

“She had the card, too. I know that card. It has her direct line. It would not have mattered to her that her husband was on the case, previously. A lot of this happened in the distant past. I know how she is on cold cases. She’s always running two or three. We have gotten at least four solved since she’s been here —wait; no, six. She would have found out what we did. A lot slower, but she would have gotten it done.” Georgie’s green eyes snapped, her facial expressions were ranging from furious to sick.

“Well,” said Beck, “these are charges against a peace officer, and they carry federal time. None of the survivors of this are going to do well. Let’s get the sister nailed down,” said Beck.

Since they were on a roll, Beck and Georgie watched while Tanner and Frenchie went after Louanne and her lawyer. “My client has nothing to say. She has done nothing wrong,” said Michael Taragon. Everyone called him “Spice,” because of his red hair and his aggressive attitude.

“Let me lay it out for you,” said Frenchie. She went over the entire conspiracy, step by step, including the warrants for the cell phones, pictures of the body, and the confessions of Denver and Marybelle. “We’ve got you on conspiracy to commit several federal crimes. A man is now dead. Two women were injured. The infant was not injured, but the baby’s life was threatened. This was a home invasion on the sheriffs’ house, a kidnapping, two assaults; one with a deadly weapon. These were done to peace officers.”

“What?” said both Spice and Louanne.

“One woman was Sheriff Hunter’s deputy. The other woman is Sheriff Hunter’s wife, who is also a sheriff, for the county, not the city.”

Spice’s jaw dropped. Louanne groaned and put her head in her hands. “I did not know that Sheriff Xenia Poulolakis was one of the women assaulted in the complaint,” said Spice. “I need a moment to confer with my client.”

“Of course,” said Tanner. He picked up all the pictures and turned off the recording software, and Frenchie followed them out of the room.

Beck and Georgie met them in the hall. “She’s gonna cave,” said Frenchie.

“If so, we’ve got all four,” said Beck. “Or three, one of them being dead and all.”

“Write everything up, get your ducks in a row. Let’s make this so perfect that no one can touch this,” said Georgie. “Or two sheriffs will be upset, later on.”

“They’re upset now,” said Tanner. “Be a good idea to get these people locked up far, far away. In a federal facility. No temptation to show up and stare at the zoo animals.”

Beck and Frenchie stared at him. “Wow,” said Frenchie. “That’s just… scary.”

“Throw in a stone cold, viciously-angry herd of Valkyries, some of which are in law enforcement, and it gets even more terrifying,” said Tanner.

“Making my point for me,” said Georgie. “Get it done.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Tanner.

Spice stuck his head out of the door. “We’re ready,” he said.

“You’re up,” said Beck. Tanner and Frenchie went in to get a slam dunk. They took their time, walked her through it.

Spice seemed resigned. “My client accedes that she knew the men were going over to get the… Sheriff Xenia… to call her husband to reopen the case.”

“What did Marybelle promise you and your husband if you cooperated?”

Louanne twisted and untwisted her hands. “A house. A bigger one. I thought, Daddy’s dying anyway, so why not get him out?”

“But you knew he murdered his first wife, your mother,” said Frenchie.

Louanne shrugged. “It was a nice house. Bigger. The one she’s in now, and she’d get a bigger one for herself. Besides,” she said, leaning forward, “he would go to hospice and die slowly, and I would get to visit every day, and watch him die, unable to breathe. I planned on making things… a little harder for him.”

“Stop talking,” said Spice to his client. “Please, just stop talking.”

Judge Rane took one look at the list of charges at the arraignment the next morning. “Good god, Georgie. Are the sheriffs okay? Didn’t they just have a baby?”

“Home now, Sir,” said Georgie. “Recovering.”

“That’s just…” He looked over his glasses at the three defendants. Marybelle looked dazed, Denver angry, and Louanne showed nothing on her face. “And there is a plea agreement?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Spice.

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Georgie.

“Federal charges, I see,” he said. “Very well. Do you, of your own free will, agree to this agreement?” Each defendant answered individually. “Forty years for Mr. Denver Taton; twenty-five years each for Marybelle Taton and Louanne Pryse, with no opportunity for parole. The Court agrees.” He banged his gavel.

He waited until only Frenchie, Beck, and Georgie were left, and said, “In chambers.” He took them back, hung up his robe to reveal a trim man in a blue short-sleeved shirt, and chinos, and offered them Cokes. The women took them, then sat down. “Is it in the interest of justice to reopen the old case against Mr. Greeley?”

“No, Your Honor,” said Georgie. “He murdered one of his wives. We can try to make the murder charge against Louanne stick, but she was twelve at the time. If he gets out, he’s facing a long, slow, hospice death, and with his daughters in prison, he has no one to care for him.”

“And, it’s a dead point,” said Beck. “I’ve conversed with several physicians, and they concur that Mr. Greeley has about two weeks to live. By the time we’ve investigated the case, and attempted to prove his innocence —and his daughter’s guilt, he would’ve passed on. He is also receiving much better care inside the prison than he would outside.”

“I concur,” said the judge. “Please, wrap this up. Someone go and interview the man.”

“Yes, Your honor,” said Beck. “We’ll go, right now.”

* * *

Beck and Frenchie were able to get in to see the dying man by flashing their badges —and because the judge called the warden directly. Greeley was in the hospital ward. He was reading a fishing magazine. He had a tube up his nose and was on oxygen. He looked to be thirty years older than he was, worn down to a thatch of white hair and skin and bones.

“I’m Special Agent Beck and this is Agent French. We’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Greeley.”

He waved his hand. “Not… going anywhere.”

“We know you killed your first wife, not the second. We’ve got proof,” said Frenchie. “Just want to get it all straight for the records.”

“Not… getting out. Am I?”

Beck shook her head. “No Sir, you are not.” They both took out their cell phones, set them to record, and put them on the tray.

“Okay.” Greeley sighed. “I take it my… lovely daughters… fucked it up? Getting… me out?” He coughed explosively.

“They’re in prison for the next twenty years, so yes,” said Frenchie.

“Serves… Louanne right,” said Greeley. “I loved… Annabelle. Didn’t have no call… to kill… her.”

“You murdered Louanne’s mother,” said Beck. “She should have killed you.”

“Yeah,” said Greeley. “She was too… small, though, couldn’t have taken me out. Did get to… Annabelle. She was lovely and kind. Was making me… a better man.”

Frenchie snorted. “You spent money like water, even after you married her.”

“I was stupid,” said Greeley. “Wouldn’t have ended up here if I’d been smart.”

He went on to verify the entire theory. He killed his first wife, and Louanne killed the second one. “Why didn’t you finger Louanne at your trial?” asked Beck.

“First, no one… woulda… believed me. Second… had to admit… killing the… first one… to prove… motive.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Beck. She stood up, and turned off and pocketed her cell phone. “Can I get you anything?”

Greeley coughed, and then he shook his head. “Just… tell my daughters… I loved them.”

“You murdered one girl’s mother, and stalked and married women to get their money,” said Frenchie. “Then, you tried to talk your youngest daughter into getting you out, when you would be nothing but a burden to her. Excuse me if I don’t see it.”

“Write a letter,” suggested Beck. “They can get it to her through intraoffice mail.” The two women turned and walked away.

* * *

Bob put away his Sheriff Bob persona, just in order to cuddle in bed with his wife and daughter. Herja and various Valkyries swung by from time to time with takeout, and to clean up the fingerprint powder and put the house to rights.

Since the fighting had happened outside the home, that only took about an hour. They banged through a season of a show about a cat, a witch and a farm, and then they played video games together when they weren’t sleeping. Xenia had a monster headache, and her bruises were turning black and purple. Naproxen sodium, anti-inflammatory drugs, heated packs for the back of her neck in constant rotation, and, of course, motherhood. These were all working in unison to lower her pain.

They reveled in Diana, her toes, her grip with her tiny fingers, her burble, her open-mouthed cry for food. “We are so fucking lucky,” said Bob, holding her close, her daughter grasping her finger. “I thought I was going to lose her, or die —and lose us.” Bob kissed them both on the head. “Love my girls,” he said. “That was the most heart-stopping hour of my life.”

“I am a Valkyrie. It wasn’t just my regular training. It was my Valkyrie training. A week after having this precious girl,” she said, “and I’m in a fight to save her. I moved the right way and minimized the damage. I could have a broken jaw or a smashed skull. I took him out. I told him that, too. I said, ‘You’re already dead,’ to him. And I was right.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bob. “Did you kick him and take him out, or did Reece?”

“We both kicked him. One-two.”

“Oh,” said Bob. He kissed her. “Either way, I’m so glad we’re here.”

* * *

Skuld hung up the phone. “And that’s how you become a new mother and fight off bad guys,” she said to Wraith. “How are you holding up?”

“Sore as hell,” said Wraith. “Nice getting half this shit out of me, but the PT sucks.”

“Be happy we aren’t in charge of your physical therapy,” said Skuld. “We’d have you lifting a sword in no time.”

Wraith grimaced. “I have enough of a problem with a half-pound weight. Ow.”

“Highway to Hell,” sang Skuld.

“Ivy emailed me an MP3 of her singing, and you, and some with Herja when she came down. Girl power songs, fighting songs, that sort of thing. It got co-opted, and it’s played on headsets to half the people in PT,” she said. “Half of us in this facility aren’t old farts, you know. And a lot of soldiers. Since I ended up here, the Soldier Pack comes down here in rotation to help with PT. They do it with me. Seems there are lots of soldiers from Vegas and the surrounding areas. So, we all go in together. I can’t act like a fucking pussy with these ladies pumping iron with an arm with no hand attached, or learning to walk with an artificial leg. And I’ve still got all my parts still attached. Move like an infant, can just —kind of vaguely move myself around, but still.”

“Can’t cry,” said Skuld. “I get it. And now Xenia. One week from having a baby, the happiest time of her life, then she literally had to run for her life, and for her baby’s life. Thank the gods that Vaettir was there.” Vaettir, or “Spirit” was their name for Reece.

“That whole thing was insane,” said Sigrun, coming into the room with a tray of iced coffees and teas. “I got more info from Vaettir. She says the whole thing was a way to get Bob to reopen a murder case, but one of the women involved probably-actually committed the murder.” She sighed. “Probably never get enough evidence, either way.”

“Insane people,” said Skuld. “Move over,” she said, imperiously.

Wraith maneuvered herself over, and said, “Peach tea, please.”

“I brought two,” said Sigrun, who put the tray of drinks on the rolling tray, along with a bag, and slid in next to Wraith. “I’ve got scones; blueberry, strawberry, and, the perennial favorite, cherry.”

She handed the cherry one to Wraith, who bit into it. “Tank oo,” said Wraith, stuffing her face.

“Welcome,” said Sigrun. “I’ve got Chinese coming in two hours, and pulled pork sandwiches four hours after that. It’s your reward for PT.”

“And to keep me from losing more weight,” said Wraith. “I get it.” She sipped her drink. “That was a good scone.”

“My gods,” said Skuld. “You ate that in two bites.” She gracefully nibbled on her blueberry scone and sipped her iced coffee. “This scone is worth taking your time on.”

“I almost died,” said Wraith. “I have a slightly different take on time.”

The other two women were silent for a moment. “You think more deeply,” said Sigrun.

“And eat more quickly,” said Skuld.

“And laugh more,” said Sigrun. “I’ve caught her laughing to the point where her ribs hurt.” She rubbed her own. “They heal, but they’re a little… sensitive.”

“I’m so sensitive,” said Wraith, rolling her eyes. “I weep at commercials with puppies.”

“Wait until you see the great stalking cat,” said Skuld. “She leaps into my arms and purrs, then rushes off to chase the feathers.”

“I made them,” said Sigrun, proudly. “They’re strips of leather, with feathers tied to them, and bits of yarn with plastic bobbles on the end.”

“You should sell them,” said Skuld. She pulled up her pictures on her cell phone, and showed the mighty hunter —who was hunting the feathered cat toy.

“Wow,” said Wraith. “And ow. Just saying, leg and shoulder. Seriously, you should sell these. Have the Wolfpack make your parts, and you put them together. Then give them back for them to sell for you; they have the ins with animal people.” She sipped her peach tea, making a rude noise as the cup emptied. “And someone get me some drugs. I fucken hurt.”

“I agree about the selling things, and get Lily, the Nighthawks woman, to run your finances. If this takes off, art school can be (at least) partially paid for. And Wraith, you’re getting rude.”

“Being nice sucks,” said Wraith. “I hurt, I can’t go anywhere, I’m stuck inside.”

“It’ll be nine million degrees out there in a short time,” said Sigrun.

“True,” said Wraith.

“We have to go indoors to fight,” said Skuld. “Just when we’ve got to get everything ready for Ren Faire.” The Las Vegas Renaissance Faire was in autumn, when it was not so hot that one could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

“By then I may be able to lift a wooden sword,” said Wraith.

“I will give you my best dirk if you fight in it,” said Skuld.

Wraith stared. “You ordered that from Norway,” she said.

“You must walk, you must stalk, you must swing my dirk,” said Skuld.

Sigrun stared wide-eyed at Skuld. “She will damage herself.”

“I have one more criterion,” said Skuld. “Your lady has done so much for you. She gave up her life, did many projects to make up for being in bed, having been injured in your service. So, you will treat her as your right hand. She deserves better than your tongue. Assault me if you wish, but not your lover.”

Wraith froze her face, then ducked her head. “Sigrun, I beg you, take my troth. You are our wife, and I have treated you badly.”

Sigrun nodded. “I accept your troth. We’ll do rings when you’re out of the hospital, and when our husband is back.”

“He went deep this time,” said Skuld.

“Not a peep,” said Sigrun.

“His handler sends me coded stuff,” said Wraith. “He’s alive, but very far away —and in, way deep. They are trying very hard to wrap up. It all comes down to evidence. They’re missing some pieces, but get more all the time.”

“Good,” said Skuld. “Rest,” she said. “I will bring the dirk tomorrow.”

“Aah,” said Wraith. “I don’t know if I can lift it, yet.”

“Bring a sheath, or the nurses will go ape shit,” said Sigrun.

“I’ll slip them a coffee bribe,” said Skuld. “With your shield,” she said, and grabbed Wraith behind the head.

“Or on it,” Wraith said, fractionally moving her neck forward to touch Skuld’s.

Changes

Bao finished adding the audio to the Zuni storybook about Ahaiyuta and Matsailema, Morning Star and Evening Star; something Vu did not have the patience to do. Bao was proud of accumulating new skills. Robert read the book and sang the sacred songs. On the one about Awitelin Tsita (Mother Earth, Suni), Robert’s sister read it and sang the songs. Bao was proud of both gaining new skills, and in offering multimedia books for the nonprofit.

Bao had a company to set up their online purchases, and sales greatly improved. The tribal elders used them in tribal schools, and schools near the reservations began offering them in their school libraries. Universities and libraries also paid for copies of the books. They were doing well, and Bao trained two Wolfpack in adding the audio, Ulysses and Bear. The boys loved learning audiovisual work, and had begun vlogs in their native Zuni and Hopi —and in English.

Bao stretched, saved everything, then closed the computer. She was already wearing her yoga clothes, for comfort when pounding out book after book, from creation to release. She put on a video with yoga stretching, weight lifting of small hand weights, and a yoga cooldown. She showered, blow-dried her hair, dressed, and went looking for her daughter.

Hu arrived, breathless, just as Bao was getting out the cream cheese.

She bowed, then hugged her mother. “Hi!” she said. She switched into Mandarin. “I did well with all my lessons, my chores are done, and I played soccer with Grace, too.”

“Good,” said Bao. She and Hu switched languages without thinking. Bao was proud that her daughter’s Mandarin was that good. “Did you do all your languages?” Bao was learning Mandarin, English, Paiute, and now a touch of Zuni.

“I helped Gregory today, and we talked a little about the stars.” Hu took out her sealed cup of juice she kept in the refrigerator, drank it down, unscrewed the top, and carefully poured herself some more white grape juice. “Are we making peanut butter cookies?”

Bao nodded. Hu carefully read the recipe card, and put the package of cream cheese into the bowl. She added the confectioner’s sugar, then slowly folded in the creamy peanut butter and the milk. Bao took over beating it, then poured in the whipped topping as Hu slowly beat it. Hu spooned it into the premade chocolate cookie crust, and covered it with a reusable silicone cover. Bao slid it carefully into the freezer. Hu then taught her mother how to make radish roses, celery peanut butter “logs” with raisin “ants,” and baby carrots. Bao poured the ranch dip into a ramekin, and they sat down to eat their snack.

“What’s wrong?” asked Bao. “You are even more quiet than a ghost.”

Hu hung her head. “I am exhausted,” she said.

“I can see that,” said Bao. Her daughter held her head in the side tilt that said she didn’t want to say anything. “May I ask why?”

“Grace needs to move around a lot because of her ADD. She also needs to change what she does every fifteen minutes instead of every twenty-five minutes, sometimes. I don’t switch with her, which makes her mad. She wants to see everything I do, too, and stop and talk while I’m doing my work. Callie and Henry put us on opposite sides of the room, and had me do my violin or her do the drumming or keyboard when she gets too controlling. It seems to calm her down. She keeps losing brain points because she’s trying to make me have her brain.”

“That sucks,” said Bao in a very Chinese voice, making Hu giggle.

“Then, I need to spend time with Damia. She loves the horses and doing horse chores, so I help with those, or I help her clean and repair tack. Or, I just walk with her, or do Quiet Cooking with Vi, or we do some math together, or something. It makes Grace absolutely insane. She wants to be the center of everything, and for someone to pay attention to her all day and all night.”

Hao took a moment to relish in her daughter’s mind. Her insight at such an early age was astonishing. “True,” said Hao. “And what is a good way to help her change?”

“You can’t change anyone,” said Hu. “You can only change yourself.”

Bao heard Robert’s wisdom in that statement. The man had hidden depths. “True, but people can change. How do you remove yourself from Grace’s attempts to make you do what she wants?”

“I need do things differently from her,” said Hu. “It will make her really mad, but I’ve got to get my stuff done, too. Extended reading ends up with her trying to talk to me. Math ends up with having her try to make me do her stuff for her. Chinese ends up with her trying to speak more than me.”

Bao had noticed this, and had worked to speak to all the children equally. Inevitably, Grace lost points when she tried to control getting more. “Are you doing the same work?” She knew the answer, but wanted Hu to think about it.

“Not anymore,” said Hu. “Most of it, I’m past her, because she just can’t or won’t focus. The medication is helping, and her diet, too.” She looked sadly at the freezer. Sugar-packed desserts were off the table, literally, for Grace. “But, she just learns differently.” Hu grabbed a radish and finished it off.

This was a real problem. Bao, Callie and Henry were the main teachers, with David teaching sacred songs, drumming, and beadwork, and the violin and piano teachers coming from different sources. Grace was taking up more and more of everyone’s time. Bringing her home may cause her to try and do the same “pay-attention-to-me” thing that would be toxic for Damia. Leaving her where she was damaged Hu and the other kids. This was a problem that needed a solution.

Why not ask the actual people involved? Bao thought. “What are some solutions?” Bao asked her daughter.

“I think I want to be a Wolfpack,” said Hu. “I’m really working toward my Nevada High School Proficiency Exam. I also only have to take just over twenty credits, at the moment.”

Bao stared at her daughter, forcing her brain to catch up. Of course, that was the ultimate goal of the homeschooling. But, Hu was intelligent, a hard worker, and had access to thousands of hours of online instruction that met state requirements. Two of Tito’s kids had taken the test young (at sixteen and fifteen), and both were now in college. But Hu was only eleven years old.

Bao resolutely pushed her daughter’s age out of her brain. If her daughter wanted to go to the university, she could go online, or go to the local college, university, art or design schools, or whatever she wanted.

Bao took a deep breath, and answered. “Yes, of course. If this is what you want, I will welcome it. We could spend more time together. In fact, I would love to teach you my business. You could end up with a paid position, if you enjoy the work.”

“I hate to say this to you, Honored Mother, but it doesn’t matter if I enjoy it, or mildly dislike it. Robert says to learn every indoor job you can. The desert is a poor place to take outside work. I doubt I’d hate it. I like coding things. Besides, if I want to do a vlog, or make my own multimedia textbooks, I could.”

Bao snorted at the “Honored Mother” bit. “All good ideas. So, when do we start?”

Hu shrugged her shoulders and said, “Today. There’s two kids on the list to join, and Nighthawk kids shouldn’t have to wait.”

“My business is taking me away from direct teaching. I think I know a way to get another Chinese teacher,” said Bao.

“No,” said Hu. “You enjoy it. Cut down a day if you want, but teach at least two days a week.”

Bao nodded. “You know me too well,” said Bao, taking the last radish. Hu beamed.

Bao sent a text to Henry and Callie to withdraw Hu from the Nighthawks school, then changed into shorts and a camisole. She walked Hu over to the Wolfpack.

“Are you sure?” she asked, just outside the door. “You know you’ll have a lot more work.”

“Rotating work,” said Hu. “And, Wolfpack gets a cut of the profits.”

Bao nodded. “Looks like a course on online banking is in order.”

“Henry will teach me,” said Hu, and opened the door.

Chayton looked up from the couch when they entered the living room. He put down his tablet. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hu giggled. “I’m joining the Nighthawks,” she said.

“Do you have a social security number?” asked Chayton.

“We were naturalized,” said Hu. “Honored Mother passed a test. So, yes, I do.”

Bao grinned. Her daughter was intelligent and charming.

“So, we’ll get that from Mom, and…”

“I’ve got it memorized,” said Hu. “I didn’t memorize my bank account number, though.”

Bao handed the passbook to her daughter. “Here’s the information. We have a bank that works both here and China. In fact, you only have until autumn to get my daughter used to her new life before she’s whisked away to China. Most of what we do is online, but I want to keep Hu in touch with her homeland, to see where she was born.”

Hu jumped up and down, and squealed. “Honored Mother!” she said in Chinese, and bowed. “I will apply myself, and honor you with my diligence, before the trip.”

Bao bowed back. “I expect this of you in all things,” she said in Chinese. She switched to English. “You have intelligence, and you use this intelligence to be perceptive. I’ve never been more-proud.”

Hu hugged her mother, and they both got teary-eyed. “I hate to break up this Hallmark moment,” said Chayton, “but, I’ve got the info I need. Just added you onto direct deposit. I just added up all the stuff I’m allowed to let you do; it’s all onsite. No hanging out with Tito offsite unless he comes to build something here.” He grinned. “Sorry, forgot you live with Nico. I bet you will be hanging with him, working on your own home. Tell him to add it to the spreadsheet.” He typed in Bao and Hu’s email addresses. “Now you can see the chart.”

Bao and Hu both sat down on the massive couch. Little Nico and Tam were in recliners, both playing math games. They seemingly ignored the byplay, but Bao and Chayton knew perfectly well they were paying attention.

“Mostly everyone is on jobs. You can pick morning or evening. I’ve lit up in yellow the times you can pick. You’ve got hydroponics, making food to send out, packing, making our lunches —I hear your alt-mom (Callie) rocks at that, so you can teach all of us —and I put you on Inola stuff because I’ve seen you do some stuff with Damia. I suggest you pick morning times for her; she’s up at ‘oh-god-thirty.’”

Hu blinked. She hadn’t thought about switching her sleeping schedule. “I won’t be up late nights, anymore, Honored Mother,” she said.

“That’s up to you,” said Chayton. “Your total, because of your age, is four, twenty-five-minute times a day. That doesn’t include your own chores at your house, like making your bed or vacuuming. You can substitute chores here for chores there —for cleaning stuff, as long as someone is home, like vacuuming or cleaning bathrooms.”

“That’s… fantastic,” said Bao. “She can keep up with her chores at home, and have twenty-five minutes a day count as one chore here?”

“Absolutely,” said Chayton. “The Wolfpack lives here, and you and our boys don’t sleep here, either. They do chores at home.” He pointed next door.

“Can I do hydroponics today?” asked Hu. She scooted over, laid her head on Chayton’s arm, and poked at the schedule, turning her choices a beautiful, Chinese red.

“I was going to give you the day off, but sure,” said Chayton.

“Thanks!” said Hu. She waved at her mother, and skipped out.

“Well, that went well,” said Chayton.

“It did,” said Bao. “But wait until her sister hears about it.”

“Grace is gonna freak,” agreed Chayton.

* * *

Dinner was wonderful. Hu was full of stories for Nico about her day. They had salad, honey chicken, and rice with mango and honey. They ate slices of the peanut butter chocolate pie for dessert, and then Nico showed his ladies a driving game, and all three of them took turns driving. They watched a short, animated comedy, and Bao declared herself exhausted. She ran herself a bath, and Nico and Hu proudly took turns reading David Eddings’ Belgariad to each other. Bao smiled, watching them, then took herself off to her own luxurious bath. She brought up a glass of wine, a nice red. She used bubble bath, and luxuriated in the water.

Bao heard the closet door open. Nico was even more organized than she; his side of the walk-in closet was color-coded, and he had more jewelry than she, with his cufflinks. Since he worked construction, he came home, showered, then dressed in shorts and a polo-type shirt, and ate dinner with the family. He kept his hair cut well, and shaved every day, sometimes twice a day. His cologne was very subtle. He came in, sat on the stool in front of her makeup station, and smiled.

“Big changes,” he said. “I did see it coming. Our girl is smart. I could see her getting more and more exasperated. I figured she’d speak out when she hit her limit.”

Bao smiled. Our girl, she thought, something in her heart melted with his words. “I would not have put up with her as long as she did. She is more patient than I. But, she was running out of choices. I cannot tell you how many times I told Grace to play her game —math, science, Chinese, typing, I didn’t care —quietly. She was distracting everyone else. I wish she were the type to stare out the window, but she’s not. They rotate stations at the Nighthawks homeschool, giving each child the opportunity to cycle through from math, reading, science, writing, coding, typing, Paiute, Chinese, art, music, and movement. They can play games as well. Ones that build on their lessons. Grace wants to interrupt everyone else, especially Hu. Hu tells her to redirect. If it’s a question, she answers it. But, Grace will not self-switch to the next task in order to prevent herself from bothering others. There’s actually rewards for her to self-redirect, and she doesn’t seem to want them. She seems to want to lose her brain points by interrupting things.”

“It sounds like she doesn’t get how she is destructive to others,” said Nico.

“The sad thing is, the more she tries to control, the less people want to spend time with her. I’ve got to be sure Hu gets time with the other Nighthawk kids.”

Nico laughed. “It’s summer, love. Ball games, soccer games, cookouts…”

“Let’s have one of those,” said Bao.

“The deck’s going in this weekend,” said Nico. “I wanted to go over the home improvement plan with you,” said Nico. “At least a third of it I can get the Wolfpack to do. We can go per room, or segment, or get all the small jobs done first, then tackle the big ones. It’s summer, so it’s going to be super-busy. The deck is the last damn thing we’ll get done as a major project for a while. I’ll slip in what I can.”

“Get done what you can,” said Bao, sipping her wine. “Make a list of what I can do, if there is anything, and get the Wolfpack going. They’ll be busy, too. Some moved back to their birthplaces, but many more are busy here. They rotate to learn the motorcycle repair and building too, now. And some of them are in shifts, Chayton said, because swing and graveyard are a little easier to get into. The Soldier Pack could help you on some things.”

Nico stole her wine and took a sip, then handed it back. “Most likely, yes —absolutely. Many of them helped with their initial dwelling, and would know enough to help.” He pulled up a spreadsheet on his tablet, and started putting names into jobs. “I love this software. Anyhoo, I want to get this done, so thank you. That’s a great idea.”

“Where do you think Hu gets her intelligence from?” asked Bao. She finished her wine, rinsed her hair, drained the tub, and stood.

“You!” Nico put aside his work, handed her a towel for her hair, finished his work, saved it, gave her the towel for her body, and held out a hand to help her step out of the considerable lip on the tub.

She dried herself and he rubbed lotion into her back as she rubbed it into the rest of her body. He took the wet body towel, and put it in the hamper while she dried her hair. He sent emails to the people he would like for the tasks, went into the bedroom, turned down the bed, pulled off his shirt, and went back into the bathroom to work on his wife’s feet. He did a short pedicure while she finished drying her hair and moisturizing her face.

She stood, grabbed his shorts, and pulled him to her. “I need you,” she said, and kissed him.

“I love you, need you, and… mmm.” His voice cut off as she put her hands down his shorts and freed him.

He dropped his shorts and underwear. She pushed him down on the stool and kissed him. He kissed back, recognizing her hunger, then matched it. She guided his hands to her hips as she stroked him. He kissed her breasts, and flicked his tongue over the nipples, then sucked each one. She kept her busy fingers running over his balls and cock, making him groan.

She threw her head back and gasped out her orgasm. She slid on top of him, her robe still on. He slid it off, catching it, and putting it on the counter behind him. He kissed her shoulders, and then held her hips with one hand, and folded his arm behind her to hold her steady. She rose and fell, faster and faster, her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She came once, then a second time —as he came with her, his head back so far that he could see the look of ecstasy on her face in the mirror. She was the one to wipe them both down, and then she helped him to dress again. She stroked his face, his hands, and kissed him again and again, until he was relaxed and soft, like putty in her hands.

She hung up her silk robe on the back of the door, a crimson one —with a blue and gold dragon on the back of it. She took his hand, and led him to the bed. He climbed in while she put on gold, silk pajamas. She slid in with him. They both read a little on their tablets, then he held her in his arms and turned out the light.

* * *

Bella heard the screaming from across the paddock. She ran toward it, ungainly, with her added weight, and a hand on her stomach. She got closer, and stopped. The unstoppable force had met the immovable object. Grace had a tomato-red face, obvious, even from across the way.

Callie was furious, and she was very-obviously ready to tear Grace’s head off. “No,” said Callie, clearly. “You can speak to her quietly and calmly when you have calmed down.”

Grace had a mutinous stare. “She quit. You told me not to quit.”

“I told you to keep at something until you got it done,” said Callie.

Bella kept walking, wondering why she was involving herself. She should turn around, or go back to Inola, or maybe just sit with Ryder. But, she had to understand what was going on with their family.

“Hu quit,” said Grace. “She can’t do that.”

“She became Wolfpack, and she and her mother can make whatever educational choices they want, without our input,” said Callie.

“She can’t do that,” said Grace.

Oh, shit, thought Bella. That was a long time coming.

“I’m not arguing with you,” said Callie. “You seem determined to not listen. You were told over and over to redirect yourself, to stop bothering Hu when she was trying to do her work. You lost points nearly every day because of it. We separated you, we split your classes, all so you weren’t even taking the same courses. Did you think she would put up with your behavior —forever?”

Grace had her arms folded across herself. She looked small and mean, like a vicious animal from a cartoon. “She can’t run away from me. I’m her sister.”

“Why would she want to spend time with you?” asked Callie. “You demand all her attention. You choose everything —the game, the time, the rules. Your rules. Hu is a nice person, and she put up with it as long as she could. Well, real friends and sisters give in. Other people make choices, and you can’t seem to understand that. It’s not all about you.”

“This is not my fault!” yelled Grace.

“You raised your voice to me,” said Callie. “You lost your points for the day. And, it’s not all about you. It’s about Hu and what’s right for her. You made no effort to redirect yourself, Grace. You don’t think about other people’s thoughts or feelings. You put yourself in front of everyone and everything else. You’re going to have to grow up and behave better if you don’t want to lose Hu.”

“Your mother is right,” said Bella, stepping forward. “I’ve seen you dominate everything from conversations to playtime. You have ADD, sure. I do too. Makes life a little… odd. Challenging, maybe. But, do I dominate conversations? Do I try to get people to do what I want? Do I put myself first, or do I put my wife and child first? The Nighthawks? I work for Ivy, so what she needs from me comes first when I’m there.” Bella took a breath and then let it out. “I lost a lot of friends doing what you’re doing. Yelling at your mom is not going to make this right. Hurting other people because you won’t control yourself will make everyone run away from you for your entire life.”

“You’re saying it’s all my fault,” said Grace.

“If you had let her alone when she tried to do her work, would Hu have a reason to drop out of the Nighthawks’ homeschool?” asked Callie. She held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Think, Grace. The last thing you are is stupid. Think it through. If you could study anything you wanted to, why would you quit?”

Grace stood her mutinous ground. “I hate you! I hate you both!”

Bella turned to Callie. “Did that sound like a gentle and loving person?” she asked.

“No,” said Callie. She sighed. “Sometimes I want to yell, but I control myself. I don’t want to have other people think I’m a crazy person.”

“I want to, too,” said Bella. “I learned to do almost anything else.” She laughed. “I have this stupid farm game on my phone. I get in a tizzy, I plant an imaginary crop.” She laughed. “Ivy makes jokes about it when I have a really rude customer, and she tells me to plant some turnips.”

Callie pulled out her phone. “What’s its name? I have this kid I work with at school, and I sometimes need to plant turnips.” They discussed various games that could be played for ten minutes at a time, and laughed.

Grace, robbed of anyone paying attention, went to find someone else to yell at. Her attempts to yell at Hu were thwarted; she couldn’t find her. Grace had never tried to understand the Wolfpack’s schedules, so she didn’t know that Hu had signed up for horticulture as a science elective, and that Hu was with Nantan, cataloging the plants for herself. She also didn’t know that Chayton had told Nantan to keep Hu on the down-low and that Grace would eventually be on the warpath. Stymied, she went home to take her life into her own hands and confront Ivy.

Ivy was taking care of the list of things she had to do on Monday, the “dark” day when the bar was closed; a list as long as her arm. She did this to have a real day off on Tuesday, when Cougar ran the club. She knew when Bao texted them that Hu was dropping out of the Nighthawks school that there would be a kerfuffle. Maybe even a lot of screaming. Callie had deliberately taken Grace for a walk to minimize the damage. She put in several loads of clothes, one baby in a papoose pack, the other watching her every move from her improvised drum set of plastic bowls and a plastic spoon. She filled up a load, put in the soap and fabric softener, and closed it up. She had no idea how the kids generated so many dirty clothes. Gotta stay on top of it, she thought to herself. She folded the clothes that needed folding, deftly matching up socks, and sang the Don Henley song, Dirty Laundry, to herself.

Grace banged in the house, stomped over to Ivy, and began unloading how everyone was against her, including how Hu couldn’t quit, how everything was not her fault, and how she did try to control herself. Her voice went into the high registers.

Ivy divided the folded laundry into the correct person’s basket —babies, Grace, Hu, and Moms. Damia no longer had her own basket there; she did her own laundry at the Big House. Ivy turned, and began getting the food ready for a snack together. Aiden went into his chair, and Kiya into hers. She put bibs on them, and handed out diced pears and Cheerios, and poured water into a tumbler and added a splash of lime juice. She poured juice and put the cups onto the table.

Grace kept talking until she ran out of steam, while Ivy cut up cucumbers, took out baby carrots from a package, diced some cheese, and put whole wheat crackers onto a plate. Ivy put ranch dressing in a little ramekin, and sat down.

She ate, and made faces at the babies, and said, “Wanna eat?”

“How can you eat?” screamed Grace. “You aren’t listening to me!”

Ivy said, “You pushed and pushed and pushed that sweet girl past her breaking point. You did the exact same thing to Damia. You don’t care who you hurt with your actions.” She sighed. “Damia is my little girl. Just like Kiya here. I will never abandon her. I wanted to give her a nice, safe, happy place to live. I did that, too, and worked myself into the ground and then some. Then you could not, would not, control your behaviors. Damia couldn’t live with you, you little porcupine, so she moved out. You are my girl too, which is why you’re not out on your ear. Now Hu is, I wager, going to spend more and more time at her mother’s home, probably not move back in here.” She pointed at the house next door.

Grace’s face looked shocked at the words that rolled out from Ivy’s mouth. She couldn’t understand why everyone was so against her.

“Congratulations, Grace. You’re taking the people I love and making them want to be somewhere else because you will not listen. You don’t care if your points get taken away, or if you lose your television —or game time. You use your ADD as an excuse to try to get away with behavior no one in their right mind would put up with. You’re demanding, controlling, and needy, no matter what we say or do. We’ve talked until we are blue in the face, and set up a point system. No matter how much time we spend with you, even special time with each of us, you do nothing to control yourself. We are together every day. Or, we were.” She brushed a tear from her eyes. “You may not care, but I do. Now, either sit down and eat something, or do a chore.”

Grace stared at Ivy, open-mouthed. “I…”

“What, Grace? Didn’t mean to? Yes, you did. You meant to ignore what I told you, and what Mom told you. You knew our rules, and why they were there, and you ignored them, day after day. Don’t tell me you didn’t mean to.” Ivy looked at Grace. “Just now you came in here, yelling, with two babies in the house. Didn’t you think the yelling might scare them?” Grace looked at the babies. They were both looking at their food, or at their mother, but not at her. “Either you learn to control your emotions, or they control you,” said Ivy. “I learned that a long time ago. Now sit down, quietly, and eat. You have a chore list to get to, today.”

Grace sat, and ate a few crackers, and some veggies, and drank her juice. “May I be excused?” she said, after about five minutes.

“Yes,” said Ivy. “Get out your chore list. You’re on restriction.”

Grace nodded, grabbed her tablet, and went to do her list.

Callie came into the room. “I got in while you were still in the laundry room.” Tears streamed down her face. She wiped her eyes, and said, “I am so sorry about Damia.” Ivy went over, and hugged her. They stood there, crying, and then wiped the tears away. They smiled at the babies, and made them coo and laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” said Ivy, once they had sat down, and Callie ate the food like a wolf. “To be realistic, Damia’s in heaven. She’s up at the first whisper of dawn, ready to work with the horses. She keeps her little place there neat as a pin, and does her schoolwork. Everyone loves her half to death, and Robert and Inola both watch her like a hawk up there.” She sighed, dipped a carrot in the dressing, and ate it. “I go up there, eat lunch, and then eat dinner with her. Take her a snack, talk with her, do chores with her. Even learned how to ride a damned horse. I put her to bed every night.”

“You spend more time with her than most people spend with their daughters,” said Callie. “You’re a fantastic mom. Kind, loving. Gentle.”

“I hope I didn’t break Grace,” Ivy said. “I try, really, really hard not to carry resentment toward her. It’s just that, she has tools. She refused to use the sparkly, water, lava lamp thingy that Damia uses to control her emotions. She says it’s for babies. We’ve watched dozens of ADD videos on YouTube, and read books. She won’t read or watch a thing.”

“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt,” said Callie. “Maybe now, she’ll realize she needs help.”

Ivy snorted. “Time for the big guns.”

“Henry,” said Callie.

“Henry,” said Ivy.

“Separation causes anxiety, and sometimes outright insanity.”