Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) by Maggie Pill

hair was neatly braided into one plait and fastened with limp ribbon. Twelve going on thirty-five.
    The middle girl, a stair-step down in height, wore a skirt and top every bit as dull as her sisters’. Her hair was unbound and uncombed, and she’d stuck a screwdriver in her waistband, a nine-year-old’s means of defense.
    The littlest girl had the round cheeks that are often the last vestiges of baby fat. On one side of her head, a barrette kept her light hair away from her face. It was a mate to the one we’d found in the barn.
    Though they appeared to be healthy, none of them was old enough to be living in the woods alone.
    Barb spoke calmly from behind me. “Don’t be afraid. We want to help.”
    The oldest girl squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever she had to. The little one stepped behind her sisters, crying softly. I moved toward her, intending to offer comfort, but the middle girl blocked my way, her jaw tight. “Stay away from her!”
    “Stop it, Pansy.” The oldest girl bent to comfort the little one. “There’s nothing we can do now.”
    I glanced around the one-room cabin. The only furniture was a sturdy bunk bed in the corner away from the window. On each bed a couple of quilts lay neatly folded. In another corner was a cooler, and atop it were ready-to-eat foods: a jar of peanut butter, a stack of crackers, a box of raisins, and a bag of walnuts, along with three cups, three plates, and three sets of silverware. Next to the cooler was a thermal picnic jug.
    At the foot of the bed was a large black garbage bag, and spilling from it was an assortment of clothing. Half-covered by the bag’s edge was a doll that looked hand-made. Its skirt was the same fabric as the skirt the smallest girl wore, and I pictured Rose making it for her youngest child.
    “You’re the Isley girls,” Barb said.
    The oldest girl answered. “I’m Iris. That’s Pansy, and Daisy.”
    “Flowers,” I murmured, and she shrugged as if to say it was beyond her why her mother had chosen such names.
    “What are you doing out here?”
    Daisy looked up, her face wet with tears. “Don’t let So-Servishes take us away!” she begged. “I want to live with Pansy and Iris!”
    We turned to Iris for a translation. “Ben said the social services people will separate us. We decided to live out here so we could stay together.”
    “But where are your parents?” Barb’s tone indicated disgust with adults who would go away without making arrangements for their children.
    More tacit communication. “We don’t know.” Pansy said as she stroked Daisy’s arm. “They just left.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Barb
    I’m not sure what I expected to find in the woods on our family farm that day, but three unchaperoned children wasn’t it. What were we supposed to do with them?
    Faye suggested we go back to the farmhouse, where she promised to fix the girls a meal. Food is Faye’s way of making everyone comfortable, and it worked. The oldest and youngest of the girls seemed relieved to see their adventure come to an end, and both of them ceded responsibility to the adults without objection.
    The middle one, Pansy, had a little more fight in her.
    “You aren’t the boss of us!” she said when Faye made her proposal. “Our rent is paid until the first of June, so if we want to stay out here, we can.”
    Faye looked at me with a question in her eyes. “That’s not precisely true,” I said in my best barrister voice. “The rental contract is with your parents, who aren’t here.”
    She wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Well, you aren’t our parents, so we don’t have to do what you say.”
    Despite my irritation at having to argue with a child, I admired the girl’s active mind. “You are correct,” I replied. “In fact, you’re wise to consider the consequences of doing what a stranger tells you to do. However, you have to give yourselves up to someone, Social Services or some other government agency. We’re licensed