Shattered by Karen Robards Page A

figure out some way to come up with the funds to pay that part of the bill.
    Chalk up one more headache.
    "Whose car you got there?"
    Andy's voice had her head turning to find him. Tall and spare, his military-cut hair a reminder of a youthful stint in the army, his face deeply lined from years spent working in the sun, he was on the back porch, which was connected to the porte cochere by a set of steps and ran the full length of the back of the house. His arms were full of flowers. The vibrant oranges and whites and purples of the mixed lilies and hydrangeas and butterfly bush blossoms were one of the signs of summer she loved the most. As determined to keep Martha from finding out the truth about the farm's precarious state as Lisa was herself, Andy had been working in the garden, she knew, and was bringing the flowers in for her mother. Like everyone else, Andy had benefited from Martha's kindness over the years. He was another of those who loved her dearly.
    "Scott Buchanan's. The Jag broke down again, and he gave me a ride home."
    Andy glanced past her, toward the car, then lifted his eyebrows at her questioningly as, heading for the kitchen door, she joined him on the porch.
    "So, where is he?"
    "At his house. Scott got out there. There was some problem with his father." No need to tell anyone about the police being at the house. That was Scott's business, to disclose or not as he chose. "He'll walk down to pick up his car later."
    "What's the old bastard up to now?"
    He was referring to Mr. Buchanan, whose proclivities were common knowledge.
    "The usual. Drunk and mean."
    "Cracker." Uttered in a contemptuous undertone, the term was beyond derogatory. Lisa didn't reply but instead turned the conversation in another direction.
    "Andy, do you remember hearing about a family that disappeared around here about, oh, thirty years ago? Their name was Garcia. A couple and two children."
    He frowned, then slowly shook his head. "Can't say that I do. Why?"
    "Oh, nothing. Just a case I came across at work. I was curious, that's all. Listen, I'm probably going to have to take the truck into work tomorrow. Can you manage without it?"
    "Sure. You know where the keys are kept." On the hook in the kitchen beside the refrigerator, which was where all the keys to all the vehicles were always kept. Andy's face creased in a smile. "That's going to be something to see, you in your fancy clothes driving into your fancy office in that old truck."
    "Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." Lisa smiled in turn, though the idea of driving the mud-spattered farm truck to work was a little ego-deflating. She only hoped that no one would be around to see her park and get out.
    With Lisa in front, they'd reached the kitchen door by this time. Opening the creaky screen door and then pushing the wooden door open, she gestured for him to precede her inside, enjoying the spicy fragrance as he carried the flowers past her into the kitchen. It was a large, old-fashioned, sunny room with white cabinets, white tile countertops, and a well-worn hardwood floor. A large oak table occupied the center of the room. Except for the color of the paint on the walls, which were currently a soft blue, and the appliances, nothing had changed in it for as long as Lisa could remember.
    "Those for me?"
    Having acknowledged Lisa's arrival with a quick smile, Robin addressed the question to Andy. Square-faced and stocky at sixty-four, with chin-length hair dyed a defiant red, clad in a flowered smock and bright pink polyester pants, Robin was now her mother's near-constant companion. She was still nominally the housekeeper, a position she had held for longer than Lisa was old. As Martha's health had declined, Robin's primary task had become taking care of her, although she still did some housekeeping and cooking as well. A nurse had started coming in to relieve her and Lisa, who'd been trading off sleeping in Martha's room until her breathing had gotten so bad six