The Trials of Billy Two Bears

By Jerry Leppart

Billy “Two Bears” Simpson is a member of the St. Paul Police Force. He is of mixed race, half Dakota Sioux and half White. He has been raised in the White community, but still has ties with the Mdewakanton Dakota Reservation.
Kelly Stewart is Billy’s partner on the force. Despite regulations against it, they have become involved. When a serial killer puts the city of St. Paul on edge, the two are assigned to the case.
Jack Kinkaid, the serial killer, has Kelly in his sights. He has plans to abduct her, but in this case keep her alive, for reasons known only to him.
This novel offers other unforgettable characters, including clinical psychologist Dr. Pam Stover, small town attorney Lynn Broadwater, Sheriff John Brown, Red Eagle and elders of the reservation who speak truths about the two cultures that Billy embodies.

This gripping story weaves historical events including the massacre at Wounded Knee and the U.S.-Dakota Conflict with a modern-day crime and its subsequent trial. It explores the systems of justice found in multiple cultures, along with Billy’s struggle to reconcile the duality of his heritage. This unique novel will keep the reader thinking long after the final page.


Please consider my novel, THE TRIALS OF BILLY TWO BEARS, a crime story and courtroom drama about a man who struggles with the duality of cultures within him.
Expert in the skills of Native American tracking, hand-to-hand combat and horse-whispering, Detective Billy “Two Bears” Simpson, half Dakota and half White, wears a gold shield for the St. Paul Police Department. When his partner, the beautiful Kelly Stewart, is kidnapped, Billy uses Native American tracking skills to uncover clues that were overlooked by the investigating officers that lead to the arrest of a suspect.
What they do not realize is that the kidnapper has set a plan in motion that if he is caught, he will manipulate the judicial system into setting him free. Then he will be able to re-visit Kelly at will. He will have a living victim to satisfy his desires. The missteps by the prosecution occur as planned, the indictment is dismissed “with prejudice” and the kidnapper is free to go after Kelly as she tries to recover. And there is nothing the White Man’s law can do. Will Billy abide by these unjust laws, as he has sworn to do, or will he protect Kelly?
In a vision, “Two Bears” is transported back to December 1890, Wounded Knee Creek South Dakota, where he watches helplessly as the Sioux are massacred by the United States Army. His people slaughtered by his people.

Billy seeks guidance in hours spent in the Dakota “sweat lodge” where he listens as Elders tell of simple truths. As Kelly’s torment intensifies, Billy decides to forgo the impotent laws and take matters into his own hands,

When a body is found in a burned-out farmhouse, Billy is arrested and put on trial for his life. Attorney Lynn Broadwater, who has ties to the Dakota reservation, is hired to represent Billy. Will Billy pay for the crime of protecting Kelly when the law would not, or will Broadwater find a way to help the jury find justice, but stay within the framework of the law?
In researching this novel, I have spent time at the Prairie Island Reservation, interviewing Elders of the Tribe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781663258526

Jerry Leppart

This is Mr. Leppart's fourth novel. Prior novels are "Headwaters" (Nuclear Terrorism), "Pest Control" (An assassin is killing attorneys) and "Chloe" (the sequel to "The Lie"). He has just completed his fifth novel, "The Trials of Billy Two Bears." Mr. Leppart graduated from North Dakota State University and now live in Eden Prairie, Minnesota with his wife and children.

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THE TRIALS OF BILLY TWO BEARS

Copyright © 2023 Jerry Leppart.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5831-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5832-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5852-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023922717

iUniverse rev. date: 01/03/2024

Contents

PART ONE

Rough Chastisement

Chapter 1 Through The Looking Glass Darkly

Chapter 2 Not Pretty

Chapter 3 Hunter-Gatherers

Chapter 4 No Coaching

Chapter 5 Something Special

Chapter 6 The Way

Chapter 7 The Ride

Chapter 8 Strained Eyes

Chapter 9 The Hunt

Chapter 10 Developmental

Chapter 11 Floater

Chapter 12 Rough Ride

Chapter 13 Taken

Chapter 14 Ghosts

Chapter 15 I’d Like to See Her

Chapter 16 The Wasp

Chapter 17 Dr. Stover

Chapter 18 For the Girls

Chapter 19 Wounded Knee

Chapter 20 Kelly-Was

Chapter 21 Kinkaid

Chapter 22 Firstest with the Mostest

Chapter 23 Jurisdiction

Chapter 24 Visionplex

Chapter 25 Progress

Chapter 26 Shock Wave

Chapter 27 Perceptions and Receptors

Chapter 28 The Smell of Latex

Chapter 29 A Gossamer in Another Dimension

Chapter 30 Just Don’t Tell Anyone

Chapter 31 Surprises

Chapter 32 It’s Him

Chapter 33 God-Awful Beautiful

Chapter 34 Tortuous Journey

Chapter 35 I’ll Take Care of You

Chapter 36 Relativity

Chapter 37 Frozen Tears

Chapter 38 Completion

PART II

The Trials of Billy Two Bears

Chapter 39 Debris

Chapter 40 One Thousand and Two

Chapter 41 Small Town

Chapter 42 What Is It?

Chapter 43 Mystery Guest

Chapter 44 The Beast Is Dead

Chapter 45 Eye to Eye

Chapter 46 Family Album

Chapter 47 Warm Tears

Chapter 48 Corporate or Criminal?

Chapter 49 Who’da Thunk It?

Chapter 50 Questions

Chapter 51 Motive

Chapter 52 Forefathers

Chapter 53 I’ll Manage

Chapter 54 Words Remembered

Chapter 55 Broadwater

Chapter 56 Crosses to Bear

Chapter 57 Hero

Chapter 58 In the Year of Our Lord 1600

Chapter 59 Sweat Lodge

Chapter 60 The Art of War

Chapter 61 Cleansing Fire

Chapter 62 The Trial

Chapter 63 At Peace

Chapter 64 The Verdict

Part One

ROUGH CHASTISEMENT

… cries

Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,

To me for justice and rough chastisement.

— William Shakespeare, Richard II

Chapter 1

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS DARKLY

S he strides almost effortlessly. The treadmill is set at 1.5 incline, speed at 7 mph. She has been going for fifteen minutes, her heartbeat a steady 134. Sweat is beading up on her forehead and dampening the sweatband that holds her full blond head of hair in place. All save for the vagabond curl that hangs coiled over her forehead. Arms and shoulders glisten wet in the light of the room. Black Nike running shorts top long lithe thighs. A white tank top clings tightly to the top of the chest and somewhat looser at her thin waist. A tightly bound sport bra bounces gently with each stride. The shoes are white New Bal ance.

She reaches forward to the console and pushes the speed to 8 mph. The treadmill changes gear and whirrs a slightly higher pitch. She reaches up and pushes the curl aside only to have it fall back into place in the middle of her forehead. Her pace is quickening and her breath comes in shorter, faster, but still measured gulps. Her arms pump vigorously with the stride. Her body is as sculpted as femininity will allow. Her eyes, large and blue, cheekbones high. Full lips curl slightly at the tips. In the hot summer evening, she leaves the window open to feel whatever breeze may wander through. She smells the freshness that cannot be duplicated by conditioned air.

This picture of natural beauty is captured by the light of the room. The image is reflected outward, to the walls and out the window. Let us see where this image of beauty can go. Let us follow it out through the window and across the street, down the block and through another window, into the lens of a telescope, through the eyepiece and into the eye. Through the crystalline lens of the eye, the image is inverted and cast against the retina, transmitted to the brain and passed on to the inner, dark reaches of the mind of a man sitting in a chair.

Chapter 2

NOT PRETTY

D etective Billy Two Bears Simpson flipped his badge folder over and placed the flap in the breast pocket of his blue blazer. The officer standing on the porch glanced quickly at the gold shield and stepped aside. Good morning, Detective, he said.

Billy tossed his head to the side, his black shoulder length hair making a wave against his collar. What do we have here, Officer? he asked assertively.

The officer took off his cap with his right hand, rubbed his forehead with his left forearm before sliding the cap gently back over his brown hair. His light blue shirt was neatly pressed, extra starch, a single chevron on each sleeve; dark blue pants with a light blue stripe down each side and a well-ironed crease down the front that ended on top of highly polished shoes. Like the others, he said. Pretty bloody in there.

Billy turned to him. You worked the others? he asked.

The officer nodded. Yeah, he said. Some.

Billy looked at him for a moment, then turned to the door. Inside he could hear the whine of the camera battery recharging. He touched the crime scene tape that crossed the door but stopped and glanced over his shoulder. The morning sun was rising over the trees to the east. Strobes of sunlight touched the gray-green rotting wood siding of the house. He touched a pillar with the back of his hand. A slight musty smell. Not overpowering but simply there in the heavy early-morning air. He took in a deep breath and turned back to the open door.

Quickly, pale green paper booties were over his shoes and rubber gloves snapped over his wrists. An officer in uniform stood at the door and motioned to him. In there, Detective, he said, a quick nod of his head to the side.

Thanks, Billy said as he brushed past the officer. Old furniture adorned the living room. Walls were covered with floral wallpaper, 40’s style. A cushy armchair sat opposite a low seating sofa with threadbare arms. Area rugs covered portions of what once must have been a beautiful oak floor, now scuffed and worn. Billy took in a musty breath as he took out his note pad and pen. Past the living room was an open door to the bedroom. He crossed the floor to the bedroom. Inside the bedroom, CSIs were dusting for fingerprints and blue lighting for blood splotches: a scurry of green booties and cream-colored rubber gloves.

Billy heard footsteps behind him on the hard wood floor. He turned to see his partner, Detective Kelly Stewart, brush a blond curl from her forehead as she walked to him. Kelly had always wanted to be a detective, to follow in her father’s footsteps. That option was closed to women in the male-dominated department. But a lawsuit against the city for not hiring minorities and women forced St. Paul to hire and promote minorities and women. Billy Two Bears Simpson was the first hire, followed quickly by Kelly Stewart. Since The Brotherhood of white males would not work with either of them, they were made partners. Familiarity turned to attraction; attraction took over and ... well ...

Good of you to make it, Detective. said Billy, with a touch of irony that was only between the two of them.

Kelly ignored his teasing. What’ve we got? she asked.

Billy knew she preferred to keep things strictly professional when they were working. He knew she was right, but he always smiled when he would notice heads turn as she walked into a room.

It’s not pretty, Billy said, the moment under control, as he canted his head toward the bed on the far side of the room.

Kelly took a quick glance. God! she said, putting a hand to her face as if to shutter her eyes. Jesus! She shook her head and swallowed hard. Steeling herself, she let out a breath, opened her eyes, and looked back at the bed. Just like the others? she asked.

Just like the others, said Simpson.

Kelly took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, let’s have a look, she said.

Morning, Detective, said a member of the Crime Scene Investigation team as she sidestepped past him. Welcome to the party. We got lots of PE for you today.

What kind of physical evidence? asked Billy and they approached the bed.

Blood, continued the CSI. We got lots of blood.

The CSI came around to the head of the bed, opposite Detectives Simpson and Stewart. He was a tall, thin and balding man with wire-rimmed, small lens glasses. A white smock covered his body, Hands and feet tied spread-eagle, he said as he pointed his pencil, erasure first, at the nude body on the bed. Naked, he cleared his throat. As you can see. His pencil went to the wrists clamped to the posts of the brass bed. He used Velcro strips to bind the hands and feet.

Kelly tried to listen to the CSI but his words tumbled past her ears. It was if she was in a cave and his tinny words echoed off the walls behind her. She felt a wave of nausea sweep over her and she closed her eyes, pressing her eyelids together tightly. She desperately wanted to reach out and grab her Billy’s arm. But she held her ground. She opened her eyes and fixated on the Velcro straps binding the wrists of the woman on the bed, shutting out the body and the blood.

As the CSI finished his explication, Billy turned to Kelly. Whatdaya think, he said. Seen enough?

Kelly turned an ashen face to him.

Let’s grab a cup of coffee, he said and turned toward the door.

Chapter 3

HUNTER-GATHERERS

G od, I can’t believe any human could do things like that, said Kelly Stewart as she blew the steam from her cup a side.

said Billy. Detective Billy Two Bears Simpson rolled his toothpick to the side of his mouth. How you doin’ with these things? he asked.

Kelly took in a deep smell of coffee and held it for a moment before releasing it slowly. Tiny moments of simple pleasures are treasures at times: a break, a chance to hold time in place. Not an escape, just a break. To hold on to something that is real and good. To put the everyday aside. Just for a moment.

How ya doin’? Billy repeated.

Kelly looked up at him. She continued her time-out to study his features. Tall. Six foot one. Square shoulders flowing to a narrow hip somewhere beneath the tabletop. Jet-black hair cut to just above his shoulders. High cheek bones indigenous of his Native American half, yet somewhat smoothed owing to his Anglo-Saxon mother. The eyes were deep set under rich eyebrows. Blue eyes. Odd for a Native American. Even a half-breed. Recessive gene from his mother, easily. And a deeply buried recessive gene from his father’s grandmother. The eyes were comforting but seemingly ready with controlled savagery if needed. She felt safe with him. From the first day she met him, even before she fell in love with him, there was something about him, something special. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was his commanding demeanor. Maybe it was … maybe it was just him. Whatever it was she felt safe with him and it was comforting being with him.

Billy reached across the table and put his hand on Kelly’s.

Kelly blinked. Oh, yeah, she said. I’m fine. She put the coffee down. Comes with the job, really.

Yeah, sure as hell does. Billy patted her hand and then pulled back, leaning against his chair back.

How were things on the reservation? Kelly asked, changing the pace.

Good, said Billy shrugging. It’s always good to get back to basics.

Sweat lodge?

Yeah, that too. Billy arched his shoulders and released. The sweat lodge for me is like going to church is for you. It’s as close to a religious experience as I get. It gets me back to somewhere. It’s like … did I tell you about the time when I saved that egret that was caught up in that tree?

Kelly brought the cup to her lips and took a sip.

There was one time when I was canoeing the Namakagan River in northern Wisconsin. The Namakagan has a National Scenic Waterway designation so there is minimal development. You can really get away from it all. There are no horns, no stoplights, no TV news screaming at you. There is only nature. The river is clean and pure and there is wildlife abundant. I’ll take you up there sometime.

I’d love it, said Kelly.

But there was this one time when I was canoeing by myself and I heard this screaming up ahead. Some animal had gotten into trouble and was screaming its head off. As I rounded a bend in the river I saw an egret up on top of a dead tree. It was upside down and screaming like I’d never heard before.

I thought egrets were wading birds, said Kelly.

They are, usually, said Billy. But occasionally they will perch in a tree that is over water. And they can nest in trees. But this egret had somehow tried to perch on this dead tree that was leaning over the river. Apparently when it landed, its foot slipped on the moss and its leg got caught in a crevice between the branch and the trunk of the tree. In trying to get free, it had flipped over and you could see that the leg that was caught was broken. So, it was flapping its wings and screaming like a banshee.

So, what did you do? asked Kelly.

Well, said Billy. I couldn’t let it hang there, so I beached the canoe and shimmied up the tree. When I got to the egret, it was not too happy to see me. As I tried to grab hold of its leg, it really hacked my hand and arm up. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt. Look at this, he said, pointing to a scar on his left forearm. And this, pointing to another scar. It really hacked me up.

Kelly reached across the table and pointed to scars further up his arm. And these? she asked.

Oh, those, said Billy. Those are from an eagle.

An eagle? asked Kelly.

Yeah, said Billy. Another story. He rolled his sleeve back down. Anyway, I just couldn’t leave the egret like that. I grabbed it one final time and pushed it up and out of the crevice. I held it for a moment, even with it still hacking me, just a little moment, then pushed it up and away. It floated down, then found itself and glided down the river and around the next bend. I never saw it again.

Do you think it lived? asked Kelly.

Billy shook his head. I don’t know, he said. "But that’s not important. What is important is that I gave it a chance to live. For that moment after I freed it, and held it in my hands, for that one moment, I had its life in my hands. I could kill it. Or I could give it life. No laws, no commandments, no sins, just me and that warm, breathing animal fighting for its life. It was my decision alone. Billy looked down at the table, nodding. And I let it go."

Kelly reached over and grabbed Billy’s forearm. You’re a good man, Billy Simpson, she said.

Billy nodded, looking up at her and holding his gaze for just a moment. Sometimes, he said.

I’ll be in conference, he said, standing by his office door.

His secretary looked up and nodded. Yes, sir, she demurred.

No calls, please, no interruptions, he said.

Yes, sir, she said and went back to her typing.

He turned and closed the door behind him, locking it. He walked over to his safe, spun the dial, and extracted a picture album from it. Walking to his desk, he placed the album on the desk, facing his chair, and walked to the window. He took off his jacket and threw it on the couch next to the window. Next came his tie, neatly draped over his suit coat. He looked out of the window at the buildings, sun-splashed concrete, steel and glass. No one could understand his power. No one could understand his strength. He was as strong as the steel and concrete that surrounded him. It didn’t matter that no one else knew. He knew. He had the power of life and death. He could wield it at will. And it was intoxicating.

He pulled the shade down and walked over to his desk. The lines had already been drawn; the thin white lines of powder on the mirror on his desk. He rolled a one hundred-dollar bill into a straw, leaned down, and inhaled the first line. His nose burned as he sniffed deeply. He held his breath for a moment as the cocaine filled his body with a warm tingle. His eyes were closed and his lips curled in more of a smirk than a smile. He let his breath out slowly and opened his eyes. He sat down in his high-backed chair, leaned down and inhaled another line. Nodding and breathing slowly, in measured breaths, he pulled the album toward him. He opened it up to the first full double page. Each double page held a story. It was the same story. Yet each was a different story. The spread-eagle was the same. The tearing off of clothes was the same. The tears in the eyes as they were manly explored, fear in the eyes as he approached for the final taking. And the terror each shared when they realized his power. And they were all there waiting for him, waiting for him to revisit them in the photos in the album. He felt the strength return to him, surging in his loins. He gritted his teeth and pulled the album closer so that every one of them could retell their story.

Chapter 4

NO COACHING

K elly woke a minute before the alarm went off. She lay there thinking about the night before—the candlelight, the pasta, and the wine. Yes, definitely the wine, Clos du Bois, her fave. She could still taste it. Chardonnay was always her favorite. Although she had toyed with other whites, the occasional pinot grigio, she always preferred chardonnay. At the first sip, she could feel the warmth flowing through her, the body relaxing, the cares of the world flittering away to the corners of the walls. She could drink alone. On occasion, she had. But it was always better with someone. It was best with someone special. And last night was, indeed, spe cial.

An hour on the couch in the living room, lights out, flickering candles softly illuminating the room, slippers off, feet up on the couch, her legs brought up and safely tucked under a throw. And one bottle of her fave between the two of them. Billy liked his beer better, Corona, with a twist of lime, but there was something about sharing a bottle of wine. His acquiescence would be rewarded. And it was. The pasta was al dente, perfect. The salad was tossed bib lettuce with tomato slices, chopped celery, walnuts, and Italian Caesar dressing, topped off with feta cheese. Strong coffee and chocolate for dessert. And the night, the seemingly endless hours of naked entanglement that lasted until the sheets were dripping with perspiration. Soft kisses and gentle, sweet caresses to the wee hours as they, together, finally drifted away.

The clock radio clicked on, and the disc jockey filled the room with his latest rant. She quickly flicked it off as the body beside her grunted. She turned over and pulled up beside her private 98.6-degree furnace, her knees tucked into the crook of his semifetal-positioned legs, her right arm draped over his right shoulder. He grunted an acknowledgment and touched her hand. She held him for a moment, feeling his warmth, his square shoulders, his chiseled chest, smelling his manliness in his long black hair. And then she was up and out of bed and on her way to Starbucks.

Now, I’m not coaching you, Lyle Peters said. We’re just going over your testimony.

Right, answered Kelly.

You know they will probably ask you if I coached you, repeated Peters.

Yeah, I know, reiterated Kelly. They’ll ask me if the district attorney coached me. I’ve done this before.

Yeah, I know, said Peters. But it wouldn’t help if it looked like the DA coached you.

Kelly nodded.

Now, let’s go over it again. Peters took off his suit coat and draped it over a high-backed leather chair next to him. I’ll go into your service record and the background of the case. Then I’ll just ask you what happened. Keep your answers short and to the point. He hesitated. I meant, um, you say it any way you want to say it. He looked around the room. But it would be good if you kept it short and to the point.

I hear you, said Kelly.

Good. Now, tell me again what happened.

Trials are so time-consuming. Witnesses are told to be at the courthouse at a certain time, a time before they are needed. And they are kept out of the conflict, allowed to roam an anteroom and occasionally meander around a hall—but never too far. They never know what is being said at the trial. They never know what traps are being laid for them. The wait is aimless. They are like the blind being led into a strange room. They can feel around for a while, but they never know if there is something in front of them to trip over. And the wait can take hours or even days. There is always the objection that leads to chambers, the twist that ruffles the lining of a case, the unexpected continuance that lasts for days. And then there’s lunch.

Kelly sat in a chair in the anteroom just finishing her albacore tuna sandwich when the door opened. The marshal peeked his head in and said, Ms. Stewart?

Oops, said Kelly as she wiped her lips with a napkin. That’s me, she said. One swig of Arizona iced tea, and she was following the marshal out the door.

And is that person in the courtroom? asked District Attorney Lyle Peters.

Kelly sat upright in the witness chair. Her white blouse was buttoned to the top button. Square shoulders held her navy blue blazer like an elongated coat hanger, wood, of course. The blazer tapered to the waist where it buttoned. Her skirt hugged her thighs nicely and ended at the knee. Low-heeled pumps sheathed feet that crossed at the ankle, keeping the knees together. Stylish. She tossed her head to the side, flipping the curl of blond hair in the middle of her forehead. It’s that man right there, the defendant, she said pointing at a man sitting at a table in front of her.

Lyle Peters paused for a moment to let the last words and actions sink in to the jury. Thank you, Detective, he finally said. That will be all.

Kelly took in a deep sigh and let it out slowly.

Now, then, ah, detective, said Marvin Hanson rising from the defense table. I’ve sat and listened to your testimony for some time now. There was a slight Southern drawl, quite uncommon for a Swedish defense attorney who had seldom set foot out of Minnesota for more than a week at a time. I hope we haven’t taken up too much of the jury’s time—he turned to face the jury—with this. He took two steps toward the jury and stopped. Quite impressive, he continued. Quite impressive indeed. He nodded smugly to the jury. You seem to remember everything so well, he said.

Yes, sir, said Kelly.

Hanson turned and walked over to Kelly. I didn’t ask you a question, he said loudly. You only respond when I ask you a question, you hear?

Your Honor. Peters was on his feet. Counsel is badgering the witness.

Ah, Your Honor, Hanson attempted, turning to the judge.

Judge Kastanza raised his hand. Move on, Counselor, he said.

Hanson cleared his throat. Right, he said, turning back to Kelly. You seem to know everything so well, he said, closing in on Kelly. Were you coached in any way? he asked.

Chapter 5

SOMETHING SPECIAL

B illy pushed the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. He looked out the windshield at the hot vapors rising from the hood of the car. The sun reflected brightly off the baking metal. He could have had the windows rolled up and the AC cranked, but he was born in the upper Midwest. So the windows were down. Whatever relief he needed came from a slight southern breeze. He enjoyed the heat. Or maybe it would be better said that he enjoyed enduring the heat. Too often, Minnesotans survive a heartless winter only to have the occasional Canadian cold front swoop down and rob them of their full measure of summer. Not this year. This year summer came early to the upper Midwest and stayed for the party. Minnesotans would not be cheated this year. It was hot. And Billy was enjoying every minute o f it.

The side door clicked open. Sorry I couldn’t be with you this morning, but it’s the only time I could get in to see Dr. Stevenson. Woman thing, you know, said Kelly. She brushed her hair back her right hand. Well, what did I miss? she asked as she settled into the passenger seat. It was the way she would simply brush her hair back that he liked. He had never met a woman like Kelly, so beautiful but without a trace of vanity; so fresh, so confident. It comforted him to see her again.

Billy looked in the side mirror and pulled away from the curb as he heard the passenger door slam. Same thing as last time, he