No Good Deed

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PRAISE FOR THE WRITING OF LYNN HIGHTOWER

“Lynn Hightower is a major talent.” —Jonathan Kellerman,
New York Times
–bestselling author

“Hightower is a writer of tremendous quality.” —
Library Journal

PRAISE FOR THE SONORA BLAIR MYSTERIES

Flashpoint

“Diabolically intriguing from start to finish.” —
Publishers Weekly

“Miraculously fresh and harrowing.” —
Kirkus Reviews

“Rings with gritty authenticity. You won't be able to put it down and you won't want to sleep again. Riveting.” —Lisa Scottoline,
New York Times
–bestselling author

Eyeshot

“Hightower has invented a heroine who is both flawed and likeable, and she knows how to keep the psychological pressure turned up high.” —
The Sunday Telegraph

“What gives [
Eyeshot
] depth and resonance is the way Hightower counterpoints the murder plot with the details of Sonora's daily life in homicide.” —
Publishers Weekly

No Good Deed

“Powerful, crisply paced.”—
Publishers Weekly

“Refreshingly different … A cracking tale told at a stunning pace.” —Frances Fyfield

The Debt Collector

“Hightower builds the suspense to an almost unbearable pitch.” —
Publishers Weekly

“Well-written and satisfyingly plotted. Best of all is Sonora herself—a feisty babe who packs a red lipstick along with her gun.” —
The Times
(London)

PRAISE FOR THE ELAKI NOVELS

“The crimes are out of
The Silence of the Lambs
, the cops out of
Lethal Weapon
, and the grimy future out of
Blade Runner
… Vivid and convincing.” —
Lexington Herald-Leader

“One of the best new series in the genre!” —
Science Fiction Chronicle

Alien Blues

“Hightower takes the setup and delivers a grittily realistic and down-and-dirty serial killer novel.… Impressive … A very promising first novel.” —
Locus

“Brilliantly entertaining. I recommend it highly. A crackerjack novel of police detection and an evocative glimpse of a possible future.” —Nancy Pickard, bestselling author of
I.O.U
.

“[The] cast of characters is interesting and diverse, the setting credible, and the pacing rapid–fire and gripping.” —
Science Fiction Chronicle

“An exciting, science-fictional police procedural with truly alien aliens … An absorbing, well-written book.” —
Aboriginal Science Fiction

“Truly special … Original characters, plot twists galore, in a book that can be enjoyed for its mystery aspects as well as its SF … A real treat.” —
Arlene Garcia

“Hightower shows both humans and Elaki as individuals with foibles and problems. Alien Blues provides plenty of fast-paced action.… An effective police drama.” —
SF Commentary

“Hightower tells her story with the cool efficiency of a Mafia hit man.… With its lean, matter-of-fact style, cliff-hanger chapter endings and plentiful (and often comic) dialogue, Alien Blues moves forward at warp speed!” —
Lexington Herald-Leader

“A great story … Fast and violent … Difficult to put down!” —
Kliatt

“An intriguing world!” —
Analog Science Fiction and Fact

Alien Eyes

“Alien Eyes is a page-turner.… Fun, fast-moving … A police procedural in a day-after-tomorrow world.” —
Lexington Herald-Leader

“Hightower takes elements of cyberpunk and novels about a benevolent alien invasion and combines them with a gritty realism of a police procedural to make stories that are completely her own.… A believable future with a believable alien culture … Interesting settings, intriguing ideas, fascinating characters [and] a high level of suspense!” —
Turret

“Complex … Snappy … Original.” —
Asimov's Science Fiction

“The sequel to the excellent Alien Blues [is] a very fine SF novel.… I'm looking forward to the next installment!” —
Science Fiction Chronicle

No Good Deed

A Sonora Blair Mystery

Lynn Hightower

For Wendell Berry

No good deed
…
goes unpunished

‘I tell you what, this horse business is more crooked than the car business ever thought of being.'

Doug Campbell, car salesman and horse owner.

Chapter One

The first time Sonora saw the farm, it was dusk, and there were horses running in the paddocks. It did not seem like the kind of place where a young girl of fifteen could saddle up a horse for an afternoon ride, and never come back – though Sonora did not know what such a place might look like. Girl and horse had vanished some time around three-thirty that afternoon.

The child had not disappeared entirely without a trace. She had left blood, and a discarded riding boot.

Sonora turned the Pathfinder off the dark ribbon of back road, on to the long dirt driveway that led to the barn. The sky was black and blue, like a bruise. It would be dark soon.

Gritty dust rose from the grind of gravel beneath tires that were much in need of replacing. The Pathfinder hit the bottom of a pothole and Sonora bounced. New shocks wouldn't be a bad idea either.

As soon as God and Visa allowed.

Three patrol cars were parked at odd angles at the end of the drive, and blue strobe lights arced across the face of a weathered twenty-stall barn. There were horses inside, looking out. Light blazed from the tiny barred stall windows.

Sonora parked her Pathfinder next to a gold Taurus. Sam was here, then, in the company car. Maybe he'd have it solved.

She put the Pathfinder in park, left the doors unlocked, paused to look out over the small ten-acre farm. The fencing was bad – slats broken, whole sections sagging, paint bleached from black to gray by the sun and the seasons. Sonora assumed the horses stayed in their paddocks because they wanted to.

There was an electric snap in the wind, like you got before a tornado, or the advent of fall. Sonora felt rain and chilled air – a welcome change from the heat of a miserable, bug-ridden summer. Ants in the kitchen, mosquitoes at night. Silverfish in the drain of the bath.

Something spooked the horses in the front field, and sent them cantering across the sparse grass and weed clumps, heads high, tails up.

Thirty minutes ago she'd been dog tired and ready to collapse, dreading the long drive out of Cincinnati's downtown into the suburbs of Blue Ash, counting her cash so she could bring the kids takeout. The cold air had revived her.

She checked her watch. Seven p.m. Her children were going hungry.

Chapter Two

A uniform stood outside the office door, looking bored but alert. Sonora flashed her ID and the man relaxed his pose and stepped toward her.

‘Officer Renquist, ma'am. Detective Delarosa told me to tell you he's out at the scene—'

‘We got a body?' Sonora asked.

‘No, ma'am. Just blood.'

Renquist was an older man, with the red flush of high blood pressure across his cheeks. A lot of lines around the eyes – worry or laugh lines, Sonora couldn't tell. He was on the portly side, but he'd be cuddly in a sweater. He reminded Sonora of her favorite uncle, who used to drink her milk for her when her mom wasn't looking. Renquist looked tired, but alert. It was not every day a whodunnit crossed his path.

Sonora rubbed the back of her neck. ‘How much blood?'

‘Officially speaking? A lot.'

Sonora glanced over her shoulder at the array of Mazdas, Explorers, and Camrys that were parked in and around the police cars. ‘A lot of civilians around. Who are they?'

‘Girl's father—'

‘What's her name again?'

The officer flipped open his notebook, but didn't need to look. ‘Joelle Chauncey. Her dad, one Dixon Chauncey, came home from work around five-thirty – he lives on the premises in a house trailer with two other children. Anyway, he comes home and finds out that his oldest daughter, Joelle, went out riding and didn't come back. They put up a search, but the girl and the horse were gone.'

‘Gone? Disappeared, just like that?'

‘Like what, I don't know, ma'am. But the girl and the horse are gone and there's a lot of blood.'

‘Where's the father now?'

Renquist inclined his head toward the office door. ‘In there with some of the people who ride here. Lady that runs the place, she teaches lessons, boards horses.'

‘She around?'

‘She was out at the scene talking to Detective Delarosa, but I think I saw her head back into the barn a minute or two ago. Her name is Donna Delaney.'

Answered the question before she asked. Experience was a wonderful thing. ‘Give me one minute with the dad.'

The office door stuck, and Renquist leaned over and yanked it open. A gust of wind blew Sonora's hair, and set off the ting of wind chimes, a circle of pewter horses, hanging just outside the door.

The father was easy to spot.

Chauncey sat way back on the couch, knees tight, chin wobbly with the effort not to cry. Likely he had shaved that morning, but he was one of those men who would need to shave twice a day to stay presentable.

He was flanked by two women, parents of children in the riding program, Sonora guessed. They sat beside him offering the consolation of their presence, in exchange for their involvement, albeit on the sidelines, in a tragic but fascinating ordeal.

They would have brought baked goods and a ham, if they'd had sufficient notice.

Chauncey slid forward on the couch and stood quickly to shake Sonora's hand. He might be out of his mind with worry, but he would not neglect common courtesy.