Crazy Blood by T. Jefferson Parker

soap, her yellow-gray hair pulled into a tight ponytail, humming to herself. “I have a copy of the latest Woolly for you,” she said.
    â€œTerrific. I liked the last astrology forecast.”
    â€œI invent the predictions, based on my experiences with people and their birth dates.”
    â€œIsn’t that what all astrologists do?”
    â€œIt’s not a hard science. But my readers love it.”
    â€œThe stolen skis and boards story was good, too.”
    â€œBrave of the thief to just walk off the mountain with them.”
    â€œHe knows the good stuff, I guess.”
    â€œSky?” Cynthia gave him her chill blue stare. “That was quite a stunt you pulled last night up at Mountain High.”
    â€œWell, I was drunk, but I meant it.”
    â€œDo the injuries hurt?”
    â€œSubstantially.”
    â€œYou took a bad fall on the X Course, Sky.”
    â€œNo, Mom—Wylie shoved me off the X Course. Big difference.”
    â€œYou know, I’ve investigated a little, and there’s a split decision on that.”
    No surprise to Sky. His mother was a bold snoop. It amazed him that townspeople would actually talk to her, but they did. She was certainly direct and clear when asking questions. He knew that behind her back they made fun of her, and he’d heard plenty of jokes about her murderous actions of twenty-five years ago. Lizzie Carson took a gun … He’d actually cracked a few jokes about her himself, thinking that this was a fatherless son’s right.
    In a flash, Sky was back in the women’s facility in Chowchilla, sitting in the hot waiting room, age four, Robert and sister Andrea on either side of him, Grandpa Adam and Sandrine there, all of them waiting for one of the stoic guards to lead them back to the visitation center. Sky saw again the tableau that played out over the thirteen years of his mother’s incarceration: Mom sitting blue-clad and ankle-shackled to a big round steel loop bolted to the floor, sitting straight up in the immovable steel chair, her straight yellow hair pulled away from her pale face. Even as a four-year old Sky sensed that his mother’s composure was requiring every drop of her self-control. Her strength was intimidating and inspiring. Sky had understood that his mother, Cynthia Carson, was a woman who had crossed a great divide. She was feared and lethal. A woman good to her word. A woman who stood and delivered.
    â€œYou can investigate all you want, Mom,” said Sky. “But Wylie Welborn shoved me just past Conundrum. Where this happened…” He glanced at Robert, all he could endure.
    â€œOh, I believe he’s capable of that, son.” She looked up at him. “But what if it was your nerves kicking in?”
    â€œIt was a shove, Mom.”
    â€œYour father never had the nerve for winning.”
    â€œNot again, Mom. Please, not all that again.”
    â€œHe almost had the nerve.”
    â€œThat’s not what G-pa says. G-pa says Dad did have the nerve but—”
    â€œOf course, nerve is what separates racers at the highest levels, don’t you think? My God, your father had everything else a racer could want.”
    Sky dared another glance at Robert. He looked peaceful and utterly relaxed, and Sky wondered if there was any awareness in him at all. He had seen a news report recently about these newfangled scans that could show brain activity not detectable before. Although the doctors were quick to say that this didn’t necessarily mean the patients could improve.
    â€œRobert had nerve,” she said. “And he had good racing judgment, too. That’s why this is a tragedy, not just an accident.” Cynthia rinsed and squeezed the sponge, then patted Robert’s temple with it. “I advise you against threats of any kind, Sky.”
    â€œToo late. I asked for the apology and promised punishment if he does anything like that again. I’ve