Best Kept Secrets (12 page)

There was nothing she could say. He had known there wouldn't be. That's why he'd told her. He wanted her to feel rotten and small-minded. Little did he know that their childhoods hadn't been that dissimilar, although she'd never gone without food. Merle Graham had provided for her physical needs, but she'd neglected her emotional ones. Alex had grown up feeling inferior and unloved. Empathetically she said, "I'm sorry, Reede."

"I don't want your goddamn pity," he sneered. "I don't want anybody's. That life made me hard and mean, and I like it that way. I learned early on to stand up for myself because it was for damn sure nobody else was going to go to bat for me. I don't depend on anybody but myself. I don't take anything for granted, especially people. And I'm damned and determined never to sink to the level of my old man."

"You're making too much out of this, Reede. You're too sensitive.'

"Uh-huh. I want people to forget that Everett Lambert ever lived. I don't want anyone to associate me with him. Ever."

He clenched his teeth and hauled her up to just beneath his angry face by the lapels of her coat. "I've lived down the unfortunate fact that I was his son for forty-three years.

Now, just when folks are about to forget it, you come along and start asking nosy questions, raising dead issues, reminding everybody that I crawled up out of the gutter to get where lam."

He sent her backwards with a hard push. She caught herself against the gate of a stall. "I'm sure that no one holds your father's failures against you."

"You don't think so? That's the nature of a small town, baby. You'll find out how it is soon enough, because they'll start comparing you to Celina."

"That won't bother me. I'll welcome the comparisons."

"Are you so sure?"

"Yes."

"Careful. When you round a blind corner, you'd better know what's waiting for you."

"Care to be less oblique?"

"It could go one of two ways. Either you won't measure up to her, or you'll find out that being like her isn't all that terrific."

"Well, which is it?"

His eyes swept over her. "Like her, looking at you reminds a man that he is one. And like her, you use that to your advantage."

"Meaning?"

"She was no saint."

"I didn't expect her to be."

''Didn't you?'' he asked silkily. ''I believe you did. I think you've created this fantasy mother in your head and you expect Celina to fulfill it for you."

"That's ridiculous." Her strenuous denial sounded juvenile and obstinate. More calmly, she said, "It's true that Grandma Graham thought the sun rose and set on Celina. I was brought up to believe she was everything a young woman should be. But I'm a woman myself now, and mature enough to realize that my mother was made of flesh and blood, with flaws, just like everybody else."

He studied her face for a moment. "Just remember that I warned you," he said softly. "You should go back to the Westerner, pack up your designer clothes and your legal briefs, and head for Austin. Leave the past alone. Nobody around here wants to remember that blight on Purcell's history--particularly with that license hanging in the balance.

They'd much rather leave Celina lying dead in this stable than--"

"This stable?" Alex gasped. "My mother was killed here?"

It was clear to her that he hadn't intended to let that slip.

He cursed beneath his breath before answering curtly, "That's right."

"Where? Which stall?"

"It doesn't mat--"

"Show me, damn you! I'm sick to death of your half answers and evasions. Show me where you found her body that morning, Sheriff." She enunciated the last word carefully, reminding him that it was his sworn duty to protect and serve.

Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door through which she had entered the barn. At the second stall in the row, he halted. "Here."

Alex came to a full stop, then moved forward slowly until she was even with Reede. She turned to face the stall. There was no hay in it, just the rubber-covered floor. The gate had been removed because no horse was occupying the stall. It looked innocent, almost sterile.

"There hasn't been a horse boarded in this stall since it happened." Scornfully, he added, "Angus has a sentimental streak."

Alex tried to envision a bloody corpse lying in the stall, but couldn't. She raised inquiring eyes to Reede.

The skin seemed more tautly stretched across his cheekbones, and the vertical lines that framed his mouth appeared more pronounced than they had a few moments ago, when he had been angry. A visit to the scene of the crime wasn't as easy for him as he wanted to pretend.

"Tell me about it. Please."

He hesitated, then said, "She was lying diagonally, her head in that corner, her feet about here." He touched a spot with the toe of his boot. "She was covered with blood. It was in her hair, on her clothes, everywhere." Alex had heard jaded homicide detectives discussing gory murder sites with more emotion. Reede's voice was hollow and monotonal, but his features were stark with pain. ' 'Her eyes were still open.''

"What time was that?" she asked huskily.

"When I found her?" She nodded, finding it difficult to speak. "Dawn. Around six-thirty."

"What were you doing here at that time of day?"

"I usually started mucking the stables around seven. That particular morning I was worried about the mare."

"Oh, yes, the one that had foaled the day before. So, you had come to check on her and the foal?"

"That's right."

Tears were shimmering in her eyes as she raised them to his. "Where were you the night before?"

"Out."

"All night?"

"Since supper time, yes."

"Alone?"

His lips narrowed with irritation. "If you want more answers, Counselor, bring the case to trial."

"I plan to."

As she brushed past him on her way to the door, he caught her arm and drew her up against him. He felt hard and powerfully male. "Miss Gaither," he growled in irritation and impatience, "you're smart. Drop this. If you don't, somebody's likely to get hurt."

"Namely?"

"You."

"How?"

He didn't actually move; he just inclined his body closer to hers. "There are any number of ways."

It was a threat, only subtly veiled. He was physically capable of killing a woman, but what about emotionally?

He seemed to have a low opinion of women in general, but according to Junior, he had loved Celina Graham. At one time, she had wanted to marry Reede. Maybe everyone, including Reede, had taken for granted that they would marry until Celina had married Al Gaither and gotten pregnant with Alex.

Alex didn't want to believe that Reede could have killed Celina under any circumstances, but she certainly didn't want to believe he had killed Celina because of her.

He was chauvinistic, arrogant, and as testy as a rattler.

But a killer? He didn't look like one. Or was it just that she'd always had a weakness for dark blond hair and green eyes; for tight, faded jeans and worn leather coats with fur collars; for men who could wear cowboy boots without looking silly; for men who walked and talked and smelled and sounded and felt consummately male?

Reede Lambert was all of that.

Disturbed more by his effect on her senses than by his cautionary words, she pulled her arm free and backed toward the door.

"I have no intention of dropping this investigation until I know who killed my mother and why. I've waited all my life to find out. I won't be dissuaded now."

Ten

Reede let loose a string of curses the minute Alex left the stable. Pasty Hickam had overheard them from his hiding place in a nearby stall.

He hadn't planned to eavesdrop on their conversation.

When he had come into the barn earlier, he'd only been looking for a place where it was dark and warm and solitary, where he'd have some privacy to nurse his damaged pride, cultivate his resentment of his former employer, and suck on his bottle of cheap rye as if it was mother's milk.

Now, however, his ennui had vanished and his mind was concocting a nefarious plan.

Sober, Pasty was merely crotchety.

Drunk, he was mean.

He'd barely been able to contain himself as he listened to what that gal from Austin had to say to the sheriff, and vice versa. Lordy be, she was Celina Gaither's daughter, here to investigate her mama's killing.

Thanks to her, and a benevolent God he didn't even believe in, he had been given a golden opportunity to get revenge on Angus and that useless son of his.

He'd busted his ass on this place, worked for miserly wages, and gone without completely when Angus was so broke he couldn't pay him, but he'd stuck it out. He had gone through thick and thin with the bastard, and what thanks did he get? Fired and booted out of the bunkhouse that had been home for almost thirty years.

Well, fortune had finally smiled on Pasty Hickam. If he played his cards right, he could finally have some money for his "retirement fund." Ruby Faye, his current lover, was always after him about never having any money to spend on her. "What's the fun of having an affair if I don't get something out of it besides the thrill of cheating on my husband?"

she was fond of saying.

Monetary compensation, however, would be icing on the cake. Revenge would be sweet enough. It was past time that somebody kicked Angus where it hurt.

His impatience was at a near-frantic pitch by the time Reede finished examining his mare and left the stable. Pasty waited several moments to make sure he was alone before leaving the empty stall where he'd been curled up in the fresh hay.

He moved down the shadowed corridor toward the wall telephone.

He cursed a horse that nickered, spooking him. For all his meanness, courage had never been his strong suit.

He called Information first, then quickly punched out the digits of the number before he could forget them. Maybe she hadn't had time to get there, he thought anxiously after he'd asked the clerk to ring her room. But she answered on the fifth ring, a trifle breathlessly, like she might have come in while the phone was ringing.

"Miz Gaither?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"You don't need to know. I know you, and that's enough.''

"Who is this?" she demanded, with what Pasty thought was false bravado.

"I know all about your mama's murder."

Pasty cackled to himself, enjoying the sudden silence. He couldn't have got her attention any sooner or any better if he'd walked up and bit her on her tittie.

"I'm listening."

"I cain't talk now."

"Why not?"

"Cause I cain't, that's why."

It was risky to go into it with her now over the telephone.

Somebody might pick up another extension somewhere on the ranch and overhear him. That could prove to be unhealthy.

"I'll call you back."

"But--"

"I'll call you back."

He hung up, enjoying her anxiety. He remembered the way her mama used to sashay around, like she owned the world.

Many a summer day, he'd ogled her lustfully while she frolicked in the swimming pool with Junior and Reede. They'd put their hands all over her and call it roughhousing. But she was too good to even cast an eye in Pasty's direction. He hadn't minded that she got herself killed. He sure as hell hadn't interfered and stopped it when he could have.

He remembered that night and everything that had happened like it was yesterday. It was a secret that he'd kept all this time. Now it would be divulged. And it was gonna tickle him to death to tell that prosecutor all about it.

Eleven

"Are you waiting to give me a parking ticket?" Alex asked as she got out of her car and locked it. She was feeling chipper this morning, due to the unexpected telephone call she had received the night before. Maybe the caller was the eyewitness she'd been praying for. But it could have been a crank call, too, she realistically reminded herself.

If he was genuine, it would be a tragedy if he named Reede Lambert as Celina's murderer. He looked extremely attractive leaning against the parking meter. Actually, since the meter was listing to the right, it might have been leaning on Reede.

"I should change my mind since you're being a smart ass, but I'm such a nice guy . . ."He slipped a canvas hood over the meter. In blue letters it was labeled, city of purcell-- official car. "Take this with you when you leave and use

it from now on. It'll save you some change."

He turned and started up the sidewalk toward the courthouse.

Alex fell into step beside him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." They climbed the stairs and went inside. "Come down to my office," he said. "I've got something to show you."

Curious, she followed his lead. They hadn't parted on the best of terms the night before. Yet this morning, he was going out of his way to be hospitable. Deciding that was out of character, Alex couldn't help but be suspicious of his motives.

When they reached the lower level, everyone in the squad room stopped what he was doing to stare. The scene became as still as a photograph.

Reede gave the room one slow, meaningful sweep of his eyes. Activity was immediately resumed. He hadn't spoken a single word, but it was apparent that he wielded tremendous authority over his staff. They either feared or respected him.

Alex suspected the former.

Reede stepped around her, swung open a door to the left of the staircase, and moved aside so she could go in. She stepped into a small square, windowless, cheerless office. It was as cold as a meat locker. There was a desk so dented and scarred it looked like it had been made from scrap metal.

The particleboard top was ink-stained, and holes had been chipped out of it. Sitting on it were an overflowing ashtray and a black, no-frills telephone. Behind it was a swivel chair she had little confidence in.

"It's yours to use if you want it," Reede told her. "I'm sure you're accustomed to fancier office space."

"No. Actually, my cubicle in Austin is not much larger than this. Whom should I thank?"

"The city of Purcell."