Best Kept Secrets (17 page)

"Get in here. I want to talk to you." Limping to favor his toe, he led his son back into his den. "Stoke up that fire, will ya?"

When the flames were licking fresh logs, Junior faced his father. "What is it? Not business, I hope. I'm taking an official day off," he said around a yawn, stretching like a sleek cat.

"Alex Gaither."

Junior pulled down his arms and frowned. "She was all fired up about that burial business when she came in, wasn't she? But you brought her around."

"I only told her the truth."

"You made it sound as convincing as a good lie."

"Will you be serious for once?" Angus barked.

Junior looked baffled. "I thought I was."

"You listen to me," Angus said sternly, aiming a finger at his son. "Only a damn fool would laugh off her determination to get to the bottom of this thing. Even if she is a good-looking woman, she means business. She looks soft, but she isn't. She's tough as boot leather when it comes to this murder case."

"I'm aware of that," Junior said sulkily.

"Ask Joe Wallace if you don't believe it."

"I do. I just find it hard to take her seriously when she looks as good as she does."

"You do, huh? Well, I don't see you doing anything about that, either."

"I asked her out here for drinks, and she came."

"What have you done since then?"

"What do you want me to do? Court her like some snot-nosed kid? Go the flowers and chocolates route?"

"Yes, goddammit!"

"She'd never fall for that," Junior snorted, "even if I could do it with a straight face."

"You listen to me, boy. You've got life good. You drive a new Jag every year, wear a big, diamond-studded Rolex, go skiing, deep-sea fishing, and to the horseraces whenever you feel like it, and you gamble big.

"But if this little lady has her way, she'll bust us. Yeah,"

he said, reading his son's frown correctly, "you might have to go out and get a job for once in your life."

Angus reined in his temper and continued in a more conciliatory tone. "She hasn't got a prayer of turning up any evidence. I think she knows that. She's throwing darts into the dark and hoping to hit one of us in the ass. Sooner or later, hopefully, her arm'll get tired."

Junior chewed on his lip and said glumly, "She probably wants a court trial as much as we want a racetrack. That'd be a real coup for her. It'd launch her career."

"Damn," Angus grumbled. "You know how I feel about that. I don't like all this career bullshit. Women don't belong in courtrooms."

"Where would you keep them? In bedrooms?"

"Nothing wrong with that."

Junior laughed shortly. "You won't get an argument from me, but I imagine you would from millions of working women."

"Alex might not be working for long. It wouldn't surprise me if her career was riding on the outcome of this investigation."

"How do you mean?"

"I know all about Greg Harper. He's ambitious, sees himself in the attorney general's seat. He likes his people to win convictions. Now, if I've got him figured right, he's letting Alex do this because he smells blood, our blood. If we got our tails in a crack over this murder business, he'd get his in the headlines and gloat every step of the way because there's no love lost between him and the governor. The governor's

nose would be rubbed in shit and so would the racing commission's.

"On the other hand, if Alex fails to smoke out any skeletons in our closet, Harper'll have to eat crow. Rather than do that, he'll boot Alex out. And we'll be there with open arms to catch her when she falls," he said, jabbing the air for emphasis.

"I see you've got it all worked out," Junior remarked dryly.

Angus made a grunting sound. "Damn right I do. One of us better be concentrating on more than the fine way she fills out a sweater."

"I thought that's what you wanted me to do."

"You gotta do more than gawk and lust from afar. A love affair would be the best thing that could happen to Alex."

"How do you know she's not involved in one?"

"Because unlike you, I don't leave things to chance. I made it my business to find out. I've had her checked out."

"You cagey old bastard," Junior whispered with grudging admiration.

' 'Humph. You gotta know what cards the other guy's holding, son, or it does you no good to have a winning hand."

While the fire in the grate popped cheerfully, Junior contemplated all that Angus had said. Then, focusing a narrow gaze on his father, he asked, "Where would you have this love affair lead? To marriage?"

Angus slapped Junior's knee and chortled. "Would that be so bad?"

"Would you approve?"

"Why not?"

Junior wasn't sharing the laugh. He moved to the fire, away from his father's touch and conniving smile. Absently, he poked at the burning logs.

"I'm surprised," he said softly. "You didn't think Celina would make a suitable wife for me. I remember the ruckus you raised when I told you I wanted to marry her."

"You were eighteen then, boy!" Angus shouted. "Celina was a widow with a baby."

"Yes. Alex. And look how fine she turned out. She could have been my stepdaughter."

Angus's brows drew together over the bridge of his nose.

They were a dependable gauge of his temper. The steeper the vee, the angrier he was. "There were other considerations."

Junior spun around. "Like what?"

"That was twenty-five years ago, another time, another person. Alex isn't her mother. She's got more beauty, and a hell of a lot more brains. If you were half the man you're supposed to be--if, for once, you'd think with your head instead of your pecker--you'd see how valuable it'd be to have her standing by your side."

Junior blushed with anger. "I can see all that. I just wanted to make damn certain before I started a courtship that you would approve of it this time. Whether you want to believe it or not, I loved Celina. And if I start romancing Alex, I might just fall in love with her, too. For real. Not for you, not for the corporation, but for myself."

He stamped toward the door. Angus called his name sharply. Out of habit, Junior stopped and turned around.

"You resent this lecture, don't you, boy?"

"Yes," he stormed. "I'm a grown man, not a boy. I don't need your coaching. I know how to handle Alex, or any other woman you can name."

"Oh, you do?" Angus asked silkily.

"Yeah, I do."

"Then why did Alex leave you today and go off with Reede?"

Upstairs, Sarah Jo eavesdropped on the raging conversation.

When Junior slunk into the living room and she heard the clatter of glassware, she silently closed the door to her sanctum and leaned back against it. Her chest rose and fell with a heavy, despairing sigh.

It was happening again.

There seemed to be no escaping this nightmare. Junior was going to have his heart broken again, this time by Celina's daughter because she would come between Junior and his father and his best friend. History was repeating itself. The house was in an uproar, and all because of that girl.

Sarah Jo knew she wouldn't be able to stand it. No, she was quite sure she wouldn't. The first time, she had failed to protect Junior from heartache. She wouldn't be able to protect him this time, either.

And that broke her heart.

Fifteen

She'd had every opportunity to be mugged, raped, or murdered, or any combination thereof, in the Last Chance. Not to mention the chances she'd taken on the roads there and

back. Luckily, she had left unscathed, except for her riled temper.

Entering her motel room, Alex slung her handbag and coat in the chair, furious with herself for chasing after what was obviously a red herring. Greg Harper would have a field day if he ever found out she'd been so gullible.

That afternoon, she had called him. He wasn't impressed with her findings so far, and made another pitch for her to return to Austin and reconcile herself to the past. She had held him to the time he'd allotted her.

His disfavor with her lack of results was one reason she had put so much stock in her clandestine meeting tonight.

Greg would feel different if she could produce an eyewitness to the murder.

She should have known the instant she pulled into the parking lot of the bar that it didn't hold much promise. Three bulbs were missing from the Texas lone star that blinked off and on above the door. She had hesitated to even go inside the place.

Every head in the room had turned. The men were a rough bunch. They were drawn to her like coyotes to fresh meat.

The women looked even rougher, and glowered at her with the blatant unfriendliness of potential rivals. She was tempted to turn and run, but remembering what had taken her there, she walked boldly to the bar.

"White wine, please."

That generated a snicker from everybody within hearing distance. Taking her glass with her, she moved to a booth and slid into the bench that would afford her the best view of the room. Sipping self-consciously, she let her gaze move from one face to another, trying to ascertain which belonged to the voice on the telephone.

Then, to her horror, she realized that some of the men took her close scrutiny of them as encouragement. From then on, she confined her stares to the bottom of her wine glass, wishing that her informant would hurry up and join her and end the suspense. On the other hand, she dreaded meeting him.

If he were among this crowd, she didn't think he'd be someone she would enjoy getting to know.

Billiard balls clacked and clattered. She got an overdose of George Strait and Waylon Jennings. She inhaled clouds of smoke, even though she wasn't smoking. And still she sat alone.

Finally, a man who had been seated at the bar when she had come in slid off his stool and moved in the general direction of her booth. He took his own sweet time, stopping at the jukebox to make his selections and pausing beside the pool table to heckle one of the players about a bad shot.

His wandering seemed aimless and casual, but his gaze kept drifting toward her. Her midsection tightened. Instinctively, she knew that his final destination would be her booth.

It was. He propped his hip against the back of the padded bench across the table from her and smiled down as he tilted a long-neck beer bottle to his lips. "You waitin' for somebody?"

His voice sounded different, but then, both times he'd called her, he'd been whispering. "You know I am," she replied in a cold undertone. "Why'd you take so long to come over?"

"I was building up my courage," he said, slurping another draft of beer. "Now that I'm here, wanna dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yeah, dance. You know, a one an' a two." He used the spout of his beer bottle to push up the brim of his cowboy hat. His eyes slithered over her.

Her reaction was negative and chilling. "I thought you wanted to talk."

He seemed momentarily nonplussed, then gave her a slow, sly grin. "We can talk all you want to, honey." He set his bottle of beer on the table and extended his hand down to her. "My truck's right outside."

He was just a cowboy on the make! Alex didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Hastily gathering up her things, she headed for the door. "Hey, wait a minute. Where're you goin'?"

She left him and everybody else at the Last Chance wondering.

Now, pacing the worn carpet of her motel room,

she berated herself for being such a fool. She wouldn't put it past Reede or one of the Mintons to pay an out-of-work cowboy a few bucks to call her and deliberately throw her off track.

She was still stewing several minutes later when her telephone rang. She yanked it up. "Hello."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" the familiar voice wheezed.

"Where were you?" she shouted. "I waited in that sleazy joint for almost an hour."

"Was the sheriff there the whole time?"

"What are you talking about? Reede wasn't there."

"Look, lady, I know what I seen. I got there just as you was goin' inside. Reede Lambert was tailin' you. Oh, he cruised on past, but made a U-turn down the road a piece. I didn't even stop. It wouldn't do at all for Lambert to see us talkin' together."

"Reede was following me?"

"Damn right. I didn't count on no law, especially Lambert, breathin' down my neck when I called you. He's thicker'n thieves with the Mintons. I've a good mind to call off this whole goddamn thing."

"No, no," Alex said quickly. "I didn't know Reede was anywhere around. We'll meet someplace else. Next time, I'll be certain he's not trailing me."

"Well . . ."

"On the other hand, if what you've got to tell me isn't all that important . . ."

"I seen who done it, lady."

"Then where can we meet? And when?"

He named another bar, which sounded even more disreputable than the Last Chance. "Don't go inside this time.

There'll be a red pickup parked on the north side of the building. I'll be in it."

"I'll be there, Mr.-- Uh, can't you at least tell me your name?"

"Nope."

He hung up. Alex cursed. She bounced off the bed and went to the window, throwing open the drapes with the flourish of the bullfighter in the terrible artwork.

Feeling foolish, she saw that the only car near her room was her own. The familiar black-and-white Blazer was nowhere to be seen. She closed the drapes, went back to the phone, and angrily punched out another number. She was so furious at Reede for scaring off an eyewitness, she was shaking.

"Sheriffs office."

"I want to speak to Sheriff Lambert."

"He's already left for the day," she was informed. "Is it an emergency?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"At home, I reckon."

"What's that number, please?"

"We aren't s'pposed to give it out."

"This is Ms. Gaither. I must speak with Sheriff Lambert tonight. It's very important. If necessary, I could track him through the Mintons, but I hate to disturb them."

Dropping important names worked miracles. She was given the telephone number without further delay. She intended to put an immediate halt to the sheriffs sneaky surveillance.