Best Kept Secrets (45 page)

He squirmed guiltily in his chair. "I tell you, Alex, you've got a bull by the horns here, and it almost got you killed tonight."

"Which should prove that I'm getting closer to the truth.

Someone's trying to bump me off to protect himself."

"I guess," he said morosely. "What have you got that you didn't have before you got here?"

"Firmly established motives, for one thing."

"Anything else?"

"A shortage of concrete alibis. Reede Lambert says he was with Nora Gail. She admitted that she would perjure herself if necessary to corroborate that, which leads me to believe that he wasn't with her all night. Junior hasn't produced any kind of alibi."

"What about Angus?"

"He claims he was at the ranch, but so was Celina. If Angus was there all night, he would have had ample opportunity."

"So would Gooney Bud, if he'd followed her out there,"

Pat said, "and that's what a good defense attorney will tell the jury. No one gets life on probable cause. You've still got nothing that places one of them in that stable with a scalpel in his hand."

"I was on my way to your office this afternoon to talk to you about that when I was run off the road."

"Talk to me about what?"

"The vet's scalpel. What happened to it?"

An expression of surprise came over his face. "You're the second person this week to ask me that."

Alex struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. "Who else asked you about it?''

"I did," Reede Lambert said from the doorway.

Thirty-eight

Alex's insides lifted weightlessly. She had dreaded the moment she would see him again. It was inevitable, of course, but she had hoped to appear unscathed by what had happened between them.

Lying on a hospital examination table, her hair clotted with blood, her hands painted with pumpkin-colored antiseptic, too weak and muzzy to sit up, didn't exactly convey the impression of invincibility she had desired.

"Hello, Sheriff Lambert. You'll be pleased to know that I took your advice and stopped looking over my shoulder for bogeymen."

Ignoring her, he said, "Hi, Pat. I just got off the radio with the deputy."

"Then you heard what happened?"

"My first thought was that Plummet was involved, but the deputy said her car was struck by an ME truck."

"That's right."

"ME encompasses a lot of companies. Just about anybody in the county could get access to one of those trucks."

"Including you," Alex suggested snidely.

Reede finally acknowledged her existence with a hard stare.

The D.A. looked at them uneasily. "Uh, where were you, Reede? Nobody could find you."

"I was out on horseback. Anybody at the ranch could tell you that."

"I had to ask," Pat said apologetically.

"I understand, but you ought to know that running somebody off the road isn't quite my style. Besides me, who do you think could have done it?" he asked Alex pointedly.

It was difficult for her to even conceive of the idea, much less speak it aloud. "Junior," she said quietly.

"Junior?" Reede laughed. "Why in hell?"

"I met with him this morning. He doesn't have an alibi for the night Celina was killed. He admits he was terribly angry." She glanced down. "I also have reason to believe he might be angry at me."

"Why?"

She glared up at him with as much defiance as she could muster. "He came to my room this morning." That's all she was going to supply him. He could draw his own conclusions.

His eyes narrowed fractionally, but he didn't ask what Junior had been doing in her room.

Either he didn't want to

know, or he didn't care. "Anybody else?" he asked. "Or have you narrowed it down to the two of us?"

"Possibly Angus. I saw him this afternoon, and we didn't part on the best of terms."

"The three of us again, huh? Do you believe we're to blame for everything that happens around here?"

"I don't believe anything. I base my suspicions on facts."

She was assailed by a wave of dizziness and nausea and had to close her eyes for a moment before going on. "I have another suspect in mind."

"Who?"

"Stacey Wallace."

Pat Chastain reacted like he'd been goosed. "Are you shittin' me?" He glanced toward the door to make certain it was closed. "God, please tell me I'm dreaming. You aren't going to publicly accuse her of anything, are you? Because if you're even thinking about it, I have to tell you right now, Alex, that you'll be on your own. I'm not sticking my neck out again."

"You haven't stuck your neck out for anything, yet!" Alex shouted, causing a blast of pain through her skull.

"Where would Stacey get access to an ME truck?" Reede asked.

"I don't have any solid facts," Alex said wearily. "It's just a hunch."

"Which is all you ever seem to have," Reede said. Alex gave him a menacing look, which she hoped packed more punch than she felt it did.

Pat intervened. "About Stacey, what do you base your allegations on?''

"She lied to me about where she was on the night of the murder." She related what Stacey had told her in the ladies'

room at the Horse and Gun Club. "I know she still loves Junior. I don't think I'd get an argument from anyone on that."

The two men exchanged a glance that signified agreement.

"She's like a mother hen to her father, and she doesn't want his reputation ruined. And," she added with a sigh, "she hates me for the same reason she hated Celina--Junior. She thinks I'm stealing his affection from her, just as my mother did."

Pat jingled the change in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Sounds logical when you put it that way, but I just can't imagine Stacey using physical force."

"And here lately, your guesses have been way off base, Counselor."

Alex struggled to a sitting position. "Let's go back to the scalpel." She was so dizzy she had to grip the edge of the table to remain upright. "When did Reede ask you about it, Pat?"

"If you have something to ask, ask me." Reede moved to stand directly in front of her. "I mentioned the scalpel to him a few days ago."

"Why?"

"Just like you, I wanted to know what happened to it."

' 'If you had located it before me, would you have destroyed it, or turned it over as evidence?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "The point is moot. It's no longer in the evidence room."

"You checked?"

"Damn right. I couldn't find a trace of it. It probably hasn't been there for years. Most likely, it was thrown out because the case was."

"Out of consideration to the Collins family, wouldn't someone have offered to give it back?"

"I have no answer for that."

"Was it ever dusted for fingerprints?"

"I took the liberty of asking Judge Wallace that."

"I'm sure you did, Sheriff. What did he say?"

"He said no."

"Why not?"

"The handle was bloody. Gooney Bud's prints were all over it. It was hardly necessary to dust it."

They regarded each other with so much animosity that Pat Chastain broke out in a sweat. "Well, we'd better give these people back their treatment room. Your car is trashed, Alex, so I'll drive you to the motel. Are you up to walking to the car, or should I call for a wheelchair?"

"I'll take her to the motel," Reede said, before Alex could respond to Pat's offer.

"Are you sure?" Pat felt obligated to inquire, though he was obviously relieved that Reede was taking her off his hands. "Since the sheriff has offered," she told Pat, "I'll let him drive me."

The D. A. scuttled out before either could change his mind.

Alex watched his rapid departure with derision. "It's no wonder crime is so prevalent in this county. The D.A. is as chicken-livered as they come."

"And the sheriff is corrupt."

"You took the words right out of my mouth." She slid off the edge of the examination table and braced herself against it long enough to get her balance. She tried to take a step, but swayed unsteadily. "The doctor gave me a painkiller.

I'm so woozy, maybe you'd better ask them for a wheelchair."

"Maybe you'd better check in for the night."

"I don't want to."

"Suit yourself."

He scooped her into his arms before she could protest and carried her out of the examination room. "My purse." She gestured weakly toward the check-in desk. Reede retrieved it. Then, with the emergency room staff enthralled by the sight, Reede carried her out and deposited her in the front seat of his Blazer.

She rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. "Where were you this afternoon?" she asked, once they were underway.

"I told you already."

"You were riding even after sundown?"

"I ran some errands."

"You couldn't be reached on your radio. Where were you, Reede?"

"Lots of places."

"Specifically."

"I was at Nora Gail's."

Alex was surprised at how much that hurt her. "Oh."

"I had to question the witnesses about that shooting."

"Then, you were working?"

"Among other things."

"You still sleep with her, don't you?"

"Sometimes."

She prayed that he would die a slow, painful death.

"Maybe Nora Gail dispatched one of her heavies to do me in," she said, "as a favor to you."

"Maybe. It wouldn't surprise me. If she doesn't like something, she doesn't hesitate to take care of it."

"She didn't like Celina," Alex said softly.

"No, she didn't. But I was with Nora Gail the night Celina died, remember?"

"That's what I'm told."

So, was Nora Gail another suspect for Celina's murder?

The thought made her head ache. She closed her eyes. When they arrived at the motel, she reached for the door handle.

Reede ordered her to wait and came around to assist her out.

With his left arm around her waist, lending support, they made a shuffling trip to the door.

Reede unlocked it and helped her to the bed. She lay down gratefully. "It's freezing in here," he said, rubbing his hands together as he looked for the thermostat.

"It always is when I first come in."

"I didn't notice it last night."

They glanced quickly at each other, then away. Again unable to cope, Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them, Reede was rummaging in the top drawer of the bureau opposite the bed.

"What are you looking for this time?"

"Something for you to sleep in."

"Any T-shirt. It doesn't matter which one."

He returned to the bed, gingerly sat down on the edge, and removed her boots. "Leave my socks," she told him. "My feet are cold."

"Can you sit up?"

She could by leaning heavily against his shoulder while he fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. The tiny round things were no bigger than pills, and were covered in the same fabric as her dress. There was a row of them that ran from neck to knee. He was viciously cursing them by the time he got to her waist.

He eased her back down on the pillow, pulled her arms from the tight long sleeves, and worked the dress over her hips and down her legs. Her slip didn't give him pause, but her bra did. Once he seemed to make up his mind about it, he unclasped it with businesslike efficiency and helped her slide the straps off her shoulders.

"I thought you only had a gash on the head and some scratches on your hands?" Evidently, he'd consulted the doctor.

"That's right."

"Then, what's all th--"

He stopped suddenly, realizing that the abrasions on her upper torso were whisker burns. The corner of his mouth twitched with a spasm of regret. She felt compelled to lay her hand against his cheek and reassure him that it was all right, that she hadn't minded having his hot, eager mouth at her breasts, his deft tongue stroking her nipples into stiff rosiness.

Of course she didn't. His dark frown stifled anything she might have said. "You're gonna have to sit up again," he told her curtly.

With a hand behind each shoulder, he pulled her into a sitting position again and propped her against the headboard.

He gathered the T-shirt up and tried to pull it over her head.

Alex winced the instant he set it against her hair.

"This isn't working," he muttered. Then, with a single, violent motion, he ripped the neck of the shirt wide enough to slip over her head without causing any pain.

When she lay back down, she touched the long tear in the fabric. "Thanks. This was one of my favorites."

"Sorry." He pulled the covers up to her chin and stood up. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes."

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

She nodded weakly. "Do you need anything before I go?

Water?"

"Okay. Put a glass of water on the nightstand, please."

When he returned to the side of the bed, carrying the glass of water, she had already fallen asleep. Reede stood above her. Her hair, fanned out over the pillow, had bloodstains in it. There was an unnatural wanness to her complexion. It made him sick at his stomach to think how close she'd come to serious injury or death.

He set the glass of water on the nightstand and gingerly lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Alex stirred, murmured unintelligibly, and extended her hand, as though reaching for something. Responding to that silent, subconscious appeal, Reede carefully covered her cut hands with his strong, callused ones.

He wouldn't have been surprised if her eyes had popped open and she had started rebuking him for taking her virginity.

How the hell could he have known?

And if I had known, he thought to himself, I would have done it anyway.

She didn't wake up. She only snuffled softly and trustingly curved her fingers over his knuckles. Good sense and impulse warred within him, but the fight didn't last long, and the outcome had been decided before his conscience raised its head.

He eased himself onto the bed, until he was stretched out full beside her, facing her, feeling her gentle, drug-induced breaths against his face.

He marveled over the delicate bone structure of her face, the shape of her mouth, the way her eyelashes lay upon her cheeks.