Coming Home to You (13 page)

“I know about those. They all benefit children in some way.”

“That family’s funneling money right and left, and it’s got my radar hoppin’, but I’ll be damned if I can find even one instance where they’ve used any of it for personal gain. Why set up this second foundation? They’re both being funded from the same source. Why don’t they throw all the money into the original foundation and dole it out for their individual pet projects?”

Because, she suddenly realized, Bret wanted
his
name on the ranches. Could he really be that self-absorbed? Maybe he hadn’t changed at all.

But if
that
was true, why build the ranches in the first place?

They were missing something, something important, and until they had it, none of this would fall into place.

“I don’t get it, either,” Kate told Marcus, “but at least one mystery is solved. We now know why Bret lives the way he does. He controls a fortune, but he gives away every penny.”

“Yeah, great guy. I might be impressed if he’d earned it.”

B
RET GOT ANXIOUS
as lunchtime came and went, and Kate failed to return. He ate some of the lasagna she’d left in the oven, a double helping of cobbler, then hobbled back out to the porch.

She hadn’t returned by one o’clock. Or by two. She’d be hard-pressed to find any trouble in this town, so he had no reason to worry about her. Which meant
that he missed her. And that didn’t sit well with him at all.

The sound of a car on the dirt road made him look up. In a few seconds he could see flashes of white as Kate’s rental made its way along the pine-bordered drive to the yard. He put down the manuscript and used the crutches to push himself onto his feet as she stopped and got out. Sallie instinctively ran snarling toward the intruder. Kate froze, but before Bret could react, Sallie saw who it was, whimpered and crawled under the porch.

“What’s wrong with that crazy dog?” Kate asked, retrieving a stack of papers from the back seat. She closed the door, jogged up the walk and the steps. “She’s been acting weird all day.”

“She’s afraid of you.”

“Oh, sure.”

Bret opened the door for her and followed her in. Depositing the papers and herself on the couch, she took off her tennis shoes and folded her legs under her. Bret remained standing but leaned heavily on the crutches.

“Only one thing terrifies Sallie and that’s a bath. With you running around cleaning everything this morning, she thought she was next.”

Kate seemed to consider that.

“Oh, no,” he warned her. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Okay. No bath for Sallie. How’s the reading? Get much done while I was gone?”

“Some.”

“And do you like it?” Her eyes shone with hope. “Are you going to help me?”

“I’ll let you know when I finish.”

“When will that be? Are you purposely reading slowly just to aggravate me?”

He glanced at her pointedly.

“Okay, okay,” she said, “I promise I won’t bug you about it again. I’m eager to hear what you think, and I guess I’m a little nervous about you reading the parts where you’re mentioned. Some are a bit…harsh.”

“More than a bit.”

She grimaced. “I see you’ve gotten to them already.”

“I’ve hit a few.”

“And I can tell you’re ticked off. You’re grinding your teeth.”

“I’m not happy with them, but I’ll comment when I’ve read them all.”

“I’m sure you will.” She stood and gathered up her shoes. “Well, I think I’ll work while you read. The papers on Henry’s mother are here, too, if you want to take a look. The motions are all pretty routine, but it’s an interesting case. I did a little research online when I stopped at the motel to get my messages. If the boyfriend’s going to testify that she set the fire, she’d better plea bargain if she wants to make sure she doesn’t meet Big Yellow Mama.”

“What’s that?”

“That’s what they call the electric chair in this state.”

“You think they’ll execute her?”

“Well, it’s unlikely, but it could happen. You never know what a judge or a jury’s going to do. I wouldn’t want to gamble my life on what twelve strangers might recommend to a court, and with the
victim being a small child, she can’t hope for any public sympathy. While the odds are she won’t get a death sentence, the only way she can be sure is to make a plea in exchange for life without parole. Of course, there’s always the possibility she could go to trial and get acquitted.”

“Please tell me that can’t happen.”

“That can happen in any case, but I don’t think it’ll happen here. The boyfriend’s the key, though. If he comes through as promised, then I think everything will be okay. The case looks good from a prosecution standpoint.”

“Explain.”

“Well, even if she didn’t intend to kill the children when she committed arson, it won’t help her. As long as she started the fire, a child died in the fire and the state can prove it, her intent to kill or lack of intent isn’t an issue. By law, she committed capital murder.”

“So her pretending she didn’t know the kids were in the house won’t matter?”

“Right. As far as the prosecution’s case is concerned, it makes no difference.”

“I’d be satisfied to see her in jail for the rest of her life.”

“Me, too.” Kate headed for the kitchen, then stopped and turned. “Oh, before I forget…I went to the library and was reminded of something Miss Emma told me last week. Can I ask you about it? It has me stumped.”

“What?”

“She said you got the news of your brother’s death
while you were with her the next day. Why didn’t your mother contact you earlier?”

“You and Miss Emma must have gotten along pretty well. She sure has been talkative.”

“She likes me. She’s read all my books.”

“Just my luck.”

“So what happened? Why didn’t your family call you?”

“They tried to call Friday night, but I unplugged the phone when I got in from the concert. I was still angry at Jamie and sick emotionally. I thought he might call, and I couldn’t go through a repeat of our fight.”

“I figured there was a logical explanation.”

“I slept in Saturday morning and didn’t think about the phone still being unplugged when I went to town to return my overdue books. Some people came in while I was at the library and they’d heard the news on the radio. They started telling Miss Emma while I was standing at the counter. They didn’t realize they were talking about my brother.”

“That must have been horrible for you.”

His voice cracked when he said truthfully, “It was the worst day of my life.”

B
RET WENT BACK
to the porch to read while Kate worked at the kitchen table on her laptop. At six-thirty he finished, but he didn’t go inside immediately. He needed time to get himself under control. Her words were too powerful, her descriptions so vivid that for the past few hours he’d been transported to the past. And it wasn’t a friendly place for him.

As she’d said, she’d been harsh. Everything he
wished he could erase was there in damning detail: the bar fights, the inability to keep a job, the petty jealousies. They would overshadow the ranches. Pine Acres and the other good things he’d accomplished in the past few years would all be for nothing.

In the kitchen he found her engrossed in the words on the computer screen, her legs tucked under her in the chair and her hair pulled into a big knot on top of her head. Pencils stuck out of the knot at weird angles, and she wore glasses, which he’d never seen on her.

He watched for several minutes. Seeing Kate like this, he could imagine her as a little girl with a big brain, probably talking foreign policy while other children dressed dolls and had tea parties. That child was still very much a part of her, despite the toughened hide she’d developed as she grew. The vulnerability he’d seen in her expression when she’d asked what he thought of her manuscript pulled at his insides. He’d wanted to hold her, to protect the child hiding within.

God, that was a laughable notion. Him? The protector? Hell, he resembled the dragon more than he did the knight. During some of his worst times with a bottle, he’d probably breathed fire and devoured a few virgin sacrifices.

She paused in her typing and looked up, but her mind was still somewhere else and her gaze remained distant and unfocused.

“Hey,” he said, startling her.

She jumped, noticed him and smiled. “You scared me,” she said, quickly taking off the glasses. She
patted her hair, found the pencils and removed them, also untying the knot to let her hair fall free.

He hopped to the table on one foot and sat down across from her, hooking one forearm through the wooden crutches and using them as an armrest. “My eyes have given out for the day. How about we both knock off, have a leisurely supper and relax with a movie or some music?”

“You want me to stay after we eat?”

“Why not? Are you so crazy about that motel?”

“Hardly. Even the roaches refuse to stay there.”

“Then spend the evening with me.”

She glanced at the screen. “I usually work for a few hours when I leave here.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“I suppose so, but I normally don’t hang out with people I want to interview. Being too friendly with a source gives the appearance that I could be influenced.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, leaning forward. “Are you saying you
can
be influenced?”

“Of course not. I would never let my personal feelings color my professional judgment.”

“Then it’s a moot point. I’ll make the salad if you’ll get me the lettuce and tomatoes out of the refrigerator.” She didn’t move, so he appealed to her sympathy. “Well, go on. I’m injured and you’re supposed to be taking care of me.”

She sighed, got out of the chair and went to the refrigerator, but she threw him a look over her shoulder that said she was humoring him.

Nonetheless, an hour later they’d baked potatoes
and a green-bean casserole, fixed a salad and warmed the mountain oysters.

“Mmm, these oysters are wonderful,” she said, picking up another one with her fingers and taking a bite. “They look and taste a little like fried chicken livers.”

She chewed a few seconds, then in a provocative way that had Bret writhing in his chair, she moaned and sucked the juice off her fingertips.

“Some people believe mountain oysters are an aphrodisiac,” he said. “That’s what Aubrey believes, anyway, although I’ve never heard that before today. I guess it’s an old wives’ tale.”

“You know what they say about old wives’ tales, don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

She wiggled her eyebrows and said, “Old wives ought to know.”

They both laughed and she bit into another oyster.

Bret cleared his throat. “Aubrey’s also of the opinion that I’m lacking in female attention. I think he’s decided we’d be good together.”

Their eyes met and the unspoken question hung between them:
Could
they be good together?

“Ridiculous notion,” she said, looking away.

“Ridiculous,” he echoed.

“But it’s sweet of Aubrey to do this.”

Bret chuckled. Then the chuckle turned into a deep laugh as he thought about what “sweet” Aubrey had done.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“This wasn’t only an attempt to get us together. Aubrey saw it as a way to play a little practical joke.”
She helped herself to another oyster, and out of devilment he waited until she’d put it in her mouth and started to chew. “He lied to you about where mountain oysters come from. They aren’t really oysters or grown in ponds. They’re from bulls, the parts they snip off when they’re castrated.”

The chewing stopped abruptly, and disbelief, or maybe it was horror, replaced her look of enjoyment. Her mouth was too full to talk, so she grunted what he interpreted as an appeal to admit he was joking.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “That’s what they are. Some people around here consider them a delicacy.”

She politely covered her mouth with her napkin and spit the offending meat into it, then drank a full glass of tea in a few deep swallows.

“I can’t believe you sat there and let me eat these things and didn’t tell me.”

“You just got through saying how good they are.”

“That was before I knew what I was eating!” She picked up one of the pot holders she’d used earlier and threw it at him. It missed by a foot, sailing over his left shoulder and landing on the floor.

“It’s no different from eating fish eggs or snails in some fancy restaurant,” he told her.

“I suppose not, but those poor bulls.”

“Steers now,” he corrected.

“Sorry. Steers.”

“Do you know what sound a steer makes?”

“I don’t know. Moo?”

“Ouch!”

She broke down and laughed, and he told her another joke, then another, so he could hear the sound
again and again, and watch the way her eyes sparkled and the way her mouth crooked up and her nose wrinkled.

He waited until dessert, when the mood was more serious, to break his news. “I’m finished with your book. Overall, it’s very good, but there are errors.”

“Errors?” She seemed to slump. “Not serious ones, I hope.”

“Nothing we can’t fix.”

“We?”

“Since you won’t give up on it, I’d better help you make sure it’s accurate. Maybe I can even minimize the damage. You tell me what you need, and I’ll do my best to provide it.”

For a moment she didn’t respond, only stared at him.

“This is a new twist,” he said finally. “
You
speechless for all of—” he looked at his watch “—fifteen seconds.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She smiled widely. “Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.”

He was sure he would when he had to tell his family what he was doing. They wouldn’t understand the necessity of killing James Hayes a second time.

A
FTER SHE CLEANED UP
the dishes, Kate followed him to the living room. He had a wonderful collection of classic-rock record albums he’d inherited from his brother, and she flipped through the selections with awe.

“Three Dog Night. Lynyrd Skynyrd. Queen. Chicago. Jimi Hendrix. Oh, my goodnesss! Pink Floyd. Can we play these or are they only to look at?”