Best Kept Secrets by Sandra Brown

Thirty-one
 
 
 
The waitress set down two chicken salads served in fresh, hollowed-out pineapples and garnished with sprigs of mint.
She asked Junior Minton if he and his guest needed refills on iced tea.
"We're fine for now, thanks," he said, flashing her his hundred-watt smile.
The country club's dining room offered a view of the golf course. It was one of the few rooms in Purcell County that didn't reek of Texana. The soothing pastel decor would have fit in anywhere. Junior and Alex were among a small number of luncheon diners.
She applied her fork to an almond sliver. "This is almost too pretty to eat. It beats the B & B Cafe's blue-plate special all to heck," she told him as she munched on the nut. "I'm sure if I ever saw the inside of the kitchen, I'd never eat there. It's probably crawling with roaches."
"Naw, they chicken-fry them and serve them as appetizers."
Junior smiled. "Do you eat there often?"
"Often enough. I've had gravy, which comes on everything, and chili up to here."
"Then, since you refused to go out with me last night, I'm glad I insisted on lunch today. I've frequently had to rescue ladies who work downtown from the high-calorie clutches of the B & B. The menu is hazardous to their waistlines."
"Not that this is much more slenderizing," she said, tasting the rich, creamy salad dressing.
"You don't need to worry about that. You're as slender as your mother."
Alex rested her fork on the edge of her plate. "Even after having me?"
Junior's blond head was bent over his plate. He raised it, noticed her earnest curiosity, and blotted his mouth on the stiff linen napkin before answering. "From the back you'd be taken for twins, except that your hair is darker and has more red in it."
"That's what Reede said."
"Really? When?"
His smile faltered. The question had been posed a little too casually to be taken that way. A telltale crease formed between his brows.
"Soon after we met."
"Ah." The furrow between his brows smoothed out.
Alex didn't want to think about Reede. When she was with him, the practical, methodical, professional detachment she prided herself on disappeared. Pragmatism gave way to emotionalism.

One minute she was accusing him of first-degree murder, the next, kissing him madly and wishing for more. He was dangerous, not only from her viewpoint as a prosecutor, but as a woman. Both facets of her, one as vulnerable as the other, suffered under his assault.
"Junior," she said, after they'd finished eating, "why couldn't Reede forgive Celina for having me? Was his pride that badly damaged?"
He was staring out the window at the golf greens. When he felt her eyes on him, he looked at her sadly. "I'm disappointed."
"About what?"
"I thought--hoped--that you accepted my invitation to lunch because you wanted to see me." He let out a discouraged breath. "But you just want to talk about Reede."
"Not Reede, Celina. My mother."
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "It's okay. I'm used to it. Celina used to call me and talk about Reede all the time."
' 'What did she say when she called and talked about him?''
Junior propped his shoulder against the window and began to play with his necktie, idly pulling it through his fingers.
"I usually heard how wonderful he was. You know, Reede this, Reede that. After your father got killed in the war, and she was available again, she was afraid that she'd never get Reede back."
"She didn't."
"No."
"Surely, she didn't expect him to be glad about Al Gaither and me."
"No, she knew better than that. Neither of us had wanted her to go away for the summer, but there wasn't much we could do about it once she'd made her mind up," Junior replied. "She went. She was there. We were here, three-hundred-plus miles away. One night, Reede decided to borrow a plane and fly us there to bring her back.
"That son of a bitch had convinced me that he could get us there and back safely before anybody realized the plane was missing. The only person who would notice would be Moe Blakely, and in his book, Reede could do no wrong."
"My God, you didn't do it?"
"No, not then. One of the stable hands--Pasty Hickam, in fact--overheard us plotting it and told Dad. He gave us hell and threatened  us within an inch of our lives not to ever try something that crazy. He knew all  about Celina trying to make Reede jealous and advised us to let her have her fun. He assured us that she would eventually tire of it and come home, and everything would be just like it had been before."
"But Angus was wrong. When mother came back to Purcell, she was pregnant with me. Nothing was ever the same."
She toyed with her iced tea spoon for a long, silent while.
"How much do you know about my father, Junior?"
"Not much. How about you?"
She raised her shoulders in a small shrug. "Only that his name was Albert Gaither, that he was from a coal-mining town in West Virginia, that he was sent to Vietnam within weeks of his marriage to my mother, and that he stepped on a land mine and died months before I was born."
"I didn't even know where he came from," Junior told her regretfully.
"When I got old enough, I thought about going to West Virginia and looking up his family, but I decided against it. They never made any attempt to contact me, so I felt it best to leave it alone. His remains were shipped to them and interred there. I'm not even certain if my mother attended his funeral."
"She didn't. She wanted to, but Mrs. Graham refused to give her the money to make the trip. Dad offered to pay her way, but Mrs. Graham wouldn't hear of that, either."
"She let Angus pay for Mother's funeral."
"I guess she thought that was different, somehow."
"Al Gaither wasn't any more to blame for the hasty marriage than Mother."
"Maybe he was," Junior argued. "A soldier going off to war, that kind of thing. Celina was a pretty girl out to prove her allure."
"Because Reede wouldn't sleep with her."
"He told you about that, huh?"
Alex nodded.
"Yeah, well, some of the girls he did sleep with flaunted it in Celina's face. She was out to prove she was woman enough to snare a man. Gaither no doubt took advantage of that.
"To your grandma, his name was a dirty word. Because of him, your mother missed her senior year of high school. That didn't go down too well with your grandma, either. No, she had a real ax to grind with Mr. Gaither."
"I wish she had at least saved a picture of him. She had thousands of pictures of Celina, but not a single one of my father."
"To Mrs. Graham, he probably represented evil, you know, the thing that changed Celina's life forever. And for the worse."
"Yes," she said, thinking that Junior's words could apply to how her grandmother felt about her, too. "I don't even have a face to associate with the name. Nothing."
"Jesus, Alex, that must be rough."
"Sometimes, I think I just sprang up out of the ground."
In an effort to lighten the mood, she said, "Maybe I was the first Cabbage Patch kid."
"No," Junior said, reaching for her hand again, "you had a mother, and she was beautiful."
"Was she?"
"Ask anybody."
"Was she beautiful inside as well as out?"
His brows drew together slightly. "As much as anyone is. She was human. She had faults as well as virtues."
"Did she love me, Junior?"
"Love you? Hell, yes. She thought you were the most terrific baby ever conceived."
Basking in the glow of his words, Alex left the country club with him. As he held open the passenger door of his Jag, he stepped close to her and laid his hand along her cheek.
"Do you have to go back to that stuffy old courthouse this afternoon?"
"I'm afraid so. I have work to do."
"It's a gorgeous day."
She pointed at the sky. "You liar. It looks like it's about to rain--or snow."
He bent his head and kissed her quickly. Leaving his lips in place, he whispered, "Then an even more pleasurable way of passing time indoors comes immediately to mind."
He kissed her more firmly, and expertly parted her lips.
But when his tongue touched hers, she recoiled. "No, Junior.'' She was angered by the impropriety of his kiss and shocked by its failure to stir her sensually.
His kiss didn't cause her veins to expand and her blood to pump through them with a new, feverish beat. It didn't cause her womb to contract with a craving so severe she didn't think it could ever be appeased. It didn't make her think that, God, if he didn't become a part of her, she was going to die.
About all Junior's kiss did was alert her to the fact that he had misinterpreted her friendship. Unless she stopped it now, some dangerous groundwork, disturbingly reminiscent of the past, would be laid.
She eased her head back. "I need to work, Junior. And I'm sure you've got work to do, too.'' He mumbled profanely, but conceded with good humor.
It was as he stepped back so she could get into the car that they saw the Blazer. It had crept up on them, and was now only a few yards beyond the hood ornament of the Jag.
The driver, whom they could see through the windshield, had his hands folded over the steering wheel and was watching them from behind opaque aviator glasses. He was sitting dangerously still and unsmiling.
Reede pushed open the door and stepped to the ground.
"I've been looking for you, Alex. Somebody told me you'd left the courthouse with Junior, so I played a hunch and came here."
"What for?" Junior asked touchily, laying his arm across Alex's shoulders.
"We've located Fergus Plummet. One of the deputies is bringing him in now."
"And that gives you the right to interfere with our date?"
"I don't give a shit about your date," Reede said, his lips barely moving. "She said she wanted to be there when I questioned Plummet."
"Will both of you please stop talking about me as though I'm not here?" The tension that had arisen between the two of them because of her was untenable. It resembled the triangle between them and her mother too well. She shrugged off Junior's arm. "He's right, Junior. I want to hear what Plummet has to say for himself."
"Now?" he whined.
"I'm sorry."
"I'll come with you," he said brightly.
"This is official. Duty calls, and I'm on the state payroll. Thank you for lunch."
"You're welcome." He gave her a soft peck on the cheek and said, loud enough for Reede to hear, "I'll call you later."
'"Bye." She rushed toward the Blazer and climbed in, though her high heels and slender skirt posed some problems.
Reede pretended to be impervious to her difficulties. He sat behind the steering wheel glowering at Junior while Junior glowered right back. The second her bottom landed in the seat, Reede floored the accelerator.
When they reached the highway, he swung onto the macadam with enough impetus to plaster Alex against the passenger door. She gritted her teeth and hung on until he straightened out his turn and they were speeding along the center stripe.
"Have a nice lunch?"
"Very," she answered crisply.
"Good."
"Are you upset because you saw Junior kissing me?"
 
"Hell, no. Why should I be?"
"Exactly."
Secretly, she was glad he had arrived when he had. The interruption had relieved her of having to turn Junior down flat. Feeling a trifle guilty over that, and trying to set things back on a professional track with Reede, she asked, "Where did they find Plummet?"
"Right where I suspected. He was hiding inside one of his deacons' houses. He came up for air, and one of my deputies nabbed him."
"Did he come peaceably?"
"He's no idiot. He's only being questioned. We really can't make a formal arrest yet. They should beat us to the courthouse by just a few minutes."
 
As moods went, Junior was in the black hole of Calcutta.
There was no peace to be found anywhere, though his Jag streaked through the streets of town at an indiscriminate speed in pursuit of it.
Angus was on his back. His mother was on his back because Angus was. Last night she had sternly commissioned him to get off his ass--not in those terms, exactly--and do something that would make his father proud.
Sarah Jo found the idea of having Reede Lambert back at ME untenable and, using a harsher tone than she had ever used with him before, told her son that it simply must never happen.
"Angus wants you, not Reede."
"Then, why did he offer him a job?"
"To wake you up, darling. He's only using Reede as a subtle threat."
Junior promised her he'd do his best. But when he had called Alex and asked her to have dinner with him, she'd turned him down, saying she had a headache. She did agree to meet him for lunch today. And then, when everything had been going great, Reede had showed up and snatched her out of his grasp again.
"Business, my ass," he muttered as he pulled into the wide, circular driveway of the judge's home and brought the car to a jarring halt. He jumped the flower bed and landed a hard blow on the front door with his fist.
Stacey didn't get to the door quite fast enough to suit him.
He was practically frothing at the mouth by the time she answered.
"Junior!" she exclaimed gladly when she saw him. "This is a sur--"
"Shut up. Just shut up." He slammed the door behind him, rattling every piece of china and glassware in the house.
Taking Stacey by both arms, he backed her into the wall of the foyer and covered her stunned, gaping mouth with his.
He kissed her roughly while his hands attacked the buttons on her blouse. They scattered like BBs across the marble floor when he got too impatient to work them out of their holes and ripped them open.
"Junior," she gasped, "what--"
"I gotta have you, Stacey," he mumbled, plunging his face between her breasts. "Please, don't give me a hard time about it. Everybody gives me a hard time about everything. Just shut up and let me **** you."
He flipped up her skirt and slip, worked down her panty hose, and then opened his trousers. He rammed into her dryly, and she cried out.
He was causing her pain. While he knew it and hated himself for hurting her when she didn't deserve it, he was glad, in a dark part of his soul, that somebody else besides himself was suffering. Why should he be the only person in the whole freaking world to be miserable?
Everybody picked on him. It was time he got to pick on somebody. Stacey was available . . . and he knew he could get away with it.
Her dismay, her debasement made him feel powerful. His release came from subjugating her, not from the sex itself.
When it was over, he collapsed against the wall, sandwiching her between himself and the floral wallpaper.
He regained his breath and his reason gradually. He eased away from her and stroked her cheek. "Stacey?" Slowly, she opened her eyes. He gave her a disarming smile and a soft kiss. Realizing that she was dressed up, he asked, "Did I keep you from going somewhere?"
"A meeting at church."
The dimple in his cheek grew deeper as his smile widened.
Playfully, he tweaked an exposed breast. "You don't look much like going to a church meeting now."
As he knew she would, she responded to his caresses, which got bolder. "Junior," she whimpered breathlessly when he pushed her blouse off her shoulders, yanked down her brassiere, and fastened his mouth to her raised nipple.
She chanted his name, interspersing it with avowals of love. He moved his head down her body, pushing aside clothing as he went.
"Junior?" she asked timorously when he dropped to his knees.
He smiled up at her beguilingly as he slipped his thumbs between the lips of her sex and spread them apart.
"Junior! Don't. No. I can't. You . . . can't."
"Yes, I can, honey. What's more, you're just dying for me to." He licked her lightly, enjoying the taste of himself on her, the musky smell of aroused female, her uneasiness.
"Still want to go to church?" he whispered, nuzzling her with his mouth. "Huh, Stacey?"
When her orgasmic sobs echoed off the walls of the empty house, he pulled her down to straddle him as he lay on his back on the cold marble floor. He emptied himself into her again. Afterward, when she was curled against him like a rag doll, he felt better than he had in weeks.
When he moved to sit up, Stacey clung to him. "Don't go"
"Hey, Stacey," he said teasingly, "look what a mess I've made of you. You'll have to spruce up, or the judge will know the mischief you've been into while he was at work today."
He stood, readjusted his clothing, smoothed back his hair.
"Besides, I've got work to do myself. If I stay a minute longer, I'll cart you off to bed and waste the entire afternoon there. Not that it would be a waste, mind you."
"Are you coming back?" she asked plaintively as she trailed him to the door, covering her nakedness as best she could.
"Of course."
"When?"
He frowned, but concealed it from her by turning to open the front door. "I'm not sure. But after the other night and today, you don't think I could stay away, do you?"
"Oh, Junior, I love you so much."
He cupped her face and kissed her lips. "I love you, too."
Stacey closed the door behind him. Mechanically, she headed upstairs, where she bathed her aching body in warm water and scented bubble bath. Tomorrow, she'd likely be black and blue. She would cherish each bruise.
Junior loved her! He had said so. Maybe after all this time, he was finally growing up. Maybe he had come to his senses, and realized what was good for him. Maybe, at long last, he had expunged Celina from his heart.
But then Stacey remembered Alex, and the calf eyes Junior had had for her at the Horse and Gun Club. She recalled how closely he'd held her while they twirled around the dance floor, laughing together. Stacey's insides turned rancid with jealousy.
Just like her mother, Alex was what stood between her and total happiness with the man she loved.

Thirty-two
 
 

As soon as Reede and Alex arrived at the courthouse, they went into the interrogation room, followed by a court reporter.
Fergus Plummet was seated at a square, wooden table. His head was bowed in prayer over an open Bible, his hands clasped tightly together.
Mrs. Plummet was there, too. Her head was also bowed, but when they came in, she jumped and looked up at them like a startled deer. As before, her face was void of makeup and her hair was drawn back into a severe knot on the back of her head. The clothes she wore were drab and shapeless.
"Hello, Mrs. Plummet," Reede said politely.
"Hello, Sheriff." If Alex hadn't seen her lips moving, she wouldn't have been certain the woman had spoken. She appeared to be scared out of her wits. Her fingers were knotted together in her lap. She was squeezing them so tightly, they had turned bluish-white.
"Are you okay?" Reede asked her in that same kind tone.
She bobbed her head and glanced fearfully toward her husband, who was still fervently praying. "You're entitled to have a lawyer present when I and Miss Gaither question you.''
Before Mrs. Plummet could offer a reply, Fergus concluded his prayer on a resounding, "Ah-men," and raised his head.
He fixed a fanatical stare on Reede. "We've got the best lawyer on our side. I will get my counsel from the Lord God, now and through eternity."
 
"Fine," Reede said drolly, "but I'm putting it on the record that you waived the right to have an attorney present during questioning."
Plummet's eyes snapped to Alex.' 'What is the harlot doing here? I'll not have her in the presence of my sainted wife."
"Neither you nor your sainted wife have anything to say about it. Sit down, Alex."
At Reede's directive, she lowered herself into the nearest chair. She was grateful for the chance to sit down. Fergus Plummet was a prejudicial, ill-informed fanatic. He should have cut a comic figure, but he gave her the creeps.
Reede straddled a chair backwards and stared at the preacher across the table. He opened a file one of his deputies had prepared.
"What were you doing last Wednesday night?"
Plummet closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, as though he were listening to a secret voice. "I can answer that," he told them when he opened his eyes seconds later.
"I was conducting Wednesday-night services at my church. We prayed for the deliverance of this town, for the souls of those who would be corrupted, and for those individuals who, heedless of the Lord's will, would corrupt the innocent."
Reede affected nonchalance. "Please keep your answers simple. I don't want this to take all afternoon. What time is prayer meeting?"
Plummet went through the listening act again. "Not relevant."
"Sure it is," Reede drawled. "I might want to attend sometime."
That elicited a giggle from Mrs. Plummet. None of them was more surprised than she by her spontaneous outburst. Mortified, she looked at her husband, who glared at her in reproof.
"What time was prayer meeting over?" Reede repeated in a voice that said he'd tired of the game and wasn't going to be a good sport any longer.
Plummet continued to give his wife a condemning stare.
She lowered her head in shame. Reede reached across the table and yanked Plummet's chin around.

"Stop looking at her like she's a turd floating in a punch bowl. Answer me. And don't give me any more bullshit, either."
Plummet closed his eyes, shuddering slightly, greatly put-upon.
"God, close my ears to the foul language of your adversary, and deliver me from the presence of these wicked ones."
"He'd better send a whole flock of angels down to save you fast, brother. Unless you start answering my questions, I'm gonna slam your ass in jail."
That broke through Plummet's sanctimonious veneer. His eyes popped open. "On what charge?"
"The feds would like to start with arson."
Alex looked quickly at Reede. He was bluffing. Racehorses were considered interstate commerce, and therefore, would come under the Treasury Department's jurisdiction. But government agents didn't usually get involved in an arson case unless damage amounted to more than fifty thousand dollars.
Plummet didn't fall for the bluff, either.
"That's ridiculous. Arson? The only fire I've started is in the hearts of my believers."
"'If that's so, then account for your time from last Wednesday night until today, when Deputy Cappell spotted you slinking out the back door of that house. Where'd you go after prayer meeting let out?"
Plummet laid a finger against his cheek, feigning hard concentration. "I believe that was the night I visited one of our sick brothers."
"He can vouch for you?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"Let me guess--he died."
Plummet frowned at the sheriffs sarcasm. "No, but while I was in attendance, the poor soul was delirious with fever. He won't remember a thing." He made a tsk-ing sound. "He was very ill. His family, of course, could attest to my presence at his bedside. We prayed for him through the night."
Reede's incisive eyes sliced toward Wanda Plummet. She guiltily averted her head. Reede then swiveled around and looked at Alex. His expression said that he was getting about as far as he had expected to. When he turned back around, he asked abruptly, "Do you know where the Minton ranch is?"
"Of course."
"Did you go there last Wednesday night?"
"No."
"Did you send someone out there last Wednesday night?"
"No."
"Members of your congregation? The believers whose hearts you had stoked a fire in during prayer meeting?"
"Certainly not."
"Didn't you go out there and vandalize the place, paint on the walls, shovel shit into the drinking troughs, break windows?"
"My counselor says I don't have to answer any more questions." He folded his arms across his chest.
"Because you might incriminate yourself?"
"No!"
"You're lying, Plummet."
' 'God is on my side.'' He worked his eyes like the focusing lens of a camera, making them wide, pulling them narrow.
" 'If God is on our side,' " he quoted theatrically, " 'then who can be against us?' "
"He won't be on your side for long," Reede whispered threateningly. Leaving his chair, he circled the table and bent over Plummet. "God doesn't favor liars."
"Our Father, who art in heaven--"
"Come clean, Plummet."
"--hallowed be thy name. Thy--"
"Who'd you send out there to trash the Minton ranch?"
"--kingdom come, thy--"
"You did send members of your congregation, though, didn't you? You're too much of a gutless coward to go yourself."
The praying ceased abruptly. The preacher's breathing became choppy and light. Reede had struck a chord. Knowing that, he pressed on. "Did you lead your ratty little army out there, or did you just furnish the spray paint?"
Reede had told Alex earlier that he'd made the rounds of variety and hardware stores, checking out places where spray paint was sold. So far, none of the merchants recalled a significant demand for it on a single day.
Plummet was probably too clever to have bought it all in one store; perhaps he'd gone out of town. Reede couldn't hold him indefinitely because he had no evidence, but Plummet might be fooled into thinking he'd left behind an incriminating clue.
For the second time, however, he called Reede's bluff.
Having composed himself, he stared straight ahead and said, "I can't imagine what you're talking about, Sheriff Lambert."
"Let's try this again," Reede said with a heavy sigh.
"Look, Plummet, we--Miss Gaither and I--know you're guilty as hell. You all but told her to get tough with the sinners, or else. Wasn't the vandalism out at the Minton ranch the or else!"
Plummet said nothing.
Reede took another tack. "Isn't confession supposed to be good for the soul? Give your soul a break, Plummet. Confess. Your wife can go home to your kids, and I'll be able to take off early today."
The preacher remained silent.
Reede began at the top and methodically worked down his list of questions again, hoping to trap Plummet in a lie.
Several times, Reede asked Alex if she wanted to question him, but she declined. She had no more to link him to the crime than Reede had.
He got nowhere. The preacher's story never changed. Reede didn't even trip him up. At the conclusion of another exhaustive round of questions, Plummet grinned up at him guilelessly and said, "It's getting close to supper time. May we be excused now?"
Reede, frustrated, ran his hand through his hair. "I know you did it, you pious son of a bitch. Even if you weren't actually there, you planned it. You killed my horse."
Plummet reacted visibly. "Killed your horse? That's untrue. You killed it yourself. I read about it in the newspaper.''
Reede made a snarling sound and lunged across the room at him. "You're responsible." He leaned down close to Plummet again, forcing him backward in his chair. "Reading about that probably gave you a real thrill, didn't it, you little prick? You're gonna pay for that animal, if I have to wring a confession from your scrawny neck."
So it went for at least another hour.
Alex's bottom grew tired and sore from sitting in the uncomfortable chair. Once, she stood up and paced the length of the room, just to restore circulation. Plummet's fanatical eyes tracked her, making her feel so ill at ease that she returned to her seat.
"Mrs. Plummet?"
The preacher's wife flinched when the sheriff suddenly spoke her name. Her shoulders had been sagging forward with fatigue; her head had been kept slightly bowed. Both came erect and she looked up at Reede with awe and respect.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you go along with everything he's told me?"
She shot Plummet a quick, sidelong glance, swallowed hard, and wet her lips nervously. Then, she lowered her eyes and bobbed her head up and down. "Yes."
Plummet's face remained impassive, though his lips were twitching with a smug smile longing to be full-blown. Next, Reede looked down at Alex. She gave him an almost imperceptible shrug.
He stared at the floor for ponderous seconds before barking out a deputy's name. The officer materialized in the doorway as though he'd been expecting his chiefs restrained but furious summons.
"Let him go."
Plummet closed his Bible with a resounding clap and stood up. He marched toward the door like a crusader dressed in full battle armor. He ignored his wife, who meekly trailed in his righteous wake.
The deprecations Reede muttered were vile and scathing.
"Have somebody keep an eye on the house," he told the deputy. "Let me know if anything he does looks suspicious or even slightly fishy. Damn, I hate to let that bastard walk out of here."
"Don't blame yourself," Alex said sympathetically. "You conducted a thorough interrogation, Reede. You knew going in you didn't have any real evidence."
He whirled on her, his eyes stormy. "Well, that sure as hell hasn't ever stopped you, has it?" He stamped out, leaving her speechless with indignation.
Alex returned to her cubicle, fumbled for the key in the bottom of her handbag, and bent to unlock the door. She felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck that warned her a heartbeat before the sinister whisper reached her ears.
"You've been corrupted by the ungodly. You're consorting with Satan, showing no more shame than a whore who sells herself." She spun around. Plummet's eyes had regained their zealous glint. Spittle had collected to form white foam in the corners of his mouth. His breathing was labored. "You betrayed my trust."
"I didn't ask for your trust," Alex countered, her voice husky with alarm.
"Your heart and mind have been polluted by the ungodly. Your body has been tarnished by the stroke of the devil himself. You--"
He was caught from behind and slammed against the wall.
"Plummet, I warned you." Reede's face was fierce. "Get out of my sight or you're going to be spending some time in jail."
"On what charge?" the preacher squealed. "You've got nothing to hold me on."
"Accosting Miss Gaither."
"I'm God's messenger."
"If God has anything to say to Miss Gaither, He'll tell her Himself. Understand? Understand!" He shook Plummet again, then released him. He rounded on Mrs. Plummet, who had flattened herself against the wall in horrified silence.
"Wanda, I'm warning you, take him home. Now!" the sheriff bellowed.
Demonstrating more courage than Alex would have expected from her, she grabbed her husband's arm and virtually dragged him toward the staircase. Together, they stumbled up the steps and disappeared around the corner at the landing.
Alex didn't realize how shaken she was until Reede's eyes moved to the hand she had pressed against her pounding heart.
"Did he touch you, hurt you?"
"No." Then, shaking her head, she repeated, "No."
"Don't bullshit me this time. Did he make any threats? Say anything I could use to nail his skinny ass?"
"No, just garbage about me selling out to the unrighteous. He considers me the traitor in the camp."
"Get your things. You're going home."
"You don't have to ask me twice."
He took her coat off the rack near the door. He didn't hold it for her; in fact, he almost threw it at her, but Alex was touched by his evident concern for her safety. He pulled on his leather, fur-trimmed jacket and cowboy hat as they went upstairs and out the front door.
The Plummets must have taken his advice and left. They were nowhere around. Darkness had fallen. Most of the square was deserted. Even the B & B Cafe had closed for the night. It catered to the breakfast and lunch crowd.
Her car was cold when she slid beneath the steering wheel. "Start your motor to warm it up, but don't leave till I come around in my truck. I'll follow you to the motel."
"That's not necessary, Reede. As you said, he's probably a coward. People who make threats rarely carry them out."
"Yeah. Rarely," he said, stressing the word.
"I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me."
"I'm not. It's me I'm worried about. You asked for trouble when you came here, and you're getting it. But no female assistant D.A. is gonna get raped, maimed, or killed in my county. Got that?"
He slammed her car door. Alex watched him disappear down the dark sidewalk, wishing she'd never heard of him or his infernal county. She commissioned him to the fiery hell Plummet frequently expounded upon.
When she saw the headlights of the Blazer approaching, she backed her car into the street and aimed it in the direction of the motel that had been home for far too long. She resented being escorted home.
She let herself into her room and locked the door behind her, without even waving her thanks to Reede. Dinner was a tasteless meal ordered off the room-service menu. She thumbed through the yearbooks again, but was so familiar with them by now that the pictures hardly registered. She was tired, but too keyed up to go to sleep.
Junior's kiss haunted her thoughts, not because it had sparked her sensual imagination, but because it hadn't. Reede's kisses haunted her because he had so effortlessly accomplished what Junior had wanted to.
Angus hadn't needed a script to know the kind of scene he'd walked into when he had entered the hangar and found her with Reede. His expression had been a mix of surprise, disapproval, and something she couldn't quite put a name to.
Resignation?
She tossed and turned out of fatigue, frustration, and yes, fear. No matter how many times she denied it, Plummet disturbed her. He was a wacko, but his words held a ring of truth.
She had come to care what each of her suspects thought of her. Winning their approval had become almost as important as winning her grandmother's. It was a bizarre fact, one she had difficulty admitting to herself.
She didn't trust Reede, but she desired him and wanted him to reciprocate that desire. For all his laziness, she liked Junior and felt a twinge of pity for him. Angus fulfilled her childhood fantasies of a stern but loving parent. The closer she came to uncovering the truth about their connection to her mother's death, the less she wanted to know it. Then, there was the cloud of the Pasty Hickam murder
lurking on the horizon. Reede's suspect, Lyle Turner, was still at large. Until she was convinced that he had killed the Mintons's former ranch hand, she would go on believing that Pasty had been eliminated as an eyewitness to Celina's murder.
His killer considered her a threat, too.
So, in the middle of the night, when she heard a car slowly drive past her door, when she saw its headlights arc across her bed, her heart leaped in fright.
Throwing off the covers, she crept to the window and peeped through the crack between it and the heavy drape. Her whole body went limp with relief and she uttered a small, glad sound.
The sheriffs Blazer executed a wide turn in the parking lot and passed her room once more before driving away.
Reede thought about turning around and going to where he knew he could find potent liquor, a welcoming smile, and a warm woman, but he kept the hood of his truck pointed toward home.
He was sick with an unknown disease. He couldn't shake it, no matter how hard he tried. He itched from the inside out, and his gut was in a state of constant turmoil.
His house, which he had always liked for the solitude it provided, seemed merely lonely when he opened the squeaky screen door. When was he ever going to remember to oil those hinges? The light he switched on did little to enhance the living room. It only illuminated the fact that there was nobody to welcome him home.
Not even a dog came forward to lick his hand, wagging its tail because it was glad to see him. He didn't have a goldfish, a parakeet, a cat--nothing that could die on him and leave another vacuum in his life.
Horses were different. They were business investments.

But every once in a while, one would become special, like Double Time. That had hurt. He tried not to think about it. Refugee camps in famine-ravaged countries were better stocked with provisions than his kitchen. He seldom ate at home. When he did, like now, he made do with a beer and a few saltines spread with peanut butter.
On his way down the hall, he adjusted the furnace thermostat so he wouldn't be frozen stiff by morning. His bed was unmade; he didn't remember what had gotten him out of it so suddenly the last time he'd been in it.
He shed his clothes, dropping them in the hamper in the bathroom, which Lupe's niece would empty the next time she came. He probably owned more underwear and socks than any man he knew. It wasn't an extravagance; it just kept him from having to do laundry frequently. His wardrobe consisted of jeans and shirts, mostly. Having several of each done up at the dry cleaner's every week kept him decently
clothed.
While he brushed his teeth at the bathroom sink, he surveyed his image in the mirror. He needed a haircut. He usually did. There were a few more gray hairs in his sideburns than the last time he'd looked. When had those cropped up?
He suddenly realized how lined his face had become. Anchoring the toothbrush in the corner of his mouth, he leaned across the sink and peered at his reflection at close range. His face was full of cracks and crevices.
In plain English, he looked old.
Too old? For what? More to the point, too old for whom? The name that sprang to mind greatly disturbed him.
He spat and rinsed out his mouth, but avoided looking at himself again before he turned out the cruelly revealing overhead light. There was no need to set an alarm. He was always up by sunrise. He never overslept.
The sheets were frigid. He pulled the covers to his chin and waited for heat to find his naked body. It was at moments like this, when the night was the darkest and coldest and most solitary, that he wished Celina hadn't ruined him for other relationships. At any other time, he was glad he wasn't a
sucker for emotions.
At times like this, he secretly wished that he'd married.
Even sleeping next to the warm body of a woman you didn't particularly love, or who'd gone to fat months after the wedding, or who had let you down, or who harped about the shortage of money and the long hours you worked, would be better than sleeping alone.
Then again, maybe not. Who the hell knew? He would never know because of Celina. He hadn't loved her when she died, not in the way he'd loved her most of his life up until then.
He had begun to wonder if their love could outlast their youth, if it was real and substantial, or merely the best substitute they had for other deficiencies in their lives. He would always have loved her as a friend, but he had doubted that their mutual dependence was a healthy foundation for a life together.
Perhaps Celina had sensed his reservations, and that had been one of the reasons she'd felt the need to leave for a while. They had never discussed it. He would never know, but he suspected it.
Months before she left for El Paso that summer, he had been questioning the durability of their childhood romance.
If his feelings for her changed with maturity, how the hell was he going to handle the breakup? He had still been in a muddle about it when she had died, and it had left him wary of forming any future relationships.
He would never let himself get that entwined with another human being. It was deadly, having that kind of focus on another person, especially a woman.
Years ago, he'd sworn to take what women could expediently give him, chiefly sex, but never to cultivate tenderness toward one again. He would certainly never come close to loving one.
But the short-term affairs had become too complicated. Invariably, the woman developed an emotional attachment' that he couldn't reciprocate. That's when he'd started relying on Nora Gail for physical gratification. Now, that had soured.
Sex with her was routine and meaningless, and lately, he was having a hard time keeping his boredom from showing. Dealing with a woman on any level demanded a much higher price than he was willing to pay.
Still, even as he lay there mentally reciting his creed of eternal detachment, he found himself thinking about her. At this advanced stage of his life, he'd started daydreaming like a sap. She occupied more of his thoughts than he would have ever thought possible. At the edges of these thoughts was an emotion very akin to tenderness, nudging its way into his consciousness.
Nipping at the heels of it, however, was always pain: the pain of knowing who she was and how irrevocably her conception had altered his life, of knowing how decrepit he must appear to a woman her age, of seeing her kiss Junior.
"Dammit."
He groaned into the darkness and covered his eyes with his forearm as his mind tricked him into witnessing it again.
It had produced such an attack of jealousy, it had frightened him. His fury had been volcanic. It was a wonder he hadn't erupted from the roof of the Blazer.
How the hell had it happened? Why had he let her get to him when absolutely nothing could come of it, except to widen the gulf between him and Junior that had been created by her mother?
A relationship--the word alone made him shudder--between him and Alex was out of the question, so why did it bother him to know that to a smart, savvy career woman like Alex, he must look like a hick, and an old one, at that?
He and Celina had had everything in common, but she'd been unattainable, so how the hell did he imagine there was common ground on which he and Alex could meet?
One other small point, he thought wryly. Celina's murder. Alex would never understand about that.
None of that sound reasoning, however, kept him from wanting her. An influx of heat surged through his body now, and with it, desire. He wanted to smell her. He wanted to feel her hair against his cheek, his chest, his belly. Imagining her lips and tongue against his skin cost him precious breath, but the lack of sufficient air was worth the image. He wanted to taste her again and tug on her nipple with his mouth.
He whispered her name in the darkness and focused on that instant when he had slipped his hand into the cup of her bra and caressed forbidden flesh. He was consumed by the fire of his imagination. It burned brightly and fiercely. Eventually, it dimmed. When it did, he was left feeling empty and alone in the cold, dark, lonely house.

Thirty-three
 
 
 
"Good morning, Wanda Gail."
Fergus Plummet's wife fell back a step. "What'd you call me?"
"Wanda Gail," Alex repeated with a gentle smile. "That's your name, isn't it? You're one of the Burton triplets, informally known as the Gail sisters."
Mrs. Plummet had answered her door with a dishrag in her hands. Shocked by Alex's knowledge of her past, she took a quick little breath. Her eyes darted about the yard, as though looking for artillery backing Alex up.
"May I come in?"
Alex didn't wait for permission, but used the other woman's astonishment to step inside and close the front door. She had discovered Mrs. Plummet's identity quite by accident while idly perusing the pages of the yearbooks over her morning coffee. After glancing past it a hundred times, the classroom picture had suddenly leaped off the page. She'd thought her eyes were deceiving her until she verified the name in the margin. Wanda Gail Burton.
Hardly able to contain her excitement, she'd consulted the telephone directory for the address and driven straight to the parsonage. She had parked well down the block and hadn't approached the house until Fergus had driven away in his car.
The two women stood face to face in the dim hallway. Alex was curious. Wanda Gail Plummet was clearly afraid.
"I shouldn't be talking to you," she whispered nervously.
"Why? Because your husband warned you against it?" Alex asked softly. "I don't mean to cause you any trouble. Let's sit down."
Assuming the role of hostess, Alex led Wanda Gail into the drabbest, most unattractive room she had ever been in.
There wasn't a single spot of color or gaiety. There were no plants, no pictures--other than one of a bleeding, crucified Christ--no books or magazines. There was nothing to relieve the cheerless atmosphere that pervaded the house. Alex had seen three thin, dejected-looking children leave with their father. She and Wanda Gail were alone.
They sat side by side on a tacky, threadbare sofa that reflected the overall penury of the house. Wanda Gail was wringing the damp towel between her hands. Her face was working with anxiety. She was obviously scared to death, either of Alex, or of her husband's reprisal should he find out she had been in their home.
Alex tried to reassure her by calmly stating, "I just want to talk to you. I accidentally discovered that your name was Wanda Gail Burton."
"Not anymore. Not since I found Jesus."
"Tell me about that. When was it?"
"The summer after I graduated. A bunch of us--"
"Your sisters?"
She nodded. "And some friends. We all piled into somebody's car and drove to Midland. We were looking for fun," she said, casting her eyes downward. "We saw this big tent set up in a cow pasture on the outskirts of town. There was a revival going on. We thought we'd go, see what it was about. We went on a lark, you know, to poke fun at the people and to laugh at the gospel."
She made a grimace of remorse. "It all seemed real funny, 'cause we'd been drinking and smoking pot somebody had brought back from Eagle Pass." She folded her hands together and offered up a brief prayer of repentance.
''What happened? Did you have a religious experience that night?"
She confirmed Alex's guess by briskly nodding her head.
"There was this young preacher there. After the singing and praying, he took the microphone." Her eyes assumed a dreamy aspect as she was transported back. "I don't even remember what he preached on. His voice alone put me in a trance. I remember feeling his energy pouring through me. I couldn't take my eyes off him."
Her vision cleared. "The others had had enough and wanted to leave. I told them to go on and pick me up later. I wanted to stay. When he was finished preaching, I went down to the altar with dozens of others. He laid his hands on my head and prayed for my deliverance from sin." Misty-eyed, she announced, "I gave my heart to Jesus and to Fergus Plummet that same night."
"How soon after that were you married?"
"Two days."
Alex didn't know a delicate way to approach her next question. Out of deference to the woman's Christian conversion, she addressed her by her married name. "Mrs. Plummet, you and your sisters . . ." She paused, wet her lips.
"I've heard ..."
"I know what you've heard. We were harlots."
Alex didn't approve of her harsh, condemning estimation of herself and tried to soften it. "I know that you dated a lot of men."
Wanda began to twist the towel again. "I confessed all my transgressions to Fergus. He forgave me, just like God did. He embraced me in love, in spite of my wickedness."
Alex had a more jaundiced opinion of the preacher's largess. He had probably wanted a wife who felt privileged that he had so unselfishly forgiven her, one who would consider his grace equal to God's.
God forgot sins; Alex doubted that Fergus Plummet did. He probably kept scrupulous accounts of transgressions and used Wanda Gail's past as a tool to keep her under his thumb.
He surely made her life miserable with constant reminders of how lucky she was to have his forgiveness. It was apparent, however, that whatever had happened to Wanda Gail in that revival tent had been profound and irreversible. Her decision that night to create a different life for herself had withstood twenty-five years. For that, she had earned Alex's admiration.
"Two of the boys you dated in high school were Reede Lambert and Junior Minton."
"Yes," Wanda said with a reflective smile, "they were the two best-looking, most popular boys in school. All the girls wanted to date them."
"Including Stacey Wallace?"
"The only boy she could ever see was Junior Minton. It was kinda pitiful, you know, because Stacey was so crazy about him and he was stuck on Celina."
"And Celina belonged to Reede."
"Well, sure. Reede was, and still is, basically good. He didn't treat me and my sisters like trash, even though that's what we were. He was always nice about . . . well, you know, whenever he took us out. He always said thank you afterward."
Alex smiled sickly.
"Liked to have drove him plumb nuts when Celina got married. Then, when she died ..." She sighed sympathetically.
"He acts kinda mean sometimes now, but down deep, he's still good." She averted her head. "I know he doesn't like Fergus, but he still treated me nice yesterday."
This woman and Reede were former lovers. Alex looked at her closely. It was impossible to envision Wanda Gail in the throes of ecstasy with any man, but especially with Reede. Her face retained enough of its former prettiness for Alex to have recognized her picture in the yearbook, but her skin was loose, her throat flabby. The full, teased hairdo she'd been sporting in the class photo had been replaced by the severe and unflattering bun. The eyes that had been dramatically enhanced with cosmetics for the picture wore no makeup at all now. Her waist had thickened to match the dimensions of her bust and hips, which, when she was a teenager, must have been voluptuous.
Wanda Gail looked at least ten years older than her classmates, Reede and Junior--even Stacey. Alex wondered if it had been her previous wild life, or her married life with Plummet that had accelerated her aging process. She would bet on the latter. He couldn't be much fun to live with. For all his piousness, he brought no joy or love to those around him. To Alex, that's what one's faith should be about. Her
admiration for this woman was tinged with pity.
It became even more so when Wanda Gail looked up at her and shyly remarked, "You were nice to me, too. I didn't expect you to be nice, 'cause you're so fancy and have such pretty things." She gave Alex's fur coat and eel handbag a wistful glance.
"Thank you," she replied. Then, because Wanda Gail seemed stricken with self-consciousness, Alex resumed the questioning. "How did your sisters react to your marriage?"
"Oh, I'm sure they didn't like it."
"You don't know?"
"Fergus thought it would be best if I didn't mix with them anymore."
"He separated you from your family?"
"It was for the best," Wanda said, immediately rising to his defense. "I left my old life. They were part of it. I had to turn my back on them to prove to Jesus that I was forsaking sin."
Alex chalked up another reason to despise the preacher. He had brainwashed his wife against her family and used her immortal soul as leverage. "Where are your sisters now?"
"Peggy Gail died a few years ago. I read about it in the newspaper. She had cancer," she said, her face sorrowful.
"What about the other one? Nora Gail?"
Wanda's lips narrowed with stern disapproval. "She's still living her sinful ways."
"Here in town?"
"Oh my, yes." Again, she clasped her hands beneath her chin and said a quick prayer. "I pray to God that she'll see the light before it's too late."
"She never married?"
"No, she likes men too much, all men. She never wanted one in particular. Maybe Reede Lambert, but he didn't want anything permanent."
"She liked him?"
"Very much. They enjoyed each other physically, but it never amounted to love. Maybe they were too much alike. Stubborn. They both have a mean streak, too."
Alex tried to make the next question sound casual. "Do you know if he still sees her?"
"I expect he does," she said, folding her arms across her middle and sniffing righteously. "He liked us all, but Nora Gail was always his first choice. I don't know if they still sleep together, but they've gotta stay friends 'cause they know too much about each other. Ever since the night Celina was killed, there's been--"
"What about it?" Alex interrupted.
"What about what?"
"The night Celina was killed."
"Reede was with Nora Gail."
Alex's heart fluttered. "He was with your sister that night? You're sure?"
Wanda gave her a puzzled look. "I thought everybody knew that."
Everybody but me, Alex thought bitterly.
She asked Wanda where Nora Gail lived. Reluctantly, Wanda gave her directions to the house. "I've never been there, but I know where it is. I don't think you can miss it."
Alex thanked her for the information and rose to leave. At the door, Wanda became nervous again.' 'I don't think Fergus would like it that I talked to you."
"He won't hear about it from me." Wanda Gail looked reassured until Alex added, "I'd advise him against any more vandalism, and I would appreciate not getting another condemning letter in the mail."
"Letter?"
She appeared not to have any knowledge of the letter that had been waiting for Alex when she had returned from Austin, but Alex felt sure that she must. "I won't place you in a position of having to lie for your husband, Mrs. Plummet, but I should warn you that Reede has the letter and considers it a police matter. I feel certain he'd make an arrest if I receive another one."
She hoped the subtle threat would work. By the time she reached her car, however, her mind had already moved forward to her interview with Reede's alibi.
The two-story frame structure reminded Alex of the Prohibition-era roadhouses she'd seen in gangster movies. It had no signs out front and was invisible from the highway, but there were several commercial rigs in the parking lot, along with a few pickup trucks, and even a recent-model Cadillac.
The stone sidewalk was bordered with valiant, dusty pansies. A series of steps led up to a deep veranda. There was an old-fashioned pull bell next to the front door. Muted honky-tonk music wafted through the walls, but the windows appeared to have been blacked out; she couldn't see through
them.
The door was answered by a bear of a man with a full, salt-and-pepper beard covering the lower two-thirds of a face as florid as a sirloin steak. He was wearing a white tuxedo shirt and black satin bow tie, over a full white apron. He was also wearing a fearsome, intimidating frown.

"I--" Alex began.
"Are you lost?"
"I'm looking for Nora Gail Burton."
"Whaddaya want with her?"
"I want to talk to her."
"What about?"
"It's personal."
He squinted suspiciously. "You selling something?"
"No."
"You got an appointment?"
"No."
"She's busy."
He started to close the door, but a man approached it on his way out. He squeezed between them, doffing his bill cap to Alex and muttering thanks to the doorman. Alex took advantage of the interruption and stepped over the threshold into a formally decorated vestibule. "I'd like to see Ms.
Burton, please. I promise not to take too much of her time."
"If you're looking for work, miss, you'll need to fill out an application and provide pictures. She doesn't see a girl until she's looked over her pictures."
"I'm not looking for work."
He considered her for another long moment before coming to a favorable conclusion. "Name?"
"Alexandra Gaither."
"Wait right here, you hear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't move."
"I promise."
He retreated toward the back of the house, moving along the staircase with a grace and lightness of tread unusual for a man his size. His order for her to stay put had been so emphatic that it had nailed her shoes to the floor. She didn't think anything could prise her away.
Within seconds, however, the music beckoned her toward its source. Low conversation and soft laughter lured her toward the violet brocade drapes that separated the hallway from the room beyond. The edges overlapped so she couldn't see anything. Raising her hand tentatively, she pushed them
apart and peeked through the slit.
"Ms. Gaither."
She jumped and spun around, dropping her hand guiltily.
The bearded giant was looming over her, but his soft, pink lips were twitching with amusement.
"This way," the mammoth said. He led her behind the stairwell and stopped in front of a closed door. After giving it three sharp raps, he pushed it open and stepped aside for Alex to enter. He closed the door behind her.
Alex had expected the madam to be reclining on satin sheets. Instead, she was seated behind a large, functional desk banked by metal file cabinets. From the number of ledgers and folders and stacks of correspondence scattered across the desk, it looked as though she conducted as much business here as in the boudoir.
Nor was her clothing what Alex would have expected. Instead of a scanty article of lingerie, she was wearing a tailored wool business suit. She was, however, elaborately jeweled, and all the pieces were genuine and exquisite. Her hair had been bleached snow-white and looked like a sculpted mound of cotton candy. Somehow, though, the outdated style suited her. Like her sister Wanda, her figure gravitated toward plump, but she carried that well, too. Her complexion was her best feature. It was flawless, smooth, and milky white. Alex doubted it had ever been exposed to the damaging West Texas sun.
The blue eyes with which she assessed Alex were as calculating as those of the cat that was occupying the corner of the desk nearest her right hand.
'' You have better taste than your mother,'' she said without preamble, giving Alex a slow once-over. "Celina had pretty features, but no sense of style. You do. Sit down, Miss Gaither."
"Thank you." Alex sat down in the chair across the desk.
After a moment, she laughed and shook her head with chagrin.
"Forgive me for staring."

"I don't mind. No doubt I'm your first madam."
"Actually, no. I prosecuted a woman in Austin whose modeling agency proved to be a prostitution ring."
"She was careless."
"I did my homework. We had an airtight case against her.''
"Should I take that as a warning?"
"Your operation doesn't fall into my jurisdiction."
"Neither does your mother's murder case." She lit a slender black cigarette as a man would, with an economy of motion, and offered one to Alex, who declined. "A drink? Forgive me for saying that you look like you could use one."
She gestured toward a lacquered liquor cabinet that was inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
"No, thank you. Nothing."
"Peter said you declined to fill out an application, so I guess you're not here looking for a job."
"No."
"Pity. You'd do very well. Nice body, good legs, unusual hair. Is that its natural color?"
"Yes."
The madam grinned wickedly. "I know several regulars who would enjoy you a lot."
"Thank you," Alex said stiffly, the compliment making her feel like she needed a bath.
"I guess you're here on business. Yours," she said with a lazy smile, "not mine."
"I'd like to ask you some questions."
"First, I'd like to ask one of my own."
"All right."
"Did Reede send you here?"
"No."
"Good. That would have disappointed me."
"I found you through your sister."
One eyebrow arched a fraction of an inch higher. "Wanda Gail? I thought she believed that speaking my name aloud would turn her into a pillar of salt, or some such nonsense. How is she? Never mind," she said when she sensed Alex's hesitation.

"I've seen Wanda Gail from a distance. She looks terrible. That little pecker who professes to be a man of God has nearly ruined her health, as well as her looks. Her kids go around like ragamuffins. If she wants to live like that, fine, but why impose poverty on them?"
She was genuinely indignant. "There's no righteousness in being poor. I'd like to help her financially, but I'm sure she would rather starve than take a cent from me, even if her husband would allow it. Did she just come right out and tell you that her sister was a whore?"
"No. She only gave me directions here. I guess she assumed that I already knew your . . . occupation."
"You didn't?"
"No."
"My business has been lucrative, but I'm branching out. I used to screw men for fun, Ms. Gaither. I'm still screwing them, but now I do it mostly for money. And you know what? Money's even more fun." Her laugh was throaty and complacent.
She had none of Wanda Gail's timidity. Alex got the impression that Nora Gail wasn't afraid of Satan himself, that she would walk up to him and spit in his eye without an ounce of trepidation. After that, she would probably seduce him.
"In fact," she continued, "you were lucky to catch me in. I just returned from a meeting with my banker. No matter how busy he is, he makes room in his schedule to see me." She gestured down at the portfolio lying open on top of the desk directly in front of her. Even reading it upside down, Alex recognized the logo on the letterhead.
"NGB, Incorporated," she mouthed silently. When her eyes met the madam's again, Nora Gail's were gloating. "You are NGB,  Incorporated? Nora Gail Burton," she said faintly.
"That's right."
"You signed the letter the businesspeople sent to me."
"I helped draft it." Her long, beautifully manicured nails sank into the cat's lush fur as she scratched it behind the ears.
"I don't like what you're trying to do here, Miss Gaither. I don't like it at all. You're about to throw a goddamned wrench into all my carefully orchestrated plans for expansion."
"As I recall, NGB, Incorporated proposes to build a resort hotel near Purcell Downs."
"That's right. A resort complete with golf course, putting greens, tennis courts, racquetball, swimming. You name it, it'll have it."
"And does a whore come with every room?"
Nora Gail gave another of her bawdy laughs, taking no offense. "No. But who knows better how to show folks a good time than an old whore? I've got the best resort architects in the country working on the layout. It'll be spectacular, gaudy as hell, which I've decided the tourist trade likes. Everybody who comes to Texas from out of state, particularly from back east, expects us to be loud, raucous, and tasteless. I don't want my customers to be disappointed."
"Have you got the money to build a place like that?" Alex asked, her peevishness giving way to curiosity.
"I've got enough put aside to borrow against. Honey, more cowboys, truckers, roughnecks, white-collar types, statesmen, and would-be statesmen have trooped up those stairs than I could count," she said, pointing toward the staircase.
"Actually, I could tell you exactly how many, how long each stayed, what he did, what he drank, what he smoked, whatever you wanted to know. My records are that meticulous.
"I'm a whore, but I'm a goddamned smart one. You don't go into this business just knowing how to make a John come. You go into it knowing how to make him come quickly so you can move on to the next one. You've also got to know how to get him to drop more dollars than he intends to while he's visiting."
She sat back and stroked the cat.' 'Yes, I've got the money. More important, I've got the brains to pyramid it into a fortune. With that resort, I can go legitimate. I'll never have to give a blow job to another stiff cock unless it's one of my own choosing, or listen to another hard-luck story from a man about how his wife doesn't understand him.
"I'm living for the day I can move out of this place and into town, hold my head up, and say, 'Kiss my ass,' to anybody who doesn't like me moving into his neighborhood."
She pointed her cigarette toward Alex. "I don't need a cheerleader like you to come in here and **** it up for me."
It was quite a speech. In spite of herself, Alex was fascinated, though not cowed. "All I'm trying to do is solve a murder case."
"Not for the sake of law and order you're not. The state doesn't give a damn about Celina Gaither's killing, or it would have been looked into years ago."
"You've just admitted that the case warrants being reopened."
Nora Gail gave an elegant shrug. "Maybe from a legal standpoint, but not from a personal one. Listen, sugar, take my advice. I'm talking to you now like I would to one of my girls when things aren't working out for her." She leaned forward. "Go home. Leave things here the way they were. Everybody'll be happier, especially you."
"Do you know who murdered my mother, Ms. Burton?"
"No."
"Do you believe that Gooney Bud killed her?"
"That harmless idiot? No."
"So, you suspect someone else. Who?"
"I'd never tell you."
"Even under oath on the witness stand?"
She shook her head of glorious white hair. "I wouldn't incriminate my friends."
"Like Reede Lambert?"
"Like Reede Lambert," Nora Gail repeated firmly. "We go way back."
"So I've heard."
Nora Gail's husky chuckle brought Alex's head up. "Does it bother you to know that Reede and I used to screw our brains out?"
"Why should it?"
Without taking her eyes off Alex, Nora Gail sent a plume of smoke ceilingward and ground out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. "You tell me, sugar."
Alex drew herself up, attempting to reestablish herself as a tough prosecutor. "Was he with you the night my mother was killed?"
"Yes," she answered without a second's hesitation.
"Where?"
"I believe we were in my car."
"Screwing your brains out?"
"What's it to you?"
"My interest is strictly professional," Alex snapped. "I'm trying to establish Reede Lambert's alibi. I need to know where you were, what you were doing, and for how long."
"I fail to see the relevance."
"Let me decide the relevance. Besides, what difference does it make if you tell me now? I'm sure you gave the answers to the officers who questioned you before."
"No one ever questioned me."
"What?" Alex exclaimed.
"No one ever questioned me. I guess Reede told them that he was with me and they believed him."
"Was he with you all night?"
"I'd swear to that in court."
Alex gave her a long steady look. "But was he?"
"I'd swear under oath that he was," she said, her eyes openly challenging.
That was a dead-end street. Alex decided to stop butting her head against the bricks. It was giving her a headache.
"How well did you know my mother?"
"Well enough not to cry over her death." Her candor matched Stacey Wallace's. Alex should have been inured to it by now, but she wasn't. "Look, sugar, I hate to put it to you so bluntly, but I didn't like your mother. She knew that Reede and Junior both loved her. The temptation was just too strong."
"What temptation?"
"To play them against each other, see how far she could go. After your daddy got killed, she started playing up to them again. Reede was slow to forgive her for getting pregnant, but not Junior. I guess he saw his chance and took it. Anyway, he started courting her in earnest.
"His folks didn't like it. Stacey Wallace was about to come apart at the seams over it. But it looked like Junior was going to get Celina, after all. He made it known to anybody who wanted to listen that as soon as he graduated, he was going to marry her. Tickled your grandma to death. She'd always been jealous of Reede and fancied Junior Minton as a son-in-law."
She paused to light another cigarette. Alex waited impatiently, a knot of tension drawing tighter in her chest. After Nora Gail's cigarette was lit she asked, "How did Reede feel about the pending marriage between Celina and Junior?"
"He was still pissed at Celina, but he cared--a hell of a lot. That's why he came to me that night. Celina had gone out to the ranch for supper. Reede expected Junior to pop the question. By morning, he expected them to be engaged."
"But by morning, Celina was dead."
"That's right, sugar," Nora Gail replied coolly. "And in my opinion, that was the best solution to their problem."
As though punctuating her startling statement, a shot rang out.

Thirty-four
 
 
 
"Good Lord, what was that?" Alex sprang to her feet.
"A gunshot, I believe." Nora Gail remained admirably calm, but she had already reached the door by the time the man who had greeted Alex flung it open. "Is anyone hurt, Peter?"
"Yes, ma'am. A customer's been shot."
"Phone Reede."
"Yes, ma'am."
Peter lurched toward the telephone on the desk. Nora Gail left the office. Alex followed her. The madam flung open the drapes with a theatrical flourish and took in the scene at a glance. With apprehension and curiosity, Alex peered over Nora Gail's shoulder.
Two men whom Alex assumed were bouncers had subdued a man and were restraining him against the ornate bar. Several scantily clad young women were cowering against the purple velvet furniture. Another man was lying on the floor. Blood was pooling beneath him, making a mess on the pastel Oriental rug.
' 'What happened?'' When Nora Gail got no answer, she repeated her question with noticeably more emphasis.
"They got in a scuffle," one of the prostitutes answered finally. '' Next thing we knew, the gun went off." She pointed down. A revolver was lying on the floor near the prone man's feet.
"What were they fighting over?" After a lengthy silence, one of the girls fearfully raised her hand.
"Go to my office and stay there." Nora Gail's tone was as brittle as cracking ice. It suggested that the girl should have known how to prevent an incident like this. "The rest of you get upstairs, and stay there until further notice."
No one argued. Nora Gail ran a tight ship. The young women flitted past Alex like a flock of butterflies. They were met on their way upstairs by several men stampeding down, pulling on their clothes as they ran. Without exception, they looked neither right nor left as they exited through the front door.
It was a farcical scene, but giggling over it was out of the question. Alex was mortified. She had been on the fringes of violence before, but reading about criminal action in a police report was different from experiencing it firsthand.
There was something very startling and real about the sight and scent of fresh, human blood. Nora Gail gestured Peter, who had rejoined them, toward the bleeding man. He knelt beside him and pressed his fingers against the man's carotid artery. "He's alive."
Alex saw some of the starch go out of Nora Gail's posture. She'd handled the situation with aplomb, but she wasn't made of stone. She had been more worried about the situation than she had let on.
Hearing the wail of a siren, Nora Gail turned toward the door and was on the threshold to greet Reede when he came barging in. "What happened, Nora Gail?"
"There was a dispute over one of the girls," she informed him. "A man's been shot, but he's alive."
' 'Where is he? The paramedics are--" Reede stopped short when he spotted Alex. At first he just gaped at her with patent disbelief; then, his face turned dark with rage. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Conducting my investigation."
"Investigation, my ass," he growled. "Get the hell out of here."
The wounded man moaned, drawing Reede's attention. "I suggest you tend to your own business, Sheriff Lambert," Alex said tartly.
He cursed as he knelt down beside the man. When he noticed the amount of blood, however, his concentration switched immediately from Alex to the victim. "How're you doing, cowboy?" The man moaned. "What's your name?"
His eyes fluttered open. He comprehended the question, but didn't seem able to answer. Reede gently moved aside his clothing until he found the source of the blood. The bullet had pierced his side at about waist level. "You'll live," he told him. "Just hang in there a few more minutes. An ambulance
is on its way."
He came to his feet and walked toward the man still in the bouncers' custody. He was standing with his head bowed.

"What about you? Got a name?" Reede asked, jerking the man's chin up. "Well, howdy, Lewis," he drawled. "Thought we'd seen the last of your miserable hide. Didn't take my warning seriously, did you? Can't tell you what a pleasure it's gonna be to have you residing in my jail again."
"Go **** yourself, Lambert," the man sneered insolently.
Reede hauled back his fist, then reached for the man's spine through about a foot and a half of abdominal tissue.
Lewis doubled at the waist, but only until Reede's fist connected with his chin, bringing it up with a powerful blow. He was then lifted by the lapels of his jacket and shoved against the wall.
"You've got a big mouth, Lewis," Reede said calmly, barely winded by the exertion. "We'll see how smart you talk after a month or two in a place where the bad boys will make you eat their dicks for breakfast every morning."
The man whimpered helplessly. When Reede released him, he slid down the wall to form a pathetic heap on the floor.
Two deputies stepped into the room, gawking at their plush surroundings.
' 'He resisted arrest,'' Reede calmly said, pointing at Lewis, then curtly ordered him handcuffed, Mirandized, and booked for attempted murder. He consulted with the paramedics who had come in behind the deputies and were dealing with the injured man.
"He's lost a lot of blood," one of them reported to Reede as he slid a needle into the victim's arm. "It's serious, but not critical."
Satisfied that everything was being handled properly, Reede's attention reverted to Alex. Taking her upper arm in a firm grip, he hauled her toward the door.
"Let me go."
"Unless Nora Gail hired you on, you've got no business here. Nora Gail, shut down for the night."
"This is Friday, Reede."
"Tough. Don't let anybody leave, either. Somebody'll be along soon to start the questioning."

He roughly shepherded Alex down the steps and into his Blazer, nearly cramming her into the seat before he slammed the door shut. He climbed in behind the wheel.
"My car is over there," she told him stubbornly. "I can drive myself back to town."
"I'll have one of the deputies pick it up later." He ground the key in the ignition. "What in God's name possessed you to come here?"
"I didn't know what it was until I arrived."
"Well, when you figured it out, why didn't you leave?"
"I wanted to talk to Nora Gail. She's a very old and dear friend of yours, I understand," she said with phony sweetness.
At the intersection with the highway, they met one of his patrol cars turning in. He signaled the deputy to stop and rolled down his window. "Give me your keys," he told Alex.
She passed them to him because he wasn't going to give her a choice, and because, in spite of her brave front, she was trembling.
Reede tossed her keys to the deputy and instructed him to have his partner drive Ms. Gaither's car to the Westerner Motel when they were finished with the preliminary investigation of the shooting. With that taken care of, he zoomed onto the highway.
"Don't you feel the least bit guilty?" Alex asked him.
"For what?"
"For turning a blind eye to a whorehouse operating in your county?"
"No."
She looked at him, completely flabbergasted. "Why not? Because the madam is an old flame of yours?"
"Not entirely. Nora Gail's place keeps potential troublemakers concentrated in one spot. Her bouncers keep them in line."
"Today they didn't."
"Today was an exception. That scumbag is bad news no matter where he is."
"I should report you for police brutality."

"He had that coming, and then some. He got off on a technicality the last time he passed through our judicial system. This time he'll spend a nice, long time in prison.
"And, by the way, they caught Lyle Turner in New Mexico. He confessed to slitting Pasty's throat for screwing around with Ruby Faye. It had nothing whatsoever to do with you, so you can stop looking over your shoulder for bogeymen."
"Thanks for telling me." The news relieved her, but this latest development was still on her mind. "Don't try to get me off the subject. I'm not going to sweep this under the carpet. Pat Chastain would love to know that there's a bordello operating right under his nose."
Reede laughed. He took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and shook his head in dismay over her naivete.
"Have you ever met Mrs. Chastain?"
"What does that--"
"Have you?"
"No. I've talked to her on the telephone."
"She's a country club hag, tanned skin stretched over solid bone. She wears more gold jewelry than a pimp, even when she plays tennis. She thinks her shit don't stink. Got the picture? She likes being the D.A.'s wife, but doesn't like the D.A., particularly in bed."
"I'm not interested in--"
"Her idea of foreplay is, 'Hurry up, but don't mess up my hairdo,' and she would probably rather die than let him come in her mouth."
"You're disgusting."
"Pat's got a favorite out at Nora Gail's who'll swallow it and pretend to like it, so he's not going to lift a finger to shut the place down. If you were smart, which I'm beginning to seriously doubt, you won't embarrass him by letting on you even know that Nora Gail's place is out there. And don't even think about tattling to Judge Wallace. He never partakes, but all his friends do. He sure as hell isn't going to stop their party."
"My God, is everybody in this county corrupt?"

"Oh, for crissake, Alex, grow up. Everybody in the whole goddamn world is corrupt. You might be the only person who ever went through law school and came out believing that the law is still based on morality. Everybody's guilty of something. Everybody's got a secret. If you're lucky, the next guy's secret is juicier than yours. You use his secret to keep him quiet about yours."
"I'm glad you brought that up. It was Nora Gail you were with the night Celina was killed."
"Congratulations. You finally got one guess right."
"It wasn't a guess. Wanda Plummet told me."
He grinned. "When did you figure her out?"
"I didn't," she admitted with some reluctance. "I recognized her picture in the yearbook. You could have told me, Reede."
"I could have, but you'd have started pestering sooner."
"I didn't pester her. She was most cooperative."
"She was scared. You can't tell by looking at her now what a hell-raiser she used to be."
"I'd rather talk about her sister, Nora Gail. The night my mother was killed, were you with her all night?"
"Wouldn't you love to know?"
"What were you doing?"
"Three guesses, and the first two don't count."
"Making love?"
"Screwing."
"Where?"
"Her house."
"Nora Gail said you were in her car."
He whipped his Blazer around a farmer in a pickup truck.
"Maybe we were. Car, house, what's the difference? I don't remember."
"You had been to the ranch earlier."
"Yeah, so?"
"You ate dinner there."
"We've been over this already."
"This was a special night--Celina was there for dinner."

"Don't you remember talking about this?"
"I remember. You told me that you'd left before dessert because apple pie wasn't one of your favorites."
"Wrong. Cherry pie. It's still not one of my favorites."
"That's not why you left, Reede."
"No?" He risked taking his eyes off the road to glance at her.
"No. You left because you were afraid Junior was going to propose to Celina that night. You were even more afraid that she was going to accept."
He brought the truck to a jarring stop outside her motel room. He got out and came around to her door, almost jerking it off its hinges when he opened it. Grabbing her arm again, he pulled her to the ground and pushed her toward her door. She resisted and turned to confront him.
"I'm right so far, aren't I?"
"Yeah, I went out with Nora Gail to blow off some steam.''
"Did it work?"
"No, so I sneaked back to the ranch and found Celina in the mares' barn. How the hell I knew she was going to be there is something you've yet to figure out, Counselor," he sneered.
"I look the scalpel out of my pocket. Why I'd taken it from the vet's bag when I could have strangled her with my bare hands is something else you'll have to muddle through. While you're at it, think about where I'd hidden it when I took off all my clothes to screw Nora Gail, who would in all probability have noticed a scalpel.
"Anyway, I used the scalpel to stab Celina repeatedly. Then, I just left her body there on the outside chance that Gooney Bud would come wandering by, see her, try to help her, and, in the process, get her blood all over himself."
"I think that's exactly how it was done."
"You're full of shit, and a grand jury will think so too."
He angrily gave her another shove toward her door. In a quavering voice, she said, "There's blood on your hands."
He looked down at them. "I've had blood on (hem before.''

"The night you murdered Celina?"
His eyes moved back to Alex's. His voice was raspy with menace when he lowered his face close to hers and said,
"No, the night she tried to abort you."

Thirty-five
 
 
 
Alex stared at him blankly for several seconds. Then, she attacked him. She went for his face with her nails, his shins with the toes of her shoes. He grunted in pain and surprise as she landed one solid kick against his kneecap.
"You liar! You're lying! Lying!" She took a swing at his head. He managed to dodge it.
"Stop it." He grabbed hold of her wrists to protect his face. She tried to wrest her hands free, while still kicking out with her feet and knees. "Alex, I'm not lying to you."
"You are! You bastard. I know you are. My mother wouldn't do that. She loved me. She did!"
She fought like a wildcat. Fury and adrenalin pumped through her system, endowing her with additional strength. She was still no match for him. Holding her wrists together in his left hand, he shook her key out of her handbag and used it to open the door. They stumbled inside together. Reede kicked the door shut.
She bucked against him, shouting deprecations, trying to work her hands out of his grip, slinging her head from side to side like someone demented.
"Alex, stop this," he ordered fiercely.
"I hate you."
"I know, but I'm not lying."

"You are!" She twisted and turned and tried to stamp on his feet.
He forced her down on the bed, and secured her there with his own body. Keeping an iron grip on her wrists, he placed his other hand over her mouth. She tried to bite it, so he applied more pressure, making any motion of her jaw impossible unless she wanted to break the bones.
Her eyes were murderous as she glared at him over the back of his hand. Her breasts rose and fell dramatically with each breath. He hung his head above hers, his hair falling over his brow, gulping in draughts of air until he regained his breath.
Finally, lifting his head, he stared deeply into her eyes.
"I didn't want you to know," he said in a low, throbbing voice, "but you just kept pushing me. I lost my temper. It's out, I can't take it back, and damn me if it's not the truth."
She tried to shake her head no, the denial in her eyes vehement. She arched her back in an effort to throw him off, but she remained pinioned beneath him.
"Listen to me, Alex," he said, angrily straining the words through his teeth. "Nobody even knew Celina was pregnant until that night. She'd been back from El Paso for several weeks, but I hadn't gone to see her yet, hadn't even called. My pride was still hurting. In a juvenile way, I was letting her sweat it out."
He closed his eyes and shook his head ruefully. "We were playing games with each other, childish, foolish, silly, boy-girl games. Finally, I decided to forgive her." He smiled with bitter self-derision.
"I went to see her on a Wednesday night because I knew your grandmother would be at prayer meeting at the Baptist church. After the service she always stayed for choir practice, so I knew that Celina and I would have a couple of hours alone to sort things out.
"When I got to her house, I knocked several times, but she didn't come to the door. I knew she was there. The lights were on in the back of the house where her bedroom was. I thought maybe she was in the shower or was playing the radio so loud she couldn't hear my knocking, so I went around to the back."
Alex lay still beneath him. Her eyes were no longer narrowed with animosity, but shiny with unshed tears.
"I looked through her bedroom window. The lights were on, but Celina wasn't in there. I tapped on the window. She didn't respond, but I noticed her shadow moving on the bathroom wall. I could see it through the door. It was opened partway. I called her name. I knew she could hear me, but she wouldn't come out. Then--''
He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a grimace of pain before going on. "I was getting mad, see, because I thought she was just playing coy. She opened the bathroom door wider, and I saw her standing there.
"For a few seconds I just looked at her face because it had been so long since I'd seen her. She was staring back at me. She looked puzzled, like she was asking, 'What now?'
And that's when I noticed the blood. She was wearing a nightgown, and the lower front of it was streaked with red."
Alex's eyes closed. Large, cloudy tears slid from beneath her quivering eyelids and ran onto Reede's fingers.
"It scared the hell out of me," he said gruffly. "I got into the house. I don't even remember how. I think I raised the window and slipped through. Anyway, a few seconds later, I was in her bedroom, holding her. We both ended up on the floor and she just sort of crumpled in my arms.
"She didn't want to tell me what was wrong. I was screaming at her, shaking her. Finally, she turned her face toward my chest and whispered, 'Baby.' Then I realized what all the blood meant and where it had come from. I scooped her up, ran outside, and put her in my car.''
He paused for a moment to reflect. When he picked up the story, the emotion that had racked his voice was gone. He spoke matter-of-factly.
"There was this doctor in town who did abortions on the sly. Everybody knew it, but nobody talked about it because abortions were still illegal in Texas then. I took her to him. I called Junior and told him to bring some money. He met us there. He and I sat in the waiting room while the doctor fixed her up."
He gazed down at Alex for a long time before removing his hand. It had left a stark white imprint on the lower half of her face, which in itself was ghostly pale. Her body was now pliant beneath his, and as still as death. With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped the tears off her cheeks.
"Damn you to hell if you're lying to me," she whispered.
"I'm not. You can ask Junior."
"Junior would back you up if you said the sky was green. I'll ask the doctor."
"He's dead."
"Figures," she remarked, laughing dryly. "What did she use to try to kill me?"
"Alex, don't."
"Tell me."
"No,"
"What was it?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Tell me, damn you!"
"Your grandma's knitting needle!"
It had started out a soft exchange but ended on a shout. The sudden, resulting silence was deafening.
"Oh, God," Alex whimpered, clamping her teeth over her lower lip and turning her face into the pillow. "Oh, God."
"Shh, don't cry. Celina didn't hurt you, just herself."
"She wanted to hurt me, though. She didn't want me to be born." Her sobs shook her whole body. He absorbed them with his. "Why didn't the doctor just take me while he was fixing her up?"
Reede didn't answer.
Alex turned her head and stared up at him. She caught handfuls of his shirt in her fists. "Why, Reede?"
"He suggested it."
"Then, why didn't he?"

"Because I swore that if he did, I'd kill him."
An emotion zephyred between them. It was so strong it knocked the breath out of her and made her chest ache. She uttered an involuntary, wordless sound. Her fingers momentarily relaxed in the cloth of his shirt, only to grip it tighter and draw him nearer. Her back arched off the bed again, not in an attempt to throw him off, but to get closer.
He sank his fingers into her hair, tilted his dark-blond head, and pressed his open mouth against hers. Her lips were parted and damp and receptive. He sent his tongue deep into her mouth.
Frantically, she worked her arms out of her coat sleeves and locked them around the back of his neck. He raised his head suddenly and looked down at her. There were dark shadows from weeping beneath her eyes, but the blue irises were crystal clear as they steadily gazed back at him. She knew exactly what she was doing. That's all he needed to know.
He ran his thumb over her lips, which were moist and swollen from his hard kiss. All he could think about was kissing her again, harder, and he did.
Her throat was arched and vulnerable to his lips when they left hers. He drew her skin lightly against his teeth, then soothed it with whisks of his tongue. He nuzzled her ear and the base of her neck, and when her clothing got in his way, he pulled her to a sitting position and peeled her sweater over her head.
As they lay back down, their breathing was loud and uneven, the only sound in the room. He unclasped her bra and pushed the cups aside.
His fingers skimmed over her flesh, which was warm and flushed with arousal. He cupped one breast, pushed it up, and took the center between his lips. He sucked it with enough pressure to elicit a tingle in her womb, but with enough finesse to tantalize. When the nipple drew taut, he nicked it roughly with the tip of his tongue.
Alex cried his name in panic and joy. He buried his face between her breasts and held her close while he rolled her above him and fought his way out of his jacket at the same time. She began tearing free the buttons of his shirt. He unzipped and unbuttoned her skirt, then shoved it down over her hips, taking her half-slip along with it. Alex ran her fingers through the thick pelt of hair on his chest, dropped random kisses on his supple muscles, and rubbed her cheek against his distended nipple.
They reversed positions again. She managed to get off her shoes and stockings before he stretched out on top of her. He placed his hand low on her belly and slid it down into her underpants.
His hand covered her mound completely and possessively. With his thumb, he parted the lips of her sex and exposed the tight, responsive kernel of flesh. His fingertips dipped into her creaminess and anointed that tiny nub with the dew of her own desire.
When she moaned her pleasure, he bent his head and kissed her stomach. Removing her panties, he nuzzled the fiery dark curls between her thighs and touched her with his open mouth. Clumsily, he undid his fly and, taking her hand, pressed it against his erection. He hissed a curse when her fist closed tightly around him. Nudging her thighs apart, he settled himself between them.
The smooth tip of his penis slipped between the folds of her body. He covered her breasts with his hands and lightly ground the raised centers with his palms. He gave a steady, smooth thrust of his hips that should have planted him firmly inside her.
It didn't.
He readjusted his hips slightly and tried again, encountering the same resistance. Levering himself up, he stared at her with disbelief. "You mean . . . ?"
Her breath was choppy, and her eyes fluttered in an effort to stay focused on him. She was making small yearning noises in her throat. Her hands moved restlessly, searchingly, over his chest and neck and cheeks. Her fingertips glanced his lips.
The utter sexiness of all that and the satiny heat that was gloving him so tightly were his undoing. He applied more pressure and sank into her completely. Her ragged sigh of surprise and discovery was the most erotic sound he'd ever heard. It inflamed him.
"Christ," he groaned. "Oh, Christ."
Mating instincts took over and he moved his hips against hers with the ancient compulsion to possess and fill. Sandwiching her head between his hands, he kissed her mouth with rampant carnality. His climax was an avalanche of sensation. It was soul-shuddering. It seemed to go on forever . . . and it still wasn't long enough.
Several minutes elapsed before he roused himself enough to disengage. He didn't want to, but when he gazed down at her, any thoughts of prolonging their coupling fled.
She was lying with her head turned away, one cheek on the pillow. She looked fragile and haunted. Looking down at the faint pulse in her throat, seeing the bruise his kiss had branded there, Reede felt like a rapist. Filled with regret and self-loathing, he worked his fingers free of the snare of her hair.
They both reacted violently to the knock on the door. Alex quickly reached for the rumpled bedspread and pulled it over herself. Reede's feet landed hard on the floor. He hiked his jeans up over his hips.
"Reede, you in there?"
"Yeah," he called through the door.
"I, uh, I got Ms. Gaither's keys here. Remember, you told me to--"
The deputy broke off when Reede opened the door. "I remember." He extended his hand through the crack and the deputy dropped the keys into them. "Thanks," he said tersely, and closed the door.
He tossed the keys on the round table in front of the window.
The clatter they made when they landed on the wood veneer was as loud as a cymbal's crash. Reede bent down to retrieve his shirt and jacket, which he'd slung over the side of the bed at some point that escaped his memory now. As he pulled them on, he spoke to Alex over his shoulder.

"I know you're hating yourself right now, but it might make you feel better to know that I wish it hadn't happened either."
She turned her head and gave him a long, searching look.
She looked for compassion, tenderness, love. His features remained impassive, his eyes those of a stranger. There was no softness or feeling in his remote gaze. He seemed untouched and untouchable.
Alex swallowed hard, burying her hurt. In retaliation for his aloofness, she said, "Well, we're even now, Sheriff. You saved my life before I was born." She paused, then added huskily, "And I just gave you what you always wanted, but never got, from my mother."
Reede curled his hands into fists, as though he wanted to strike her. Then, with jerky, disjointed motions, he finished dressing. At the open door, he turned back. "Whatever your reason for doing it, thanks. For a virgin, you were a fairly good ****."

Thirty-six
 
 
 
Junior slid into the orange vinyl booth of the Westerner Motel's coffee shop. His engaging smile collapsed the instant he saw Alex's face. "Darling, are you sick?"
She smiled wanly. "No. Coffee?" she asked, signaling the waitress.
' 'Please,'' he told her distractedly. When the waitress tried to hand him a large, plastic menu, he waved it off. "Just coffee."
After she had poured him a cup, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I was real tickled to hear from you this morning, but something is obviously very wrong. You're as pale as a sheet."
"You ought to see me without the sunglasses.'' She bobbed them up and down in an attempt at humor that fell flat.
"What's the matter?"
She leaned back against the bright vinyl and turned her head to gaze through the tinted window. It was bright outside; her sunglasses wouldn't appear out of place. That about exhausted the merits of this day. "Reede told me about Celina's attempted abortion."
At first, Junior said nothing. Then, he cursed expansively beneath his breath. He sipped his coffee, started to say something he thought better of, and finally, shook his head in apparent disgust. "What the hell's wrong with him? Why'd he tell you about that?"
"So, it's true?"
He lowered his head and stared into his coffee. "She was only seventeen, Alex, and pregnant by a guy she didn't even love, a guy on his way to Saigon. She was scared. She--"
"I know the pertinent facts, Junior," she interrupted impatiently.
"Why do you always defend her?"
"Habit, I guess."
Alex, ashamed of her outburst, took a moment to compose herself. "I know why she did it. It's just incomprehensible to me that she could."
"To us, too," he admitted reluctantly.
"Us?"
"To Reede and me. He gave her only two days to recover before he and I flew her back to El Paso to take care of it."
He sipped his coffee. "We met out at the airstrip, right after sunset."
Alex had asked Reede if he'd ever taken Celina flying at night. "Once," he had told her. Celina had been scared, he'd said. "He stole a plane?"
"Borrowed is what he called it. I think Moe knew what Reede was up to, but he looked the other way. We landed in El Paso, rented a car, and drove to the army base. Reede bribed the guards into telling Al Gaither that he had relatives waiting to see him. He was off duty, I guess. Anyway, he came to the gate and we, uh, talked him into getting in the car with us."
"What happened?"
He looked at her, shamefaced. ' 'We took him to a deserted spot and beat the shit out of him. I was afraid Reede was going to kill him. He probably would have, if Celina hadn't been there. She was practically hysterical."
"You coerced him into marrying her?"
"That same night. We drove across the border into Mexico." He shook his head wryly at the memory of it.
"Gaither was barely conscious enough to recite his vows. Reede and I supported him between us through the ceremony, then dumped him back at the gate of Fort Bliss."
"One thing puzzles me. Why did Reede insist on Celina getting married?"
"He kept saying he wouldn't let her baby be born a bastard."
Alex looked at him intently from behind her shaded glasses.
"Then, why didn't he marry her himself?"
"He asked her."
"So, what was the problem?"
"Me. I asked her, too." Seeing her confusion, he blew out his breath. "This all happened the morning following the, uh--"
"I understand. Go on."
"Celina was still real shaken up and said she couldn't think clearly. She begged us to stop badgering her. But Reede said she had to get married in a hurry, or everybody would find out what had happened."
"Everybody found out anyway," she said.
"He wanted to protect her from the gossip as long as possible."
"I must be dense, but I still can't figure it. Celina has two men who love her begging her to get married. Why didn't she?"
"She refused to choose between us." A furrow of concentration formed between his brows. "You know, Alex, that's the first smart, adult decision Celina ever made. We were seniors in high school. God knows Reede didn't have any money. I did, but my folks would have gone ape shit if I'd've gotten married before I even graduated, especially with Celina carrying another man's baby.
"She had another reason, though, more important than finances or parental approval. She knew that if she chose one of us over the other, it would alter the friendship forever. There would be an odd man out. When it came right down to it, she wouldn't break up the triangle. Funny, isn't it? That happened anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"It was never quite the same between the three of us after we got back from El Paso. We were on guard all the time, where before, we were always nakedly honest with each other."
His voice turned sad. "Reede didn't see as much of her as I did while she was pregnant, and that wasn't very often. We were busy with school and she stayed close to home. Oh, we went through the motions of still being best buddies, but when we were together, we tried too hard to pretend that everything was normal.
"That night she tried to abort you stood between us like a solid wall. None of us could ever go up, over, around, or through it. It was there. Conversations became an effort. Laughter was forced."
"But, you didn't desert her."
"No. The day you were born, Reede and I rushed to the hospital. Besides your  grandmother, we were the first people you were introduced to."
"I'm glad of that," she said thickly.
"So am I."
"If I'd been Celina, I would have snagged one of you when I had the chance."
His grin slowly faded. "Reede stopped asking."

"Why?"
Junior signaled for the waitress to refill his coffee cup. Then, cradling it between his hands, he stared into its dark depths. "He never forgave her."
"For Al Gaither?"
"For you."
Stricken, Alex raised her hand to cover her mouth. The guilt she had borne all her life pressed in on her like a vise.
Junior, sensing her anxiety, rushed to say, "It wasn't because she'd conceived you. He couldn't forgive that abortion business."
"I don't understand."
"See, Alex, Reede's a survivor. Hell, if anybody was ever destined to turn out rotten, it was Reede. He didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making anything out of himself. Social workers, if Purcell had had any, would have pointed at him and said, 'There goes a wasted life in the making. He'll go bad. Watch and see.' But no, not Reede. He thrives on adversity. He's a scrapper. He's strong. He gets knocked down and comes up fighting.
"Now me," he said with a scoffing laugh, "I can overlook other people's weaknesses because I've got so many of my own. I could understand the panic and fear Celina must have felt. She took desperate measures because she was afraid to stick it out.
' 'Reede can't understand taking the path of least resistance. He couldn't tolerate that weakness in her. He expects so goddamn much out of himself, he imposes the same standards on everybody else. Those standards are virtually impossible to live up to. That's why he's constantly disappointed in people. He sets himself up to be."
"He's a cynic."
"I can see where you'd think that, but don't let that tough pose fool you. When people let him down, as they invariably do because they're human, it hurts him. When he's hurt, he turns mean."
"Was he mean to my mother?"

"No, never. Their relationship being what it was, she had the power to hurt and disappoint him more than anybody could. But he couldn't turn mean toward Celina because he loved her so much." He looked at Alex levelly. "He just couldn't forgive her."
"That's why he stepped aside and gave you the advantage."
"Which I unabashedly took," he said with a short laugh. "I'm not as hard to please as Reede. I don't demand perfection in myself or anybody else. Yes, Alex, in spite of her mistakes, I loved your mother and wanted her to be my wife on any terms."
"Why didn't she marry you, Junior?" Alex asked, genuinely perplexed. "She loved you. I know she did."
"I know she did, too. And I'm damned good-looking."
He winked and Alex smiled.' 'Few would believe this because of the way I live now, but I would have been faithful to Celina and made you an excellent daddy, Alex. I wanted to try, anyway." He clasped his hands together on the table.
"But Celina said no, no matter how many times I asked her.''
"And you went on asking her, right up until the night she died."
His eyes snapped up to hers. "Yes. I invited her out to the ranch that night to propose."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Same as always. She turned me down."
"Do you know why?"
"Yes." He shifted uncomfortably in the booth. "She still loved Reede. Always and forever, it was Reede she wanted."
Alex looked away because she knew it was a painful admission for him to make. "Junior, where were you that night?"
"At the ranch."
"I mean after that, after you took Celina home."
"I didn't take her home. I presumed Dad would."
"Angus?"

"I was upset because she had refused me again. See, I'd told my parents to get used to the idea of having a daughter-in-law and a grandchild in the house soon." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I got mad and stormed out-- just flew the coop and left Celina there."
"Where did you go?"
"I hit all the places that would sell liquor to minors. I got drunk."
"Alone?"
"Alone."
"No alibi?"
"Junior doesn't need an alibi. He didn't kill your mother."
They had been so immersed in the conversation that neither had noticed Stacey Wallace's approach. When they looked up, she was standing at the edge of the table. Her stare was even more hostile than it had been at their first meeting.
"Good morning, Stacey," Junior said uncomfortably. He seemed less than pleased by her sudden appearance. "Sit down and have a cup of coffee with us." He moved over to make room for her on his side of the booth.
"No, thank you." Glaring down at Alex, she said, "Stop bothering Junior with your endless questions."
"Hey, Stacey, I'm not bothered,'' he said, trying to smooth over the situation.
"Why don't you just give it up?"
"I can't."
"Well, you should. It would be best for everybody."
"Especially the murderer," Alex said quietly.
Stacey's thin, straight body quivered like a bowstring just plucked. "Get out of our lives. You're a self-serving, vindictive bitch, who--"
"Not here, Stacey." Junior, intervening quickly, scooted out of the booth and took her arm. "I'll walk you to your car. What are you doing out this morning? Oh, your bridge group is having breakfast," he said, noting the table of women watching curiously. "How nice." He gave them a jaunty little wave.
Alex, as aware as Junior of all the prying eyes, slipped a five-dollar bill beneath her saucer and left the coffee shop only a few moments behind Junior and Stacey.
She gave Stacey's car wide berth, but watched from the corner of her eye as Junior pulled Stacey into an embrace and rubbed her back consolingly. He gave her a soft kiss on the lips. She clung to him, appealing to him about something that had caused her consternation. His answer seemed to soothe her. She went limp against his chest. Junior worked himself out of her clutches, but in such a charming way that Stacey was smiling when he tucked her into the driver's seat of her car and waved her off.
Alex was already inside her room when he tapped on the door and said, "It's me."
She opened the door. "What was that all about?"
"She thought I'd spent the night with you, since we were having breakfast together in the coffee shop."
"Lord," Alex whispered. "People in this town certainly have fertile minds. You'd better leave before anybody else gets that impression."
"What do you care? I don't."
"Well, I do."
Uneasily, Alex glanced toward the unmade bed. On any other morning the housekeeper was knocking while she was still in the shower. This morning, of all mornings, she was running late. Alex was afraid that the bed would give away her secret. The room was redolent of Reede. His essence lingered on each surface like a fine coating of dust. She was afraid Junior would sense that.
Gently, he removed her sunglasses and traced the lavender half-moons beneath her eyes. "Bad night?"
That's an understatement, she thought. "You might as well hear it from me. I'm sure it will get around. Late yesterday afternoon I went to Nora Gail's place."
His lips parted with surprise. "Son of a bitch."
"I needed to talk to her. It seems she's Reede's alibi for the night Celina was killed. Anyway, while I was there, a man got shot. There was blood, an arrest."

Junior laughed with incredulity. "You're kiddin' me."
"I wish I were,'' she said grimly.' 'Here I am, representing the D.A.'s office, and I get involved in a Shootout between two cowboys in a whorehouse."
Suddenly it all collapsed on her. Instead of crying, she began to laugh. Once she started, she couldn't stop. She laughed until her sides ached and tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, God, can you believe it? If Greg Harper ever hears about this, he--"
"Pat Chastain won't tell him. He has a girl out at--"
"I know," she said, "Reede told me. He responded to the call and hustled me out. He didn't seem to think there would be any repercussions." She shrugged in an offhanded manner that she hoped didn't look as phony as it felt.
"It's good to hear you laughing for a change," Junior commented, smiling down at her. "I'd like to stick around and cheer you up even more." He placed his hands on her derriere and began to move them up and down. Alex pushed him away.
"If you wanted to cheer someone up, you should have gone with Stacey. She looked like she could use it."
He glanced away guiltily. "It doesn't take much to make her happy."
"Because she still loves you."
"I don't deserve her."
"That doesn't matter to her. She'll forgive you anything She already has."
"Of murder, you mean?"
"No. Of loving someone else--Celina."
"Not this time, Alex," he whispered and dipped his head to kiss her.
She dodged his well-aimed lips. "No, Junior."
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"Am I still only a pal?"
"A friend."
"Why just a friend?"

"I keep getting the present mixed up with the past. Hearing you talk about wishing you could have been my father stifled my romantic inclinations."
"When I look at you now, I can't relate you to that tiny baby in the crib. You're an exciting woman. I want to hold you, love you, and not like a daddy."
"No." She shook her head adamantly. "It just doesn't sit right, Junior. It's out of whack."
This was the speech she should have made to Reede. Why hadn't she? Because she was a phony, that's why. And because the same rules didn't always apply to similar situations, even when one wanted them to. And because she didn't have any control over whom she fell in love with. She and Celina had that in common.
"We can never be lovers."
He smiled and said without rancor, "I'm stubborn. Once this is over, I'll make certain that you see me in a whole new light. We'll pretend that we're meeting for the first time and you'll fall hard for me."
If it soothes his ego, let him think so, Alex thought. She knew it would never be, just as it could never have been with him and Celina.
And in both cases, Reede Lambert was the reason.
 

Thirty-seven
 
 

Angus's secretary escorted Alex into his office at ME headquarters. It was an unpretentious complex, situated in a professional building between a dentist's office and a two-partner law firm. He stepped around his desk to greet her.
"Thank you for stopping by, Alex."
"I'm glad you called. I needed to talk to you anyway."
"Would you like a drink?"
"No, thanks."
"Seen Junior lately?"
"Yes. We had coffee together this morning."
Angus was pleased. His lecture had obviously worked. As usual, Junior had just needed a pep talk to get into gear.
"Before we get to my business," Angus said, "what's on your mind?"
"Specifically, the night my mother died, Angus."
His hearty smile faded. "Sit down." He guided her to a small upholstered couch. "What do you want to know?"
"When I spoke with Junior this morning, he confirmed what I'd already been told--that he proposed to Celina that night. I know that you and Mrs. Minton opposed the idea."
"That's right, Alex, we did. I hate to tell you that. I don't mean to speak badly of your mother because I adored her as Junior's friend."
"But you didn't want her for his wife."
"No." He leaned forward and wagged his finger at her.
 
 
"Don't think it was snobbishness on my part. It wasn't. Sarah Jo's opinion might have been swayed by class and economic distinctions, but not mine. I would have objected to Junior marrying anybody at that time in his life."
"Then why did you consent to his marriage to Stacey Wallace only a few weeks later?"
No dummy this girl, Angus thought. He assumed an innocent pose. "The situation had changed by then. He'd been emotionally devastated by Celina's death. Stacey worshiped the ground he walked on. I thought she would be good for him. For a while, she was. I don't regret blessing that marriage."
"A prestigious judge's daughter was also a far more suitable match for the son of Angus Minton."
His blue eyes darkened. "You're disappointing me, Alex. What you're suggesting is downright tacky. Do you think I'd force my son into a loveless marriage?"
"I don't know. Would you?"
"No!"
"Even if the stakes were awfully high?"
"Listen," he said, lowering his voice for emphasis, "anything I've ever done for my boy has been for his own good.''
"Does that include killing Celina?"
Angus jerked upright. "You've got your nerve, young lady."
"I'm sorry. I can't afford to be subtle. Angus, Junior says he left the ranch that night, angry and hurt, because Celina turned down his proposal."
"That's right."
"It was left to you to drive her home."
"Yes. Instead, I offered her one of the cars and gave her the keys. She told me good-bye and left the house. I assumed she drove herself home."
"Did anyone overhear this conversation?"
"Not that I know of."
"Not even your wife?"
"She went up to bed right after supper."
"Don't you see, Angus? You've got no alibi. There's no witness to what happened after Junior left.''

It pleased him enormously that she seemed worried about it. Her features were anxious and drawn. Lately, he'd found it hard to think of this girl as his enemy. Evidently, she was nursing that same ambiguity.
"I slept with Sarah Jo that night," he said. "She'll vouch for that. So will Reede. We were in bed the next morning when he came running in to tell us that he'd found Celina's body in the stable."
"Wasn't my grandmother worried about her? When Celina didn't come home, didn't she telephone the ranch?"
"In fact, she did. Celina had already left the house. She had bragged that you were already sleeping through the night, so I guess Mrs. Graham went back to bed, assuming that she was on her way. She didn't realize until the following morning that Celina hadn't made it home."
"What time did Grandma Graham call?"
"I don't remember. It wasn't very late because I was still up. I usually go to bed early. I was especially tired after the day we'd spent in the stable with that mare."
Alex was frowning in concentration. He grinned. "Sound plausible?"
Grudgingly, she returned his smile. "Yes, but it's riddled with holes."
"It's damn sure not enough to ask a grand jury for a murder indictment. It's nothing like a blood-soaked Gooney Bud holding a scalpel."
Alex said nothing.
Angus reached out and covered her hand. "I hope I didn't hurt your feelings, talking frankly about your mother like that."
"No, you didn't," she replied with a weak smile. "In the last few days I've learned that she was far from an angel."
"I would never have approved of her for Junior. My disapproval didn't have anything to do with whether she was a saint or sinner."
He watched her wet her lips anxiously before asking,
"What was your main objection, Angus? Was it because she had me?"

So that's it, he thought. Alex blames herself for her mother's fate. Guilt had driven her to get to the bottom of this case. She craved absolution for the sin Merle Graham had laid on her. What a spiteful thing for the old bitch to do to a kid. Still, it served his purpose well.
"My disapproval had nothing to do with you, Alex. It was Reede and Junior." Humbly, he folded his hands and studied them as he spoke. ' 'Junior needs somebody to goad him every now and then. A strong daddy, a strong friend, a strong woman." He looked up at her from beneath lowered brows.
"You'd be a perfect mate for him."
"Mate?"
He laughed and spread his arms wide at his sides. "Hell, I might as well come right out with it. I'd like to see a match between you and Junior."
'What!?"
Angus wasn't sure whether she was actually stunned, or a damn good actress. Either way, he was glad he'd chosen to prod this thing along himself. Left alone, Junior wasn't getting the job done.
"We could use a smart lady lawyer in this family. Think what a contribution you'd make to the business, not to mention the empty bedrooms at the ranch. In no time you'd fill 'em up with grandbabies." He lowered his eyes to her pelvic region. "You've got  the build for it, and you'd bring new blood to the stock."
"You can't be serious, Angus."
"I've never been more serious in my life." He patted her on the back. "For now, though, let's just leave it at this: I'd be pleased as punch if something romantic was to spark between you and Junior."
She moved away from his touch. "Angus, I don't want to offend you or Junior, but what you're suggesting is . . ."
She searched for the right word, then laughed and said, "preposterous."
"Why?"
"You're asking me to play the role my mother was cast for. You rejected her."

"You're suited to the role. She wasn't."
"I'm not in love with Junior, and I don't want the part."
She stood up and moved to the door. "I'm sorry if there's been any misunderstanding or if I've misled anybody into thinking . . ." He gave her his darkest, most fearsome frown, the one that usually struck terror into the hearts of those who opposed him. She withstood it well. "Good-bye, Angus. I'll be in touch."
After she left, Angus poured a drink to calm himself down.
His fingers closed around the glass so tightly, it was a wonder it didn't shatter under the pressure.
Angus Minton rarely had his ideas questioned, and even less frequently, snickered at. They were sure as hell never called preposterous.
Alex left feeling greatly disturbed. In spite of her best intentions, she had offended him. She regretted that. But what disturbed her most was that she'd seen into the man behind the good ole boy demeanor.
Angus Minton liked to have things go his way. When they didn't move along fast enough, he boosted them. He didn't take kindly to being crossed.
More than ever, Alex pitied Junior, whose pace was so different from his father's. No doubt that had always been a source of friction between them. She could also understand why a man as self-sufficient as Reede had left Minton Enterprises. He wouldn't have functioned well under Angus's heavy thumb.
She returned to her car and began to drive aimlessly, leaving the city limits and taking to the back roads. The scenery wasn't much to brag about. Tumbleweeds were snagged on barbed-wire fences that seemed to stretch forever. Oil wells, black outlines against the colorless earth, pumped desultorily.
The drive helped; it gave her privacy in which to think.
Like her mother, she had become entangled with three men, all of whom she liked. She didn't want to believe one of them was a killer.
Lord, what a muddle. She was gradually peeling away layers of deception. If she kept at it long enough, surely she would eventually get to the truth.
But her time was running out. She had only a few days left before Greg would demand to see some results. If she couldn't produce something concrete, he would demand that she desist.
As she approached the city limits on her return, she became aware that the vehicle behind her was following too close.
"Jerk," she muttered, glancing into her rearview mirror.
For another mile the pickup rode her rear end like a shadow. The sun was at an angle to prevent her from seeing the driver.
"Come on around if you're in such a hurry."
She tapped her brake pedal, enough for the taillights to blink on. He didn't take the hint. On this rural highway, the gravel shoulder was so narrow it hardly qualified as such. She edged toward it anyway, hoping that the driver of the truck would pass her.
' 'Thank you very much,'' she said when the truck straddled the center yellow stripe and sped up to pass her. It pulled up even with her. She was aware of it from the corner of her eye. She didn't realize that the driver had a more nefarious purpose than vehicular horseplay in mind until he stayed even with her, a hazard at the speed they were driving.
"You fool!" She whipped her head around to glance out the window. The pickup truck accelerated suddenly and deliberately swerved, catching her front left bumper with his right rear one. She lost control of the car.
She clutched the steering wheel and stamped on the brakes, but to no avail. Her car skidded off the loose shoulder and plowed into the deep, dry ditch. Alex was held in by her seatbelt, but flung forward hard enough to bang her head on the steering wheel. The windshield shattered upon impact, showering the back of her head and hands with glass. It seemed to rain down forever.
She didn't think she had lost consciousness, but the next thing she knew, there were voices speaking to her. They were soft and melodious, but she couldn't understand what they were saying.
Groggily, she raised her head. The motion gave her a searing headache. She fought down rising nausea and struggled to focus her eyes.
The men surrounding the car and looking at her with concern were speaking Spanish. One opened her door and said something that was gently inquiring.
"Yes, I'm all right," she answered automatically. She couldn't imagine why they were looking at her so strangely until she felt the wet trickle against her cheek. She raised her hand and investigated. Her trembling fingers came away red.
"I'd rather you spent the night here at the hospital. I can arrange for a room," the doctor said.
"No, I'll be fine in the motel. After a couple of these, I should sleep till morning.'' She shook the brown plastic bottle of pills.
' 'You don't have a concussion, but take it easy for a couple of days. No sports, or anything like that."
She winced at the very mention of physical exertion. "I promise."
"In a week, we'll take out the stitches. Good thing that gash was on the top of your head and not on your face."
"Yes," Alex replied uncertainly. He'd had to shave a small patch of her scalp, but with artful combing, her hair would cover it.
"Are you up to having a visitor? There's somebody waiting to see you. Since this is a weeknight, things are kind of slow, so use the room for as long as you like."
"Thank you, Doctor."
He left the treatment room. Alex tried to sit up, but discovered that she was still too dizzy. The sight of Pat Chastain walking through the door didn't help her equilibrium.' 'Well, Mr. Chastain, long time, no see," she said with sarcasm.
He moved toward the examination table and sheepishly asked, "How are you?"

"I've been better, but I'll be fine."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No. There was no need for you to come here. How'd you know about it, anyway?"
He pulled forward the only chair in the room and sat down.
"Those Mexicans flagged down a passing car. The driver went to the nearest phone and called for an ambulance. The deputy who went out to investigate the accident speaks Spanish, so he heard from them what happened."
"They saw the truck force me off the road?"
"Yeah. Could you identify it?"
"It was white." She met the D.A.'s eyes. "And it had the Minton Enterprises logo stenciled on the side."
He looked troubled and nervous. "That's what the Mexicans said, too. The deputy couldn't locate Reede, so he called me." He nodded toward the bandage on her head. "Is that gonna be okay?"
"In two or three days. I can take the bandage off tomorrow. It required several stitches. And I've got these as reminders."
She held up her hands, which were covered with tiny scratches where glass fragments had been tweezed out.
"Alex, did you recognize the driver?"
"No." The district attorney gave her a hard look, testing her truthfulness. "No," she repeated. "Believe me, if I had, I'd be after him myself. I didn't even catch a glimpse. All I could make out was a silhouette against the sun. I think he was wearing some kind of hat."
"Do you think it was a random incident?"
She came up on both elbows. "Do you?"
He patted the air, urging her to lie back down. "No, I guess it wasn't."
"Then don't tax my strength with stupid questions."
He ran a hand through his hair and swore. "When I told my old buddy Greg Harper that you'd have carte blanche, I didn't know that you were going to wreak havoc in my county."
Her patience with him snapped. "It's my head that mountains are being slammed against, Mr. Chastain. Why are you whining?"
"Well, dammit, Alex. Judge Wallace, who didn't like me much in the first place, is hotter than a pistol. I can't win a single point in his courtroom these days. You've all but called three of the county's leading citizens murderers. Pasty Hickam, a fixture in this town, turns up dead while you're with him. You were at Nora Gail Burton's whorehouse when a shooting took place. Goddamn it, why'd you have to open up that hornets' nest?"
She pressed her hand to her throbbing forehead. "It wasn't by choice. I was following a lead." She lowered her hand and gave him a pointed look. "And don't worry, your secret interest in Nora Gail's is safe with me."
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.
"Alex." He whispered her name, not to awaken her, but merely for the pleasure of speaking it out loud.
She sighed deeply, drawing his attention down to the torn T-shirt. Through the tear he could see the smooth slope of her breasts. Her cleavage was dusky in the faint lamplight, shadowy and velvety, and he wanted to press his open mouth there.
He didn't. Nor did he kiss her vulnerable mouth, even though his mind was wildly occupied with how softly and deeply and wetly she kissed.
He thought of fondling the tempting mounds of her breasts. He could see the dark impressions of their centers behind the soft cloth of the T-shirt, and knew that with the merest touch of his tongue or fingertips, they would become taut. And that damned T-shirt was far sexier than any fancy negligee and garter belt that Nora Gail had ever worn.
It was hell to lie this close to her and not touch, but it was heaven to have this much access, to stare his fill. When the pleasure and pain of it got to be too much, he reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers and left the bed.
After making certain that she had enough blankets, that the medication had her completely sedated, he slipped quietly out of the room.

Thirty-nine
 
 
 
 
"Come in." Junior was sitting up in bed watching TV and smoking a joint when Reede entered his room. "Hi. What brings you around?" He offered Reede the marijuana.
"No, thanks." Reede dropped into the easy chair and propped his boots on the matching ottoman.
The room had undergone very few changes since the first time Reede had been invited into it, although Junior had updated the furniture when he elected to move home after his last divorce. It was a spacious room, designed with comfort in mind.
"Lord, I'm tired," Reede said, running his fingers through his hair.
Junior pinched out the smoldering cigarette and put it away.
"You look it."
' "Thanks.'' He grinned ruefully. "How come I always look like forty miles of bad road and you're always perfectly groomed?"
"Genes. Look at Mother. I've never seen her mussed."
"I guess so. God knows my father didn't cotton to good grooming."
"Don't expect any pity from me. You know your rugged good looks are irresistible to the ladies. We're different types, that's all."
"Together, we'd be great."
"We were."
"Huh?"
"Remember the night we shared one of the Gail sisters' behind the National Guard armory. Which one was it?"
Reede chuckled. "Damned if I remember. I'm too tired to think, much less remember."
"You've been putting in a lot of overtime, haven't you?"
"It's taken that," he paused strategically, "just to keep an eye on Alex and keep her from getting hurt."
Reede saw the interest spark in Junior's eyes. "She's a handful, all right."
"I'm not joking. She almost got killed this afternoon."
"What?" Junior swung his feet over the side of the bed to the floor.' 'What happened? Is she hurt?'' Reede told Junior about the incident on the highway. "I'd better call her," he said as soon as Reede finished.
"Don't. When I left her, she was asleep. They gave her a painkiller at the hospital and it was already working."
He could feel the weight of Junior's inquisitive stare, but didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't going to explain why he'd felt it necessary to tuck Alex in. It had taken all his willpower to walk out of that room and deny himself the luxury of lying beside her all night.
"Some Mexicans witnessed the whole thing. They said it was an ME truck, and it deliberately ran her off the road."
Junior looked confused. "My first guess would be that preacher."
"Where would he get one of your company trucks?"
"A devoted member of his flock could be an employee."
"I've got a man checking out that possibility, although I doubt anything'll turn up."
The two friends were silent for a moment. Finally, Reede said casually, "I understand you had breakfast with Alex this morning."
"She called and asked me to meet her."
"Why?"
"She said you told her about Celina's attempted abortion.''
Reede averted his head. "Yeah."
"I don't like to second-guess you, friend, but--"
"Then, don't." Reede rolled out of the chair and came to his feet.
"Okay, okay. I just fail to see why it was necessary."
Reede didn't intend to talk about last night at all. "What else did you discuss over breakfast?"
"The night Celina died. Alex wanted to know if I'd proposed."
Junior recounted that morning's conversation with Alex.
"Did she believe you when you said you went out and got drunk alone?"
"I guess so. She seemed to. Everybody else believes me."
The look they exchanged lasted a few seconds too long to be comfortable for either. "Yeah, right.'' Reede gazed out the window.
*' Alex said Stacey showed up and was none too friendly.''
Junior fidgeted.' 'I've, uh, I've been seeing Stacey lately.''
Reede swiveled around, surprised. "Seeing or screwing? Or are they automatically synonymous to you?"
"Guilty to both charges."
Reede cursed. "Why are you fanning that fire?"
"Convenience."
"Nora Gail's is convenient."
"But not free--at least, to no one but you."
Reede's lip curled. "You sorry son of a bitch."
"Look, it's not hurting anybody. Stacey needs the attention. She wants it."
"Because she loves you, you jerk."
"Aww." Junior dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand. "One thing I do know. She's all bent out of shape about Alex. Stacey's afraid she'll ruin all of us, but especially, her old man."

"She might do it. She's determined to find a culprit and send him to prison."
Junior slouched against the headboard again. "Does that really worry you?"
"Yes," Reede said. "I've got a lot to lose if ME doesn't get that racing license. So do you."
"What are you getting at, that I ran Alex off the road? Is this an interrogation, Sheriff?" he asked in a tone that didn't flatter the office Reede held.
"Well?"
Junior's handsome face flushed with anger. "Good God, are you crazy?" He left the bed and came to stand eye to eye with Reede. "I wouldn't harm a hair on her head."
"Were you in her room this morning?"
"Yes. So?"
"What for?" Reede shouted.
"What do you think?" Junior shouted back.
Reede's head gave a little snap backward. It was a reflexive action, one he couldn't prevent from happening or hide once it had.
Several moments of silence elapsed before Junior said, "She said no."
"I didn't ask."
"But you wanted to," Junior said intuitively. "Does Alex and her reason for being here have anything to do with you turning down Dad's offer to come back to ME?'' He returned to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, giving Reede a wounded and inquisitive look. "Weren't you even going to mention it, Reede?"
"No."
"Why?"
"There was no point. When I left the company, it was for good. I don't want to become a part of it again."
"Of us, you mean."
Reede shrugged. Junior thoughtfully gazed at his friend.
"Because of Celina?"

"Celina?" Reede whispered with a soft, sad laugh. "Celina's dead and buried."
"Is she?"
The friends stared at each other frankly, with all pretense stripped away. After a moment, Reede answered, "Yes."
"It hasn't been the same between us since she died, has it?"
"It couldn't be."
"I guess not," Junior said morosely. "I regret that."
"So do I."
"What about Alex?"
"What about her?"
"Is she the reason you won't come back in with us?"
"Hell, no. You know the reason, Junior--or at least, you should. You've heard me talk about it often enough."
"That crap about independence? That's no reason. You work your way around Angus a lot better than I do."
Junior sucked in a quick breath, suddenly realizing that he'd hit pay dirt. "That's it, isn't it? You're steering clear of ME for my sake."
"You're wrong." Reede's denial came a little too fast.
"The hell I am," Junior growled. "You see yourself as a threat to me, the heir apparent. Well, thanks a lot, but don't do me any favors!"
As suddenly as Junior's anger had erupted, it evaporated.
"Who the **** am I kidding?" He gave a scoffing laugh.
"Sure as hell not myself." He raised his head and looked at Reede imploringly. "I'd love to have you back. We need you, especially after that racetrack is built."
"Now who's talking crap?"
"You know I'm right. Dad makes things happen, but he operates like a robber baron. Business doesn't work like that nowadays. I've got charm, but charm is as wasted on a breeding ranch as snow skis in Jamaica. Unless you're a gigolo--a career I've often thought of pursuing--you can't bank charm."
"It comes in handy."
"Dad's smart enough to see that you could hold us to get her, Reede. You could be the buffer between us." He looked down at his hands. "He'd rather have you than me around."
"Junior--"
"No, let's be honest about this for once, Reede. We're getting too old to lie to ourselves or to each other. Dad would swear on a stack of Bibles that he's proud that I'm his son, but I know better. Oh, I know he loves me, but I'm one screwup after another. He'd rather me be like you."
"That's not true."
"I'm afraid it is."
"Uh-uh," Reede said, sternly shaking his head. "Angus knows that in a pinch, when all the cards are down, you come through. There have been times--"
"What times?"
"Many times," Reede stressed, "when you did what you knew you had to do. Sometimes it has to get to that last-gasp stage before you accept your responsibility," Reede said, "but when you know it's up to you or else, you do it." He laid his hand on Junior's shoulder. "It's just that sometimes somebody has to put a boot to your butt to get you going."
It was time to end the discussion, before it got sloppily maudlin. Reede socked Junior's shoulder, then headed for the door. "Don't go selling that dope to schoolkids or I'll have to haul you in, okay?" He had opened the door and was on his way out before Junior halted him.
"I was mad as hell the other day when you showed up at the country club to pick up Alex."
"I know. It couldn't be helped. It was business."
"Was it? What about the airfield? Was that business, too? That wasn't Dad's impression."
Reede remained stonily silent, neither admitting or denying anything.
"Jesus," Junior breathed, drawing his hand down his face.
"Is it happening again? Are we falling in love with the same woman?"
Reede walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Forty
 
 

Stacey Wallace slid her father's half-eaten tuna salad out of the way and replaced it with a bowl of fruit cocktail. ' 'I don't think we'll have her to worry about much longer," she said with assurance. The topic of conversation was Alexandra Gaither. "Did you hear about her accident?"
"From what I understand, it wasn't an accident."
"All the more reason for her to want to leave town."
"Angus doesn't think she's going to leave," the judge said as he toyed with the cherry floating in the viscous syrup. "He says she's convinced somebody wanted to scare her into leaving before she exposed the killer."
' 'Do you take everything Angus says as carved in granite?''
Stacey asked with exasperation. "How does he know what she's going to do?"
"He's going by what she told Junior."
Stacey laid her fork aside. "Junior?"
"Hmm." Judge Wallace sipped his iced tea. "He sat with her yesterday."
' 'I thought she left the hospital and was back at her motel.''
"Wherever she is, Junior's been her only contact with the outside world." The judge was so caught up in his own worries, he didn't notice Stacey's suddenly preoccupied gaze.
He pushed away from the table. "I'd better go or I'll be late. We've got a jury selection this morning and a pretrial hearing for that character who shot a man out at Nora Gail Burton's the other night. I'm expecting a plea bargain, but Lambert's got Pat Chastain pushing for attempted murder."
Stacey was only half listening. Her mind had lodged on a mental picture of the beautiful Alex Gaither languishing on her motel room bed while Junior waited on her hand and foot.
"By the way," the judge said as he pulled on his overcoat, "did you get that message I left you yesterday?"
"To call Fergus Plummet?"
"Yes. Isn't he that evangelical preacher who raised Cain because they had bingo at the Halloween carnival last year? What'd he want with you?"
"He's canvassing support to keep pari-mutuel gambling out of Purcell County."
The judge snickered. "Does he know he'd just as well try and hold back our next dust storm?"
"That's what I told him when I returned his call," Stacey said. "He knows I belong to several women's organizations and wanted me to plead his case with them. I declined, of course."
Joe Wallace picked up his briefcase and opened the front door. "Reede is convinced that Plummet was responsible for that vandalism out at the Minton ranch, but he's got no evidence to hold him." The judge didn't think twice about discussing cases with Stacey. She had earned his confidence years ago.
"I don't think Plummet has the sense to pull off something like that, not without somebody directing him. Reede has been harping on it, but right now, Plummet is the least of my worries."
Concerned, Stacey caught her father's arm. "What worries, Dad? Alex Gaither? Don't worry about her. What harm could she possibly do you?"
He faked a smile. "Absolutely none. You just know how I like things neat and tidy. I've got to run. Goodbye."
Wanda Gail Burton Plummet happened to be sweeping off her front porch when the postman arrived. He handed her the stack of mail and she thanked him. She sorted through it as she made her way back into the house. As usual, all the mail was addressed to her husband. It was mostly bills and church-related correspondence.
One envelope, however, was different from the others. It was made of high-quality beige paper. There was an embossed return address on it, but it had been exed out on a typewriter, making it illegible. Their address had been typed on, too.
Curiosity won out over her husband's strict instructions that he was to open their mail. Wanda tore open the envelope. It contained only a blank piece of paper, folded around five one-hundred-dollar bills.
Wanda stared at the money as though it was a message from an alien planet. Five hundred dollars was more than the offering plate contained after a well-attended revival service. Fergus only took out a pittance to support his family. Almost everything collected went to the church and its "causes."
No doubt this money had been sent by a donor who wanted to remain anonymous. For the last several days, Fergus had been calling up folks on the telephone, asking for volunteers to picket at the gates of the Minton ranch. He solicited money.
He wanted to place full-page antigambling ads in the newspaper. Well-publicized crusades were expensive.
Most people hung up on him. Some had called him ugly names before slamming down their receivers. A few had listened and given halfhearted pledges to send a supportive offering.
But, five hundred dollars.
He'd also spent time on the phone in secretive, whispered conversations. Wanda didn't know what these covert calls were about, but she suspected they had something to do with that business at the Minton ranch. One of the hardest things she'd ever had to do was lie to her old friend, Reede. He had known she was lying, but he'd been gentlemanly enough not to accuse her of it.
Afterward, when she had expressed concern to Fergus about her sin of lying, he had told her that it had been justified.
God didn't expect his servants to go to jail, where they would be ineffectual.

She timidly pointed out that Paul had spent a lot of time in prison, and had done some of the most inspired writing in the New Testament while behind bars. Fergus hadn't appreciated the comparison and had told her that she should keep her mouth shut about matters that were too complicated for her to comprehend.
"Wanda?"
She jumped at the sound of his voice and reflexively clutched the money to her sagging breasts. "What, Fergus?"
"Was that the postman at the door?"
"Uh, yes." She glanced down at the envelope. The money was surely related to those furtive telephone calls. Fergus wouldn't want to talk about them. "I was just bringing you the mail."
She went into the kitchen. He was seated at the Formica dining table that served as his desk between meals. She laid the stack of mail on the table. When she returned to the sink to finish washing dishes, the fancy envelope and its contents were in her apron pocket.
She would give it to Fergus later, Wanda promised herself, as a surprise. In the meantime, she would fantasize about all it could buy for her three kids.
 
Alex had had thirty-six hours to think about it. While nursing her debilitating headache, she'd lain in bed, reviewing everything she knew and filling in what she didn't know with educated guesses.
She couldn't continue to run around in circles indefinitely.
She was probably as close to the truth as she was ever going to get, short of taking desperate measures. The deadline Greg had set was imminent. It was time to force someone's hand, to get aggressive, even if she had to bluff.
Days ago, she had reached the heartbreaking conclusion that she had been the catalyst for Celina's murder, but she didn't plan to bear the burden of that guilt alone for the rest of her life. Whoever had done the actual deed must suffer for it also.
That morning when she woke up, she still had a headache, but it was one she could live with. She spent the morning reviewing her notes and doing some research, and was waiting in Judge Wallace's anteroom when he returned from lunch.
He didn't look pleased to see her.
"I told Ms. Gaither that you had a full schedule today," Mrs. Lipscomb said defensively when he turned a baleful glance on her. "She insisted on waiting for you."
"She's right, Judge Wallace, I did," Alex said. "Can you spare me a few minutes?"
He consulted his wristwatch. "A very few."
She followed him into his office. He took off his overcoat and hung it on a brass coat tree. Not until he was situated behind his desk, trying to look intimidating, did he say, "What is it this time?"
"What did Angus Minton use to entice you?"
His face became instantly mottled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. You confined an innocent man to a state mental hospital, Judge Wallace. You knew he was innocent, or at least strongly suspected that he was. You did that at Angus Minton's request, didn't you? And in exchange, you demanded that Junior marry your daughter Stacey."
"This is incredible!" He banged his fists on his desktop.
"It's extremely credible. On the morning after Celina Graham Gaither was found murdered in a stable on the Minton ranch, you received a phone call or a visit from Angus. Bud Hicks had been arrested nearby, covered in blood and in possession of a scalpel presumed to be the murder weapon. That was never ascertained because the scalpel wasn't thoroughly analyzed. The autopsy report specified that she died of repeated stab wounds, but a forensic expert didn't have access to the body before it was cremated, so she could have been stabbed by anything."
"Gooney Bud stabbed her with Dr. Collins's scalpel," he stated stubbornly. "He found it in the stable and killed her with it."
"Where is it now?"

"Now? It's been twenty-five years. You don't expect it to be lying around in the evidence room, do you?"
"No, but I would expect to have a record of its dispensation. No one ever called the late Dr. Collins or his son, asking if they might want it back, even though it was known to have been a gift from his wife. Doesn't that strike you as unusual?"
"God knows what happened to it, or to the records concerning it."
"I think that you disposed of it, Judge. You, not the sheriffs office, were the last one recorded to have possession of it. I checked this morning before coming here."
"Why would I dispose of it?"
"Because if someone came along later--an investigator like me--it would be easy and believable to pass off its disappearance as a clerical error. Better to be accused of sloppy bookkeeping than miscarriage of justice."
"You are obnoxious, Miss Gaither," he said stiffly. "Like most avengers, you're reacting emotionally, and have no basis whatsoever for your horrid allegations."
"Nevertheless, this is what I intend to present to the grand jury. Actually, I'm doing you a favor by telling you what I have. You'll be able to consult with your attorney ahead of time about the answers you will give. Or will you take the Fifth?"
"I won't need to do either."
"Do you want to call your lawyer now? I'll gladly wait."
"I don't need a lawyer."
"Then I'll proceed. Angus asked you for a favor. You asked for one in return."
"Junior Minton married my daughter because he loved her."
"I find that impossible to believe, Judge Wallace, since he's told me himself that he asked my mother to marry him the night she was killed."
"I can't explain his fickleness."

"I can. Junior was the trade-off for your ruling on Gooney Bud."
"The district attorney's office--"
"He was on vacation in Canada at the time. I confirmed that with his widow this morning. His assistant had enough evidence to arraign Bud Hicks for murder."
"A trial jury would have convicted him, too."
"I disagree, but we'll never know. You prevented that."
She drew a deep breath. "Who was Angus protecting-- himself, Junior, or Reede?"
"No one."
"He must have told you when he called that morning."
"He didn't call."
"He had to have called as soon as Hicks was arrested. What did Angus tell you?"
"He didn't tell me anything. I never heard from him."
She came out of her chair and leaned over his desk. "He must have said, 'Look, Joe, I've gotten myself in a jam here.' Or, 'Junior's taken this boys-will-be-boys thing a little too far this time,' or 'Can you help Reede out? He's like a son to me.' Isn't that what happened?"
"No, never."
"You might have argued that you couldn't do it. You probably asked for time to think about it. Being the nice guy that he is, Angus granted you a few hours to mull it over. That's when you came back saying that you would do this little favor for him in exchange for a marriage between Stacey and Junior."
"I won't have you--"
"Maybe you even discussed your dilemma with her and Mrs. Wallace."
"This is defamation of--"
"Or maybe Stacey was the one to suggest the terms of the deal."
"Stacey never knew anything about it!"
He shot out of his chair and stood nose to nose with Alex, shouting the words in her face. When he realized what he'd admitted, he blinked, wet his lips, then eased away from her and turned his back. Nervously, he ran his fingers over the row of brass studs on the back of his leather chair. It had been a gift from his daughter, his only child.
"You knew how much Stacey loved Junior Minton."
"Yes," he said softly. "I knew that she loved him more than he deserved."
"And that her affection wasn't returned."
"Yes."
"And that Junior slept with her whenever he felt like it. You thought you had better protect her reputation and the possibility of an unwanted pregnancy by getting her married as soon as possible."
The judge's shoulders slumped forward and he answered in a low, heartbroken voice. "Yes."
Alex closed her eyes and let go a long, silent breath. Tension ebbed from her like a wave receding from the shore.
"Judge Wallace, who killed my mother? Who was Angus protecting when he asked you to hustle Buddy Hicks through the legal system?"
He faced her. "I don't know. As God is my witness, I don't. I swear it on my years as a judge."
She believed him and said so. As unobtrusively as possible, she collected her things. When she reached the door of his office, he spoke her name in a thin voice.
"Yes?"
"If this ever comes to trial, will it be essential to your case for all this to come out in court?"
"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry."
"Stacey . . ." He paused to clear his throat. "I wasn't lying when I said she didn't know about my agreement with Angus."
Alex repeated, "I'm sorry."
He nodded gravely. She stepped into the anteroom and closed the door behind her. The secretary shot her a resentful look, which wasn't entirely undeserved. She had badgered him into telling the truth. It had been necessary, but she hadn't enjoyed doing it.
She was waiting for the elevator when she heard the gun shot. "Oh, God, no." She whispered the words, but wasn't even aware of saying them as she dropped her briefcase and raced back toward the end of the corridor. Mrs. Lipscomb was at the door to his office. Alex shoved her aside and ran in ahead of her.
What she saw brought her to an abrupt halt. Her scream froze in her throat, but the secretary's echoed through the chamber and into the hallways.