Best Kept Secrets (51 page)

Through a dense cloud of acrid smoke, she replied, "You're welcome, sugar."

Forty-four

"Junior?"

He turned away from the bar, where he'd been mixing his second drink in ten minutes. ' 'Good morning, Mother. Would you like a Bloody Mary?"

Sarah Jo crossed the room and yanked the bottle of vodka from his hand. "What's the matter with you?" she asked, speaking in a much harsher tone than she usually used with him. "Why are you drinking this early?"

"It's not that early, considering what time I got up."

"You went out. I heard you leave. Where'd you go?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Angus said, coming into the room. "I need to talk to you."

"Let me guess," Junior said with feigned cheerfulness,

"it's about Judge Wallace."

"That's right."

"And my marriage to Stacey."

"Yes," Angus said reluctantly.

"I'll bet you're going to tell me why it was so all-fired important that I marry her when I did."

"It was for your own good."

"That much you told me twenty-five years ago. It was a trade-off, wasn't it? You got him to close Celina's murder case in exchange for my marriage to Stacey. Am I getting warm? Apparently, so was Alex. When she confronted the judge with her hypothesis, he killed himself."

Looking faint, Sarah Jo covered her mouth. Angus responded with anger. His hands flexed into fists at his sides.

"It was the best thing to do at the time. I couldn't allow an in-depth investigation. To protect my family and my business, I had no choice but to ask the judge that favor."

"Did Stacey know about it?"

"Not from me. I doubt that Joe ever told her."

"Thank God for that." Junior dropped into a chair. His head hung dejectedly. "Dad, you know as well as I do that Gooney Bud was innocent.''

"I know no such thing."

"Come on. He was harmless. You knew he didn't kill Celina, but you let him be punished for it. Why didn't you just let things take their natural course? In the long run, we'd all have been better off."

"You know that's not so, Junior."

"Do I?" He raised his head and looked at his parents with hot, intense eyes. "You know who Reede has in his bed this morning, looking all soft and sexy and satiated? Alex." He flopped back against the easy chair's cushions and rested his head. With a bitter, humorless laugh, he said, "Celina's daughter. Jesus, can you beat that?"

"Alex spent the night with Reede?" Angus thundered.

Sarah Jo made a sniffing sound of disgust. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Why didn't you keep it from happening, Junior?" Angus demanded.

Junior, sensing his father's rising temper, shouted, "I tried!"

"Evidently, not hard enough. It's your bed she's supposed to be in by now, not Reede's."

"She's a grown woman. She didn't need my permission to go to bed with him. With anybody.'' Junior pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the bar.

Sarah Jo blocked his path. "I don't like the girl. She's as trashy as her mother, but if you wanted her for yourself, why did you let Reede Lambert have her?''

"It's more critical than that, Sarah Jo," Angus said tightly.

"Our future rested on Alex's opinion of us. I was hoping she would become part of the family. As usual, Junior fell down on the job."

"Don't criticize him, Angus."

"Why the hell not? He's my son. I'll criticize him if I damn well feel like it." Then, curbing his impatience with her, he exhaled a heavy sigh. "Too late now to be bawling over spilled milk. We've got a bigger problem than Junior's love life. I'm afraid we're extremely vulnerable to prosecution."

He left the room and slammed out the front door.

At the bar, Junior poured himself a straight vodka. Sarah Jo grabbed his arm as he raised the glass to his lips. "When are you going to learn that you're as good as Reede? Better. You've disappointed your father again. When are you going

to do something to make him proud of you? Junior, my darling, it's time you grew up and seized the initiative for a change."

Alex stared at Reede with wordless disbelief. He calmly swept the spilled coffee grounds off the counter with the back of his hand and continued to fill the filtered basket of the coffee maker. Once it was dripping boiling coffee into the glass carafe, he turned to face her.

"You look like you've swallowed a marble. Isn't that what you expected to hear?"

"Is it true?" she asked hoarsely. "Did you kill her?"

He looked away, staring at nothing for several moments, then back into her eyes, penetrating them. "No, Alex. I did not kill Celina. If I had wanted to, I would have done it before that night, and with my bare hands. I would have felt that it was justifiable homicide. I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of stealing a scalpel. I sure as hell wouldn't have let that unfortunate retarded man take the rap for me."

She stepped into the circle of his arms and hugged him tight. "I believe you, Reede."

"Well, that's something, I guess." Holding her close, he moved his hands over her back. She nuzzled his chest.

He made a low sound of arousal, but set her away from him. "The coffee's ready."

"Don't push me away, please. I'm not ready to stop hugging."

"Neither am I," he said, stroking her cheek, "buthugging isn't all I want to do, and I have a strong feeling that our conversation isn't going to be conducive to romance." He poured two mugs of coffee and carried them to the table.

"Why do you say that?" She sat down across from him.

"Because you want to know if I know who went into the barn that night."

"Do you?"

"No, I don't," he said with an emphatic shake of his head.

"I swear to God I don't."

"But you know it was either Junior or Angus."

He shrugged noncommittally.

"You've never wanted to know which, have you?"

"What difference does it make?"

She was aghast. "It makes a difference to me. It should to you."

"Why? Knowing won't change a damn thing. It won't bring Celina back. It won't alter your unhappy childhood or mine. Will it make your grandmother love you? No."

Reading her horrified expression, he said, "Yes, Alex, I know that's why you've appointed yourself Celina's avenger.

Merle Graham always had to have a scapegoat. Whenever Celina did something she considered wrong, I usually caught the blame for it. 'That Lambert kid,' she used to call me, always with a sour expression on her face.

"So it doesn't surprise me that she laid a lifelong guilt trip on you. She wouldn't take the blame for Celina's mistakes upon herself. And she wouldn't admit that Celina, like every other human being ever to grace this earth, did what she damned well pleased when she damned well felt like it, with or without motivation. That left you, the only real innocent in this whole goddamn affair, to place the blame on."

He drew in a deep breath. "So, with all that in mind, what good can it possibly do anybody to know who killed her?"

"I've got to know, Reede," she said, close to tears. "The murderer was also a thief. He robbed me. My mother would have loved me if she had lived. I know she would have."

"For crissake, she didn't even want you, Alex," he shouted. "No more than my mother wanted me. I didn't go on any quests after her."

"Because you're afraid to," she yelled back.

"Afraid?"

"Afraid of being hurt by what you find out."

"Not afraid," he said. "Indifferent."

"Well, I'm not, thank God. I'm not as cold and unfeeling as you."

"You thought I was hot enough last night," he sneered.

"Or did you stay a technical virgin this long by going down on all your dates?"

She flinched as if he'd struck her. Hurt beyond belief, she stared at him across the table. His expression was closed and hostile, but her vulnerability defeated him. He muttered a string of swear words and dug into his eye sockets with his thumb and middle finger.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. It's just that you're so goddamn aggravating when it comes to this." He lowered his hand. His green eyes appealed to her. "Give it up, Alex.

Relent."

"I can't."

"Won't."

She reached for his hand. "Reede, we're never going to agree on this, and I don't want to argue with you." Her face turned soft. "Not after last night."

"Some people would think that what went on in there,"

he said, indicating the living room, "would erase the past."

"Is that why you made it happen, hoping that I'd forgive and forget?"

He yanked his hand away. "You're dead set on pissing me off, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not trying to provoke you. Just please understand why I can't give up when I'm this close."

"I don't understand."

"Then just accept it. Help me."

"How? By pointing a finger at either my mentor or my best friend?"

"Junior didn't sound like a best friend a while ago."

"That was injured pride and jealousy talking."

"He was jealous the night Celina was killed, too. She had injured his pride. She turned down his marriage proposal because she was still in love with you. Could that have driven him to murder her?"

"Think about it, Alex," he said with annoyance. "If Junior did blow his top at her, would he have had that scalpel handy to start slashing? And do you honestly think, no matter how enraged he was, that Junior could kill anybody?"

"Then, it was Angus," she said softly.

"I don't know." Angrily, Reede slung himself out of his chair and began to pace. This was a familiar, haunting hypothesis.

"Angus was against Junior marrying Celina."

"Angus is more volatile than Junior," she said, almost to herself. "I've seen him angry. I imagine that when he's crossed, he could be capable of killing, and he certainly took desperate measures to have the case closed before the evidence could come around to him."

"Where are you going?" Reede jerked to attention when she left her chair and headed toward the bedroom.

"I've got to talk to him."

"Alex!" He went after her. He rattled the knob of the bathroom door, but she'd locked it behind herself. "I don't want you to go over there."

"I've got to." She opened the door, already dressed, and stuck out her hand. "Can I borrow your Blazer?"

He stared at her hard. "You'll wreck his life. Have you thought of that?"

"Yes. And every time I feel a pang of regret, I remind myself of the lonely, loveless childhood I spent while he was prospering." She closed her eyes and pulled herself together. "I don't want to destroy Angus. I'm only doing my job, doing what's right. I actually like him. If circumstances were different, I could grow very fond of him. But the circumstances are what they are, and I can't change them. When a person does something wrong, he's got to be punished."

"All right." He grabbed her arm and drew her up close.

"What's the punishment for a prosecutor sleeping with a suspect?"

"You're no longer a suspect."

"You didn't know that last night."

Furious, she wrested her arm free and ran through the house, grabbing his keys off the end table where she'd seen him drop them the night before.

Reede let her go and placed a call to his downtown office. Without preamble, he barked,

"Get me a car out here on the

double."

"They're all out, Sheriff. All except the Jeep."

"That'll do. Just get it here."

Forty-five

Stacey Wallace Minton shocked her friends by walking into the living room fully dressed, dry-eyed, and seemingly composed.

They had been speaking in hushed tones in deference to her suffering. They had believed that she was getting some much-needed rest in preparation for the ordeal facing her.

Tupperware and Pyrex dishes, filled with salads and casseroles and desserts, had been delivered to the house by a steady stream of concerned acquaintances. Without exception, all had asked, "How's she taking it?"

By all appearances, Stacey was taking her father's death very well. As always, she was impeccably dressed and groomed. Except for the grayish circles beneath her eyes, she could have been on her way to a club meeting.

"Stacey, did we wake you? We put a note on the door, asking people to knock instead of ringing the bell."

"I've been awake for a while," she told her friends. "What time did Junior leave?"

"Sometime during the night. Would you like something to eat? Lordy, there's enough food in there to feed an army.''

"No, thank you, nothing right now."

"Mr. Davis called. He needs to discuss the funeral arrangements with you, but said that could be at your convenience."

"I'll contact him later this morning."

As her friends watched in stupefaction, she went to the hall closet and took out her coat. They exchanged concerned and bewildered glances.

"Stacey, dear, where are you going?"

"Out."

"We'll be glad to run errands for you. That's what we're here for."

"I appreciate the offer, but this is something I've got to do myself."

"What are we supposed to tell people when they drop by to see you?" one asked, anxiously following her to the front door.

Stacey turned and calmly replied, "Tell them whatever you like."

Angus didn't seem surprised to see Alex when she walked into his den unannounced. He was seated on the leather sofa, massaging the toe that continued to give him pain. "I didn't hear you come in," he said. "I just got in from the stables myself. We've got a two-year-old gelding with shin bucks, which can't be a damn bit more painful than gout."

"Lupe told me you were back here."

"Do you want some breakfast? Coffee?"

"No, thank you, Angus." Hospitable to the bitter end, Alex thought. "Is this a convenient time-for us to talk?"

He laughed. "As convenient a time as any, I reckon, considering what we're going to talk about.'' She sat down beside him on the sofa. He studied her with shrewd blue eyes. ' 'Did Joe spill his guts before he killed himself?"

"He didn't invite me to his office to take a confession, if that's what you mean," she answered, "but I know about your deal with him. How did you talk Junior into going along with it, Angus?"