Echoes (40 page)

A knock on the door jerked her to her feet.

"Tess?"

"Yes. I'll be right out."

"No rush. I was just checking to see if you were okay?"

"Of course. I'm fine." How long had she been in here? Time ceased to have meaning. In Tess's world, it ran by a deviant standard.

She fumbled to push down the sleeves of her blouse and combed her fingers through her hair. But nothing could smooth the raw terror from her face. Brodie meant to kill Molly. She knew it with a certainty that denied reason. Equally terrifying was that he'd used Arlie without qualm, without remorse. He wouldn't hesitate to harm, to kill the child as well. Tess thought of Purcy and the threat in his mutilation.

"God, no."

She hurried back to the kitchen, giving Caitlin a reassuring glance as she passed through the living room. But Caitlin wasn't fooled. The pools of her eyes glowed with knowledge that Tess couldn't deny.

We’re there. Bad guy.

When she reached the table, she found Craig with the Jesus picture in his hands, staring at the papers she'd so hastily hidden beneath it. The map lay face up. The safe, open. Craig shook his head, confused.

"What is this?"

"You don't know?"

He put the picture down and picked up the map. "I'd heard rumors, but I didn't... They're building it on the other side of the ranch? Is that it? Is that why—?" He gripped the page hard, crumpling the edges as anger flooded red into his face.

"Where did you get these, Tess?"

"I found them."

"Who have you told about them?"

"Why?"

"Don't you get it? God, how could I have missed this?" He turned away, running a hand through his hair. The breath he released was burdened with disbelief. "Grant was so convinced that Dad's accident was just that. Smith, he kept insisting that it was unfortunate, but nothing more. Ochoa was the only one who believed me, but even he couldn't prove anything."

"What are you talking about, Craig?"

"Grant had been fighting with Dad almost since the day he came back. I kept asking myself, why? Why would he come back here when no one wanted him to? He carted out that bullshit story about the horses. Grant's not a rancher any more than I am. But now I get it. He knew. He knew about this resort and he wanted in. Dad told me he was going to change his will. But he never had the chance."

"Craig, slow down. Listen to yourself. Listen to what—"

"Grant didn't give him the chance to change it. Grant wasn't going to take the chance of losing the ranch."

"You're accusing Grant of killing your dad over property?"

"Money. Grant's used to living the high life, but now he's broke. What he didn't piss away he used on lawyers to keep him out of jail. He can't afford a cup of coffee at Lydia's— Oh, God."

Craig slumped into his chair. He covered his face with his hands and made a sound of despair.

"Lydia. Tess, I came here to tell you. I didn't want you to hear about it from a stranger. They found Lydia today, dead. Killed. Her body was left in the refrigerator."

"
Lydia was murdered?"

Craig picked up the map and looked at it. "She called me earlier, when I was leaving for the cemetery. I was short with her. I was late and I didn't have time. But she was upset. She said she needed to tell me something, but not on the phone."

"She called me too. It was on the answering machine. And then when I came home from getting Caitlin, the message was erased and—" She paused, looking in the living room where Caitlin sat, absorbing every word. "There was another threat."

Craig stared at something beyond Tess's shoulders, as if seeking words in the distant point. "She knew something, and Grant killed her before she could tell."

Tess's mouth went dry and her heart seemed to seize up inside her. "Where is he now, Craig?"

"With Smith and Ochoa. They went to the ranch to search it. Tess, they think they're going to find Tori's body there."

The words seemed to echo up from a tunnel. Tori's body? They thought they'd find her body at Grant's place? Lydia dead? She couldn't believe it. It was as if she'd gotten to the last two pieces of a puzzle only to discover they were from another pattern and would never fit. And yet, hadn't Craig been warning her about Grant all along?

She shook her head, sick with the feeling of betrayal—sickened by the voice in her head that still refused to believe it. Even faced with this evidence, she couldn't accept it. Grant was not a murderer. No matter what the evidence was, Grant could not have done what they said. He was a good man. A man she loved.

The assertion seemed to center her. Grant was innocent. She took a deep breath, holding firm to her belief. And she loved him.

She looked at Craig, intending to tell him this. To convince him that he was wrong. But without warning another feeling swept over her, one that came with the familiar cold. This time there was no chance to brace. The echo was on her in an instant.

Chapter Forty-Four

As far as Molly could find out, it appeared no one had been seriously injured in the stampede, but she didn't need the troubled and discouraged face of Captain Hanson to know the damage to equipment and supplies was considerable. By dawn he had reluctantly agreed that there must be a halt to their travel until repairs could be made and the rest of the animals found. They might be stopped for as many as three days. Three days when they were already so far behind.

The morning was spent helping her neighbors sort through the chaos and it wasn't until after she had put Arlie down for his nap that she could go in search of Adam. Brodie's threatening menace had not paled in the aftermath of the stampede. If anything the terrifying moments of hell had only solidified the feelings of desperation. The journey itself presented too many opportunities for catastrophe without the added danger from one of their own.

As she drew near the Weston wagon, she heard voices and slowed down. Brodie was there. Every instinct shouted for her to bolt, but cautiously she sidled up just out of sight.

"Are you mad at me, Adam?" Brodie was asking.

His question sounded childlike, his voice timid and needy. She could easily picture his forlorn expression as he made his appeal for reassurance. Her stomach knotted with a twist of anger and deep, undeniable fear. He played the part so well—had been mastering it his entire life. How could she begin to convince Adam that beneath the angelic face lurked the soul of the devil?

"I'm not mad," Adam was saying. Footsteps and sounds of harnesses jangling together followed.

"You sure seem like you are. It's because of the lies she told you, isn't it?"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm just checking our gear. I want to make sure nothing was damaged in the stampede."

"That sure was scary, wasn't it? Wonder what made them take off like they did," Brodie said.

"Do you?" Adam asked sharply.

"Well, sure. Don't you?"

"Where were you last night, Brodie?"

"What do you mean? I was here with you. Don't you remember? We drunk coffee and—"

"I woke up just before the stampede and you were gone."

"Why, that must've been when I went out in the bushes to relieve myself."

The wagon concealed Molly from the two men, but at the same time prevented her from observing what
they
were doing. The pause that followed Brodie's statement felt weighted and Molly wished she could see Adam's face.

"What happened to your hand?" Adam asked.

"Burned it at the fire last night."

"I didn't see it happen. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Didn't think I'd hurt it too bad, but later it started troubling me so I just got me some of Molly's bandage strips and wrapped it. It's fine now."

"When did you do that? When you got up last night?"

Adam's voice was taut with impatience but Brodie didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, when I got up," he answered brightly.

"God dammit, Brodie, don't lie to me," Adam snapped. "Where the hell were you?"

"I wasn't nowhere, honest, Adam. I wasn't doing nothing. I just…I just…I went to check on Molly and Arlie, that's all. I wanted to see that they were alright."

Through a tight ringing in her ears, she heard the reins being tossed angrily to the ground. Molly shuddered, picturing Brodie skulking outside their wagon.

"You stay away from them," Adam said in a tight, hoarse voice. "You hear me? You stay away from them."

"I wasn't hurting them or nothing. Just looking to see that they was okay."

"The Tates are looking after them. They don't need you stumbling around scaring the cattle."

"I didn't scare anyone, Adam."

"How do you know?" Adam demanded.

Molly bit her lip and looked back at the damaged wagons and the men working at the repairs. Adam thought Brodie had something to do with what happened last night. Every time she thought she was beginning to understand the depths of Brodie's evil and obsession, she learned something that froze her blood even more. She trusted Adam's instincts. As much as he loved his brother, he would not make such claims mildly.
Brodie, what have you done?
People could have been trampled, killed… Holding her breath, she chanced a peek around to see Adam towering over Brodie, his face tight with suppressed anger.

"I don't want to tell you again. You keep away from them. Both of them."

"She's turned you against me, hasn't she? Just like Vanessa tried to do. You wouldn't never talk to me like this before she came."

"No one's turned me against you—"

"Yes, she has. She tells lies about me and you believe her. You take her side just like you did her whore of a sis—"

Adam had started to turn away, but now he spun around and grabbed Brodie by the front of his shirt. He hauled Brodie up, the fury on his face enough to finally strike Brodie mute. "God damn you," Adam said through clenched teeth. "God damn you—"

Brodie struggled free and staggered a few steps away, staring at Adam with open fear and bewildered hurt. Adam's chest heaved with the gulping breaths he took. He glared at his brother with such a mixture of rage and pain, confusion and conviction that Brodie cowered beneath the complexity of it.

"You never would have hurt me before," Brodie whispered.

Molly couldn't catch her breath as the resentment in his voice pulled the very air from her lungs. Carefully she took a step back, and another and then she turned and flat out ran to the safety of the Tate's camp.

She was out of breath and perspiring when she reached it, Adam's confrontation with Brodie still echoing in her ears.

"Lord, child," Mrs. Imogene said, looking up from a big black pot over the fire where she was stirring the filling for her buttermilk pie. "You look like a ghost is chasing you."

Molly brushed back the hair from her face with a shaking hand and tried to quell her fear. "I thought I heard Arlie crying."

"No, he's still sound asleep after last night, poor baby. I could use a nap myself."

Mrs. Imogene grinned at that ridiculous wish. Just because they would be settled for the next few days didn't mean there weren't a million things to be done.

"Did you hear about that plump Irish girl, Miss Molly?" she said, glancing up. "I do believe she's one who belongs to the O'Keefe family."

Molly let out a heavy breath and tried to focus on Mrs. Imogene's words, but her thoughts were still trapped back with Adam and Brodie. Her skin felt clammy and her heart was racing, but Mrs. Imogene was too intent on her pie filling to notice.

"You know the one," she was saying as she gave the mixture a steady churn. "She's quite large for her age and covered in freckles, poor dear. She's always following young Mr. Weston and begging to play with that little dog that belongs to Arlie's father."

"It's Brodie's dog," she corrected automatically.

Mrs. Imogene frowned with disapproval at Molly's casual use of Brodie's Christian name. "Well, however it is, she hasn't been seen since the stampede."

"What?"

"Her mother said she came up missing in the night."

Molly sat down on the bench beside the fire before her legs gave out and pitched her into it.

"Only thing that makes sense is she got caught up in it. No one knows much more than that. However, I do believe that the way her folks let her run wild, it isn't any wonder they can't find her. I'm surprised the Indians haven't found opportunity to be off with her." She dipped a small spoonful of the thickening filling out to taste and then tapped the spoon against the side of the pot. "I am praying to the Almighty that she's just wandered a bit and will be found. I suggest others do the same."

Chapter Forty-Five

As if beckoned by some unseen signal, a band of Indians appeared on the outskirts of camp that afternoon. Perhaps they'd seen the stampeding animals or the men out searching for them and instinctively known that the party would be staying put for a day or two. Perhaps it was luck that they arrived heavily stocked with goods to trade. Perhaps it was fate.