Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (107 page)

That afternoon in a conference room at Harrah’s Hotel just minutes before she was to address the Junior League—over Sophie’s heated objections—Roberta Paxton suddenly and without warning, like a flash flood gushing down a crusty wash, broke down and sobbed. Sophie sent her home and insisted she take the rest of the week off.

At home, as she attempted to lose herself in yard work, Roberta was forced to take stock of the situation. The doctor had told her that the shock of Sam’s death could have a delayed effect on her. Consciously she hadn’t been thinking about the incident, so the weepy outburst had been as much a surprise to her as it had been to Sophie. But she knew the human mind worked in mysterious ways, and hers was trying to tell her something.

Crouching at the flowerbed along the side of the driveway, she rammed the trowel under a particularly stubborn weed and tugged with her other hand. The weed broke, dropping her on her bottom, hard.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she moaned miserably, then burst into tears for the second time that day. On the warm concrete, still gripping the weed, arms hugging her legs, face buried between her knees, she sobbed, oblivious to the neighbors and playing children.

She needed to get away. She hadn’t taken a vacation in years—hadn’t wanted one. Where would she go? To New York to see Donald? Somehow she sensed that a part of her problem had to do with Donald. What would she find in his new world? And was she ready for the answer?

________

“Mom,” Roberta said tentatively into the phone, “is it okay if I come for a visit?”

A pause. Roberta sensed her mother’s perplexity. “What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“I just need a little time away from … from…” Tears stung her eyes. Then she was telling her mother about Angela and Sam.

“Come today—now,” her mother said. “I’ll send Hanley for you.”

“I’ll drive up. Tonight, after dinner.”

“Come sooner if you can. I wanted to see you on your birthday, and now I will. We’ll have a little party.”

“Don’t go to any trouble. I’m really not in a celebrating mood.” She hesitated, then: “Oh, Mom, don’t tell him I’m coming.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t avoid your father.”

“I’ve been doing it for years.”

________

The sun was just setting over the mountains when Roberta turned off Highway 267 onto a narrow paved road flanked by enormous evergreens. The air was cooler in this scenic valley in the Sierra Nevada less than an hour’s drive from Reno. Roberta inhaled deeply, the crisp scent of pine filling her head. She loved it up there. If it weren’t for her father, she’d go every weekend. But he was there, a blemish on the otherwise pleasant picture. Seven years ago her father, Cameron Paxton, had retired from his psychiatric practice in Reno and moved his family to this mountain wilderness. A short time later he suffered a stroke. Although he was an invalid now, his movements restricted, his presence cast an ugly shadow over the large ranch house.

Several minutes later, through the tall trees, she made out the sprawling ranch-style house with its brass lamps, used brick, and white pillars and posts.

As Robbi approached the curve in the long circular drive, the front door opened and a young girl rushed out of the house and jumped down the steps, arms pin wheeling to keep her balance. The girl ran toward her down the gravel drive, her long blond hair swirling around her oval face. Beneath a pair of skimpy green shorts and a narrow pink tube top, she was as golden as a toasted almond.

Roberta smiled, a pleasant glow warming her insides. Coming out to meet her was her thirteen-year-old sister, Tobie.

CHAPTER FIVE

That first night, Roberta, her mother, and her sister had sat up in the rustic kitchen drinking Cokes, munching on popcorn, and talking. Sometime in the wee hours they wound down and gave in to the contagious cycle of yawns. Roberta had the guest room on the opposite side of the house from her father’s room. It was easy to pretend he didn’t exist, nearly as easy for her as it was for him.

In the morning Roberta helped Tobie feed her pets in the rear yard. The menagerie consisted of two rabbits and their litter of bunnies; three cats, Clarice, Bonnie, and Snowman; and two ducks. Then there were the wounded wild animals. A stellar jay—pried from the mouth of Snowman—and a young yellow-bellied marmot shot with a BB gun. These Tobie would nurse back to health, then turn loose.

“Tomorrow’s your birthday,” Tobie said.

“Let’s not dwell on it, okay?”

“Thirty’s not so old … is it?”

“If you have to ask, then it’s old.”

“Well, you’re not old. In fact, tomorrow after the party I want to show you a secret place. Nobody knows about it but me.”

“Where is it?”

“Tomorrow.” Tobie’s expression was laden with intrigue.

“No trail blazing or mountain climbing, I’m out of shape.”

“Maybe you
are
too old.” Tobie grinned. “We’d better just stick around here. Sit on the porch swing and blow bubbles.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, c’mon, Robbi,” she whined softly, “it’s a special place. We’ll ride double on Madonna.”

“Okay, okay.”

Tobie knelt before the rabbit cage, poured food pellets into the bowls, then brushed her hands together. “God, I’m starving. This housekeeper makes the best egg and salsa burritos.”

“She cooks Mexican food? He always hated Mexican.” They spoke of their father in the pronoun.

“He still does. But she cooks it special for me and Hanley. Oh, don’t worry, Robbi, he’s already eaten. I peeped in the window and saw him in bed with the lap tray.”

A brown and white bunny buried in a cloud of rabbit fur crawled over a mound of siblings. Robbi reached into the hutch, lifted it out, and snuggled it to her face.

“I know I can’t avoid him forever, but I’m not ready for a confrontation just yet.” Robbi blew on the soft fur. “Do you think he knows I’m here?”

“Sure. He knows everything. He’ll stay away just long enough to give you a false sense of security, then he’ll come rolling in, real quiet like, and totally bum you out.”

“How can you stand it?” Roberta asked.

Tobie shot her sister a guilty look. “It’s better, y’know…since the stroke. He’s just as mean, but he can’t get around as much now.”

The cats complained, rubbed against the two sisters, then scratched at the bag of Cat Chow.

Tobie scooped out three bowls. “Rob, when you have a premonition, or whatever it’s called, what do you see?”

Roberta had told her sister that she’d known of Sam Braga’s death before it happened. Although she and Tobie were seventeen years apart, they shared everything, never shocked or critical of the other. Tobie was one of the few people privy to Roberta’s rare and infrequent flashes of clairvoyance, a phenomenon that Robbi had repressed for so long she almost forgot she had it until it hit her right between the eyes.

“Just flashes, honey. I get cold … and scared.”

“I wish I could do that. See things like that.”

“Be careful what you wish for—”

“I know, I may get it.”

Robbi draped her arm over Tobie’s shoulder, squeezed. The light scents of fruit filled Robbi’s head. “Jeez, is that you who smells like a fruit salad?”

Tobie giggled. “Yeah. Coconut mousse and watermelon bubble gum. Oh, and peach lip gloss.”

“No wonder animals love you. They think you’re dinner. And you’re making me hungry. Let’s eat.”

________

The housekeeper cleared away the breakfast dishes.

Tobie had gone off to spend the day at the beach with her best friend, Pam, and her family. With her gone, the spacious room seemed limitless and deadly quiet. The entire ranch-style house with its score of rooms took on an eerie emptiness.

Lois Paxton sat across from Roberta at the formal dining room table, slowly sipping a cup of herbal tea. Roberta noticed deep furrows in her brow, the squinting of her eyes.

“Headache again, Mom?”

“Still,” Lois replied, rubbing the base of her skull. “Just the tail end of one. I wonder if I’ll ever stop having these damn migraines.”

“Go lie down till it’s gone.”

“I’d rather visit with you. It’s not often you stay with us.”

“I’ll be here for a couple more days. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

“I know, but—”

Roberta cut her off. “I thought I’d go riding this morning. With Tobie gone for the day, I can have the horse to myself.”

“Well, in that case, while you’re out maybe I will lie down for a bit. Have Hanley saddle Madonna. And when he’s done, send him in to tend to your father, will you?”

Outside, she crossed the yard to the stable, looking for Hanley Gates. Hanley, the Paxtons’ caretaker, had been with them the seven years they had lived there. Although Roberta knew him only slightly, her sister was very close to him. For Tobie he served as the father figure she so desperately needed, a position her own father scorned.

Hanley wasn’t in the stable or the tack room. As she neared his bungalow, she saw him through the open door. He sat on the edge of a bunk, hunched over, a hand working absently through his hair, splaying the wispy gray strands up and out, staring at something in his other hand.

Gravel crunched loudly beneath her shoes, yet he failed to hear her approach. She stepped up on the low stoop. As she raised a hand to knock, she wondered about his age. He had one of those timeless faces; he could be anywhere from fifty to seventy. At that moment he looked the latter.

She tapped on the doorframe.

He looked up, confusion clouding his eyes, then slow recognition. He greeted her with a timid smile.

“Roberta. For a minute there I thought it was Tobie.”

“She’s gone for the day.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He quickly rose to his feet, his back straight, shoulders squared, and with that simple motion his age seemed to reverse.

“I was jus’ wool-gathering.” He waved a yellowed snapshot, then slipped it out of sight on the dresser top. “My wife, Em, and grandson. Em died a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked away, nodded. “Had a daughter too. She died before my Em did.”

“Are you close with your grandson?”

He shrugged, looking solemn. “Naw. Lost track of him. Got the wanderlust like his mama.” Then he smiled, a broad grin that crinkled his eyes. “Got my hands full right here with your little sister. That one can’t sit for a minute. And always wanting to know ‘bout everything.”

“I’m glad you’re here for her. She really cares for you, y’know? It’s always Hanley this, Hanley that.”

Hanley seemed embarrassed by her comment. He shrugged again. They stared at each other for several awkward moments.

He smiled and quickly crossed the room to the door. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll be taking Madonna out…” Roberta began.

“Well, sure, sure. I’ll saddle her for ya.”

“That’s okay, I can do it. My mother needs you inside.”

“Well, let me get you lined out.” He reached for a canister of snuff and, with his long wrangler legs, strode through the door and toward the stable.

Hanley helped Roberta saddle the horse. As he led Madonna out of the stable, he stared intently at the sky.

“Looks like we might get a summer storm,” he said. “You be careful you don’t get caught out in it. Head back the first sound of thunder.”

Robbi heard a harsh voice raised in anger coming from the house. She felt her stomach knot.

Her father’s voice made her cringe.

Hanley quickly handed the reins over to Roberta. “He don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Halfway to the house, he called over his shoulder, “Keep an ear open for that thunder.”

A mile or so from the stable, Robbi slowed the horse to a walk. It had been a long time since she’d ridden, and she realized she was pulling too tightly on the reins. Irritably, Madonna sawed at the bit until Robbi loosened the tension.

She had been thinking about her father. Why was he so damn unpleasant, not happy unless he was browbeating someone? She swallowed the anger, forced herself to calm down. Hadn’t she come to this pristine wilderness, away from the city and the pressures of her job, to unwind and rejuvenate? Breathe in the crisp, clean air, the woodsy scent of trees and grass? Enjoy, she told herself.