The Golden Chance (16 page)

“You don't have to remind me.” He moved over the threshold, shaking raindrops onto the scarred boards of the floor. He slipped off the windbreaker and hung it over the back of a chair. “I heard you went into town this afternoon. Can I assume you picked up something for me to drink?”

“We went through this routine last night. How did you know I went into town?”

He shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “Better get used to the reality of being associated with Lightfoots and Castletons. Everyone knows what you're doing, when you do it and who you do it with. I even know about the conversation with the Wilson kid in the grocery store.”

He found the cabernet inside the first cupboard he opened. He started opening drawers, apparently looking for something he could use to pull the cork. “So you think Darren would be a hawk if he ever got into public office, huh?”

“Second drawer on the left,” Phila volunteered when she realized he was going to go through each drawer systematically until he found what he wanted.

“Thanks.” He went to work on the cork, removing it with a few swift, deft twists. “I don't suppose you have anything to eat with this? Some cheese, maybe?”

“Don't look so innocent. Your sources probably told you exactly what I bought in town today.” She went to the refrigerator and withdrew the package of cheese. “Must be nice owning a whole town and everyone in it.”

“We don't own it. We're just real neighborly and folks around here appreciate that.”

“I'll bet they'd appreciate it even more if you went back to contributing heavily to scholarships and civic-improvement projects.”

“The Wilson kid got real chatty, I take it?” Nick poured the wine into a water glass. “Don't worry, the families still give lots of money away.”

“To whom?”

Nick gave her his slow, faint smile. “Mostly to the political campaigns of right-thinking politicians and a number of good, solid, all-American organizations.”

“Such as the National Rifle Association?”

“You're hardly in a position to complain if it's on the list. The NRA is one of the reasons you can legally pack that automatic you've got stashed in the nightstand.”

“The Constitution gives me that right, not the NRA.”

“Odds are you would have lost the right years ago if the left-wing antigun lobbyists had had their way. I'll bet you held some pretty narrow views on the subject of gun control yourself until a few weeks ago.”

Phila knew she was turning pink under his shrewd gaze. It was true. Until she had come to fear Elijah Spalding, she had been a staunch supporter of strict handgun legislation. “My views on gun control can hardly be of major interest to you,” she said, her tone aloof.

“I've got news for you. Everything you do is of great interest to me. How much have you worked with that pistol, by the way?”

“Worked with it?”

“Fired it. Practiced with it.”

“Oh. I've never had occasion to use it, thank God.”

“You've never even fired the damn thing?”

“Well, no.”

“You bought a fancy 9-mm automatic pistol and you don't know the first thing about it? How the hell do you expect to be able to use it in an emergency?”

“I read the manual.”

“Jesus. You read the manual. That's just terrific, Phila. I'm really impressed. Did you figure out which end to point away from yourself?”

“I do not have to tolerate your sarcasm.”

He sighed. “Yeah, you do, I'm afraid. I'm spending the night.”

Phila stared at him. “Are you crazy? After the way you behaved last night and this morning? I'm not about to let you spend the night.”

He took a sizable swallow of the cabernet and bit into a slice of cheese. “You were the one who dragged me into your bedroom last night. And as for what happened this morning, you know as well as I do that my reactions were understandable under the circumstances. When I came out of the bathroom and spotted that pistol in the drawer, I assumed I had just spent the night with a professional hit lady.”

“You thought no such thing. Even you couldn't have been that stupid.”

“Thank you, I think. In any event, I feel I am not entirely to blame for either the sex or the scene in the bedroom this morning and if you are half the logical, intelligent, fair-minded human being you claim to be, you'll agree with me.”

She felt cornered. “If you stay here tonight, you'll sleep on the sofa.”

“I'll take what I can get.”

She couldn't believe it. “You want to spend the night on that lumpy monstrosity?”

“No, I'd rather spend the night in your bed, but as I said, I'll take what I can get. How much did Hilary offer you today?”

Phila blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I just wondered how much Hilary offered you for those shares of yours.” Nick poured himself another glass of wine. “She did make an offer, didn't she?”

“She said something about paying me for the shares, yes,” Phila admitted warily. “But how did you know? Did she tell you?”

“No. I just had a hunch she'd try something like that.”

“What gave you the hunch?” Phila was now very suspicious.

Nick leaned back against the counter. “I set her up for it.”

“You encouraged her to try to buy back the shares? But why?”

“Because I knew it would annoy you. I don't want you dealing with Hilary, and I figured the fastest way of cutting her off at the pass was to have her push you too far, too fast. Trying to buy you off is a surefire way to make you dig in your heels.”

“My God.” Phila felt winded.

“Money might work eventually, but this was the wrong time to make an offer to you. You're still feeling loyal to Crissie's memory. Those shares are a tie to that memory. You need awhile to think through what you want to do, and you're bound to resent anyone trying to force your hand.”

Phila stared at him. “So you pushed Hilary into doing just that. You must think you're a very clever man.”

“Honey, when it comes to business, I'm as clever as they get.”

It was irrational and annoying, but Phila woke up the next morning with the realization that she had slept better the past two nights than she had at any time since Elijah Spalding had been arrested.

There was no denying that having Nicodemus Lightfoot sleeping nearby, whether in her bed or out in the living room, was a comfort.

She was so accustomed to having only herself to rely on that it had taken her awhile to understand just what was happening. The fact was that in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, in spite of all the obvious warnings, and against her better judgment, she was starting to trust Nick. The man was too big, too mysterious and a little too clever for her taste, but there was a steel core she found irresistibly comforting under all those troublesome traits.

A woman might not always have the comfort of knowing just what Nick Lightfoot was thinking, but she could be certain he would not bend once he had made up his mind. He could be relied on.

He had certainly been honest about his intentions regarding the shares, she reminded herself as she stepped into the shower. If she got burned in that department, she would have only herself to blame.

She was still lecturing herself about Nick Lightfoot when she emerged from the bedroom half an hour later to find him standing at the door talking to his father. A white Mercedes convertible was visible through the open doorway. Reed was dressed for golfing in a monogrammed polo shirt and plaid slacks.

Nick, on the other hand, was hardly dressed at all. He'd taken time to put on his jeans, but that was it. The couch, Phila noted, had already been made up and the blankets stowed. Nick had clearly taken time to do that before answering the door.

Apparently Nick did not want early-morning callers to know he'd been consigned to the living room. Simple male pride or something more devious? Phila wondered.

“Phila,” Nick called over his shoulder, “Dad stopped by to ask you to play a round of golf with him this morning.”

Phila raised her brows. “Sorry, I don't play.”

“It's a great morning,” Reed himself insisted. “A little nippy, but the sun's out. Why don't you walk the course with me while I hit a few balls?”

“Oh, I get it,” Phila said yawning. “You want to get me off by myself so you can make your pitch for the shares. Hilary already offered me mucho bucks, and that didn't work. What have you got to offer?”

Reed shot a quick, questioning glance at his son. Nick just shrugged. Reed smiled broadly again at Phila. “I thought we'd spend some time talking. Get to know each other. Nick tells me you have some questions concerning what went on while Crissie Masters was here with us. Maybe I can answer a few of them.”

“You don't look like the sort who volunteers answers.”

Reed's smile vanished. “Well, I'm volunteering now, am I not? So go get a goddamned jacket and let's go.”

“You don't have to go with him, Phila.” Nick absently polished his glasses with a soft white handkerchief.

“I know. But I think I will,” Phila decided. “If he'll guarantee to provide breakfast. I'm hungry.”

“I'll buy you breakfast at the clubhouse,” Reed promised.

The eighteen-hole course followed the cliffs along the ocean for half its length and then curved inland. The thick, carefully cropped grass stretched before Phila like a lush green carpet. It glistened with traces of the previous night's rain. Reed had been right. It was chilly this morning, but the sun was shining and it felt good to be outdoors.

“You don't use a cart?” Phila inquired as they approached the second green. Her yellow running shoes were already wet, and the cuffs of her pink-and-green pants were getting damp.

“Not unless the course is crowded. I like the exercise. Now keep quiet for a few minutes while I get this sucker on the green.”

“Sorry.”

“Umm.” Reed selected an iron from his bag, stationed himself over the small white ball and took a slow, powerful swing.

The ball hit the green, bounced and rolled to within three feet of the cup.

“You missed,” Phila observed.

Reed scowled at her, reminding her momentarily of his son. “That was a damn fine shot, young lady, if I do say so myself.”

“Are all golfers this snappish?”

“Yes, ma'am, they are. Especially when they're getting a lot of unnecessary backchat from the gallery.”

“You brought me out here to talk, remember?”

“About Crissie Masters and related family matters. Not about my golf game. What's all this crap about the Castletons and Lightfoots bearing some kind of responsibility for Masters's death, anyway?”

“I don't think she was treated very well while she was with the families, Mr. Lightfoot. I think that rejection could have been devastating for her after she'd spent so many years dreaming of finding her father. Indirectly it could have been a contributing factor in her death.”

“No one drove her to her death. She drove herself. Literally,” Reed's voice was rough.

“I've seen the cops' report of the accident, and I hired a private investigator to check it out. I know it really was an accident, but I'd like to hear what happened the night she died. Why did she have so much alcohol in her blood-stream? Crissie wasn't normally a heavy drinker.”

Reed glared at her. “You hired a private investigator to double-check the accident report?”

“Of course.” Phila shoved her hands into her pockets. “I never completely trust official reports. I've written too many myself. And I certainly had no reason to accept any assurances from the Castletons and Lightfoots, did I? Naturally I double-checked. It was the least I could do for Crissie.”

“Christ almighty. No wonder Nick didn't know what to do with you. Who the hell do you think you are to question us, girl?”

Phila smiled grimly. “Your son asked me the same thing. I question everything all the time, Mr. Lightfoot. It's in the blood. Now why don't you tell me what happened the night Crissie died?”

“The hell with it. There's nothing much to tell. It was the night of Eleanor's birthday party,” Reed said. “We'd all had a few drinks, including Crissie. There was a large crowd at the Castletons' cottage that night. No one saw her leave, but the accident report was clear. She had alcohol in her blood and the weather was bad. She had been driving a dangerous stretch of road. Put all that together and you have more than enough explanation for what happened to her.”

“Did you dislike her, Reed?”

He considered that. “Didn't actively dislike her, but I can't say I took to her the way Burke did. But, then, Burke had his reasons for making a fuss over his long-lost daughter.”

“What reasons?”

Reed pulled a putter out of the bag and walked over to where his ball lay on the green. “Burke Castleton was a man who admired nerve and gumption. Crissie had plenty of both. Take the pin out of the hole, will you?”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just hold it, for crissake.”

Phila obeyed and stood back while Reed lined up his putt. “Don't you think you should aim a little more to the right?” she asked just as he tapped the ball with the putter.

Reed swore as the ball rolled to within half an inch of the cup. “Are you this goddamned chatty with Nick at all the wrong moments?”

“Sorry.”

“Huh. Put the pin back.”

“The ball isn't in the cup yet. Isn't it supposed to go in?”

Reed glared at her and pushed the ball into the cup with the tip of his putter. “Satisfied?”

Phila smiled blandly. “This is certainly an interesting game. Do you play a lot?”

“Every day unless the weather is bad.”

“Does Hilary play with you?”

Reed shook his head. “My wife prefers tennis.”

“What about Nick?”

“Nick and I used to play together occasionally. But that was a long time ago. Haven't played with him for over three years.” Reed picked up his bag of clubs and started for the next hole.

“You haven't played with him since Hilary and Nick got divorced and she married you?”

Reed spun around abruptly, his expression forbidding. “The circumstances surrounding my marriage are not something we discuss much in this family. I'm sure you've figured that out by now. Haven't you ever heard of tact, Philadelphia?”

“Tact doesn't always get the job done. My grandmother taught me that. She used to say that when your kind of people start getting extra polite you could pretty well figure they were up to something.”

“My kind of people?”

“Yup.”

Reed was grimly amused. “You might be interested to learn that I didn't know diddlysquat about genteel politeness until Eleanor married Burke thirty-six years ago.”

“Eleanor taught you everything you know?”

“Goddamn right. Burke said we needed a real lady to get us all shaped up so we could mingle with the money crowd. We were raking in the dough, you see, but we didn't have the manners to go with it. Burke and me, we were just a couple of shitkickers with too much cash for our own good at that point.”

“The money didn't buy you into the right crowd?”

“Money only takes you so far, even out here on the West Coast. Burke went looking for a genuine lady and when he found Eleanor, he married her.”

“And Eleanor took you all in hand?”

“She did her best. Sometimes we don't all live up to her standards, but she keeps workin' on us. She's devoted to the project. Making Castletons and Lightfoots socially acceptable is her mission in life. I reckon if Darren gets to be governor, maybe she'll figure she's finally succeeded.”

“Why did Eleanor marry Burke if he wasn't up to her standards to begin with?”

“You want to get real down and dirty, don't you?”

“I'm curious.”

“Then you ask her why she married him. I'm not going to satisfy your goddamn curiosity, Philadelphia. I don't see that the answer is any of your business.”

“You're probably right.”

“I know I'm right. I'm always right. Now keep quiet while I tee off.”

“No wonder you and Nick have a hard time communicating,” Phila mused as Reed readied his swing. She waited until Reed's club started its descent before concluding, “You both seem to have developed the same nasty habit.”

“
Goddamn
it, woman, can't you keep your mouth shut while I'm hitting the goddamn ball? Look what you made me do. I'm clear out in the rough. Jesus H. Christ.” Reed slammed the wood into his bag. “What nasty habit?”

“Each of you thinks he's always right. You're both as stubborn as a couple of bricks.” Unperturbed by Reed's furious glare, she started off in the direction in which his ball had disappeared. “I think it landed over there behind that bush.”

“What kind of a fairy tale did Nick tell you about his divorce?” Reed demanded, overtaking Phila in four strides.

“We haven't discussed it in great detail but I'm sure we'll get around to it eventually.”

“You're sleeping with my son and you haven't even bothered to find out why his marriage went on the rocks? If you don't know that, then there's sure as hell a lot more you probably don't know, either. It'd think a smart cookie like you would find out the details before she got too involved with a man like Nick. Which bush?”

“Over there.” Phila pointed.

Reed shielded his eyes under his palm. “Goddamn. I'm going to lose two strokes on this hole thanks to your mouthiness.”

“Do you always look for someone else to blame when things go wrong?”

“Take some advice. If you want to make it back to the clubhouse in one piece, you will keep your mouth shut while I get this goddamn ball back onto the fairway.”

“Why don't you just pick it up and throw it back on the grass?”

Reed did not dignify that with an answer. In fact, he didn't speak again until he had shot the ball onto the green.

Phila decided to keep quiet for a while, at least until Reed lined up his tee shot on the next fairway. Then she said, “Are you hoping Nick will marry again?”

“Why should I care one way or the other if my son marries again?” Reed concentrated on the ball.

“I thought maybe you'd like some grandchildren, your kind being so family oriented and all. I mean, what's the good of founding an empire if you haven't got a dynasty to leave it to, right?”

“For Crissake, you're not thinking of trying that old trick, are you?”

“What old trick?”

“Trying to get a permanent piece of the action by marrying into the families. If that's your game, you're barking up the wrong tree. Don't think for one moment that if you get pregnant, Nick will feel obliged to marry you.” Reed took a powerful swing at the ball and sent it sailing a good two hundred yards down the fairway.

“If I get pregnant,” Phila said, her tone very even, “Nick will damn sure meet his responsibilities.”

Reed's head came around abruptly, his eyes unreadable under the brim of his hat. “What makes you think so?”

“He feels as strongly about family as you do,” Phila explained patiently. “He'd want his child. In fact, he'd demand it.”