The Golden Chance (5 page)

“You'll pay for what you did,” Spalding said as she backed slowly away down the aisle. “I swear to God you'll pay for ruining everything.” Then she turned and lumbered awkwardly out of the diner.

Nick took one look at Phila, who was standing very still as she watched Ruth Spalding leave the diner, and he pulled out his wallet and threw enough cash on the table to cover the tab.

“Let's go.” He took Phila's arm and steered her firmly toward the door.

She did not resist. Every eye in the restaurant was on them, but she appeared oblivious as Nick urged her out into the warm night. He helped her gently into the Porsche and leaned down to study her face in the harsh neon light of the diner sign. She looked exhausted. All traces of the battle flags that had been flying earlier were gone. Without a word he closed the car door and went around to the driver's side.

Phila said nothing until he parked the Porsche in front of the little white house. Then she seemed to come slowly back from some distant place as she realized she was home.

Nick turned off the engine and shifted slightly in his seat. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Not particularly. It's none of your business.”

“Somehow I had a hunch you'd say that. You okay?”

“Just tired.” She massaged her temples. “I've been feeling very tired lately.”

“Who was that woman?” Nick persisted gently.

She hesitated, her eyes drifting to the front steps of her house which were illuminated by a pale light. “Ruth Spalding. She and her husband used to run a foster home on their farm outside of town. I…didn't like the way things were going for the kids. I was responsible for taking the children away and putting them in other homes. She hasn't forgiven me, as you can see.”

“What I saw was you trying to comfort a woman who obviously hates your guts. You do that kind of thing a lot? If so, I can see why you got burned out. Sort of a thankless job, isn't it?”

“It gets to you.” Phila shook herself like a small terrier throwing off water after falling into a cold stream. She blinked twice and opened the door. “Guess I really do need a vacation.” She climbed out of the car.

Nick immediately slid out from behind the wheel and followed Phila up the path to her door. “Phila, wait.”

She was fumbling in her shoulder bag for her keys. “I don't feel like talking any more tonight, Mr. Lightfoot.”

“I do.” He removed the keys from her hand, deliberately taking advantage of her distracted state. He was good at taking advantage. He shoved the key into the door and stood aside.

“Are you always this obnoxious?” Phila asked as she stepped into the hall and turned on a light.

“Yeah. So I've been told. Sit down and I'll fix us a tuna-fish sandwich.” He headed for the kitchen without waiting for permission.

Phila trailed after him and sat down in one of the small kitchen chairs. She scowled. “You think this is amusing?”

“No. I think I'm hungry and I think I've got a few more questions. That's all.” He opened a cupboard door and located a bowl. Tried another drawer and discovered a can opener. He was on a roll.

Phila's eyes followed him without much enthusiasm, but her shoulders had already relaxed a bit from the hunch of tension and depression she'd been sitting with in the car. “What questions?”

“Let's see. How about we start with how long did you know Crissie Masters?” he asked casually.

The vibration she'd emanated earlier abruptly returned. He was not even touching her, but he could feel her immediate reaction. She was on the alert again; the exhaustion cleared from her eyes.

“I met Crissie when I was thirteen.”

“You know she raised hell when she descended on the families last year, don't you?” he said quietly, spooning mayonnaise out of a jar. He remembered the barely concealed despair in Eleanor's gracefully accented voice when she had phoned to tell him of the trauma the family was experiencing at the hands of Crissie Masters. No one had suffered as much as Eleanor Castleton during the time Crissie was on the scene.

“I know she raised hell, but I'm sure they deserved it. She only wanted what she felt was rightfully hers. After all, she was Burke Castleton's daughter.”

“A daughter he never knew he had.”

“Hardly Crissie's fault. Did you know she spent years looking for him? She used to fantasize about him all the time when she was a teenager. I remember lying awake in bed at night listening to her make up elaborate tales of how he must be searching for her and how he would find her someday. He lived in a mansion, she would say. And he was handsome and rich and dynamic.”

“She wasn't far off,” Nick admitted.

“I know.” Phila smiled wistfully. “Except for the part about his actively searching for her. He never bothered to look, did he? I still remember the day she phoned to tell me that she had finally traced her father and that he had turned out to be everything she had fantasized he would be. Wealthy, attractive and dynamic. And to top it all off, he welcomed her with open arms.”

“He was the only one who did, from what I hear. What did you say when she told you the good news?”

Phila's mouth tightened. “I pointed out that since he hadn't even been aware of her existence, he was probably an irresponsible bastard by nature. Any man who goes around fathering children and not being aware of it has a serious character flaw.”

“I can hear the lecture now.”

“Then I asked her how she could be certain he hadn't known about her or even suspected she existed. In which case he was even more of a bastard because it meant he'd deliberately ignored her all those years.”

Nick took a deep breath, remembering an aesthetically lean, good-looking, charismatic man whose sensual appetites had apparently been inexhaustible. He had rarely been without a cigarette in his long-fingered hands. Burke Castleton had been larger than life, with a beguilingly wicked grin and the kind of eyes that made women catch their breath.
The Castletons got the looks and the charm
.

“The bastard, as you call him, is dead, Phila.”

“I know. Crissie was stunned when she got word of Burke's heart attack a few months ago.”

“And was she just as stunned when she found out he'd left her a big chunk of his shares in Castleton & Lightfoot?” Nick asked blandly.

“No. By the time he died, Crissie had gotten to know him well enough to believe he wouldn't leave her out of his will. She was right about that at least, wasn't she?”

“Yeah. But Burke Castleton rarely did anything out of the kindness of his heart. He always had a motive, and sometimes that motive was nothing more than a desire to stir up trouble.”

“Sounds like that might have been a family trait,” Phila murmured. “One Crissie inherited.” She watched as Nick spread tuna-fish salad on slices of bread.

“Apparently so.”

“Tell me something, Nick. Just how badly did the families hate Crissie?”

He hesitated, thinking of what he had learned from Eleanor. “She didn't go out of her way to make herself lovable, from what I understand. Why did she leave the shares to you?”

“I was the sole beneficiary of her will, just as she was in mine.”

“The two of you made out wills? Isn't that a little unusual under the circumstances? How old were you when you did that?” Nick was amazed.

“We made them out the day we turned twenty-one. It wasn't that we had much to leave to each other, you understand. It was sort of a symbolic gesture. But the wills exist, and I am Crissie's legal heir.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you. What were you implying with that question about how much the families hated Crissie?” Nick asked quietly as he served the tray of sandwiches. He sat down at the small table and helped himself to one of his own creations. “You're not crazy enough to think someone might had tried to kill her, are you?”

Phila made no move to touch the sandwiches. “The thought crossed my mind, so I hired a private detective to look into it. His report says it was clearly an accident. She was driving too fast that night, and she'd had a few drinks. She took a turn too quickly, went through a guard rail and landed in a ravine. There was no evidence of foul play. Just tragedy. Lots of evidence of tragedy.”

Nick stopped chewing. “I don't believe I'm hearing this. You actually checked out the possibility of foul play?”

“Of course. I told you. Crissie was like a sister to me. Do you think I'd take a Castleton's or Lightfoot's word that her death had been an accident?”

“What about the word of the cops who investigated the scene of the accident?” Nick asked with set teeth. He was suddenly feeling angry.

“Cops can be bought. Especially by people as powerful as your precious families.”

“Jesus.” Nick forced himself to breathe slowly. “Who the hell do you think you are to hurl those kinds of accusations?”

“Me? I'm the only real friend the deceased had, remember? Who else has a better right to hurl accusations? Besides, I'm not hurling them. Not any more. I already checked them out. The families are technically off the hook—technically, at least.”

“Technically? What the hell does that mean?” Nick was having a hard time controlling his rage now.

“I mean that as far as I'm concerned the Lightfoots and the Castletons bear some moral responsibility for what happened to Crissie.”

“
Moral responsibility
.”

“Oh, nothing that would ever hold up in court, I'll grant you that.”

“Thank you very much.” He wanted to pick her up and shake her. “You've got a lot of nerve, Philadelphia Fox.”

“Why? Because I dare impugne the honor of the noble clans of Lightfoot and Castleton? Let me tell you something, Nicodemus Lightfoot, there are plenty of ways to ruin a person's life short of murdering her. Believe me, in my line of work I've seen a whole lot of examples of just how it can be done.”

“You can't blame us for what happened to Crissie Masters.”

“No? The fact that she even came into this world was Burke Castleton's fault. And he didn't stick around to help raise her, did he? Who knows how she might have turned out if she'd had a loving home and a father who cared? What's more, when she did find her roots, no one tried to make her welcome. None of you accepted her. She knew you all hated her. What do you think that does to a person? None of you even gave a damn when she died until you found out she had left the shares to someone outside the families.”

Nick almost lost it then. He forced himself to put down the remainder of his sandwich very carefully. “When you're drawing up your list of people you believe hated Crissie Masters, don't include me. I never met her, remember?”

“So what? You probably wouldn't have been any kinder to her than the others were. She was an outsider.”

“You know what you are? You're a bigoted, narrow-minded, totally biased little fool who is automatically against anyone who makes more money than you do.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“You're making me lose my temper, and I haven't done that in a long time.”

“Don't worry, it's just a right-wing, knee-jerk reaction to what you perceive as a threat to the privileged upper classes. And don't get any ideas about getting out of that chair and coming over here to manhandle me. I'll call the cops. I've been abused enough this evening.” But Phila didn't look like the victim of abuse; she looked as if she was almost enjoying the blazing light of battle in her eyes.

“What's the matter, Phila?” he challenged softly. “Aren't you going to put your arms around me and offer me a bit of comfort and understanding the way you did Ruth Spalding when she attacked you?”

“I feel sorry for Ruth Spalding. I don't feel any pity at all for you. You're a Lightfoot. You don't need any of my comfort and understanding.”

Nick bit back an oath and watched in amazement as Phila reached for a sandwich. The battle with him had obviously whetted her appetite. He watched her take a huge bite and wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Things were spinning out of his control and that he was unaccustomed to.

“Phila, let's take this from the top. One way or another, you're going to have to make some decisions about those C&L shares you inherited.”

“One way or another,” she agreed, reaching for another sandwich. “But I'll make my own decisions. I've been doing that for a long time, Lightfoot. I'm real good at it.”

“You are really irritating is what you are.”

She smiled, showing a lot of little white teeth. “You haven't seen anything yet. Good night, Mr. Lightfoot.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, caught himself and stopped immediately. “We need to talk.”

“Not tonight. I'm tired. We've talked more than enough this evening. Go.”

He knew there was no point forcing the issue further now. She was too wired from the aftereffects of the confrontation with Ruth Spalding and the short battle she had just conducted with him. Nick knew when to stage a strategic retreat. He got to his feet without a word and started for the door.

“Thank you for the sandwich, Mr. Lightfoot,” she called after him, her tone sarcastic.