Rumors: The McCaffertys

by Lisa Jackson

  “You think one of the McCafferty brothers tried to kill his sister?” Kelly said as she leaned against the manicurist’s table and stared at the bottles of polish.

  “One of them, two of them, maybe all three.” Karla glanced into the mirror and met Kelly’s dubious gaze.

  “A conspiracy, I see.” Kelly couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “Don’t mock me.” Karla waved a rattail comb at her sister. “Those brothers never liked Randi, and don’t let them tell you any different. She was the reason their father divorced their mom and married Penelope. And then he left each of his sons one sixth of his ranch, a measly sixth, while she got half. Is that fair?” Karla rolled her expressive eyes and sectioned off another lock of Nancy’s wet mane.

  “Then why are they so adamant that I locate the killer?” Kelly asked as the song faded and a country deejay gave a weather report.

  “To throw you off track, of course. Jeez, Kelly, don’t be so dense. You’re a detective, for crying out loud. The McCaffertys need to pretend that they’re concerned for Randi or how would it look?”

  “I’m not buying it.” Kelly fingered a bottle of Pink Seduction nail polish and shook her head.

  “Hey, I’m just telling you what I think, and I’m not the only one. I’ve had three clients sitting in this very chair and Donna’s had four.” Karla pointed toward the second station where Donna Mills, pregnant with twins, was sweeping up snippets of blond curls from the floor around her chair.

  “That’s right,” Donna said with a smile.

  “Everyone’s talking about the attempt on Randi’s life. I mean, the attempts. Plural,” Karla continued, managing to hold up two condemning fingers before she picked up another tiny piece of aluminum foil. “I even overheard a couple arguing about it at Montana Joe’s when I was picking up a pizza for lunch. They were standing in line and started to argue over which one of the brothers actually did the deed.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Alexis Bonnifant, she grew up with Slade. I gave her a perm not two hours ago. The way she tells it, he hated Randi. They’re in it together, I tell you, just so they can provide one another with alibis!”

  “I doubt if they’d want to kill their sister.”

  “Murder’s been committed for a lot less than half a Montana spread.”

  “Amen,” Nancy added, looking up from her puzzle for just a second. “Who else would want Randi dead?”

  Who else indeed, Kelly thought as she left a few minutes later. She’d just dropped by the Bob and Weave to offer to watch her sister’s kids if Karla needed a night out, but she figured it didn’t hurt to listen to gossip and see what the townspeople thought of the case. So far the odds were stacked against the McCafferty brothers.

  She walked three blocks to the Pub’n’Grub and ordered a sandwich and bag of chips to go from a kid she’d sent to juvenile court on more than one occasion. He gave her correct change, but avoided eye contact as he placed the order in a computer. As she waited she stood on one side of a brick planter and couldn’t help overhearing conversation from a booth on the other side of the silk philodendrons and ferns.

  Over Reuben sandwiches and clam chowder two women were deep in conversation about the biggest news to hit Grand Hope since the mayor’s wife had run off with one of the city councilmen.

  “Always out for themselves, those McCafferty boys. Chips off the old block, if you ask me,” Roberta Fletcher said, nodding her head emphatically, her earrings catching in the shivering fluorescent lighting overhead.

  “Never got along with their stepmother or little sister. Never tried. Blamed them for their parents’ divorce and well…you know, their mother had her share of problems. The drinking, you know. Probably all started when she was married to John Randall. I would’ve drunk, too, if that son of a gun was my husband.” Kelly didn’t know the other woman by name, but thought she was married to one of the insurance men in town…she also helped out with the local rodeo association.

  “And what if he was your father?” Roberta clucked her tongue as she reached for her cola. “Poor girl—grew up with all those hellions, and now look. It’s a shame, I tell you. When I think about that baby, with no father, at least none that we know of, his mother in a coma, three bachelors trying to raise him… Someone should call Child Services.”

  “If one of the brothers is a killer.”

  “Hard to believe, but stranger things have happened. The poor baby. He’s the cutest little guy you’ve ever seen, I’ve heard,” Roberta added. “My daughter’s a friend of Jenny Riley’s. Jenny, she looks after the baby and the Stevenson twins when Nicole’s working, you know. Jenny says little J.R. is the most adorable baby in the world.”

  “Well the McCaffertys always were a good-looking lot. Every last one of ’em.”

  “Too handsome for their own good.” Roberta swirled her straw in her cola. “It’s always been a problem.”

  “But you’d think that baby’s father would step forward.” Roberta’s friend rolled expressive eyes as she bit into her sandwich.

  “Maybe the father doesn’t know about the little tyke.”

  “Why wouldn’t she tell him?” Roberta asked.

  “Maybe they weren’t together.”

  “Or maybe she doesn’t know who the father is.” Roberta cackled nastily, and the other woman hadn’t commented on the gossip. Kelly had tried to turn a deaf ear as she waited for her order.

  Later, back at the office, Kelly picked at her sandwich while she cruised through the notes she’d entered into her computer files. Dozens of questions burned through her brain. Who wanted to kill Randi? Why? Because of the baby? Because of her work? A love affair gone wrong? Did she owe someone money? Did someone take offense to her column? Who were her enemies? Her friends?

  She studied the list of people who knew Randi—co-workers in Seattle, people she’d grown up with and gone to school with around Grand Hope, people she’d dated or befriended throughout her life. Nothing made any sense. Randi McCafferty had been a tomboy, probably because of her older half brothers. She’d been adored by her father and mother, a “princess” who had managed not to become too spoiled. She’d graduated from high school here in Grand Hope, gone to college at Montana State and eventually become a journalist. She’d worked on her father’s ranch as well as having a part-time job at the Grand Hope Gazette while in high school, and eventually, after a series of jobs, she ended up in Seattle, where she’d landed the job with the Clarion. Her column had become syndicated, picked up by a few other papers, and she’d done some freelance work.

  Then she’d had the accident.

  Kelly bit into the pickle that came with her ham and cheese and scanned her notes again. Juanita Ramirez, the housekeeper and the one person who seemed to have kept in contact with Randi in the past few months, claimed Randi was writing a book, that the reason that she was returning to the ranch was to finish the book—wherever the blazes it was. If it existed. Juanita, for all her communication with Randi, hadn’t known she was pregnant. So maybe she’d gotten the book thing wrong as well.

  If only Randi McCafferty would wake up.

  Before the killer tried to strike again.

  Kelly tossed her hair over her shoulder and scowled at her computer screen. There wasn’t anything new. Even the recent lab reports hadn’t helped much. The hospital room where Randi was attacked had heretofore given up no clues as to the identity of the person who had sneaked into her room and slipped a deadly dose of insulin into her IV. Interviews with everyone on duty had provided no new information and no one had witnessed anything suspicious aside from Nicole Stevenson’s claim that she’d seen someone—man or woman—she didn’t recognize near Randi’s private room. According to hospital records and the pharmacy on the first floor, no insulin was missing from the locked cabinets, but reco
rds could be falsified and someone could have had enough in a vial hidden deep in a pocket.

  Not much to go on. Not much at all. Kelly wadded up the uneaten portion of her sandwich in the sack from the Pub’n’Grub and tossed it into the wastebasket in frustration. “We’ll get you,” she promised, as if the perpetrator was in her office and could hear her. “And it’s gonna be soon. Real soon.”

  She spent a few hours in the office returning phone calls and catching up on paperwork, then decided to finish the interview she’d tried to start with Matt McCafferty in the cafeteria the night before.

  He wouldn’t be happy to see her, as she didn’t have any more information on the case, but that was just too bad.

  She threw on her jacket and grabbed her gloves. What was it about that guy that got to her? Sure he was handsome in that cowboy, rough-and-tumble way that so many women found irresistible, and yes, he had a certain charm, but she’d met tons of charming cowboys over the course of her life and she’d never felt this attraction—and that’s what it was—before.

  Maybe she was just another silly woman who couldn’t resist one of the McCafferty brothers, still the most eligible bachelors in the county. “Oh, give me a break,” she mumbled to herself as she buttoned her jacket, yanked on her gloves and walked outside to the parking lot where her car was parked.

  Don’t do it, Kelly. Don’t fall for him. He’s the worst possible choice. She pulled out of the lot and eased into the sluggish traffic. What was she even thinking? She wouldn’t fall for a McCafferty; she wouldn’t fall for anyone.

  Cautious by nature, she’d always protected her heart. She didn’t trust easily and she had only to look at Karla’s failed marriages and twice-broken heart to keep a rein on her emotions. No man, especially a McCafferty, was worth the heartache. But the image of Matt, tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled features, beard-darkened jaw, came to mind. She envisioned him in the saddle upon a racing horse, moving easily with the animal, looking for all the world as if he belonged astride a stallion galloping hell-bent-for-leather. Her mouth went dry at the image and she glanced in the rearview mirror. “You’re a fool, Dillinger,” she growled, disturbed, as she trained her attention to the road again.

  She drove north, through the outskirts of town where pumpkins and cornstalks, leftovers from Halloween or precursors of Thanksgiving, adorned some of the porches. Eventually the houses gave way to wide, snow-covered fields.

  The McCafferty ranch was located twenty miles out of town, and Kelly fought the weather all of the way. Snow swirled from the heavens, blowing across the highway and melting on her windshield as she squinted against the few oncoming headlights heading toward town. The sky was dark, the hills invisible, the wintry night cold enough to chill the bones.

  She listened to the police radio, though she was officially off duty, and reminded herself that Matt McCafferty was only the brother of a crime victim. Nothing more. Her fingers shouldn’t be sweating at the thought of him, her pulse should return to its normal, steady rate. She shouldn’t be feeling one drip of anticipation.

  And yet she did. Oh, Lord, she did. Even her stupid stomach knotted, and she imagined what it would be like to feel his arms around her, his anxious lips on hers…and…she shifted down before her wayward thoughts could take her into forbidden territory.

  Eventually, thank God, she reached the turnoff.

  So this is the Flying M, she thought as she wheeled into the snow-covered lane. She’d driven past it a million times, of course, but had never once turned down the twin ruts leading to the heart of the ranch. Until now. A few hardy dry weeds poked through the snow to scrape the undercarriage of her car, and she passed fields where cattle huddled against the wind and snow.

  The lane widened to a large lot and a series of paddocks around a barn, stables and several other sheds. On a rise, the ranch house overlooked it all. Tall and rambling with weathered siding and windows glowing bright against the wintry night.

  Kelly parked near a few other vehicles, flipped up the hood of her jacket and braved the elements, hunching her shoulders against the wind as she dashed to the front porch and climbed the steps. Stomping the snow from her boots, she rang the bell and the door swung open immediately.

  “Detective Dillinger,” Matt McCafferty drawled, his dark eyes silently appraising. Dressed in faded jeans and a denim work shirt tossed over a navy T-shirt, he stood in stocking feet. Some of the animosity had disappeared from his expression and a dark stubble covered his jaw. He was, without a doubt, sexy as hell.

  And she was far from immune. Her heart was racing, her knees unsteady.

  He swung the door open and stepped to one side. “Come in.”

  Suddenly she felt as if she’d just been invited into a viper’s lair.

  She cleared her throat. “I wanted to talk to you, ask a few more questions.”

  “Well, isn’t that a coincidence?” His brown eyes held hers. “As it just so happens, I’ve got some for you.”

  Chapter 5

  “You have questions?” Standing toe-to-toe with him on the porch, she lifted an eyebrow, encouraging him while trying to ignore his innate sexuality. “Shoot.”

  “Obviously you haven’t found the person who tried to kill Randi.”

  “We’re still working on it.”

  “Put more men and women on the job.” His gaze intensified, left Kelly a little breathless.

  She forged on. “It’s not the only case we have, you know.”

  “Yeah, but someone bull-bustin’ through a neighbor’s fence, or…kids using mailboxes as target practice aren’t quite in the same league, now, are they?”

  “Trust me,” she assured him, though she sounded more forceful than she felt beneath his assessing glare, “the attempt on your sister’s life is top priority.”

  He stepped out of the way and threw the door to the ranch house open a little wider. “It had better be.”

  Kelly didn’t respond, just scraped her boots on the porch mat, then walked inside. She turned her attention away from the cowboy and inspected the place where he’d grown up, the house Randi McCafferty had called home.

  Inside, the old ranch house was warm, and despite its size, had a cozy feel. Soft golden light splashed upon pine-paneled walls and plank floors that had withstood three generations of McCaffertys. A faded runner covered stairs that wound upward from the entryway, and the aromas of burning wood, roasting pork and ginger tinged the air. From the floor above high-pitched giggles erupted. Young voices. Girls. Nicole’s twins, Kelly deduced.

  “Is there somewhere we could talk?” she asked as she unbuttoned her coat. He helped her remove it, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of her neck. She tried not to notice, it wasn’t much contact, but still she felt an unwanted tingle as he hung her jacket on the hook near the door.

  “This way.” He led her around a corner to a living room where Thorne McCafferty, one leg bound in a cast and elevated on the extension of his recliner, was talking with a tall, blond man who hadn’t bothered to take off his jacket and was holding his hat in one hand. “Larry Todd, Detective Dillinger,” Matt introduced. “Larry’s the foreman here and Detective Dillinger is with the sheriff’s department, trying to find out who attempted to kill Randi.”

  “Any luck?” Larry asked.

  “Not enough,” she admitted, noticing a cheery fire burning in the grate of a river-rock fireplace. Mounted above a mantel strewn with framed photos was an expansive set of antlers holding an antique rifle. An upright piano filled one wall while worn chairs, tables and the leather couch surrounded a braided rug.

  “Get the son of a bitch.” Thorne was struggling to get to his feet.

  Kelly held up a hand, indicating that he shouldn’t bother standing. “We will.”

  “Make it soon,” Matt persisted, and her back went up a bit.

 
“That’s why I’m here. As I said, I’d like to ask you a few more questions. You, too,” she added, motioning to Thorne.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got some business to take care of, so I’d better shove off.” Larry hitched his pants up. “Think about trading some of the yearlings for Lyle Anderson’s broodmares. I think it would really improve the herd.”

  Thorne glanced at Matt.

  Matt nodded. “I’m in favor of introducing new bloodlines in the stock.”

  “Then do it,” Thorne said to the foreman. “I’ll go along with whatever you and Matt decide.”

  “Done.” Larry started for the door.

  “Wait a minute, Mr. Todd,” Kelly interjected. “Since you’re here maybe you could give me some insight.” She reached into her pocket and found a small notepad. While Thorne pushed himself out of the chair and braced himself with a crutch and Matt folded his arms over his chest, she said, “A couple of weeks before her accident, Randi McCafferty let you go, isn’t that right?”

  The big man flushed. His lips flattened over his teeth. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Yep. That’s just about how it happened,” Larry admitted, not bothering to hide his irritation. “And it pissed me off royally. I’d been running this place ever since her father died and all of a sudden, out of the damned blue, she calls me and says she doesn’t need me anymore.”

  “Did she give a reason?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’d always gotten along with her and the last I’d heard she was satisfied with my job—liked having me look over things. I guess she changed her mind,” he added, frowning slightly. “She didn’t bother to explain, but I had the feeling that she was moving back here and that she had someone else in mind to run the spread. She didn’t say so, but it was just the way she handled the conversation. She was nice enough, I suppose,” he added, glancing at the brothers. “Even paid me for an extra three months, which was supposed to be my severance package, then she thanked me and basically showed me the door. And that was that. Years of work, down the drain. I was pretty mad about the whole thing, but figured there wasn’t much I could do about it. She was the boss as she owned half this ranch.”