by Lisa Jackson
“I don’t think so. But I did think that mixing business and pleasure wasn’t such a hot idea.”
Sighing, Karla plopped back on the cushions of the booth. “That’s depressing!” She tossed her napkin on the remaining slices of the Hawaiian Paradise they couldn’t quite finish.
“I didn’t think you approved.”
“I didn’t. Don’t. But…oh, damn, I was beginning to believe that there was such a thing as true love again, you know? I mean…it was kind of like one of those star-crossed-lovers things with the feuding families. Kind of a Romeo and Juliet scenario.”
“In your rose-colored dreams.”
“I thought maybe I’d just been unlucky and that there was still a chance. You know, that if you found love, maybe I would, too, and that the third time would be the charm.”
“Sorry to dash your hopes,” Kelly said, then sighed as she checked her watch. “You know, Karla, you’re a hopeless romantic.”
“I know it’s my one serious character flaw.”
“You’ve only got one.”
“Absolutely.”
“More bad news. It’s ten till one.”
“Oh, damn. I gotta run. I’ve got a wash and set for one of my regulars.” Karla scrambled out of her side of the booth and threw on a wool poncho and floppy-brimmed suede hat.
“You look like a bad guy out of one of those old, old Clint Eastwood movies.”
“Make my day.”
“Older,” Kelly said, “one of those spaghetti Westerns.”
“Guess I missed it on the late-late show,” Karla said as she adjusted the string. “But seriously, Kelly, you might want to rethink this Matt McCafferty thing. Mom and Dad will get used to the idea. No one’s had a heart attack or a stroke over it. Well, not yet, anyway.”
“What’s with the turnaround?” Kelly asked, standing and reaching for the jacket she’d slung over the back of the booth.
“It’s simple. I just want you to be happy, and these past few weeks you’ve been a whole lot more lighthearted. It’s nice to see you smile.”
“I do.”
“Not all the time. The job gets to you whether you want to admit it or not. And you’re alone. That’s not good. Your work is your life, I know. You practically work twenty-four-seven and that’s also not good. It’s bringing you down, Kell. You look half dead as it is.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“I’m not kidding. You can’t be a policewoman day in and day out.”
Kelly wanted to protest but didn’t. For once, Karla was making a lot of sense. And she had been working long hours. Ever since leaving Matt at the Flying M the other night, she’d thrown herself body and soul into the case, digging up information on friends and family of the McCaffertys’, searching out anything she could about Randi’s job and her work acquaintances. Someone wanted her dead. Kelly was determined to find out who it was. And soon. She’d had less than five hours’ sleep in two nights, but she was getting closer to the truth, she could feel it.
“It’s a hard job and you’re good at it, but it’s bleeding you dry,” Karla was saying. “I’ve seen it. You need some fun in your life. We all do. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you lightened up about the same time that Matt McCafferty rode bareback into your life!”
“So now you know what’s best for me.”
“I always have.” Karla flashed her a smile as they walked through the heavy doors to the outside. “I just wish I could figure out what’s best for me.”
With a wave, she jaywalked back to her shop and Kelly, surprised at her sister’s turnaround, unlocked her four-wheel drive and drove out of town. She had avoided the Flying M on the day the McCaffertys had designated for Thanksgiving, but she wasn’t giving up on talking to Randi. She still had a job to do, and it would be considerably less difficult with Matt out of the picture. If she was lucky, she could avoid him altogether.
At that thought her throat tightened and the heaviness in her heart, the ache she’d tried to ignore, throbbed painfully. “You’ll get over it,” she told herself as she took a corner a little too fast and felt her rig shimmy before the tires took hold. “You’ve got no choice.”
With her own words ringing in her ears, she drove to the Flying M and made her way into the now-familiar ranch house. Jenny Riley, a slim girl with a nose ring and tie-dyed tunic over a long skirt, let her inside. “Randi’s in the living room, and Kurt Striker is talking with Thorne in the den,” she explained when Kelly stated her business.
Great. The P.I. who didn’t trust the police and who had egged Matt on to get some “pillow talk.” Kelly would like nothing better than to strangle that lowlife. He might be a hell of an investigator, but he was the one who’d suggested Matt get close to her to glean information about his sister’s case.
“Do you want me to tell them you’re here?”
“No. I’d rather speak to Randi alone.”
“Then could I get you something? Coffee, tea or cocoa? I’m on my way to take the girls to their ballet lesson, but I have time to bring you a cup, and Juanita will skin me alive if I don’t offer you something.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just ate,” Kelly said, and as a shriek from one of the twins soared to the rafters of the kitchen, Jenny took off down the hall while Kelly, hauling her briefcase with her, walked into the living room.
Randi was half lying on the couch, a small cradle near her side where the baby was sleeping quietly. Kelly couldn’t help but smile at the crown of reddish hair peeking from beneath an embroidered quilt. “He’s adorable,” she said, wishing she had a child of her own.
“Isn’t he?” Randi waved Kelly into a chair near her, one that faced the fireplace where embers glowed red and flames crackled and hissed. “Sit,” she ordered and, as Kelly dropped into the chair with its back to the foyer, asked, “Would you like something?”
“Just answers, Randi.” Kelly sat on the edge of one of the rockers and leaned forward, her gaze locking with the new mother’s. “I know you want to keep the baby safe, and I think you know more than you’re saying. Either you’re covering up or afraid to say the truth, or don’t realize how much danger you and your boy are in, but I’ve got to tell you that without your help the investigation is stymied.” Randi glanced away, her gaze traveling from Kelly to the window and beyond, where snow was drifting against the fence and barn.
She hesitated. Tapped her fingers on the edge of the couch.
“Do you know anyone who would want to kill you?”
“You mean other than my brothers?” Randi joked.
“I’m being serious.”
“I know.” Her smile disappeared. “I probably have some enemies, but I don’t remember them.”
“Do you remember the man who fathered your child?”
Randi stiffened, picked at a scratch in the arm of the leather couch. “I’m…I’m still working on that.”
“It won’t help to lie.”
“I said I’m working on it.” Randi’s index finger stopped working on the scratch.
“Okay, so what about the book you were writing?”
Was it Kelly’s imagination or did Randi pale a bit?
“It’s fiction.”
“About corruption in the rodeo circuit.”
“That’s the backdrop, yes.”
“Does it have anything to do with your father or your brothers?”
“No. Other than I got the idea for it from Dad, I think— Look, this is all kind of fuzzy.”
“How about Sam Donahue? He’s a cowboy and was involved in rodeo work. He still supplies stock to the national competitions, doesn’t he?”
“I said it was fuzzy.”
“You and he dated.”
“I…I think that’s true. I remember Sam.”
“Could he be the father of your child?”
Randi didn’t answer, and in true McCafferty fashion, her jaw slid forward in stubborn defiance.
“Okay, so what about your job? Do you remember anything abou
t it? Anything that you might have been working on that would have caused someone to want to kill you?”
“I wrote advice columns. I suppose someone could have taken offense, but I don’t remember them.”
“What about Joe Paterno? The photojournalist you worked with? Do you remember him?”
Randi swallowed hard.
“You dated him.”
“Did I?”
“When he was in town. He’s gone on assignment a lot. Rents a studio over a garage in one of those old homes in the Queen Anne’s district of Seattle when he’s in the Northwest.”
“As I said, I really don’t remember. Not details. Names are familiar, but…” Kelly was ready. She snapped open her briefcase and slid three pictures across the coffee table. One was of Joe Paterno, his camera poised as he was about to snap a shot, while someone took a picture of him. The second was a color copy of a photo from a newspaper in Calgary. The grainy shot was of Sam Donahue, a rangy blond with a cowboy hat tilted back on his head and his eyes squinted against a harsh, intense sun. In the background penned horses and cattle were visible. The third photo was a glossy eight-by-ten of Brodie Clanton. Wearing a suit, tie and the thousand-watt grin of a lawyer with political ambitions, he stared into the camera as if it were his lover.
“Well,” Randi said, leaning forward and separating the photos and eyeing each one. “You’ve certainly been busy.”
Chapter 13
“I want to find the bastard who tried to kill you, Randi, but I can’t do it without your help,” Kelly said. “So tell me, who do you think it is?”
Randi eyed the pictures on the table. She chewed her lower lip as Kelly felt eyes on her back. At that moment, Randi turned her attention to the archway that separated the foyer from the living room. She froze.
“Who are you?”
Kelly glanced over her shoulder and found the private investigator standing at the foot of the stairs. “Kurt Striker.”
“The private detective,” Randi said, her eyes snapping and her chin inching higher. “My brothers hired you to try and figure out who’s trying to kill me.”
“That’s right.” Kurt sauntered into the room and extended his hand. Kelly gritted her teeth to hold her tongue.
Randi didn’t bother shaking his hand. Her lips flattened over her teeth and she said, “I don’t know what my brothers were thinking, but we don’t need anyone investigating the accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Kurt asserted.
Randi’s gaze zipped back to Kelly. She asked, “You’re certain?”
“Fairly.” Kelly nodded.
Randi shot a look at the private detective. “I think the police can handle it.”
Kurt smiled crookedly and had the audacity to sit on a corner of the coffee table, placing his tough-as-leather body directly in front of Randi. “You got a problem with me, lady?”
“Probably.” She reached over and adjusted the edge of the blanket near her baby’s chin. “I just want things to be calm. Peaceful. For me and him. And for the record, don’t call me ‘lady’ again. I consider it demeaning.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“I have a name.”
He ignored the jab. “Okay, you want things to be back to normal, then let’s wrap this up. The detective was asking a good question when I walked in. Who do you think tried to kill you?”
“I…I honestly don’t know,” Randi admitted.
“But you should remember the father of your child.”
“I should.”
Kelly smiled inwardly. Randi wasn’t giving an inch for Striker. She leaned closer to the youngest McCafferty heir. “This is important. We think the vehicle that ran you off the road was a maroon Ford product. Maybe a van or SUV. Do you remember anything about the day of the accident?”
“Just that I was in a hurry. I had this feeling of urgency,” Randi said, leaning back on the couch and looking at the fire. But Kelly suspected she wasn’t seeing the hungry flames licking at the mossy chunks of oak, or the charred bricks in the grate. Her eyes were turned inward.
“I remember I was in a hurry. I was just a few weeks before term and I had a lot to do.” Her brow furrowed and her eyes squinted as she thought. “I wanted to get to Grand Hope without going into labor.”
“But your OB-GYN is in Seattle.”
“I know. That was a problem. I mean, I think it concerned me, but I thought if I could…could spend some time here and finish the synopsis, you know, an outline, kind of, for my book, then once the baby was here, while I was on maternity leave, I thought I could polish the first few chapters and send them to my agent. He thought he might be able to find a publisher who would be interested…but that’s about all I remember.”
“No car or truck following you or pushing you onto the shoulder?”
She shook her head slowly. “No.”
“You don’t know anyone who had a maroon car?”
“Not that I can remember.” She glanced at the three pictures still spread upon the table. “Do you know something else? Do any of these men… No, surely not someone I dated…but…do any of them own the car that pushed me off the road?” she asked, her color draining as she considered the possibility.
“None of these men has ever owned title to anything resembling what we’re looking for,” Kelly admitted, “but that doesn’t mean the culprit couldn’t have borrowed a friend’s car or stolen one. The department has done a pretty thorough search of all the local body shops, in a wide arc around Glacier Park, Grand Hope and Seattle. Sure, there are some vehicles that needed repair that could have been the car or truck involved, but so far, we haven’t been able to make a connection.” She reached into her briefcase again and handed Randi a list of names. “Do you know any of these people? Do any of the names jog any kind of memory?”
Randi looked over the computer printout. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I mean, I don’t remember any of them.”
Kurt reached for the printout. “Mind if I have a look?”
Kelly wanted to tell him to go jump off the highest bridge, but didn’t. There was a chance he could help. “See for yourself.”
He eyed the report and Kelly envisioned the gears turning in his mind as he scanned the documents. When he finished he looked over the sheets at Kelly. “Good work.”
“Thanks,” she said, nearly choking on the word. She didn’t trust this guy a bit. He had no scruples as far as Kelly could tell.
“I’m looking for a partner.”
In your dreams. “I’ve got a job.”
“I could probably make it worth your while.”
“Not interested.”
“A lifer, eh?”
She didn’t respond, just said to Randi, “Let me know if you remember anything else. And you can keep those—” she motioned to the pictures and printouts “—I’ve got copies.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll walk you out,” the P.I. offered.
“It’s not necessary.”
But he was with her stride for stride, and as the front door shut behind them, he said, “I don’t know why you’ve got a burr under your saddle when it comes to me, but it’s not helping anything. We can work together or separately, but it might be easier, faster and damned more efficient if we pooled our resources.”
“You mean I should give you all the information I have, all the access the sheriff’s department has, and make your job a whole lot easier, so you can ‘solve,’ and I use the term loosely, the case, take the credit and the money for it, without putting in the hours and the effort.”
“I just want to get to the bottom of it,” he said, and his expression was as dark as the night.
“Right,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
She was down two steps when his voice caught up with her. “You know, Detective, unless I miss my guess, you’re ticked off and it doesn’t have so much to do with me as it does with Matt McCafferty.”
&nb
sp; She bit back a hot retort and just kept walking. There was just no reason under heaven to rise to the bait. Because, damn him, he was right.
* * *
“I’ll give you top dollar, McCafferty. I already had the place appraised by two local real estate firms, but if you don’t like what they’ve come up with, you can have someone else do it.”
Mike was seated in his old pickup, the engine idling, with his crutches and old hunting dog, Arrow, on the front seat beside him. Matt stood in the snow-crusted lane of his house talking through the open window, his breath fogging in the clear air. Kavanaugh reached into a side pocket of the truck and withdrew a manila packet.
“What makes you want this place so badly?”
Kavanaugh grinned as he handed the thick envelope to Matt. “Carolyn’s expecting and we’re outgrowing my place. I figure we can live there while I remodel the farmhouse.” He nodded toward the rustic house Matt called home. “It’ll take some doin’, but I’ll finish off the top story, add a bath and let Carolyn decide what she wants to do downstairs. By the summer after next, about the time the baby will be on his feet, we’ll be ready to move and I’ll rent out my place to my foreman.”
“You’ve got one?”
The grin in Kavanaugh’s freckled face widened a bit. “I will have by then. If things go right. You know, I would have bought this the last time it came up for sale, but you beat me to it. Now I’ve come into a little money, you’re never here, anyway, and I figure it’s the right time.” He stared through rimless glasses and the open window. “You’re not telling me I’m wrong, are ya?”
Matt frowned and glanced around the hilly acres he’d ranched for the past few years. The house was big enough, two stories, but the upstairs had never been finished; it was three rooms separated by a framework of two-by-fours. Downstairs the kitchen needed to be gutted. Ditto for the bathroom, which was little more than a closet by today’s standards. And the whole place needed new wiring, plumbing and a helluva lot of insulation.
It had been fine for him. He liked roughing it. But it probably wouldn’t do for a wife and kids. Along with two barns, one a hundred years old, the other five years old, there were rolling acres backdropped by dark forests. The creek that ran through the property eventually meandered over to Kavanaugh’s place.