by Lisa Jackson
He tossed his cigarette onto the floor and ground it out with his boot. “You know, Angie, not many women want me for their friend. Men and women…as friends…somehow it doesn’t work out.”
“Can’t we rise above it?” she asked and impulsively stood on her tiptoes, brushing the side of his cheek with her lips. Without even seeing his reaction, she ran through the shed’s open door and noticed a shadow move quickly around the side of the old brick building. Angie felt a coldness seep into her blood. Probably Willie again. God, that idiot was giving her the creeps. She shivered. She couldn’t imagine why her father didn’t just get rid of him.
But then her father was always partial to hard-luck stories, Brig McKenzie being a case in point.
I watched from the shadows.
Standing behind the Buchanan house, hidden by the thick cover of leafy shrubs and trees while twilight settled onto the huge home, I stared up at the windows, bright patches against a hot, dense night.
She was in the house, or so it appeared as her bedroom light was on…yes, I knew where all the rooms were and I glanced from the master bedroom with its bank of windows to the smaller dormers of the rooms that housed the members of their small, blended family.
Derrick’s room was the farthest down the hall, and through the open blinds, I noticed posters of football players and long-legged, big-breasted models or porno stars, leaning over with their come-hither eyes and wet lips. A tight ball of disgust tightened in my gut as my gaze traveled to Cassidy’s room, which was now dark, probably empty. I glanced around quickly because Cassidy was known to leave the house and hang out at the stable. My eyes searched the darkness, but I saw nothing. No movement. No sound of her quiet whistling under her breath. No sign of her.
Good.
My tense muscles relaxed a little until I looked up again and centered my attention on Angie’s room. And there she was suddenly, seated on the window ledge and staring up at the sky, maybe watching the rising moon.
She was silhouetted by the light from her desk, a black, curvy shadow against a golden lamp. Her gaze lowered and she searched the darkness. As if sensing I was near.
My muscles tightened, and for a second I thought our gazes locked, mine desperate and determined from my hiding spot in the dense foliage, hers wide and wondering, a little suspicious as she eyed the shadows. I didn’t breathe.
Go ahead and look, you bitch. Try and see me. Try to figure out what’s going to happen.
Finally, she looked away. Closed the window. Pulled down the shade as if to keep my gaze from wandering where it shouldn’t.
Which was stupid.
I took a chance.
Reached into my pocket and found my lighter. Then I held it to my nose and flicked it on, peering through the tiny flame, centering it on her window and the dusky silhouette beyond the shade.
Feel this, Angie?
Imagine it touching your skin, catching in your hair.
I smiled in the darkness, the flickering flame shifting before my eyes as I thought of her and what would happen to that beautiful, taut body.
Soon, it would be reduced to ashes.
Angie shivered and rubbed her arms despite the heat of the night. She glanced at the window, closed tight, shade drawn, and told herself she was being a ninny. A fool.
No one was watching her out there in the trees surrounding the lawn. No one was plotting to harm her. The worst thing that could have happened was that retard Willie was skulking about again.
She felt a twinge of regret at her unkind thoughts about him. It wasn’t his fault that he was a few cards shy of a full deck. And hadn’t she seen the way he’d looked at her the other day when she’d touched his sleeve? She’d had a glimmer that he wasn’t as stupid as he let on, that he knew far more about what was going on at the Buchanan estate than anyone else, and that his dumb, poor town idiot routine might well be an act.
He was, after all, a man.
So she should be careful around him.
As should Cassidy and Felicity and even that witch Dena. Who knew what thoughts traveled through Willie’s weak brain. She grinned at the thought of Willie and Dena, then shoved the ridiculous image aside.
She had more to worry about than creating her own personal boogeyman in the woods. Lots more. She had to concentrate.
Flopping onto her bed, she grabbed a heart-shaped pillow and held it tight to her breast. Tears threatened her eyes and she bit her lower lip. This was not the time to break down. She sighed and began putting the final touches on her plan and tamped down the rising sense of dread, the panic that was lately consuming her. Glancing at the calendar posted above her desk, she cringed.
She was running out of time.
Seven
“I don’t think it’s right, that’s all I’m saying, Rex.” Dena looked at herself in the mirror over the sink in the master bedroom and frowned at the gray roots that were beginning to show starkly against her red hair. She had always been proud of her tresses, and now even they were beginning to turn on her, along with her face and neck, both of which showed far too many wrinkles and the bags under her eyes—well, it was small wonder she looked so strained, worried as she was about her daughters. How she’d be able to make herself radiant for the Caldwells’ barbecue next weekend nagged at her. She needed a new dress, shoes and more than a little cosmetic surgery. She finished brushing her hair and picked up her pack of cigarettes. “Why you hired that riffraff is beyond me.”
Rex stood behind the partially closed door to the walk-in closet. “Brig needed a job. He’s damned good with the horses, and Cassidy’s colt already threw her once. Didn’t want to take another chance.”
“But you don’t mind taking a chance with that McKenzie boy. And with our girls.” She saw him out of the corner of her eye, hanging up his robe. Standing in his boxer shorts, he was still an imposing man. Oh, he sagged a little around the middle, but his muscles still showed under his skin and his legs didn’t have an ounce of fat thanks to hours spent on the golf course. His hair was snow white, in sharp contrast to his black eyebrows, and his face, tanned from his days on the links, was handsome, even chiseled, except for the line of his jaw where the beginnings of jowls had already made themselves evident. Aging was a bitch. She lit up and noticed the tiny lines surrounding her lips as she sucked on her cigarette.
“I’m not taking a chance on the girls. What’re you talking about?” He threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and sweatshirt—the common locker-room garb instead of the burgundy velour jogging suit she’d bought him for their last anniversary. But she didn’t have time to argue with him about that now; besides, no one would see him and she had other problems on her mind—big problems concerning Brig McKenzie. Sunny’s wild boy.
Dena wouldn’t have liked Rex hiring Chase, Sunny McKenzie’s other son, but she could have understood it; Chase, from what the gossip mill churned out, was responsible, cared about his future, kept his nose clean and knew his station. At least he tried to do the right thing. He seemed a little more refined than his younger brother. But Brig—well, the common expression was that he was hell on wheels and had no respect for anything or anyone. He wore a leather jacket and rode a motorcycle, for God’s sake, like some kind of hoodlum or Hell’s Angel. She shuddered deep in the folds of her silk robe.
And Rex wasn’t worried.
This was no time for delicacies. Sometimes the only way to get through to her bullheaded husband was to hit him over the head with a verbal baseball bat. “It was bad enough you hiring that half-wit. The way he drools over the girls—”
“Look, Dena, I’m a respected member in the community, one of the richest men in Prosperity, and as such I have responsibilities to do some things that might not be economically sound—goodwill gestures. Then there’s the church. Father James seems to think that…oh, hell, you wouldn’t understand. The bottom line is that no one else will hire him and Willie’s a hard worker. Hasn’t given me a lick of trouble.” His jaw tightened stubbornly.
Rex was proud of his philanthropy, and when it came to Willie—the subject of firing him was and always would be taboo. Dena had learned that long ago when Rex had hired the moron. She’d had a fit then but her husband had been adamant. Several times since then, when tools or spare parts had been missing or stolen, she’d suggested Rex fire Willie, but the subject was always closed. Rex wasn’t about to give in.
She drew on her cigarette, didn’t like the looks of herself in the mirror and squashed the damned Viceroy out in the silver tray near the sink. She had to quit. The lines around her eyes from squinting through smoke were becoming too noticeable. “Brig McKenzie’s got a reputation, you and I both know it. He drinks too much even though he’s underage then gets into fights. He’s been fired from God-only-knows how many jobs and beds any woman he can get his hands on.”
“You don’t know that. It’s all small-town gossip.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Rex. Just remember his roots. He comes from trash.”
“Sunny McKenzie—”
“Is trash and her husband, or ex-husband, wasn’t much better. A drunk with a bad temper.” She turned away from the sink and glared at her husband. “The more you do for that family, the more the rumors about you…” Her voice failed her, and she shuddered.
“Again, it’s just gossip.”
“That I hear over and over. At the country club, while playing bridge, when I get my hair done, even after mass. I’m telling you, Rex, you’ve got to stop bending over backward for Sunny and her boys!”
“I help other families as well. When husbands are out of work or little kids get sick—”
“—or nearly drown.”
He stared at her hard “That was a long time ago,” he warned. “Sunny needed help. Her husband walked out on her.”
“I know and you know, but people still talk,” she said, the ugly rumors always just under the surface of her consciousness. “It’s bad enough you visit Lucretia’s grave every week but—”
“Don’t bring her into this,” he commanded in the tone he reserved for her when he was particularly angry, a belittling tone.
She wouldn’t push him about Lucretia, but she couldn’t give up on the issue at hand. “Look, Rex, you and I both know that the only thing Brig McKenzie’s got going for him is his good looks and the fact that he’s shrewd as hell—he knows how to play people to get what he wants. Look how he played you.”
“He didn’t play me,” Rex grumbled as he strode back to their bedroom.
She shot a look that silently called him a fool. “That boy knows exactly what he’s doing, and mark my words, he’s trouble, the likes of which we’ve never seen.” She slid into her pink slippers and padded after him. He was already seated on his stationary bike, pedaling madly, sweat breaking out across his forehead. The armoire was open, displaying the television, where beautiful women in police uniforms were doing menial tasks. Charlie’s Angels, one of Rex’s favorite programs, was about to be aired. “I don’t want Cassidy hanging around him. I think she’s developing a crush on him.”
“Cassidy? She’s just a kid.”
“Have you taken a good look at her lately, Rex?” Dena asked, a little wounded. In Rex’s opinion Cassidy would never be anything more than his second daughter, second in line and second best. He never said as much, but it was obvious in the subtle little ways that Dena found so irritating and painful.
“She’s not interested in boys.”
“Not boys, just Brig. She can’t stay away from him.”
“That’s because of her horse. It has nothing to do with McKenzie.”
“Open your eyes, Rex. She’s sixteen and…well, I remember how I was at that age.”
“You can’t stop her from hanging out at the stable.”
Dena sighed. “No, but I can keep my eye on her and see that she stays away from that white trash. As for Angie, God knows I can’t control her, she’s your daughter, but if I were you, I’d forbid her to go anywhere near him.”
“She doesn’t.”
Dena shook her head. “I’ve never thought of you as a fool, Rex, but maybe I was wrong.” She settled onto the king-sized bed and plumped the pillows up against the headboard.
Dena usually didn’t criticize Angie because Rex adored the girl and treated her as if she were royalty. He was more flagrantly devoted to Angie than he was to Cassidy; it was obvious to everyone in the house. Dena knew the reason why. Angie was Lucretia’s daughter, and though his first wife had been dead for years, Rex still revered her—lit candles for her at mass, talked and acted as if she were some kind of saint.
The woman had taken her own life, for crying out loud, and everyone knew that suicide was a sin. But still Rex was faithful to Lucretia’s memory and Dena was fairly certain, were she to die, Rex wouldn’t go off lighting candles and saying prayers and worshipping her for nearly two decades.
“Angie’s been at St. Therese’s for four years, and the nuns have given her a good, strong moral education. Don’t worry about her. Angie’s a good girl.” He was beginning to really sweat now, and the bicycle was whirring too loudly for him to hear the dialogue on the television. Before she could say a word, he clicked the remote and the television boomed a little louder through the bedroom.
“Is Derrick home yet?” Angie, wearing a swimsuit cover-up, her sandals dangling from her fingers, tiptoed through the door of Cassidy’s room and plopped onto the corner of the bed.
Cassidy was leafing through a magazine. “Don’t know.”
“He’s out with Felicity, isn’t he?”
Cassidy lifted a shoulder. Ever since Angie had been on a campaign to win Brig’s heart, Cassidy had found it difficult to be civil to her older sister. Not that Brig wasn’t old enough to know better, and rumor had it that he’d known plenty of women. But none so pretty nor with such a high social station as Angie, Cassidy decided. Angie would be hard—make that nearly impossible—for any man to resist.
“Well, if he shows up here, will you cover for me?”
“Why?” Cassidy was instantly suspicious.
“He doesn’t like me seeing Brig.”
“Seeing Brig—as in dating?” Cassidy said, astounded. Sure, she’d known that Angie had been coming on to Brig, she’d even seen her older sister buzz a kiss across Brig’s cheek, but she’d hardly call it seeing Brig.
“Well, not really dating, at least not yet. But soon. I’m gonna ask him to take me to the Caldwells’ barbecue at the Country Club. Won’t that tick a few people off?” She giggled and her eyes twinkled at that thought. “Anyway, I’m s’posed to meet him tonight down by the pool, and Mom and Dad, they’ll be asleep as soon as the eleven o’clock news is over, so I shouldn’t have to worry about them. The servants are all tucked away and you know what the deal is, so that only leaves Derrick.”
“Have you already asked Brig to the barbecue?” Cassidy felt her stomach knot.
“No, not yet.”
“But you think he’ll go.”
“Of course he’ll go. It’s one of the biggest events of the season, and the poor kids in town are all dying to be invited.”
“It’s hard to imagine that Brig would care.”
Angie’s eyebrows quirked. “What’s this, Cass? A little jealousy?”
“’Course not.”
“Hmmm.” Angie’s full lips pulled into a knowing grin. “Well, he’s got a brother, you know. Probably even more handsome than Brig. I know for a fact that Chase McKenzie would cut off his right arm for an invitation to the party.”
“So why don’t you ask him?”
“Because he’s too hungry. Too anxious and eager. Kind of like Bobby and Jed. But Brig…” She stared through the open window and sighed loudly. “I guess I’m attracted to him because he’s so cocky and self-assured. So strong. He does what he wants when he wants and doesn’t give a damn about the circumstances.” Her face clouded over and she bit into her lower lip. “In some ways we’re a lot alike.”
“Yo
u and Brig?” Cassidy snorted. “Give me a break.”
Angie’s touch of melancholy lasted only a second and was quickly replaced by a naughty smile that turned her sister’s stomach.
Steaming inside, Cassidy aimed the remote control to the little television on her bureau. She needed noise—distraction—anything to keep her mind from running in the painfully familiar circles it took when she thought of Brig and Angie together.
“So run interference for me, will you? If Derrick—well, or anyone for that matter—starts asking questions, just turn on your desk lamp by the window and I’ll get the message. Okay?”
“I don’t know what good that will do.”
“It’s just a warning. Gives me time to head back to the house and come up with a logical story—you know, something about not being able to sleep and needing a midnight swim.”
“Fine,” Cassidy said without any inflection, though inside she was dying a thousand deaths.
Picking up her flip-flops, Angie slid off the bed and padded softly to the door. “Just remember the signal. That’s all you have to do.” She flashed Cassidy a brilliant smile. “I owe you one, Cass,” she said, then opened the door so that it barely creaked. After checking the hallway, she disappeared and Cassidy was left with a feeling of incredible despair.
She flipped through the stations but didn’t even see the images on the television screen. Instead, vivid pictures of Brig and Angie, their bodies wet from swimming naked in the pool, boiled through her mind.
She felt sick inside. Angie hadn’t been kidding about Brig. She was going to seduce him. And Brig was eating it up!
Slamming her fist into her pillow, Cassidy stared out her open bedroom window to the dark sky, where stars winked in the dark heavens. A lazy half-moon hung low over the horizon. She rolled out of bed and gazed through the darkness. The breeze was warm though it was the coolest part of the day, and it whispered through her nightgown, pressing the soft cotton to her body.