“Traveling incognito?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Buddy stretched out on the cot in the back of his office at the police station and laid the computer printout on his chest. He had removed his holster and loosened the top buttons on his shirt hours ago, after he’d read over the printout of Johnny Mack Cahill’s police record from fifteen years ago, when he had been arrested for vagrancy in Houston, Texas. September 30. Less than two weeks after Buddy and his friends had beaten Johnny Mack and dumped him into the river.
That night had haunted Buddy for years. He had never killed anyone before that night—and he’d been sure he had killed Johnny Mack. He hadn’t liked the guy, although at one time he’d had a grudging respect for him and had even envied his success with women. But their paths had seldom crossed. It wasn’t that Buddy had been one of the Magnolia Avenue boys; but he had lived on the right side of the Chickasaw River, and his old man had been the county sheriff and one of John Graham’s hunting and fishing buddies.
Everybody in town had heard the rumors about Johnny Mack being John Graham’s illegitimate son, and it was a known fact that Kent hated his half brother with a passion equaled only by his determination to woo and wed Lane Noble. When Kent had found out about Lane’s crush on Johnny Mack, he’d gone into a rage. Buddy had seen Kent in dark moods before, but nothing like the uncontrollable fury that had driven Kent to ask him to kill Johnny Mack.
“I know how you feel about the guy,” Buddy had said. “But you can’t mean you actually want to see him dead. We could just run him out of town.”
“If you ran him out of town, he’d come back. That son of a bitch won’t be satisfied until he’s fucked every woman on Magnolia Avenue. He’s already had my mama. Did you know that? Yeah, I saw them with my own two eyes. In the summer house, both of them naked and going at it like a couple of animals.”
“Damn, man, you actually caught Miss Edith with Johnny Mack?”
“Mama doesn’t know I saw them, but Johnny Mack knows. I told him that he was going to be sorry, that I’d make him pay.” Kent had grabbed Buddy’s shirtfront and glared wild-eyed at him. “Now he’s after Lane. I won’t let him have her. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. Our families have all but had us engaged since we were babies.”
“Lane isn’t the sort of girl who’d—”
“He’s been sniffing around Mary Martha, too,” Kent had said, knowing full well how Buddy felt about his sister. “You want Johnny Mack getting in Mary Martha’s pants before you do?”
The very thought that anyone would take advantage of his precious Mary Martha had outraged Buddy, just as Kent had known it would. Two days later, he had rounded up six friends, and while Kent watched, they had cornered Johnny Mack by the Nobles’ boathouse. It had taken all six of them to subdue him. He had fought like the devil, but even Johnny Mack hadn’t been able to overcome six-to-one odds.
Buddy realized if he had known then what he knew now—that he had beaten the hell out of the wrong brother—he would have strangled Kent with his bare hands.
The telephone rang. Buddy jumped. As he rose from the cot, the printout fell off his chest and onto the floor. In two strides, he made it to his desk and lifted the receiver.
“Chief Lawler.”
“This is Lieutenant Mills from HPD. I got a message that you wanted some information on Johnny Mack Cahill.”
“Yeah. Sure do. It seems the only thing y’all have on him is a conviction for vagrancy fifteen years ago,” Buddy said. “The guy’s here in my town, making some threats, and I want to head off any trouble. Have you got anything, any information, on or off the record, that could help me find a reason to get him out of Noble’s Crossing?”
The laughter on the other end of the phone chilled Buddy to the marrow in his bones.
“Look, Chief Lawler, I don’t know what sort of threats Mr. Cahill is making, but if I were you, I’d take him seriously. As far as giving you any sort of damning report on the man, that I can’t do. You see, Johnny Mack Cahill is one of the big dogs here in Houston. The pack he runs with is comprised of multimillionaires. You know, the movers and shakers. Cahill’s got a reputation for being the shrewdest, deadliest shark of them all.”
Buddy swallowed the surprise and sudden fear clogging his throat. “Are you telling me that Johnny Mack Cahill is a multimillionaire?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“And he has no criminal record other than the vagrancy conviction fifteen years ago?”
“That’s it.”
“Yeah, well, thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Sure thing.” The lieutenant hesitated, cleared his throat and said, “By the way, Chief, y’all might want to lock up your women while Cahill’s in town.”
Long after Buddy had hung up the receiver, he could hear Lieutenant Mills’s laughter ringing in his ears.
Lane changed clothes for the third time since breakfast. This is ridiculous, she thought. What difference does it make what I’m wearing when Johnny Mack comes for lunch? But, heaven help her, it did matter. She had been a plump young girl whose greatest asset had been her parents’ social position back when she’d lusted after Johnny Mack from afar. She had always been the moon to her mother’s sun, a pale reflection of Celeste’s striking beauty. She hadn’t truly come into her own until she had reached her mid-twenties, and with maturity, her curves had slimmed. Regardless of her feelings for Johnny Mack, she couldn’t deny her purely feminine need for him to see her as the woman she was today.
Lane stripped out of the red dress, which always gained her compliments when she wore it. Red was too flashy. Too bold. Too self-confident. But the jeans and T-shirt she had put on before she had gone down to breakfast had been far too casual. Even Lillie Mae had suggested she might want to dress up a bit more.
After rummaging through her wardrobe, she chose black slacks, a sleeveless black shell and a crisp white shirt, which she left hanging loose and unbuttoned. She added silver jewelry. Hoop earrings. Several bangle bracelets. And a Celtic cross that hung on a sterling silver chain and rested between her breasts.
“Why are you so nervous?” Will asked from where he stood just outside Lane’s open bedroom door.
Lane gasped. “Oh, my goodness, honey, I didn’t know you were there.”
“Lillie Mae sent me up here to tell you that she and I have had another talk and…well…I’m going to stay for lunch and meet Johnny Mack Cahill.”
Lane smiled. “Oh, Will, that’s—”
“I’ll stay, but don’t expect me to be nice to this guy.”
“You’ll be courteous, won’t you, honey?”
“Yeah.” Will shuffled his feet. “But only for your sake.”
“Thank you.”
“I won’t like him.”
“No one is asking you to like him,” Lane said. “All you have to do is meet him and judge for yourself. My guess is that Johnny Mack is as nervous as we are.”
“I’m not nervous,” Will corrected her.
“Well, I am. I want you and Johnny Mack to like each other. He is your father and, despite my reservations about him, if I am arrested for Kent’s murder—”
“That won’t happen!”
“But if we have to deal with the worst case scenario and I am arrested, tried and convicted, then at least you’ll have a father to take care of you.”
“You think a guy like that would want a teenager messing up his life? My guess is that once his curiosity is satisfied, he’ll be long gone.”
“He didn’t have to come back to Noble’s Crossing,” Lane said. “When Lillie Mae sent him a message, he could have ignored it, but he didn’t. He came back to find out if you were his son and…and to see if he could help me.”
“You and Lillie Mae are singing the same song,” Will told her. “What is it about this guy that makes both of you defend him? He got Lillie Mae’s daughter pregnant and deserted her, but she tells me he’s not a bad man. And he strun
g you along and had you madly in love with him, so in love with him that you ruined your whole life by marrying Kent just so you could adopt me. But you tell me you want me to like him. Do you like him, Mama? Is that what this is all about? Are you still in love with him?”
Lane picked up a brush from her vanity, gave her hair a few strokes and tossed the brush aside. “For your information, Will Graham, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And as for liking Johnny Mack…I don’t know him. Not now. He’s a stranger. Did I like the Johnny Mack I knew fifteen years ago? Yes, I liked him, despite his less than sterling reputation. And as for loving him now…. No, Will, I don’t love him. But to be totally honest, I’m not absolutely sure that I hate him either.”
There were fresh flowers on Kent Graham’s grave. Every day the florist delivered blood red roses. Half a dozen. Per Edith Graham’s instructions. Damn shame. Waste of good money.
In the distance, the mowers had begun their day’s work at the other side of the cemetery. But they were too far away to notice, to see who was paying an early morning visit to a man who should have been put six feet under years ago.
Kent had been a monster. He had preyed on the weak. He had used and abused those who had loved him. He had destroyed everything he had touched. His life had been like an insidious cancer that wound its malignant evil around healthy minds and bodies and slowly but surely devoured them.
He hadn’t deserved to live. It was a pity that a man could die only once. If only Kent could have suffered more. Suffered for days. For weeks. For years. Suffered the way his victims had suffered.
Chapter 11
Johnny Mack Cahill sat in the upholstered chair at the banquet-size, eighteenth century pedestal table in the dining room of the Noble mansion on Magnolia Avenue. An impressive breakfront china cabinet, filled with heirloom treasures, soared from floor to ceiling and spanned half a wall behind him. He had never been in this room before today. Actually, until his brief recuperative period of three days and nights, fifteen years ago, he had never set foot in any room other than the kitchen. And even during that brief stay, he had gone no farther than Lillie Mae’s bedroom and bath.
In Houston, he was welcome in the homes of the wealthiest, most privileged citizens and had dined at finer tables than this. So why the hell did he feel like an intruder, someone who had forgotten to wipe the mud off his feet before he walked on the polished parquet floors and the priceless Persian rugs?
Because this was Noble’s Crossing, and in this town he was and always would be the bastard son of a trailer trash whore.
“Don’t you like your salad?” Lane asked.
“No. I mean yes. The salad is fine. Thanks.” What was wrong with him? He was stammering around like some insecure teenager who had no idea which fork to use. But he was no teenager. He sure as hell wasn’t insecure. And Judge Brown had drilled table manners into him the first month he had lived on the old man’s ranch.
He forced himself to take a bite of the salad. Usually he enjoyed a good meal. But at this precise moment, he wished he hadn’t invited himself to lunch. Why hadn’t he told Lane that he would just stop by today? If he had, he could have spared all three of them this nerve-wracking experience. Sitting here with Lane, who obviously was forcing herself to be pleasant to him, and with Will Graham, who had neither spoken to nor looked at him, was absolute torture.
But what had he expected? That Will would call him Dad and welcome him into his life with open arms?
Moments ticked by in which no one spoke, then Lane commented on the weather and how hot it had been this summer. Lillie Mae removed their salad plates and served the main course. She hesitated in the doorway, then huffed loudly, the disgust evident in her expression.
“Will, why don’t you ask Johnny Mack to play a game of chess with you after lunch?” Lillie Mae suggested. “You know, your mama taught him how to play a long time ago.”
Johnny Mack glanced at the boy, who kept his head bowed over his plate, but suddenly shot Johnny Mack a sharp, quick look of pure anger. His son hated him, that was plain to see.
“Actually, you turned out to be a much better player than I ever was,” Lane said, stepping in to fill the void that her son’s silence created. “Daddy taught me when I was a little girl, but I was no match for him.”
“Actually, I haven’t played chess in years.” Johnny Mack lifted his glass of iced tea. “I used to play with Judge Brown. But I never could beat that wily old fox.”
“Who was Judge Brown?” Lillie Mae asked.
“He was the man who plucked me out of jail fifteen years ago and gave me a chance to prove that I was more than a worthless, white trash bastard.”
Lane’s mouth formed a silent gasp. Lillie Mae cleared her throat. When Johnny Mack glanced at her, she nodded toward Will, who for the first time since Johnny Mack’s arrival met his gaze head-on.
“They think I’m a kid,” Will said. “They don’t talk vulgar around me, even though I’ve told them a hundred times that I hear a lot worse every day at school and all the kids use language that would make their hair stand on end.”
“Regardless of those facts, I’d rather you didn’t hear such language from me or Lillie Mae.” Lane looked directly at Johnny Mack. “Please, tell us more about Judge Brown, but I’d appreciate it if you’d use less colorful language.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to being around a…an impressionable young man.” Johnny Mack grinned at his son, who simply continued staring at him. “But I want to be honest with Will about who I was and who I am.”
“You were explaining who Judge Brown was,” Lane said, her gaze quickly darting back and forth from Will to Johnny Mack.
“Yeah, so I was. Judge Brown was an old man when I knew him, and he retired from the bench a couple of years after I met him. He’d made it his mission in life to try to save as many young men as he could from a life of crime.”
“What were you in jail for?” Will asked.
“Will, that isn’t polite,” Lane said.
“Ah, Mama.”
“It’s all right, Lane. Will has a right to ask me why I was in jail.” Johnny Mack would rather not have to tell his son about his sordid past, but he figured the boy had already heard an earful about him. About what a hell-raiser he had been when he was growing up in Noble’s Crossing. And if Will deserved anything from him, he deserved the truth. The boy’s life had been built on lies, one stacked on top of another.
Lane nodded. Lillie Mae crossed her arms over her waist as she stood in the doorway.
“When I left Noble’s Crossing, Lane and Lillie Mae gave me two hundred dollars, but by the time I’d been in Texas a couple of weeks, I didn’t have a dime in my pocket. I’d picked up an odd job here and there, enough to eat on, but one night when I didn’t have the money for a place to stay, I got picked up for vagrancy and thrown in jail. That’s the only crime I’ve ever been convicted of. Vagrancy.”
“But you committed a lot of crimes that you’ve never been convicted of, haven’t you?” Will smirked, like someone who knew he had inflicted a wound and was damn proud of his accomplishment.
“John William Graham!” Lane scolded.
“No, don’t be upset with him.” Johnny Mack lifted his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. “He’s right and we all know it.” Johnny Mack scooted back his chair and rose to his feet. “I don’t know where you got your information, Will, but somebody obviously has filled you in on what a rounder I was back in the old days.” He glanced at Lane’s housekeeper. “I wasn’t worth a damn, was I, Lillie Mae?”
“You were always worth something. At least Miss Lane thought so,” Lillie Mae said, then turned and walked out of the dining room.
Johnny Mack focused his attention on Will. “You don’t like me very much, do you, son?”
“Don’t call me son. You don’t have the right. And as for not liking you—I hate your guts.” Will jumped up out of his chair so quickly that he knocked it over onto the floor. “We
don’t want you here. We don’t need you. Not now.” Will’s eyes narrowed to slits. His nostrils flared. Color stained his high, sharply chiseled cheekbones. “Where were you when we really needed you? Tell me that! When Kent was making life hell for Mama. And where were you the day Kent told me who my real daddy was and what a sorry, no good son of a bitch you were?”
Will ran from the dining room, like an animal being chased by hunters. Lane rose slowly, her napkin falling from her lap onto the floor as she stood. She looked at Johnny Mack, and the pain and sorrow he saw in her eyes tortured him far more than the angry words Will had hurled at him.
“Should you go after him?” Johnny Mack asked.
“No,” Lane replied. “Lillie Mae twisted his arm to get him to agree to have lunch with you today. She told him to do it for me.” Lane lifted her head, tilting it upward just slightly in a show of strength and determination. “You see, my son is very protective of me. The first time he heard Kent demeaning me, degrading me, Will lashed out at Kent. And each time Kent got drunk and took his frustration out on me, Will came to my defense. Finally, I realized that, for Will’s sake as much as my own, I had to divorce Kent. By that time, Will’s feelings for his father—for the man he thought of as his father—had changed drastically. He still loved Kent, but he no longer respected him.”
“I’m sorry that I pushed my way in here today. I should have waited until you were ready. Until Will was ready. I have a tendency to be too aggressive. But in my own defense, I should tell you that all I want is to find a way to make things right. For you. For Will. Whatever you want…whatever you need, is yours for the asking. Please, Lane, let me help you.”
“Will was right. You really are too late to help us. Perhaps, before Kent was murdered—”
Johnny Mack slammed his fist down on the antique table, the jarring effect clanging china against crystal and bouncing the pieces of silverware together. “Damn Kent! I should have stayed here fifteen years ago and gotten rid of him myself. If a man ever deserved killing, it was Kent Graham. And if I’d known you were married to him and he was abusing you, I’d have ripped him apart with my bare hands. God, why didn’t Lillie Mae send for me sooner?”
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