After the small talk with the new visitors, Clarissa returned her attention to Casey. “I like your necklace. What designer made it for you?”
Casey smiled a little. “Another piece of trailer trash here in Jackson Hole, Lannie Wilson.”
Brows dipping, Clarissa’s mouth turned downward for a moment. She looked at the tortoiseshell and opal bracelet on her thin left wrist. “I see, well, it’s very nice despite that.”
“Thank you,” Casey murmured, laughing inwardly. She was sure Clarissa wanted her to ask about the expensive opal bracelet but she wasn’t about to. The rich always liked to compare. How much did the bracelet cost? Who designed it? Again, it was part of the unspoken competition between those with money to burn to figure out just where they each stood on the monied ladder of power.
“Those aren’t real amethysts, are they?”
Casey smiled. “Yes, they are. Grade-A amethysts, as I’m sure you know. The darker purple they are, the higher the grade.”
“You do know your gemstones.”
“Actually, Lannie taught me. Amazing that trailer trash could be so educated, isn’t it? Lannie has a degree from the Gemological Institute of America, GIA.” Casey knew about gemstones because of her mother. And GIA graduates were considered the most knowledgeable in the world when it came to pearls, diamonds and colored stones.
“I didn’t realize Lannie had upgraded herself,” Clarissa sniffed. “She was such a problem teen here in the town. I understand from my husband that she was in and out of juvie hall all the time.”
“Well,” Casey said, allowing some of her emotion to come through, “if you’d had the stuffing beat out of you by an abusive and drunk father, you might not be whole, either. Trauma changes people, Clarissa. It’s nice that you’ve never had to experience that part of life, but many others have.”
“Oh, I didn’t know it was her father,” Clarissa began lamely. “I just heard from Carter that she was a hellion and always causing trouble.”
“Yes, well, too bad the rest of Lannie’s terrible childhood didn’t reach you. She’s pulling herself up by her bootstraps and trying to better her life. I admire people like that.” Casey touched her amethyst necklace, a single strand set on a silver chain with silver spacers. “I like to support people who are struggling to make it in life.”
Their main courses came. Clarissa looked relieved for the interruption. For a few minutes, she ate in silence. By now, the restaurant was bulging with well-heeled diners. The classical music was low and unobtrusive. The fine paintings along the wall were all originals by some of the American West’s finest artists.
“So how long are you here?” Casey wanted to know.
“Oh, I hate D.C. in the summer,” Clarissa murmured. “I much prefer the dry heat of Wyoming.” She held up her manicured hand for a moment. “I blow up like a balloon in the dog days of July and August back on the east coast. Carter understands. We’re always out here to celebrate the Fourth of July, and then he heads back to Washington and I remain here or at my parents’ ranch over in Cheyenne until September first. Then I fly back to D.C.”
Casey thought it must be nice. Knowing Clarissa would be here for several more weeks, she was going to make sure that she wasn’t available for another power lunch with this woman. “Gwen said you grew up on a cattle ranch in Cheyenne?” Casey said.
“Yes, I did. In fact, my family’s lineage goes back to the first trappers that came into this area.” She preened a bit. “My family created one of the first huge cattle ranches here long before barbed wire was created.”
“What’s the name of your parents’ ranch?” Casey saw Clarissa frown. She supposed she thought everyone should know that without having to ask.
“The Triple R. Our ancestors who first started our ranch were Renards from Canada. I guess they got tired of trapping and saw cattle as the latest fad and decided to settle down. Lucky for us they did. Our ranch is the largest in the Cheyenne area.”
“And you have brothers? Sisters?” Casey knew the rich loved to talk about themselves. This was a far better tactic for her because she didn’t want to reveal that much of herself to this gossip queen from D.C.
Smiling fondly, Clarissa said, “My older brother, Frank Renard, works with my father. Eventually, Frank will inherit the ranch, but, of course, the money will be split evenly between the three of us.”
“There’s a third sibling?”
Making a face, Clarissa said, “Please keep this private?”
“Sure,” Casey murmured, enjoying her hamburger. For once, the facade that Clarissa wore dissolved. She saw real pain in the woman’s green eyes. It wasn’t made up.
“My younger sister, Nicole is…well…I’m ashamed of her.” Cupping her hand near her red lips, she said, “Nicky is the youngest. She always hated being the last born. In school she got into trouble with drugs.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Casey said, and she meant it. The pain continued to linger in Clarissa’s eyes.
“Nicky was in and out of trouble her whole life. Mama said she inherited the bad genes from one of our French relatives, who was a murderer and was eventually hanged. Of course, that was a long time ago,” she said, waving her hand as if to make the truth go away. “Nicky is jealous of me. She hated that my father favored Frank and ignored us girls. Nicky wanted to learn to run the ranch just like Frank, but Daddy forbade it. She has such a temper.” Touching her red hair, Clarissa added, “And she’s got our famous red hair, too. And anything you’ve heard about red hair holds true for Nicky. She’s got a hair-trigger temper, has a smart mouth on her that won’t quit and she’s always confrontational.”
“Those aren’t necessarily bad traits,” Casey said, trying to ease the pain she saw in Clarissa’s face.
“That’s true,” she said, rearranging the napkin on her lap. “In Daddy’s view, he doesn’t have a second daughter.”
Casey grimaced. She came from a five-daughter family and couldn’t imagine her parents banishing one of them. “So Nicky can’t be at the ranch or visit your mother?”
Mouth turning down at the corners, Clarissa nodded. “She’s not allowed to. My mom has to meet her outside ranch property. It’s a very, very sad, ongoing situation.”
“Where’s Nicky now?”
“In Cheyenne. She wants to move here.” Clarissa sighed. “I mean, she is my sister, Casey. I feel guilty and want to help her.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Casey murmured. “I think it’s nice you’ll support her. What does she do for a living?”
“Nicky managed to get an MBA in Business Administration from Harvard University. She’s got a wonderful mind if she could just tame those raw, wild emotions of hers,” Clarissa murmured, frowning.
“Those are impressive credentials.”
“Yes, but Nicky hated every moment of it. Daddy wanted her to get a degree so she could take care of herself. When she graduated and returned to the ranch, she demanded that Daddy take her on so she could help learn the business of cattle-ranching. He refused.”
“And that’s when he disowned her?” Casey wondered. She saw Clarissa pull a silk handkerchief from her purse and dab the corners of her eyes. Her heart went out to Clarissa. For all her money, power and fame, there was nothing she could do to fix a sad family situation. It made her human in Casey’s eyes. And the tears were real, not the crocodile tears that some could create on demand. She could see worry and love for Nicky in the woman’s drawn features.
“Yes, I’m afraid Daddy is like a caveman. He believes there’s man’s work and there’s woman’s work. My mother put up with it and so did I. Nicky never did. She fought him tooth and nail to be allowed to learn how a ranch of that size was run and made money.”
“Ouch,” Casey said. “I’m really sorry to hear this, Clarissa. It must be painful for everyone concerned.”
Sniffing, Clarissa shored up, tucked the handkerchief away and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Everyone’s in pain except Daddy. He’
s hardened his heart against my baby sister. I begged her to come out here where she could start all over. There’s plenty of ranches in this area that could hire her. She’s a fast learner and she loves riding and roping. Nicky has always been a tomboy while I was the lady.”
Nodding, Casey could see that. Clarissa dug into her purse and produced a picture of her younger sister.
“You can see, she’s beautiful. She’s only twenty-five and has the whole world in front of her with her Harvard degree.”
The pride in Clarissa’s voice was genuine and filled with hope. Nicky looked very different from Clarissa. In fact, she would not have believed they were sisters except for the red hair they shared. “She is pretty,” she offered. “Is she going to use your help?” Casey was sure that with Clarissa’s powerful statewide ties in ranching, she could get her baby sister a good job as a business manager.
“I’ve put in a few calls on her behalf,” Clarissa said, sliding the picture back in her purse.
“She wants to live here to be near you?”
“I think so. Nicky and I were always close. We didn’t get along very well because I liked doing girlie things and she hung out with the boys.” She laughed a little. “Well, I hung out with the boys, too, but I was very popular in high school and always had dates.”
Casey nodded. “Nicky ran with the guys because she wanted to?”
“She loved baseball versus softball, loved touch football and joined the fencing club and fenced with the best of them. Nicky always felt like she had something to prove to Daddy, I guess.” Clarissa sighed. “One way to do it was to run with the boys and show them up. Show them that she was better than they were.”
“And was she?”
“Absolutely. But Daddy said it wasn’t right for a young woman to be showing up men. They each had their place in life. He was never happy she was out roughhousing with them.”
Casey kept her mouth shut. There were still a lot of the men of the Baby Boom generation against women being their equals. “I hope Nicky finds something she’ll be happy doing around here.”
“Oh,” Clarissa said, hope in her tone, “I’ve sent her some leads. The one I hope she does not take is a rundown ranch, the Flying R. You know about it? The story?”
Shaking her head, Casey said, “I guess I haven’t lived here long enough to know all the stories circulating around this pot-boiler of a valley.”
With a grimace, Clarissa said, “It’s a sad story, really. And I hope Nicky does not take the job that’s open there. The Flying R used to be a well-run cattle ranch.” Her mouth quirked. “Life is sorrowful for so many. Lianna Royden died of leukemia two years ago. Her husband, Mick, drank himself to death a year later. In the meantime, their only son, Lieutenant Pete Royden, was in the U.S. Army. He was over in Afghanistan fighting when his mother died and was unable to come home for the funeral. And then, his father went on a drinking binge shortly afterward.” With a shrug, her voice softer with sympathy, Clarissa murmured, “Pete left the army after his six-year tour was up and returned home to a ranch that has pretty much spiraled into a mess. It used to be profitable, but now it’s not. The wranglers left, and Pete walked back into a disaster. Now he’s trying to save his family’s legacy. He placed a want ad in the local paper for a business manager.”
“Sounds like Nicky could be of help to him,” Casey said.
Shrugging, Clarissa asked, “You ever met Pete?”
“No. Why?”
“He’s a mean son of a bitch,” Clarissa whispered. “Pardon my language, but there’s no secrets here in the valley. He’s irritable, angry all the time, impatient and won’t tolerate anyone. He’s out at his ranch right now trying to do it all himself. I just don’t want Nicky getting involved with the likes of him, is all. The war has changed him.”
Casey looked at her watch. “This has been a nice lunch with you, Clarissa, but I’ve got to run.” She pulled out money to pay.
“No, no,” Clarissa said, holding up her hand. “I’ll buy. Let’s do this again?”
Getting up, Casey laid the linen napkin on the table. “Sure,” she lied. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Please give your mother my regards?”
“Right. I will.” Casey wanted to leave. An hour of Clarissa was enough, even though, in the end, the woman wasn’t the heartless bitch she had first thought. Clarissa had feelings, had sympathy, and that was good to know. Swinging out the door, Casey decided to walk around the plaza to Quilter’s Haven. Gwen Garner was holding some material for a blouse she wanted to make.
She walked down the crowded wooden-plank walk, threading through the hundreds of tourists ambling along and peering into the picture windows of different stores. She heard the fire siren go off. Matt was on duty. Worry descended upon Casey. The more she allowed herself to like Matt, the more his job worried her. Firefighting was equally as dangerous as being a law-enforcement officer. With a sigh, she crossed the street and halted at the pale yellow two-story brick building. Quilter’s Haven looked busy inside. When wasn’t it?
The siren continued to scream over the town. As Casey pulled open the door, she automatically prayed that Matt and his team would be safe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CASEY MADE HER WAY THROUGH the crowd of women. Gwen was holding her sale on the latest Christmas fabrics and now was the time to buy. She went to the desk near the rear of the store and Gwen greeted her.
“Hey, how are you, Casey?” Gwen reached down and pulled out the fabric she’d kept for her.
“Fine, Gwen. And you?”
The woman smiled. “Keeping my eyes and ears open as usual,” she chuckled. “I saw Clarissa drive up earlier. You have lunch with her over at the Aspens?”
Shaking her head, Casey said, “Nothing misses you, does it?” Pulling open her purse, she paid for the fabric, a Hoffman batik that had purples, blues and reds in it. Casey wanted a nice long-sleeved blouse in one-hundred-percent cotton for fall, and this would be a beautiful choice.
“Nope,” Gwen said, smiling as she rang up the purchase on her cash register. “She’s not as bad as you thought, eh?”
Startled, Casey sometimes wondered if Gwen Garner read people’s minds. Taking the change, she placed the coins in a small leather purse. “No, she’s got worries and problems just like the rest of us.”
Gwen nodded. “She’s not such a bad egg. Her little sister, Nicky, is acting out for the whole toxic family dynamic.”
Again, Casey was amazed at Gwen’s insights. “You should run for mayor, Gwen. Or become a psychologist. Your insights are always correct and you know everything about everyone!”
Laughing a little, Gwen moved some graying curls off her broad forehead. “Come with me,” she said, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ve got some new Hoffman batiks in and I know that’s your favorite fabric.”
Casey took her purchase and walked to the corner of the store. Gwen had special sections of some of the most popular fabrics desired by quilters. Hoffman was the best of the batiks. They were made by hand in Indonesia and they were always Casey’s first choice.
The fabric stands held roughly a hundred bolts of cloth. The Hoffman stand was in the corner and Gwen rounded it to where they were alone. Casey had a distinct feeling this wasn’t about seeing new fabric. Coming to a halt, Gwen once more checked around to ensure there were no ears to hear what she was going to impart to Casey.
“Listen, word has it that there’s a man in town that no one knows. I saw him yesterday, and I got a bad feeling.” Gwen was short and so she stepped closer so only Casey could hear her. “Normally, with all the tourists who come here, I don’t pay much attention. But this guy, whoever he was, came in here.” She pointed her index finger down at the floor. “He looked to me like the least likely person to be interested in quilting, much less sewing. I didn’t like the look in his eyes, either.”
Frowning, Casey said, “What does this have to do with me?”
“He asked for you. By name.”
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br /> “Oh?” Casey gave Gwen a helpless look. “Can you give me a description of him?”
Gwen gave it to her. “Now, does that ring a bell?”
“No. Not at all.”
Rubbing her chin, Gwen said, “I told my girls who work here that if they see him again to try to get a photo of him. I keep a small digital camera at the cash register.”
Giving her a partial smile, Casey said, “You take photos of people, Gwen?”
“When I think it’s warranted, yes.” Giving Casey a steely-eyed look she said, “You know, no one’s solved that bullet being fired at you last spring. I know Charley, your super, has released you back to working outdoors again because he can’t keep you locked up forever at the visitor’s center. And my son said it’s a dead end—no one found the shooter. And no one was hiking in that area to tell him anything. This guy reminded me of a predator, pure and simple. He just had that look about him.”
“Who talked to him at the counter about me?” Casey asked.
“Donna did. She told me he asked if you came in here. Now, I train my girls to be closemouthed, especially when the situation seems to warrant it. Donna said she didn’t know and played dumb. He got angry with her, asked her some more questions. It’s obvious to me he’s been watching you, Casey, because he let slip that you’d been in here two days ago.”
A chill worked up Casey’s spine. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, no, it doesn’t.” Reaching out, Gwen placed her hand on Casey’s arm. “Listen, I’ve already told my son about it. I’ve given him a description of the man. He can’t do much at this point, but he did ask the other deputies to stay alert. They’re watching for him now.”
Grimacing, Casey murmured, “Gosh, Gwen, I just don’t have a clue. I don’t know anyone by that description.”
“Did Clarissa talk to you about her donor list?”
Startled by the question, Casey said, “No. Why?”
“Well, Clarissa was in here yesterday buying Christmas fabric for her cousin over in Cheyenne and she told me about this man on the donor list. You know that Clarissa is in charge of it?”
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