Reaction Shot (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 9)

by Patricia McLinn

  “And that’s part of it,” I said.

  “You didn’t go digging into his private—”

  She cut off Tom’s worry. “No. You have no idea how much information is out there. Started with articles ranking regional law firms. Added firms that had to state incomes and compensation for mergers or divorces. Throw in real estate taxes, organizations that charge membership based on net worth, and a few other sources. Cross-referenced all the numbers with the rankings, so we could slot Lukasik between other lawyers and…”

  She looked around to be sure we were listening.

  “He’s not as rich as everybody thinks. I mean, he’s not a pauper or anything. But, still, he’s not where you’d expect him to be based on rival firms. If you want to see the numbers—”

  “Give us your headlines, first,” I said.

  “Well, that was one. The other is I found out how much he was paying Furman York.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “He took out a private loan and had to report employee salaries, among a whole lot of other stuff. The group who gave him the loan sold it to another company, which sold it to another company, which … you get the idea. And one of those companies made all their records public accidentally. The idiots. It was sitting there on the web until we found it and reported it — after we copied Lukasik’s.”

  Mike’s patience ran out. “How much for York?”

  Her figure drew a whistle from Mike, stunned silence from Diana and me, and Tom’s, “More than twice what Jack Delahunt gets, three times what a good foreman around here gets.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” I dropped my head, focusing on a patch of the oriental carpet, blocking out distractions. “Let’s look at this chronologically. Lukasik represents York. York gets off.”

  “Because at least two jurors are bribed,” Mike said.

  “We think that — okay, we’re pretty sure, after what Hiram said. Lukasik represents York, bribes two jurors, York gets off.”

  “And York goes to work for Lukasik,” Mike said. “Blackmail.”

  My head jerked up. “But York doesn’t go to work for Lukasik for three years. Why the delay? If York had proof of bribery in his case, why wait to apply pressure? Why be broke for three years?”

  “He got the proof later,” Jennifer said.

  “How? He wasn’t here. And would anyone in Cottonwood County help him get proof?” I asked.

  “Hell, no,” Mike said. “The bribed jurors certainly wouldn’t. And how could York hold it over Lukasik’s head anyway? Wasn’t he in nearly as much jeopardy? Lukasik could sure say he’d been involved. How could he prove he wasn’t? Even if he turned state’s evidence, testified against Lukasik, how many top lawyers would want to try that case? Plus, he’d benefited. Wouldn’t the authorities find some way to punish him for killing Leah?”

  That image of the reversed video magically flowing together pieces of a puzzle…

  Pieces. … Pieces coming together.

  Something Penny said.

  First one didn’t do it. Slide, sliding back to where he’d started. Hated that worse than anything. Needed another one and did it again.

  Not didn’t do the murder. But didn’t do the trick.

  Sliding back…

  Needed another one…

  Did it again…

  “A different case,” I said. “Lukasik did it again. And York blackmailed him over that. Not his own case. York knew about the bribery in his case, but had no proof. He keeps watching, on the alert for Lukasik to do it again. Making sure to get proof the next time. That explains the three-year delay.”

  “What proof? Where is it?” Jennifer asked.

  “Letters or photos — more likely photos. As for where, someplace York was sure Lukasik couldn’t get his hands on it, because he surely tried. If we figure out which case—”

  “I can check.”

  “The ones around three years after the York verdict. That’s where it’s going to be. An unexpected verdict. Or one for a particularly high-profile client.”

  Jennifer started immediately, the syncopation of her keystrokes fascinating and taunting.

  How long—?

  “I hear you people breathing. Go away. Or I’m going away.” Jennifer stood before she finished speaking. “Never mind. I’m going. I’ll be back—”

  “Where? There’s not much room with all of us here and— You’re not going home, are you?”

  “My car. Unless you guys start breathing even louder.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The rest of us joined my parents, Tamantha, and Shadow in the back yard for a breather and to admire Dad’s yard work. Apparently I’d let spring deadlines whoosh past.

  The yard did look trimmer. Happier somehow, too.

  Mike excused himself, muttering something about facilities, though I’d bet the buffet remainders also drew him.

  After a while, Tamantha went inside to pack her bag.

  Returning, I discovered Dad and Tom in a technical discussion about tools and tractors. Mom and Diana compared notes on flowers.

  A few minutes of that and the buffet remainders started whispering to me, too.

  I went into the house and met Mike, coming around the corner into the living area.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  He leaned against the wall. “I was thinking about our talk — the family ranch. How to explain… When family members feel the same about a family ranch, it’s a bond that burrows deeper than the roots of any tree. But when the feelings are different, it’s like a chasm you try to bridge.”

  He hitched one shoulder, proclaiming an unknown result. He was talking about his family as much as the family ranch.

  “Standing at the old place that day I told you about, it was weird,” he continued. “I knew trying to put the place back together would be trying to rewind time, going back to what was.

  “In the end, I wanted a place here, a part of Cottonwood County. But I could satisfy that itch while moving forward, not back.”

  I patted his arm, feeling the strength there.

  My hand slid down his arm. Our hands tangled, then caught. Our gazes met as we neared. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth.

  Our lips touched as we drew closer and closer, arms encircling, heat building—

  “Stop that.”

  * * * *

  I came out of the kiss first at that peremptory voice. Mike still had his arms around me, leaning in to resume the kiss.

  So I saw the puzzled expression cross his face close-up. He looked down, over his arm, which wrapped around my shoulder and back.

  I also looked over his muscled arm and saw the person who went with the voice I’d recognized. Tamantha.

  “Did you hit me?” he asked her as I stepped back from his embrace.

  “Yes. You’re trying to steal my daddy’s girlfriend. You’re supposed to be his friend.”

  “I am his friend. And I’m not trying to steal Elizabeth.” He still had one hand splayed on my back.

  “Stealing is for possessions, Tamantha. People shouldn’t ever possess other people.” Ethical and moral matters represented the easy route at the moment and that’s the one I took.

  “Your dad and I are both dating Elizabeth.” Mike seemed to think that took care of everything.

  It didn’t.

  “I don’t get it,” Tamantha informed us with deep disapproval.

  Mike opened his mouth. I waited for the words that would wrap up this awkward situation neatly. He closed his mouth.

  Finally, he did speak. “You know, Tamantha, I don’t really get it, either. This is Elizabeth’s idea.”

  “Hey.”

  “It’s true.”

  “That doesn’t mean…” How could I finish that? That doesn’t mean you have to rat me out to a soon-to-be-fourth-grader?

  “Why?” she demanded of me.

  “To get to know each other better. That’s what grownups do. We get real busy with w
ork and other things, so we make special times to get together to relax, to talk, to spend time together—”

  Tom came in the back door and stopped, his gaze going from his daughter, to Mike and me, and back.

  “—to take our time to get to know each other better and they’re called dates.”

  “I know what dates are,” she said scornfully. “Sally’s parents do it and it’s not to get to know each other better. It’s so they can make out in the car and not have the kids bug them.”

  “Tamantha.”

  Her father’s mild scold had less impact than it might have because I asked a question before he could say any more.

  “Sally told you that?”

  “No,” she said, still in scorn mode. “We saw them. And he had his hand inside her shirt.”

  “Tamantha.” No question, Tom meant that one.

  “He did. And she had hers—”

  “Not. Another. Word.” He held his daughter’s gaze. Slowly, she closed her mouth. “You know what privacy is and Sally’s parents deserve theirs. You should not have gone spying—”

  “We weren’t spying. We just happened to go through the garage.”

  That seemed reasonable to me. But Tom’s austere frown remained. “Just happened?”

  Tamantha looked away.

  Score one for Tom. Actually, score two. One over Tamantha. One over me because he’d spotted the truth and I hadn’t.

  “In the future, you will avoid just happening to intrude on people’s privacy. And should you happen to accidentally witness something that’s private, you will not share it with others. Understood?”

  Her usual laser focus had returned to her father. “What if I witness something private, but someone’s doing something wrong? Because that’s what you all do. I know all about that. You find out about things other people want to keep private and bad things they do in private and then you get them sent to jail.”

  How did she know about that? Who on earth blabbed about our murder inquiries to a kid.

  “And then Elizabeth and Mike go on TV about it.”

  Oh.

  We were the blabbers.

  “If you witness someone doing something wrong, in private or not, you come and tell me immediately. I’ll handle it. That’s a father’s job. Not yours. Understood?”

  “Well, It’s sort of Sergeant Shelton’s job, too.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Mike’s eyes were dancing. How I wish Wayne Shelton could know he’d been demoted to sort of in Tamantha’s organizational chart.

  But Tom remained focused and steady. “If you can’t reach me, you can tell Sergeant Shelton.”

  “Elizabeth, too? Because she’s on TV about it. And Mike.”

  “Elizabeth, too. And Mike,” he agreed.

  I no longer felt like laughing. More like I’d just been sworn in as some sort of law enforcement officer. And not voluntarily.

  “Diana?”

  That had a one-more-drink-of-water-before-I-go-to-sleep ring to it.

  “Tamantha.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” Tom asked.

  That prompt for her to add a “sir” to her response seemed unlike him and unlike their relationship.

  “Okay, I am not to just happen to see people in private unless I really can’t help it. But if I do see somebody in private doing something wrong, I’m not to talk to people about it, except you. Or Sergeant Shelton. Or Elizabeth or Mike. Or Diana.”

  I’d missed the boat on his Okay, what? He’d been going for something with far broader applications than an added sir. But that meant I had been right about my interpretation of it not being like their relationship.

  Tamantha drew in a breath and added, “But they can’t put it on TV. And he can’t kiss Elizabeth anymore.”

  * * * *

  Tom took Tamantha out on the back steps for a discussion.

  Mike said he was going to say hello to the Undlins.

  Very tactful. He was right. I needed a few moments alone.

  Tamantha had seen Mike and me kiss. Awkward, but not the end of the world. Tom had handled it calmly.

  Of course he and Mike certainly knew I was kissing the other one.

  It can’t stay the same…. I don’t want to lose either one.

  I went upstairs. From a chair overlooking the back yard, I watched Tom go into the garage.

  Restlessly, I revisited earlier material Jennifer had sent. The gap in Furman York’s timeline from his not-guilty to arriving at the Lukasik Ranch mocked me.

  Tom didn’t come out of the garage.

  Another pass through the timeline didn’t change a darned thing. The gap remained.

  And Tom remained in the garage.

  I went downstairs.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Tom had his back to me, partially bent over, with a garden tool between his legs while he stretched to reach something behind a dresser that had belonged to the previous owner.

  I was enjoying this view a little too much.

  “How’d your talk with Tamantha go? Where is she?”

  He turned his head, not moving otherwise.

  “Give me a minute here.”

  He focused away from me again. Shifting forward to reach deeper to where I thought I’d once glimpsed pegboard behind all the stored stuff. He came back with what looked like a giant’s pair of scissors. Put the other tool back behind the dresser.

  He straightened deliberately, stepped back, and — last — faced me.

  “Tamantha’s taking a walk with your folks and Shadow. Your dad was looking for loppers earlier. Your mom vetoed him using the electric trimmers on the high branches.”

  “I know. Thank you. Is that the only reason you disappeared into here?”

  “No. I would’ve waited to talk to you until after York’s shooting is sorted out.” His tone chilled me. “We can still wait.”

  “No. What’s going on, Tom?”

  He combed his hair back with his fingers, picked his cowboy hat from where it rested on the dresser, put it on, and met my gaze.

  “The other morning here, even with what’s going on… Cooking eggs for Tamantha. The three of us in the kitchen. Her happy. You laughing… It’s what I want.”

  I sucked in a breath that turned to fire deep in my lungs. Was he saying…? Was he asking…?

  “But I have to look out for Tamantha first. What I want doesn’t come anywhere near that. Not even—” His look toward me ricocheted away. “—what you might want. Or what she wants. It’s got to be what’s best for her.”

  “Yes.” It was all I could dredge up from a lifetime of vocabulary.

  “The baggage… She’s stuck with mine. But ours — yours and mine… I can’t put what I want ahead of Tamantha. I can’t.”

  “No,” I said, agreeing.

  I’d thought before that Tamantha was the only happiness he trusted. Being right sucked.

  “How she was about you and Mike… She’s a kid. She doesn’t understand. Hell, sometimes I don’t, either. It’s okay for me to not know. It’s not for her. She needs to be sure, to be on an even keel. I can’t be making her deal with any more grown-up things.”

  “I…” I wanted to say I understood. To be gracious and adult. I couldn’t say anything.

  “I’ll explain to her that you and I are friends. Not dating anymore. Can’t say she’ll be happy.” The faintest flicker showed at one corner of his mouth. “Mike might be in for a rough time from her. He’ll survive. We all will.”

  * * * *

  Yes. We’d all survive.

  It can’t stay the same….

  Both our phones sounded. He got to his first. “Jennifer says to come in.”

  Bless her. A need to think, a reason to put off feeling. As long as I could.

  I don’t want to lose either one.

  “I… I better go.” I started to leave.

  And stopped.

  He was behind me.

  “What are you doing?”

 
; “Coming with.”

  “Tom, you don’t—”

  “We can’t take this where I’d like to, but that doesn’t mean you’re tangling with trouble without me. Not going to happen. I’ll leave these loppers for your dad and be in.”

  He left first, not looking back.

  I appreciated that. It gave me the opportunity to wipe evidence from under my eyes before I went in the house.

  * * * *

  As if making an entrance, Jennifer didn’t come in the front door until the rest of us were seated in the living room.

  “I got something. That three-year gap for York after the trial? I found him in a little town in Colorado. Bonedrin. Charged with vagrancy.”

  “Vagrancy. So he wasn’t working,” Diana said.

  Bonedrin.

  Why was that familiar…?

  “When?” I asked as I reopened the file from Jennifer that included a list I’d just revisited.

  “The month before Lukasik hired him for the ranch.”

  “Elizabeth’s got that figured-it-out look,” Mike said.

  Where was that list? Where—? Got it.

  “He turned to Lukasik when he was broke and Lukasik helped him?”

  “No.” I tapped the screen. “York— Tom, what was the name of York’s horse? Clyde mentioned it when he was talking about the horse trailer. Called it an ugly brute. What was the name?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Same as his previous two horses. Called them all the same — Bonedrin.”

  “He changed the name of his horses? That’s bad luck and—”

  “Bonedrin?” Diana repeated, interrupting Mike. “Where York was charged with vagrancy. But—”

  “That’s it. And the town where York was charged with vagrancy three years after his own trial, the name he kept using for horses — a jab at Lukasik — and—” I jabbed the screen. “—the location of a Lukasik trial three years after York’s trial. In other words, right after Lukasik bought the ranch and right before York started working there — or not working.”

  “Wait,” Jennifer commanded, turning her device’s screen toward us. “Here’s the headline. That was Norman Clay Lukasik’s next big verdict after getting York off. A surprise not-guilty.”