God, she needed Katie.
Katie would make sense of it all.
Jenny reached for her phone and then stopped herself.
No.
If she heard Katie’s voice, she couldn’t do this.
Katie would talk her into coming back, and Jenny had no intention of going back. Not yet. Not until she had thought through every single minute she’d ever spent with Josh Baxter. Not until she decided for herself if the man was real or not.
But if he wasn’t, could she go back to the Rocking L? Would the others believe her? Would Katie believe her? Would Katie put Josh off the ranch? What if they all thought Jenny was crazy like Langston and Irene? What then?
Panic rose like bile in Jenny’s throat, choking her and making her heart race in her chest. Would Josh Baxter cost her the family she’d just regained?
“I can’t do this,” Jenny said aloud. “I can’t do this.”
It was too much to bear. She couldn’t do this now, and she wouldn’t.
With ruthless willpower, Jenny took hold of her careening thoughts and pulled them in toward the cold, still place she knew still existed in the center of her being.
She mercilessly shut down the images. Closed away the worries behind iron walls. She went silent. Just as she had done all those years ago to live through the last months she spent in Langston Lockwood’s house.
She turned her eyes back toward the screen, dipped her spoon in her cobbler with a steady hand, and watched impassively as Bess Armstrong overacted while a very large, very fake shark shattered the glass of the underwater observation booth in the theme park.
“You know how you avoid sharks, Bess?” Jenny asked the woman on the screen. “You stay out of the damn water.”
Sunday night, back in Texas, Kate and Mandy sat at the desk in Jenny’s studio. Mandy switched on the iMac’s screen.
“Great,” Kate said, looking over her shoulder. “It wants a password.”
“No problem,” Mandy said, typing a few characters. The desktop appeared like magic.
“How did you do that?” Kate asked.
“She only uses three passwords,” Mandy said confidently. “I just guessed right on the first one.”
Kate laughed. “I think I’m glad my iPad has that thumb scanner thingy, Baby Sister. You’re dangerous.”
“Oh,” Mandy said, “I only use my super powers for good.” She took the mouse and clicked open the Chrome browser, selecting the menu bars in the upper right-hand corner and navigating to the history. “Look, Katie,” she said excitedly. “She was on yesterday looking at cabins in Colorado.”
“I will just be damned,” Kate said, her eyes scanning the entries in the list of sites Jenny visited. “You’re a genius. Show me the ones from yesterday.”
Mandy opened five websites. “These are the ones she browsed. They’re all around Denver. We have to tell Josh.”
“No, honey,” Katie said seriously, “we don’t, and we’re not going to. But you do need to print out the contact info on those cabins for me.”
Mandy turned in her chair. “You’re going to keep this from Josh?” she asked. “Why?”
Kate looked down at her. “Because he’ll get in his truck and head straight up there. And Jenny doesn’t want to see him. In fact, his showing up under these circumstances is the worst possible thing that could happen. If he knows we have a lead on her, we won’t be able to stop him.”
“I don’t like lying to him when he’s suffering so much,” Mandy said, “but I do see your point. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to wait a few days and see if she picks up her messages or her emails,” Kate said, “and if she doesn’t, I’m going to go to Colorado and find her.”
“Won’t Josh know then?”
“No,” Kate said. “I don’t have to account to Josh Baxter for my whereabouts. If I do go, I’m not going to tell you exactly where I’m going. Then you won’t have to lie to him. Can you delete those entries from the history?”
“Yes,” Mandy said, turning back to the screen. “Let me print them first.”
Within seconds the printer behind them came to life and then, as Kate watched, Mandy deleted all the records of the websites from the history. When the printer finished, Kate took the sheets, folded them in quarters, and put them in the back pocket of her jeans.
Seeing the doubtful look on Mandy’s face, she said, “Look, I think she’s over-reacting, and I imagine you do, too, but it’s not our place to make her do anything. All I can do is go up there and tell her what happened and tell her how Josh is suffering because of it. But if she decides she can’t be with him over this, then it’s calf rope on the relationship. Period.”
Mandy’s worried frown deepened. “That will destroy him, Katie.”
“Honey,” Kate said, “I like Josh, but there’s only one person with a say in how this goes, and that’s Jenny. The last thing she needs is to think we’re not on her side. We want her back here with us, and if that means Josh has to go, then he goes.”
“I know,” Mandy said, “I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Me, too,” Kate said, “but for right now, we’re keeping this to ourselves. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
100
When Joe Mason walked into the mayor’s office Monday morning, his secretary, Jinx Brewer, swiveled away from her computer and said flatly, “Good morning. George Fisk is dead.”
Although Joe was used to the woman’s frankness that often bordered on brutality, he was still taken aback by the abruptness of the announcement. George Fisk had been the most popular judge in the county’s history and a widely respected attorney. His death, although not unexpected, was still a great loss to the community.
“When did it happen?” Joe asked.
“The Sheriff’s Office took the call about dawn,” Jinx answered matter of factly. “I imagine Harold Insall almost has him pickled and ready to be laid out at the funeral home by now.”
Wincing at the callous reference to the embalming process, Joe said, “Call down to the Sheriff’s Office and tell them to go out and lower the flags to half-staff.”
“Fisk wasn’t a veteran,” Jinx replied.
Joe fixed her with an uncharacteristically sharp glare. “No, but I’m the mayor, Jinx, and I just told you to call the Sheriff and tell him to lower those flags in honor of a good man and a former county judge, so would you please just do as I ask?”
“Hmmph,” the woman said, reaching for the phone. “Somebody’s in a mood today.”
Sighing, Joe walked in his office and picked up his own outside line. He punched in Kate’s cell phone number. When she picked up, he said, “Morning, Katie.”
“Morning, Joe Bob,” she said. “Everything okay down at your place?”
“I’m already in town,” he replied. “When I got to the office I found out George Fisk died this morning.”
He heard Kate sigh heavily. “Well, he’s been on death’s door for weeks,” she said, “but damn he picked a bad time.”
“I know,” Joe said. “Have you heard anything from Jenny? Do you know where she is yet?”
“No, there hasn’t been any word,” Kate said. “We’re just going to give it a few days.”
“Well, let me know as soon as you find anything out,” Joe said. “I have to go over and see Mrs. Fisk after I answer the morning email.”
“Tell Pauline we’ll be in this afternoon,” Kate said. “If she needs anything, let me know.”
Outside the office door, Jinx frowned. What was this about Jenny Lockwood? They don’t know where she is? Interesting.
“Mr. Mayor,” Jinx called out formally, still in a snit over Joe’s earlier rebuke. “May I go outside and smoke a cigarette?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jinx,” Joe answered. “Of course.”
Jinx rummaged around in her bag and took out a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and her phone. After church yesterday, she and Rafe Jackson had exchanged a few words
about the high-and-mighty Lockwoods.
As the crowd was crossing the lawn after the sermon to go to the fellowship hall for coffee, Jinx caught up with Rafe, told him how nice he looked in his suit, and then said, concern dripping off every syllable, “Are you okay, Rafe? You look upset this morning.”
After a moment’s indecision, Rafe said, “I just saw that worthless sister of mine in Kate Lockwood’s truck. The last thing I need is for that tramp to show up back in this town. And there is certainly no love lost between me and the Lockwoods.”
It was common knowledge around town that Rafe turned a much younger Kate Lockwood down for the loan she wanted to use to build her own ranch, the K-Bar Three. Although he cited “concerns over the potential of the venture,” the real reason Rafe said no was Kate’s refusal to budge in her abiding loyalty toward his sister no matter how far Dusty’s reputation plunged in public perception.
Kate promptly went to the “other bank” — the one used by the few local liberals, most of whom were Episcopalians who were regarded as suspicious anyway in the depths of the Bible Belt, and the town’s one or two transplanted Yankees.
There, Bob Stevens happily approved that loan, and several more, as Kate made a success of her ranch over the years. As soon as Langston Lockwood died, she pulled all her father’s accounts from Rafe’s bank and now did business with Stevens exclusively.
The day Kate walked into the bank to order the transfers, Rafe, appalled at the idea of losing such extensive holdings, attempted to be conciliatory.
“Kate, be reasonable,” he said. “Your family has done business with this bank for generations. The decision I made when you were striking out on your own wasn’t personal. There’s no need to assume that was all about your unfortunate loyalty to my sister.”
Kate regarded him with an icy expression. “I never said a word about Dusty. You did,” she said. “Now please take care of this transfer request.”
The animosity between Rafe and Kate was so intense, they barely spoke if they passed on Main Street. And now Dusty was back in town and something was amiss with the Lockwood sisters? Jinx, who had her cap set on the wealthy, divorced Rafe Jackson saw this juicy tidbit as a golden opportunity.
She lit her cigarette, then dialed the bank and asked to speak to “Mr. Jackson.” When Rafe came on the line, Jinx said, in her most honey tones, “Rafe, I am so sorry to bother you, but I just overheard something in the mayor’s office that I thought you might find interesting.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“It sounds like there’s some kind of trouble out at the Rocking L,” she said. “I don’t think the family knows where Jenny is right now.”
“Really,” Rafe said, stretching out the word as if he was savoring it. “That is interesting. I assume this came from the mayor himself?”
“Yes,” Jinx said. “He went in his office to call Kate and tell her about George Fisk dying. Oh. Have you heard?”
“I have,” Rafe said. “In fact, I’m just gathering the papers from his safety deposit box to take to Mrs. Fisk. Given the Judge’s stature in town, it’s the least I can do.”
“You’re a good Christian man,” Jinx said admiringly. “I hope you don’t think I’m being an awful gossip by telling you about this, but, well, I know you’re concerned about your sister being back in town.”
“I don’t think you’re a gossip at all, Jinx,” Rafe said, laying on the charm. He glanced across the street and saw her standing outside the courthouse puffing away on her cigarette. “I appreciate the information very much,” he went on. “It’s so thoughtful of you. Please let me know if you hear anything else, and perhaps next time we can talk over a cup of coffee?”
As Rafe watched, he saw Jinx smile triumphantly, oblivious to the fact that she was being observed. “I certainly will, Rafe,” she gushed. Then, trying to sound shy, she added, “I’d love to go for coffee with you any time.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He replaced the phone in the cradle and watched as the woman across the street put out her cigarette and went back inside.
He shook his head. “Idiot,” he mumbled under this breath, and returned to the litter of papers on top of his desk.
In theory, even as bank president, Rafe should not have been able to open George Fisk’s safety deposit box, except for the fact that Fisk himself had left one of the two keys in Rafe’s safekeeping, saying, “I want things to be as easy on Pauline as possible when I pass. Would you open the box and take the contents to her as soon as I’m gone?”
“It would be an honor to help Mrs. Fisk,” Rafe had said, taking George’s frail hand and shaking it. “Thank you for placing your confidence in me, Your Honor.”
Now, with George’s papers spread out before him, Rafe hadn’t been able to resist taking a little casual inventory. To his great surprise, he’d found a copy of Langston Lockwood’s will among the other documents. When Jinx Brewer interrupted him, Rafe had been reading the will with considerable interest.
Rafe was perfectly well aware the insufferable woman was trying to attract his attentions. Until this morning, he’d had no intention of bestowing those attentions upon her, but now the mayor’s secretary was a potential conduit of information into the affairs of the Lockwood women.
Although Rafe wasn’t surprised that Kate had somehow engineered his sister’s return, he would not stand for Dusty’s presence on the Rocking L. He spent a great deal of the previous night contemplating how to accomplish her expulsion, only to have fate intervene this morning and give him two valuable pieces of information.
According to the terms of Langston Lockwood’s will, if one of his three daughters was absent from the ranch for 14 consecutive days in any calendar year, the total inheritance was forfeited. They’d lose their land and their money. And now it would appear Jenny was nowhere to be found? It was perfect.
The whole town knew that when things got too difficult for her delicate, artistic disposition, Jenny Lockwood ran. No wonder Langston despised her so much. The Lockwoods were many things, but none of them were cowards. At least not until this generation.
Hopefully, if Jenny had taken off again, her latest flight would be far enough and long enough to give Rafe the ultimate victory — watching that stiff-necked Kate Lockwood put off her precious ranch. But in the meantime, all Rafe needed was a bargaining chip. Now he had one.
If Kate did as she was told and fired Dusty, sending her packing to whatever brothel she’d been inhabiting, then Rafe would conveniently forget the terms of the will — for now. But if Kate refused? Well, he’d be forced to call the matter to the current judge’s attention. And wouldn’t that just be a shame?
Rafe gathered up the papers, smiling broadly. “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “You picked the perfect time to go ahead and gasp your last.”
When Kate and Mandy arrived at the Fisk home that afternoon they had to park three blocks away. Cars were lined up on either side of the street. A group of men standing in the front yard offered quiet greetings to them as the two women came up the front walk.
The door was open, so they stepped inside the crowded living room and paused in the foyer. Kate caught sight of Clara Wyler’s jet-black beehive over the crowd. The old woman was standing at the kitchen door leaning on a cane instead of her usual fire-engine-red walker. She wasn’t wearing her oxygen mask, which meant today was a good day.
Clara spied Kate at roughly the same moment and beckoned to the sisters to join her. The motion of her arm set the rhinestones in the eyeglass chain around her neck glittering in the light.
Kate and Mandy threaded their way through the two or three small groups talking in hushed tones in the dining room and stepped through the kitchen door, which Clara allowed to fall shut behind them.
“Land of Goshen,” she muttered darkly, “you let a man die and every busybody in this town is through the front door, casserole in hand. Where in the hell were all these people when George was si
tting in that chair dying for the last two months?”
Kate and Mandy exchanged a knowing glance as they each took turns hugging the irascible but golden-hearted old woman who had been their mother’s best friend. “Where’s Pauline?” Kate asked.
“Wilma insisted she rest for a little while,” Clara said. “That woman can’t quit being a nurse to save her life.”
“She’s been a Godsend to Pauline all these months,” Kate pointed out.
“Oh, horsefeathers,” Clara said. “I know that. I just don’t like being stuck with all this damn food to label on my own. Sister doesn’t get off work until 5 o’clock and Sugar had to give somebody a permanent.”
“I’ll help,” Mandy said brightly. “I love funeral food.”
Clara looked at Mandy like she’d grown an extra head, but directed her question to Kate. “Is she serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Kate grinned. “Give her a fork and point her at a green bean casserole and she’s in heaven.”
“Then you ought to be happier than a pig in slop,” Clara said. “There’s three of the damned things over there on the counter.”
“And congealed salad with the little marshmallows?” Mandy asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“Four in the refrigerator,” Clara said. “There’s a list on the pad there saying who brought what and describing the dish, but we need to make sure they’re labeled.”
Mandy picked up the list and a sheet of sticky labels and opened the refrigerator to begin cross checking the food donations.
“What in the hell is it with people?” Clara grumped. “Somebody kicks the bucket and folks have an insatiable urge to suspend fake food in Jello.”
“Jello is fake food,” Kate pointed out, barely smothering another grin.
“Harumph,” Clara countered. “Are you going to stand there contradicting your elders or do you want to sit down and have a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee, please, ma’am,” Kate said.
“That’s more like it,” Clara said. “Help yourself and refill mine. Black.”
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