by Janice Olson
Thinking the door might be locked, BJ found that it opened with ease. Instead of stepping inside, she stood a moment breathing in the aroma of roses with a hint of spice. The smell pulled her back to when she was seven at Heritage House. Ms. Madelyne had found BJ sitting in her room all alone, a book in hand, tears running down her cheeks. She’d been banished to her room for some infraction, which BJ couldn’t remember. The woman sat down on the bed beside her, gently enveloped BJ in her arms and began wiping the tears away with a silky piece of cloth she’d retrieved from her pants pocket. The heady smell of roses with a hint of spice surrounded them making her feel comforted, just as now.
Fumbling on the wall for the light switch, BJ felt more like an interloper in spite of the fact everything legally belonged to her. The room, tastefully furnished with antiques, not heavy-handed but with a delicate grace, reflected a bygone era and a lady’s office without a hint of masculinity.
BJ knew, without pulling open the drapes, the windows opened to a view of the front lawn and drive, all easily visible from the Queen Anne desk. She walked to the brownish kid-leather desk chair, and before sitting down, ran her hand over the smooth burl wood surface of the desktop. A leather protector, not a cheap one like BJ’s on her desk, but top grain leather handmade to specification, sat center stage with a silver and glass inkwell on a silver platform holding a magnificent matching pearl and silver inlay fountain pen and pencil with a lady’s letter opener.
She lifted each exquisite instrument, feeling the weight and balance, and knew these were not for show. Madelyne actually used them.
Curious as to what a woman of wealth would possess but leave behind for the next owner to rummage through and maybe throw away, BJ, one by one, opened the desk drawers. Most were empty except for the stationery and envelopes with an embossed ‘L’, an assortment of expensive writing instruments, tape, scissors, stapler, and other odds and ends normally found in most desks except these were of the best quality.
The file drawers, one on each side, held empty hanging folders, as though waiting for occupation. When she pulled the handle on the center drawer, BJ found a single odd-looking key taped to an envelope with her name—Billy Jo Spencer—written in delicate letters across the front.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the envelope, afraid of what she might find inside. She pulled the key from the envelope sitting it on the leather mat. Reaching for the letter opener, she zipped through the top of the thick envelope and drew out several sheets of stationery, the same type she had seen in the drawer. The paper crackled as she unfolded the letter. Her fingers shook as her mind whirled with all sort of imaginings.
My dearest Billy Jo …
Chapter 44
It’s been quiet. Nothing moving. Will you be all right? Or do you want me to stay awhile?”
Reuben knew his father was concerned for his safety, but sometimes he wished he wouldn’t treat him like the baby of the family, after all, he was twenty-one. “Go on home, Dad. I’ll be fine.” He held up his Stanley Thermos and gave it a shake. “I have plenty to hold me ’til morning.”
“Do you have your cell phone and a full charge?”
“Yes, Dad.” He wanted to say enough with the worry, but didn’t.
“This is nasty business, and I don’t want you ending up like one of those calves.”
Noticing the strain on his father’s face, Reuben laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look. I’ll be fine.” He gave his dad a grin. “But if you don’t get home soon, Mom’ll have all the ranch hands out looking for both of us.”
His dad laughed. “You’re probably right. Well, I’ll see you around six-thirty, seven. Mama will have breakfast ready. So don’t be late.”
“I won’t, Dad.” Reuben watched his dad untie Spirit and leap up into the saddle, waiting for that one last instruction he knew would be coming.
“Reuben?”
So predictable. He rolled his eyes, instantly grateful his father couldn’t see his reaction. That would have cost him another five minutes of lecture. “Yeah, Dad?”
“If they come tonight, don’t be a hero. Call the house immediately. Fire a warning shot like we discussed. Make sure you’re well covered. There could be two or more of them. So be careful.”
“I will. Later.”
His father rode off without another word. Reuben watched until he was well out of sight. He settled back against the scrub oak. Legs outstretched, ankles crossed, he propped his shotgun against the trunk within easy reach.
Night watch wasn’t terribly exciting, but he hoped he’d run across the culprits who were slaughtering the calves before they killed more. He had no use for dirtbags that would slice open the bellies of innocent animals and leave them to rot. He spat on the ground purging his mouth of the bitter taste the killing caused.
Grabbing his Thermos and twisting off the lid, he poured out the steaming liquid. The aroma of coffee caused his stomach to clench as he anticipated the first swallow. Sipping from the cup, he looked over the settled herd. With the warmth of the coffee spreading through him, he relaxed and settled in for the long night ahead.
A bellowing calf drew Reuben’s attention. Thankful for the moonlight, he searched through the shadows and found a baby longhorn in the midst of a tight cattle cluster. When the little one butted its way through and stopped next to a large heifer, Reuben smiled. He almost laughed when he saw the mama nudge the calf showing her displeasure which brought about another bellow.
He gave a quick check over the herd for any sign of a vermin of the two-legged variety, but didn’t see anyone. Down across the creek, he spotted a tiny pinpoint of light grow then nothing. Sam and his cigarettes. Knowing Sam was at his post gave Reuben a small amount of security even though a good distance away. However, when he glanced in the general area where the other night guard should have been, he didn’t catch any movement there. Must be hunkered down. Hopefully not asleep.
How long he’d been sitting in this position, he wasn’t sure. But one thing for sure, his legs were cramping. An hour and a half, maybe two? He had no way of knowing, but he wouldn’t risk compromising his position just to check the time.
He shifted, hoping to draw the kinks out of his legs and regain some circulation. To his left, a twig snapped and he arrested his movements. His fingers circled the scatter gun, pulling the butt slowly down on top of his knee. He lifted the barrel slightly, moving the shotgun into position. Animal or man, he’d be ready.
His eyes pierced the darkness, alert for movement. His insides clinched with anticipation.
A bush rustled, not much, but enough to know it had to be either a four-legged critter or a human. Gravel crunched beneath a boot. Human.
In his mind he had practiced this moment, but he prayed it wouldn’t come to the point of having to kill someone. Hopefully, the person would stand down with a warning shot. But he was prepared to do whatever it took to stop him.
Within seconds, a long shadow emerged and separated from a scraggly elm. The man walked in Reuben’s direction.
Reuben remained still, not allowing so much as a breath for fear he’d be detected.
The darkened form took shape. A stout man, a little over six feet, slight limp, headed straight for Reuben. At first, he thought the man had seen him beneath the oak. By the dark figure’s ease of movement, Reuben knew he hadn’t.
The moon lit the culprits profile as he ambled down the knoll, angling in the direction of the herd. Relief flooded Reuben but was soon replaced with knowledge.
He recognized the man, and he had no business on the ranch, especially this time of the morning. When a glint of metal caught Reuben’s attention, he knew he had the guilty party in his sights.
Calculating every move, Reuben stood and then began to follow, keeping his distance and presence from being known. The scumbag got within twenty feet of the herd but wasn’t yet within the fence. Time to stop him.
Lifting the shotgun, Reuben flipped the safety off, but before he could squeeze the
trigger, small pebbles struck his boots and the back of his pant leg. He twisted to look up the hill when a blast rent the air.
A tremendous blow ripped through Reuben’s shoulder. He flew backward, head bouncing several times on the ground causing flashes of light, shattering into a million pieces. He tumbled downward, gaining speed, until his stomach slammed into a fence post. The taste of grit mingled with blood filled his mouth. The throbbing pain in his chest and shoulder excruciating. Consciousness began to fade.
Somewhere in the distance, curses tore through the silence of the predawn morning. Running. A shower of rocks. The crunch of gravel. Something jabbing his ribs, yet Reuben couldn’t open his eyes.
“You killed him, you fool. It was only supposed to be cattle, not a cowhand.”
“What did you want me to do, let him gun you down from behind?”
Hands grabbed at Reuben, rolling him over. His eyelids were too heavy to open but he recognized the voices.
“This is not a cowhand. This is Reuben, Mateo’s son. Grab his feet. Let’s move him under that bush where no one will stumble across him.”
Reuben wanted to cry out when the jerking of his arms caused explosive pain. The movement of being carried tore his insides to bits, but he couldn’t cry out. They dumped him on the ground then rolled him under a bush that tore at his flesh. He offered a prayer of thanks that the torture was over. Another gun blast. The bullet slammed into his body igniting his chest.
“Let’s get outta here before someone comes.”
Hurried steps caused gravel and rocks to shower down on him. The sound of retreat faded into nothing. Reuben wondered if his dad would find him, or if he would die here alone? The pain eased as the blessed peace of nothingness closed in around him.
Chapter 45
Enough with the incessant ringing.
Jason slapped at the nightstand trying to find the alarm clock button. Pushing through the haze he realized it was his cell instead. Latching onto the phone, he flicked the lid open, pressing the offending object to his ear.
“Hello.” He coughed to clear the frog in his throat.
“Jason?”
Brain-fog gone, he snapped upright in the bed, knowing his foreman would call him only in an emergency. “Mateo? Is that you? What’s up?”
“I thought you’d want to know. Sam called. He heard shots over by the knoll just a few minutes ago.”
The fear in his foreman’s voice caused Jason’s blood to pump. He slung the covers back, thrusting his bare legs over the side, every nerve in his body alert.
“Did Sam see anyone? Are they shooting cattle now instead of butchering them?”
“No. I don’t think so. But I’m worried.”
“What’s happened?”
“Sam said the shots came from the knoll where I left Reuben around midnight.”
“No!” Jason looked at the clock—4:45. “Have you tried to reach Reuben on his cell?” He knew the answer. Mateo would have called his son first.
Jason stood, picked up his jeans, cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder. He hopped around trying to shove his right foot through the pant leg as he collected his thoughts, anxiety gnawing at his gut.
“Yes. And Reuben doesn’t answer his cell. I’m headed that way now to check on him.”
“Mateo?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Call the police. Tell them the location. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He knew better than to tell his friend not to be concerned.
“Thanks.” The heartache came through loud and clear in the one word.
Hearing the disconnect Jason snapped the cell cover shut, slinging it onto the bed. He quickly finished dressing, collected his keys and phone then raced through the house out to the garage. His mind tumbled with thoughts. Maybe Reuben forgot his phone or forgot to charge his battery. The kid could be a heavy sleeper. There was any number of reasons why Reuben didn’t answer Mateo’s call. But deep inside Jason feared the worst.
When he reached the garage, he rushed through the side door, punched the door opener, and simultaneously jumped into the seat of his Jeep, reviving the motor to life. Backing out, he didn’t come to a full stop. He jerked the shift into first, popped the clutch and peeled rubber. He did it again in second as he headed toward the gate.
Chapter 46
Startled, BJ jerked upright, dazed. She realized she wasn’t in her room but on the sofa in Madelyne’s fully lit office. Her late night search came rushing back.
Parts of Madelyne’s letter rested in her lap, the rest scattered at her feet. Books were off the shelves and sitting on the floor. Drawers askew, paperwork strewn about the desk, all these things helped BJ recall her frantic search for more clues than what was left in the cryptic message from the grave.
A squeal of tires from outside the window moved BJ into action. She bent, gathered the scattered sheets, folding the letter as she ran to the window. She pulled back the drape in time to see taillights disappear around the bend in the drive. At this hour, it could only mean trouble.
Still reeling and numb from her discovery, BJ shoved the letter in her pocket. She raced from Madelyne’s office to the foyer and almost bumped into Sidney, dressed in a bathrobe.
“BJ.” Sidney looked taken aback to see her. He slowed to a more sedate manner then stopped a few feet away. “I’m sorry. Did the noise wake you?”
BJ didn’t bother to answer the question. “I saw taillights. Who was it?”
“Jason. Normally, I get his car for him, but not this time.” He looked disconcerted. “I’m assuming by the early hour, he left on urgent ranch business.”
“Hmm.” Her teeth pulled at her lower lip. “I hope it wasn’t trouble.”
“Not likely. A ranch has a way of consuming your life. Cattle get sick, fences go down, livestock get loose … any number of things can happen.”
Fully awake, she moved away from the door, slipping her hand in her pocket. The moment her fingers felt the lockbox key, her late night discovery rushed back with force.
Madelyne’s letter.
A moment of panic hit her until her hand moved to the other pocket and felt the stiff sheets of paper inside. Why would Madelyne leave her guessing? She could have just as easily told BJ in the letter what she’d find in the safety deposit box. But no, apparently, she liked playing games.
“I’m ready for a cup of tea. You want to join me, or will you be going back to bed?”
The Winchester chimes on the grandfather clock struck the hour.
“Not much use. I’ll not be getting any more sleep this morning. I’ll join you for a cup before starting my day.” He gave a slight nod, signaling with his hand in the direction he’d just come. “Shall we?”
A budding recognition of someone she had known, possibly from her past, hit her full-force. However, she couldn’t quite grasp who. The answer would come to her one of these days.
“Or would you rather I bring a cup to your room?” Sidney watched her with concern.
Her cheeks heated. “Oh, forgive me. My mind was wandering. Let’s go. I’m ready for something to warm my insides and clear some of these cobwebs from my brain.”
Sidney’s soft chuckle filtered through the quiet hallway. BJ liked the sound. She didn’t know a great deal about the man, just that he was good at his job. However, his demeanor was much like her old friend Pastor Freeman. He showed real concern about her and the others in his charge.
The small key and letter in her pocket pulled at BJ’s thoughts like a weight about her neck, tugging her down into a spiral of agony. Her nocturnal search of Madelyne’s office and coming up dry had her feeling a little drawn and concerned about what awaited her in the bank vault. Her steps drummed what if into her brain. She stopped speculating. There would be no answers for her until she got to the bank.
Why did Madelyne write, the secret of your birth is in the safety deposit box, when it would have been just as simple to reveal her knowledge in the letter?
T
o get her mind off of the vagaries of Madelyne’s cryptic letter, Sidney might be a good source, if he would be cooperative, to find out more about the woman.
“Cup or mug?” Sidney grabbed the box of imported teas and set them in front of BJ, along with the sugar and creamer.
Hmm. Maybe she was imported at birth? BJ almost laughed at the silly thought.
“I’ll have the tall mug with the pink roses. It’s one of my favorite.”
A reminiscent smile played about Sidney’s lips. “It was Madelyne’s favorite too.”
BJ latched on to the fact that Sidney, without realizing it, had called the matriarch by her first name. Telling. Had there been something between them, close friends perhaps, or more?
Wanting to refuse the cup, since it was Madelyne’s favorite, made BJ feel churlish. However, she just couldn’t think kindly toward a woman who could hide secrets while offering morsels to string people along.
Sidney set the cup then busied himself back at the stove.
“Sidney?”
“Yes?” His back remained to her.
“Tell me about her … Ms. Madelyne.”
With a slight hesitation, he reached for the boiling kettle of water. When he turned, a smile in place, his eyes were shuttered. After pouring the water into both cups, he replaced the pot on the stove. When he returned he took a chair across from BJ at the breakfast bar.
Was he aware that Madelyne had hidden BJ’s past? Was he a party to her duplicity?
“What would you like to know?”
Plenty—everything. Anything that would tell her why this woman would inflict such pain. Madelyne could have revealed BJ’s past before now? Was the gift of inheritance a way of paying for wrongs she perpetrated upon BJ?
Dipping the bag of Lady Grey into the water, BJ reflected that her life here of late had been much like the tea bag—up and down and swirled around at whim. And now she was about to be turned topsy-turvy, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to keep the past from meeting the present … except not go to the vault.