by Sandra Brown
“Did you chase after her?”
“Hey, I was dumbstruck, not crazy.”
“What about this mad crush you had on her?”
“She belonged to Reede then,” he said unequivocally. “There was never any question about that.” He stood up. “We’d better go. Regardless of what you say, you’re freezing. Besides, it’s getting spooky out here in the dark.”
Alex, still befuddled by his last statement, let him assist her up. She turned to brush the dry grass off the back of her skirt and noticed the bouquet again. The green waxed paper wrapped around the vivid petals fluttered in the brisk wind. It made a dry, rattling sound. “Thank you for bringing the flowers, Junior.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness to her over the years.”
“In all honesty, I had an ulterior motive for coming here today.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, taking both her hands. “To invite you out to the house for drinks.”
Chapter 7
She had been expected. That much was evident from the moment Junior escorted her across the threshold of the sprawling two-story house on the Minton ranch. Eager to study her suspects in their own environment, she had agreed to follow Junior home from the cemetery.
As she entered the living room, however, she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she was being manipulated, rather than the other way around.
Her determination to proceed with caution was immediately put to the test when Angus strode across the spacious room and shook her hand.
“I’m glad Junior found you and convinced you to come,” he told her as he helped her out of her coat. He tossed the fur jacket at Junior. “Hang that up, will ya?” Looking at Alex with approval, he said, “I didn’t know how you’d take our invitation. We’re pleased to have you.”
“I’m pleased to be here.”
“Good,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“White wine, please,” she said. His blue eyes were friendly, but she found them disquieting. He seemed to see beyond the surface and lay bare the emotional insecurities she kept heavily camouflaged with competency.
“White wine, huh? Can’t stand the stuff myself. Just as well be drinking soda pop. But that’s what my wife drinks. She’ll be down directly. You sit there, Alexandra.”
“She likes to be called Alex, Dad,” Junior said as he joined Angus at the built-in wet bar to mix himself a scotch and water.
“Alex, huh?” Angus carried a glass of wine to her. “Well, I guess that name suits a lady lawyer.”
It was a backhanded compliment, at best. She let her thank-you suffice for both the remark and the wine. “Why did you invite me here?”
He seemed momentarily nonplussed by her directness, but answered in kind. “There’s too much water under the bridge for us to be enemies. I want to get to know you better.”
“That’s the reason I came, Mr. Minton.”
“Angus. Call me Angus.” He took a moment to study her. “How come you wanted to be a lawyer?”
“So I could investigate my mother’s murder.”
The answer came to her lips spontaneously, which astonished not only the Mintons, but Alex herself. She had never verbalized that as being her goal before. Merle Graham must have spoon-fed her doses of determination, along with her vegetables.
With that public admission also came the private realization that she was her own chief suspect. Grandmother Graham had said she was ultimately responsible for her mother’s death. Unless she could prove otherwise, she would carry that guilt with her for the rest of her life. She was in Purcell County to exonerate herself.
“You certainly don’t mince words, young lady,” Angus said. “I like that. Pussyfooting is a waste of my time.”
“Of mine, too,” Alex said, remembering her concurrent deadlines.
Angus harrumphed. “No husband? No kids?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Dad,” Junior said, rolling his eyes, embarrassed by his father’s lack of tact.
Alex was amused, not offended. “I don’t mind, Junior, really. It’s a common question.”
“Got an answer to it?” Angus took a swig from his long-neck.
“No time or inclination.”
Angus grunted noncommittally. “Around here, we’ve got too much time and not enough inclination.” He shot Junior a withering glance.
“Dad’s referring to my failed marriages,” Junior told their guest.
“Marriages? How many have there been?”
“Three,” he confessed with a wince.
“And no grandbabies to show for any of them,” Angus grumbled like a foul-natured bear. He aimed a chastising index finger at his son. “And it’s not like you don’t know how to breed.”
“As usual, Angus, your manners in front of company are deplorable.”
Simultaneously, the three of them turned. A woman was standing in the open doorway. Alex had painted a mental picture of what Angus’s wife would be like—strong, assertive, feisty enough to meet him toe to toe. She would typify the coarse, horsy type who rode to hounds and spent more time wielding a quirt than a hairbrush.
Mrs. Minton was the antithesis of Alex’s mental picture. Her figure was willowy, her features as dainty as those on a Dresden figurine. Graying blond hair curled softly about a face as pale as the double strand of pearls she was wearing around her neck. Dressed in a full-skirted mauve wool jersey dress that floated around her slender body as she walked, she came into the room and sat down in a chair near Alex’s.
“Honey, this is Alex Gaither,” Angus said. If he was put off by his wife’s reprimand, he didn’t show it. “Alex, my wife, Sarah Jo.”
Sarah Jo Minton nodded and, in a voice as formal and cool as her acknowledgment of the introduction, said, “Miss Gaither, a pleasure, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.”
Her pallid face lit up and her straight, thin lips curved into a radiant smile when she accepted a glass of white wine from Junior, who had poured it without being asked. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
He bent down and kissed his mother’s smooth, proffered cheek. “Did your headache go away?”
“Not entirely, but my nap helped it. Thank you for inquiring.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. Her hand, Alex noted, was milky white and looked as fragile as a flower ravaged by a storm. Addressing her husband, she said, “Must you bring talk of breeding into the living room, instead of keeping it in the stable, where it belongs?”
“In my own house, I’ll talk about anything I goddamn well please,” Angus answered, though he didn’t seem angry at her.
Junior, apparently accustomed to their bantering, laughed and circled Sarah Jo’s chair to sit on the arm of Alex’s. “We weren’t talking about breeding, per se, Mother. Dad was just lamenting my inability to keep a wife long enough to produce an heir.”
“You’ll have children with the right woman when the time comes.” She spoke to Angus as much as to Junior. Then, turning to Alex, she asked, “Did I overhear you say you’d never been married, Miss Gaither?”
“That’s right.”
“Strange.” Sarah Jo sipped her wine. “Your mother certainly never lacked for male companionship.”
“Alex didn’t say she lacked for male companionship,” Junior corrected. “She’s just choosy.”
“Yes, I chose a career over marriage and having a family. For the time being, anyway.” Her brow beetled as an original idea occurred to her. “Did my mother ever express any interest in having a career?”
“Not that I ever heard her mention,” Junior said, “though I guess all the girls in our class went through that stage of wanting to be Warren Beatty’s leading lady.”
“She had me so early,” Alex said with a trace of regret. “Maybe an early marriage and a baby prevented her from pursuing a career.”
Junior placed his finger beneath her chin and rais
ed it, until she was looking at him. “Celina made her own choices.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He dropped his hand. “I never heard her say she wanted to be anything other than a wife and mother. I remember the day we talked about it specifically. You should, too, Dad. It was summertime, and so hot you told Reede to take the day off after he’d mucked out the stables. The three of us decided to take a picnic out to that old stock pond, remember?”
“No.” Angus left his chair in pursuit of another beer.
“I do,” Junior said dreamily, “like it was yesterday. We spread a quilt under the mesquite trees. Lupe had packed us some homemade tamales to take with us. After we’d eaten them we stretched out on our backs, Celina between Reede and me, and stared up at the sky through the branches of those mesquites. They hardly cast a shade. The sun and our full bellies made us drowsy.
“We watched buzzards circling something and talked about chasing them down to find out what had died, but we were too lazy. We just lay there, talking, you know, about what we were going to be once we grew up. I said I wanted to be an international playboy. Reede said that if I did, he was gonna buy stock in a company that made condoms and get rich. He didn’t care what he turned out to be, so long as he was rich. All Celina wanted to be was a wife.” He paused a moment and looked down at his hands. “Reede’s wife.”
Alex started.
“Speaking of Reede,” Angus said, “I think I hear his voice.”
Chapter 8
Lupe, the Mintons’ housekeeper, showed Reede in. Alex turned in time to see him come through the doorway. Junior’s startling revelation had left her dazed.
From Grandma Graham, she’d heard that Reede and Celina had been high school sweethearts. The photograph of him crowning her homecoming queen bore that out. But Alex hadn’t known that her mother had wanted to marry him. She knew her expression must reflect her shock.
He took in the room at a glance. “Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene.”
“Hey, Reede,” Junior said from his position near Alex, which suddenly seemed all too close and familiar, for a reason she couldn’t explain. “What brings you out? Drink?”
“Come on in.” Angus signaled him into the room. Sarah Jo ignored him as though he was invisible. That mystified Alex, since he had once lived with them like a member of the family.
He laid his coat and hat in a chair and moved toward the bar to accept the drink that Angus had poured for him. “I came to check on my mare. How is she?”
“Fine,” Angus told him.
“Good.”
There followed a strained silence while everyone seemed to contemplate the contents of their glasses. Finally, Angus said, “Something else on your mind, Reede?”
“He came out here to warn you about what you say to me,” Alex said. “The same way he did Judge Wallace earlier this afternoon.”
“When somebody asks me a direct question, I’ll do my own answering, Counselor,” he said testily. He threw back his drink and set down the glass. “See y’all later. Thanks for the drink.” He stamped from the room, pausing only long enough to pick up his hat and coat.
Surprisingly, it was Sarah Jo who filled the silence once Reede had slammed out the front door. “I see his manners haven’t improved any.”
“You know Reede, Mother,” Junior said with a casual shrug. “Another glass of wine?”
“Please.”
“Have another drink together,” Angus said. “I want to speak to Alex in private. Bring your wine if you want,” he told her.
She had been helped out of her chair and escorted into the hallway before she quite knew how it had come about. As they moved down the hall, she looked around.
The walls were covered with red flocked wallpaper and held framed photographs of racehorses. A massive Spanish chandelier loomed threateningly overhead. The furniture was dark and bulky.
“Like my house?” Angus asked, noticing that she was dawdling to take in her surroundings.
“Very much,” she lied.
“Designed and built it myself when Junior was still in diapers.”
Without being told, Alex knew that Angus had not only built but decorated the house. Nothing in it reflected Sarah Jo’s personality. Doubtless she countenanced it because she’d been given no choice.
The house was atrociously ugly, but it was in such appalling and unapologetic bad taste that it had a crude charm all its own, much like Angus.
“Before this house was here, Sarah Jo and I lived in a lineman’s shack. You could see daylight through the walls of that damn thing. Nearly froze us out in the winter, and in the summer, we’d wake up with an inch of dust covering our bed.”
Alex’s initial reaction to Mrs. Minton had been dislike. She seemed distracted and self-absorbed. Alex could, however, sympathize with a younger Sarah Jo who had been plucked like an exotic flower out of a gracious, refined culture and replanted into one so harsh and radically different that she had withered. She could never adapt here, and it was a mystery to Alex why either Angus or Sarah Jo thought she could.
He preceded her into a paneled den that was even more masculine than the rest of the house. From their mountings on the walls, elk and deer gazed into space with resigned brown eyes. What space they didn’t take up was filled with photographs of racehorses wearing the Minton colors standing in the winners’ circles of racetracks all over the country. Some were fairly current; others appeared to be decades old.
There were several gun racks with a firearm in each slot. A flagpole with the state flag had been propped in one corner. A framed cartoon read: “Tho I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil…’cause I’m the meanest son of a bitch in the valley.”
The moment they entered the room, he pointed her toward a corner. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”
She followed him to a table that was draped with what looked like an ordinary white bed sheet. Angus unfurled it.
“My goodness!”
It was an architectural model of a racetrack. Not a single detail had been overlooked, from the color-coded seating in the stands, to the movable starting gate, to the diagonal stripes painted in the parking lot.
“Purcell Downs,” Angus boasted with the chest-expanding pride of a new father. “I realize you’re only doing what you feel like you’ve got to do, Alex. I can respect that.” His expression was belligerent. “But you don’t realize how much is at stake here.”
Alex defensively folded her arms across her midriff. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Needing no more encouragement, Angus launched into a full explanation of how he wanted the track to be built, enumerating its various features. There would be no corners cut, no scrimping. The entire complex was to be a first-class facility from the stables to the ladies’ restrooms.
“We’ll be the only full-scale track between Dallas/Fort Worth and El Paso, and three hundred or so miles from each. It will be a good stopover for travelers. I can envision Purcell becoming another Las Vegas in twenty years, springing up out of the desert like a gusher.”
“Isn’t that being a little optimistic?” Alex asked skeptically.
“Well, maybe a bit. But that’s what folks said when I started this place. That’s what they said when I built my practice track and drew up plans for an indoor swimming pool for the horses. I don’t let skepticism bother me. You gotta dream big if you want big things to happen. Mark my words,” he said, jabbing the air between them for emphasis. “If we get that license to build this track, the town of Purcell will explode.”
“Not everybody would like that, would they? Some might want to keep the community small.”
Stubbornly, Angus shook his head. “Several years ago, this town was booming.”
“Oil?”
“Yessiree. There were ten banks. Ten. More than in any other town this size. Per capita, we were the richest city in the country. Merchants had more business than they could handle. The real e
state market was hot. Everybody prospered.” He paused to take a breath. “You want something to drink? A beer? A Coke?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Angus took a beer from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink. “Then, the bottom fell out of the oil market,” he resumed. “We told ourselves that it was temporary.”
“To what extent did the oil market affect you?”
“I hold a hefty percentage in several wells and one natural gas company. But thank God, I’d never invested more than I could afford to lose. I’d never liquidated my other businesses to support an oil well.”
“Still, that drop in the price of oil must have caused you a substantial financial setback. Weren’t you upset?”
He shook his head. “I’ve won and lost more fortunes than you are years old, young lady. Hell, I really don’t mind being broke. Being rich is more fun, but being broke is more exciting. It’s got built-in challenges.
“Sarah Jo,” he said, sighing thoughtfully, “doesn’t agree with me, of course. She likes the security of having money collecting dust in a vault. I’ve never touched her money or Junior’s inheritance. I promised her I never would.”
Talking about inheritances was foreign to Alex. She couldn’t even conceive of it. Merle Graham had supported them on her salary from the telephone company, and then on her pension after her retirement. Alex’s grades had been high enough to earn her a scholarship at the University of Texas, but she’d worked after classes to keep herself dressed and fed so her grandmother wouldn’t have those expenses to complain about.
She had received financial assistance for law school, too, because her grades were so impressive. Working in public service didn’t provide her with luxuries. She’d struggled with her conscience for weeks before rewarding herself with the fur coat for passing the bar. It was one of the few extravagances she had ever allowed herself.
“Do you have enough capital to finance the racetrack?” she asked, bringing her mind back around.
“Not personally.”
“Minton Enterprises?”