The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

  "It's not so bad," he finally said, "being dead."

  Amanda glared at him, then shoved her motorcycle helmet onto her head. "Thank you for sharing that information. I feel so much better now."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amanda did not feel safe until she was back at the house with the door closed and locked behind her. Even then she kept looking out the window of Charley's old bedroom, half expecting to see Kimball standing among the trees, looking up at her, that self-satisfied smirk on his face, murder in his eyes.

  "You're safe here," Charley reassured her. "Dad's a hunter, and he's got this old shotgun—"

  Amanda whirled from the window to face him. "Shut up! I don't want to hear about any more freaking guns. That's what started this whole thing in the first place, Kimball's gun in the trash. I wish you'd never seen it, and you wouldn't have if you hadn't been hanging out with another man's wife." She plopped down on the edge of Charley's old desk chair. "After tonight, I believe he killed Dianne, but why? The man has everything. Why murder someone like Dianne, his former girlfriend, the town saint? They hadn't had any contact since college."

  Charley shrugged. "Maybe they still had something going. Maybe she threatened to tell his wife."

  Amanda shook her head in disgust. "Of course you'd come up with something sordid and stereotypical, something you could relate to."

  "Hey! That kind of thing happens all the time. That's what makes it a stereotype."

  "Fine. Whatever." Amanda stood. "I'm going to bed. You need to leave."

  "What if I don't leave?"

  "Then I sleep in my clothes."

  "I've seen you without your clothes." Charley smiled smugly.

  "Seen being the operative word. Past tense. Not present, not future."

  "You gotta admit, we made a good team tonight. We've got Kimball on the run." He looked pleased with himself.

  "Excuse me?" She threw her arms into the air, hands outspread. "On the run? We stirred up a hornet's nest! Yeah, we're a great team. Between the two of us, we're going to get me killed!"

  "Relax, Amanda. I know how to read people. You've got him on the defensive. He'll mess up, and we'll catch him."

  "Stuff it, Charley! This is all totally, completely, one hundred percent your fault! Even dead, you continue to cause problems!"

  "Amanda, you're letting yourself get all worked up. That's not good for you."

  She flopped across the bed and pulled a pillow over her head.

  Charley gave a deep sigh. "Fine. I'm leaving. I'll go outside and stand guard for you. Let you know if I see anything threatening. I'll take care of you, Amanda."

  She rolled over, tossing aside the pillow so she could glare at him. "Great. At the rate you're taking care of me, I'll be joining you soon."

  ***

  The next morning, after a night of tossing and turning, dreaming of Kimball shooting her, choking her, dismembering her and in other ways disposing of her, Amanda dreaded the thought of breakfast, of being polite and shoving food into her knotted stomach.

  But then she came downstairs to the smells and the people.

  Breakfast in the Randolph home was a rushed, frantic, completely wonderful affair. This morning Irene made biscuits, sausage, fried eggs and hash browns. Yesterday they'd had scrambled eggs and bacon. Cholesterol heaven. Amanda's mother would have had a heart attack just looking at the food.

  "How do you want your eggs?" Irene, standing at the stove, tending a skillet, asked when Amanda entered the kitchen. "Over easy? Over medium? Please tell me you don't like them just dipped in hot grease and still all slimy on top like some people." She arched an eyebrow in Herbert's direction.

  "Eggs sushi." He sat at the table, dressed in a faded denim work shirt and blue jeans, already eating some of the maligned eggs, dipping pieces of biscuit in the yolk and grinning.

  Penny—or maybe it was Paula—stood at the counter making ham sandwiches for the girls' lunches. The other twin cut two pieces of apple pie and put them in plastic containers.

  "Over medium," Amanda replied. "Can I do something to help?" She stood behind a chair at the place setting with a can of cold Coke instead of the coffee or orange juice at the other places.

  "Not a thing. You just sit down and relax. Penny, Paula, here's your eggs. Come to the table and eat." She slid eggs onto two of the plates, then returned the skillet to the stove.

  "Mom, we gotta hurry today. We have debate practice before school."

  "All the more reason to eat a good breakfast." Irene cracked four more eggs into the hot grease. Apparently everyone got two eggs, no need to specify. None of this, I'll have one poached egg, a croissant and fruit.

  Amanda sat and helped herself to a hot biscuit, breaking it open and spreading with butter. Real butter. She smiled as she imagined the shock on her mother's face if she were at the table. Would her oft-touted manners require her to eat of the commoners' fare, or would she politely request a poached egg and fruit? If she did, Amanda had no doubt Irene would prepare it for her.

  The twins moved to the table and sat down. The one sitting closest to Amanda—Paula, she thought—added hash browns, a biscuit and sausage to her plate, then leaned over close to Amanda to whisper. "I heard you talking to Charley last night."

  Amanda almost choked on a bite of light, fluffy biscuit. "You—you heard?" Could Charley's sister hear him, too? Could she see him? How could she be so calm about it?

  "I wasn't eavesdropping," Paula continued. "Our room's right next to yours, and we were up late reading." The teenager squeezed her hand. "It's okay. I sometimes talk to my cat that died last year. At first I was really mad at my cat for dying, too. It's a stage. It'll get better." She patted Amanda's hand then returned to her breakfast.

  Amanda suddenly felt very small and guilty, taking this girl's sympathy under false pretenses. In fact, she was involved with the whole family under false pretenses. They had loved Charley. They missed him.

  But, in her defense, she'd loved him once. And she might miss him if he'd ever go away.

  Nevertheless, she was enjoying being a member of this family way too much. She wasn't entitled to their caring, their concern, the total acceptance they gave her. She should cut this visit short, leave today. Go back to her apartment, her work at the motorcycle shop, her life with her own family.

  Irene slid two perfect fried eggs onto Amanda's plate, the other two onto her own, then sat down beside her husband.

  "Your eggs okay?" Irene asked, and Amanda realized she was sitting with a cooling biscuit in one hand, staring into space.

  "They're delicious." She returned her attention to the food cooked by her newly-discovered family.

  Maybe she'd leave tomorrow. What difference would one more day make?

  ***

  That afternoon Irene gave Amanda a lesson on preparing homemade bread.

  "Just pretend the dough is somebody you're really mad at, and whack the living daylights out of it." She demonstrated by slamming a fist into the mound of dough.

  Amanda laughed. "That's a pretty good punch you've got there. Remind me never to make you mad!"

  Irene smiled, then her face became serious. "Never you, sweetheart. Right now, I'm punching the face of the monster that killed my son and your husband."

  That pretty much ruined Amanda's plan to pretend the dough was Charley's face.

  As if summoned from her thoughts, the person of discussion appeared at her elbow. "Dawson's calling on your cell phone. He must have information. Hurry!"

  "Excuse me," Amanda said, "I've got to answer my phone. I'll be right back."

  "You sure do have good ears," Irene said. "I don't hear a thing."

  Amanda dashed upstairs where she'd left her phone to charge. "Hello? Dawson?"

  "Hi. You okay? You sound out of breath."

  "Ran up the stairs. I'm fine." For the moment. Until Kimball decided how to do away with her. "Did you find out anything about Roland Kimball?"

  "Lots, but most of it's public in
formation, probably stuff you already know."

  "Let's hear it anyway." She sank onto the bed. Charley joined her, leaning close to hear what Dawson had to say.

  "Mayor of Silver Creek. Comes from money. His grandfather started out with a sawmill. Family owns most of the county now. Dad's a bigwig in Silver Creek and has a lot of friends in high places in Dallas and Fort Worth. Mayor's making noises about being the next governor of Texas."

  "That's a scary thought," Amanda said. "He's not a very nice person."

  "No," Dawson agreed, "he's not. And Dad knows it. All is not well in Camelot."

  "That's what I want to hear. Tell me more."

  "Dad's a megalomaniac, but he's hard line when it comes to morals and ethics. Son got a little wild when he went to college and out of Daddy's sphere of control."

  "Wild, like how?"

  "The usual. Drinking, drugs, women. When he was in high school, he dated that woman you asked me to check on, Dianne Carter. Her name was Dianne Ferguson at that time. Sounds like she was a nice person. Dad approved of her even though she didn't come from wealth. Her family went to his church, and she had a good influence on Roland. He was running with a pretty rough crowd in high school until he started dating Dianne. All was well for a while. Looked like Roland and Dianne would get married and live happily ever after. But during their junior year in college, they broke up, and Roland got in so much trouble, he almost failed to graduate."

  "I knew it!" Charley exclaimed.

  "Did not," Amanda said.

  "Yes," Dawson said, his tone puzzled, "he did."

  "Sorry. Just clearing my throat. Tell me about the trouble he got into."

  "Received a couple of DUIs that Daddy got him out of, missed a lot of classes, got in a few fights, that sort of thing. Nothing Daddy couldn't buy him out of, but a couple were pretty expensive like the time his senior year when a girl almost died from some kinky sex activities."

  Amanda gulped. "Kinky sex activities?" Was she in danger of more than just a straight murder?

  "They take a rope—"

  Amanda shuddered. "Never mind. I don't want details. Kinky tells me all I need to know."

  "Anyway, that near-miss with the justice system seemed to get Roland's attention. He straightened up, graduated, went to law school, returned to Silver Creek and married Catherine Montgomery, the daughter of a buddy of his dad. Combined the family fortunes."

  "What's she like, Mrs. Roland?" The woman she'd glimpsed last night didn't seem the type to play kinky sex games, but Amanda wasn't sure she knew what type would.

  "She seems to be the perfect politician's wife…quiet, submissive, always gracious, content to live in her husband's shadow."

  "That sounds like an interesting match."

  "Almost like a medieval marriage of alliance between ruling monarchs. Catherine Montgomery and Roland Kimball. Two powerful families combined to rule Texas. They got married two months after he came home from law school. Wasn't a very long courtship."

  Two powerful families combined to rule Texas. The future governor of Texas could be a murderer and a sexual pervert. Nice.

  "How about Dianne Carter? Did you find out anything else about her after she came back to Silver Creek?"

  "A year after she came back, she married Gregory Carter. They had two kids, both boys. She was a grade school teacher, he's a high school athletics coach. Both were active in the church and charity organizations." Dawson continued with the same information Irene had already given her.

  Amanda sighed. Dawson had uncovered some things about Kimball she hadn't known, but she didn't see how any of it would help her.

  Another call popped up on her cell phone. "I need to go. My dad's calling. Thanks, Dawson."

  She tapped the button to answer the incoming call. "Hi, Dad."

  "What in the devil were you doing trespassing at Roland Kimball's house last night?"

  Amanda sat abruptly upright, stunned. "How did you find out about that?"

  He ignored her question. "Amanda, what have you got yourself into?"

  "It was…a mistake."

  "Yes, it was. Your trip to that town was a mistake. You need to come home. Brian is working on a defense for you, and he needs your assistance."

  "Have they—" Amanda gulped. "Have they decided for sure to arrest me?"

  "Not yet. You're my daughter. They're going to be very careful before they make their move."

  Amanda shivered. "But you think they will make that move eventually."

  Her father was silent for a long moment. "I think you need to come home and help us put together a good defense just in case."

  Just in case. The casual way her father tossed out that phrase told her it was pretty close to a certainty. A chill crept down her spine, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

  "Dad, I can't come home right now." For a moment she considered telling him what was going on. She'd always been able to count on him when she needed help. He was her rock.

  But, by that same token, if he found out she was taunting a murderer, he'd come down and physically carry her home.

  "Why?" he demanded, his tone strangely sharp.

  "I—uh—it's Charley's mother. She likes me. I think having me here comforts her." She wasn't lying, just not telling everything she knew…an old trick she'd learned from Charley.

  "How much longer do you plan to stay there?" Again she heard an unusual note of stress in her father's voice. But he did know she'd almost been hauled in for trespassing, so perhaps that explained any stress he felt. At least they'd reached the negotiation phase in their conversation.

  "Two weeks." That should get her a week.

  "Three days."

  Three days? "Dad! I'm an adult! You can't just order me around!"

  Judge Caulfield chuckled. "Sweetheart," he said, sounding more like his normal, in-control self. "I couldn't just order you around when you were a child. Please come home in three days. Is that better?"

  "One week."

  "One week. If you promise to stay safe. No more prowling around in the middle of night. Stay at the Randolphs' house. Don't go anywhere."

  Her father's admonition to remain at the Randolphs' house was oddly reminiscent of Charley's. Promise me you'll stay with my family the whole time you're here. The two of them were rarely in accord. "One week." She agreed to the time element only.

  "Do I have your promise?" Again, that note of stress.

  "I promise to come home in one week."

  Her father sighed. "All right. Please don't do anything crazy."

  She couldn't agree to that, either, so she evaded it. "I love you, Dad."

  "I love you, too, Mandy."

  She disconnected the call but stood staring at the phone. "Something's going on with my dad."

  Charley laughed—nervously, she thought. "Why do you say that?"

  Amanda shook her head and scowled at Charley. "I don't know. He just sounded funny."

  "Your dad's fine. I gotta go." He disappeared.

  Amanda stared at the empty space. Did Charley know something about her father that she didn't? The two men didn't even like each other. Her father had adamantly opposed her marriage to Charley.

  Yet he'd known about Charley's very much alive family and had kept the knowledge a secret from her when that might have persuaded her not to marry Charley.

  And he'd bailed Charley out of jail more than once, used his influence to rescue her husband from a number of scrapes. In fact, she'd eventually come to wish he'd stay out of things and let Charley deal with the consequences of his petty crimes, but Judge Caulfield insisted on upholding the family name.

  Tonight her father had given her the same instructions Charley had given her the first night she was here, to remain within the confines of this house.

  And Charley, who could no longer lie, had chosen to disappear rather than talk about her father.

  A ridiculous idea swam around the edges of her mind.

  No, she told herself, dismissin
g the thought immediately. No way was it possible that Charley had been blackmailing her dad into getting him out of trouble. Not that she'd put it past Charley, but her dad was the most morally upright man she'd ever known. Stodgily so. He could never have done anything to be blackmailed for, nor would he have given in to a blackmailer.