by Nancy Bush
Andre had no choice but to follow Cal Stutz to the door, and he hated every second of it. By the time the door was closed firmly behind him, his blood was boiling. Victoria—his own grandmother—was way too friendly with the help. This wasn’t right. It needed to be stopped. He was going to stop it. And they needed to learn that he was The Messiah, and he was going to have his rightful place at the head of this family, even if he had to kill for it.
West was about a half hour from the I-5 turnoff when his cell rang, and he answered through the Bluetooth receptor at his ear. “Laughlin,” he said, reading the number and seeing it was Pete Dorcas.
“Where you at, man? Thought you were coming in,” his old partner said.
“Tomorrow. I got stuff to do today.”
“Yeah? Well, stuff’s happenin’ here. Your French friends are callin’. You know, the ones you told to call you here? Even though you’re not officially here and so they call me? They say they’re lookin’ at a homicide.”
“They’re certain?” West asked, ignoring the jab. He’d pressed the gendarmerie as much as he could and given them Dorcas’s number. He had purposely been vague about his liaison with the LAPD, letting Dorcas field the calls and be the go-between. For that price, he had to put up with some shit from his partner.
“Head injury killed her, but someone had choked her with some kind of chain. Maybe didn’t kill her, but it wasn’t friendly, either.”
West nodded. “There were marks on her neck, but I didn’t get a good look.” He’d practically been shoved aside by the French authorities. “Why’d they take so long to get back to me,” he grumbled.
“’Cause maybe they knew you were fudgin’ some about your job?”
“Did they send a copy of the autopsy report?”
“Not yet.”
Before he’d left Fort-de-France, West had notified the police that Teresa had been seen on the pier, and they’d thanked him for the information and said they were looking for the boat she’d been on. “Did they say anything else?”
“Nope. You can call ’em tomorrow. Now, you also asked me about the Cantrells.”
West’s interest sharpened. “That’s right. You find something interesting?”
“Here’s what I know: There’s a brother and sister left. Their father’s the one made the money. Older brother got it all, until the accident that killed him. Now, it’s split between the deceased older brother’s wife and his younger brother and sister. House is with the wife, but it’s supposed to go back to the family, according to Diane Cantrell, who showed up at the station in person and made it pretty clear she doesn’t much like the wife, Kelly . . . no, Callie, and this Callie is still living at the house and Diane is working to legally evict her. I talked to the family attorney first, a William Lister who apparently told this Diane that we were on the case, so Diane shows up at the station and just goes off. I listened to her as long as I could stand, then gave her your name. Told her that you’d call her.”
“Thanks,” West said dryly.
“Like I said, man. This is your baby.”
West glanced in his rearview mirror to Callie’s silver Lexus, which was following at a safe distance behind him. He felt kinda sleazy, checking up on her now, and he sure as hell didn’t want to hear anything bad at this point. He wanted Callie. Had from the moment he’d first seen her and thought she was Teresa, which was probably the kind of thing that should send him to a therapist’s couch. And he knew, deep in his gut, that he’d never felt this way about Roxanne . . . had never felt this way about any other woman.
“And he wasn’t happy with the wife, either, according to the sister,” Dorcas was saying, and West snapped back, realizing he’d maybe missed something important.
“Who?”
“The younger brother. Derek Cantrell. Ain’t you listenin’? According to Diane, Derek wants Ms. Callie out too. The house is worth a few mil but Ms. Callie’s not budgin’.”
“But the house is hers.”
“Not supposed to be. I’m just sayin’ what they said. Diane thinks Ms. Callie has always been after the family money, and now she’s got the upper hand.”
West thought about what Callie had said about her husband, Jonathan, knowing Teresa. It had been constantly in the back of his mind ever since she’d mentioned it. He just needed some time to be able to follow up, and to date, time was the commodity he hadn’t possessed. He wanted to know more about Jonathan Cantrell, for sure, but first things first.
“I’ll call Diane back,” West said, not sure when that would be exactly.
“That woman’s a piece of work, for sure. Kinda hot in that bitchy thrown-you-down-on-the-ground-and-stomp-on-you-before-screwing-your-brains-out way. Maybe too scary to act on, though. Y’know?”
“But you think she’s telling the truth?” West asked, trying to keep the thread of the conversation on track. Dorcas had a tendency to categorize women by how they’d be in the sack, which was sometimes colorful, and always beside the point.
“She believes what she’s sayin’. Don’t necessarily make it true.”
West let the matter of Diane Cantrell lie for a moment. “Teresa Laughlin was living in Los Angeles when she met my brother. She met him at a bar. I don’t know which one yet, but I’m going to find out. This was about six years ago. I think she might’ve come back to LA after his death. She probably had a California driver’s license. See what you can find on her. I want to know where she lived, what she did.” And if she continued her relationship with Jonathan Cantrell in there somewhere.
“It’s not like I’m sittin’ on my hands here,” he protested.
“I’ll be at work tomorrow, and if I’m reinstated, I’ll get on it myself. But anything you could find out would help.”
“Yeah, yeah.” A pause. “Gonna be good to have you back.”
“Gonna be good to be back.”
He clicked off the Bluetooth, glanced back again to Callie’s car. Five minutes later he saw the exit for Castilla, put on his blinker, and took the off ramp.
Callie inhaled a deep breath as she followed West’s Explorer off the freeway and toward the town of Castilla. She’d seen the sign on the freeway extolling Laughlin Ranch beef and the Laughlin BBQ restaurant. Now, she saw more signs for the barbecue and one for the gift shop, The Bull Stops Here, but they bypassed the main section of the town and turned onto a road that ran dead east, which presumably led to the ranch itself.
What a complete change for Tucker. She slid a look to her rearview mirror and saw his head was bent forward. He’d conked out almost immediately once they’d hit the freeway. Too much excitement, too much worry about what was in store for him. Callie wished she could protect him and decided if there was any way possible, she would spend the night at the ranch tonight. She was basically his only stability in a strange new world.
Her gaze next touched on her shoulder bag, which was sitting in the passenger seat. Besides her clothes and toiletries, she’d stuffed the bank statement with the automatic charge from Security One inside as well. She’d called Security One before she left the house, but they hadn’t picked up and she hadn’t bothered to leave a message. It would be one more nagging annoyance she’d need to deal with when she finally decided to cut ties with the Cantrells once and for all, but it could wait. Everything could wait until she was certain Tucker was settled.
Of its own accord, her mind went back to that last meeting with Derek and Diane, which made her grimace with distaste. Luckily, her attention was jerked back to the present when she saw West’s Explorer crest a small hill and disappear. Half a minute later, she followed after him and then before her was a thick grove of California black oaks that spread for a number of acres, only petering out when it reached a series of rolling hills that seemed huddled against today’s gray skies. Up to this point, the landscape had been virtually flat grassland, but here was an oasis of green that she suspected had been purposely planted. West’s Explorer turned north into a long lane bordered by the oaks
. Callie followed and a wide canopy of branches reached overhead as they drove along the extensive drive, which suddenly opened to the Laughlin ranch house sitting like a queen on a throne at the end of a long carpet. The two-story structure had two wings, which pushed backward from the drive. There were several trucks parked to the east side and West pulled up next to one.
Exhaling, Callie slowed to a stop beside his car and switched off the ignition. West was already out of the Explorer and now he came to her window, throwing a glance back toward Tucker whose eyes were trying to open as Callie slid the window down.
“Home, sweet home,” West said dryly, and pulled open her door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
From his vantage point at the top of one of the hills about a quarter mile away, Andre trained his binoculars on the ranch house. Because of all the damn trees he had limited vision to the front of the house; he could see for miles out the back with the paddocks, fencing, and in the distance the small, hazy shapes of cattle. The sky was overcast and the temperature was cooling off, the weather system more like that of January than October.
He watched a dark-haired man get out of the car. His cousin, West Laughlin, Victoria had said, though he wasn’t really a Laughlin and therefore didn’t count. From everything Andre had been told Benjamin Sr. and Victoria were too uptight, repressed, and infused with a different century’s morals to consider as a rightful heir any child from Craig’s dalliance with one of their employees.
He might have to take care of him, but he wasn’t really the problem. The boy, though . . . the way Victoria obviously felt about him . . . he was going to have to be dealt with.
He watched West open the door to the silver Lexus that had followed his Explorer to the front of the house. A woman stepped out, her red-gold hair shining in the late afternoon sun.
A jolt ran through him and he gasped, “Teresa!” before he realized this had to be the nanny.
Teresa is dead. She’s dead. Never to return.
But for a moment, watching the woman, he wasn’t entirely sure.
The front door was opened by a tall, rangy man with salt-and-pepper hair and a weathered face. Callie inadvertently squeezed Tucker’s hand a little tighter as the man stepped back and said, “Well, come on in.” Even though he oozed bonhomie she hadn’t felt this nervous since she’d first met Jonathan’s sister and brother, and that hadn’t gone well.
“I’m Cal,” he said, sticking out a hand. “You must be the nanny.”
Callie reluctantly released Tucker’s hand to shake Cal’s. “Callie Cantrell.”
“Cal and Callie,” he responded with a grin. “That’s gonna make things hard around here.”
“I hope not,” Callie said lightly.
“And you must be the little man Victoria’s been expecting,” Cal said, bending down to Tucker’s level.
Tucker gazed at him solemnly and stayed silent.
West brought up the rear and Cal stood up and thrust out his hand again. “Good to see you again, son,” he said. “Your grandmother’s in the dining room.”
“Thanks,” West answered.
Cal glanced down again at Tucker, who had reclasped Callie’s hand. He chuckled. “Cat got your tongue, huh?”
“No.” Tucker frowned at him, then looked up at Callie.
“It’s an expression,” she told him. “A funny way of saying that you’re being kind of quiet. Tucker’s first language is French,” she added for Cal’s benefit.
“Well, parlez-vous français!” Cal declared, amused.
“Cal is the Laughlin Ranch manager,” West said as they moved through the foyer and into the house.
Callie caught a glimpse of the great room with its curved beams, river rock fireplace, hanging lights made from deer antlers, and an expanse of oak flooring that was artfully arranged with groupings of couches and chairs before she was ushered into the dining room with its cathedral ceiling and massive plank table of black walnut.
At the end of the table sat a woman with silvery-white hair swept up and clipped at the back of her head. Her strong face was webbed with tiny lines, but her blue eyes were sharp and intense. “I prefer a straight-backed chair,” she said. “You must be Mrs. Cantrell.”
“Please call me Callie,” she answered.
She would have walked toward her and offered to shake her hand, but Victoria pointed to a chair and said, “Have a seat,” then turned her attention to Tucker, who was clamped onto Callie’s hand like a vise. As soon as Callie started to sit, he grabbed the next chair, but Victoria said, “No, come here, Tucker. Let me get a look at you.”
“Try not to scare him,” West suggested with a faint smile.
“I’m not going to scare him,” she snapped back.
“You already are. Give him a chance.” West looked toward Cal, who was standing at the door that obviously led to the kitchen. “He’s been wanting to see the horses since we got here.”
“Horses,” Tucker repeated, perking up. He looked from West to Cal.
“Well, c’mon then, boy,” Cal said, strolling into the next room. “I was just about to head outside.”
Tucker slid from his seat but wouldn’t leave Callie. “You come too.”
“Would it be okay if I stayed here?” Callie asked him.
“No. Come!”
“I’ll be right here when you come back. I promise,” she said. “I just want to talk to West and your great-grandmother.”
Tucker’s eyes slid carefully in Victoria’s direction.
“Why, I think I see a palomino stallion out there,” Cal called from across the kitchen. “I’m headin’ out the door now. Better hurry!”
“You stay,” Tucker warned Callie, edging away.
“I’ll stay,” Callie assured him, and then he ran after Cal as if shot from a cannon.
“Cal’s kind of like Jean-Paul to Tucker,” West observed, watching them leave.
Victoria frowned. “Who?”
“Someone Tucker knew on Martinique,” West said. “I brought you a present,” he told her. “It’s in the glove box. I’ll go get it and bring in Callie and Tucker’s bags.”
He left before she could answer, but she didn’t seem to want to anyway. If she objected to hearing Callie had brought her own bag, she didn’t say so. Her gaze was centered on Callie. “I don’t see any reason to waste a lot of time,” she said crisply. “I can see that Tucker’s fond of you, and that having you around is necessary, at least for now, but I think it would be better for all of us if you planned on this being a very temporary position.”
Even though it’s what she’d half-expected to hear, it was a blow. “I just want what’s best for Tucker.”
“I’ve looked into your background. You were an elementary school teacher’s aide before your marriage. You lost your husband and son in a terrible car accident last year, and you spent some time in a mental hospital, recovering.”
“I spent nearly a month,” Callie responded. “I checked myself in voluntarily.”
Victoria eyed her thoughtfully. “Do you really think you’re ready for the challenges of teaching Tucker and taking care of him?”
“Yes. If you’re asking if I’m mentally well enough, yes.”
“I sent Talia down to that island to help bring Tucker home because I’m not as mobile as I used to be. She’s here some of the time, but she has a condominium in Santa Monica. If I entrusted you with Tucker’s care, you would be doing most of the work by yourself.”
“I understand.”
“You look a lot like his mother,” she said.
“I think that’s what drew him to me, in the beginning. My hair.”
Callie heard West reenter through the front door and drop the bags on the wood floor. A moment later he appeared in the dining room aperture, holding the bracelet.
“Ah,” Victoria said as West laid it on the table in front of her.
“So, what have you been talking about?” he asked, looking from Victoria to Callie.
“Mrs
. Cantrell’s employment,” Victoria said. She hesitated for a moment and Callie held her breath, preparing for the worst, but all she said was, “We’ve worked out a trial arrangement.” To Callie, she added, “You’re welcome to stay at the ranch. It will probably be best for Tucker.”
Half an hour later, West pulled Callie into the great room as Victoria said she was going to get ready for a meeting later with Gary Merritt at his satellite law office in Castilla. The lawyer also had an LA hub, but since Victoria was one of his major clients, he made certain he was available in Castilla when she wanted to meet with him. Maya, who served as Victoria’s companion as well as a cook and housekeeper, went to help her.
A few minutes later, Maya returned and said, “A lot of excitement,” folding her hands under her ample breasts as she gazed at West and Callie a bit suspiciously. She was round where Victoria was gaunt, and she was a good thirty years younger than the older woman.
West observed, “It’s not my place to say anything, but you might need some extra help around here, now that it’s not just Victoria.”
Maya said, “My daughter lives in Castilla. If I need someone, she’ll come right out. Now, would the boy like something to eat when Cal brings him back?”
“Peanut butter and jelly?” Callie suggested.
West informed her, “He’s been living on it for days, but it never seems to get old.”
Maya said, “We have beef here. Does he like hamburgers?”
“I really don’t know,” Callie admitted.
“I’ll start with peanut butter and jelly,” Maya conceded, then headed into the kitchen. It was the first time Callie and West had been alone since Martinique, and West pulled her into his arms.
“What if your grandmother catches us?” she teased.
“You think she doesn’t suspect?”
“It’s more like I don’t want to put it in her face unless she’s ready.”
“You want me to let you go?”