Thick as Thieves

by Sandra Brown

  “Because only a prick would take credit.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “Sensitive subject like that, I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

  She nodded, but not like she wholeheartedly accepted that explanation. Shaking off the pensive demeanor, she drew herself up straighter. “My visitor drove past.”

  “When?”

  “A couple of hours ago.”

  “Damn. I got here an hour too late.”

  “You’ve been lying in wait?”

  “Down there by the road, hoping I’d catch him at it.”

  “That explains the camo getup.”

  “For all the good it did me. Are you sure it was your regular?”

  “Yes, I recognize the sound of the motor.”

  “What’s it sound like?”

  She gave a shrug of confusion. “A car. But it does have a distinctive sound.”

  He tried to make sense of that, but it escaped him.

  “Where’s your truck?”

  “Parked in the cypress grove.” He thumbed in the general direction. “I used a road that brought me in from the west to the back of your property. I walked from there.”

  “So I wouldn’t know you were here.”

  “So he wouldn’t know.”

  “I doubt he would have spotted you. Out there in the dark, you would have been well concealed.”

  Had she put on that ungodly outfit to conceal herself from him? If so, she’d been too late. He’d gotten a tantalizing eyeful while she was waggling that nine-millimeter at him. Underneath her short nightgown, the dips and distentions had been impossible not to notice, and even more impossible to ignore. As was the disturbance they’d created below his belt.

  “Well?”

  He realized she had continued talking while his mind had drifted to shapely bare legs and a slipping shoulder strap. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Exasperated, she said, “Did you come here tonight to see if the bogeyman was real or a figment of my imagination?”

  “I believe he’s real.”

  “Thank you for taking my word for it.”

  “I didn’t. Animal instinct.”

  “Oh, really? Is your animal instinct so reliable that you always act on it?”

  He waited a beat. “Not always.” Another beat. “Bad as I want to.”

  His suggestiveness wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. But in any case, the words caused a subtle but definite shift, not only a straying from the topic of discussion, but a change in the current between them, a thickening of the room’s atmosphere. He felt the increase of air pressure in every cell of his body. The ticking of the wall clock seemed to be keeping beat with something other than passing seconds.

  She must have sensed it, too, because she didn’t say anything, or move, and her eyes stayed locked with his, as though any reaction might trigger something uncertain and unsafe.

  Then her cell phone jangled, and she jumped like she’d been scalded.

  She shuffled backward away from him and glanced down at the phone where it lay on the table. “My sister. I’d better get it.” She picked up the phone and clicked in. “Hi.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  Still looking directly at him, Arden said, “No, I’m wide awake.”

  The voice coming through the phone was as clear as a bell to him, but Arden didn’t retreat to conduct the conversation in private, so he didn’t retreat to grant her privacy. He propped himself against the counter and watched Arden closely, hoping to gain a clue as to why she seemed to have such a complex relationship with her sister.

  Lisa said, “Well, what I have to tell you certainly won’t help your insomnia.”

  “Then can it keep until morning?”

  “You need to hear this now.” Arden looked ready to protest, but Lisa didn’t give her a chance. “After we talked today, I had one of our people who runs background checks on potential employees do one on Ledge Burnet. She discovered something startling.”

  Arden blinked several times, but otherwise remained as she was.

  Lisa took a deep breath. For effect, he thought. Then she said, “This guy is bad news. He was arrested on a drug charge—”

  “I already know that.”

  “But did you know that his second offense occurred on the same night that Dad disappeared?”

  Arden’s lips parted in shock. By an act of will, Ledge kept his expression impassive.

  “The same night, Arden,” Lisa repeated with emphasis.

  Arden swallowed. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s a matter of record. I had one of our legal team double-check.”

  Her lips remained open. She was breathing through them. “I fail to see—”

  “Think about it.” Lisa sounded as though she wanted to shake her. “In Dullsville, USA, where big news is who catches the largest bass of the month, in a single night a major burglary and a likely murder took place, both of which our father was alleged to have committed. That same night, this prior offender was out and about dealing drugs. Only marijuana, but still.”

  Arden continued to stare straight into his eyes as she pieced together the components. “But what…what possible connection could there be?”

  “I have no idea,” Lisa said. “But at the very least it’s a bizarre coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  Arden didn’t say anything, only continued to search his eyes.

  Lisa pressed on. “Furthermore, when he came clean with you about his criminal record, he didn’t say, ‘Oh, and by the way, get this. This is a weird coincidence.’ Wouldn’t that have been the time to mention it?”

  Arden gave it thought, then said, “We didn’t learn about the burglary and the allegations against Dad until the following Monday. If Ledge was in custody over the weekend, maybe he never knew about the coincidental timing, either.”

  “I’d find that very unlikely.” Lisa paused, then said, “No, he had to have known. Everyone did. Even if he was in jail, news like that would have been circulating. He had to have known,” she insisted.

  “And it’s suspicious that he didn’t make reference to it when the opportunity presented itself. He owned up to his crime, but left out the most interesting aspect. He didn’t want you to know, or he would have told you. I think you should be asking yourself why.”

  In a barely audible voice, Arden said, “I am asking myself why.”

  “Well, good! That’s wise. You should have nothing more to do with him, at least not until we’ve had a chance to explore the matter.”

  “I’m supposed to let him know by noon tomorrow whether or not I’m hiring him. I owe him that courtesy.”

  “You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

  “I’ll handle it on my terms, Lisa.”

  Her sharp tone surprised Ledge and silenced her sister. Temporarily. Then Lisa said, “All right. I’ll leave it to you, but please call me after you’ve spoken to him.”

  “I will. Good night.”

  Arden disconnected and set the phone on the table, but she never took her eyes off him. After a silence the length of a freight train, he opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand.

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  He did as she asked and held his silence, giving her time to determine just how irrelevant, or dire, the implications of this discovery were.

  “Did you know about—” She broke off and gave a dry laugh. “Of course you knew.” She crossed her arms, hugging her middle. “I thought we’d met as strangers. But that’s not so, is it? We have a night in common. A night twenty years ago that drastically impacted both our lives. You knew that, but withheld it from me. Why?”

  “What relevance does it have?”

  “That’s what I would like to know,” she said, raising her voice in anger. “So would Lisa. She’s right. If it weren’t relevant, you would have said something about it. The fact that you didn’t is even more troubling than the coincidence itself. If it was a coincidence. Did you know my
dad?”

  “Knew who he was. Knew his situation.”

  “You mean his being a widower with two daughters?”

  “His reputation as a drunk.”

  “Of course,” she said gruffly. “Was he a customer of your uncle’s?”

  “I never saw him in the bar. Never.”

  “That night—”

  “I was in jail over that weekend and didn’t learn that your dad had been linked to the burglary until, as you said,” he said, motioning toward her phone, “the next week.” True.

  She tilted her head, seeming to assess his trustworthiness. Rightfully. His truth had missing parts.

  She said, “I don’t believe for a minute that it was a coincidence you were in the supermarket that day. What were you doing there?”

  “Buying food and toilet paper.”

  “Damn you! Don’t be cute. How did you come to be in the produce section when—”

  “I followed you into the store.”

  She inhaled a swift breath and on a soft expulsion asked, “Why?”

  The time for playing it cool had passed. He pushed himself away from the counter and faced her squarely. “As I told you, someone had pointed you out to me. But not in the pie shop, and not after you had lost your baby. It was earlier on. You must not have been back in town for long, because you were in the post office to rent a mailbox. I was there to pick up a package. The woman working the counter caught me looking at you, and—”

  “Why were you looking at me?”

  He tipped his head down in a manner that asked, Really? “Come on.”

  Self-consciously she glanced aside before coming back to him.

  He continued. “The postal worker asked if I remembered the scandal about Joe Maxwell, and I said, ‘Vaguely,’ and she told me you were his daughter. Long lost. Now living in Penton again. That’s how I came to know who you were.”

  “That’s the truth?”

  “Swear to God.”

  “If it was that innocent, then why have you been hush-hush about it?”

  “I didn’t tell you this morning because you were already freaked out over your ghost driver.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying now about the post office?”

  “You had on blue jeans with holes in the knees. Red t-shirt. You hooked your sunglasses in the neck of it while you were filling out the form for the mailbox. Your ponytail—high, on the top of your head—was lopsided. Your pregnancy wasn’t obvious yet, so I didn’t know about that until later.”

  “You saw me again?”

  “Couple of times.”

  “When, where?”

  “Around. And so did a lot of other people.”

  “A lot of other people haven’t broken into my house in the middle of the night.”

  She said that with heat, and he couldn’t say he blamed her. But he didn’t defend himself.

  “I suppose that on one of these Arden sightings, you noticed my baby bump.”

  “Yeah, but by then, I’d already heard you were pregnant.”

  “From whom?”

  “I picked it up in the hair and nail salon.”

  “While getting your roots done?”

  With utmost patience, he said, “A friend of mine owns it. A squirrel had nested in the attic insulation and chewed up some wiring. I was asked to trap and relocate the squirrel, and repair the damage. While I was up there—”

  “You overheard that Joe Maxwell’s daughter was pregnant.”

  “But no daddy to be seen. Juicy stuff. That kept them going for a good half hour.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet,” she said with disgust.

  “Can I ask you a question now?”

  “If it’s about my baby, no.”

  “About that chat with your sister.”

  “What about it?”

  “You didn’t tell her about going to my uncle’s bar to conduct your own recon. You didn’t tell her about Lois what’s-her-name and the shocking secret she had revealed. You didn’t tell her that I was standing six feet from you. How come?”

  “I didn’t want her to panic.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “Why aren’t I what?”

  “Panicked.”

  “I don’t know.” Her bafflement appeared to be genuine and self-directed. “I really don’t. You have a criminal record. You break into my house looking like Rambo. You’ve piled lie upon lie, until I don’t trust anything you say. God knows what other secrets you’re harboring. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t shoot you when I had the chance.”

  She took a firmer stance in the ridiculous slippers. “But I warn you that if there’s a next time, I will. I’ll act on my own animal instinct.”

  She had just as well formed a fist around his cock. He tried to talk himself out of what was a really, really bad idea. But himself wasn’t listening.

  He covered the distance between them in two strides, cupped her jaw with one hand and the back of her head with the other, tilted her face up, and melded her mouth with his.

  His tongue slid past her lips and burrowed deep. Somehow, God knew how, he kept his hands where they were instead of exploring the hollows and hills he’d charted through the thin cotton nightgown.

  He ended the kiss long before he wanted to and while he was still able.

  Angling his head back, he looked deeply into her eyes, then released her abruptly and turned away. He yanked open the door through which he’d entered and, as he went out, said, “By noon tomorrow.”

  Chapter 10

  The memory care center in Penton hadn’t met Ledge’s rigid standards, and, besides, he hadn’t wanted his uncle to be an object of curiosity or pity with townsfolk who had known him before his affliction. Instead, he’d placed him in a highly rated facility in Marshall.

  The days began early there. Ledge arrived as the sun was just clearing the treetops. He was greeted by a staff member who told him that Henry was up and dressed.

  “He’s watching the news until breakfast is served, which isn’t for another ten minutes.”

  “Can I trouble you to bring a tray to his room?”

  “Of course, Mr. Burnet.”

  Every day of Henry’s life that Ledge could remember, he’d worn Levis, western-cut shirts, and cowboy boots. These days it was pull-up polyester pants, a zippered jacket, which, as often as not, didn’t match his pants, and slip-on sneakers.

  He was sitting in the La-Z-Boy that Ledge had given him for his birthday, staring vacantly at the small flat-screen TV that Ledge had had installed last Christmas. The audio was muted.

  “Morning, Uncle Henry.” He dragged a chair nearer the lounger and, as he sat down, asked if anything interesting and worth repeating had occurred in the world overnight. Of course no reply was forthcoming, but while Henry continued to stare unresponsively into the TV, Ledge chatted on about nothing consequential.

  One of the catering staff delivered the breakfast tray. “Need any help?” the lady asked Ledge.

  “We’re good. Hey, do we have you to thank for the flowers?” He’d noticed a fresh-looking bouquet on top of Henry’s bureau.

  “Wish I could say so. They’re sure pretty. Buzz if you need anything.”

  Despite Henry’s illness, he still had a good appetite. When he reached for a slice of toast, Ledge stayed his hand. “I haven’t buttered it yet.” Henry yanked his hand free, picked up the toast, tore off a bite, and crammed it into his mouth. Wryly, Ledge muttered, “Butter’s bad for your cholesterol, anyway.”

  As he assisted Henry with his meal, Ledge kept up a one-sided conversation, eventually working his way around to Arden Maxwell. “She took it upon herself to do some recon on me. Went to the bar and chatted with Don. I called him as soon as I got home from her place last night. She hadn’t told Don her name, but when I described her, he remembered her right off. She’s got this unusual pairing of pale blond hair, but brown eyes.” Under his breath, he added, “Somehow it works.”

  He wiped a missed bite of
oatmeal off Henry’s jacket. “Yeah, I kissed her, but don’t make a big deal out of it, all right? It didn’t amount to anything. Not really. I mean…Oh, hell, I’m lying to you, too.”

  He set aside the spoon and dragged both hands down his face. “I’m stacking up lies like firewood, and I hate that like hell. But I can’t tell her about that night.” He looked hard into his uncle’s eyes, willing them to show understanding, empathy, something. They were blank. Which was why he could speak with such candor.

  “I’m not just covering my own ass, either. I can’t tell her without creating a shitstorm around her, and she’s just come through a terrible one. The loss of her baby and all.”

  Henry picked up the juice box and sipped at the straw without mishap.

  “She and her sister Lisa have this weird chemistry,” Ledge continued. “If I were to tell Arden everything, all of it, and Lisa found out, there’s no telling what she would do.

  “But what really scares me? Arden is already on Rusty’s radar. I can’t caution her, or explain to her the reason for the caution, without implicating myself, not just for the burglary, but for Brian Foster’s murder. Let’s face it, his was no accidental death.”

  He made another unsuccessful attempt with the oatmeal.

  “I would like to think that my deployments balanced the scale. You know, good and evil. Criminal on one hand. Protector of freedom on the other. But guilt over what I did that night eats at me, Uncle Henry. Bad.

  “But even if I wanted to tell somebody to clear my conscience, or to save my soul, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not because of the repercussions to myself. But because of the blowback on you. See,” he said, and paused to take a deep breath, “I never want anyone to think badly of you because of me. Anything bad I ever did was not your fault. No matter what happens, never think that. Promise me. You didn’t fail me. I failed you.”

  He ran his hand over the top of his uncle’s head. Through the thinning hair, he noticed age spots that had recently appeared. Henry’s eyebrows, which had always been dark and expressive, were mostly gray now, and they never conveyed an emotion. The creases in his face became more deeply etched between Ledge’s visits. His body was following the path of his mind, deteriorating incrementally but inexorably.