by Sandra Brown
“That doesn’t make him innocent.”
“I realize that.” She didn’t dare tell Lisa about Ledge’s being in the supermarket or of his unorthodox visit to her house last night. Once again, she found herself staving off her own misgivings and, rather, defending him, even to herself. “But nor does it make him guilty.”
“Have you accused him?”
“I inquired. He denied it.”
“But he would, wouldn’t he?”
Arden gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Have you reported it to the police?” Lisa asked.
“I’ve been reluctant to.”
“Why?”
“Because it could be, and probably is, someone who routinely drives that road and slows down to gape out of curiosity. Because I don’t have a description of the car, or the person, and I’m disinclined to sit on the roadside and wait for him to come by so I can get a description.”
Nor was she prepared to camouflage herself as Ledge had.
“Because the individual has never stopped or posed any overt threat. And because if I did report it, it would create another brouhaha, and I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.” Softly she added, “Mainly that.”
“Why mainly that?”
Arden sat back in her chair, leaned her head back, and glanced over at the expansive bookcase. Most of the shelves held leather-bound, signed limited editions and museum-worthy artifacts. On one of the shelves, in a five-by-seven silver frame, was a picture of the Maxwell family. It was a posed portrait that their mother, Marjorie, had insisted on having made. Before you girls get any older, she’d told them.
In the picture, they were dressed in their Sunday best. The four of them were smiling and appeared happy, both individually and as a unit. None of them had an inkling of how terribly wrong things would go.
“Do you suppose he’s still alive?” Arden asked quietly.
Lisa left her chair quickly and went over to the wall of windows, keeping her back to Arden for at least a full minute. When she came back around, her hands were tented in front of her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.
Slowly she lowered her hands but kept them clasped at chest level. “The day after you lost the baby, when we were talking there in the kitchen, you asked me why I hadn’t sold the house. All the reasons I gave you were valid. But what I didn’t add, because it seemed—and is—so ridiculous and immature, is that I thought he might come back one day.”
She blotted a tear and shook her head. “Not for good, not to stay, or to reunite with us, but just to…” Frustrated with her inability to find the right words, she raised her arms at her sides. “I held out the faint hope that if we kept the house, it would be an irresistible draw for him.”
Arden got up, went to Lisa, and the two of them hugged, rocking each other. With that embrace, all their differences ceased to matter. When they eventually broke apart, they linked their little fingers.
“Not so ridiculous or immature,” Arden whispered. “That faint hope has been lurking in the back of my mind, too. Could Dad be the person monitoring me? Do you think that there’s any possibility?”
Lisa hugged her close again. “Don’t break your heart, don’t break mine, by counting on it.”
Chapter 13
That night in 2000—Rusty
Sitting on his bed in his room at home, Rusty gingerly rubbed his bruised wrist.
Goddamn Burnet.
Rusty’s taunt as he was getting out of the car with their haul had struck a nerve in Ledge, and his reaction had been swift and scary. Rusty was rarely taken by surprise like that, but Ledge had attacked with such ferocity, speed, and strength, he’d been too astounded to defend himself or counterattack. Ledge’s grip had felt powerful enough to crush his bones. Rusty supposed he should be relieved that he hadn’t.
That Ledge had that ability and advantage over him grated like an iron file. In hindsight, he should have arranged to have the bastard killed tonight. His only deterrent, which he hated to admit even to himself, was the fear that if he attempted it and failed, it was likely that he would have been the one to die.
When Ledge had told him that if anything went awry with Henry, he would hunt him down and kill him, he had believed it right down to the toes of his steel-tipped boots.
If somebody else had threatened him that way, he’d have gotten a good laugh out of it and then annihilated the reckless fool. But there was something about Burnet that induced a deep-seated and unremitting terror. Maybe it was that steely blue stare of his. It could be downright eerie, calculating, cold-blooded, like he had resolved to mess you up bad, but in his own good time.
Whatever Ledge’s fearsome quality was, it had intimidated Rusty into making other plans for him tonight, and he celebrated that decision now, because the alternate scheme had been executed without a hitch.
Several days earlier, he’d driven over into Louisiana and bought the marijuana himself. He had then intercepted the wetback who tended his mother’s flower beds as he was piling his tools into the bed of his piece-of-shit pickup and threatened to sic immigration on him if he didn’t grant Rusty one small favor.
The marijuana got planted in Ledge’s car. To demonstrate what a nice guy he was, Rusty had given the Mexican a doobie for his trouble.
Tonight, immediately after he and Ledge had parted company, using a burner phone he’d called the sheriff’s office with an anonymous tip that Ledge Burnet was selling weed out of his car on the parking lot of his uncle’s bar.
“There were some people with him in his car. I didn’t see who. Anyhow, he drove out alone, headed toward town.”
That’s all it had taken.
Ledge was in lockup. It was unlikely he would be granted bail. If his case went to trial, conviction would be a slam-dunk. Even if Ledge made a plea bargain to avoid trial, both his immediate and long-range futures included incarceration. He had been removed, if not permanently, then for a good, long time.
Rusty could now proceed to his next chore of the night.
He rotated his wrist a few times to work out some of the soreness and keep it flexible, then reached for his phone and made one of the most important calls he would ever make.
“Foster? It’s Rusty. Are you still awake?”
“Are you kidding? Who could sleep? I was about to—”
“Listen,” he interrupted, almost breathless with urgency. “Whatever you were about to do, forget it.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s Burnet. He’s been hauled in.”
“To jail?”
“Yes to jail! Where’d you think?”
“Oh, God! How did they catch him? Was it his car? Somebody saw his car behind the store?”
Rusty pictured him peeing his pants.
“No. His arrest didn’t have anything to do with the burglary. The dumbass was stopped for a busted taillight, something stupid like that. While the deputies had him pulled over, they searched his car. Guess what they found.”
He told Foster the rest of it. He spoke in a rushed whisper, not only to convey urgency but to keep from waking up his parents in their bedroom down the hall. His daddy was a class-A crook, but it wouldn’t go down well with him that Rusty had stolen roughly half a million dollars.
That was, not unless Mervin got a hefty chunk of it.
Rusty freely acknowledged that he’d been spoiled rotten. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d demanded something that he didn’t ultimately get. His mother was sweet and doting and thought the sun rose and set on her boy. She was also clueless to a laughable extent. He manipulated her unmercifully.
His dad had a loud bark, but he hailed from the school of Boys Will Be Boys. Not so secretly, he got a kick out of Rusty’s misbehavior. The more unsavory the misdeed, the more it tickled his dad. Rusty’s shenanigans, the more outlandish the better, showed a creative streak that his dad took pride in.
However, Rusty had no delusions about the depth of Sheriff Mervin Dyle’s affect
ion and indulgence. It wasn’t bottomless. It wasn’t even skin-deep. If it came down to protecting Rusty or preserving his own position of power, his dad would give him over without hesitation and not waste an instant of regret over it.
Cutting Mervin a large slice of the pie would be Rusty’s only bargaining chip. He wouldn’t use it unless it became absolutely necessary, of course, and, if all went according to plan, it wouldn’t. He would be able to keep the Welch’s take all to himself, and neither parent would be the wiser.
If all went according to plan. There were still hindrances to success that must be eliminated. Which brought him back to Brian Foster. “What concerns me,” Rusty said, “is what Burnet will do or say.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’ll try to cut a deal. I’m afraid he’ll rat us out in exchange for a lighter drug charge.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“In a heartbeat.”
“The four of us made a pact.”
“Pact,” Rusty snickered. “You think a promise matters to that guy? You don’t know him like I do. He’s surly. Resentful. Believe me, he would betray us.”
Foster moaned an appeal to the almighty. “What are we going to do?”
“Well, first, we’re not going to panic. Burnet won’t parley until he’s talked to his lawyer. My guess is that their meeting won’t take place till morning, and maybe not till Monday, ’cause tomorrow’s Easter. But, in case I’m wrong, we need to hide this money. Tonight. Now.”
“Right, right. Hide it.”
“Where should we meet?”
“Meet?” Foster’s voice rose an octave. “You and me?”
“I’m not doing this alone, Foster.”
“But—”
“If something happened to me, nobody would know where the money was stashed.”
“What could happen to you?”
“Anything. Jesus! I could have a car wreck, fall in a fucking sinkhole. Anything. But what really scares me? If Burnet talks, he’ll give me over first, and it won’t matter that my daddy’s the sheriff. They’ll be after me. I can’t be caught with this money.
“If Burnet is granted bail, he’ll come after me. He’ll want to shut me up. Probably all of us.” He built in a strategic pause. A little longer. Then, “Look, never mind. I’ll figure it out for myself.”
“No, wait. Give me a sec to think.”
Rusty smiled but made himself sound put out. “Well, think fast. I’ve got to move on this.”
“I’ll help you.”
“If you’re afraid, if you’re going to be whimpering like a little girl the whole time—”
“No, I’m all right. Just nervous. But I don’t think Burnet will break the pact. I really don’t.”
“Think what you want. I’m counting on him selling us out. Which means…”
“What?”
“Well, I’m thinking that in addition to hiding the money, we need a fall guy.”
“Someone to take the blame?”
“That’s what fall guys do, Foster.”
“I know, I know, but—”
“We may not need one, but we should have it set up in case Burnet double-crosses us.”
Foster ruminated on it for so long that Rusty was ready to scream by the time he said, “Yeah, okay. It’s probably a good idea. But who?”
“The town drunk, otherwise known as Joe Maxwell.”
Chapter 14
Ledge sat with his legs wide apart, hands loosely clasped between his knees, head down, staring at the floor and wishing to God he could rewind the clock to when he’d woken up this morning and live today over again. Maybe then he wouldn’t be behind bars, sharing space with a stinking urinal.
But, hell, he probably would be. As Rusty had so accurately pointed out: In all this time, he hadn’t learned a damn thing.
“Burnet!”
Ledge raised his head. A deputy was unlocking the cell door. Ledge knew him to be a veteran of the sheriff’s office, long in the tooth and a heart attack waiting to happen. Perpetually short of breath, he wheezed when he talked. “Get your ass out of here. You’re free to go.”
“How come?”
“Do you care?”
“I haven’t even called a lawyer yet.”
“Then I guess this visit is on the house. Come on, move it. My pizza’s getting cold.”
Ledge quit arguing and stepped out of the cell. The deputy caught him by the sleeve. “It’ll piss me off good if I see you back in here.”
Ledge pulled his arm free. “Shouldn’t have been in here today.”
“Debatable. From what I’ve heard, anyway. But the DA thought it over and didn’t deem your offense arrest-worthy after all.”
“He’s all heart.”
The deputy gave a gruff snort. “Another deputy will meet you at that door and escort you out.” He pointed Ledge toward the end of the corridor, then shot a glance up at the security camera, leaned closer to Ledge, and whispered, “Do yourself a favor. Steer clear of the turd. You understand what I’m saying?”
Ledge bobbed his chin. “Thanks. A beer is on me the next time you come into the bar.”
“Wife’s got me off it.” He slapped his potbelly. “Says I’m getting fat.”
Ledge smiled at him before heading down the hall.
The deputy called after him, “Keep your nose clean.”
Ledge didn’t turn around, but waved his hand in acknowledgment.
He was processed out and returned his belongings. In the parking lot where he’d left his pickup, he found Don White leaning against the front fender. Ledge scowled as he approached him. “What are you doing here?”
Equally cantankerous, Don replied, “I was about to ask you the same.”
Ledge used his fob to unlock the doors of his truck, went around, and got in on the driver’s side. Don hiked himself up into the passenger seat. “Lord, it’s an oven in here. Start the engine, get some AC going.”
Ledge gave him a sour look. “Nobody invited you.” But he did as ordered, because his truck had sat in the sun for hours, and the interior was an oven. Soon, cooler air was whirring through the vents.
Don situated himself more comfortably in his seat.
Under his breath, Ledge said, “Here it comes,” which Don ignored.
“This morning,” he began, “when I got up, I had a voice mail from you, telling me that you were going to see Henry. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then midday, I got a call at work informing me that you were in jail. I’m having a hard time believing what I was told happened in between times.”
“Who called you?”
“Well, not you. I had to hear about your altercation with the district attorney through the grapevine. I was also told that if you didn’t have the good sense to call a good defense lawyer, I should do it in your stead, because you were likely to need one. By the time the tale got around to me, Dyle was said to be seeking the death penalty.”
“I’m glad you brought up ‘work.’”
“Out of everything I’ve said, that’s what you picked up on?”
“Well, since you won’t take the bar off my hands, I do still own the place. Who’s covering for you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I cashed in a favor or two. Unlike you, I have friends I can call for help in times of need.”
“I have friends.”
“Name one.”
Ledge was about to say Crystal but stopped himself. Crystal had never told him—never told him—that Rusty had been with her that night. It was a betrayal that cut him to the quick. Learning that had bothered him a hell of a lot more than being jailed.
Of course Rusty could have been lying, but Ledge didn’t think so. He’d seemed way too sure of himself, too goddamned smug, and the claim could be too easily denied or confirmed. By Crystal.
He tabled thoughts on that for now, and, instead of naming her as a friend, he claimed George.
“The physical therapist at the center? That George?”
“Yeah. Hell of a guy. He and I talked this morning.”
Don downshifted his aggravation level. “How was Henry?”
Ledge aimed one of the AC vents at himself, slumped in his seat, and laid his head back. He described Henry’s condition, then filled Don in on everything that related to Rusty. Except for his parting shot about Crystal.
“The bastard knew how I would react when I heard he’d brought the flowers, that he’d actually been in Henry’s room. I could have killed him on the spot. Stormed into his office, scared the receptionist. You know Ms. Raymond?”
“Alicia.”
Ledge looked at Don askance.
“Every once in a while she pops in for a drink.”
Ledge raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”
“With Mr. Raymond.”
“Oh. Well, she’ll need a drink or two tonight. When I left Rusty’s office, she looked ready to cry, said she’d put me on her prayer list. Rusty must’ve called courthouse security the second my back was turned. Two deputies stopped me right there.” He used his nose to point out a spot just beyond the grill of his truck.
“I was arrested for assaulting a public official. Mirandized. Hand restraints. The whole shebang. The chickenshit didn’t have the guts to do it while I was there in his office, looking him in the eye.”
“He’s a son of a bitch.”
Ledge huffed a laugh. “That’s what he called me.”
“He’s wrong,” Don said, his vexation back. “You’re a stupid son of a bitch.”
“If I’m so undesirable, why did you even bother coming down here?”
“Because although I haven’t made even the short list of your friends, I was worried about you.”
“Well, you can stop worrying. I’m out.”
“For the time being.” Don paused to take a breath and rein in. “Tending bar, I hear stuff, you know. Rusty Dyle has it in for you. He’s a snake. You know it. Why do you let him get to you? He goads you with a bouquet; you play right into his hands. My advice—”
“I didn’t ask for any—”
“—would be to have it out with him once and for all. Settle whatever it is between you two. Rumor is it’s Crystal.”