At Wolf Ranch

by Jennifer Ryan

  Chapter 5

  Phillip sat on the sofa in the living room, staring at the yellow police tape across the closed library doors. He didn’t need to be in the room to remember the scene. The image of Lela dead on the floor was burned into his mind. The blood and Lela were gone, but he saw both clear as day.

  The wave of fear and fury that swamped him when they discovered Lela’s phone beneath her body rushed through him again. The call lasted eleven minutes. Ella heard everything. But how much did she really know? What could she prove? Does she have Lela’s so-called evidence? Where the hell was she? Not knowing the answer to those questions twisted his gut.

  Damn it, Lela, you’ve ruined everything.

  And now he had to clean up the mess. He would, and everything would be fine again.

  Where the hell did Ella go?

  The plan only worked if they found Ella and staged her overdose.

  The detective set the scene perfectly. Mary discovered Lela’s body early this morning and called 911. Officers came to the house. Detective Robbins took over the investigation and would mold the evidence and reports over the next couple days to fit the scenario Phillip outlined.

  Phillip was properly shocked in front of the staff when he arrived home. Full of grief and disbelief and outrage that such a terrible thing could happen to his niece. Yeah, he’d yelled and ranted that whoever did this to his niece would pay.

  When the detective raised questions about a possible motive with him in front of the staff, he’d hinted about their upcoming birthday and coming into their inheritance. That Lela had worked so hard for her spot in the company, while Ella had done the bare minimum to meet the requirements for her to inherit.

  Phillip played his part when he was called down to the medical examiner’s offices to ID the body after he spent the night with the woman he kept, who catered to his specific needs. He had an alibi for the time of the murder. Everything would soon point directly to Ella.

  Mary let Detective Robbins into the penthouse. He walked into the living room. Phillip waited for him to take a seat in the chair beside the sofa, so no one overheard them. Detective Robbins’s smile encouraged him that the man finally had good news.

  “Where is she?” Phillip asked, keeping his voice low, despite the fact Mary retreated back into the kitchen past the dining room.

  “I don’t have her exact location, but she used her debit and credit card at the airport yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? What time?”

  “Around eleven-thirty.”

  “After Lela’s death and that damn phone call.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you trace her phone?”

  “She shut it off.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. She used her cards at an ATM to get cash inside the terminal. She must have bought her ticket with cash because the machine she used is past the security checkpoint.”

  “Check all the airlines. Find her.”

  “I’m working on it. So far, I haven’t found her name on any airline.”

  “Do you think she used another name?”

  “If she did, she’d need a damn good forged ID to buy the ticket and get through security. I’m trying to get the security video from inside the terminal to track her to a gate. If I can do that, I should know which flight she took. For all we know, Ella got on a private plane with some random guy and is half naked on a white sand beach somewhere.”

  The lust in Detective Robbins’s eyes didn’t surprise Phillip. Ella and Lela were as beautiful as their mother had been.

  “If she left town yesterday and didn’t use her name to do it, she must know something, or at least suspect.”

  “You think Lela told her what she found.”

  “She didn’t just decide to hop on a plane without reason. Did you find out where Lela went over the last few days?”

  “If she took a flight the same way Ella did, I have no idea where she went. I’m still checking her credit cards. Ella took priority.”

  “If you’re not up to the task of finding her, I’ll get someone else.” The implied threat that he could quickly become dispensable registered in the detective’s wide eyes, which narrowed with concern.

  “I’ve got this. I’ll find her.”

  “Do it soon before someone else does. Like the press. She isn’t exactly anonymous anywhere she goes. Someone is bound to recognize her.”

  “Maybe we should use that to our advantage. Instead of keeping the details from the press until we find her, let’s name her a person of interest in the investigation. I’ll bring her in for questioning when someone else tips us off to her location.”

  “Let’s handle this quietly. If you don’t find her in the next couple of days and things heat up with the press demanding answers, we’ll have no choice.” It might make things harder to stage Ella’s overdose.

  “Go. Find her. Now.”

  The detective left to do his bidding. Phillip wrapped his hand around the tumbler, his knuckles going white as he squeezed. He’d like to wrap his hand around Ella’s neck for disappearing. He took a deep swallow. The bourbon burned its way down his throat to his already sour gut.

  The damn girl never did anything that was expected of her.

  Chapter 6

  Ella woke up stiff and disoriented. Her ankle hurt, her side throbbed, but her heart felt broken in a way that would never heal. She gave in to a fresh round of tears. They ran down her cheeks, into her mouth, each one tasting of sorrow and pain. Uncle Phillip murdered Lela. Why? What secrets did Lela discover? What was this really about? Money, the company?

  Nothing made sense.

  Lela had their father’s sense of trends in the marketplace. The ingenuity to take an idea and bring it to life. Ella had been the more practical of the two of them. If you ran the company and wanted to do it well and efficiently, you had to know how all the moving parts worked. She’d started in the mailroom and worked in every department from the ground floor up. Oh, she sat in all the executive meetings, listening to one pompous ass after another talk about productivity and efficiency, but not one of those asshats knew how their mail got to their desk, how the IT department kept the computer systems they relied on up and running, how shipping and receiving kept the inventory in check and the customers happy. The marketing execs had big ideas and grand plans, but they often conflicted with engineering deadlines for having the products ready and shipping’s ability to deliver by the dates marketing wanted to beat the competition.

  She and Lela had a plan for running the company. They’d sat up night after night talking about how they’d do things. How they’d make their parents proud.

  Look at her now. Lela didn’t need her tears. She needed Ella to pull herself together, avenge her death, and put their uncle behind bars.

  Get up and do something.

  She swung her legs over the side of the double bed and sat on the edge, letting her aching head settle and her muscles loosen. She stared down at the Led Zeppelin T-shirt and smiled. Not exactly the Kashmir she was used to wearing, but she appreciated the loan.

  She stood, slowly, keeping most of her weight on her left leg, and took a tentative step. It hurt, but she’d get by. Her bag and clothes lay on the chair. Her boots sat on the floor, ruined by the snow. She’d have to get a new pair, something suited for this kind of weather. She didn’t know what happened to her coat. Gabe must have hung it somewhere to dry.

  Gabe . . .

  She’d have to thank him for going above and beyond to take care of her, especially last night when he drove her to his place, afraid to leave her alone. She’d gone quiet on him in the truck and stared out the window, hurting and thinking about Lela. As much as she wanted to get to her ranch and investigate what her sister came here to find, she hadn’t wanted to be alone last night. She didn’t know Gabe, but he’d proven to be a decent guy, someone who took his responsibilities to heart. He insisted she stay in his guest room. He’d taken the time to change out t
he sheets on the bed his brother often used and gave her a clean shirt and sweatpants to wear for bed. She pulled them on now, smiling at having to pull the drawstrings tight to keep them on. She bent and rolled up the bottoms so she didn’t trip on the too-long length.

  She opened the door and hobbled across the hall into the bathroom to relieve her overtaxed bladder. She washed her hands and groaned at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess, her pale skin made her look sickly, and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot thanks to her near constant crying. She cupped her hands under the cold water and splashed her face a few times to take down the puffiness. Ready to face the day, she went to find Gabe.

  Gabe had finished feeding the horses and his other chores for the morning. Lela still hadn’t come out of her room. He hoped she finally slept. He heard her crying in the middle of the night and hated to think she hurt and couldn’t find any relief in sleep. He’d wanted to go to her and offer what comfort he could, but didn’t. He didn’t want to freak her out by having a strange man come into her room in the middle of the night, especially after what that fucking asshole Travis did to her.

  He sank down on the sofa, snatched the remote, and hit the button. CNN came on, and Lela’s picture lit up the screen.

  “New York socialite and heiress to the Wolf fortune, Lela Wolf, was found dead early this morning inside the library of her 5th Avenue penthouse apartment.”

  “What the fuck?” Gabe’s heart stopped.

  “Investigators left the upscale building moments ago, but they did confirm Lela’s body was found around six o’clock this morning by a member of the Wolf staff with a single gunshot wound in the chest. The police have not yet released information about the scene. At this time, it is unclear if Ella Wolf, the victim’s twin sister, was home at the time of the shooting.

  “Inside sources say Ella is missing. A party girl, known for club hopping and closing down bars, Ella often appeared in the tabloids for much more than her fashion sense. Sources say no one has seen Ella since the night before Lela’s murder.

  “The Wolf family has a history of tragedy. Stuart Wolf died in a plane crash ten years ago. Rosalind Wolf, grieving for her husband, committed suicide months later. The Wolf twins are due to inherit the family fortune, estimated at four hundred and twenty million, on their upcoming twenty-fifth birthday, leading some to speculate if the inheritance played a role in this crime. So far, police won’t say anything about a possible motive for Lela’s death.”

  Gabe heard enough. He got up to confront Ella, but she stood behind him, gaze locked on the TV.

  Somewhere inside him, he’d felt there was something different about her. “You lied to me. You’re not Lela. You’re Ella.”

  “I never said I was Lela.”

  “No. You just let me believe you were. Why? Because you killed your sister?”

  “I did not kill her,” she exploded, planting both hands on his chest and shoving him back.

  Everything about her remained defensive, from the stubborn tilt to her head and chin, to her arms folded across her chest. The defiant gleam in her eyes turned to rage when the press shouted questions to the PR rep from Wolf Enterprises, who stepped out of her apartment building along with a detective.

  “Mr. Wolf is devastated and grieving,” the rep addressed the crowd. “He will not make a statement. Please, allow him the time and space he needs. When it is appropriate and more facts are available, the police or I will provide you with the information. Thank you.”

  The rage and desolation roiled in her gut, knowing her sister lay on a cold slab and that fucking detective did nothing to stop her uncle from putting her there. He stood before the cameras pretending to care with his pasted-on look of grave conern, and all the while he planned to find her and kill her.

  The TV went back to a woman reporter outside her apartment building. “Again, to recap, Lela Wolf was found murdered this morning, a gunshot wound to the chest. Mr. Wolf has not made a statement, and Ella Wolf’s whereabouts remain a mystery.”

  As the reporter talked, paparazzi shots flashed across the screen of Ella dressed in every sought-after designer’s clothes with friends entering one nightclub after another over the last five years. She had to admit, her fashion sense stood the test of time. Simple. Classic. Provocative, but not promiscuous. Her mother wouldn’t cringe, maybe frown a bit at the lack of coverage.

  Gabe didn’t look at the TV, but kept his steady gaze on her face. “Did you shoot your sister?” When she didn’t say a word, he shouted, “Answer me.”

  “I already did,” she yelled back. She couldn’t make him believe her, but she really wanted him to. “I’m sorry I didn’t correct you when you thought I was Lela. No one will ever make that mistake again. She’s gone.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She needed to stop wallowing in the pain and do something to avenge her sister. “I need to go to the house.”

  She didn’t wait to see if he’d take her. She turned and went back to her room and closed the door. She leaned against the wood and hung her head, numb from the inside out.

  “Ella, talk to me. What the hell is going on?”

  “I need to go to the ranch. Either you take me, or I’ll find another way to get there.” She sucked in a ragged breath and bounced off the door, determined to set her grief aside and do what needed to be done.

  “We’re not done talking about this.” No answer. Gabe smacked his flat hand on the door frame. Short of busting down the door to get her to say something, talk to him about her sister’s murder, he was at a complete loss.

  Did Ella kill her? He didn’t know. Not for sure. Right now, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt, because the grief he saw in her eyes was real. He hoped those tears, and the ones he heard her shed in the night, weren’t hiding her guilt.

  He walked into the kitchen and grabbed her pill bottle, thinking about the photos of Ella on the news and the reports about her. She lived her life on the edge, drinking, doing drugs, partying until all hours. He tried to put that together with the woman in his spare room, but couldn’t make it quite fit. The woman he met last night and this morning seemed quiet, reserved, strong to endure all she had since yesterday. Not at all like the party girl they showed on TV. Strange. Intriguing.

  With his mind full of questions, he waited for Ella to change clothes. He didn’t know why she wanted to go to the house, but he’d take her because it seemed important.

  The TV weatherman rattled on about a storm in the Midwest. He found the remote and shut the TV off. He’d like to find out more about what happened—and about Ella and Lela.

  “I’m ready.” Her soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

  “Ella, are you sure you’re up to this? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look wrecked. The house will still be there after you get some rest. It’s best if you stay off that ankle for a few days. Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  “I don’t have time to talk. I need to go there.”

  “Why? What does this have to do with Lela’s murder?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  Even more confused, he wanted to push, but didn’t. “Fine.” He relented. For now.

  She limped, heavily favoring her right foot, toward the front door. Those ankle boots didn’t help in the least. The black slacks hugged the curve of her hips and her toned thighs. Some part of him had paid close attention to every line and curve when he helped her last night. In the moment, he tried to focus on the task, getting her warm and making sure she didn’t have any major injuries. Last night, when his need for sleep overpowered his worry for her, he dreamed of those legs and that nothing of a swatch of lace covering her hips and sweet bottom. He stared at it now and pictured those lace panties. The matching bra had left nothing to the imagination. Her nipples stood out a soft pink against the black lace over sheer fabric. In his dream, she wasn’t hurt at all, but wrapped around him, his tongue tracing the top of her breast over that fancy con
coction.

  Stop. She’s your guest, not a fantasy come to life. So buck up and get your mind out of her pants.

  She opened the front door and the blast of cold made her take a step back.

  “I forgot your coat. Hold on.”

  He rushed into the laundry room off the back of the kitchen and grabbed her coat. “I left it on the warm dryer this morning when I washed your pants and sweater.”

  Ella stared down at her pants, then back at him. “Where is my sweater?”

  “I owe you a new one,” he admitted. He hadn’t bothered to look at the tag until after it went through the washer and dryer and came out four sizes smaller. “We don’t do much dry cleaning in these parts.”

  Her pretty mouth quirked in a rare glimpse of humor. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I imagine it was really expensive.”

  “No need to imagine. It was, but it’s only clothes. You went above and beyond taking care of me last night. I appreciate it.”

  “I owe you a sweater.”

  “All I want is a ride home.”

  “Fine, but then we’re going to have a serious talk.” He held the coat up and she put her arms through the sleeves. He adjusted it on her shoulders and led the way to the door, holding it open for her to exit.

  She stopped in the yard and stared at the two gray horses in the pasture. They snuggled close to each other to keep warm in the crisp morning air. Their breath came out in wispy clouds. Her eyes went soft and filled with unshed tears.

  She cleared her throat and whispered, “We used to ride together when we came here. We loved the ranch. The horses. The mountains and valleys. In New York, I still rode, but she stopped. It reminded her too much of our time here with our parents.”

  “You rode to remember them, your sister, and everything you had here.”

  “We thought this place was magical. Our father spent time with us here like he couldn’t in New York. Not with all the demands on him for the company and other social obligations. Here, our parents took the time to be with us. It was special.”