The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

  The last comment was directed at Marci. This was Brenda’s mother? “I was planning to,” she said.

  “Max in?” asked Lance before Marci could continue.

  Mrs. Gibson nodded. “He said he was expecting you, but a bit later.”

  “Well, we’re here now, ma’am. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “I know, I’m the one taking up your time.” The woman grumbled but she didn’t lose her smile. She turned to Marci. “I work here for a dollar an hour, but it’s better than being at home listening to my husbands and father-in-law bicker about everything under the sun.” She suddenly smiled. “You like my new outfit?”

  “It’s certainly bright and springlike,” replied Marci.

  Simon shook his head. “No wonder Max wears sunglasses. You must half blind him first thing in the morning.”

  Instead of being insulted, she preened. “A gal has to have some fun in this town. It drives my husbands almost as crazy as my son. That’s why I do it.” She gave Marci an exaggerated wink.

  The closed door opened. Max, still wearing the shades, emerged. “Mom, are you bothering the good citizens of Climax again?”

  “No, Maxie, I’m spilling state secrets.” She stuck her nose in the air and bustled out. Her son, the sheriff, sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

  “Allergies,” he said. He looked at the door his mother had gone through. “To loud clothing and impertinent mothers,” he added. Then he smiled and shook his head affectionately.

  Marci took a mental step back. He’d made a joke about his mom? The eight foot tall, four foot wide black-booted monster shrank into a man not that much bigger than Simon.

  “Thanks for coming by, Miss Meshevski. I’ve got your license in my office.” He sized up her escorts. “Though if they’re coming in with you, we’d best use the lunch room.”

  “We’re not leaving,” said Simon. It was the closest to a possessive growl Marci had heard from him.

  “Have at it. You know the way.”

  Max turned back to his office. Lance guided her toward the source of the smell. She backed away, shaking her head.

  “I can’t go in there,” she whispered. “That coffee stinks so bad, I’m already gagging.”

  Simon slipped past into the room. She heard liquid splash into a metal sink, then the pot being rinsed. The hiss of a spray brought relief as an unidentifiable flower scent replaced the acrid coffee. She swallowed bile and continued into the room.

  A scarred table filled most of the windowless room. It was long enough to hold the six hard wooden chairs with lots of elbow room. Opposite the door was a sink and countertop containing the coffeemaker, now empty thanks to Simon, and a microwave. Open cupboards above showed lots of mugs, plates, and the like, all mismatched. A few chicks and bunnies had crept in here as well.

  A white fridge, the top edges rounded, filled the rest of the short wall. The one to her right had traces of corkboard under the masses of papers, while the other held a blackboard and filing cabinets. Colorful chalk drawings filled the bottom third of the blackboard, obviously the work of children.

  “Water, Marci?”

  She gratefully took the red-and-green ceramic Christmas mug from Simon and sipped. One of the things she liked so much about living here was the quality of the water. Lance pulled out the middle chair, but she was not going to sit and give up her tiny bit of advantage. The sheriff closed the door behind himself. He sniffed, saw the coffeepot was upside down in the sink, and shot her a look she didn’t understand. She quickly dropped her eyes. He moved to the chair across from her and held out a small piece of paper and a pen.

  “I can’t sit until you do, ma’am,” he said. “I was on my feet half the night with the baby so I’d appreciate it if you’d take the chair Lance is holding out for you.”

  She plunked her bottom down. Max nodded his thanks and sat, followed by Lance and Simon.

  “I really do have your license.” Max placed it in front of her and held out the pen.

  She looked down. There was no mention of Ted’s name.

  “Am I allowed to go back to my maiden name right after my husband dies, or do I have to fill out a bunch of forms first?”

  “You can sign as Marci Meshevski if you’re not aiming to commit a crime or use it for false purposes,” said Max quietly.

  She exhaled through her nose, took the blue pen, and signed. When she was done, she set the pen down with a snap.

  “This isn’t the only reason I’m here, is it?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d appreciate you clearing a few things up for me.”

  “A few things,” she repeated. “Such as?” Those green eyes weren’t as cold as jade, but they weren’t like fuzzy spring leaves in sunshine, either.

  “The complete story of your husband’s death.”

  It was as if he’d plunged a fist into her gut. She cried out and bent forward, pressing her arm against her belly.

  “Max, if you hurt her, I’ll—”

  “Back off, Simon. I want to know what happened to your lady in case someone official calls and I have to answer questions. I got suspicious vibes when I phoned to find out why the widow of a rich man was suddenly living in my town, broke, with a recent knife slash to the face. If the lady explains the whole story, I’ll be able to provide the best answers.”

  “Best for Marci,” said Simon. Max nodded.

  “Drink. You’ve got nothing in your stomach.” Lance held out the cup for her to sip. “You got any plain crackers, Max?”

  The stony silence lasted only a second. “Mom should have some. There’s some ginger ale in the fridge. The sugar and ginger will be good.”

  “Max is trying to help,” said Simon as soon as the big man left. He went to the fridge and took out a soda. He poured it into a tall glass.

  “He’s right,” said Lance. “If the sheriff knows everything, he can steer the answers in the right direction depending on what’s needed.”

  “I didn’t kill Ted!” she said, quietly determined. “If I could have, I’d have done it years before, after he humiliated me for months and then boasted about the vasectomy.” She realized Max had heard when the door clicked softly behind her.

  Simon slid a glass of golden bubbles under her nose. They tickled, and she raised her head to avoid them. Three packets of crackers appeared by the glass. Max handed the fourth to her already opened.

  “My wife always said these help,” he said.

  He sat, crossing his arms and glaring at Simon. She nibbled at the saltines, then sipped. The sweet ginger and salty bland crackers went down well, so she opened another pack.

  Max looked tired, but she saw none of the aggressive we-know-you’re-guilty signs that almost flashed in Technicolor from the other police she’d had to deal with. This was it. The end of the line. She wanted to marry Simon and Lance, wanted to have their children, wanted to spend the rest of her life on a ranch in Tanner’s Ford valley.

  Only an unburdened soul could fly free. She wanted to fly, to love, to live her life facing forward in joy, not backward in fear.

  “I’m ready,” she said to Max, though her hands trembled.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Don’t leave out one detail. Start with the first time you saw Ted Grant.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Nikki had rushed in just as Marci started her story. She’d tried waiting in the diner, letting Marci’s future husbands care for her, but she’d been taking care of her sister all her life. Until the three of them were legally married, they’d have to put up with her butting in. After what felt like hours, it was over.

  “And so Nikki brought me to the clinic, where I met Simon MacDougal,” said Marci. “Now you know it all.” She clutched the empty soda can between both hands.

  Max continued to balance on the back two legs of the wooden chair, a blue pen between his index fingers. He’d stared at it for the last fifteen minutes as if it held the meaning of life.

  “W
ho’s Billie Rose?”

  Marci, caught swallowing, choked. Simon patted her back while Lance offered her water.

  “She was a neighbor we had for a while in the trailer park,” replied Nikki, since Marci still couldn’t talk. “How do you know about her?”

  Max twirled his pen between his fingers. “An insurance adjuster telephoned Nikki's apartment and asked to talk to Mrs. Ted Grant. Someone who said she was Billie Rose insisted no one with that name lived in Climax,” he said in that bored, give-nothing-away official voice, “but if she could find her, she’d use the thousand dollar reward money to go to Vegas. At least, that’s what the man figured she said. Her accent was a bit difficult for a Yankee to understand.”

  “That would be Billie Rose, all right,” said Nikki, thinking back. “She was sure she’d find herself a high roller who’d take one look at her assets and marry her that night. Then she’d never be hungry again.”

  “Thank you for clearing that up,” said Max, and leaned forward. His chair legs hit the floor with a thump. Marci jumped. Max checked his watch, then looked at Marci. “You’ve got a phone call to make. Would you like to use my office?”

  Marci crumpled the can in her fist. Lance set his hand on hers. If he hadn’t, Nikki thought Marci might have hurled the can at the sheriff. Seeing her sister show anger was a good sign, better than fear, depression, or bitter resentment.

  “What now!”

  “Edgar Jones is very upset. He said he’s been trying to reach you for weeks,” said Max. “The police put me in touch with him when I called. He’s the one you spoke to.”

  “Who is he, and why is he so upset?” asked Nikki. “Other than having to figure out what Billie Rose was saying to him?”

  “He’s got some business that needs doing to close out the account.” Max looked far too pleased with himself. “He’s not happy that you’re holding up his paperwork.”

  “His paperwork?” asked Marci.

  Max nodded. Nikki saw the same sparkle in his eyes as his sister Brenda showed when she gleefully told her about getting back at Simon. He had something up his sleeve, and it wasn’t a knife.

  “You’re the first client who hasn’t tried to beat down his office door to get to the money.”

  “Money?”

  “From the insurance claims.”

  “But, what about the police? They said I couldn’t profit from Ted’s death.”

  “The case is closed,” said Max. “You’re cleared. The only thing left is for you to get your check. And cash it,” he added.

  “Oh.” Marci looked at the table. “Then why did you make me tell you everything?”

  “You needed to say it.”

  Marci nodded thoughtfully. She blew out her breath, then pushed back her chair. “I suppose I’d better call him.” She stood up, then wavered. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she began to crumple.

  “Grab her,” yelled Nikki, but Lance was already moving. He caught her in his arms. She struggled to escape but he growled something Nikki didn’t hear, and she stopped.

  “She hasn’t eaten breakfast yet,” said Simon, fretting. “Just those crackers and soda. I guess the strain of this has been too much for her. And she hasn’t been sleeping enough.” His face colored at the implication of why she’d missed sleep.

  Lance looked very content holding her little sister. He was rumored to have ways of knowing things. Nikki held her tongue, waiting for the others to figure it out. Max was first. He slapped Simon on the shoulder and perched on the edge of the table.

  “I see you didn’t waste any time,” he said, grinning widely. “I hope you boys know what trouble you’re in for.”

  “Trouble?” asked Simon warily.

  “When are you marrying the mother of your child?”

  “What the…? Marci’s only been with me a few weeks!”

  Max smirked. “I’ve got four children. That means going through four pregnancies. I was as bad as you the first time, wondering what was the matter with the coffee. Then Brenda clued me in. One of the first signs of pregnancy with many women is that coffee smells bad.” He pointed at the empty carafe. “That was an expensive Arabian blend you poured down the sink.”

  “Marci’s pregnant? Already?” Simon, white-faced, turned to Nikki.

  “If all goes well, you’ll be daddies in less than nine months,” she replied.

  Simon’s exuberant yell filled the small room. He eagerly turned to Lance, who smiled sweetly into Marci’s eyes.

  “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” he asked his twin.

  “I sensed the spark,” said Lance, not looking up, “but it was only a potential.”

  “And now?”

  “I suggest we name him after Grandfather Daniel George.”

  “Him? You’re sure?”

  “That’s what the old man said. Of course, he could be wrong.” Lance bent forward and kissed Marci’s forehead reverently. “Boy or girl, I don’t care, as long as the babe’s healthy.”

  “Midnight cravings,” said Max with satisfaction, “and not just for food. Lower back massages. Mood swings. Two a.m. feedings. Diapers!” He chuckled. “I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer.”

  “I won’t suffer,” said Simon quietly. He helped Marci to stand, keeping an arm around her protectively. “I’ll enjoy every minute.” He gave Lance a smug look. “I bet we made a baby that very first night.”

  Marci shared an eye roll with Nikki, though she was smiling brighter than Nikki could remember. Motherhood would be very good for her little sister. She was the type to love creating a home and family. Nikki would have to be satisfied with being an aunt.

  “Don’t know if the Doc can deliver her own sister’s baby,” said Max to Simon, “so you might want to read up on it, cowboy. Cows, horses, and humans aren’t quite the same.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Animals don’t cuss at you, throw things, and swear that you’ll never get within a dozen feet of them ever again. But once the baby’s born—”

  Nikki would have to check the rules. Marci wouldn’t need her sister to hold her hand as Simon and Lance would be holding on like glue. In the few deliveries she’d done here, she’d found the tougher the man, the harder it was for him to see his wife in pain.

  Marci, though embarrassed at fainting, quickly recovered. Waving Nikki and Max away, she followed Simon and Lance to Max’s office. Nikki amused herself by reading Wanted posters while waiting. Max did paperwork.

  Marci and her men returned in less than five minutes. All three looked stunned.

  “Marci?” asked Nikki. “Are you okay?”

  Marci slumped into a chair pulled out by Simon. He and Lance flanked her. “I had no idea the house and all of Ted’s ugly things were worth that much.”

  “Nikki, Marci’s insisting on using her insurance money to buy into the ranch,” said Simon, sounding thoroughly frustrated. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She should keep the money for herself, invest it or—”

  “I told you,” said Marci, “I am investing it. In us. You, me, Lance, and…” her hand dropped to her belly. “And our baby. We’ll pay off the ranch debts your parents left, and make those improvements you want. There’s no way those Texans are going to steal our ranch!”

  “You tell ’em, sister,” said Nikki, loving to see her standing up for what she wanted. These men were good for her. She stood up for herself, and they encouraged it, though she was sure they’d put their foot down when they wanted to.

  “But I won’t take the blood money,” declared Marci. “I refuse to benefit from Ted’s death. I don’t want anything to do with his company insurance policy.” She turned to Nikki, and then Max. “Between you, I bet you know a lot of places where money could make a heck of a difference. I’ve been baking to raise money for little Amanda, but this could help pay off a big chunk of debt. What about an ambulance, computers, and well-baby clinics.” She held up her hands, exasperated. “I don’t want it!”

  “I’ve got all sorts of ideas,�
� said Nikki. “But I can’t be involved in what’s decided.”

  “Is there anyone in town who can manage a charity foundation?” asked Marci.

  “Me!”

  Nikki turned. Mrs. Gibson, arms crossed in that take-no-prisoners manner she’d used to raise and handle all those big men, glared into the room.

  “I just love that Highway to Heaven show, where people get helped by that angel, Michael Landon.” She pressed her hand to her heart and sighed, smiling like a teenager over her favorite heartthrob for a moment before continuing. “I want to help people. I’ve got the contacts, the knowledge, the bookkeeping skills, and the ability to keep my mouth shut.” She turned to her son. “And it’s about high time the sheriff hired an office manager who hasn’t changed his diapers!”

  “Mom, I don’t think—”

  “Exactly! You’re a man,” she roared back at the sheriff. “Well, this job is one for a matronly woman with a deft touch.” She looked around the coffee room, daring anyone to challenge her. “You have a better suggestion?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Simon, grinning.

  Nikki, through Brenda, had heard a lot about Mrs. Gibson. She had far more ability, including excellent organizational skills, than could be used in a paying position in a small town. As for herself, she could use some of the money to hire a part-time doctor. Maybe someone older, with a lot of experience but ready to take time to go fishing and camping now and then.

  “Where would you like to work?” asked Marci. “It should be a place where this can be kept a secret. No one can know where the money came from, who gets it, why, or how much is left.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done some of this before,” said Mrs. Gibson.

  “I volunteered on a number of charity boards,” said Marci. “The other women liked to be seen at fancy galas, but I preferred to roll up my sleeves.”

  “Good. Sheriff Gibson?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Gibson?”

  “You can take your job and shove it!” She laughed delightedly. “I’ve been wanting to say that for years!”

  “Mom, if you didn’t like the job, why didn’t you say anything?”