"Know about what?" Garrett demanded.
"Fine," Elliot said. "But we're wasting time standing here. Let's head over to the Cowan mansion and go from there. And on the way, Garrett, Adam and I will tell you about Kirsten's revelations."
"No one is ever going to believe I killed myself," Kirsten said slowly. She watched Phillip's eyes. And what she saw there shook her. Madness. Sickness. There was something just not right about those eyes. And she had a feeling that reasoning with the man wasn't going to work. He was beyond reason. But she had to try. "This isn't going to work."
"Of course they'll believe it. Now, come on, swallow the tablet like a good girl." He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her temple, thumbed the hammer back. The sound of it was like a jolt to her nervous system. God, if his finger slipped, if he even moved wrong…
"Okay, okay, just move that damned thing away from my head."
The barrel stayed put. Thick, salty fingertips pushed a capsule between her lips, and she felt the urge to rinse her mouth out with soap. Then a glass was put in their place, and she sipped the water, but didn't swallow the pill. She moved it underneath her tongue. It began to dissolve there, its bitter taste coating her mouth, but she managed not to grimace, and she forced herself not to swallow it.
The glass moved away fast. "Now open up, and let me see."
Obediently, Kirsten opened her mouth. He leaned close, looking inside, then thrust his big fingers in, to check under her tongue. She bit him. It was the only thing she could think of to do.
Phillip leapt backward, yelping in pain. "Damn you!" he cried.
"Damn you!" she said. "You're the one going around killing people, not me."
"I'm going to be a millionaire, though," he said. "And you're just going to be a dead woman. Hell, I'd rather be the killer than the victim any day." He smiled slowly. "And I'd far rather be the millionaire than the lowly driver and devoted sidekick. Wouldn't you?"
"Well, you aren't going to be either one, Phillip. The only thing you're going to be is a prisoner of the state of Texas."
The pill. The pill was gone. Thoroughly dissolved in her mouth now. Gooey slime lingered, coating her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She wanted to spit, but if she did, he would see. She couldn't even bring a hand to her mouth, because they were tied to the sides of the chair, and her ankles were bound to the legs of it, as they had been since he'd brought her here.
They were in Phillip's apartment. The spacious apartment above the large garage at the estate. The detested mansion was right next door. But no one was there. No one would know she was anywhere near this place. No one would have any reason to think she might be, or to look for her here.
Phillip jammed another pill into her mouth, shoved the water glass to her lips so hard its rim hit her teeth, and tipped it up. She pressed her lips against the water that flowed. Icy cold, it ran down her chin, soaked the front of her blouse, chilled her tension-warmed skin. She shivered in reaction to the cold and the fear.
Phillip pinched her nose, swearing at her. "Open. Open, dammit!"
Kirsten twisted, writhed, and her lungs pulled against her sealed airways, starving, screaming, until she had to open her mouth for air. When she did, Phillip poured water into her mouth instead. Water she inhaled and choked and gagged on. Gasping, panting, coughing, she tried to speak, but the words were hoarse and raspy.
"You nearly drowned me!"
"I'm going to do far worse to you if you don't cooperate and do what you're told." He checked her mouth. The pill was gone. She supposed she must have swallowed it, despite her best efforts not to.
She leaned back in the chair, head tipped back, eyes focused on the ceiling. "You're really going to kill me, aren't you?"
He glanced at her briefly, and when their eyes locked, she thought she saw something flash in his—some spark of remorse—but it was so brief she couldn't even be certain it was real.
"I don't have any choice," he said, looking away, sullen, eyes downcast.
"Will you … will you at least tell me why? I've always been kind to you, haven't I, Phillip? I never did anything to hurt you…"
"That's got nothing to do with it." His back was toward her now. He paced. She was shaking him up, just a bit, with her questions. Good. She would keep going, then. Shake him up as much as she could.
"I just don't see why you think killing me will make you a millionaire," she said.
"You don't see anything, do you, Kirsten? You're blind."
She drew a breath, slow, deep. "I … I could, though. If you let me live, I could make you a millionaire. I don't want Joseph's money. I hated the man, you know that. I could give it all to you. All of it. I'd sign it over right now."
He stopped pacing and turned to face her, eyes narrow. "And you'd take me to court later, claiming I'd forced you. No. Joseph cared for me. I was loyal to him. I took care of him. And unlike you, you ungrateful, faithless bitch, I always did what he wanted. And this, Kirsten Cowan, is exactly what he wanted."
Fear clutched her heart. The phone started shrilling again, but he ignored it as he'd done every time it had rung before. He reached for another capsule. Distract him, she thought.
"You killed him. How can you claim to have loved Joseph when you killed him?"
Phillip went still for a moment. His eyes closed tight. "He was suffering so much … the medication … hell, it wasn't strong enough. He didn't care. He only wanted to live long enough to have an heir, anyway, but you denied him that. Denied a dying man's last wish! Deceived him!" Phillip shook his head slowly.
"Then … he knew?"
"About your secret little stash of birth control pills? Yeah. He knew. That was when he planned all this, Kirsten, right after he found out about those pills. That was the one thing you did that he couldn't forgive, and he decided then and there to make you pay."
Lifting her chin, she faced him. "I knew it," she whispered. "I knew he was somehow pulling the strings, making all this happen to me."
Phillip smiled a sick, twisted smile. "Oh, yeah. He was too smart for you. He's been playing you like a fiddle, Kirsten, and you've been dancing in time. You thought you could beat him. Even the cancer thought it could beat him. But he won in the end. He cheated the cancer. Wouldn't let it kill him. No, not Joseph. He died on his own terms and arranged things so that you'd pay for your betrayal, as well."
"And so you'd be rewarded for your loyalty? Is that how it is?"
Phillip nodded, leaned closer. "That's how it is. He arranged it so I would get everything. All I have to do is make sure you're out of the way first."
He gripped her chin in one hand and stuffed another pill into her mouth. This time he crammed his hand so far into her throat that the capsule went partway down dry. Then he clamped her chin hard, to force her mouth to stay closed, and he held her nose. She had to swallow if she wanted to breathe again. Her head began to swim. From lack of oxygen or the sleeping pills. She wasn't certain which. Maybe both.
She swallowed the pill to avoid choking or suffocation.
He let go, and Kirsten sucked in huge gulps of air, letting her head fall back against the wooden chair. The ceiling was spinning now.
Phillip smiled. "Time to write the suicide note, Kirsten."
"I won't," she managed to croak. "You can't make me do this."
He laughed a little. Opened a drawer. Pulled out an odd-looking device and thumbed a button. A crackling sound, a flash and sparks. "Stun gun," he said. "It won't leave any marks. And believe me, you'll do what I tell you."
She eyed the thing in his hand. And she wished to God Adam had kept his word not to turn his back on her this time. But more than that. She wished she'd told him how much she loved him. And how she had never stopped. Not in all this time. She wished she could see him just once more before her husband's insane driver took her life. But wishes were pretty much useless to her now.
The only chance she had left was to stall for time and pray someone would come looking for her.
Even the Texas Rangers. Anyone.
Stalling for time, however, was going to cost her. It was going to cost her dearly.
Phillip held the stun gun close to her skin and let it crackle and spark. "You ready to write the note, Kirsten?" he asked her, the thing poised and ready.
She lifted her head, called up her resolve, met his eyes and said firmly, "No."
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Of all of Cowan's employees, the only one Chelsea Brand had been unable to contact was Phillip Carr, the driver. A driver named Carr. She should have known right away something was wrong with that. The address she had for him was the same as the estate, so he must have an apartment out there. "Sara?" she called.
Her young cousin by marriage popped into the kitchen at once, holding little Bubba's chubby hand in hers. A schoolteacher, Sara was terrific with kids of any age. "Yeah, Chelsea?"
"Would you stay with Bubba while I run an errand?"
Sara nodded, but she looked a little worried. Still, she knew better than to argue. "Sure" was all she said.
Chelsea nodded, grabbed her keys and headed out. She was going out to that Cowan estate herself, and she wasn't coming back until she had some answers.
"Tell me what you know or I'll damn well beat it out of you!" Wes grabbed the bartender by the lapels and shook him.
The man shook his head fast. "I thought you'd turned peaceable, Wes! Didn't I hear you were some kinda medicine man or—"
"Yeah. One with a temper. Now talk!"
"Honey, maybe if we just asked nicely?" Taylor suggested, easing the frightened man from Wes's grip, smoothing his shirt down, smiling up at him with huge dark eyes. "It is asking a lot."
"Darn right it is," the bartender said. "Cowan's dead, Hawkins is dead, and now young Kirsten's gone missing. I could be next."
"You're damn straight you could," Wes growled. "Might be sooner than you think."
The guy swallowed with a loud gulping sound. "Okay, but you didn't hear this from me. That driver of Cowan's … Carr's his name … well, Nora—you know Nora? My best waitress?"
"I know her."
"Her boy Joey works over at the drugstore part-time, and he told her that Carr came in the other day and bought himself three bottles of sleepin' pills. Now, I thought that was kinda odd. Don't you?"
"Where's this Carr live?"
"Out at the Cowan estate, far as I know."
Wes nodded once, turned to his wife. "Stay here."
"Yeah," she said. "Right. You know darn well I'm gonna do just that, hon."
He scowled at her. She smiled at him. "That legendary temper of yours doesn't scare me one bit, Wes."
His scowl died. "Never did. Stay beside me, then, okay? There could be trouble."
She nodded and stayed close beside him as they headed out the door.
Jessi handed Lash the baby as she scanned the mess inside her house. Her eyes wide and round, she cussed a blue streak, then turned and walked right back outside again. "Something's happened here. And ten to one it all has to do with my brother Adam and the woman he never should have let get away. Dang, Lash, come out here and look at this!"
Lash followed, with little Maria Michele snuggling happily in his arms. He looked down at the ground. Saw grass. Dirt. A couple of stones. And knew darned well his wife saw far more.
"Someone was dragged outta here kicking and screaming. A woman." Jessi thrust a forefinger toward the ground. "Small feet."
"Obviously," Lash said, still seeing nothing. He wondered if his gun was still in the house, or if the intruder had stolen it, whoever he was. He didn't even think to doubt his wife's words about what she saw in that ordinary-looking patch of lawn and sidewalk.
He hurried inside, located his gun and badge safe and sound in the closet, took them out and headed back outside, baby still bouncing merrily on his hip, wearing her Mickey Mouse ears tall and proudly on her head.
By now Jessi was hunkered down, examining the road. Lash trotted to catch up. When he reached her, she was squatting over a set of tire tracks that he could at least see.
"He pulled, dragged or carried her this far. The car was here." Her fingers touched the marks on the road. "Shoot, honey, he was driving a limo."
"But nobody around here has a limo … except Cowan, and he's—" With a glance at his daughter, Lash censored himself.
"We'd better get over there," Jessi said. "We'll drop Maria Michele at Mrs. Plunkwell's on the way." She glanced at the gun he carried. "Did you bring one for me?"
Great, Lash thought. It was going to be another shoot-out, another one of those insane episodes that were only supposed to happen in old movies and Louis L'Amour novels. He'd married into the most trouble-prone bunch of Texans in the entire Lone Star state.
"Never mind," Jessi said. "I'll go get it." She ruffled the baby's hair and hurried back to the house for her cannon—with which she was fully capable of shooting the eye out of a mosquito at fifty yards.
Hell of a woman. Hell of a family. Lash didn't regret getting involved with either of them.
The baby cooed. Lash looked over to see Mrs. Plunkwell standing on her lawn, watching him. He waved, she waved back and he carried the baby over.
Penny Lane Brand was one hell of a private eye, even at six months pregnant. But when there was nothing to find, there was nothing to find. And Ben could feel her disappointment coming at him in waves.
They'd searched Stephen Hawkins' house, his office, his car, his attic, even his back lawn and basement. They'd turned over cushions, lifted up carpets, checked above the ceiling panels and in the soil of the houseplants. Nothing. No sign of Cowan's will.
Time to move on, time to think of some other way to help Penny's best friend, Kirsten.
Ben slipped his arm around Penny's shoulders and squeezed. "We'll come up with something, hon. I know we will."
"I know," she said. "But will it be in time? This is frustrating! Why wouldn't Hawkins have that will here? It's like he hid it deliberately."
Ben shook his head. "Garrett thinks the killer took it."
"No." Penny paced, head down, deep in thought. "No. And that's just what's bugging me about this. If the killer had taken the will, there would still be something here. The rest of Cowan's file. An empty folder. Another copy. A file on the computer. There's nothing. Nothing, Ben."
"And you think that means…?" he prompted, then awaited a reply. She was thinking something. She was always thinking something.
"What if Hawkins hid it himself?"
"Why would he?"
Penny shrugged. "Won't know that until we find it. The police wanted it to use as evidence against Kirsten. The will would have given her a motive … so what if Hawkins hid it to buy Kirsten some more time? What if he was trying to help her?"
She paced some more, thought some more. "Or maybe he wasn't hiding it from the police. Maybe he was hiding it from the killer for some reason."
Ben shrugged. "Like you said, when we find it, we'll probably know. That will must hold all the answers." He opened Hawkins' front door, and the two of them stepped out and walked toward Ben's truck. A small white bulldog stood in the front seat, forepaws on the window glass, staring out at them. Olive went just about everywhere they did. Her pups might rule the roost at home, but Olive was queen of the pickup truck.
Ben stopped walking when a small car with a U.S. Mail emblem on it slowed down, veered over, then stopped right in front of Stephen Hawkins' old-fashioned rural mailbox. An arm emerged from the car window, dumping a manila envelope into the mailbox. Then the car moved away.
Ben and Penny looked at each other. Penny smiled. "Of course," she whispered. "That's it, Ben."
Ben ran to the mailbox, yanked the envelope out and stared at the label. The "from" address was the same as the "to." "He mailed it to himself?" Ben asked.
"I should have figured. Best way in the world to buy time. A couple of days, at least. No one's gonna find something once it's in the mail
. Not until it gets where it's going, at least." Penny took the envelope from him and ripped it open. She pulled the last will and testament of Joseph Cowan out of its envelope and began flipping pages, her eyes moving rapidly over line upon line of text. Until finally she sighed and shook her head slowly.
"My God, that man was evil."
"What is it, Penny?" Ben asked, moving closer.
She looked up, meeting her husband's eyes. "He left everything to Kirsten with the provision that should anything happen to her before his wishes could be carried out, then everything would go instead to one Phillip Carr." She lifted her head. "He might as well have paid Carr to kill her. So long as it doesn't look like a murder, and it's done before she inherits, he gets everything."
"But then, if this Carr was supposed to kill Kirsten anyway, why bother making it look like she'd killed Cowan?"
"I don't know," Penny said. "To make sure she'd never get a thing, even if Carr failed? To stall her getting her inheritance long enough for him to have the chance to kill her? To make sure Carr wouldn't end up taking the rap for Cowan's murder himself, allowing Kirsten to go free and inherit the money? Maybe all of the above," Penny said. "Who the hell is this guy, anyway? Phillip Carr … why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Carr," Ben repeated. "Wait a minute, isn't that the name of Cowan's driver? Yeah, that's right," he said with barely a pause, answering his own question. "I always thought it was strange that he had a driver named Carr. Doesn't he live—"
"At the estate. Come on!" Penny grabbed her husband's hand, clutching the will in her other one, and raced to the truck.
The Brands gathered beyond the gates of the Cowan estate, a few at a time. Adam, Garrett and Elliot had been the first to arrive. They'd stopped when they'd seen the limo parked in front of the garage. It hadn't been there before. So they left the pickup a safe distance away, out of sight, and then crouched in the bushes, whispering their plan of attack.
THE BADDEST BRIDE IN TEXAS Page 16