by Ken Casper
“There’s nothing in them,” Ray insisted, then leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across a middle that had grown more prominent with the years. “I’ll let you see them, Jed—though I probably shouldn’t—but I don’t know what you expect to find.”
He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to bring him the Granger folder. “The accounts were retired years ago, of course. When that snooping archaeologist found Frannie’s bones . . . well, I had Gladys retrieve the files from our archives. Figured Fielder would be back to review them again.”
“Has he?”
“Not yet.”
The aging secretary brought in an accordion file, placed it silently on his desk and left. It wasn’t very thick. Ray untied the faded cotton string and dumped the meager contents on the green blotter. “I can’t let you take any of this with you, but you’re welcome to look at the documents here.”
Jed rose and stood over the desk while the banker sorted through the papers. Quietly Gwyn came to his side and watched.
“She had a checking and a savings account,” Ray explained. “Neither of them ever had very high balances.”
Jed studied the statements.
“She had three sources of income,” Ray explained. “From Social Services for Emmy and Will. From the Beaumarais estate for you, Jed. And from her earnings as a housemaid. She was enrolled in our new security protection plan, which allowed us to automatically transfer funds from her savings to her checking account if she inadvertently wrote an overdraft.”
“Did she?” Gwyn asked curiously.
“No,” Ray acknowledged. “She was always very careful with her money, always maintained a positive, if low, balance.”
Jed stared at the paper in his hands. “Is that all the support she got for me? Fifty dollars a week? That was hardly enough to feed me.”
Ray had the good grace to look embarrassed. “It wasn’t an unreasonable amount at the time your uncle made out his will.”
“It wasn’t generous, either,” Jed proclaimed angrily.
Without thinking, Gwyn placed her hand on his in an attempt to calm him.
“Unfortunately, he didn’t make any provisions for increases. As you recall, we suffered serious inflation in the late seventies. What had once been an adequate allotment—”
“And you couldn’t increase it?”
“Not without a court order,” Ray replied defensively, “and Frannie didn’t have the money to hire an attorney.”
“So she supported me virtually on her own.” Jed inhaled deeply, then he picked up his foster mother’s final statement. “According to this, her last check was to the grocery store the day before she died.”
“What happened to the funds after she disappeared?” Gwyn asked.
“For several months, we used her savings to pay the interest on her mortgage. Social Services had cut off her payments immediately when they removed Emmy and McClain ran away, but I continued to transfer Jed’s money into her account. It delayed things for a while, but eventually we were obligated to initiate foreclosure proceedings. As you may know, it’s not a quick and easy process. The advantage goes to the debtor. We had to send registered letters—which we knew would be returned—then post public notices of foreclosure.”
He paused and almost seemed embarrassed to add, “Frankly, I wasn’t too aggressive in pursuing the matter. Her disappearing the way she did was very strange and clearly didn’t bode well, but should she have returned, I didn’t want her to find her house had been sold out from under her. After several months we repossessed it, but it was more than a year before we actually foreclosed on the property.”
“What did you do with it all that time?” Gwyn asked.
“Jed continued to live there until he went off to college, then we rented it out.”
“The bank still owned it when I came into my inheritance three years later,” Jed told Gwyn. “I bought it from them.”
“It was your first plunge into real estate.” Ray smiled broadly in self-satisfaction. “I told you you’d do well. You’ve got a head for business. I could see that from the start.”
Jed settled back in his chair. “Who could have killed her, Ray?”
The older man acknowledged his confusion with a regretful shake of his head. “I didn’t know her, Jed. She cleaned my house and banked here. I have no idea what went on in her private life. We didn’t travel in the same circles.”
“Do you remember Hank Belmonte?” Jed asked.
Ray tilted his head to one side in thought, then his eyes lit up. “Belmonte. I’d forgotten about him.” His features hardened perceptibly. “A nasty drunk, as I recall.”
“He was doing some renovation work at the house at the time Frannie went missing.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember. We had to hire a contractor to complete the job.” Ray pursed his lips in disapproval. “Do you think he—“
“I don’t know,” Jed admitted with a shrug. “I’m grasping at straws.”
Ray gazed off into space. “I don’t remember Belmonte being a particularly big man, but he was strong. It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to overpower Frannie. I doubt she weighed more than a hundred pounds. Carrying her the thousand yards or whatever it was through the woods to the spot where she was buried wouldn’t have been hard for him.”
“Joleen Berber says she mentioned Belmonte to the sheriff, but Fielder showed no interest in looking for him,” Jed observed.
“He seems bound and determined to pin this murder on Jed,” Gwyn pointed out.
Ray stroked his chin, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Or maybe he did search for him and is just trying to keep it low-key. Logan can be very tight-lipped when he wants to be.”
“If he checked around for him and couldn’t find him,” Gwyn suggested, “he probably would keep it quiet—another failure.”
“True enough.” The banker straightened and looked forthrightly at his former protégé. “Logan and I get along reasonably well. He might talk to me. Let me see if I can find out anything. I can’t imagine him ignoring any lead in what’s undoubtedly the biggest case in his career, or at least the biggest one Uncertain’s ever seen.”
“Did he or his men search the estate following her murder?” Gwyn persisted.
Ray frowned. “More than once. As well as the property on the north side of Frannie’s place. It was a vacant lot back then and remained that way until Riley Gray bought it a few years ago and built his house.”
“So why wasn’t her grave found, since it was so close?” Gwyn asked.
Ray laced his fingers across his stomach. “I’ve wondered about that myself. I can only speculate, of course. Two theories come to mind. First, the body wasn’t there at the time of the investigation and was only moved there later.”
Jed’s head shot up. “We’ve considered that. Grisly thought.”
“When did they search the premises?” Gwyn asked.
“Hmm, I don’t think it was the morning she was reported missing.” Ray stroked his chin. “It seems to me it wasn’t until the next day. They brought in dogs. You must remember there was no evidence of foul play at the time. Everyone was waiting for her to turn up on her own and explain where she’d been.”
Gwyn pursed her lips, unconvinced. “You said you had two theories. What’s the second one?”
Ray hesitated. “I’m not even sure this is possible, but I was thinking if Belmonte or whoever killed her scattered camphor balls or something like that over the site, wouldn’t the dogs have naturally avoided it?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE MORNING SUN was draining some of the humidity from the air, but Jed knew it was only being stored for later use. Today would be another of those hot, steamy days when the damp heat penetrated straight to the bones and put them on roast.
Not nearly as hot and steamy as the night he’d spent with Gwyn, he thought, as he gazed at her across the glass-topped table on the veranda. In a clinging tank top, with her long auburn hair pulled back casually in a ponytail, she kept his blood stirring whether he was touching her, looking at her or only thinking about her. And she was on his mind constantly. Their lovemaking kept taking on new dimensions, venturing into realms that went beyond physical pleasures, touched his soul and brought him to a level of intense awareness the French called la petite mort—the little death. It was strange and wonderful and a contradiction, for he never felt more alive than when he was making love to Gwyneth Miller. They were no longer two separate beings, two individual persons, but one soul, one body, one vessel of joy and rapture.
She offered him the basket of cinnamon rolls. The smile, the gleam in her eyes, made him want her all the more.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” he asked. They’d already gone together to feed their animals. His earlier disdain for her miniatures seemed petty now. They weren’t his equines of choice and never would be, but he admired her ability with them. He’d wondered early on if she’d favored the dwarf variety because she was afraid of big horses, but watching her around his huge Percherons quickly disabused him of that notion. She was respectful of the power of his creatures, but not intimidated by them.
She tore off a piece of the sweet bread. “I have calls to make to Dallas and Denver about commercials that are being filmed there. The western-wear company that used the llamas is interested in shooting some more commercials with other animals, so I need to talk to them. Then I need to drive into Tyler and see a man who answered one of my ads. He’s apparently interested in purchasing a pair of miniatures for his grandchildren.”
“Will you sell your own? What about your coach and carriage?”
“I won’t break up my team, but I have contacts who raise minis. I’ll see if I can broker a deal.”
“That’s where the money is,” he noted between bites of the pastry. “No inventory to maintain, no operating expenses. What time do you expect to be finished today?”
“I have some other chores to do, as well—pick up feed, get in touch with the farrier. Probably not before five, maybe later.”
“I expect to be out all day, too, looking at property in Longview, and I don’t reckon I’ll be back much before then, either. How about I pick you up at seven and take you to Santiago’s for dinner. Do you like chicken mole?” He pronounced the last word in two syllables.
“Why don’t you try me?”
He couldn’t suppress the grin that swept across his face. “Mmm. I’d like that.”
She wanted to sneer, but it came out as an equally erotic grin. “I was talking about food.”
“Of course,” he intoned, eyebrows lifted. “So was I.”
She laughed happily. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re tantalizing.” He reached a hand across the table to cover hers. “More temptation than a man can endure.”
Her eyes twinkling, she brushed her fingers over the back of his hand. “Your endurance so far seems to be holding up.”
Jed groaned, blinked slowly and was about to toss another comment Gwyn’s way, when June appeared, her expression registering anything but amusement.
“Excuse me, sir, but the sheriff is here to see you.”
Jed felt a stab of alarm and saw what he assumed to be a similar emotion scatter across Gwyn’s face. He was about to tell his housekeeper to show the lawman in, when Fielder appeared in the doorway behind her.
“Louis, I got a bone to pick with you.”
June whirled around and faced the visitor. “I told you to wait in the sitting room,” she snapped at him. The star on his breast pocket didn’t seem to intimidate her in the least.
Before she could give Fielder the tongue-lashing Jed suspected she was about to deliver, he spoke up. “It’s okay this time, June. Thank you.”
The cant of her head clearly indicated she didn’t like being dismissed, but she respected her boss. With a huff of disapproval, she walked around the tall man wearing the cream-colored western hat.
“Since this obviously isn’t a social call, Sheriff, I won’t invite you to join us for coffee. What is it you want to talk to me about?”
“You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Jed leaned back in his wrought-iron chair, apparently unconcerned by the hostile glare from his visitor. “Would you care to be more specific?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I got a call last night from Jennings, asking what I was doing about investigating Granger’s murder and demanding I pull out all the stops to locate Hank Belmonte.”
So Ray had followed through on his promise. “Sound like perfectly reasonable requests to me. What are you doing?”
The pink of Fielder’s face grew a shade deeper. “None of your goddamned business.”
Jed eased the knife he’d picked up to cut the Danish onto the table, but the movement was so deliberate that it drew attention to itself. “Sheriff, unless you came with a warrant, you’re here as a guest. In that capacity, you’ll watch your language. Perhaps you have no respect for women, but I do. I’d ask for an apology from you, but I doubt it would be sincere, so I’ll just advise you to choose your words carefully.”
Fielder’s complexion now was a glowing red, like that of a man who’d been out in the sun too long and was feeling the pain of his burn. And even if he had been inclined to apologize, his jaw was clamped so tight he probably couldn’t have gotten the words out.
“So what are you doing to find Belmonte?” Jed asked.
The sheriff inhaled deeply before answering. “I’m not here to answer questions but to ask them.”
“And I’ve told you I don’t answer questions without my lawyer being present.” Jed leaned once more against the back of the chair. On an exhale, he said, “Tell me what your problem is, so I can get on with my breakfast.”
“You’ve been going around asking people questions, bugging old lady Berber and sticking your nose in Granger’s bank records.”
“I’ve been exercising my rights of free speech and assembly. Did Joleen complain to you about my visit?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then how did you know about it?”
“My deputy saw your car parked outside her house.”
Jed didn’t for a moment believe Joleen’s place was on a regular patrol, which meant he was being followed. The knowledge didn’t bring comfort.
“This is a murder investigation, Louis,” Fielder continued. “I’m warning you for the last time. Stay out of it.”
“Or what?” Gwyn snapped, unable to remain silent any longer.
Jed tried to wave her to silence, but she wasn’t about to be quiet.
“Or I’ll put him under arrest.”
“On what charge?” she demanded none too calmly. If this wasn’t a murder investigation involving the man she loved, it might have been amusing to watch the two strong male personalities slug it out verbally. Under the circumstances, however, she didn’t find any humor in the situation.
“The law is on my side, Miss Miller. It would do you well to remember that.”
“You didn’t answer my question. On what charge would you arrest Mr. Louis if he continues to talk to people who might have information pertinent to Mrs. Granger’s death?”
“Witness tampering,” he said smugly.
The ready response stopped her for a minute, but not a very long one. “I’m no expert regarding legal matters, Sheriff, but my understanding is that that particular statute pertains to trying to influence witnesses during a trial. I also believe your having a deputy follow us, as well as your gratuitous threats, constitute harassment and intimidation. P
erhaps you’re the one who ought to be more careful.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Unless you want to face charges of civil rights violations.”
The rolling of Fielder’s fingers into tight fists suggested he wasn’t having a good day.
“If there’s nothing more, Sheriff,” Jed spoke up calmly, “I think you had better leave.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Bring a warrant next time.”
For the first time Fielder’s expression softened, not in a smile, but with a kind of cunning sneer. “Count on it, Louis. Count on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FOR GWYN the rest of the day dragged by in slow motion. Her actions were routine and should have been mechanical, yet she had to concentrate to accomplish every single one of them. Her call to Dallas was highly encouraging; she was finally making the inroads into the advertising business she’d worked so long and hard for. Yet her mind kept dwelling on Jed.
He’d put on a good front with the sheriff that morning, but she hadn’t missed the worry in his eyes. Jed was convinced he was going to be arrested for murder, that somehow the sheriff was holding back information that could convict him of killing the woman who’d raised him.
Over and over Gwyn reviewed the information Jed had given her—about the argument he’d had with Frannie the day she disappeared, his ditching school that day—the only time he had—about Frannie’s car still being at the house.
One of the most damning facts was that Frannie had been buried on the grounds of Beaumarais, the estate Jed knew he would inherit in three years. His adamant refusal to let Tessa Lang dig there reinforced the premise that he was aware what the archaeologist would find. It all fit neatly into place if one believed Jed was guilty, which the sheriff clearly did.
None of that, however, explained why Frannie had been murdered to begin with. Fielder seemed to hold her in disdain, while Jed held her in high regard and affection. The truth was probably somewhere in between, though Gwyn was confident Jed was closer to it, since he’d lived with the woman for nearly twelve years—unless he’d idealized her over the passage of time.