Kingston refused her offer. “Your sister will help. You go get your pretty little self into bed.” He dropped his voice. “Before your mother gets out of the bathroom. You know she’ll be in there at least an hour.”
Jackie, now changed into paisley silk pajamas, sidled by her.
Simone watched with indecision as Jackie grabbed one end of the sheet, smoothed it, and began tucking it beneath the cushions.
Kingston flapped a hand. “Go, go, go.”
She wasn’t needed, she wasn’t wanted, and her mother had taken over her room, spraying it with the cloying scent of roses. It would take days to air out. She closed the guest room door, slipped off her T-shirt and skirt, and pulled on her Beauty and the Beast nightshirt.
Crawling beneath the covers, she heard Jackie’s fragile voice. Was she crying on Kingston’s shoulder? Probably. Simone had done her share of that over the years. Kingston had very big shoulders, and he was a good listener.
Simone should have lain awake, consumed with thoughts of poor Carl and Maggie, her sister’s faint crying, and the remembered feel of Brax inside her, but she was almost asleep when she heard the snick of the door, then felt Jackie climb in beside her.
“Are you all right?” Simone whispered.
She heard Jackie’s indrawn breath, held, then out with a long sigh. “I’m fine.”
“Is it true?”
Jackie rustled the bedclothes, then settled. “Is what true?”
“That you’re seeing a man? She thinks you are.” Neither of them needed to specify who she was.
She could see her sister’s nod in the weak moonlight falling through the window.
Simone was dying with curiosity. “Who is he?”
Jackie stared at the ceiling for a long time. “I don’t want to jinx anything.” She turned. “Do you mind?”
He was probably some megastar. A little kernel of hurt lodged next to her heart, but she understood Jackie’s fear. Look at what happened to the hapless Wesley.
“Don’t tell her about him,” Simone said. Their mother would find a way to get rid of him.
“He wants it out in the open,” Jackie whispered.
“Keep it for yourself.” Relationships didn’t last long in the public spotlight. Even without an Ariana-intervention. “A little while longer.”
“He’s not like Wesley.” Jackie read her mind. Or made her own comparisons. “MOTHER won’t scare him away. I know it.”
Simone hadn’t imagined the capital letters the last time. “She won’t want to let you go.”
Her sister turned on her side, pulling her knees to her chest, the covers fluffing up around the childlike position. “That’s why we’re here, you know.”
“To get you away from him?”
“No. To get you away from your sheriff.”
Impossible. Unless her mother was a fly on the wall earlier tonight, she couldn’t have known how necessary to the mere act of breathing Brax had become.
And he was leaving. Soon. The thought depressed her. She pushed it aside to think about Ariana. “I don’t get it. I hardly told her a thing when I talked to her last night.”
“She was listening in when you called me the other night.”
She should have known Jackie wouldn’t rat her out. And that her mother wasn’t above lying about how she got the information.
“We’d have been here yesterday at the crack of dawn, but it took her a day and a half to pack and make all her phone calls.”
“Why would she care, Jackie?”
Jackie snorted. If Ariana heard the sound, she’d shriek. Chandler women did not snort. “You’re such a silly goose. You don’t even hear the way you talk about him.”
“How do I talk about Brax?” Simone whispered. Her stomach fluttered with the way she felt about him.
“Like he’s the sun, the moon, and the stars. Your voice sparkles. I even heard it on the phone.” Jackie paused, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. “And when he kissed you tonight, it was like we weren’t even in the room. That scared her. Badly. You should have seen her face. I’m sure there was a wrinkle. You’d never have known she got a BOTOX injection before we left.”
Ariana’s face had seemed a little fixed.
“She doesn’t want to let you go.”
Simone puffed air through her lips. “You’re the one she won’t let go. I’m miles away already.”
“Are you?”
“Well, sure. I live in Goldstone, a state away, and worse, I live in a trailer.”
“If you’re so far beyond her control, why don’t you tell her you’re not looking for a job? Or that you aren’t coming back, ever? Or that you write sexy little stories on the Internet?”
Oh my God. Simone almost squeaked. If her mother ever found out, if the press ever found out. Well, it would rival the Paris Hilton scandal. “How do you know about that?”
Jackie smiled. Simone only ever witnessed that look when her sister was up on the movie screen. A special glitter. As if Jackie came to life only behind the camera, when she wasn’t standing in their mother’s shadow.
“I do know how to use a computer. Maybe I’m one of your clients,” Jackie whispered through a smile.
Simone gasped. “You are not.”
But Jackie didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “You think you do what you want, Simone, but you’re not free.”
“I have lots of freedom.” Tons. “I don’t wear size zero clothing.”
Her sister’s smile faded, and the twinkle in her eyes dimmed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Simone had, and guilt made her clamp down hard on her back teeth.
“It’s okay. That’s why I have to tell her about him. Soon. I need to be free, too.”
“Are you in love?” Suddenly, they were in high school again and whispering secrets to each other in the dark.
“He’s special. When I’m with him, I feel giddy, like I can’t stop smiling. And when he touches me, Simone, it’s like I can’t catch my breath. Like I’ll die if he stops.”
She knew exactly what her sister meant.
“I don’t want to crawl out of his bed and sneak home. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I don’t want to sneak around.” Jackie pushed a lock of her silky, blond, perfect hair out of her eyes.
Simone squeezed her hand. “I guess you better tell her.”
“I’m scared. Isn’t that silly?”
“No.” When facing her mother, Simone reverted to the eight-year-old child caught sneaking a chocolate bar up to her room. It was a closely guarded secret that most people would never ever admit aloud, except in a psychiatrist’s office, but there was always an authority figure in your life, the one person who made you quiver like you were eight years old. Or a jellyfish.
That icon happened to be her mother. Jackie was no different when it came to Ariana’s effect.
“We could wake her up right now and tell her together.” Like when they were kids, she and Jackie holding hands in solidarity.
Jackie gasped, choked, then laughed. “Don’t rush me.”
“Tomorrow?”
“When the time is right.”
“Will there ever be a right time?”
A tear pooled in the corner of her sister’s eye.
“She can’t hurt you unless you let her.” Which is why Simone lived miles out of Ariana’s sphere. It didn’t seem as brave as she’d thought, more like running away. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll plan to tell her that I’m not taking that job with darling Ambrose, and you plan to tell her that you’re in love.”
“Okay.” Jackie sniffed.
“And Jackie? I really am happy for you. Don’t let her take it away, no matter what.”
“She might not have to. I don’t think he’s going to wait much longer for me to break the news to her.”
Would her lover leave her if she didn’t? If he put that kind of price on Jackie’s love, he wasn’t much of a man.
But then Simone wasn’t much of
a woman if she couldn’t tell her mother to take that job and shove it.
Or if she couldn’t tell Brax how she felt about him.
* * * * *
Brax poured hot water over the tea bag in the mug. At the rate they’d all been forcing tea down her throat, Maggie would float away. It was better than wine out of the refrigerator box. He wanted her as clearheaded as possible for the forthcoming discussion regarding Carl’s finances. The adrenaline burst at The Chicken Coop seemed to have wiped away any residual Xanax cobwebs.
He’d gotten rid of Chloe and Della with the promise that he would call if Maggie needed them, though it had taken fifteen minutes and extra Xanax tucked safely in the kitchen cabinet.
Maggie had then taken an extended-stay trip to the bathroom to freshen up while he’d grabbed two minutes to call Simone. He’d have given his Cottonmouth house to stay with Simone through the night, nestled against her sweetly scented body, his nose nuzzling her hair as he whispered beautiful sentiments like wards against her mother’s scorn. But he couldn’t be with her.
Maggie needed him. With all the needs weighing him down—Simone’s, his own—Maggie’s need took precedence.
The upcoming interview was necessary if he were to provide answers. The key to Carl’s death was the cash. Brax had to know if she had any idea what he might have done with three thousand dollars.
He carried the mug of tea to the family room, shoved the coffee table back with his foot, then sat in front of Maggie. Handing her the mug, he made sure her fingers curled securely around the handle before letting go.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. That was wrong. Carl would have been humiliated.”
“I wasn’t embarrassed, Maggie.”
Elvis marked the half hour with a one-Viva chirp.
She wrapped the mug in both hands. He was glad he’d added enough milk so that she wouldn’t burn herself.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Maggie—”
“I know that’s what you’ve been thinking. The police always look at the spouse first. And I haven’t been exactly calm and unemotional.”
“Calm and unemotional can be a bad sign.”
“I know you’ve had your doubts.”
“Maggie, I haven’t—” He had. His gut twisted with doubts from every angle. He’d misjudged how bad the marital situation was, and he’d misjudged the people in the town. He couldn’t figure out which bad judgment had led them to this sorry state—Maggie’s, Carl’s, someone else’s. Or his own for minimizing how bad things had gotten between Maggie and Carl.
Brax stopped denying. He wouldn’t convince her, because she’d latched onto the truth. All he could do was ask what needed to be asked. “Tell me about the money.”
“The money he was taking out?”
“The million dollars in all of his accounts.”
“Oh that.” She wriggled her lips. “Carl was very good at investing.”
That put it mildly. And explained nothing. “You said you guys were doing okay financially.”
“And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“A million dollars is a helluva lot better than okay.” And investing wasn’t this and that, which had been her original explanation. Irritation flashed momentarily. Brax squelched it.
“Why’s the money so important?”
“Maggie, when I first got here you were pissed he was salting some of it away. I saw those withdrawals. What he took was a drop in the bucket.” Even the last large chunk.
“It wasn’t how much he took that mattered.”
He held up his hands. “I know, I know, it was the fact that he took it at all. But where did he get all of it in the first place?” And why the hell would he live in Goldstone?
Why the hell not? It was good enough for Teesdale, Whitey, and Simone, who just wanted a home. Good enough for Doodle who coveted free burial plots.
“He used to be a stockbroker. He knew all about that stuff.”
Carl? In a Wall Street three-piece suit? He couldn’t quite grasp the image.
“He got into some stock scheme with another broker. Nothing illegal, but he lost everything,” Maggie continued.
“Guess he recouped,” Brax said dryly.
“Carl learned from his mistakes.”
Brax wondered if he’d ever learn from his own.
“He started slowly, but he got back into the market and stayed in until a few months before the last election, when everything went into meltdown again. That man knew right when to get out, I’ll tell you.”
“So why did he think he was a loser?” After that conversation on the way back from the Dartboard, Brax had no doubts on Carl’s self-esteem issues.
Maggie shrugged. “I think he believed everything he did since then was luck. That he could lose it all again just as easily. I don’t know for sure.”
Only Carl knew.
He moved on to the next question. Carl’s withdrawals had been a source of irritation to Maggie, not a catastrophic event. Which left Brax with the money Carl had withdrawn the day he’d died.
He took her hand, though he knew it would do nothing to lessen the impact of what he had to ask. “Why would he take out three thousand dollars yesterday morning?”
Maggie stared at him. He couldn’t tell a thing about her emotions. Surprise, shock? Then her eyes misted, and he knew it was pain. More pain heaped on all she’d already suffered. “Because he was leaving me?”
“Between all of the accounts, he had fifty thousand in cash. If he was going to leave you, he would have taken everything.” At least Brax would have taken it if he were planning to run off. Take the cash stake to start over with, leave the wife with the investments. Everybody’s happy.
Brax didn’t buy the running-off scenario. “Think, Maggie. Why would he need three thousand in cash?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said he was acting weird. Do you think someone was blackmailing him?”
“Over what?”
He didn’t have a clue himself. “Maybe he was going to try to buy out Jason.”
Maggie shrugged. “Buy out the hotel? With three thousand dollars?” It sounded ridiculous, but Jason Lafoote’s hotel angle was the only money deal going on in town.
“How did he feel about Lafoote and the hotel?” He already knew about the animosity, but he avoided leading phraseology. Maggie had already stated flatly that Lafoote was Carl’s killer.
“Like everyone feels. He makes promises he won’t keep. He’ll turn Goldstone into a strip mall. Carl hated that idea.”
“There was more to it than that, Maggie. Carl was angry, more than the idea of a resort and a strip mall warranted.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Tyler. I really don’t. Carl said he didn’t want that resort, and he talked a bunch about how to stop it with Della.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I really didn’t pay all that much attention.”
He felt her own sense of damnation in that statement.
“Did you ever see them together?”
Maggie cocked her head. “No. I guess not.” Then she dipped her chin as it started to tremble. “Carl wasn’t around much.”
“So why did you say Lafoote killed him?”
She sniffed loudly and when she spoke, tears distorted her voice. “I don’t want it to be someone I know.”
Nobody ever did.
He stroked her hand and put a stop to the painful interview before he did permanent damage. “I think we both need rest.” He needed it if he was going to be any use tomorrow. “But you have to promise me you won’t sneak out again while I’m sleeping.”
She sniffled. He lightly shook her shoulder. “I’m going to take care of things for you, Maggie, but I have to know you’re here and safe, okay?”
“I’m sorry for worrying you. You sleep. I promise I won’t go out.”
“Mom will be here tomorrow. You’ll feel better.”
She gave him a look, her eyes swimming in tears, her lip quivering, and he knew what
she was thinking. At this moment, she didn’t believe she’d ever feel better.
He was afraid she might be right.
Which made his mission all the more important. For Maggie, he had to find out what happened to Carl.
* * * * *
Brax was dreaming about firm legs, thong panties, and ice-cream cones. Simone was melting his banana-flavored double scoop with her lips. He’d die with anticipation before she got down to his crispy sugar cone. His blood rushed through his veins and pounded against his eardrums. He reached one hand out to cup her beautiful cheek. Warm and wet. And red.
Simone gave him the dazzle smile through a mouth half eaten by critters.
He jerked, half sat, and dragged air into his aching lungs. The dark room had given way to a lighter gloom. The pounding wasn’t in his dreams, but on the trailer’s front door.
Simone’s ruined face, like Carl’s in the jailhouse basement, haunted him still.
Jumping from the bed, he yanked on his jeans and shirt. A squint at the clock revealed the time to be half past five on the beginning of another hellacious day. A good day never began with a nightmare and less than four hours sleep.
Teesdale with news was the only logical early-morning caller he could think of.
Instead, he found his mother on the doorstep.
“Do not tell me you drove through the night from Palm Springs, Mom.” He’d have to beat her if she had, after he hugged the living daylights out of her.
“Don’t be a Silly Putty.” Enid Braxton flapped her hand at him. “Of course, I didn’t. Rockie was good enough to drive. He’s such a dear boy.”
“Rockie?” He glanced over the top of her head, which didn’t quite reach the center of his chest.
“He’s parking the car on the other side and getting the bags.”
His mother had a gentleman friend. Would wonders never cease? On her seventieth birthday, last year, she’d decided that her steel-gray hair, which was lightly tinged with blue, looked like a Brillo pad—or was it S.O.S? He could never remember which was pink and which was blue. She’d rinsed out the tint, bleached out the gray, then added a hint of red. Something had gone terribly wrong, but Brax loved her too much to tell her the blue scouring pad beat the pink floor mop hands down.
Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) Page 24