The Girl with the Golden Spurs

by Ann Major

  Maybe the past, even Mia, didn’t have to matter if she didn’t let it. Her father was dead. Her leadership was resented. Somebody had shot at her yesterday afternoon. Happiness was precious. Life was lived moment by moment. One had to seize the happy moments and make the most of them.

  She needed Cole. She had to believe in him. She simply had to. How hard was it to see the good in a person instead of the bad?

  “All’s well that ends well,” she murmured to herself drowsily, closing her eyes as Cole shut the door as he began to talk to whomever was on the phone.

  “Cole, it’s Cherry Lane’s body,” Jay said. “Not Lizzy’s.”

  The shock of hearing the deputy’s voice even before he understood what he was saying sent a jolt through Cole. For a second or two he’d been so disoriented, he didn’t know why Jay would be calling him or even who Cherry was.

  “Tried to call you before, but you didn’t answer.”

  The mists in Cole’s brain parted, and the sudden vision of a silver-haired woman being lifted out of the pond felled him like a paralyzing blow. He sank onto a leather couch, which was so cold against his bare butt, he sprang to his feet and began to pace.

  Again he felt that stiff, swollen hand in his when he’d thought he’d been saying goodbye to Lizzy.

  What in the hell was wrong with his brain that he could forget something like that…even for an hour, even if he’d tied on a few drinks? Only an idiot needed to jot a note to himself in his PDA about an event of that magnitude to jog his memory.

  But as soon as he’d seen Lizzy, he’d focused entirely, utterly on her. He ran a shaking hand across his perspiring brow. Would he ever be himself again?

  “She’s been dead a while. But my guess is she wasn’t in the pond long. A Detective Phillips is flying down from Houston tomorrow. He wants to question you. And he wants permission to search the ranch. Says if he doesn’t get it, he’ll get a warrant.”

  “Tell him I’ll give him his own personally guided tour.”

  “How did Cherry Lane get in your cattle tank?”

  “For God’s sake, how in the hell should I know?”

  Cole hung up just as the bedroom door opened. When he saw Lizzy, looking soft and rumpled from their lovemaking, he tried to smile.

  “You look awful,” she said.

  “You’d better get dressed.”

  She flew across the sitting room into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “They found Cherry Lane’s body in the tank behind the cemetery.”

  “Oh, God, do you think she was so upset about Daddy dying, she came here? But how could she just drive through the gate without anybody seeing her? And how could she hike to the cemetery and fall into our pond? Do you think it was another accident?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What was she doing here?”

  “She was already dead,” he said in a low, flat tone. “Somebody carried her here and put her body in that pond. Whoever it was killed Star, sweet gentle Star, to make sure her body would be found.”

  “Oh, no!”

  She was thinking about her father’s death—and her mother’s. She’d been chased and shot at. “I could be dead, too,” she said softly. “Maybe her murderer was after me, too.”

  The realization slammed her. For a long moment she couldn’t speak. Neither could he.

  “Probably,” he said. He stared into her eyes, and even though they’d made love, she felt a dark chasm between them. There were mysteries to be solved, questions to be answered, a murderer to be caught, the ranch’s good name to be restored, she thought. And somehow, she had to learn to trust Cole.

  Cole’s strong arms tightened around her, and for a long moment, she clung and wished she never had to let him go.

  “I don’t want to face the real world,” she said.

  “Neither the hell do I.”

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I’m so afraid.”

  “I’ve got to get back,” he finally said. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

  She nodded wearily as he let her go.

  The November afternoon had been unseasonably warm when the sun was out, so Lizzy hadn’t worn a sweater over her black silk dress for her father’s memorial service under the Spur Tree. Now dark clouds obliterated the sun, and a chilly breeze picked up the strands of her hair, blowing them about her face.

  She was hugging herself and shivering as she stared at the enormous sprays of red roses, yellow daisies, orchids and irises circling the silver urn that stood at the base of the Spur Tree. The drone of the preacher’s voice as he read Caesar’s favorite scripture was somewhat comforting. Aunt Mona and Uncle B.B. looked as elegant as always. Aunt Nanette and Sam stood apart from the others. Several times Aunt Nanette raised her hand to stifle a yawn. The rest of the family stood on either side of her.

  Only the family, the cowhands, a few neighboring ranchers, longtime friends, a few key players in the cattle industry and Texas politics and the detective, Joe Phillips, attended the private memorial service. Not that the boisterous press wasn’t camped outside the ranch’s front gate, demanding to know how Cherry Lane had come to be in a cattle pond on the Golden Spurs.

  Joe Phillips stared holes through everybody, especially Joanne and Cole. The detective had been furious when he’d ordered an autopsy on Caesar’s body only to be told the body had already been cremated. He’d blamed Cole and Joanne.

  Lizzy wished the man wasn’t here. He cast a pall on the sacred service and made her feel guilty. She was sure she went deathly white every time he looked at her and then at Cole, who was standing beside her.

  Cole didn’t do anything wrong. Oh, God, why can’t you see that?

  When the preacher finished the reading, Joanne stepped forward and knelt, opened the silver vase, and held it against the ground. With a shaking hand, she poured Caesar’s ashes onto the ground near the bronze plate with his name on it that lay a few feet away from Electra Scott’s, and all the while Phillips’s gaze drilled a hole through her.

  When Joanne finally stood up, she met the detective’s eyes and smiled. Lizzy’s throat tightened. What was going on?

  Only vaguely was she aware that the service was finally over—that people were drifting past her to their cars or toward the big house so they could take part in the family meeting that was to be held in the library. Against Lizzy’s wishes, Leo had insisted on the meeting today since so many Kembles would be at the ranch.

  Not wanting to face everybody who would be in the library, she lingered by the tree for a while. But family and friends circled her there, their hands clasping hers. They embraced her and offered their condolences. Many said what a shame it was to lose Caesar before the upcoming celebrations and the holidays.

  Numbly she endured their kindnesses and managed the appropriate responses. She felt as if her grief was a wall that locked her inside some private hell. Now Cherry was dead, too, and the press saw the ranch as the center of a real-life, lurid soap opera.

  Once she caught Cole staring at her as if to see deep inside her. Did he think she doubted him? When she looked at him, his own gaze softened, and she felt comforted by his glance.

  Joanne came up to stand stiffly beside her. More than ever before, Lizzy felt cut off from this woman she’d believed to be her mother. When Joanne touched her waist, Lizzy pulled away.

  “Your father loved you. He loved you so much.”

  Why couldn’t you have told me the truth? About who I was? About why you couldn’t love me?

  But these thoughts that tore at Lizzy’s heart went unspoken.

  Joanne then went up to the tree and hung Caesar’s spurs by his brother’s. Tears burned Lizzy’s eyes, and she didn’t know what to say as Joanne touched Uncle Jack’s spurs. Suddenly Lizzy felt her control slipping.

  “I’m sorry—Mother,” she whispered.

  For a long moment they stood there together. Lizzy closed her eyes. Thus, she wasn’t aware of the exact moment Joanne left. When she opened
them again, the wind had picked up and she was alone. She watched the ground where Caesar’s ashes blew about, some scurrying over Electra’s bronze marker.

  Were her parents together now? She wanted to think so.

  “Oh, Daddy, did you know what I was getting into when you asked me to take over?”

  The clouds grew darker, and the wind made her shiver.

  “We’d better go,” said a hard voice behind her.

  Joe Phillips put his hand on her arm. She nodded. Without a word, he led her toward the house. When he opened the front door for her, the noise from the library hit them.

  “Leo said I could address the family before your meeting,” Phillips said quietly.

  Raised voices erupted from the library.

  “Are they always this noisy?” he asked.

  “Yes, but the house has terrible acoustics. It magnifies sounds.”

  When she entered the library on the detective’s arm, everybody fell silent. Then Leo rushed to greet them and introduced the detective.

  “Joe Phillips has a few words to say to everybody,” he explained.

  Cole, who had been slouching near the fireplace, straightened; his dark face tensed. Uncle B.B. got up from the couch where he’d been sitting beside Aunt Mona and shut the library doors. Suddenly, despite the crowd, despite all the lit lamps and the fact it was two-thirty in the afternoon, the library seemed filled with shadows. Tall table lamps beamed in the corners, and the brass chandeliers above everybody cast a warm glow. But the room was huge, the ceiling high, and the leather furniture and tall cherry bookcases, heavy and dark.

  Nobody had remembered to switch on the lights above the portraits. Maybe they would have helped some, but Lizzy didn’t want to draw attention to herself by doing so.

  “Three people connected to this ranch are dead,” the detective began without preamble. “Electra Scott. Caesar Kemble. And now Cherry Lane.”

  Furtive glances flew, but nobody said anything. Lizzy watched Cole run his hand briefly through his black hair.

  “Ms. Lane didn’t drown. She—like Ms. Scott—was raped and strangled,” the detective continued.

  Leather and wood creaked as people shifted uneasily in their chairs. Again, they glanced at one another warily.

  “Besides the murders, there have been a number of accidents on this ranch. I think Caesar Kemble is the key to all this. His brother died in an accident, too, which is how Caesar came to power. Now, Caesar himself is conveniently dead.”

  He shot Joanne and Cole an ironic smile. Conveniently cremated, too.

  “If anybody here today knows anything or thinks he knows anything and wants to talk, call me.” He waited a few seconds for his words to sink in. When nobody said anything, he pulled several business cards from his jacket pocket and flung them onto the library table.

  “Call me,” he repeated, leaning over the table so that he was on eye level with them. “Your name could be next on the killer’s hit list.”

  A trace of a smile crossed Uncle B.B.’ s mouth. Under his breath he said, “For a cop, he damn sure has a flair for the dramatic.”

  Aunt Mona laughed.

  A cold chill gripped Lizzy. She remembered gunshots peppering the tree trunks behind her as she’d run for her life through the brush. Only yesterday she’d stood beside Cole as Star’s stiff gray carcass had been loaded onto the bed of the huge truck and hauled away.

  Was she next on the killer’s hit list?

  Eighteen

  “We need new leadership. Strong leadership. Now.” Uncle B.B.’s hard gaze bored into Lizzy, who was standing beside Sam.

  “You gave us ninety days,” Cole said, moving to the other side of Lizzy.

  “And what the hell have you accomplished? Cherry Lane’s body in your cattle tank. An expensive quarter horse dead. We’ve got lawsuits to fight. Not to mention Sheldon Oil and gas.”

  “Yes! Even though gas prices are up, has it made one bit of difference in my royalty check?” Aunt Nannette demanded.

  “We’re still being paid old gas prices for new gas,” Uncle B.B. said.

  “We have a team of accountants and lawyers on this problem right now,” Leo said. “Sheldon Oil offered to settle, but we think we can do better.”

  “You didn’t get on to this until I told you to. We need somebody at the helm who is willing to lead. Not an ignorant girl.”

  Lizzy bristled.

  “Someone like you?” Cole placed a protective arm around her waist.

  There wasn’t a sound in the room. Uncle B.B. straightened his tie. Then he glanced at his rapt audience. “All right. Yes. Someone like me. Someone who wouldn’t be so set on sinking as much capital into a losing investment like ranching.”

  “Maybe we’d be better off with a professional running the ranch—rather than another family member,” Lauren Capp blurted. When everybody looked at her, Lauren blushed and hid her face. “Oh, I—I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know much about ranching.”

  Lauren was a younger cousin of Lizzy’s who lived in Colorado and worked in an art gallery in Denver. Like a lot of Kembles, she’d never dared to speak at a meeting before, and Lizzy felt a little sorry for her.

  But Leo’s face was grave as he contemplated her suggestion. “I agree with Lauren. Not that I don’t think Lizzy’s up to the job. Also, she’s Caesar’s daughter, and that has a lot of symbolic meaning.”

  “At the same time, I think the position may have become too dangerous for any family member to hold,” Cole said. “Especially for Lizzy, because she is Caesar’s daughter. This thing is beginning to have the feel of a private vendetta.”

  Lizzy gasped.

  “Sorry, Lizzy, but I agree,” Sam said.

  Stunned, Lizzy whirled on them. “What if I don’t want to step down? My father wanted me in charge. He wanted me! Not some stranger. Not Uncle B.B.”

  “We don’t have to decide today,” Leo said calmly. “I hear your dissatisfactions and opinions. I say we go on as we are until the celebration and museum opening are behind us. We’re only talking about a couple of weeks. Asking Lizzy to resign would just cause more unfavorable publicity.”

  To Lizzy’s surprise nobody objected.

  “Before we adjourn,” Leo said, “Detective Phillips asked me to hand out a questionnaire. He wants an hour-by-hour accounting of your time on the two days before as well as the day Cherry’s body was discovered in the pond. It’s a fill-in-the-blank situation.”

  When everybody had their papers and had begun to write, Lizzy noticed Cole staring at his paper almost angrily, his pen jabbing a hole in the paper. Then he wadded it up and left the room.

  Why didn’t he write something like everyone else? Didn’t he know where he’d been?

  Furious, she wondered what his real motivation for wanting her to step down was.

  Her heart began to pound in her throat.

  Lizzy sighed nervously as she picked up the phone in her bedroom and dialed. She didn’t have the slightest idea what she’d say if Mr. Jamison or one of his clerks starting asking why she was suddenly so curious about her Uncle B.B.’s purchases or told her his doings were none of her business.

  Jamison answered in his gruff, no-nonsense voice, and she forced herself to speak.

  “Mr. Jamison, I—I was wondering what my uncle B.B. bought in your store yesterday.” She hit her forehead. Why hadn’t she asked him how he was or how his wife Mabel was? Anything to soften him up?

  “Shotgun shells. Bullets. Nails. A wrench. Why do you want to know?”

  “I—I found a receipt. I was trying to figure out if his purchases were tax write-offs…or if I could just throw it away. I—I hadn’t seen him. I—I didn’t realize he was at his lease.”

  “It wasn’t Uncle B.B. that came in. It was your aunt Mona. Hey, isn’t he out there for the memorial service? How come you don’t just ask him yourself?”

  Aunt Mona?

  Wing Nut left Joanne’s side and dashed headlong down the golf
cart path to the aviary after a small brown rabbit. Joanne whistled and yelled his name. Vanilla clapped her hands as she toddled gleefully after the big dog. When the rabbit disappeared into a hole, the black Lab barked and pranced excitedly around the dark mouth in the earth as if entreating the animal to come back out in play.

  Joanne was glad to have escaped the house. She’d felt like she was suffocating during the memorial service and the meeting afterward. When the rabbit stayed put, the dog sniffed around the hole for another minute. Then tail wagging, he sprinted back to Joanne and jumped up, muddying her jeans and windbreaker with his enormous paws. Not that she cared.

  His sudden return had caused Vanilla, darling Vanilla, who’d been following him so trustingly to plop onto the short, clipped grass too hard. Joanne flew to catch the baby in case she cried, but Vanilla, who was as tough as Mia had been, looked up at her grandmother and smiled. Then she began to clap, pleased to find herself the center of utter adoration.

  “Oh, my darling. My darling.” Joanne knelt and picked up a brown oak leaf.

  “Leaf. Leaf,” she said, looking into Vanilla’s huge, blue eyes.

  Vanilla grabbed the leaf and turned it over clumsily.

  With rapt attention, Joanne watched her study the leaf and then set it down and smash it with her tiny fist and then pick it up again. Joanne had never loved anything or anyone as she did this baby. Was that because Vanilla was all she had left of Jack and Mia? Or was this just the natural love she would have felt for her first grandchild?

  “Leaf,” she whispered as she hugged the child again fiercely. Oh, darling, if it weren’t for you, what would I do?

  Being with Vanilla after the memorial service and the meeting made Joanne feel almost sane again. As she’d stood beside Lizzy and placed Caesar’s spurs beside Jack’s on the Spur Tree, she’d thought about Electra and Jack. Then she’d rethought her whole life.

  Had it all been for nothing? Were all lives for nothing? She’d married the wrong man, a man who’d betrayed her on every level. She’d tried and failed to mother his daughter.

  Then in the library when Phillips had hinted Caesar might have had something to do with Jack’s accident. She’d started shaking so badly she’d been afraid someone would see.