“No!” The word came out as a shout, startling Cara. “I never meant… I called you and attacked you at the high school track, but I wouldn’t really have shot you. And…look, this is wrong. Just get in your car and get the hell out of here.”
Amazed, Cara started to do as he’d said, hoping it wasn’t an excuse for him to shoot her in the back.
But before she got her door closed, another car sped onto the narrow road, then screeched to a stop right behind her Toyota, effectively blocking her, with Roger’s car in front of her, from either going forward or backing up.
Mitch! Cara thought again—at first. Till she risked a look behind her.
The car—an aging BMW—was familiar. So was the person who got out of it. But it wasn’t Mitch.
It was Della Santoro.
“Get out of here, Della,” Cara yelled. “It’s not safe!”
“For you.” Della, who wore a pantsuit with a long, flowing beige jacket, approached them, high heels teetering on the uneven pavement. Her oval face, even with her wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, didn’t look so professorial with the contemptuous sneer she leveled on Cara. “Shoot her, Roger.”
Cara froze, keeping one eye on Roger Rosales, whose gun hand continued to shake. But he didn’t shoot her. Yet.
“What’s this about, Della?” Cara’s voice came out as an unsteady whisper. But she already knew, as all the questions she’d had suddenly developed answers.
This was a public road, even if it was a small one. Would anyone drive by and see what was going on? Cara couldn’t count on it, any more than she could be sure Mitch would be able to help her.
“It’s about your meddling, you stupid reporter,” Della hissed. She was close enough now to slam Cara’s car door shut behind her. Her perfume smelled expensive. Had she dressed up to come here for this? Her dark hair was its usual perfection, pulled straight back from her face. “I tried to warn you off before. That truck I borrowed—”
“From Jackson Felmington?” Cara asked. That could explain why the car dealer had heard of her near “accident.”
“Of course. He was terribly sympathetic when I told him I’d almost hit you. Even hinted I should try a little harder next time. He had the truck repaired and painted right away. But even after that, you kept on snooping. Asking questions and working with that damned deputy to solve Nancy’s murder. And then, right in the paper, you tied her death to the others, and suggested Ranger Corporation’s involvement. You could have ruined everything! I was concerned you’d realize I’d steered you wrong about the location of Shotgun Sally’s family land. I even had to send poisoned candy to you and eat it myself to be sure you didn’t suspect me of anything worse than ignorance.”
“What is the ‘everything’ that I could have ruined?” Cara asked quietly, taking a step away from the vicious woman she’d considered, till moments ago, a friend. She deserved the truth before she died, for she was suddenly certain that if Roger didn’t kill her, Della would. After all, the woman was mad enough to have poisoned herself.
Cara should have known before. Or at least part of it. The handwriting in the notes in Nancy’s Shotgun Sally book had looked familiar. Cara had assumed it was Nancy’s script. She’d received messages now and then from Nancy, on birthday cards, postcards and the like, but not recently.
She had, however, seen samples of Della’s writing only a short time ago, on research materials about Shotgun Sally that Della had provided. And the notes stuck onto the book were in Della’s handwriting, too.
But what had the notes meant? What was Della’s involvement?
“Are you an employee of Ranger Corporation?” Cara asked.
“I’m a consultant. Their expert on local legends, especially Shotgun Sally.” Her smile was smug.
Cara recalled what the notations on the Sally book had said. “Is Ranger filming a movie about Shotgun Sally?”
Della laughed. “No. Not yet, at least, though that might be a natural adjunct. Maybe I’ll even get a role.”
She was a good actress, Cara thought. Della had certainly fooled her.
“So tell me, Roger, why does Ranger need an expert on legends?” Cara didn’t expect to get very far but had to try.
Roger hadn’t moved except to wilt more in his sports coat, under the hot Texas sun and humid midday air. Della broke in before he could reply. “They intend to build the best theme park here that Texas has ever seen. Maybe the world.”
“About Texas legends,” Cara guessed.
“Exactly. And it was all my idea. I approached them with it a few years ago, and they loved it. A major theme park about legends, right on the property once owned by the most notorious local legend. But the land was held by a lot of different people. Things had to be set up right to get the project started, so Ranger relied on me to clear the path.”
“By bribing Hurley Zeller to pave the way for Ranger’s entry to Mustang County,” Cara surmised. “Martin Steele, the sheriff then, was pretty straitlaced. He wouldn’t have let an interloping company coerce people into selling their land if they didn’t consider the price right. But Zeller would have been happy to take money to salt the way to his goal of becoming sheriff and blame Sheriff Steele for it. Of course, there was one more person senior to him in the way. You convinced him to be patient, make sure the Sheriff’s Department wasn’t too quick to solve a few little crimes like murder, and things would work out for him in the end.”
“You’re the reporter,” Della said. “But that story’s close enough to the truth.” Without turning her back on Cara, she edged closer to where Roger stood.
“Then you got Mayor Daniels involved, letting him invest in what appeared to be a sure thing, right?”
“So far, you’re on target,” Della said. “Tell you what. I’ll explain the rest. Let you make notes in your head. It’ll all die with you, anyway.” She gave a short laugh.
Cara saw Roger wince along with her. Did that mean he might help her? Fat chance. She had to help herself. But how?
First thing, she had to keep Della talking. “At least let me die happy,” she agreed.
“Sure,” Della said with a careless shrug. “It was the mayor’s bright idea for Ranger to hire Lambert & Church to do its local legal work. He figured Paul Lambert would love the whole thing and Donald Church was too much of a preening peacock to give a damn. Too bad that punk kid Andrew McGovern got wind of how Ranger was trying to buy some of his girlfriend’s land, then the mayor’s conflict of interest. Of course he threatened to go public with it, so the fool Daniels had to kill him.”
“Do you remember that I was once engaged to Andrew?” Cara said softly, soaking in her pain once more.
“Yes, but I figured his death was a good thing for my friend Cara, since he dumped you.”
“We dumped each other mutually, but go on.” Cara thought she saw a glint of sunlight on metal from the trees behind Della. She nonchalantly looked in that direction but found nothing. Mitch? Maybe. Or maybe she was she imagining. Or are you there, Sally, with your famous Colt .45, ready to help me? Sure, right beside her lawman lover, Zachary.
“Not much more to tell. Paul Lambert was charged with helping Ranger wrap up some of its land purchases and he got a bit overzealous in grabbing on to Rawlins land. Killing Jeb Rawlins and framing his nephew Bart didn’t work. We’re having to work around those properties for the moment at least, and I’m not happy about it. But your good friends, Kelly and Lindsey, won’t hide out forever. In fact, when they come back for your funeral, they might meet with a sad accident of their own. Lindsey’s dear friend Bart, too. That way we will get all the land we need. There’s a lot of money in theme parks, you know.”
Don’t count on my funeral yet, you backstabbing bitch! But at least Kelly and Lindsey had left this woman’s line of sight at the critical moment for each of them.
“What about Nancy?” Cara asked. As long as Della was talking, she wasn’t shooting. Yet.
“I’m getting to her,” Del
la said. “I’d shown Paul Lambert one of my favorite old volumes about Shotgun Sally, the one with all my notes about the theme park in it, and he’d asked to read it. I didn’t get it back after he died and needed to retrieve it. Since she worked at Paul’s firm, I asked Nancy a few subtle questions. She appeared to know about the theme park. I know Paul had drummed the concept of confidentiality into her. She told me so when she refused to answer much. But one day she asked me a few questions that told me she’d found the book. I went to her house that night, thought I’d get her to tell me where it was. When she let me in, she said you were on your way to pick it up. I had that gun with me, the one I lent to Roger today.”
She nodded in the direction behind her where Roger had been standing—and only then did Cara notice he was edging closer to the woods. Della didn’t seem to have noticed.
“She refused to give me the book,” Della continued. “She didn’t even notice I was wearing gloves. You know the rest.”
Cara did, and she wanted to nail Della for it. She’d murdered Nancy for nothing but speculation and an old book.
“And then,” Della finished, “I couldn’t even find the damn book. But now that I know you’ve got it, I’ll fix that. I assume you have it in your car?”
Cara didn’t respond. No sense mentioning she only had a copy. She didn’t want to make this any easier for Della than she had to. And there was more she needed to know. “What about Deputy Greglets?” she asked. “How did she fit into the scheme with Hurley Zeller?”
“She didn’t—except that dear Hurley talked too much in bed. Stephanie started asking far too many questions. Hurley was supposed to manage that by pillow talk or otherwise, but he got wind of my interest in Nancy Wilks and tried to get her into bed, too. Of all the ridiculous nitwits, he thought he could take control of everything. Of course, now that he’s been caught, the situation with him has to be managed, too. Maybe we will enlist the curious Deputy Greglets after all, to handle him. She’s bound to want her revenge.”
Cara suspected that Stephanie Greglets, who’d actually helped Mitch with the case now and then, had an agenda of her own that didn’t involve getting in bed with Della and her cohorts, but she wasn’t about to mention that now.
“What about Shem O’Hallihan?” Cara asked. “What’s his involvement?”
Della shrugged. “Not much. We just figured he was a building contractor whose services and silence could be bought, thanks to your story about him. Isn’t that ironic?” She didn’t wait for Cara to answer. “Roger’s already been in touch with him, and the guy’s been cagey about agreeing to cooperate. But we’ll get him on our side.”
Heavens, what a fascinating, convoluted newspaper exposé all this would make! Shotgun Sally would have loved it. Right now Cara’s usual news itch was a terrible and wonderful irritation. She fully intended to write a story explaining every incredible nuance of the story, Mitch’s usual “off the record” notwithstanding. She would help to make sure Ranger got what it deserved, too.
But that meant she had to live. Of course she did! Could she get out of there now, somehow, with Roger, and the gun he held, slinking away? She had to try.
Good thing she was wearing an old pair of slacks today, and sneakers, too, instead of her sometimes slippery boots. With no prelude, she suddenly dropped low and ran behind her car.
“Roger, shoot her!” Della screamed.
Cara couldn’t see him but heard no shot. But as she tried to tear her way into the woods, a shot resounded and the bullet hit the ground beside her, throwing up dirt.
Cara put up her hands and stood, turning slowly. Della aimed a gun at her, with her elegantly manicured hands encased in white gloves. The weapon looked bigger—and more lethal—than the one Roger had held.
“Don’t try anything, bitch,” Della spat. “You know, there have been entirely too many bodies found around here. Yours is simply going to disappear.”
“I don’t think so,” Cara said with more bravado than she felt. “You know what Shotgun Sally would have said?”
“No. Her situation was similar, of course, but history didn’t say what her last words were.” Della’s scowl was ferocious. “I’m the expert. I’d know if anyone did.”
“It was after her sister was murdered by the scum that wanted the family property…this property—” Cara waved her arm about, designating the area around them “—for his own ranch. The guy went so far as to set a trap to catch her so he could murder her, somewhere probably not far from here. Zachary fell into the trap instead. The villain shot at him, but Sally came to his rescue. That’s when she was wounded. Maybe mortally, since there were two endings for her story. In one she died.”
“Like you will,” Della sneered.
“In the other she lived,” Cara went on. Would this work? She certainly hoped so. “And you know how? I’ll tell you,” she said before Della could reply, “Zachary turned things around. Came to her rescue. And you know what Sally said? ‘What kept you, lawman?’ She looked over Della’s shoulder and grinned. “Like now. It’s over, Della.”
“You’re not going to fool me with that one, bitch. Now, do you want it quick, in the brain like Nancy got it? Or do you want it slow, a little at a time?”
“Surely you can come up with better dialogue than that for my article,” Cara said, wincing as she watched Della take aim right for her face.
“Drop it, Santoro,” said the most wonderful, welcome voice Cara had ever heard. It had worked. She’d kept Della distracted enough for Mitch to sneak through the woods and get the drop on the madwoman who intended to kill her. The muzzle of his Beretta was against her temple, and his arm whipped around her throat.
Cara ducked as Della’s gun went off. Pain shot through her. But she smiled at Deputy Mitchell Steele. “What kept you, lawman?” she whispered, as Shotgun Sally once had.
And then she fell to the ground.
Chapter Seventeen
“How could you do it, Beau?” Cara ignored the pain as she shifted position in her hospital bed. To avoid tugging on her IV, she clutched the day’s Gazette in her right hand.
Featured on the front page was an article about the confrontation Cara had the day before with Della Santoro and Roger Rosales. The byline was Beau’s.
He sat on a chair facing her, leaning over so his stomach bulged over his legs. Over his wrinkled white shirt, his red suspenders looked strained. He looked strained.
“That should have been my article.” Cara kept her voice down with effort. This was, after all, a hospital. The sharply sanitary smells and pulsing sounds of the instrument measuring her heart rate proved it.
She knew she was being unreasonable. News didn’t wait for someone to feel up to writing the story.
“You were unconscious, under sedation after your surgery,” Beau reminded her. As if she’d forgotten. “If I’d waited, it’d have been today before you could have gotten to it. Maybe not even now.” Peering over the glasses at the end of his nose, he eyed her dubiously.
“Maybe.” But however unfair it was, Cara still didn’t feel mollified.
“The local radio station picked it up,” Beau said, standing. “From them, the wire services and Dallas/Ft. Worth TV stations got it, and now it’s being covered nationally. At least we didn’t blow it completely, thanks to my article. But we’re the ones who should have all the details. Especially because you’re part of the story.”
Cara couldn’t argue with that. She would have a hard time arguing about anything just then. She wasn’t in the greatest condition. The bullet Della shot as Mitch took her into custody went wild, but it struck Cara in her right side. It hit nothing vital, at least, but it had hurt like crazy. Still did, though the pain had been dulled by medications here in the hospital. But she wanted to get out.
She wanted to get back to work. She had to get back to work. To get her mind off…things.
Who was she fooling? Every waking moment, however hazy her mind might be it focused on Mitch.
; His failure to come and see her hurt more than the wound.
Not that she was surprised. He was a lone wolf who joined others only when necessary. His alliance with her no longer had a purpose. So, whatever they’d had together was over. If it had ever really begun.
“The problem with getting all the details, though,” said Beau as he paced the room, “is that Deputy Steele.”
You said it, Cara thought. But Beau’s reasoning couldn’t be the same as hers. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mentioned him in the article, of course, but I know he had a much larger role than simply showing up at the opportune time and saving the day. But anything else about him, he’s said is off the record.”
“I know how that goes.” Cara shook her head. “He’s been like that all along. But—”
“But only for me, he said.” Beau continued as if he hadn’t heard Cara. “While he was here last night, I came in to see how you were doing, and he—”
“He was here last night?” Cara sat up so fast that pain shot through her side. She ignored it. “When?”
“Around midnight. I came to see if you were conscious enough to give me more of the story, and since you weren’t, I was glad to see Steele. At first. But then he told me that ‘off the record’ garbage. Until you could interview him.”
“He wants me to interview him?” Cara knew she must sound like a parrot, but her incredulity was overwhelming.
“That’s what he said. You’d have thought, since you and he were cooperating, that he’d have talked to me, too.”
Cara smiled down at the sheet covering her lap. “You’d have thought so,” she agreed. “You know, Beau—” she raised her head to look her boss in the eye “—I’ve a lot of insight into this story. And with what I can get from Deputy Steele—” maybe “—I’ll have the firsthand exposé of the century here. Probably get interviewed myself by all the major media. All those murders tied together, including the former sheriff’s, the culprits exposed. With a huge coup like that, I’ll have the attention of people all over the country who’ll be clamoring to get me to come work for them. And you remember your promise, don’t you?”
Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston Page 21