by Maggie Wells
“Please don’t.”
She sighed. The ache in his voice reminded her the man was running on fumes as it was. She didn’t need to add to his anxiety. “I’ll let it rest. For today.”
“Are you going to tell me about you and this Abernathy guy?”
She brushed his concern aside with a flick of her wrist. “Ancient history. Other than the visitation, I hadn’t seen him since we graduated high school. Can’t believe he became an insurance salesman, of all things,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Once upon a time, Bo thought he might be destined for a career in mixed martial arts.”
Ben raised an interested brow. “He was into martial arts?”
She smirked, but a pang of sadness for the boy she once liked struck her hard. “Nope. He thought he’d learn some moves from one of those video sets they sell on late-night infomercials. I doubt he even made it through the first DVD.”
“You two dated steady in high school,” he said, completely ignoring any anecdotal color she might throw into the conversation.
“Neither of us expected it to go any further,” she assured him. “Once he understood there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hades of me staying here in Pine Bluff and marrying him, he moved on to plan B.”
“Which was mixed martial arts,” he said, his lips twisting into a sneer.
Marlee shot him a look. “Bo Abernathy was the type of man who was always looking for a shortcut.”
Ready to think of anything but Bo, she changed the subject. “Are you free this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Interested in spending some time with me?”
“Yes.”
She basked in the simplicity of his acceptance. No games. No beating around the bush. He gave her yes after yes. How could any woman resist? “I enjoy spending time with you, Sheriff,” she murmured, leaning in for a kiss.
“That may be, but I believe you’re operating on my time at the moment,” a deep voice drawled from the doorway.
Chapter Fourteen
“Daddy!” Marlee gasped, her hand flying to her throat.
Ben jerked away from Marlee, but not fast enough to complete disentangle himself. “You’re not the only one who’s surprised,” Henry Masters said, his expression foreboding.
But even faced with her father’s obvious displeasure, Marlee simply rolled her eyes. “I sincerely doubt you’re surprised,” she said, dividing a look between her father and himself. “We had lunch together at the Daisy. God and half the town saw us. I’m amazed it took this long for word to make it back to you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Your network may have some holes in it.”
Henry sniffed at the implication. “Please. He wasn’t simply giving you a lift home the other night. You all went out to the lake house. Why?”
Marlee shrugged, but for the first time since her father appeared, she avoided his gaze. “I haven’t been out there since...Jeff.”
Ben could tell she was trying to sound offhanded about it, but something rang hollow. Sure enough, she rolled her shoulders back and drew herself up, then faced Henry directly.
“I wanted to see what you’d done with the place.”
“I see.” The older man jingled the loose change in his pocket as he inspected them. “What did you think of it, Sheriff?”
Ben gave his answer a moment of thought. “I think it’s a nice house with a sad history.”
“Yes.” Henry’s voice was quiet.
Ben and Marlee exchanged a look. He turned back to Masters, ready to say something, anything, about his intentions toward the man’s daughter, but he hadn’t the first clue what they were. Marlee might still have plans to return to Atlanta at the first possible opportunity. This sizzle between them could be nothing more than heat. Something to add some spark to the time she was forced to stay here in Pine Bluff. How was he supposed to proclaim his feelings for her to her father when he hadn’t the foggiest notion of whether she had feelings for him at all?
Henry spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. “Marlee, the Office of Bar Admissions sent a letter. Congratulations, you passed. You are officially a member of the Georgia Bar.”
Marlee blinked. “You opened my mail?”
His eyebrows shot up. “You were okay with me opening the bills for your tuition,” Henry said stiffly. “I didn’t see how this should be any different.”
“But—”
“Your mother and I believe this calls for a celebration. We’ll be expecting you home for supper this evening.”
Marlee looked like she’d just been hit by a speeding truck. “Yes, sir.”
Ben darted a look in her direction, startled by her easy capitulation. Then she added a sunny smile that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
“Would it be all right if I invited Ben to join us for supper?” she asked, all honeyed sweetness.
Her father rolled his eyes, apparently impervious to her myriad charms. Finally, he settled an assessing stare on Ben. “Perhaps the sheriff can join us another night. I’ve already invited Will to eat with us, and I hate to spring too many surprises on your poor mama.”
“Oh.”
The word slipped out of her, small and soft. Acquiescent. A syllable not at all worthy of Marlee. Hearing the note of uncertainty made his fingers curl into loose fists. He wanted to tell her he didn’t care if he had to bring his own bucket of fried chicken to eat, he wasn’t going to let her anywhere near Will Thomason without him.
Ben was still casting about for a way to insert himself into whatever setup Henry had going when Marlee swooped in and staged her own rescue.
“Well, Mama invited him when we were all at Mrs. Young’s house, so I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll call home and make sure Mrs. Franklin is aware we’ll be five for supper.”
“Good,” Henry said with a terse nod. “Now you’d best get back to it. You have a lot to learn and not a lot of time to get up to speed.” Done with her, he zeroed in on Ben. “Sheriff, can I walk you out? I have a couple of questions.”
Ben looked at Marlee, but she couldn’t do much more than give him a shrug. “I’ll text you later.”
Nodding, he followed her father out of the conference room, feeling like a teenage boy about to be ejected from the parlor for kissing on the couch after curfew. The last thing he wanted to do was give Henry Masters the idea he could control any part of Ben’s private life.
“Henry, I—”
The other man gave his head a hard shake, waved to Wendell’s ever-vigilant secretary and led them out the door. Ben blinked against the glare of the harsh afternoon sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he drew to an abrupt halt and waited for Masters to realize he was no longer following. The older man was five steps away and still oblivious. Anxious to have his say, and afraid Henry might get himself whipped into a froth, Ben called out to him again—this time, using his most authoritative cop voice.
“Henry, stop.”
Masters spun around, surprise lighting his face. He was a man accustomed to giving orders and watching people jump to do his bidding. But Ben had told him from the beginning he wouldn’t be one of those people. Now was his time to prove it.
“I want to talk to you about your daughter,” he said, closing the distance between them in two strides.
“She’ll do everything in her power to get back to Atlanta,” Henry informed him without hesitation.
“You plan on keeping her here,” Ben countered.
The older man’s eyes gleamed, and Ben had a hard time deciphering whether it was respect or challenge he saw there. “Yes, and I also hear tell you can’t go back to Atlanta. At least, not if you don’t want to end up in a pine box.”
But the revelation didn’t rattle Ben. His situation was hardly a secret within the agency. It would have surprised him more to discover Masters hadn’t uncovered the reason for his decision
to switch gears career-wise. “I have absolutely no doubt you think you have a good handle on me, but you don’t.”
Henry crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure you have some hidden depths, but I’m not particularly interested in plumbing them.”
Ben stared hard at the shorter man. “You can tell me to back off, but the only person who can make me leave Marlee alone is Marlee herself.”
“Why should I? You’re the best enticement I have to keep her here,” Henry pointed out.
“What do you want to ask me?”
For the first time since he’d met the man, Henry Masters looked uncertain. He pushed his hand through his thinning silver-gold hair, casting a wary glance at the door to Wendell’s office. “Do you honestly think there’s some deeper connection between my boy’s death and these other men?”
Ben shouldn’t have been surprised to discover Masters was up to speed on the suspicions Marlee had brought to him. Wendell had probably been on the phone to Henry the second he and Marlee left his office. Ben bristled momentarily but reminded himself Masters was actually Wingate’s client and not Marlee or himself. Wendell had been under no obligation to keep their conversation confidential.
“I’ve taken it into consideration.” Ben eyed Henry carefully and was thrown completely off balance when Henry Masters got misty-eyed on him.
“I thought Carolee... She never accepted it. I can’t blame her,” he said, his voice breaking as he rambled on. “It’s unnatural to bury a child. Unbearable to think the boy you loved was so desperately unhappy he’d...” He trailed off, blinking furiously as he stared down at the patch of green lawn in front of Wendell’s law offices.
At a loss for what to say, Ben fell back on the most general of platitudes, hoping to buy some time. “No one can ever truly understand what someone else is going through.”
“He was happy,” Henry insisted. “Well, not unhappy,” he amended with a bitter laugh. “He was apprehensive about taking over the company one day, but he planned to have Marlee to help him, and he seemed to genuinely care for the Cabrera girl...”
Again, his words drifted away from him.
“It was such a shock.” Clearing his throat, he gave his head a fierce shake. “Carolee kept insisting there was more to it, but the evidence—”
But the evidence. Those three words kept bouncing around Ben’s head. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “The evidence.”
“But now these others. It can’t be a coincidence,” he stated firmly. He tossed another uncertain glance Ben’s way. “Can it?”
“I don’t think it is,” Ben told him truthfully. “But it’s not much to go on as far as theories go. There’s a distinct lack of evidence.”
“How can it be?” Masters wondered aloud. “The forensics all pointed to Jeff pulling the trigger himself.”
Ben nodded, but his movements were made jerky by a flash of memory. Something Andre had once said to him as they sat on a dirty mattress in a dank southeastern Atlanta flophouse, waiting for members of their crew to return from what Ivan called a “retribution run.” He remembered sitting there, staring at the water-stained ceiling and listening to his childhood friend spout some utter nonsense the gang leader believed about how a real man decides when it’s his time to live or die.
“Maybe he did, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he committed suicide.”
“Now you’re talking in riddles,” Henry said derisively.
“No, I’m saying the cause and effect don’t always align the way most people expect them to,” Ben retorted. “Life isn’t simple.”
“So you’re thinking someone coerced my son into putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger?”
Until Henry Masters spoke the words out loud, Ben hadn’t allowed himself to go there. But there it was. Plain as day and damn-near impossible to prove. Unless they somehow caught the person responsible in the act. Thanks to Marlee, they had two possible suspects. One of them was coming to supper at Marlee’s house.
“Exactly what I’m thinking,” Ben confirmed with a short nod. “What time should I be at your house for supper tonight? I have a couple questions for Will Thomason.”
Masters blinked twice, a look of resignation setting his features into a grim mask. “Six thirty for cocktails. We’ll eat at seven.”
* * *
“I CAN’T TELL you what a thrill it is to have so many handsome gentlemen at my table,” Carolee said, her voice as high and breathy as a girl on her first phone call with a boy. She beamed as she offered Ben the mashed potatoes with a side of fluttering lashes. “Why, when Marlee told me you’d be joining us too, Sheriff, I ran right into the kitchen and told Mrs. Franklin nothing but Mother’s English-rose china would do.”
Marlee had to hand it to the man. He didn’t look the least bit fazed by her mother’s flirtation. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for a good home-cooked meal, Mrs. Masters.” Ben took the proffered dish from her. “And, please, call me Ben.”
“Then you must call me Carolee,” her mother parried.
“Mrs. Masters is fine,” her father grumbled as he placed two slices of Mrs. Franklin’s mouthwatering roast beef on his plate.
Marlee’s impulse to laugh was stifled when the man beside her spoke up. “And you should call me Will, Marlee.”
With barely a glance, she swung a small serving platter his way. “Asparagus, Mr. Thomason?” she asked politely, emphasizing the use of his surname.
He didn’t miss the hint. “Thank you, Ms. Masters,” he said as he relieved her of the plate. “How are you enjoying your time with Wendell Wingate?”
His delivery was annoyingly congenial. He hadn’t even noticed she’d been pointedly rude to him from the moment he walked through the door. Marlee cut him a sharp look. “How do you know I’ve been working with Mr. Wingate?”
The pause lasted a beat too long. Her question surprised him. The openness of his expressions made her feel more confident. She needed to gauge his reactions when she prodded him about the Sportsmen’s Club and the parcels of land surrounding Sawtooth Lake.
“I was the one who suggested you spend time with him first,” Thomason said, darting a puzzled look at Henry. “I guess your father didn’t mention it.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I showed up for my first day at the family business and got foisted off on the trusty family retainer.”
Either her word choice or the flippancy captured her father’s attention. For the first time since he herded them all from the front parlor into the dining room, Henry looked up from his plate. She saw the deep furrow between his brows and felt an instant stab of remorse. Her mother had always claimed Marlee and Henry butted heads so much because they were too alike. Now, she saw her father’s genuine befuddlement.
“‘Foisted off’?”
“We thought working with Wendell would be the most logical place for you to start,” Thomason cut in smoothly. The silence following his statement stretched a beat too long. Will rushed to fill it on her father’s behalf. “Since the plan was for you to come into the administrative end of the business rather than production.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Of course, those plans have changed, but it still seemed as good a place to start as any.”
A sudden stillness filled the room as even her mother’s incessant chatter died away. Marlee scanned her father’s face for hints but found him as unreadable as ever. Beside her, Will Thomason tensed, though she had to hand it to him—he didn’t let his consternation show. Still, she sensed him gathering his energy in tight, a snake coiling and set to strike.
Intrigued by her father’s statement and the closely controlled reaction from the man everyone assumed to be his heir apparent, she placed her fork and knife on the edge of her plate and focused entirely on the man seated at the head of the table. “What do you mean?”
“What I said.” Henry’s resp
onse was sharp and direct. Stripped of his customary bluff and bluster. When all eyes swung to him expectantly, he shrugged their curiosity off. “We’ll have to rethink our plans.”
“Yes, speaking of, I have plans to order some new curtains for your room, Marlee. I was in there looking at them last night, and I realized it’s been forever since I spruced the place up.”
Marlee and Ben exchanged a meaningful look. There was one mystery solved. It had been her mother in her room after all. Regardless, she wasn’t letting her guard down around Thomason anytime soon.
“I meant our long-range plans,” Henry interrupted.
“Our long-range plans?” Marlee repeated, emphasizing his choice of pronoun.
“Yes.” He fixed her with the same impatient but stubbornly entrenched expression he’d worn when drilling her on multiplication tables.
“You mean your plans,” she said, choosing the more appropriate pronoun.
“Timber Masters is a family business. You are the last of the line. The company and all of our other interests will one day come to you.” Her father didn’t break eye contact. “It’s my duty to see you are prepared.”
Wendell had implied the exact same thing when they first met, but hearing her father lay it out there so bluntly came as a shock. At the opposite end of the table, her mother gasped. Snatching the creamy damask napkin from her lap, Carolee managed to cover her mouth but emitted a strangled sob.
“Mama,” Marlee began, half rising in her chair, prepared to usher Carolee from the room if she couldn’t rein in her emotions.
“Oh, for the love of—” Henry threw up his hands in surrender. “I dream of getting through one meal without hysterics.”
Dropping back onto her seat, Marlee whirled on her father. “Maybe your wife dreams of being able to get through one day without being reminded her only son is gone, but she doesn’t have such luxuries.”
“He was my son too,” Henry fired back.
