by Janet Dailey
“Playing it safe, are you?” He laughed. “Fine. Now? Or would you rather wait till tonight?”
“Now’s all right.”
“You don’t sound very excited.”
“Think about it, Kyle. Think about the last time we were together and what you did and said.”
“Hell, woman, you socked me in the eye. I was in pain.”
“Like I said, we need to talk. You can come over or not. It’s up to you.”
Fifteen minutes later the old ranch truck pulled up to the house and Kyle climbed out. Erin met him on the porch with a cold Bud Light in each hand. She handed him one as he came up the steps. “Sit down,” she said.
He lowered himself into the chair that had always been Will’s. Erin stifled the urge to insist that he move. What difference would it make now?
“So, are you ready to apologize for blacking my eye?”
“Are you ready to apologize for being a jerk, or should we just call it a draw?” Erin sat down in the chair that she’d placed three feet away. When she thought of what he’d done, she could barely stand the sight of him. But she had to get through this. She had to make it clear that she knew he’d lied about Luke.
He put his boots on the rail, popped the tab on his beer can, and tipped it to his lips. “Sorry about your dad,” he said. “I mean it. I really do. What an awful tragedy for you.” He studied her over the rim of the can. “I guess that makes you the boss, doesn’t it?”
“For whatever that’s worth.” Erin set her can on the porch without opening it. Why not tell him the truth? Maybe it would cool his ardor if he knew she was going to be landless and poor.
“I still say you’re going to need a man in your life,” Kyle said.
“Only if he’s rich.” She took a perverse pleasure in giving him the news. “My father died owing the bank a balloon payment of two hundred thousand dollars. If I can’t come up with it by the first of October, I won’t have a ranch to boss. The bank will foreclose, and probably sell the place to the syndicate. Maybe your father knows something about that.”
“Lord, no.” Was he surprised or just playacting? “My father just works for the syndicate. He’s not one of the big shots. Otherwise, I’d ask him to help you out.”
“So,” Erin asked, “do you still think I’ll need a man to help me manage my fortune?”
“That’s not fair, Erin. You know I’d take you with the clothes on your back—or without them.”
She ignored his attempt at a joke. “Right now I’m more interested in finding out who killed my father.”
“I thought that was settled. The sheriff’s arrested your farrier, Luke Maddox. The man’s got guilt written all over him.”
“How can you say that? The evidence against him is all circumstantial.”
“Then you haven’t heard. An eyewitness saw him putting that tire in the road to set up the ambush.”
“How convenient that someone just happened to be there. Can you tell me who it was?”
“I think you know,” he said. “It was me. I was alone in my upstairs bedroom, looking out the window, when I saw that rig of his stop on the road.”
“That road’s at least a half mile from your house. How could you see anything clearly?”
“I couldn’t at first. But I had a feeling something fishy was going on, so I got my binoculars out of the closet and opened the window for a better look. It was Maddox, all right, and he was rolling that big tire out of the back of his trailer. He left it in the road and drove off. I’m guessing he hid the rig out of sight on some farm road and snuck back around to wait for your dad.”
Erin knew that he was lying. There was no way Luke could have committed the murder. But Kyle’s story gave her chills, not because it might be true, but because it was plausible—just plausible enough for the sheriff to accept.
If she’d been frightened for Luke before, she was terrified now.
“Are you prepared to tell that story in court, under oath?” she demanded.
“Sure. I don’t see why not, since it’s true—unless you can talk me into changing my mind. I could always say I made a mistake, leaving Maddox to take his chances.”
Erin’s pulse slammed. Would Kyle stoop to blackmailing her?
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked.
“You don’t. You weren’t there. As I recall, you were off somewhere with Rose. You’ll have to take my word for it, just like the sheriff did.” He was leering at her, his face wearing the lazy, lopsided grin that she’d once thought was cute. Now all she wanted to do was punch that grin off his insolent face, maybe take out a couple of front teeth in the process.
Freezing her emotions, she stood. “You need to go, Kyle. If you’re lying to me, and if you lied to the sheriff, we can never be friends again.”
He took time to unfold his legs and rise to his feet. One hand crushed the half-empty beer can, shooting a stream of yellow liquid onto the porch before he tossed it at her feet. “You know how to find me, Erin,” he said. “And when—not if—you do, I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Toward dawn, Marie approached the abandoned line hut, after a nightly ramble that included a quick check on the Rimrock and some foraging in the dumpsters behind the Burger Shack and Shop Mart. As she neared the ramshackle building, her tingling danger senses told her that someone had been there. When she left her bike and approached her hideout, her flashlight beam found the tracks of a four-wheel-drive SUV and the kind of low-heeled boots that troopers tended to wear. There was no vehicle in sight, but someone could still be inside, waiting for her to return.
Time to go. Now. She’d left nothing in the vermin-infested shack except some clothes, a few snacks, and her bedroll, which could easily be replaced. The important things—her dwindling supply of cash, the burner phone she’d stolen, her flashlight, first-aid supplies, and cigarettes—were in the panniers on her bike. Nothing else was worth the risk of getting caught, especially if they got her for killing that cop in the stairwell of the Blue Coyote. For that, she wouldn’t just be returned to Gatesville. She would end up on death row.
Cursing her rotten luck, she made it back to her bike and wheeled it a half mile down the trail before starting it up. The engine coughed and roared as she shot down the back road. She’d learned to be careful. But one stupid split-second decision had put the cops back on her trail—and they wouldn’t give up, not when she’d brought down one of their own.
Abner Sweeney must’ve remembered her. Or Sky might have noticed some sign that she was around and called the sheriff. Then there was that little Tyler bitch taking a picture of her footprint. For two cents she would kill them all. Too bad she’d ditched the gun she’d taken off the old man. She could use it now. Stealing another one would take time, caution, and luck.
Where to go now? That was the question. With no drugs or cash, Mexico was out. Staying around here had become dangerous. But her only hope of a secure future lay in killing Erin Tyler and getting Stella’s stash.
Lubbock might be the best solution. She knew neighborhoods where it might be possible to disappear among the brown-skinned population. She’d even had some connections there before her prison sentence. If they hadn’t moved on, they might be willing to help her in exchange for a few favors. It wasn’t the best solution, but for now it would have to do.
When the heat died down, she would be back. And next time she wouldn’t fail.
Gunning the machine, she mapped out the network of back-roads in her mind. The rising sun found her headed north, roaring toward the city.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN THE BANK OPENED, ERIN WAS WAITING at the door. The single teller let her in, but she had to wait another half hour for the account manager to show up. She sat on a folding metal chair, thinking about Luke, who would be facing the judge for his arraignment this morning. She tried to imagine the dread, the humiliation, he must be feeling—the indignity of standing before the court in chains. Luk
e’s strength and dignity would be sorely tested today.
It was a given that he would be held without bail, at least until the grand jury met to decide whether the case should go to trial. After that, he could be jailed for weeks, even months, while the case was prepared. What would time as a prisoner do to him? Would he remain the gentle, honest man she’d fallen in love with? Or would he become hardened, bitter, and distrustful?
Erin was saying a silent prayer when the account manager walked in from the rear of the bank and sat down at her desk.
The woman, who’d worked school lunch before getting the bank job, remembered her and beckoned her over.
“I’m so sorry about your father, dear,” she said. “And so soon after losing your mother, too. My, you’re going to have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. But don’t worry, we can help you with that. I imagine you’re here to transfer the accounts to your name. Did you bring the death certificate?”
“I brought everything.” Erin took her paperwork, including the death certificate, power of attorney, and most recent statements, out of the briefcase that had belonged to her mother. “When we’re done here, I need to speak with Mr. Bartlett,” she said.
“I’m sure you do. He already knows you’re here.” As the woman printed out the documents that needed to be signed and notarized, Erin looked past her, toward the glass-fronted office at the back of the bank. She could see Sim Bartlett in a suit and tie, sitting behind his massive desk as if he were president of some Fortune 500 corporation instead of a small-town bank whose employees could be counted on the fingers of one hand. He was a big frog in a tiny pond, and she would not allow him to intimidate her.
When the accounts had been transferred, Erin was escorted back to Bartlett’s office. The room behind the glass was furnished like an old-time men’s club, the walls darkly paneled with heavy molding at the top, the furniture massive and expensively made. A gilt-framed photo of Bartlett shaking hands with the previous governor of the state hung on one wall. Bartlett, a stocky man whose silver hair was too sculpted not to be a toupee, rose behind his desk and extended his hand.
Erin had never spoken with the man. But the thought that this pretentious old goat had made her father’s last days miserable made her want to turn her back and walk out.
Instead she accepted his handshake and his invitation to take a seat. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Bartlett,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“My condolences for your loss.” Bartlett had not attended Will’s funeral. “I hope you understand that this meeting is just a formality. It doesn’t change the terms of the loan on your ranch or the fact that the payment will be due as stated in the contract.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” Erin said. “But I want you to know that this isn’t over. I’ll be exploring every alternative I can find. Nobody’s taking my ranch.”
He gave her a condescending smile. “Knock yourself out, my dear. I’ll be interested in seeing what you come up with—and in watching you fail.”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Bartlett.” Erin stood, turned away, and walked out.
She made it to the sidewalk out front before her knees began to shake. The battle lines had been drawn. At least she’d stood up to the wretched man. But standing up was one thing. Making good on her word was something else.
There were other lenders, she reminded herself. Not here in Blanco Springs, but in the city. Surely, with the ranch as collateral, she could find a bank that would refinance the loan on easier terms. She would start her search in the next few days. Right now, she needed to find Luke’s court-appointed attorney.
When she told the court receptionist about her connection to the case, the woman murmured her condolences, scrawled a name and phone number on a notepad, torn off the page, and handed it to Erin. “She’s probably left for the day. But that’s her cell phone, so you should be able to reach her. She’s a character. You’ll see.”
After walking out into the sunshine, Erin sat on a bench and studied the paper the woman had given her. Pearlina Murchison. The receptionist had said she was a character. But maybe that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Luke’s life was in this woman’s hands.
Erin entered the number on her phone and waited for the ring.
“Hello?” The voice sound old and hoarse. A heavy smoker, maybe.
“Ms. Murchison, my name is Erin Tyler.”
“Yes. I know who you are. Luke said you might want to talk to me. Can we meet now?”
“I was hoping we could. Tell me where.”
“Can you come to my house? I only live a few blocks from the courthouse, but I don’t get around so well, and I just got home.” She gave Erin directions.
A few minutes later, Erin parked at the curb. She recognized the small brick house now. For as long as she could remember, it had stood vacant, the windows boarded, the yard overgrown with weeds. But now she could see that the place had been cleaned up. The yard, though dry, had been mowed. The front door was painted a cheerful lime green. Spider plants hung in macramé slings over the covered porch, where a figure in a flowered sundress overflowed one of two large rattan chairs. Two cats dozed on the low steps. Three more sprawled in the shade of the porch.
Good grief, was Luke being defended by a crazy cat lady?
“Sit down, dear. You can call me Pearl.” The woman hauled herself to her feet. Erin noticed the cane propped against the chair and the pack of Marlboros on the side table. “I’ve got some cold sodas in the fridge. I’d offer you a beer, but I’ve been sober for six years, so I don’t keep temptation around.”
“Maybe later, thanks,” Erin said. “Right now I’d rather just talk to you. How is Luke?”
Pearl lowered herself to the chair again. “About how you’d expect. He’s a proud man. Reminds me of a caged lion. He told me to make sure you stayed away.”
“Yes, we agreed that it might hurt his case if I showed up. But it’s hard, not being able to see him. All I can do is make sure you have everything you need for his defense.”
“I spent most of the night studying his file and looking for anything that might help—insomnia is just one of my complaints. Did you know about the previous assault charge?”
“Yes. Luke punched a man for abusing a horse. He told me he’d do it again in the same situation.”
“And the witness? The one who claims to have seen him unloading that tire?”
“He was my boyfriend before Luke came along. I can’t disprove his claim because I wasn’t there, but he’s got to be lying. Last night he even hinted that he might change his story if I’d go back to him.”
“Would you be willing to testify to that in court?” The blue eyes that peered at Erin through tortoise-framed glasses were sharp and intelligent.
“Certainly, but what he said was only implied. It might not be enough to convince a jury.”
“You may be right, but at least it’s an option. The fact that the victim was your father, and that you still believe in Luke’s innocence, should carry some weight. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a soda?”
“If you’ll let me get it, and one for you, too,” Erin said.
“Thanks. These old legs aren’t what they used to be when I was Miss Blanco County of 1972. I’ll take a root beer.”
Erin got up and went inside through the screen door. The interior of the little house was cluttered but clean, with sagging, well-worn furniture facing an old-style TV. One entire wall was covered in bookshelves—their contents running the gamut from law, to science, history, and literary classics. One shelf was filled with well-worn paperback romance novels. Two more cats lounged on the chair, a tabby on the back, a ginger on the arm.
The Formica table in the kitchen was littered with open files, newspaper clippings, and old law books, scattered around an open laptop computer. Passing the table on her way to the fridge, Erin couldn’t help noticing some familiar names and faces. It appeared that Pearl had been researching Luke’s case in depth—t
he people involved, the crime scene, the sheriff’s records, the witness accounts, and legal precedents in similar cases. The lady was doing her homework. Cats or no cats, Pearl Murchison was the real deal.
With renewed respect, Erin took a root beer and a Diet Coke from the fridge and carried them outside. The cat Pearl had been stroking jumped off her lap as Erin sat down again.
“Answer one question for me.” Pearl popped the tab on her root beer and sipped it as she talked. “If you weren’t in love with Luke Maddox—and I’m assuming you are—would you still believe that he didn’t murder your father?”
The question shocked Erin for an instant, but she answered without hesitation. “I’ve seen Luke at work. I’ve seen his gentleness and witnessed his integrity. There’s no way he’s a killer. That aside, it makes no sense at all that he’d kill my father. It would have cost him everything he valued. Besides, he wasn’t even there. Is that good enough for you?”
“For now. So let’s move on. What I’m hoping to do here is prove to the grand jury that there’s no case to take to trial. For that we need to do at least one of two things—either prove that Luke couldn’t have committed the crime, or prove that someone else did. Are you with me so far?”
Erin nodded.
“Here’s where I need your help,” Pearl continued. “As I see it, there are two conflicting claims. According to the medical examiner, and confirmed by Abner Sweeney, who saw him leave the bar, your father was killed between eleven-thirty and noon, when somebody spotted his empty truck from the main road. Your exboyfriend claims that sometime before that he saw Luke setting up an ambush. Luke’s version of the story is that he left the Rimrock around ten—a time confirmed by your housekeeper—and that he made it all the way to Plainview before he heard the news on TV and turned around.”
“That’s right. He stopped at a diner off the first exit. As soon as the news came on, and he heard they were looking for him, he turned around and headed back.”
“That’s what he told me,” Pearl said. “But here’s the thing. After Luke was picked up and booked the first time, the sheriff faxed a copy of his driver’s license to the Plainview police. They took the picture to that diner to confirm that he’d been there. Nobody in the place remembered seeing him or his rig.”
