by Rayna Morgan
“Who knows, I might be moved up to take your place. I’ll finally get the promotion I was never going to get while you were in charge.”
“What makes you think I never would have promoted you?” Tom asked.
“From the day the rookie arrived, she’s received special treatment. You’ve given her undercover assignments and consulted with her on operations.”
“If you think Pat and I are privately consulting, how can you be sure this whole assignment isn’t a setup to uncover the mole; a sting Pat’s in on? In fact, how do you know there aren’t surveillance cameras recording this whole scene, which means a squad car is on its way.”
At the mention of cameras, the officer’s eyes jerked toward the ceiling. Tom dove for the man’s knees knocking him backward. The gun fell from his hand and skidded under the couch. Both men jumped to their feet.
A hooded figure barged through the door, a rifle extending from his body like a third arm. He fired. Glass shattered. A blood-curdling scream pierced the air.
“Amber, hide,” Tom shouted. He shoved her inside the bedroom sending her sprawling to the floor and slammed the door. He pushed the officer toward the wall and dove behind the couch.
The gunman fired another round. The sound reverberated through the room like a cannon.
The officer tried to stand, staggered, and fell.
Tom grabbed the gun from the floor behind the couch, stood up, and aimed blindly. Both guns blazed as Tom and the gunman fired. The smell of sulfur filled the air.
One man fell to the ground.
The sound of sirens pierced the silence; patrol cars responding to a scene which officers at the precinct had watched in horror as it unfolded on the surveillance camera.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lea parked on the frontage road in front of the Hudson Ranch. As soon as she saw Cliff Hudson come out of the house and get into his truck, she jumped out of the car and handed the keys to her sister.
“You know what to do. I’m going to the house to talk to Mildred. Follow Cliff and convince him to come back to the house with you, but give me enough time to get Mildred talking.”
“I still think this is crazy. Why can’t we call Tom and let him do it?”
“Because we have no evidence,” Lea said, “which means Tom has nothing to confront them with. This is our only chance.”
“Fine,” Maddy said, throwing up her hands, “but what if I can’t convince Cliff to come back in time to—”
“Just do it. I don’t think you want to explain to Paul what’s happened to me if you don’t.”
• • •
Moving as quietly as possible, Lea entered the Hudson house without knocking. She went toward the sound of clattering dishes in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Lea said, standing in the doorway.
Mildred Hudson spun around, dropping a cup on the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain was heard through the room.
“You startled me,” Mildred said. Her tone was decidedly less friendly than on the previous day. “What are you doing here?”
“I was talking with Detective Elliot about your husband yesterday.”
“If you two are trying to connect Clifford with Albert’s murder, you’re wasting your time,” she snapped.
“Don’t worry; Tom is convinced Mr. Hudson has an airtight alibi. All he needs to do is confirm it with the other judges.”
“Then I’ll repeat my question,” Mildred said. Red color flamed her cheeks. “Why are you here?”
“Because you’re the Hudson who doesn’t have an air-tight alibi. I confirmed that myself yesterday,” Lea said, “but with the judges of the cook-off, not with the judges of the rodeo. Congratulations, Mildred. You won for your ribs just as you’d hoped.”
Mildred dropped the tea towel on the counter and braced herself against the edge of the sink with both hands. She looked more like a woman receiving bitter news than a woman being congratulated.
“Too bad you weren’t present to receive the ribbon. Your cousin accepted on your behalf.”
“I was busy,” Mildred said. She looked down, pushing pieces of the broken cup under the table with her foot.
“What could have kept you away from collecting the prize you’d coveted except—”
“Preventing someone from taking away a bigger prize,” Mildred said. Her body slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. She clasped her hands, rubbing one hand over the other. “Albert would have ruined everything. I could have lost my husband, my home, and any hopes for a new future.”
Lea sat down across from Mildred. She couldn’t help but feel the woman’s total misery.
“Albert and I had an affair the year before his wife died,” Mildred said. “It started when I received an invitation from the Bensons to attend Victoria’s showing at a gallery in town. I couldn’t coax my husband away from his moronic game shows, so I attended the exhibit alone. Victoria had to stay until the last person left, but she insisted that Albert take the ride home I offered him.
“We stopped to enjoy the sunset, and ended up talking until long after the stars came out.” Her gaze wandered to the living room. She stared at the landscape painting hanging above the fireplace.
“Mildred,” Lea said gently, drawing the woman’s attention back into focus.
“Albert was proud of his wife’s talent, but he realized that he and I had more in common. We talked about which crops to plant in the spring rotation, marveled together over newborn sheep, and discussed the latest farm machinery. His wife’s passion was for painting landscapes. He and I shared a passion for growing the things she painted.
“Victoria wanted more children, but they had trouble conceiving their first-born. The doctors gave her little hope for another pregnancy. As their hopes for a second child dimmed, she grew more and more into the solitude of her painting. Albert brought his loneliness to me.”
“But she was your friend as much as Albert. How could you betray that friendship?”
“She was the kind of woman I wished to be but wasn’t. When I was with Albert, that no longer mattered. She had her art, I had her husband.”
Lea was silenced for a moment by the coldness of the woman. “Go on,” she said.
“Contrary to the doctor’s prognosis, Victoria conceived.” Mildred’s lips drew into a thin line, and her eyes narrowed. “It was at odds with what Albert led me to believe about their physical relations.”
“What did he do?”
“He began feeling guilty, saying it wasn’t right to be sneaking around with another woman when his wife was pregnant,” Mildred said, unleashing a stream of smoldering acid. “Another woman, that’s what he called me, another woman.”
“Did your affair survive her dying in childbirth?”
“What do you think? Albert went into a period of grieving he never recovered from. He blamed himself, said her dying was his punishment for being unfaithful. He believed his sin was visited on his children by their growing up without a mother.”
“Was Albert worried that his wife knew about your relationship before her death?”
“We were certain she never suspected. In the end, it didn’t matter; his guilt destroyed him anyway. He was never the same, devoured by the kind of endless grieving which prevents a person from moving on with their life.”
“The affair happened years ago. Why kill him now?” Lea asked.
“The offer to buy his land stirred it all up again. Dalton wanted to move to town and tried to convince his father it would be better for Lucy as well.” Mildred stood and paced around the room telling her story. “Albert wanted his children to understand why holding on to the land was so important. The land the family had lived on together was the only thing they had left of Victoria. He got it in his head that his children should know the truth. He wanted to tell them about our affair and how he felt their mother’s death was punishment for his adultery.”
“Would it have mattered to you? It had been years since the affair as far
as explaining it to your husband.”
“Years, centuries, it wouldn’t have mattered. Clifford has the bull-headed pride of ranchers. What’s theirs is theirs. Letting someone take your property is forbidden. He would have made me pay for it the rest of my life.”
“But your husband wants to sell the ranch. With your half of the proceeds from the sale, you could leave Clifford and start a new life.”
“That’s the problem. Clifford inherited all this,” Mildred said, spreading her arms. “I have no rights to it.”
“Of course; property acquired by inheritance during the marriage is legally considered as separate property,” Lea said, grasping the woman’s dilemma. “But why didn’t you have the title changed to community property years ago?”
“We never had a reason. I only considered it when I had my fling with Albert. It was the first time I’d asked myself how I’d get along if I left Clifford or if anything happened to him.”
“Did you ask your husband about changing the title?”
“I mentioned it one time. He laughed, saying he’d live to be a hundred, so I had nothing to worry about. I could hardly suggest the other reason. But once Clifford started talking about selling, I realized that if we sold this property and bought another place, the new house would be community property. Half of whatever we bought would be mine, enough to divorce him and start a new life without him.”
“What made Clifford decide to sell?”
“The fool ran up a ton of debt trying to set up a hydroponic farming system. The ‘wave of the future’ he called it. The problem is that it required a large amount of equipment to be purchased. The bank’s been calling in loans he can’t repay. He has no choice but to sell. Albert stood in the way of that.”
“I understand why you felt you needed to get rid of Albert, but why kill him at the rodeo?” Lea asked.
“I figured the perfect opportunity would present itself between the number of ranchers who hated his guts being present at the rodeo as potential suspects and the number of handguns being flashed around for the shooting competitions.”
“So you took a pistol with you anticipating an opportunity?”
“I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw what happened between Dalton and his father and realized that I could put my bullets in Dalton’s gun to shoot Albert.”
“Clever. By not using your own gun, the police wouldn’t trace the bullet back to you.”
“It turned out better than I’d hoped for.” Mildred gloated.
“So you wanted Dalton to be accused of the murder?” Lea asked, slapping her hand on the table. “Your willingness to frame that young man is unbelievable.”
“I saw my opportunity, and I took it,” Mildred said, offering no sign of remorse. She stopped in front of a closet, reached in, and pulled out a rifle.
Her hands, as she pointed the gun at Lea, were as steady as a rock. Her voice was as cold as a block of ice.
“You didn’t tell me the first time we met that you and your sister were the ones my husband caught snooping in the barn. Shame you didn’t follow his advice and stay away.
“Actually, I should thank you for discovering the poison and throwing suspicion on my husband as the person responsible for poisoning Albert’s crops. It means they’re as likely to accuse him of Albert’s murder as they are to blame the boy. Either way, I’ll be in the clear.”
“You can’t believe you’ll get away with this. What do you intend to do?”
“We women protect our land same as the men. It’s like Clifford told you, we shoot trespassers. The police know about your being found on our property once before; they won’t be surprised when it happens again. Only this time, your sister’s not around to save you with her fancy martial arts. Let’s go out to the barn. I don’t want blood spilled on my shiny wood floors.”
• • •
Mildred shoved the barrel of the rifle in Lea’s back and pushed her. The screen door flew open hitting the tall figure standing behind it.
The man’s face was ashen, his posture rigid like a stone monument. His voice boomed like a crack of thunder.
“You won’t be taking her anywhere, woman.”
“Clifford, where—”
“This young lady brought me,” he said, pointing toward Maddy. “She told me something was going on at the house I needed to see and hear. She was right,” he yelled, raising his arm above his wife’s head as if to strike her.
“That’s enough, Cliff. We’ll take it from here,” Maddy said as she walked toward the porch, a shotgun resting on her forearm.
“Where did you get the gun, Maddy?” Lea gasped.
“Pulled it out of his truck. I figured it might come in handy,” Maddy said. She pointed it in Mildred’s direction. “I know how to use it. I’m an expert marksman in case you think I’m just eye candy.”
Mildred’s shoulders drooped. She lowered the rifle and turned toward her husband. “I can—”
“Shut your mouth, I don’t want to hear another word.” He clenched his fists, and his jaw turned to granite.
“Do what you want with her,” he snapped at Lea and stomped into the house. The screen door slammed behind him.
Mildred slouched into a rocker, dropping her head in her hands.
Lea picked up the barrel of Mildred’s rifle with her thumb and forefinger and passed it to her sister. “Call Tom. Tell him to come get Mildred.”
“Gladly,” Maddy said, punching in a number. “Then I’ll call Scott and Katie to let them know this nightmare is over.”
Maddy swore under her breath when her call went to voicemail. “You’re never there when I need you, Tom, call me right away.” She ended the call and punched in another number.
Relieved to hear a live voice, the words tumbled out. “Pat, it’s Maddy. Lea’s cracked the Benson murder. Mildred Hudson has confessed. We’re with her at the Hudson Ranch. Tell Tom to come pick her up.”
“I’ll send a car right away, but Tom can’t come.”
“Can’t, or won’t? A case of sour grapes over someone else solving the case?”
“Tom set up a bust of the prostitution ring. It went sideways. Two officers were involved in a shooting. They’ve been taken to the hospital. I’m on my way to the emergency room.”
“Tom?” Maddy choked.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you when I find out. A car will pick up your prisoner momentarily. Kudos,” she added hastily, “on catching the murderer.”
Maddy clicked off and thrust the guns into Lea’s hands. “Tom’s been shot. I’m going to the hospital.”
“But—” Lea objected, grasping the weapons gingerly.
“Just channel Dad, you’ll be fine. Ride back to town in the squad car,” she yelled over her shoulder, racing to Lea’s car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Maddy drove to the hospital unmindful of the speed limit. Tears streamed down her face as she repeated the mantra ‘let him be safe’ over and over.
She ran to the reception area at the emergency entrance.
“The officer who was brought in,” she asked, breathlessly, “where is he?”
“He’s in surgery.”
Maddy’s knees buckled, and she felt light-headed. She braced her hands against the counter.
“What are you doing here?”
She twirled at the sound of the familiar voice.
“You’re all right!” she said, grabbing Tom’s arms.
He winced and reached for his shoulder. “Ouch, take it easy, woman.”
“Omigawd, you’re hurt.”
“A flesh wound,” he said, rubbing a patch on his arm. “It’s nothing.”
A doctor approached, pulling a surgical mask from his face. “The other officer should recover, but it will be touch-and-go for a few hours.”
“And the other man?”
“DOA.”
Pat came down the hall. “We’re all set, Lieutenant. A guard has been posted at the patient’s room. I’ll hang around a while to see i
f he regains consciousness.”
“Call me as soon as we can talk to him. I’ll head back to headquarters to write up a report and make sure Amber is secure.”
“Can I give you a ride?” Maddy asked. Her voice was still shaky.
“Thanks, but someone from the precinct is coming to pick me up.”
“You can’t go back to work,” Maddy argued.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take the rest of the day off as soon as I’ve cleared up the loose ends.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Tom said. “Here’s my ride now.”
“Hey, boss.” A broad grin spread across the officer’s face. “Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking.”
“Your concern is touching,” Tom said, throwing his good arm around the young man’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. I hate hospitals.”
Tom stopped to brush a kiss on Maddy’s cheek. “I’ll call you tonight. You can come over and nurse me.”
The two men walked toward the door.
”Should I consider this a demotion? I used to ride shotgun as your patrol partner. Now, I’m your chauffeur.”
“Don’t worry, JJ. You’re good.”
• • •
Tom was ready to keep his promise to Maddy when his phone rang. “Yeah, Pat. What’s up?”
“The patient’s come to. He’s groggy with pain pills but coherent enough to talk.”
“I’m on my way.”
• • •
Pat was waiting in the reception area when Tom arrived at the hospital. “Room 204.”
“Give me a moment,” Tom said, taking a deep breath. “I need to calm down. Being confrontational will only make him defensive.”
“I know how you feel,” Pat said. “When I think he was willing to let you get snuffed, I could shoot him myself.”
“Let’s find out what he has to say for himself.”
The patient was propped up with pillows. Fluids dripped into his arm from a bag hanging on a stand. Spasms of pain rippled across his face when he tried to sit up straighter.
“How you doing?” Tom asked. The callous tone of the question suggested it was rhetorical.
