by Meryl Sawyer
She explained how easily someone could have planted the gun. “It could have happened during the Art Festival when the gallery was so crowded, or someone could have come by when Suzi or I were in the back room and dropped the gun into the pot by just opening the front door. They didn’t even have to come into the shop.”
“Didn’t Suzi notice the pot was heavier?”
“No. It’s a small gun, and the pot is quite large. What makes it unusual is the lid. Most Acoma pots don’t have them. The lid made it perfect for whoever planted the gun. No one would notice it until the police search.”
Her father regarded her with undisguised worry. “They must have more evidence than just the gun. I hear the DA is rushing this case. They’ll arraign you tomorrow.”
The speed with which this was happening staggered her. It was almost as if someone had plotted to get Zach out of town, then zeroed in on her. You’re overreacting, she told herself. She had no idea where Zach had gone or why. Even if he were here, he represented the law. What could he do to help her?
“I know a lawyer in Santa Fe with a young gun in his firm who specializes in criminal law. Fremont Simmons got off that man who killed his wife and baby, remember?”
She did—with sickening clarity. Fremont Simmons was perfect for a role as a lawyer in a movie. Slick. Arrogant. A man who twisted the law to service the interests of criminals rich enough to afford him.
“Great,” she said with much more enthusiasm than she felt. What was happening to her? She felt as if she were being swept downstream into dangerous rapids without a moment to think or catch her breath.
“We’ll fight them at the arraignment,” her father said. “If they don’t have enough evidence, they’ll be forced to dismiss the charges against you.”
They did have enough evidence to persuade the judge to indict her, she realized, feeling the hangman’s noose around her neck, tightening with each passing second. Now was the time to tell her father the whole story.
“Dad,” she said gently, “about that night at The Hideaway.”
“Seth put one of those damn Roofies in your drink. That’s what started all this.”
“True, but I knew better than to go to The Hideaway.” She inhaled a calming breath, praying her father would understand. “After Seth left me, I don’t know who I was with … or what happened exactly. But when I woke up the next morning, I didn’t have the panties I’d been wearing, and my wallet had fallen out of my purse. I’m sure all of this is in the sheriff’s report.”
“Coulter tried to frame you,” her father said flatly.
Sheesh! Would this ever end? Her father hated Zach with an obsession. None of this was Zach’s fault, yet her father lived to blame him.
“Zach didn’t have to frame me. I went to The Hideaway and got myself in trouble. I blame no one except myself. What would really help is having an alibi.”
“I’ll bet the good-for-nothing sheriff didn’t even look for the man.”
For a moment, she wondered if he’d forgotten their conversation yesterday. Of course, he hadn’t. Her father was pulling one of his usual stunts by ignoring something he didn’t like.
“This is Zach’s case. When he returns—”
“Do you think Coulter will try to help you?”
“Yes, Father. Zach will do his best to help me.”
Her father sat back in his wheelchair and pulled himself up to full height. His expression changed from one of compassion to his banker’s analytical stare. He spoke in the same calm, emotionless voice he’d begun with yesterday.
“Be reasonable, Claire. Coulter has a job to protect. If he can hang this murder on you, he will. Don’t you know how stupid he’s looked challenging Seth and Vanessa Trent about Max Bassinger’s death?”
“The special agent from the FBI agreed with him.”
Her father continued to assess her from beneath level brows. “I’m positive Zach Coulter is trying to get back at me through you. I—”
“You’re wrong. He wouldn’t—”
“It’s my fault. In my life, I’ve done few things I’m ashamed of. The way I treated Zach after the accident is one of them.” Her father gazed down as he ran his palms over the tops of his knees. “Zach looked so much like his father, and you’d been seeing him. All I wanted to do was run him out of town, so I could forget. I saw to it that he was fired from every job he got.”
On one level this confession surprised her, yet on another she had always known her father had a vindictive streak. She hadn’t wanted to believe this about him, so she’d ignored the signs. Now, she had to admit her father had a serious character flaw. What kind of man would pick on a young boy?
“You wouldn’t lend him the money to bury his mother either,” Claire reminded him—bitterness underscoring every word. The image of Zach walking down the street returned with startling clarity. Snow swirling around his thin windbreaker. Hopeless. Alone.
“I was wrong,” her father conceded. “He was just a kid.” His words were so sincere that she couldn’t bring herself to criticize him even though he’d slipped considerably in her estimation.
“Coulter’s never forgotten what I did,” her father insisted. “He’s going to destroy you, the way his father destroyed your mother.”
That’s absurd, she thought, but didn’t voice her opinion out loud. Obviously, her father needed professional counseling. When she got out of here, she was going to see he received the help he needed.
“Claire, I’ll do anything,” her father said, a note of desperation in his voice, “spend any amount of money to help you.” Two full beats of ominous silence. “All you have to do is promise me that you’ll never see Zach Coulter again.”
She saw the love in his eyes and knew he would move heaven and earth to help her out of this mess. Whatever his faults, her father had always been there for her. Common sense said to accept his offer.
What did she have going with Zach, anyway? They’d never discussed the future. Yet, she’d been profoundly moved by her experiences with him. And the time she’d spent with Zach had given her insight into his character. She wanted to give their relationship a chance.
“I can’t give him up,” she said, praying Zach would not make her regret this decision. “I just can’t.”
Her father wheeled back from the table. “That’s exactly what your mother said when I gave her the choice between giving up Jake Coulter or staying with you and me. So, now I’m going to tell you exactly what I told her. You deserve what you’re going to get.”
Thirty
It took Judge Rameriz less than ten minutes to hear the state’s case and decide Claire should be tried for the murder of Duncan Morrell. The pro bono attorney assigned to her usually practiced probate law, but that wasn’t the problem. At this point, all the state had to show was enough evidence to warrant a trial. They had the murder weapon as well as her wallet and panties that had been found in the room next door to the victim.
“No bail?” Claire clutched her attorney’s arm as the judge refused to set bail for her. “Can he do that?”
The elderly lawyer sighed. “Yes. Very few first-degree murder suspects get bail.”
She lowered her head, ignoring the crowded courtroom. What did it matter? She had no hope of raising bail. She owned little of value to put up as a bond. Angela might be persuaded to help, but Suzi hadn’t been able to locate her. Zach hadn’t appeared either. Not having him here at such a crucial time frightened her.
Two deputies led her out of the court’s back door. Tohono was waiting in the hall, his weathered face troubled. She’d been conscious of his presence in court, the only friendly face among the crowd.
“Claire,” he said, and the deputies, being part pueblo Indian, halted out of respect for their leader. “Are they treating you well?”
She tried for a joke. “Sure. No wonder they call jail the Gray Bar Hilton.”
Tohono’s eyes narrowed, and she could see he understood how upset she was. How frightened.<
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“Remember Popé. His spirit is with you,” he said quietly.
“Popé?” It took a second to make sense. Centuries ago, Franciscan friars had whipped Popé for practicing his native religion. The Taos pueblo, known for their peaceful Indians, staged a bloody uprising and drove the Spanish back into Texas. “Don’t talk in riddles, Tohono. Not now.”
“Popé had right on his side and won against tremendous odds. Right is on your side, Claire. Be strong and your enemies will suffer.”
Sometimes she wanted to throttle Tohono for talking in riddles. Couldn’t he see she was in terrible trouble? “Last time you said to beware of coyote. That’s closer to the truth.”
“Ah, Claire, you did not understand. I warned you that coyote was waiting—hiding. Your enemy is out in the open now where you can defeat him if you have the courage.”
Tohono walked away and the deputies returned her to the lonely cell. Despite his cryptic words, Tohono’s message made sense. She’d been framed for a reason. If she knew what it was, she could defend herself. Someone had called the police about the gun. Who? Why had they waited so long?
Thinking about the evidence the state had against her made Claire shudder. Most of it was circumstantial. These things alone did not prove her guilt, but when added to the fact that she had no alibi for the night of the murder, it was not difficult to imagine a jury convicting her.
She was pondering the frightening turn of events when the guard announced she had a visitor. She hurried into the visiting room, hoping Zach had returned. Bam Stegner was waiting for her, wearing a black and white cowhide vest and deadly-looking stiletto spurs.
She stopped near the door, thankful for the guard. “What do you want?”
Bam chuckled, his Budda-like gut jiggling over his belt. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m here to help you.”
She bit back a scathing remark, wondering if Bam could possibly help her. Right now, she was desperate enough to try anything.
Her hesitation brought a smile. “Do you know why they call me Bam?” He didn’t pause for her response. “It’s short for ‘Wham, Bam, Thank you, Ma’am.’ Women just love me.” He put his knuckles on the visitor’s table and leaned toward her. “You and me could be right friendly.”
“In your dreams.” She turned to leave.
“I could help you,” he said quickly. “I hear your pa kissed you off. I’ll pay for one of those hot-shot LA lawyers to defend you.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Why would you do that?”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “It would be a fair trade. You tell me where to find my bear, and I’ll get you a lawyer.”
The bear meant that much to him. Unbelievable.
“Even if I knew where Khadafi was, which I don’t, I wouldn’t turn him over to the likes of you. No way. No way in hell.”
A sound erupted from his throat that might have been a laugh. He stomped his boots and the vicious spurs clinked. “Just remember, bitch, I gave you a chance.”
Brad Yeager was waiting for Zach as he walked off the plane from Dallas. “We were right,” Yeager told him with a smile. “Bassinger was dead at least two hours longer than Vanessa Trent and that sleazeball attorney claimed.”
Zach shifted his bag to his other shoulder so he could give Yeager a high five. “Damn! We’re good. Any chance they killed him?”
“Nah. He had a preexisting heart condition. Death was due to a massive coronary.” Yeager walked beside him as they crossed the terminal. “What did you find out?”
“It took some persuading, but one of Max Bassinger’s attorneys gave me a complete list of everything in the safe and the combination. It seems Bassinger was real anal about things like that.”
Yeager led him out of the building, saying, “Anything in there worth taking?”
“Copies of contracts. Lists of investments.” Zach couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “And five million dollars in bearer bonds.”
Yeager stopped dead in his tracks. “No shit! Wanna bet when we open Bassinger’s safe, those bonds won’t be there?”
“What does that prove? They’ll claim Bassinger gave them to him before he died. Since those bonds don’t need to be signed or anything, it’ll be their word against ours.”
They began walking again, and Yeager said, “True, but there may be another angle on this. Let’s keep the time of death secret while we check the safe and then take a look at Seth and Vanessa’s bank records.”
Zach agreed even though he didn’t like people not knowing the truth. Most everyone in town believed Seth Ramsey and the dumb actress. He wanted to be right about this case, then solve Duncan Morrell’s murder.
Yeager unlocked his car, and Zach tossed his bag into the back seat. He was climbing in when Yeager said, “You’ve got problems with Ollie Hammond. While you were away, he took over the Morrell case. Claire Holt’s been arrested for his murder.”
For one gut-cramping minute the world froze. “Arrested?” The word was a hollow echo like a voice in a crypt.
Just after dinner, the guard escorted Claire into an interrogation room. Zach was waiting for her inside, and the guard left them alone. Just the sight of him brought the hot sting of tears to her eyes. She hated admitting she was so weak, but she’d felt so alone. Inhaling a deep breath, she managed to smile.
“Claire … I’m so sorry.” He looked confused and upset.
In that moment, he seemed more vulnerable than she ever could have imagined. His strength had always fascinated her, but the ruthless loner seemed to have vanished, leaving this man. His obvious concern for her touched her in an unexpected way. Why, he honestly cared about her.
His hand curled gently around her shoulder and she moved into his arms and hugged him tight. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to enjoy the moment and surrender to the comfort and security his embrace offered. No matter what happened, knowing Zach cared made her stronger, more able to face the ordeal ahead.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Away on business.” He pulled back studying her face, his arms still around her. “We only have a few minutes before the night duty officer rousts Hammond from home. I had to do some fast talking to get to see you alone.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Someone found out I spent the night at The Hideaway. They planted—”
“I know all about it. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.” The fierce determination in his voice should have reassured her, but there was something troubling about his expression. “I want to know if you can hang on for another day or two.”
“Hang on?” she asked. “Do I have a choice?”
His eyes reflected pain and a tremendous strength of will. “Yes. I can get you out tonight, but if you can wait just a day or two, I’ll be able to do better. We’ll trap the real killer.”
“Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you right now. I need you to trust me.”
She stopped herself from arguing that she was the one in jail, the one who had a right to know. Maybe this wasn’t just about giving her a name. It could be for her own protection. Or, even more likely, this was about them.
About her trusting him.
The whole town could doubt him, but she believed in him. More important, she wanted him to know she had faith in him. Too clearly, she remembered the young Zach Coulter coming to her father’s bank, humbling himself to try to get money to bury his mother. She had wanted to help him, but her father had stopped her. Now she had to show him that she trusted him.
“I can take this place. Don’t worry about me.” She sounded a lot more upbeat than she felt. “It’s dunking they’ll convict me that had me terrified. But if you’re sure I’ll be cleared, then waiting isn’t a problem. I trust you.”
“Good,” he said quietly.
She had hoped her response would encourage him to tell her more. Instead he kissed her, a light almost tentative kiss. Permitting herself to revel in the warmth of his powerful body,
she savored the bittersweet ache radiating outward from her heart. So much had gone on between them, yet so little had ever been discussed. She broke off the kiss, searching for the words to express how she felt.
“Zach, about the other night—”
“Hush,” he said, brushing a wisp of hair back from her temple. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it matters to me—to us. I want to tell you what happened. I began to cry because I looked in the mirror and saw our reflection. Do you know what it reminded me of? Our parents.”
He pulled away, frowning, “Can’t we get beyond them?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, get over the past I’m living my own life, doing what I want to do. But I couldn’t help being upset because I looked in the mirror and saw my mother on top of your father, her head flung back. That’s the way I discovered they were having an affair. The image is seared into my brain like a brand. I remember the shock, then running straight to my father’s bank.”
Zach nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “You told him what you’d seen.”
She thought she could explain, she honestly did. Of course, she’d anticipated problems. The riveting memory never failed to evoke powerful emotions, but this confession was much more difficult than she’d expected.
“I killed them, Zach. If only I’d kept my mouth shut, they both would have lived. But I was so stunned. I didn’t stop to think.” She blinked back the tears burning in her eyes. “It’s my fault—”
“Have you blamed yourself all these years?”
“Yes. I should have kept my mouth shut and waited to talk to you.”
He put his arms around her again, pulling her close. “I wish you had. You don’t know how much I wish you had.”
The quiet anguish in his tone added to her feeling of guilt. “I knew you would blame me. I understand. I hate myself for what I—”
He cupped her face with his hands and gazed into her eyes. “No, Claire. I don’t blame you. If anything, I blame myself. I should have told you about the affair. I knew all about it.”
