Had Kent’s death affected her so severely? Had the love/hate relationship she had shared with her brother finally destroyed her?
As she accepted Buddy’s arm and he guided her toward the French doors leading out onto the side veranda, Mary Martha paused. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Johnny Mack, a bittersweet expression on her face.
“You will come back again, won’t you? You’ve been ever so kind to me. But you mustn’t come when Kent’s here. I’m afraid he’s terribly jealous of you.”
Johnny Mack exchanged a knowing glance with Buddy, and for a split second he almost felt sorry for the guy. They both knew that Mary Martha’s mind was gone, that she had finally been pushed off the emotional high wire on which she’d been walking most of her life. Just how much did Buddy really know about the woman he loved? Had she ever told Buddy the same fantastic tale she had once told him? And if she had shared her secret with him, had Buddy believed her?
Breaking eye contact with Johnny Mack, Buddy hastily led Mary Martha outside, leaving Edith with the task of handling her unwanted guest.
Deadly silence. The soft sound of Edith Ware breathing. The clatter of footsteps in the foyer. The respectful reentrance of the housekeeper.
“Jackie’s on her way down now,” Mrs. Russell said.
“Yes, thank you.” With only a nod of her head, Edith dismissed the servant.
Planting her hands on her slender hips, jeweled rings sparkling on almost every finger, Edith tossed back her head and stared him up and down, from head to toe. “You look more like John now than you did when you were twenty.”
“Is that a compliment or a—”
“It’s a compliment and you damn well know it. John was a handsome devil. So are you.” She looked him square in the eye. “So was my Kent.”
“I suppose I should say that I’m sorry about Kent’s death and offer you my condolences, but it’s difficult to work up any sympathy for a man who ordered my murder.” He noted the slight flinch, the practically indiscernible change in Edith’s expression, but he knew his comment had, despite her calm demeanor, stuck a nerve.
“I hope you don’t intend to spout off that nonsense around Noble’s Crossing.” Smoothing across the soft wool of her gray slacks, Edith slid her left hand down her slender hip. “There’s no one who will collaborate your story.”
“Are you worried that I’ve returned for revenge, Miss Edith?”
She did flinch then, and gave him an eat-dirt-and-die glare. “Why else would you have returned? Buddy delivered your succinct message. I took it as a threat. Are you telling me that it wasn’t a warning?”
“Succinct. Short and sweet. No wasted words.” He liked the surprised expression on Edith’s face. “The high school dropout learned a thing or two in college. Like the meaning of simple little words that used to stump me when you and others used them.”
“You went to college?”
“I’m sure that by now you know I did. I assume you had Buddy run a check on me. I’m surprised you haven’t hired a private detective.”
“That’s still a distinct possibility.”
“As for the message I sent by your lackey—” Johnny Mack chuckled. “Was it a threat or a warning or…hmm…If revenge was high on my list of priorities, I’d have come back before now. Five years ago, I already had enough money to buy Noble’s Crossing, lock, stock and barrel.” How he wished that he had come back five years ago. If only he had known…. But once he’d left this damn little town and time had passed, his thirst for revenge had been partly quenched. Eventually, he had realized that he hadn’t been an innocent bystander in the events leading up to the night Buddy and his cohorts had dumped him into the river.
“If you’re that wealthy, I’m surprised you didn’t come back and try to prove your allegations. You certainly never struck me as the noble type. Certainly not the forgiving type.”
Noble? Only once in his life. When he had left town and refused to take Lane with him. Forgiving? “I’m about as forgiving as you are, Miss Edith.”
Someone cleared their throat. Edith tensed. Johnny Mack turned and saw Jackie Cummings as she entered the living room. Jackie was someone else who had changed and yet had remained the same. Same bleached white-blond hair. Same skinny body. Glancing at the way her uniform fit snugly across her nicely rounded breasts, he wondered if she still wore a padded bra as she had done in high school or if she’d had breast augmentation. On their first date, he had slipped his hand inside her bra and discovered a lemon instead of the ripe orange she falsely advertised.
But the years hadn’t been kind to Jackie, nor, he suspected, had the two-pack-a-day smoking habit she had started in her teens. She was thirty-five, but looked ten years older. And there was a used, weary look about her that told him she hadn’t lived an easy life.
“Well, hello there, stranger.” Jackie slinked over to him, giving him a come-hither smile. “Where have you been so long? This town has been dull as dishwater without you.”
“Jackie, please take Miss Mary Martha her sweater.” Edith glowered at her daughter’s nurse. “Buddy has taken her for a stroll in the garden.”
“Sure thing, Miss Edith.” Jackie gave Johnny Mack a lingering smile, then scurried across the room and exited through the French doors.
“One of your old lovers?” Edith asked.
“I’m not the type to kiss and tell,” he replied. “You should know that.”
Despite her iron-willed control, Edith blushed. He could tell by the way her breathing had accelerated slightly that she was remembering. That last summer. When she had seduced her husband’s bastard son. He had enjoyed the irony almost as much as Edith had, but their revenge against John Graham had come at a high price. Kent had seen them together in the summer house. That had been the beginning of the end for Johnny Mack. And he suspected that it had changed Kent’s relationship with his mother forever. No doubt Kent had used that knowledge against Miss Edith. He had been the type of man who would have had no qualms about blackmailing his own mother.
“Why are you in Noble’s Crossing?” Edith asked again.
“Two reasons.” He paused, forcing her to wait, something he knew Edith hated to do. “First reason—I came back to claim my son.”
Edith gasped silently, then bit down on her bottom lip as if in an effort to keep from blurting out, How do you know about Will?
“So, you didn’t realize I knew about Will. Sorry to disappoint you, but I know the whole story.”
“Then, you know that Lane duped Kent. She lied to him for years, and then when the truth finally came out, he was devastated. And now, unfortunately, Lane is the prime suspect in Kent’s murder.”
“That brings me to the second reason I’m back in town—to make sure Lane doesn’t get railroaded.”
“Are you implying—”
“I’m not implying anything,” Johnny Mack said. “I’m stating a fact. Take it as a threat or a warning or whatever the hell way you want to take it. But mark my word, anybody who goes after Lane will have to come through me to get to her.” He moved closer, until only inches separated him from Edith. He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t be scared off. I can’t be run off. And I can’t be bought off.”
When he released her, Edith rubbed her chin and all but hissed at him. “This is still my town. My county. My state. You may be a big shot out in Texas, but around here you’re just white trash with money.”
Slapping his Stetson on his head, Johnny Mack let out a loud belly laugh. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Edith, you’re exactly right. But you might want to remember this—I still don’t play by the rules. And these days, I’m the one who always wins.”
With that said, he nodded, turned and walked off, leaving Edith to digest his comments. He hoped the bitch choked on them.
Buddy walked upstairs with Mary Martha and waited around until Jackie settled her into her rocking chair and handed her her baby doll. Immediately she began rocking and singing to
the life-size doll. After giving Mary Martha an affectionate kiss on the forehead, he nodded to Jackie and left the room. Pausing on the landing, he allowed himself a few minutes before going downstairs to face Miss Edith.
He supposed he fell in love with Mary Martha when she was only twelve. She had been the sweetest, prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Like a storybook princess. And she had liked him. For a friend. Then when she was sixteen, he had asked her for a date and couldn’t believe his good fortune when she had accepted. She had later explained to him that Kent had told her she should date Buddy, that he was a good ole boy and she would be safe with him. And she had been safe with him. Oh, he had wanted her. Wanted her so bad that he’d gone around with a hard-on just thinking about her. But whenever he’d tried more than kissing her, she had pushed him away.
He had been stupid enough to think that she was saving herself. Saving herself for when they got married. He had been wrong on both counts. She had never had any intention of marrying him. And she hadn’t saved herself for him.
So over the years, while he had never stopped loving Mary Martha, he had married and divorced once and had a couple of long-term affairs. But when his last relationship ended over a year ago, he had, as he’d always done, come flying back to this house like a homing pigeon.
He loved Mary Martha and probably always would. God knew he would do anything for her, even lie down and die, if necessary. But he could never have her, in the way a man wants a woman, needs a woman. She had been ruined long ago, physically and mentally. There was nothing left of Mary Martha Graham except a pathetic little girl who pretended that all was right in her world. And if he could do nothing else for her, he could keep that world bright and shiny and safe.
Balling his trembling hands into fists to steady them, Buddy took a deep breath and marched down the stairs. From the foyer he heard the hum of Miss Edith’s distinct voice. Who was she talking to? Johnny Mack had left over an hour ago.
When Buddy entered the library, he paused just as he stepped over the threshold and, realizing she wasn’t aware of his presence, listened to her telephone conversation.
“You heard me, Wes,” Edith said. “It’s time to send whatever evidence you have against Lane to a grand jury. We’ve waited long enough. Nothing else is going to show up now. Kent’s been dead for over two weeks. I want formal charges brought against Lane. And one more thing—do your best to get a capital murder indictment!” She slammed down the receiver.
Goose bumps broke out on Buddy’s arms. She was actually going through with it—forcing Wes Stevens to move forward in Kent’s case, when the police had nothing but circumstantial evidence against Lane. No fingerprints had been found on the baseball bat used to perpetrate the crime. He and his investigators had come to the conclusion that whoever had beaten Kent to death had done it fast and quick. In the heat of passion. And the coroner’s findings had substantiated theirs. He doubted that Wes could make a case for capital murder. Only the fact that Lane had found the body and called the police and the possible motive of her having killed Kent to, in some way, protect Will made her the prime suspect. A lot of people had disliked Kent. In the past few years, he hadn’t ingratiated himself to anyone with his drunken binges that often resulted in Miss Edith calling the police to pick him up for his own safety. Buddy had lost count of the times he had personally locked Kent up for the night. And each time he had been tempted to take the law into his own hands.
At least half a dozen people, including him, had as much or more motive than Lane. But she was the only suspect without an alibi and the only one found with the body. Lillie Mae had been with Will, giving them both an alibi. Miss Edith had been with Mary Martha. James Ware had been with Arlene Dothan, a fact James had admitted only under great duress. And he himself had been at the police station. And yes, he, as much as anyone else, had wanted to see Kent Graham dead.
“Wes will never get a capital murder indictment,” Buddy said, then smiled when Miss Edith jumped and gasped aloud.
“Mercy, Buddy, you scared me to death.” She lifted her hand and fluttered it over her bosom. Her ample bosom. It amazed him that a sixty-year-old woman could be so attractive, so downright sexy. But Edith took full advantage of being wealthy, getting a nip here and a tuck there from time to time. The last thing he wanted was for Mary Martha’s mother to turn him on. But he hadn’t been with a woman in months, and Miss Edith had been flirting with him lately. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was on the prowl. And the strong resemblance between mother and daughter only added to Miss Edith’s appeal.
“The most he can hope for is felony murder, and my guess is, if the grand jury hands down an indictment, it could be for nothing more than manslaughter,” Buddy said. “If Lane was protecting Will, as some folks are speculating, and she didn’t mean to kill Kent, only stop him from tormenting the boy, then—”
“I’ll take what I can get,” Edith said, her mouth curved into a snarl. “Lane deserves to be punished and so does Johnny Mack.”
“And just how will convicting Lane of Kent’s murder punish Johnny Mack?”
“Because Johnny Mack has sworn to be her protector, her savior, her knight in shining armor.” Edith sauntered over to Buddy and laid her hand on his chest. “That means he cares about her, perhaps more than anyone ever suspected. And when a man like Johnny Mack cares…ah, my dear Buddy, that means we have a weapon to use against him.”
“You aren’t willing to accept the fact that Kent brought his brutal death on himself, are you?” Buddy captured Edith’s hand as it strayed down his chest, her fingertips edging beneath his belt buckle. “You need someone other than yourself to blame for the way your children turned out, don’t you? If you’d been paying attention to what was going on in your own house, instead of trying to out-fuck your whorehopping husband—”
“No one speaks to me that way.” Edith drew back her hand and prepared to strike, but Buddy manacled her wrist and stopped her blow in midair.
“How dare you! Release me this instant!” Edith tried to jerk free, but Buddy increased the pressure until she cried out. “Damn it, you’re hurting me.”
Buddy yanked her forward until her breasts pressed against his chest. Twisting her arms behind her, he held her in place and lowered his head. His lips hovered over hers. She stared at him, wild-eyed and breathless.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, Miss Edith?” Buddy ground his erection against her mound. “This is what you liked about Mr. John and Johnny Mack. And what you can’t get with James. You like it a little bit rough, don’t you? You want a man to dominate you.”
“You son of a bitch, let go of me or I’ll scratch your eyes out.” As if to demonstrate her threat, she bared her teeth and snarled.
He brought his mouth down on hers with forceful intent. Crushing. Bruising. Invading, when she tried to protest verbally. The moment his tongue touched hers, she moaned and suddenly ceased struggling. When she melted against him, he deepened the kiss.
Not here. Not now. What little part of his mind that still worked cautioned him. He couldn’t screw Miss Edith in this house. Not with Mary Martha upstairs.
Abruptly, Buddy ended the kiss and gave Edith a gentle backward shove. She stood there glaring at him, her breasts rising and falling with each labored breath.
“You know where I live, if you’re interested in finishing what we started,” he told her.
“Don’t you feel the least bit disloyal to Mary Martha?” Edith asked. “After all, you profess to love my daughter more than life itself.”
“I do love Mary Martha, but you and I both know that she and I have no future together. I can never take her in my arms and carry her to bed and make love to her the way I want to do.” Buddy swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping the taste of Miss Edith from his lips. “I’m a man and I have needs. But don’t kid yourself into thinking I care about you. If I could have Mary Martha instead, then—”
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
“Shut up! I could ruin you and have you run out of town for treating me like this. But you know I won’t, because I need you. Because Mary Martha needs you.”
For the first time in all the years he had been associated with the Graham family, Buddy felt a sense of power. And he liked it. He liked it a lot. But he didn’t dare push Miss Edith too far. He knew just exactly what she was capable of doing.
“If Wes has enough evidence to take to a grand jury, then I could go ahead and arrest Lane, today,” Buddy said. “Is that what you want?”
“Trying to placate me?”
“Trying to cooperate,” he said. “We both want the same ending to this story, and that means pinning Kent’s death on Lane. So, I ask you again, do you want me to arrest her today”‘
“No. Not today. Wait for the indictment. Then I want her arrest to make the front page of the Herald.”
“You’ll try and convict her in her own newspaper. You are a devious bitch.”
“Yes, I am. And don’t you ever forget it.”
Lane rested on her antique Louis XVI style bed. With her arms folded behind her, her fingers entwined and her head braced against her open palms, she stared up at the ceiling. After her divorce from Kent, she had returned home and immediately redecorated her old bedroom. She had brought down some of her maternal grandmother’s antiques that her mother had stored in the attic during the late sixties. More than anything, Lane had wanted her bedroom to be a sanctuary from the world, a welcoming, feminine abode to which she could retreat.
After Dark Page 13
