by Lisa Jackson
Even after that last argument at her mother’s house all those years ago, he’d wanted to believe her, to trust her. A part of him had been obsessed with her and he’d thought about talking to her again. But she’d left, and before he could chase her down and demand answers, his father had intervened. Max could hear the old man’s words as if he’d spoken them just yesterday rather than seven years ago.
“Don’t tell me,” Jonah had said, a smile stretching across his face as he climbed out of the saddle. Duke sidestepped and Jonah slapped his reins into Chester’s outstretched hands. “You think I had something to do with Skye Donahue taking a hike.”
Max had been livid and ready to land a right cross on his father’s jaw. “Did you?”
“Hell, yes,” Jonah said, pausing to light a cigar. He puffed quickly until a cloud of blue smoke ringed his head. “It was easy, too. That little filly was ready to sprint. All she needed was a little incentive.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Prize money.”
“You paid her to leave?” Max was incredulous.
“Only gave her what she asked for.”
“She wouldn’t have.”
“Okay, I asked her how much and she came up with a figure. Twenty-five grand. I wrote out a check and she left. End of story.” The old man paused and studied his son. Smoke drifted upward to mingle with the diaphanous layer of clouds hanging lazily in the air high above. “I’m sorry, son, but that’s the way it was. She didn’t even barter.”
He walked through the gate, leaving Max in the middle of the paddock feeling like a fool.
Later, almost reluctantly, Jonah had shown Max the canceled check—a check for twenty-five thousand dollars made payable to Skye Donahue.
“It was easy,” Jonah had told him. “Too easy. I was willing to pay more if I had to, just to show you what kind of a woman she really is, but she couldn’t wait to get her hands on this.” He’d held up the check and sighed.
Max had felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut and every last shred of love he’d hung on to had been destroyed. Or so he’d told himself. But now she was back, and he was still thinking about her every waking moment, dreaming about her late at night, fighting to keep himself from falling for her all over again.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, thinking of the money.
A payoff. Twenty-five thousand dollars to leave town, and she’d taken it. He was better off without her. And yet he couldn’t leave her alone.
“Hell.” Angrily he climbed out of the truck and wished he could just take off. He didn’t want to be involved in this family discussion, but he had no choice. He was late and all the members of his family had already gathered in the den. His mother ushered him inside and he took a seat on the old leather sofa. Sitting back, boots crossed at the ankles and propped on the oak coffee table, arms folded, he was introduced to Rex Stone, private investigator, the man Virginia had hired to find Jonah’s killer.
Would this insanity never end?
Rex, smiling coldly, was holding court behind Jonah’s desk, and even though the lamps were lit, the room seemed as dark as a tomb. And Rex looked like an interloper. The den would never be the same without Jonah.
Jenner appeared bored. He stared out at the still night from his perch on the windowsill. Casey, acting as if she was about to bolt, fidgeted in a chair near the door. Virginia, dry-eyed and tight-lipped, her chin thrust forward in determination, sat on the far end of the couch, with Max occupying the other end.
The detective was rambling on. “... so I agree with your mother,” Rex said amicably, his pudgy face flushed as if he’d just run a marathon or imbibed a few too many drinks. From the webbing of veins visible on his nose, Max suspected the latter, even though Stone was rumored to be the best P.I. in all of eastern Oregon. “I think your father was killed, run off the road, from the looks of his skid marks. Though there were no other visible traces of tire marks, I’d be willing to bet he was forced through the guardrail.”
“The sheriff’s department doesn’t think that—”
“They might be changing their tune,” Stone said with a smug little gleam in his eye. Max hated the guy on sight. The detective was too cocksure, ready to believe the worst in anyone. In Max’s estimation, Stone was preying upon Virginia’s vulnerability.
“New evidence?” Jenner asked.
“I’ve just made them review the existing evidence—look at it from a different angle.”
Max wasn’t convinced. “This better not be some shot in the dark,” he warned. “Either you’ve got proof or this is a waste of our time.”
“I assure you, I mean business.” Stone flipped through a few notes he’d taken, probably in previous conversations with Virginia.
Max, as he had all week, tried to quiet the restlessness that stole through his blood. Ever since kissing Skye on her porch the other night, he hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind. True, she hadn’t responded to him, in fact had told him to go to hell in so many words, but Max wasn’t one to give up easily. Not when he wanted something, and damn it, he wanted Skye Donahue. He wanted her so badly he felt as if he’d turned into a randy teenager, resorting to cold showers, long hours of hard labor, even drink, to wash her out of his mind. Nothing had worked. Probably nothing would. Even reminding himself of her betrayal, telling himself that she’d taken money to leave him, hadn’t cooled his blood.
Grinding his teeth together in frustration, he tried to turn his attention back to the short, opinionated private investigator. Stone was staring at Max and that damned insufferable grin hadn’t gone away. “...usually someone close to the victim, who would gain from his death. Now, according to my notes, the ranch house and a few acres were left to Virginia, and there was a provision for Jonah’s mother... let’s see.” He made a big production of shuffling his papers. “Here it is. Mavis McKee is to be taken care of for the rest of her life.”
“That’s right,” Virginia said cautiously, some of her earlier enthusiasm waning.
“The rest of the estate is to be split up between the children.” He looked over the tops of reading glasses for confirmation, and Virginia, glancing quickly from Max to the P.I., nodded slowly.
“The lion’s share went to Maxwell, a smaller portion to Jenner and an even smaller one to Casey.”
Casey’s eyes narrowed on the man. “What’re you getting at?”
“I’m just pointing out that the people in this room had the most to gain from Jonah’s death.”
“Oh, my God! You’re not suggesting—” Virginia bit her tongue and cut off the rest of her thoughts.
“I’m just letting you know how I work, Mrs. McKee. I don’t pull any punches, okay? And I don’t bend the truth. Not for anyone.” He was suddenly serious, the tiny smile having fallen off his face. “If I find out one of you did it, I’ll tell Sheriff Polk and still expect to be paid.”
“I didn’t hire you to harass my family!” Virginia lifted her chin a notch. “No one here killed Jonah. It was someone else, someone bitter over a bad investment or something. Maybe someone with a personal grudge, but I assure you, Mr. Stone, it was not anyone here tonight.”
Stone pulled at his tie and seemed to be considering her vehement speech. “Don’t worry. I’ve only got a few questions.” His gaze landed on Max and his eyebrows rose slightly. “I believe you found some letters after Jonah died. Letters that proved he manipulated your love life.”
Hell! Max tented his hands under his chin. “That’s right. But as you said, I found them after the funeral.”
“True. At least that’s the way it appeared.”
“It’s the way it was,” Max said evenly.
“You could have seen them earlier.”
“I didn’t.” Max was firm. It was all he could do to sit still and not leap over the desk and strangle the fat little man with his own ugly tie.
Stone’s gaze swept over his notes. “You and your father were at loggerheads over the business, weren’t
you?”
“Often as not,” Max said, meeting the smaller man’s glare with his own. “We didn’t always get along.”
“No one did,” Casey said, jumping to her feet and pacing to the blackened fireplace. “Jenner was always rebelling and I... well, I didn’t do what Dad wanted, either. He was a great manipulator, Mr. Stone. That doesn’t mean we didn’t love and respect him—”
“I didn’t.” Jenner’s eyes had turned to ice. “If you’re lookin’ for a prime suspect in the family, maybe you’d better start with me.”
“Jenner, no!” Virginia gasped, her hand flying over her mouth. “There’s no reason to say those things. Your father is dead and—”
“Don’t do this,” Max warned, climbing to his feet and facing Jenner. “Jonah’s dead. Now, let the man—” he cocked his head toward Stone “—do his job.” Turning, he leaned over the desk, so that he was nearly eyeball-to-eyeball with the short detective. “I don’t think my mother is paying your exorbitant fee just so you can dig up the skeletons in our closets, ‘cause if she is, it will take you years to sort through ’em all. So you can take my word on the fact that none of us would have been stupid enough to kill Jonah. The way I see it, you’re just milkin’ this for as much money as you can squeeze out of it.”
Stone’s already ruddy face turned a deep shade of purple and he rose to his full height of five foot six. “I was hired to do a job, Mr. McKee, and I’ll do it. I didn’t mean to threaten anyone. I just like to put my cards on the table up-front. That way there are no big surprises.”
“Fine with me,” Max said evenly. “Just let me put my cards up there with yours. You’re welcome to dig through all the company files and talk to anyone you please, just as long as you don’t get in my way. But if I hear that you’ve started harassing my family, you’ll have to deal with me.”
Stone’s eyes narrowed and he looked angry enough to spit. Instead, he tapped his papers together, slid them into an expandable file and promised results. “Expect a deputy from the sheriff’s department to come on by and start asking questions again.”
“Great,” Jenner muttered, closing his eyes. “More B.S.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Stone.” Virginia led the man out of the den and to the front door. Her heels tapped on the wood floors, but his footsteps were muffled by his crepe soles.
“Creepy bastard,” Jenner remarked, frowning into the night.
“Maybe he will find something.” Casey grabbed her hair and wound it into a ponytail. “What do you think?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t think so, but he seems damned sure of himself.”
“Cocky and creepy bastard,” Jenner clarified. “Wonder how he found out about the letters.”
“I told him.” Virginia walked back into the room. She seemed nervous. She rubbed her arms as if she’d caught a chill, even though it had to be over eighty in the room. Avoiding Max’s eyes, she admitted, “I knew about them... not in the beginning, of course. I didn’t know that Skye had even tried to contact you after you broke up, but later I caught Jonah struggling with the right words to explain what he’d done. I had a fit, of course, but he told me it was water under the bridge and I wasn’t to breathe a word to you. He pointed out that you were married and had a child to consider, although, at the time, I think you and Colleen had separated.” She glanced up at Max who couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to think the old man had sabotaged him, but he’d always believed that his mother had been on his side “We, um, we all hoped that you and Colleen would patch things up. Your father, well, he thought the world of Colleen, you know, and I... I believed that it would be best for Hillary if you and Colleen worked things out. I...I guess I should have told you.”
“Hell, yes, you should have told me!” Max roared, her betrayal burning a fresh wound in his soul. “This was my life! Mine!” He couldn’t stand to look at her. His own mother. She’d known! Furious, he stormed out of the room. Virginia rushed after him, reaching for his arm, but he threw off her cloying fingers and flung himself out the door. A sour taste rose in his throat and he felt the urge to spit.
All the deception!
All the lies!
He climbed into his truck and roared down the lane. He’d get drunk. Rip-roaring, fall-on-your-face, staggering drunk, and then maybe he could blot out the pain of betrayal. First Skye. Then Jonah. Now his mother.
His fingers gripped the wheel so tightly that his hands began to sweat. He shifted through the gears, mindless of his speed, knowing that he just had to get away.
He drove flat out and didn’t even realize where he was going until he sped through town and stopped at the Black Anvil saloon. Fitting, he thought, remembering that this was the last place Jonah had frequented on the night of his death. The regulars were huddled over the bar. He waved to Slim Purcell and Jimmy Rickert who were nursing a couple of tall ones. Slim managed a hard-edged smile, while Rickert, who spent every night on the same stool, barely glanced at Max. Barry White and his half brother, Steve Jansen, were playing pool in the corner.
As Max slid onto a stool, Wanda appeared, her platinum hair piled high on her head, her smile steadfastly in place. “What can I getcha?”
“beer. Anything you’ve got on tap.”
She rattled off a list. He chose one and soon she returned carrying a sweating mug with a full head.
“Jenner’s not with you?” she asked, trying not to look disappointed.
“Not tonight.”
“Tell him not to be a stranger.”
“I will.”
Wanda moved away and Max took a long swallow from his mug. He just wanted to forget. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the image of Skye from his mind. He concentrated on the music, an old Waylon Jennings song, but he couldn’t help thinking of Skye and how she’d matured into the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. A doctor. Despite the bad taste in his mouth when he thought of her decision to leave him, he couldn’t help feeling a grudging respect that she’d gone after what she’d wanted. Yep, she was a woman like no other.
He glanced up at the mirror over the bar and caught Jimmy Rickert’s gaze. The guy was short and thin, with eyes that darted quickly from one spot to another. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jimmy loved beer so much, Max would have believed him to be on coke or speed or some other drug. Their gazes clashed and Jimmy turned quickly away with a guilty look. Which was no surprise. Jimmy Rickert, a known snitch, was guilty of all sorts of crimes. He’d been thrown into jail for being drunk and disorderly more times than Max would want to count. It was no wonder there was something unnerving about the little weasel.
Max took another swallow of his drink, decided he couldn’t stand the smoky atmosphere and loud music another minute and threw some bills on the counter. He walked outside and felt the warmth of the summer night clear his senses.
Skye.
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Maybe because things had never been cleared up between them. Maybe because there were too many things left unsaid. Maybe it was time to clear the air.
He slid into his pickup and drove with a singular purpose in mind—to have it out with her.
He drove straight to Doc Fletcher’s old apartment house. Her Mustang was parked in the driveway and the windows on the ground floor of the building were warm patches of lamplight, softly beckoning. Max cut the engine and didn’t wait until reason overcame his irrational need to see Skye again.
This was crazy.
But he couldn’t drive her out of his mind.
She’d used him, betrayed him, taken a payoff and left town. And he needed to find out why.
“Hell,” he grunted. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt, he jumped out of the pickup. His long legs made short work of the parched lawn. It was time to end this. Once and for all. One way or another.
He took the porch steps two at a time, nearly tripped over a slinking gray cat, then pounded on her door. Come on, come on!
With
in seconds, the porch light blinked on and she was staring at him through one of the narrow windows flanking the door. The beveled glass distorted her image a little, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
The door opened a crack, as much as the chain lock would allow. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes suspicious.
“I need to see you.”
“Forget it.” She tried to shove the door shut, but he wedged his toe into the small opening.
“It’s important.”
“It didn’t work out the last time, remember?”
“Let’s try again.”
“Just like that?” she said, shaking her head, her blond ponytail whipping back and forth. “No way.”
“What’re you afraid of?”
“Afraid?” she repeated. “Believe me, Max, you don’t scare me.”
“I need to talk to you.”
She hesitated and for the first time she let her gaze lock with his. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Probably.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His fingers curled into fists of frustration. “Look, this isn’t easy for me.”
“Then don’t keep coming back.”
“I just want to clear the air. Is that too much to ask?”
He heard her breath sweep into her lungs and saw her bite down on her lip. For a heartbeat, she didn’t say a word. The sounds of the night—traffic flowing sluggishly through the town, muffled music from the restaurant down the street, a dog barking from somewhere in the neighborhood, crickets chirping noisily from their hiding places—thrummed through his mind.
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“Sure you do,” he insisted as if he could read her mind. “Come on, Skye. Let’s just do this and get it over with.”
Again she looked into his eyes and this time she threw up her hands. “Call me a fool.” She unlocked the chain and stepped aside. He followed her into the kitchen where the smells of floor wax, disinfectant and pine cleaner greeted him. Wallpaper had been stripped from the walls and several different trial colors of paint had been brushed near the windows.
