Maybe it was the rocking pace of the horses or the brisk morning chill. Maybe it was how comfortable she felt with this man after dinner last night. Jake had showed up in their lives like an old family friend, home after a long absence. Regardless, just letting the subject drop would have felt strange, and cold. That wasn’t the impression she wanted to convey.
“Why didn’t you go to med school?” she asked.
“I have this tendency to faint around blood,” he admitted. “I thought that might be a problem for a doctor.”
“Good point,” she agreed. “I suppose your dad is a doctor?”
“Worse. A surgeon. Most surgeons are assholes. My father is the chief asshole surgeon at a prestigious teaching hospital. He is, in fact, the chief asshole surgeon dean of said establishment.”
“Oh, that had to be fun,” she said with sardonic sympathy.
“You have no idea,” he agreed. “So, what was your crime in your father’s eyes?”
Kate looked away, bracing herself for the telltale awkwardness to snake up her spine and lock her jaws into stony silence. It didn’t come.
For his part, Jake didn’t do any of the things she would have expected. He didn’t rush to fill the silence or apologize for overstepping. He just waited.
Filled with a completely unexpected ease, she finally said, “I wasn’t a boy.”
“That,” Jake said, “would have been a terrible waste.”
Startled, Kate said, without thinking, “A waste of what?”
“An interesting and attractive woman.”
Contrary to what most people thought of her, Kate knew a come-on line when she heard one. This wasn’t it. The words were simple and friendly, an easy compliment passed in an easy way. Warm pleasure washed over her. “Thank you.”
“So,” Jake said, “for my own edification as a male of the species, what would you having been a boy accomplished in your father’s eyes?”
“It would have made me fit to inherit this ranch,” she said.
“I don’t get it. You inherited the ranch anyway.”
“And no one is more surprised about that than me. My Dad and I were on strained terms for years,” she explained. “I went out on my own as soon as Mandy was off at school. I just could not take him grinding the bit in my mouth one more minute. I scrounged up the money to buy some land and made a success of it.”
“Where was your mother?”
“She died when I was 15. Breast cancer.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “I was 14. Leukemia.”
“Did you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“I had books. Lots of books.”
“Books are easier than people,” she answered, meeting his eyes.
“Not all people,” Jake said. “You’re easy to talk to.”
Kate laughed sharply. “Lord, I may get you to print that up on cards so I can hand them out. I don’t generally do much talking.”
“Well,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve made an exception with me this morning.”
“Me, too,” she said, and was surprised by how much she meant the words. “And,” she added, “we’re here. So now what? What’s your plan?”
“At the moment, getting out of this saddle,” he said, wincing as he put one leg over the horn, sliding awkwardly toward the ground.
Kate smothered a grin as she dismounted herself.
Jake stretched gingerly and gestured toward the horses. “Do we put a quarter in a parking meter for them or what?”
“Let ’em graze,” she said. “They’re not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” Jake said, copying Kate as she let the reins fall to the ground. “And the plan involves heresy.”
“I would have pegged you for a heretic,” she grinned, “but what actually constitutes heresy in the world of archaeology?”
“A metal detector.”
She frowned. “What’s wrong with metal detectors?”
Together they walked along the rocky creek bed as Jake explained. “The machines aren’t the problem. The big objection to metal detecting as a hobby has always been the way the guys using them dig up whatever they find and don’t pay any attention to location or orientation. Sometimes when an archaeologist finds a buried object, removal can take days.”
“I’ve gathered that from National Geographic,” she said. “Lots of time down on your knees with brushes.”
“Science thy name is sciatica,” he laughed.
“So, you’re planning to use the detector the right way?” she asked.
“Well, I’m planning to use it my way,” he said. “Metal detecting became more respected after volunteers helped map the Little Bighorn Battlefield. The archaeologists decided to treat the whole place as a big crime scene. Volunteers with metal detectors walked the battlefield spaced about 15 feet apart. They flagged every beep and created sort of a blueprint for the eventual excavation and forensic analysis of the relics.”
“You’ve got a lot of creek bed to cover here,” she said. “Are you going upstream or down?”
“Up,” he answered. “Toward the draw.”
“Why?”
“Because I think the Spanish patrol camped closer to the draw. I’m hoping over the years artifacts may have washed down during flash floods. Has the creek ever had water in it during your lifetime?”
“Not all the time,” she said. “When I was little, a few places ran six inches deep or so. Now it only gets up when we have a real gully washer and we haven’t had one of those in a couple of years.”
Jake’s eyes followed the course of the old stream bed winding up toward the draw. “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about getting washed away.”
“Do you think you can cover all this by yourself with a metal detector in two weeks?” she asked.
His gaze met hers. “No, but I didn’t want to ask to plop down on your land for months.”
Kate felt the slow smile start in the corners of her mouth. On any other day she would have clamped the expression down, but this was not turning out to be a normal day. At the moment, she was enjoying herself too much to try to figure out why. “I wouldn’t worry about wearing out your welcome,” she said. “Stay as long as you like.”
33
Without taking his eyes off the couple walking along the dry creek bed, the man thumbed a button on a satellite phone and waited for the connection to stabilize.
“Report,” the voice on the other end barked without preamble.
“The oldest Lockwood woman and the man are at the creek bed.”
“What are they doing?”
“Nothing, sir. Walking and talking.”
“He’s an archaeologist from Texas Tech University,” the voice said. “His research goals could prove very useful to us. The Lockwoods have given him permission to work on their land for the next two weeks. I want you to be aware of his every move. Take photographs of anything he finds and document exactly where he's working.”
“At this distance, sir, I’m going to need a stronger lens to take any useful pictures.”
“Send your coordinates to my assistant and ask for whatever you want. We’ll send a drone in tonight. I don’t want to wait for your usual supply drop.”
“Understood, sir.”
“We’re positioning a second man to surveil the ranch house. He’ll be establishing communications with you before the day is out.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he was sure the connection was broken, the man swore under his breath. The nights were getting cold as hell out here. This was his last job. Swear to God. When he collected his pay, he was retiring to a beach with cold drinks and hot women. Enough was enough. He had no idea why his employer was so interested in this damned ranch, but whatever the reason, it better be worth big money because he was sure as hell going to get a big bill.
Mandy’s heels clicked against the dull green tiles of the courthouse hallway. The County Clerk’s Office appeared deserted, so she called out a tentative, “Hell
o?”
A gray, permanent-coiffed head appeared over the top of the counter. The woman was so short, Mandy hadn’t even been aware she was sitting at the desk. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Mandy said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here. I was wondering about finding a death certificate.”
“Are you a relative of the deceased?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You can’t have the certificate.”
“The person has been dead more than 50 years,” Mandy said, brightening her smile in an effort to win the clerk over. She’d done her homework and expected this hurdle.
“That might change the circumstances,” the woman relented. “Why do you want the document?”
Mandy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Small towns. “She was a friend of the family and I’m trying to find her people. I've been told they left town a long time ago.”
“What’s the name?”
“Browning.”
All the color drained from the old woman’s face. “What interest do you have in Alice Browning?” she snapped. “Who are you?”
“Amanda Lockwood,” Mandy said, taken aback.
“I might have guessed,” the woman said, her voice cold with anger. “I’d say you Lockwoods have done quite enough to the Brownings. Tend to your own business.”
“Ma’am, I wasn’t even born when Alice Browning was killed,” Mandy said, refusing to back down. “I never even heard her name until a few weeks ago. I don’t know everything that happened back then, but I assure you, losing Alice ruined my father’s life. I don’t agree with how he acted out his pain, but he was never the same after the accident. I'm certain of that.”
The woman’s blue eyes remained locked on Mandy, but some of the hostility began to bleed away. When she did make up her mind to speak, her words carried a sad resignation. “I never understood what she thought would come of going with them both. I told her she had to pick, but she laughed and said things would work out in time.”
“You knew Alice Browning?” Mandy asked, her own eyes widening.
“She was my best friend,” the clerk said. The low words almost disappeared in the silence of the deserted office.
In a conciliatory tone, Mandy asked, “Can we start over? I want to learn more about her . . .” She paused and looked at the woman, waiting for her to supply a name.
“Mae Ella.”
“Mae Ella, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mandy said. “All I want to find out right now is where she’s buried.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to put some flowers on her grave.”
“Why?”
“My father thought I looked like her,” Mandy said. “And because of that, he didn’t treat me the way he treated my sisters. I can’t explain why, but I owe Alice something.”
Mae Ella cocked her head to one side and regarded Mandy. “Huh. You do look a little like her,” she said. “And you would appear to have a similar stubborn streak.”
“I prefer to think of myself as firm minded,” Mandy said smiling.
Mae Ella let out a short laugh. “Yep. Cut from the same bolt of cloth. All right. Fine. She’s in the city cemetery. All the way at the back under a weeping willow tree. The tombstone has an angel on top.”
“Thank you,” Mandy said. “And I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
“Ancient history,” she said, curtly dismissing the condolence with a wave of her hand. “Now go on. I’m busy.”
Mae Ella waited until she could no longer hear Mandy’s footsteps in the hall to pick up the phone receiver. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she punched in a number. After a few seconds, she said, “One of the Lockwood girls was here.”
Lenore Ferguson stepped into the alley behind her flower shop and lit a Virginia Slim. She ran one blue-veined hand through her graying blonde hair and made a mental note to order more silk maple leaves. The Thanksgiving centerpiece orders would start coming in right after Halloween and she didn't have enough reds.
Across the square, Mae Ella Gormley came out the side door of the courthouse. She gave Lenore a brusque wave as she bustled down the steps and crossed the street without looking in either direction. She didn’t seem to notice that Marshall McClean, the town pharmacist, had to slam on his brakes to keep from hitting her.
Marshall saw Lenore leaning against the back wall of the shop and threw up his hands in frustration. Lenore grinned and shrugged, mouthing, “You know how she is.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mae Ella snapped, stepping under the branches of the old pecan tree that shaded the shop’s back door.
“It means most people look before they step into traffic,” Lenore countered.
“I’ve been crossing that street in the same place for 50 years,” Mae Ella huffed. “If people don’t know to look for me by now, that’s their fault.” Then she caught sight of the cigarette and her frown became a disapproving glare. “You are supposed to be quitting those nasty things. I did, and I was smoking before you were born."
"I'm down to three a day," Lenore protested defensively, "and why wouldn't I be smoking when you call the shop and announce the Lockwood girls are digging around in what should be dead and buried?"
“Only one Lockwood girl is doing the digging so far as I can tell, and you know as well as I do what's dead and buried doesn't always stay that way," Mae Ella said.
"What did she want?" Lenore asked, letting out a nicotine-laced sigh. "Do we have a problem?"
Mae Ella coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. “Quit blowing that cancer smoke in my face. No, I don’t think we have a problem. Yet. She just wanted to know where the grave is."
Shifting the cigarette to her other hand and pointing it away from Mae Ella, Lenore said, “Why does she care about the grave?”
"She said she wanted to put flowers out."
Lenore frowned. "What in the world for?"
“Langston must have kept some kind of diary or something. He said he thought she looks like Alice and that was why he was nicer to this girl than to the other two.”
“God knows he dug his spurs in Kate’s hide every chance he got,” Lenore said. “And she’s a good woman, hard working, honest. There’s not one funeral in this town she doesn’t send an arrangement to.”
“Do you know the middle one? What’s her name?”
“Jennifer,” Lenore said. “No, I don’t know her. She was already off at school when I bought the shop. From what I hear after Irene died she couldn’t get away from Langston fast enough.”
“And you don’t remember the youngest one?”
“Only vaguely,” Lenore said. “I made her homecoming mums, and I know she was in the Miss Texas pageant that time, but you know as well as I do I’ve tried to steer clear of the Lockwoods. I thought when that old bastard blew his brains out we were home free, but I swear to God, there is no end to the trouble that man can cause.”
“Well, after all, Lenore, he was . . ."
"I know exactly what he was," she said evenly. "He did more than enough to complicate things 50 years ago. We do not need his daughters turning over rocks now."
Just then the bell on the shop's front door sounded a ragged chime. Lenore squinted through the square glass pane. "Who is that?" she asked, looking at the pretty young woman standing patiently at the counter.
Standing on tip-toe to see for herself, Mae Ella said, "That is Amanda Lockwood. She did say she wanted to take flowers to the grave and you are the only florist in town."
"Lucky me," Lenore said, taking a final drag on her cigarette before crushing the butt into the gravel with the toe of her shoe. "I'll call you later and let you know how this goes." Plastering a smile on her face, she grasped the door handle and went back inside.
"Hello," Lenore said, as she came through the cluttered work area and approached the counter. "I am so sorry you had to wait. I had my hands full with something in the back room. May I help you?"
"Hi, Mrs. Ferguson,” Mandy said. "I'd like a small bouquet of flowers suitable to place on a grave."
"Oh, how sweet," Lenore said, coming round the counter and moving toward the display of refrigerated blooms. "And sad," she added, hesitating by a shelf of ready-made arrangements. "It's getting awfully cold at night to put real flowers out, though. Are you sure you wouldn't like an artificial bouquet?"
Mandy winced in disgust and then caught herself. "Your arrangements are all lovely," she said diplomatically. "I'm just not a big fan of fake flowers."
"Neither am I, "Lenore smiled reassuringly, "but in my business you have to carry what sells." She started choosing blooms from the buckets in the refrigerator, creating a bouquet on the fly. "Did you lose someone recently?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the flowers in her hands.
"My father died a few months ago," Mandy said, "but these aren't for him . . .." She stopped with a funny look on her face.
"I'm so sorry," Lenore said. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"Oh, you didn't," Mandy said. "It's just that, well, I realized my mother is buried in the city cemetery. I was so interested in finding the grave of an old family friend, I didn't even stop to think I should be taking flowers to her, too."
"Has your mother been gone a long time?" Lenore asked.
"Yes," Mandy said wistfully. "I was just a little girl. My father didn't believe in visiting graves, so I've only been there with my sisters, and not even with them for a long time."
Lenore frowned and appeared to be putting the pieces together. "Oh, my heavens," she said. “Oh, sugar, I am so sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re the youngest Lockwood girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Mandy said, smiling. “You used to make the homecoming corsages for me and the other cheerleaders.”
“I remember now,” Lenore said. “Your name is Mandy, isn’t it? I remember writing it out in glue on the corsage ribbons and dusting them with gold glitter.”
Mandy laughed, “By the end of the night our uniforms would be all sparkly.”
“Those were good old days, weren’t they?” Lenore said, still gathering up flowers. “These kids today. I just do not know.”
The Lockwood Legacy - Books 1-6: Plus Bonus Short Stories Page 16
