The Lockwood Legacy - Books 1-6: Plus Bonus Short Stories

by Juliette Harper

  Jenny looked up sharply and then realized Kate was teasing.

  “Gotcha,” Kate grinned.

  “What are we? Ten?” Jenny asked as she handed the yearbook to Mandy.

  She took one look at the page and exclaimed in horror. “Oh my God. Really? That’s Retta Thornton? She’s worse than Carrie before the prom.”

  “Way worse,” Kate agreed. “Loretta was a nasty piece of work back then. She played the born-again act to please her lunatic father, but that was one cold-hearted backstabbing, two-faced little bitch.”

  “Gosh, Katie,” Mandy said, wide-eyed, “don’t hold back or anything.”

  Just then a text notification dinged on Joe Bob’s cell phone. As he thumbed the message open, his eyes went wide. “I’d say Loretta found herself a beauty parlor,” he gulped, handing the phone to Kate.

  Jenny and Mandy leaned in to look at the photo of a tall woman with a knockout figure looking down at a sheaf of papers on the counter at the clerk’s office. “Damn,” Kate said. “No wonder nobody has recognized her. Who took this, Joe Bob?”

  “Mae Ella,” he said. “That woman uses an iPhone like a loaded .45. I must get a dozen pictures a day of trash cans people aren’t putting out on the curb the right way or crooked street signs. Mae Ella has a real thing about crooked street signs.”

  Kate started to ask why the irascible clerk would care about misaligned signage, but stopped herself. Mae Ella had been in office since the early 1960s. So far as she was concerned, mayors and city councils came and went, but she ran the town.

  Instead, Kate said, “I haven’t heard a word about Loretta Williams in years. She left town the day after graduation to get away from her family. I can't say that I blame her. Jedediah Williams could make a hardshell Baptist look liberal.”

  “So she took off and Jinx stayed?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes,” Kate said. “Jinx was a couple of years younger than Loretta. She lived at home until Jedediah passed and then she married that no-count Will Brewer.”

  “What happened to him?” Mandy asked.

  “Left Jinx for a woman in Sonora,” Kate said. “Jedediah’s flock threw her out when she got divorced, so she started going to the Methodist Church.”

  “Where she set her sights on my brother,” Dusty said as she walked out onto the patio. “But apparently, her sister put a stop to that.”

  The group looked up as she joined them and Kate handed her Joe Bob’s phone. “Do you blame Rafe for choosing sister number one?”

  Dusty looked at the screen and let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

  “That’s what I said,” Kate laughed. “Not the Loretta I remember.”

  “Me neither,” Dusty said, sitting down beside Mandy. “So, I went to the cafe and got the scoop from Mary Ellen.”

  “What did you find out?” Jenny asked.

  “According to the waitress mafia,” Dusty said, “Retta Thornton has actually been living in town for almost a year. She has certainly been here long enough to meet the residency requirement for the election.”

  “How is that possible? Kate asked. “How can somebody live in this town for more than a year and nobody know?”

  “Apparently Retta works from home,” Dusty said. “She does some kind of consulting work, whatever that means. But she has one definite qualification for office.”

  “Which is?” Kate asked.

  “She’s a lawyer.”

  Joe Bob looked stricken. “Oh,” he said. “That is not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” Kate agreed. “But not just because of the election. You all are forgetting something.”

  “What?” Jenny asked.

  “Loretta Williams is our second cousin.”

  “She’s what?” Mandy yelped. The tenor of her voice startled the puppies awake and both started barking furiously in defense of their adopted mother.

  Dusty laughed and scooped up both of the dogs, settling them in her lap. “I’m gonna start calling you two Killer and Ripper if you don’t knock it off.”

  The high-pitched barking turned into happy whimpering and furious tail wagging. Dusty began to simultaneously scratch two sets of silky ears, which instantly put Jazz and Rap back to sleep.

  “Thank you,” Mandy said. “I thought puppies were supposed to be easier than kids.”

  “They are,” Dusty said. “These two will never date some old boy with a misspelled tattoo.”

  “Let’s get back on track here,” Jenny said. “What is this about Loretta being our second cousin?”

  “Grandma Sarah was a Williams,” Kate said. “Jedediah was her nephew, which made him Daddy’s first cousin.”

  Jenny shook her head. “I do not know how you remember this stuff or why you even try. It’s not like we Lockwoods have ever given a damn about family.”

  Kate shrugged. “We’re transplanted southerners,” she said. “Our people matter whether we talk to them or not.”

  “Oh, sure,” Jenny said. “That just makes loads of sense. I don’t even really remember Grandma Sarah.”

  “There’s no reason you should,” Kate said. “You were only 2 when she died. And we didn’t see her very often. I realize now Mama must have been sneaking us into town for visits behind Daddy’s back. He didn’t even go to his mother’s funeral.”

  Everyone jumped when Joe Bob’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up and moving a few steps away.

  Before the conversation under the cabana could resume, the strained quality of Joe Bob’s voice made the women turn their heads. “Yes, Roy,” he said. “I am aware that Ms. Thornton filed for the election.”

  He paused, listened, and then said, “Well, Roy, I can’t hardly comment on her platform when I don’t know what it is.”

  More listening. “Aggressive economic development?” Joe Bob said. “Well, that’s been my major focus throughout my term.”

  With each pause in the conversation, more color drained from Joe Bob’s face. “No,” he said, “I don’t know what business or investors Ms. Thornton is talking about.”

  Then, to their surprise, a note of anger came into Joe Bob’s usually affable voice. “Preoccupied with my wife’s family affairs? They’re my family too, Roy and they’ve had a rough spell since Langston died.”

  A few more seconds passed and Joe Bob said brusquely, “No. Thank you, Roy. I have no further comment at this time.”

  When he ended the call, to the utter astonishment of the women at the table, Joe Bob said, “Son of a bitch!”

  Mandy stared at her husband. “Honey?” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anybody.”

  “That’s because most folks have sense enough not to bad mouth my wife and her sisters to me,” Joe Bob grumbled.

  “I’m guessing that was Roy Filcher at the newspaper?” Kate asked.

  “It was,” Joe Bob confirmed. “There will apparently be an extensive interview in tomorrow’s edition with mayoral candidate Retta Thornton in which she details her plans to save this town’s long, slow economic decline in the hands of an ill-prepared mayor who is more interested in his wife’s family problems than in bringing new business and money into the local economy.”

  Mandy’s eyes flashed. “That bitch actually said that?”

  “Now listen to who’s doing the cussing,” Kate grinned. “Both of you simmer down. This is classic Loretta tactics. She always was good at stirring up an argument and then watching people tear each other to shreds. Don’t play her game and don’t talk to that moron Roy Filcher. This is bigger than just Loretta. If she’s in bed with Rafe, literally or figuratively, and he’s cooking up something with Josh . . .”

  “We have major problems,” Jenny said.

  “Exactly.”

  122

  The town buzzed for days after Retta Thornton's interview appeared in the paper. Given the publication's characteristic tepid quality, the fact that Roy Filcher wrote and published the piece at all shocked his readers.

  The
text began with a honeyed rendering of Retta's “secluded” first months back in town, which she described as “a necessary period to terminate my consulting business" and "a private time to renew my sense of local connection."

  Several paragraphs then detailed her "great love of our beautiful countryside," which Retta claimed had always been a comfort to her. There was circumspect verbiage about her struggle to reconcile her personal faith with her father's "more fundamental philosophy," ending with the pious declaration, “The Good Lord leads us each in His own way.”

  When Kate read that paragraph, she let out with a pointed and profane commentary that led Jenny to look up from her own copy of the article. "Now, now," she scolded. "I'm pretty sure you just committed blasphemy with a dash of heresy and broke at least one commandment."

  Kate shot her sister a look over the top of her reading glasses. "Jedediah Williams was a hellfire and brimstone moralizing bigot," she said. "And though I doubt he could have pronounced the word, much less spell it, the man could have invented misogyny."

  Mandy, who was beside herself with indignation at the article's suggestion that her husband was a "pleasant but ineffectual" community leader, said, "Is that why Loretta looked so awful in that picture you showed us, Katie?"

  "Yes," she said. "As far as I know, Jedediah's congregation wasn't affiliated with any specific denomination or sect, but he insisted the women wear plain dresses, have long hair, and not use makeup or put on any jewelry except their wedding rings."

  "Wives, submit to your husbands?" Jenny asked.

  Kate made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. "To the point that far too many of those women showed up for Sunday services with visible bruises."

  "No wonder Loretta left," Mandy said. "I'm sorry she had that kind of childhood, but this article is just plain mean. Did you read this part about Joe Bob's 'preoccupation with the problems of his wife's turbulent family?' What's that supposed to mean anyway?"

  Kate laid her paper down on the table and used her fingers to tick off a series of points. "Suicide. Three shootings. Hidden treasure. Crooked land dealings. Mental illness . . ."

  "Stop," Mandy said. "You make us sound awful."

  "And I still have five fingers left," Kate said ruefully. "Look, there's no denying any of what's happened over the past couple of years. Let's just be glad she doesn't know about Elizabeth's real identity and that she's not talking about Phil."

  "She better leave my daddy alone," Mandy said hotly. "He wouldn't hurt a fly."

  "No," Jenny said. "But he is a 65-year-old man in Birkenstocks who raises organic ‘herbs’ and lives in a house the size of a tool shed that runs off glorified batteries."

  "Jenny!" Mandy gasped. "I can't believe you said that."

  "She was making a point," Kate said. "Anyone can twist anything just by picking the right words."

  The newspaper interview ended with Retta's promise to "truly immerse myself in the life of the community." The following Sunday, she staged her first public appearance to set that pledge in motion by walking into the Methodist sanctuary on Rafe Jackson's arm.

  "According to Clara Wyler," Jenny said, "Retta put on quite a show at church, including putting a $500 check in the collection plate."

  That information, plus the article, was enough to cause Jenny to call her New York friend Gretchen Larsen to request a background check on Loretta Williams Thornton. Within two days, Gretchen called back. “The story has kind of a rags-to-riches angle to it,” she told Jenny. “Loretta, aka Retta, worked as a waitress to put herself through college and then law school. She started out as a public defender in Dallas, then left to join a private firm and marry one of the partners, Thomas Thornton. Fast forward through a lot of career-climbing cases, one massively profitable breakup, and Loretta winds up being one of the most expensive and feared divorce lawyers in the Lone Star state.”

  “How expensive?” Jenny asked.

  "From what I can tell, husbands just take out their checkbooks and fork it over once she's on the case."

  "So she has money?" Jenny asked.

  "Piles of it."

  "Then what in the world is she doing moving back here?" Jenny asked.

  "All I can tell you is that she has a lot of friends in the real estate and construction business," Gretchen said. "If I had to guess, I'd say she's connected to some kind of land development scheme."

  "Wouldn't that create a conflict of interest if she were to be elected mayor?" Jenny asked.

  "Honey, your problem is that you think like an honest woman," Gretchen said. "Loretta wouldn't be the first elected official to accept bribes or take kickbacks, and she won't be the last."

  None of the things they were learning about Retta or her associations, past or present, settled the growing suspicions of the Lockwood sisters. When Jenny related the details of Gretchen's report, Kate frowned. "That's a little too convenient after Rafe just tried to come after us using the terms of Daddy’s will.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Jenny said, “and now they’ve got inside information courtesy of Josh Baxter.”

  “We don’t know that,” Kate said.

  “Don’t we?” Jenny asked bitterly. “Don’t even try to defend him, Katie. Everything we find out just makes him look worse and makes me feel more stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Kate said. “I trusted the man, too. Maybe Pablo will be able to tell me something useful. He’s supposed to be here around 2 o’clock.”

  Kate’s planned conversation with her father's former ranch hand, Pablo Espinosa, had been delayed because the old man was in Mexico visiting family. When she finally reached him, Pablo insisted on driving out to the Rocking L.

  When he arrived, he parked out of habit to one side of the barn and immediately took off his hat when Kate approached him. They greeted each other warmly. Kate had known Pablo her entire life and thought of him more as a kindly uncle than someone who had once worked for her father.

  They walked to the corral and stood leaning against the top rail watching the blue roans in the pen. “What do you think of them?” Kate asked.

  “Muy bonito,” Pablo said, “but the patrón, he would not like them being on the Rocking L.”

  Kate laughed. “I hate to tell you this,” she said, “but we do a lot of things out here now that Daddy wouldn’t like.”

  "I miss the patrón," Pablo told her mournfully. "His big voice."

  "Daddy usually used that big voice to call you names," Kate said.

  "Es verdad," Pablo said. "Vivió con mucha tristeza."

  Kate shook her head. “Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say Daddy caused a lot of sadness?”

  “Senorita Katerina,” the old man chided, “do not say such things.”

  Even though Langston had done little to deserve Pablo’s undying loyalty, the old man continued to love his patrón even in death. Sighing, she said, “Did you have any idea Daddy was going to kill himself?"

  "No," he said, "I did not know."

  "Did anything out of the ordinary happen that week before he shot himself?"

  Pablo considered the question and then shook his head, "No."

  "Was Josh Baxter around here much?"

  "Si," Pablo said. "Always taking pictures."

  Something about the way he answered the question told Kate he had more to say. "What about him taking pictures?"

  Pablo shook his head. "The camera was not right."

  She frowned. "What do you mean?"

  At a loss as to how to explain himself in English, Pablo answered with a long string of Spanish, which Kate translated for verification. "He pretended to be taking pictures of one thing, but it always seemed like he was looking at something else?"

  "Si," Pablo said. "Always the wrong way." He gestured with his hands as if they held a camera.

  Later, when Kate relayed the conversation to Jenny, she said, "I guess that pretty much confirms our theory about the heron photo. Did Pablo tell you anything else?"

&
nbsp; “Just what we already knew. That Daddy and George Fisk argued over some papers and then it was John Fisk who showed up with any legal business,” she said. “Daddy was taking a lot of long rides up to the draw, but there wasn’t anything unusual about that, and now we know why.”

  “I guess all we can do now is wait for somebody to make a move,” Jenny said. “When are you and Jake leaving for San Antonio?”

  “We’re supposed to leave in the morning,” Kate said, “but I really don’t think I should be off the ranch right now.”

  They were talking in the studio and Jenny had her back to Kate when her sister made the comment. Jenny swiveled so abruptly in her chair she almost knocked a stack of sketchbooks off the corner of her desk, “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “You are not squirreling out of this. Jake is counting on you, the dress is fantastic, and you’re booked at the Menger. You’re going.”

  “I don’t like leaving you out here by yourself,” Kate said.

  “Joe Bob and Mandy are here.”

  “All the way down at the old house,” Kate countered. “You’ll be up here by the front gate alone.”

  “Actually,” Jenny said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I’d like to spend a few days by myself over at the K-Bar 3. Josh wouldn’t think to look for me there. I need some processing time and I really don’t want to have to drive back to Colorado to get it.”

  “I appreciate that,” Kate said laughing. “We’re a little busy for a road trip at the moment.”

  Jenny looked wistful. “I wish we weren’t,” she said.

  “Me, too,” Kate agreed. “We will go back to that cabin, and next time we’ll take Baby Sister with us. The keys to the house on the K-Bar 3 are hanging by the back door in the kitchen on the key ring from the hardware store.”

  “Thanks,” Jenny said. “I’ll run into town in the morning for some groceries and then go on over there.”

  “Take a gun,” Kate ordered.

  “Leave yours at home,” Jenny ordered back.

  They both answered “yes, ma’am” at the same time.

  “Seriously, Katie,” Jenny said, “have fun this weekend. You and Jake really deserve some time for just the two of you.”