by Fay Robinson
“Go ahead. I’d be thankful for the information.” He gave her the name of the mother and boyfriend.
Bret turned in the swing and watched while she and Willie walked to the car. His gaze went to her denimclad behind and the alluring way it swayed when she moved.
“I might have to kill you over those oysters,” he told Aubrey casually, not taking his eyes off Kate. She bent over and arranged the curtains on the back seat, putting a twist in his gut that would take a tractor to yank out. “She has no idea what they are.”
Aubrey chuckled. “A man’s gotta have a little fun now and then.”
“Yeah, well, it seems to me you have more than your share of fun.”
“Ain’t my fun I’m worried about, boss man, it’s yours.”
Bret turned and looked at him. “Meaning?”
“Ain’t you ever heard? Mountain oysters is supposed to be one of them afra-dizziacks.”
RECORDS OF THE CIRCUIT court weren’t computerized, and it took the clerk a while to locate the files Kate requested on Henry’s mother and her ex-boyfriend.
Next she went to the probate and tax assessor’s offices to check Bret’s land records. He’d seemed forthright about his life here, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of not confirming what he’d told her. Erroneous information, sometimes given unintentionally by a source, was a biographer’s nightmare if it appeared in print; it could taint the entire book.
She quickly located the records, comparing the descriptions to the assessed value of the property. In March of 1992 he’d bought his farm and the old family homestead, valued collectively at $750,000. Where had he gotten that kind of money? From James? His brother was still living then. From George Conner? His stepfather had a lucrative dental practice at the time.
Someone must have helped him with the purchase. He’d been twenty-five with no college degree and a less-than-stellar employment history. She made a note to herself to check where Bret was working that specific year.
He’d subdivided the more valuable property—the homestead—four years later, retaining ownership of fifty acres, as he’d told her. Getting down another index, she followed the paper trail for the remaining six hundred acres, the land he’d donated for Pine Acres. The current owner was listed as…the Mason Bret Hayes Foundation.
“Well, well,” she muttered. “You’re simply full of surprises, aren’t you?”
He’d set up a foundation to operate the ranch. Why go through the red tape and tax hassle of that when he could have used the foundation his mother had created in James’s name?
She paid for copies, dropped the signed books off at the library and went to the motel room. Cell phones were insecure for the kind of information she and Marcus often swapped, so she’d told him to call her room with any messages. He’d left five. She dialed her office.
“Kate, how about checking in more often?” Marcus said. “I don’t like not hearing from you for days.”
“But I’ve e-mailed you every night.”
“Doesn’t count. I need to hear a real voice once in a while.”
“I’m sorry. What was so urgent that you had to leave me this many messages?”
“I dug up a few things you’ll be interested in. Nothing on the drug allergies you asked me to look into, but the rest of what I have you’ll want right away. Do you want to download?”
She looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw that she’d been gone from Bret’s for more than two hours. Before she left, she wanted to go on-line to check the law on capital murder in Alabama. She’d better hurry.
“No, I’m pressed for time. Tell me briefly what you found, then put everything in a file on my hard drive with today’s date and I’ll dial in tonight and get it.”
“Will do.”
He gave her a brief account of what it cost to run a breeding farm the size of Bret’s and how much he could expect to net each year.
“From what I’ve been able to find out, Hayes has a good reputation, his stock is excellent and he probably makes a fair income, but he could do a lot better if he wanted to. I talked to some of his competitors and they say he’d have a first-class operation if he’d expand and stop turning down business.”
“Probably worried about losing his privacy if he gets too big. Or maybe he doesn’t need to work. Conceivably he could be living modestly on what’s left of his inheritance.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I found news stories on seventeen other ranches he’s set up.”
“Seventeen?” Kate’s surprise made her bolt into a sitting position on the bed. “There are seventeen more of them?”
“Yep, they’re all over the South. Hayes built them through a separate foundation, and that’s why we didn’t pick up on them until now.”
“The Mason Bret Hayes Foundation.”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
She outlined what she’d learned at the courthouse.
“I never dreamed there was more than one ranch, Marcus. If he’s supporting seventeen, this goes beyond a local project. We’re looking at a major charity using an incredible amount of money, possibly even more than Bret had to begin with. Where’s he getting it?”
“I think I’ve figured that out. Up until today I thought the entire seventy-two million his mother and sister got after taxes went to set up the James Hayes Foundation.”
She frowned. “That’s not the case?”
“No, I don’t think so, and I don’t think all the annual income from investments and music royalties is going into that foundation, either. I can’t be absolutely sure because the records aren’t open, but working backward and using what I could find through public sources, I added up the contributions the foundation’s made to university music programs, scholarship funds and other charities. Then I factored in what I estimate the investments should be bringing in annually. The revenue’s coming up short of the expenditures.”
“How short?” She picked up a pen and started jotting notes.
“Way short. A minimum of twenty-five million a year.”
She stopped writing, stunned. “That can’t be right.”
“Sis, either that money isn’t being invested, which is fiscally irresponsible, or it’s going somewhere else.”
“And you think they’re giving it to Bret’s foundation?”
“I do. While he probably used his inheritance to build the first few ranches, I think he’s maintaining them and building new ones using the income from James’s music royalties. He’s also made several large donations there in Alabama.”
“I know about those. They all benefit children in some way.”
“That family’s funneling money right and left, and it’s got my radar hoppin’, but I’ll be damned if I can find even one instance where they’ve used any of it for personal gain. Why set up this second foundation? They’re both being funded from the same source. Why don’t they throw all the money into the original foundation and dole it out for their individual pet projects?”
Because, she suddenly realized, Bret wanted his name on the ranches. Could he really be that self-absorbed? Maybe he hadn’t changed at all.
But if that was true, why build the ranches in the first place?
They were missing something, something important, and until they had it, none of this would fall into place.
“I don’t get it, either,” Kate told Marcus, “but at least one mystery is solved. We now know why Bret lives the way he does. He controls a fortune, but he gives away every penny.”
“Yeah, great guy. I might be impressed if he’d earned it.”
BRET GOT ANXIOUS as lunchtime came and went, and Kate failed to return. He ate some of the lasagna she’d left in the oven, a double helping of cobbler, then hobbled back out to the porch.
She hadn’t returned by one o’clock. Or by two. She’d be hard-pressed to find any trouble in this town, so he had no reason to worry about her. Which meant that he
missed her. And that didn’t sit well with him at all.
The sound of a car on the dirt road made him look up. In a few seconds he could see flashes of white as Kate’s rental made its way along the pine-bordered drive to the yard. He put down the manuscript and used the crutches to push himself onto his feet as she stopped and got out. Sallie instinctively ran snarling toward the intruder. Kate froze, but before Bret could react, Sallie saw who it was, whimpered and crawled under the porch.
“What’s wrong with that crazy dog?” Kate asked, retrieving a stack of papers from the back seat. She closed the door, jogged up the walk and the steps. “She’s been acting weird all day.”
“She’s afraid of you.”
“Oh, sure.”
Bret opened the door for her and followed her in. Depositing the papers and herself on the couch, she took off her tennis shoes and folded her legs under her. Bret remained standing but leaned heavily on the crutches.
“Only one thing terrifies Sallie and that’s a bath. With you running around cleaning everything this morning, she thought she was next.”
Kate seemed to consider that.
“Oh, no,” he warned her. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Okay. No bath for Sallie. How’s the reading? Get much done while I was gone?”
“Some.”
“And do you like it?” Her eyes shone with hope. “Are you going to help me?”
“I’ll let you know when I finish.”
“When will that be? Are you purposely reading slowly just to aggravate me?”
He glanced at her pointedly.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “I promise I won’t bug you about it again. I’m eager to hear what you think, and I guess I’m a little nervous about you reading the parts where you’re mentioned. Some are a bit…harsh.”
“More than a bit.”
She grimaced. “I see you’ve gotten to them already.”
“I’ve hit a few.”
“And I can tell you’re ticked off. You’re grinding your teeth.”
“I’m not happy with them, but I’ll comment when I’ve read them all.”
“I’m sure you will.” She stood and gathered up her shoes. “Well, I think I’ll work while you read. The papers on Henry’s mother are here, too, if you want to take a look. The motions are all pretty routine, but it’s an interesting case. I did a little research online when I stopped at the motel to get my messages. If the boyfriend’s going to testify that she set the fire, she’d better plea bargain if she wants to make sure she doesn’t meet Big Yellow Mama.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s what they call the electric chair in this state.”
“You think they’ll execute her?”
“Well, it’s unlikely, but it could happen. You never know what a judge or a jury’s going to do. I wouldn’t want to gamble my life on what twelve strangers might recommend to a court, and with the victim being a small child, she can’t hope for any public sympathy. While the odds are she won’t get a death sentence, the only way she can be sure is to make a plea in exchange for life without parole. Of course, there’s always the possibility she could go to trial and get acquitted.”
“Please tell me that can’t happen.”
“That can happen in any case, but I don’t think it’ll happen here. The boyfriend’s the key, though. If he comes through as promised, then I think everything will be okay. The case looks good from a prosecution standpoint.”
“Explain.”
“Well, even if she didn’t intend to kill the children when she committed arson, it won’t help her. As long as she started the fire, a child died in the fire and the state can prove it, her intent to kill or lack of intent isn’t an issue. By law, she committed capital murder.”
“So her pretending she didn’t know the kids were in the house won’t matter?”
“Right. As far as the prosecution’s case is concerned, it makes no difference.”
“I’d be satisfied to see her in jail for the rest of her life.”
“Me, too.” Kate headed for the kitchen, then stopped and turned. “Oh, before I forget…I went to the library and was reminded of something Miss Emma told me last week. Can I ask you about it? It has me stumped.”
“What?”
“She said you got the news of your brother’s death while you were with her the next day. Why didn’t your mother contact you earlier?”
“You and Miss Emma must have gotten along pretty well. She sure has been talkative.”
“She likes me. She’s read all my books.”
“Just my luck.”
“So what happened? Why didn’t your family call you?”
“They tried to call Friday night, but I unplugged the phone when I got in from the concert. I was still angry at Jamie and sick emotionally. I thought he might call, and I couldn’t go through a repeat of our fight.”
“I figured there was a logical explanation.”
“I slept in Saturday morning and didn’t think about the phone still being unplugged when I went to town to return my overdue books. Some people came in while I was at the library and they’d heard the news on the radio. They started telling Miss Emma while I was standing at the counter. They didn’t realize they were talking about my brother.”
“That must have been horrible for you.”
His voice cracked when he said truthfully, “It was the worst day of my life.”
BRET WENT BACK to the porch to read while Kate worked at the kitchen table on her laptop. At six-thirty he finished, but he didn’t go inside immediately. He needed time to get himself under control. Her words were too powerful, her descriptions so vivid that for the past few hours he’d been transported to the past. And it wasn’t a friendly place for him.
As she’d said, she’d been harsh. Everything he wished he could erase was there in damning detail: the bar fights, the inability to keep a job, the petty jealousies. They would overshadow the ranches. Pine Acres and the other good things he’d accomplished in the past few years would all be for nothing.
In the kitchen he found her engrossed in the words on the computer screen, her legs tucked under her in the chair and her hair pulled into a big knot on top of her head. Pencils stuck out of the knot at weird angles, and she wore glasses, which he’d never seen on her.
He watched for several minutes. Seeing Kate like this, he could imagine her as a little girl with a big brain, probably talking foreign policy while other children dressed dolls and had tea parties. That child was still very much a part of her, despite the toughened hide she’d developed as she grew. The vulnerability he’d seen in her expression when she’d asked what he thought of her manuscript pulled at his insides. He’d wanted to hold her, to protect the child hiding within.
God, that was a laughable notion. Him? The protector? Hell, he resembled the dragon more than he did the knight. During some of his worst times with a bottle, he’d probably breathed fire and devoured a few virgin sacrifices.
She paused in her typing and looked up, but her mind was still somewhere else and her gaze remained distant and unfocused.
“Hey,” he said, startling her.
She jumped, noticed him and smiled. “You scared me,” she said, quickly taking off the glasses. She patted her hair, found the pencils and removed them, also untying the knot to let her hair fall free.
He hopped to the table on one foot and sat down across from her, hooking one forearm through the wooden crutches and using them as an armrest. “My eyes have given out for the day. How about we both knock off, have a leisurely supper and relax with a movie or some music?”
“You want me to stay after we eat?”
“Why not? Are you so crazy about that motel?”
“Hardly. Even the roaches refuse to stay there.”
“Then spend the evening with me.”
She glanced at the screen. “I usually work for a few hours when I leave here.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“
I suppose so, but I normally don’t hang out with people I want to interview. Being too friendly with a source gives the appearance that I could be influenced.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, leaning forward. “Are you saying you can be influenced?”
“Of course not. I would never let my personal feelings color my professional judgment.”
“Then it’s a moot point. I’ll make the salad if you’ll get me the lettuce and tomatoes out of the refrigerator.” She didn’t move, so he appealed to her sympathy. “Well, go on. I’m injured and you’re supposed to be taking care of me.”
She sighed, got out of the chair and went to the refrigerator, but she threw him a look over her shoulder that said she was humoring him.
Nonetheless, an hour later they’d baked potatoes and a green-bean casserole, fixed a salad and warmed the mountain oysters.
“Mmm, these oysters are wonderful,” she said, picking up another one with her fingers and taking a bite. “They look and taste a little like fried chicken livers.”
She chewed a few seconds, then in a provocative way that had Bret writhing in his chair, she moaned and sucked the juice off her fingertips.
“Some people believe mountain oysters are an aphrodisiac,” he said. “That’s what Aubrey believes, anyway, although I’ve never heard that before today. I guess it’s an old wives’ tale.”
“You know what they say about old wives’ tales, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
She wiggled her eyebrows and said, “Old wives ought to know.”
They both laughed and she bit into another oyster.
Bret cleared his throat. “Aubrey’s also of the opinion that I’m lacking in female attention. I think he’s decided we’d be good together.”
Their eyes met and the unspoken question hung between them: Could they be good together?
“Ridiculous notion,” she said, looking away.
“Ridiculous,” he echoed.
“But it’s sweet of Aubrey to do this.”
Bret chuckled. Then the chuckle turned into a deep laugh as he thought about what “sweet” Aubrey had done.
