For all he knew, this little break in routine might just clear his head, make him feel better about the way he earned his living, twisting Justice’s arm just enough to keep his next rich client from serving a stretch in prison.
The Jeep came to a stop in a cloud of dust. Gray nodded to Abel, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the house. When he was a kid, it had reminded him of Tara. It still did, he thought, and he was smiling when his uncle’s wife opened the door. Gray was taken aback. He hadn’t given it any thought but now that he did, he was surprised to see Marta, considering how secretive Jonas had made all this sound.
“Graham,” his stepaunt said, “how good of you to come.” Smiling, she held out her arms and hugged him. She smelled of expensive perfume and looked as if she were planning to lunch on Madison Avenue and he thought, as always, how surprising it was that such a woman would be happy in this setting. He liked her; he always had. Of all the wives the old man had gone through, Marta was the best.
“Marta.” He kissed her cheek, put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said, laughing. She linked her arm through his, shut the door on the hot breath of late spring and drew him into the elegant foyer. “I’m so pleased you decided to accept Jonas’s invitation.”
The old man’s summons had been about as much an invitation as the Spanish Inquisition would have extended to heretics, but Gray kept the thought to himself.
“My pleasure,” he said politely. “How have you been?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.” Her eyes clouded. “Except Jonas, of course.”
Gray looked at her. “He’s not well?”
“No. Not at all. Didn’t he tell you?” She sighed and shook her head. “Of course he didn’t. He seems to think he can pretend the years aren’t finally catching up with him. And that his doctors haven’t diagnosed—”
“Diagnosed what?”
Marta dropped his arm and folded her hands together at her waist. “Leukemia,” she said softly. “That’s the reason for all of this.”
Hell. It was like sitting in at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Gray knew the characters but he didn’t understand the dialogue. “All of what?” he said carefully.
“You know. The talk about what will happen after—after he’s gone. Whether he’s divided his assets properly. Whether he’s left each child what that child truly wants.” She looked up at him, smiling brightly. “I’m sure your chat is going to ease his mind. I mean, yes, certainly, Jonas has an excellent attorney. And he’s given a great deal of thought to his will, but he seems to feel that discussing some of the specifics with you, as a member of the family, will help him be sure he’s taken care of everything.”
Gray’s eyebrows rose. Was that what this was all about? Was he here to read the old man’s will over his shoulder and offer advice on who should get what? He couldn’t imagine any of Jonas’s offspring quarreling over the disposition of the estate.
“Well,” he said cautiously, “I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will.” Marta cleared her throat. “Now,” she said briskly, “what can I get you?”
“Nothing, thanks.” Gray glanced at his watch. “If you’d just tell Jonas that I’m here…”
“How about some coffee? Or something cold. Lunch won’t be for another couple of hours. You’ll join us, of course.”
“I’m not sure,” he said, although he knew that he wouldn’t. “There’s a two o’clock flight back to New York. If I can, I’d like to be on it.”
“Ah. I’ll be disappointed, but I understand. Well then, I’ll have Carmen bring something for you to nibble on. Some of her pecan shortbread, and some lemonade. How’s that sound?”
“Thank you, but it isn’t necessary.”
“Don’t be silly.” They paused at the closed library door. Marta turned to him and smiled, her eyes glittering with what he knew were unshed tears. “It’s just so kind of you to do this for Jonas. Really, it’s very generous.”
Gray almost told her that kindness had nothing to do with it. Instead he took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will. And Gray…try not to let him see your surprise at all the changes.” Her voice quavered. “Will you do that, please?”
He nodded, and she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then she turned to the door and he could almost see her pulling herself together.
“Jonas?” She rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood, then turned the brass handle. “Darling? Graham’s here.”
Marta stepped back and Gray entered the library. The door swung softly shut behind him and as he looked around, his first thought was that he didn’t know what she’d meant, warning him about changes. Everything was the same. He remembered when Marta had married his uncle. She’d redone the living room, the dining room, some of the rest of the big house, but this place—his uncle’s lair, was the way he thought of it—had not been touched.
There were the same sofas and chairs he recalled from childhood, the leather cushions slightly worn and burnished by time. There was the same mahogany sideboard, and the big desk with the conquistador’s sword that had given Espada its name mounted above it. The same draperies hung at the windows, the same old and beautifully faded silk carpet lay on the floor. And there was Jonas, seated in his favorite chair near the massive fireplace, a glass in his hand.
Nothing had changed at all…and then his uncle put down the glass and rose to his feet, and Gray caught his breath.
Jonas had shrunk. That was his first thought. The old man had gone from being six foot something to being five-nine or-ten…except, he hadn’t. It was just that he was hunched over, those once-massive shoulders rounded, that proud back bent.
“Graham.”
Jonas started across the room and Gray got his second shock. His uncle’s stride had always been a proclamation that he owned the world. Now, he shuffled. His booted feet slid across the carpet. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. It was the sad, painful sound of age, and of a man who knew he was approaching the end of his life.
“Good to see you, boy.”
Gray gave himself a mental shake and met his uncle in the center of the room. They clasped hands. Jonas’s grip was still surprisingly strong but his fingers felt bony and cold. For the first time in his life, Gray felt a twinge of pity for him.
“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle,” he said.
Jonas nodded toward a pair of chairs. “Have a seat. You want somethin’? I can ring and ask Carmen to bring some coffee.”
“No, thank you. I had enough coffee on the plane to float a ship.”
“Good. I never did trust a man who’d sip coffee when he could be sippin’ whiskey instead.” The old man grinned. “Or ain’t you a bourbon man, nephew? I can’t seem to recall.”
Gray smiled. Jonas recalled, all right. It was a standing joke that nobody would ever join the old man in a glass of the whiskey he favored. His sons preferred wine, beer and ale. Gray’s preference was for single-malt scotch, but the memory of those cold fingers pressing against his made him reconsider.
“I’m not, usually,” he said. “But I think some bourbon might be fine right about now.”
Jonas nodded and shuffled to the sideboard. Gray saw his hands tremble as he opened the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and warned himself not to let the signs of illness and age influence him. He’d come prepared to listen to whatever his uncle wanted to tell him, then to decline involvement and head home, and that was still what he intended to do. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into sorting out some past mistake, real or imagined…unless Marta was right, and he was here to advise Jonas on his will. Hell, he wouldn’t do that, either. He wanted no part in any of this.
“Here we are,” Jonas said.
Gray took the glass, touched it to his uncle’s and sipped the whiskey. There was more ceremony to get through, this time involvi
ng a box of Cuban cigars, which he refused. He waited while the old man bit the tip off one, spat it into the fireplace and lit up.
“Ain’t supposed to drink or smoke, but what the hell’s the difference? I ain’t long for this world anyways.”
“You’ll outlive us all,” Gray said politely.
A knock sounded at the door. Jonas opened it, took a quick look at the tray in his housekeeper’s hands and waved her out.
“Lemonade,” he said, his lip curling with disgust, “and cake. You’d think there was a couple of kids in this here room.” He slammed the door and looked at Gray. “Where was I?”
“You said you wanted to talk.”
“That ain’t what I was saying. I was tellin’ you there’s not much point in me avoidin’ a good shot of whiskey and a fine cigar.” Jonas eased into a chair, motioned to the other one. “But you’re right, I do have some talkin’ to do. I suppose Marta told you I’m dyin’?”
“Uh, well, uh, she said—”
“Come on,” Jonas said impatiently, “don’t play games! There’s just so much time a man has got, and I’ve used up most of mine. Remember what I said last night? That I liked the way you shoot straight? Don’t disappoint me now, boy. I’m dyin’. That’s all there is to it. And you know what? Dyin’s okay. I lived a long, full life.” He smiled, took a puff on the cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Had me five fine wives, four strong sons, built me this ranch and had me enough good times for a dozen men.” The smile faded and he sat forward. “But the closer I come to the end, the more I’ve been thinkin’ that not all them good times was exactly good, if you catch my drift.”
What was the old man getting at? A confession? A cleansing of the soul? Gray cleared his throat.
“Yes, well, all of us do things we’re not proud of, from time to time. I mean—”
“Damnation, boy, get that panicked look off your face.” Jonas scowled darkly. “I told you, If I wanted a pulpit pansy I’d have sent for one. I ain’t about to drop a bunch of regrets in your lap and ask for absolution.” He paused, took a long breath, then got to his feet. Slowly he walked to his desk and picked up a paperweight. “You ever notice this, Graham?”
Gray rose and followed his uncle to the desk. Jonas held out the paperweight. Gray took it from him and, as he hefted it, he realized it wasn’t a paperweight at all. It was a chunk of rock, pitted, rough and heavy, mottled with snaky streaks of what he figured was some kind of mineral deposit.
“No,” he said slowly, “I guess I never did. What is it? Granite?”
The old man chuckled. “Hold it to the light.”
Gray moved to the window and lifted the rock toward the glass. A beam of sunshine struck it, turning the mineral streaks into dazzling ribbons of bright yellow.
“Gold?” Gray said, looking at his uncle. “Is that what this is?”
“That’s what it is, all right. Gold ore.” Jonas took the rock from Gray’s hand and closed his fingers around it. “Took it from a mine in Venezuela, more’n half a century ago.”
“I didn’t know you’d been a gold miner,” Gray said, with a little smile. The old man was right. He had, indeed, led a long and interesting life.
“I been a lot of things.” Jonas opened his fist, looked at the rock, then put it down. “I was a young man back then. Already made me a pile of money in longhorns and some other things nobody else thought would pay off so when my pal, Ben Lincoln, asked me to go fifty-fifty on a mine in South America, I figured why not give it a try? The mine was s’posed to be played out but Ben had reason to believe otherwise.”
He paused for a long moment and stared blindly out the window. Gray felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. It was almost as if the old man saw something out there that nobody else could see.
“So we took ourselves down to Venezuela and then up the Orinoco to this mine in the jungle somebody had worked an’ then abandoned.”
He paused again, this time for so long that Gray moved toward him. “Uncle?” he said softly.
Jonas looked at him. “Yeah. I’m just thinkin’ back.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said briskly, “turned out Ben was mistaken. We found some gold, but not enough. So Ben and me, we decided to end the partnership.”
Gray took another look at the rock. It was an interesting story, but what did it have to do with him? Jonas was still talking, something about him and Ben Lincoln, how they’d gone their separate ways and he’d come back to build Espada. Gray shot a surreptitious glance at his watch. An hour had gone by. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he wouldn’t make that flight to New York.
“Dammit, boy, how about payin’ some attention here?”
Gray’s head came up. A muscle knotted in his jaw. “You know,” he said, as carefully as he could, “I don’t like being called `boy.’ And I have been paying attention. I’m here, aren’t I, when I should be meeting with a client—and I still don’t know why in hell I came. What do you want, Jonas?”
“I’m getting to that.” The old man hesitated. “Ben died a long time back. A few months ago, I heard—I heard he had some kin. A granddaughter.”
“And? What does any of this have to do with me?”
The old man’s eyes met his. “I’ve owed a debt to Ben all these years, and I’m a man always pays his debts.”
Gray’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s a little late to worry about repaying this one, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t never too late to do the right thing, Graham. You live as long as me, you might just figure that out for yourself.”
“What kind of debt?”
“A debt, dammit,” Jonas said irritably. “What’s the difference?”
Things were starting to make sense. His uncle owed money to a man who was dead. For all he knew, he’d cheated Ben Lincoln out of some gold. Maybe he’d gone back later and found the mother lode. Maybe he’d done it without ever telling Ben Lincoln. Or maybe he’d palmed a couple of aces when they played cards. Knowing Jonas, anything was possible.
Now, with death looming ahead, he was having an attack of conscience. He wanted to make things right and he didn’t want his sons or even his own lawyer to know about it for fear it would tarnish his image. Gray thought of telling him that there wasn’t anything that could do more damage to an image like his, but what would be the point? The old man really didn’t have much time left. It wouldn’t hurt to do this simple thing for him.
“Okay,” he said. He sat down again, picked up his briefcase and snapped it open. “You tell me the granddaughter’s name, give me her address, and—”
“Don’t know her address.”
Gray sighed. “That’s all right. Her name will probably be enough. I’ve got a couple of private investigators I use all the time. They’ll find her.”
“Don’t know her name, neither.”
“You don’t know her name?” Gray repeated, trying to sound patient.
“Jes’ said that, didn’t I?”
“Okay. Okay, then, just tell me whatever you can about this Ben Lincoln. Where he was from. Where he went after you and he broke up the partnership. Anything you remember.”
“Here.” Jonas plucked a manila envelope from the top of his desk. “Figured you’d want whatever information I got. Wrote it all down for you.”
Gray took the envelope and placed it in his briefcase. “Fine.” He uncapped a pen, put a yellow legal pad on his knees. “These guys I know will find Lincoln’s granddaughter.”
Jonas nodded. “I was counting on that.”
“And how do you want to handle this? After they’ve found her, do you want to mail her a check? Or do you want it hand-delivered?”
“A check?”
“Yes,” Gray said, trying to disguise his impatience. “For his granddaughter. You want to keep it impersonal, or—”
“I don’t intend to give the girl a check. If she’s Ben’s offspring, if she’s a decent woman, I’ll want to meet her. Write her into my will.”
Gray looked up.
Jonas was standing over him, one bony hand curled around the back of a chair. His eyes were flat, his mouth a grim line, but a dark blue vein throbbed in his papery temple. Something was going on here, something more than the old man had told him, but what?
“You want to write her into your will?”
“You deaf, counselor? How come I have to repeat everything I say?”
Oh, yeah. Definitely something was going on. There was the look on Jonas’s face. The sudden ringing tone to his voice. More to the point, the on-again, off-again accent had just taken a hike, and that was always meaningful.
Gray capped the pen, placed it and the legal pad inside the briefcase and stood up. He’d been as tall as Jonas for years; now, he towered over him. It was a small but decided advantage, and wasn’t that a crazy thing to think?
“And how will you be sure she’s a decent woman, Uncle?”
Jonas’s mouth curved at the corners. “I’ll rely on your reports, nephew. What else would I do?”
“Now, wait just a minute. I’m willing to use one of my investigators to locate this woman, but if you intend to base your decision on the findings of a private detective…forget it. I won’t take responsibility for somebody else’s opinion of an unknown woman’s moral fiber—assuming the investigator finds her at all.”
“He’ll find her. You just told me he would.”
Hell. Gray ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll put the best man I can think of on the case.”
“I’ve already done that, Graham. I’ve put you on it.” Jonas seemed to stand a little taller. “Your investigator will do the footwork.” He grinned, and suddenly he didn’t look quite so frail and old. “Wouldn’t expect somethin’ so down and dirty of you, boy. But you’re the one who’s gonna verify what the man says. You’ll take a good, hard look at the lady once she’s found. Observe her. Talk to her, check her out every which way. An’ when you know what she’s really like, why then, nephew, you’ll report back to me and tell me everythin’ I need to know.” Jonas strolled to his chair, sat down and picked up his tumbler of bourbon. “Way I figure it, the whole thing shouldn’t take you no more’n a couple of weeks.”
Raising the Stakes Page 3
