“What?”
“Betty Smith, then she married someone—Shilling or Shafter or something like that. Melissa is their kid.”
“Melissa Moore?”
He nodded and took a big bite of tortilla.
“So Melissa could tell us about her mother who was half sister to Randy Mullins who might have been the Senator’s bastard?” Carly asked.
Dan swallowed tortilla. “Maybe. If she knows anything and wants to talk.”
“I’m sure Winifred will help with that.”
“If she’s well enough to care. What about the rest of those names, the maybe-bastards?”
“I hate that label.”
“What?”
“Bastard. Like it’s the kid’s fault.”
“The only bastards I care about are self-made.” He tugged at a stray piece of her hair, the one she kept twisting around her finger when she was fretting. “Illegitimate child takes too long to say and love child is the kind of lie that turns my stomach. My mother wasn’t any man’s love child.”
The edge to Dan’s voice reminded Carly that small towns had long memories and short forgiveness of personal choices. Diana had suffered for being born outside of marriage. Diana’s son accepted that, but he didn’t have to like it.
Carly turned back to her list of names of children perhaps conceived and certainly forgotten by Andrew Jackson Quintrell III, known to most as the Senator and to his sister-in-law as a philandering son of a bitch. The more Carly knew about him, the more she agreed with Winifred.
“Sharon Miller,” Carly said.
Dan shook his head. “No bells on that one.”
“She was the daughter of the Senator’s social secretary, born two years after he retired to Taos in 1977.”
“What happened to her?”
“Her mother took her and left Taos when she was a year old. No contact with the Quintrells after that, at least not that I’ve found in the records. Next one is Christopher Smith. Son of the replacement social secretary. She was married, by the way, so it’s likely the baby belonged to the husband, not the hound dog. It lasted six years.”
“The marriage?”
“The job with the Senator.”
Dan spooned a second helping of chili into his bowl and wondered how many more children the fornicating old goat had sired.
QUINTRELL RANCH
FRIDAY EVENING
43
THE WINTER SUN WAS GONE FROM THE SKY, LEAVING ONLY THE FAINTEST TINGE OF yellow-green along the western horizon. Light glowed in great sheets of glassy gold along the front of the ranch house. The wind was fingernails of ice scraping over everything, lifting the recent dry snow into swirls and eddies.
“Brrrr,” Carly said as soon as she opened the door of Dan’s truck. “There’s a reason I don’t ski.”
“Watch the path to the door,” he said. “Nothing has been salted or sanded.”
“Maybe they don’t want visitors.”
“More likely they’re just easing back now that the governor’s gone. Besides, the place is for sale. Once that sign went up, everyone working here had at least one foot out the door.”
Squinting against the wind, Carly watched the last bit of color drain from the sky. Then she turned toward the buildings, seeing the Spanish influence in the old and high-tech modern in the new. They didn’t clash; they were simply from different cultures and times.
“Centuries of tradition and he’s just walking away from it,” she said sadly.
“The governor?”
“Yes.”
“He was never really a part of the ranch, or the family, for that matter,” Dan said. “That was reserved for the heir apparent, Andrew Jackson Quintrell IV. All Josh got was a long string of military boarding schools.”
“Still…”
Dan put his arm around her waist and tucked her under his arm, shielding her from as much of the wind as he could. “Not everyone loves the past, Carolina May.”
She sighed and leaned her shoulder against him for a moment. “Would you have walked away from this?”
“In a heartbeat. Let the governor sell it to someone who loves the land, loves the wildness and the silence and the wind.”
She looked up at him. Against the radiant twilight, the planes of his face were drawn in shades of black. Only his eyes were alive, vivid. “It sounds like you love it.”
“The land, yes. The people?” Dan shrugged and started down the path, keeping her close to his side in case she slipped. “Most of the people can go to hell.”
It was the lack of heat in his voice that told Carly he meant every word. “Don’t you have any good memories of here?”
“Sure.”
“Then why do you hate it so?”
“I don’t hate it. I just don’t like people who are more cruel than survival requires.”
“Like the Senator?”
“He’s one,” Dan agreed. “Then there are the people who ragged on my mother for being the daughter of the town whore.”
“And on you for being your mother’s son.”
“That stopped after I beat the crap out of some Sandovals.”
She winced. “And you’re still paying for it.”
“Like I said—the smaller the town, the longer the memory. Too bad the people around here aren’t as big as the land. But they aren’t.”
“Some of them are.”
“Damned few. Not that the people here are worse than people anywhere else,” he added. “They’re simply no better than they have to be. And sometimes, well, sometimes that’s just not good enough to get the job done.”
He rapped on the front door.
A moment later, Melissa opened the door. Clearly she’d been waiting for them since she’d seen headlights coming up the long driveway. “Hello, Dan, Carly. Winifred said you’d be visiting. Something about wanting to talk to people, take pictures, and get the feeling of the ranch outdoors at night?”
“That’s right,” Carly said.
It had been as good an excuse as any she could think of to search the family graveyard and find out if the Senator’s wild child had been buried there.
Melissa shrugged like the whole thing sounded like nonsense to her but it really wasn’t her business. “Both of you are looking much better than I expected after talking to the sheriff.”
Carly made a noncommittal sound and studied the other woman, trying to see Melissa as the granddaughter of the Senator. Fair hair artfully frosted to hide any gray. Eyes the right size and tilt to be Quintrell, but the wrong color. Long legs like the governor, long fingers. Like Dan.
Okay, stop right there, Carly told herself fiercely. Fingers are either long or short, fat or thin. That’s four categories for all of humanity, which means a twenty-five percent chance that otherwise unrelated folks will have long fingers.
“We heard you were ill, too,” Dan said.
“That will teach me to eat canapés,” she said, patting a round hip. “I didn’t need the calories anyway.”
“So the sheriff still thinks it was the food?” Carly asked.
“That’s what he said.”
Before Carly could say anything more, Dan’s arm tightened around her waist. She glanced at him. A slight negative motion of his head told her that he didn’t want to upset Melissa.
Yet.
Carly smiled and said nothing. She agreed with Dan that an amiable Melissa was more useful than an irritated one.
“Come in, come in,” Melissa said. “It’s cold out there. Sometimes I wonder if winter will ever end.”
A voice called from the back of the house.
“It’s Dan Duran and Carly May,” Melissa called out. “They’re here to see Winifred.”
Carly and Dan didn’t look at each other. They’d clearly asked to see Melissa, too.
“That’s my husband, Pete,” Melissa explained. “The governor has him working overtime on the books. From what Josh said at Sylvia’s wake, there’s already considerable interest in the ranch.”
&
nbsp; Carly saw that Melissa’s smile didn’t go beyond her lips. Obviously the housekeeper was worried about the future, both for herself and her husband. She had reason to be.
One foot out the door. Whether they liked it or not.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carly said. “It’s sad to end a long tradition.”
Melissa nodded tightly.
“I understand your mother and grandmother both worked on the ranch,” Carly said.
“Yes.”
“Do you have time now to talk about that with me?” Carly said. “Your family has been and is an integral part of the Quintrell family history. Your viewpoint would be invaluable.”
Melissa’s mouth turned down. “The governor made it very clear that no one was to talk with you about the Quintrell family. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Carly said.
Dan looked at Melissa and asked, “How long does the gag order last? Until the ranch is sold?”
Melissa stiffened. “Governor Quintrell didn’t say.”
“And he’s the one writing your references,” Dan said. “Got it.” He looked at Carly. “Let’s see how Winifred is doing.”
“Wait,” Melissa said, touching Carly’s arm.
Carly looked at the older woman curiously. “Yes?”
“Winifred.” Melissa sighed. “She isn’t…well.”
“We know,” Carly said. “We won’t stay long.”
Melissa’s fingers tightened on Carly’s arm. “No, you don’t understand. I think…” Her voice died. “I think,” she whispered, “that Winifred is losing her mind.”
“Why?” Dan’s voice was rougher than he meant it to be. “What makes you think that?” he asked more gently.
Melissa frowned. “Losing Sylvia, and the pneumonia, and the food poisoning, and the ranch being sold, well, I just think Winifred’s losing her grip.”
Carly looked at Dan. He was watching Melissa with an intensity that both women found uncomfortable.
“What happened?” Carly asked, patting the fingers that were clamped around her arm.
Slowly Melissa’s grip lightened. “She’s always hated the Senator, but lately, it’s like some kind of obsession. She burns with this wild energy whenever his name comes up. It’s crazy. And now she’s been talking wild, saying that the ranch is hers, not the governor’s, because she’s the last living Castillo and the ranch can only be inherited by someone with Castillo blood.”
Dan’s eyebrows lifted. “What’s the basis of her belief?”
“That’s just it,” Melissa said in a rising voice. “There’s no reason at all. It’s just crazy. The governor is Sylvia and the Senator’s son. He has Castillo blood in him through his mother, but Winifred hates the Senator so much she can’t stand to see his son inherit, so she’s insisting that the ranch belongs to her.” Melissa let out a harsh breath. “I’m afraid she’s losing her hold on reality.”
Uneasily Carly remembered the times she’d seen Winifred’s fervor and wondered about the woman’s sanity. Carly glanced at Dan. He was looking past Melissa. His expression said he was thinking hard.
“I’ll take you to her,” Melissa said with a bright, unhappy smile. “Just don’t tire her too much, and don’t believe everything she says. Maybe she’ll be better in a few days. Here, let me have your coats. Would you like some coffee or tea and cookies?”
“Not for me,” Carly said instantly. She wasn’t interested in eating or drinking anything at the Quintrell house that she hadn’t personally prepared.
“None for me, either,” Dan said. He helped Carly out of her coat and shrugged out of his jacket. “We had a late lunch.”
Because they knew they wouldn’t be eating at the Quintrell ranch if they could avoid it.
Carly and Dan followed their jackets and Melissa’s tight butt down the long arcade that led to Winifred’s suite.
Melissa tapped lightly on the door. “Winifred? Do you feel up to visitors?”
“Yes.”
The single word was hoarse, almost urgent.
Melissa opened the door, then followed Dan and Carly inside. Winifred was in the recliner she liked better than Sylvia’s hospital bed. The heavy steel cylinder of an oxygen tank stood by the chair. She adjusted the clear plastic tube so that she could talk more easily.
“Remember to save your strength,” Melissa cautioned.
Winifred made a disgusted sound.
With another brittle smile, Melissa left to hang up the coats.
“Have you found any more names?” Winifred asked.
“Do you mean possible children of the Senator’s?” Carly asked.
The old woman nodded curtly.
The door to the hallway didn’t close after Melissa. Dan noted it and said nothing.
“No new names,” Carly said.
Winifred shook her head. “Then why are you here?”
“We hoped to talk to Melissa about her mother and grandmother.”
“It didn’t take you long,” Winifred said.
“The governor issued a gag order,” Dan said. “Since he’s the one who will be writing recommendations for Melissa and her husband…” Dan shrugged. “How about you, Miss Winifred? Are you under the governor’s gag order?”
Her dry laugh ended in a cough. “He wouldn’t dare. Why do you care about Melissa’s family?”
Without looking away from Winifred, Carly checked that her recorder was on. “Susan Mullins worked for the Quintrell household and had a baby out of wedlock in 1941,” Carly said. “The boy, Randal Mullins, had no father listed on the birth certificate.”
“The Senator’s bastard,” Winifred said.
“Are you sure?” Carly asked.
“There wasn’t a skirt within reach that he didn’t lift. It was a point of honor with him. He even made a grab for me after Sylvia’s so-called stroke. I told him I’d poison him if he touched me again. He believed me.”
Dan just shook his head. “The man was clinical.”
“The man was evil,” Winifred said.
Carly tried to head off the savage anger she saw in Winifred’s eyes by changing the subject. “When Susan married Doug Smith, they had a daughter, Betty Smith.”
“Melissa’s mother,” Winifred said after a moment. “Beautiful woman, but she was as loose as her mother. I’ve always wondered if Melissa was the Senator’s child.”
“Melissa is his granddaughter, not his daughter,” Carly said.
Winifred’s eyes changed, opaque as stone, black as her thoughts. “The womanizing son of a bitch wouldn’t have cared either way.”
“What do you say to that, Melissa?” Dan asked, turning toward the partially open door. “Is the Senator your father or grandfather—or both?”
At first there was silence. Then the door to the hallway opened wider and Melissa walked through, their coats still over her arm.
“He might be my grandfather,” Melissa said evenly. “My father is Mel Schaffer.”
“Might be your grandfather?” Carly asked. “Don’t you know?”
Melissa shrugged. “My grandmother wasn’t very reliable. She took too many drugs, drank too much. A lot of what she said wasn’t true.”
“Sounds like my own grandmother,” Dan said.
“Liza,” Melissa said. “I heard about her.”
“A lot of people did,” Dan said.
“Whatever,” Melissa said, turning to Winifred. “Suggesting that the Senator could be my father is not only sick, it’s the kind of wild accusation that will cause you a lot of trouble. The Senator would have laughed it off, but his son won’t.”
Winifred’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t say a word.
Melissa’s hand went to the older woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, but I worry about you. The governor could make life…very difficult.”
“I won’t be around here long enough to worry about it,” Winifred said. “And neither will you.”
Melissa’s mouth thinned.
Dan said to
Winifred, “What do you remember about Randal Mullins?”
“He died in Vietnam.”
“Did he have any children?” Though he was asking Winifred, he was looking at Melissa. The way her eyelids flickered told him that she knew the answer.
“Not that I know of,” Winifred said. “He never married.”
“Turn off the recorder, Carly,” Dan said.
She looked at him, then hit the pause button.
He stared at Melissa.
Silence grew.
“Oh, all right,” Melissa said finally. “But if you tell the governor I told you, I’ll deny it.”
“We won’t tell Josh Quintrell the time of day,” Dan said.
Melissa let out a long breath. “Randy Mullins was my uncle, or half uncle. Whatever.” She made an impatient gesture. Her words came out clipped, rapid, like she was getting through something distasteful as fast as she could. “He hated my father, Mel, and started running away when he was eleven. Most of the time Randy went to live with Angus Snead up in the high pastures or in his winter quarters on the ranch. Laurie was the old man’s daughter, seven years younger than Randy. Randy spent most of his time with Old Man Snead. Laurie was pretty much raised by her aunt after her mother walked out. Angus Snead pretty much raised Randy.”
Carly held her breath and hoped that her recorder had done its usual wake-up trick five seconds after being told to pause. She had a feeling Melissa wasn’t going to go through the story twice.
“Anyway, just before Randy shipped out to Nam, he went on a teardown-the-town drunk. Angus was sick, so Laurie drove down to pick Randy up from jail. About nine months later she gave birth to twins.”
“Jim and Blaine Snead,” Dan said. “Your cousins. And likely the Senator’s grandsons.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Melissa said, shrugging. “He never treated them any different from anyone else.”
“Including you?” Dan asked.
“I was a woman. Of course he treated me different from the Snead boys. I was real, real careful never to be alone in the house with him when he was at the ranch. Winifred helped a lot.” Melissa smiled at the older woman. “She told me to watch out and I did.”
Carly’s mouth turned down. The more she heard about the Senator, the less she liked him.
Always Time to Die Page 27
