Lone Star Winter

by Diana Palmer

  “It’s hard to help a rattlesnake across the road, Violet,” Mabel said, tongue in cheek.

  Libby was curious about the coincidence of Violet’s father dying of a heart attack, like her father, such a short time ago. “Violet could find one nice thing to say about a serial killer,” Libby agreed affectionately. “Even worse, she could find one nice thing to say about my stepmother.”

  “Ouch,” Mabel groaned. “Now there’s a hard case if I ever saw one.” She shook her head. “People in Branntville are still talking about her and old man Darby.”

  Libby, who’d just finished filling the coffeepot, started it brewing and turned jerkily. “Excuse me?”

  “Didn’t I ever tell you?” Mabel asked absently. “Just a sec. Good morning, Kemp Law Offices,” she said. “Yes, sir, I’ll connect you.” She started to push the intercom button when she saw with shock that it was already depressed. The light was on the switch. She and Libby, who’d also seen it, exchanged agonized glances. Quickly, without telling Violet, she pushed it off and then on again. “Mr. Kemp, it’s Mrs. Lawson for you on line two.” She waited, hung up, and swung her chair around. She didn’t dare tell poor Violet that Mr. Kemp had probably heard every single word she’d said about him.

  “Your stepmother, Janet,” Mabel told Libby, “was working at a nursing home over in Branntville. She sweet-talked an old man who was a patient there into leaving everything he had to her.” She shook her head. “They said that Janet didn’t even give him a proper funeral. She had him cremated and put in an urn and there was a graveside service. They said she bought a designer suit to wear to it.”

  Libby was getting cold chills. There were too many similarities there to be a coincidence. Janet had wanted to have Riddle Collins cremated, too, but Curt and Libby had talked to the funeral director and threatened a lawsuit if he complied with Janet’s request. They went home and told Janet the same thing and also insisted on a church funeral at the Presbyterian church where Riddle had been a member since childhood. Janet had been furious, but in the end, she reluctantly agreed.

  Violet wasn’t saying anything, but she had a funny look on her face and she seemed pale. She turned away before the others saw. But Libby’s expression was thought-provoking.

  “You’re thinking something. What?” Mabel asked Libby.

  Fortunately, the phone rang again while Libby was deciding if it was wise to share her thoughts.

  Violet got up from her desk and went close to Libby. “She wanted to cremate your father, too, didn’t she?”

  Libby nodded.

  “You should go talk to Mr. Kemp.”

  Libby smiled. “You know, Violet, I think you’re right.” She hugged the other girl and went back to Mabel. “When he gets off the phone, I need to talk to him.”

  Mabel grinned. “Now you’re talking.” She checked the board. “He’s free. Just a sec.” She pushed a button. “Mr. Kemp, Libby needs to speak to you, if it’s convenient.”

  “Send her in, Mrs. Jones.”

  “Good luck,” Mabel said, crossing her fingers.

  Libby grinned back.

  “Come in,” Kemp said, opening the door for Libby and closing it behind her. “Have a seat. I don’t need ESP to know what’s on your mind. I had a call from Jordan Powell at home last night.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Well, he jumped the gun!”

  “He’s concerned. Probably with good reason,” he added. “I went ahead on my own and had a private detective I know run a check on Janet’s background. This isn’t the first time she’s become a widow.”

  “I know,” Libby said. “Mabel says an elderly man in a nursing home left her everything he had. She had him sent off to be cremated immediately after they got him to the funeral home.”

  He nodded. “And I understand from Don Hedgely at our funeral home here that she tried to have the same thing done with your father, but you and your brother threatened a lawsuit.”

  “We did,” Libby said. “Daddy didn’t believe in cremation. He would have been horrified.”

  Kemp leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his long legs, with his hands behind his head. He pursed his lips and narrowed his blue eyes, deep in thought. “There’s another thing,” he said. “Janet was fired from that nursing home for being too friendly with their wealthiest patients. One of whom—the one you know about—was an elderly widower with no children. He died of suspicious causes and left her his estate.”

  Libby folded her arms. She felt chilled all over now. “Wasn’t it enough for her?” she wondered out loud.

  “Actually, it took the entire estate to settle his gambling debts,” he murmured. “Apparently, he liked the horses a little too much.”

  “Then there was our father.” She anticipated his next thought.

  He shook his head. “That was after Mr. Hardy in San Antonio.”

  Libby actually gasped. It couldn’t be!

  Kemp leaned forward quickly. “Do you think Violet is happy having to live in a rented firetrap with her invalid mother? Her parents were wealthy. But a waitress at Mr. Hardy’s favorite restaurant apparently began a hot affair with him and talked him into making her a loan of a quarter of a million dollars to save her parents from bankruptcy and her father from suicide. He gave her a check and had a heart attack before he could stop payment on it—which he planned to do. He told his wife and begged forgiveness of her and his daughter before he died.” His eyes narrowed. “He died shortly after he was seen with a pretty blonde at a San Antonio motel downtown.”

  “You think it was Janet? That it wasn’t a heart attack at all—that she killed him?”

  “I think there are too many coincidences for comfort in her past,” Kemp said flatly. “But the one eyewitness who saw her with Hardy at that motel was unable to pick her out of a lineup. She’d had her hair color changed just the day before the lineup. She remained a brunette for about a week and then changed back to blond.”

  Libby’s face tightened. “She might have killed my father,” she bit off.

  “That is a possibility,” Kemp agreed. “It’s early days yet, Libby. I can’t promise you anything. But if she’s guilty and I can get her on a witness stand, in a court of law, I can break her,” he said with frightening confidence. “She’ll tell me everything she knows.”

  She swallowed. “I don’t want her to get away with it,” she began. “But Curt and I work for wages…”

  He flapped his hand in her direction. “Every lawyer takes a pro bono case occasionally. I haven’t done it in months. You and Curt can be my public service for the year,” he added, and he actually smiled. It made him look younger, much less dangerous than he really was.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  He leaned forward. “Say you’ll be careful,” he replied. “I can’t find any suspicion that she ever helped a young person have a heart attack, but I don’t doubt for a minute that she knows how. I’m working with Micah Steele on that aspect of it. There isn’t much he doesn’t know about the darker side of medicine, even if he is a doctor. And what he doesn’t know about black ops and untimely death, Cash Grier does.”

  “I thought Daddy died of a heart condition nobody knew he had.” She took a deep breath. “When I tell Curt, he’ll go crazy.”

  “Let me tell him,” Kemp said quietly. “It will be easier.”

  “Okay.”

  “Meanwhile, you have to go back home and pretend that nothing’s wrong, that your stepmother is innocent of any foul play. That’s imperative. If you give her a reason to think she’s being suspected of anything, she’ll bolt, and we may never find her.”

  “We’d get our place back without a fight,” Libby commented wistfully.

  “And a woman who may have murdered your father, among others, would go free,” Kemp replied. “Is that really what you want?”

  Libby shook her head. “Of course not. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “We’ll be working in the ba
ckground. The most important thing is to keep the pressure on, a little at a time, so that she doesn’t get suspicious. Tell her you’ve spoken to an attorney about the will, but nothing more.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  He got up. “And don’t tell Violet I said anything to you about her father,” he added. His broad shoulders moved restlessly under his expensive beige suit, as if he were carrying some difficult burden. “She’s…sensitive.”

  What a surprising comment from such an insensitive man, she thought, but she didn’t dare say it. She only smiled. “Certainly.”

  She was reaching for the doorknob when he called her back. “Yes, sir?”

  “When you make another pot of coffee,” he said hesitantly, “I guess we could use some of that half and half.”

  Her dropped jaw told its own story.

  “She means well,” he said abruptly, and turned back to his desk. “But for now, I want it strong and black and straight up. Call me when it’s made and I’ll bring my cup.”

  “It should be ready right now,” she faltered. Even in modern times, few bosses went to get their own coffee. But Mr. Kemp was something of a puzzle. Perhaps, Libby thought wickedly as she followed him down the hall, even to himself.

  He glanced at Violet strangely, but he didn’t make any more comments. Violet sat with her eyes glued to her computer screen until he poured his coffee and went back to his office.

  Libby wanted so badly to say something to her, but she didn’t know what. In the end, she just smiled and made a list of the legal precedents she would have to look up for Mr. Kemp at the law library in the county courthouse. Thank God, she thought, for computers.

  She was on her way home in the pickup truck after a long day when she saw Jordan on horseback, watching several men drive the pregnant heifers into pastures close to the barn. He had a lot of money invested in those purebred calves and he wasn’t risking them to predators or difficult births. He looked so good on horseback, she thought dreamily. He was arrow-straight and his head, covered by that wide-brimmed creamy Stetson he favored, was tilted in a way that was particularly his. She could have picked him out of any crowd at a distance just by the way he carried himself.

  He turned his head when he heard the truck coming down the long dirt road and he motioned Libby over to the side.

  She parked the truck, cut off the engine, and stood on the running board to talk to him over the top of the old vehicle. “I wish I had a camera,” she called. “Mama Powell, protecting his babies…”

  “You watch it!” he retorted, shaking a finger at her.

  She laughed. “What are you going to do, jump the fence and run me down?”

  “Poor old George here couldn’t jump a fence. He’s twenty-four,” he added, patting the old horse’s withers. “He hates his corral. I thought I’d give him a change of scenery, since I wasn’t going far.”

  “Everything gets old, I guess. Most everything, anyway,” she added with a faraway, wistful look in her eyes. She had an elderly horse of her own, that she might yet have to give away because it was hard to feed and keep him on her salary.

  He dismounted and left George’s reins on the ground to jump the fence and talk to her. “Did you see Kemp?” he asked.

  “Yes. He said you phoned him.”

  “I asked a few questions and got some uncomfortable answers,” he said, coming around the truck to stand beside her. His big lean hands went to her waist and he lifted her down close to him. Too close. She could smell his shaving lotion and feel the heat off his body under the Western cut long-sleeved shirt. In her simple, jacketed suit, she felt overly dressed.

  “You don’t look too bad when you fix up,” he commented, approving her light makeup and the gray suit that made her eyes look greener than they were.

  “You don’t look too bad when you don’t,” she replied. “What uncomfortable answers are you getting?”

  His eyes were solemn. “I think you can guess. I don’t like the idea of you and Curt alone in that house with her.”

  “We have a shotgun somewhere. I’ll make a point of buying some shells for it.”

  He shook her by the waist gently. “I’m not teasing. Can you lock your bedroom door? Can Curt?”

  “It’s an old house, Jordan,” she faltered. “None of the bedroom doors have locks.”

  “Tell Curt I said to get bolts and put them on. Do it when she’s not home. In the meantime, put a chair under the doorknob.”

  “But why?” she asked uncertainly.

  He drew a long breath. His eyes went to her soft bow of a mouth and he studied it for several seconds before he spoke. “There’s one very simple way to cause a heart attack. You can do it with a hypodermic syringe filled with nothing but air.”

  She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Could they…tell that if they did an autopsy on my father?”

  “I’m not a forensic specialist, despite the fact that there are half a dozen shows on TV that can teach you how to think you are. I’ll ask somebody who knows,” he added.

  She hated the thought of disinterring her father. But it would be terrible if he’d met with foul play and it never came out.

  He tilted her face up to his narrow dark eyes. “You’re worrying. Don’t. I’m as close as your phone, night or day.”

  She smiled gently. “Thanks, Jordan.”

  His thumbs moved on her waist while he looked down at her. His face hardened. His eyes were suddenly on her soft mouth, with real hunger.

  The world stopped. It seemed like that. She met his searching gaze and couldn’t breathe. Her body felt achy. Hungry. Feverish. She swallowed, hoping it didn’t show.

  “If you play your cards right, I might let you kiss me,” he murmured.

  Her heart skipped. “Excuse me?”

  One big shoulder lifted and fell. “Where else are you going to get any practical experience?” he asked. “Duke Wright is a candidate for the local nursing home, after all…”

  “He’s thirty-six!” she exclaimed. “That isn’t old!”

  “I’m thirty-two,” he pointed out. “I have all my own teeth.” He grinned to display them. “And I can still outrun at least two of my horses.”

  “That’s an incentive to kiss you?” she asked blankly.

  “Think of the advantages if you kiss me during a stampede,” he pointed out.

  She laughed. He was a case. Her eyes adored him. “I’ll keep you in mind,” she promised. “But you mustn’t get your hopes up. This town is full of lonely bachelors who can’t get women to kiss them. You’ll have to take a number and wait.”

  “Wait until what?” he asked, tweaking her waist with his thumbs.

  “I don’t know. Christmas? I could kiss you as part of your present.”

  His eyebrows arched. “What’s the other part?”

  “It’s not Christmas. Listen, I have to get home and make supper.”

  “I’ll send Curt on down,” he said.

  She was seeing a new pattern. “To make sure I’m not left alone with Janet, is that right?”

  “For my peace of mind,” he corrected. “I’ve gotten…used to you,” he added slowly. “As a neighbor,” he added deliberately. “Think how hard it would be to break in another one, at my age.”

  “You just said you weren’t old,” she reminded him.

  “Maybe I am, just a little,” he confessed. He drew her up until she was standing completely against him, so close that she could feel the hard press of his muscular legs against her own. “Come on,” he taunted, bending his head with a mischievous little smile. “You know you’re dying to kiss me.”

  “I am?” she whispered dreamily as she studied the long, wide, firm curve of his lips.

  “Desperately.”

  She felt his nose brushing against hers. Somewhere, a horse was neighing. A jet flew over. The wind ruffled leaves in a small tree nearby. She was deaf to any sound other than the throb of her own heartbeat. There was nothing in the world except Jordan’s mouth, a scant
inch from her own. He’d never kissed her. She wanted him to. She ached for him to.

  His hands tightened on her waist, lifting her closer. “Come on, chicken. Give it all you’ve got.”

  Her hands were flat against his chest, feeling the warm muscles under his cotton shirt. She tasted his breath. Her arms slid up to his shoulders. He had her hypnotized. She wanted nothing more than to drown in him.

  “That’s it,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes and lifted up on her tiptoes as she felt the slow, soft press of her own lips against his for the first time.

  Her knees were weak. She didn’t think they were going to support her. And still Jordan didn’t move, didn’t respond.

  Frustrated, she tried to lift up higher, her arms circled his neck and pulled, trying to make his mouth firm and deepen above hers. But she couldn’t budge him.

  “Oh, you arro…!”

  It was the opening he’d been waiting for. His mouth crushed down against her open lips and his arms contracted hungrily. Libby moaned sharply at the rush of sensation it caused in her body. It had never been like this in her life. She was burning alive. She ached. She longed. She couldn’t get close enough…. “Hey, Jordan!”

  The distant shout broke the spell. Jordan jerked his head around to see one of his men waving a wide-brimmed hat and gesturing toward a pickup truck that was driving right out into the pasture where Jordan was putting those pregnant heifers.

  “It’s the feed supplement I ordered,” he murmured, letting her go slowly. “Damn his timing.”

  He didn’t smile when he said that. She couldn’t manage even a word.

  He touched her softly swollen mouth with his fingertips. “Maybe you could take me on a date and we could get lost on some deserted country road,” he suggested.

  She took a breath and shook her head to clear it. “I do not seduce men in parked cars,” she pointed out.