Best Kept Secrets (7 page)

He listened for a moment. No longer cajoling, he repeated,

"Goddammit, Joe, calm down, you hear? Just keep your mouth shut, and all this will blow over. Leave Celina's daughter to me, to us," he said, winking at Junior.

"In a few weeks she'll go back to Austin with her tail tucked between her pretty, long legs and tell her boss she struck out. We'll get our racing license, the track will be (unit on schedule, you'll retire with a perfect record, and this time next year we'll be sitting over drinks, laughing about this."

After saying good-bye, he tossed the portable phone onto the end table. "Jesus, he's a pessimist. To hear him tell it, Celina's daughter put his scrawny neck through a noose and pulled it tight. Fetch me a beer, will ya?"

"Pasty's in the hall waiting to see you."

That piece of news did nothing to improve Angus's sour mood. "Shit. I guess now's as good a time as any. Go get him."

"Don't be too hard on him. He's shivering in his boots."

"For what he did, he ought to be," Angus grumbled.

Junior returned a few seconds later. Pasty Hickam shuffled along behind him, head bowed in contrition, battered cowboy hat in hand. He had come by his nickname by imbibing a whole bottle of Elmer's glue on a dare. His real name had been long forgotten. The deed must have occurred at some point in elementary school, because Pasty had forsaken education before reaching the ninth grade.

He'd ridden the rodeo circuit for several years, but never successfully. What purses he won were small, and quickly expended on drink, gambling, and women. His job at the Minton ranch had been his first venture into gainful employment, and it had endured for almost thirty years, a surprise to everybody. Angus tolerated Pasty's occasional binges. This time, however, he'd gone too far.

Angus let him stand and sweat for several interminable moments before he barked, "Well?"

"Ang . . . Angus," the old ranch hand stuttered, "I know what you're gonna say. I ... fucked up sumthin' royal, but I swear to God I didn't mean to. You know how it's said that all cats look gray in the dark? Well, damned if it ain't true of horses, too. 'Specially if you've got a pint of Four Roses sloshing around in yore gut." He smiled, revealing that what few teeth he had remaining were black with decay.

Angus wasn't amused. "You're wrong, Pasty. That isn't what I was going to say. What I was going to say is that you're fired."

Junior shot up out of the leather love seat. "Dad!" Angus shot him a hard look that quelled any further interference.

Pasty's face turned pale. "You cain't mean that, Angus.

I've been here nigh on thirty years."

"You'll get fair severance pay--a damned sight more than you deserve."

"But . . . but--"

"You put a colt into a paddock with ten high-strung fillies.

What if he'd mounted one of them? That one from Argentina was in there. Any idea what that horse is worth, Pasty--over half a million. If she'd been injured or come in foal by that randy colt. . ." Angus blew out a gust of air. "Jesus, I can't even bear to think about the mess that would've put us in.

If one of the other hands hadn't caught your mistake, I could have been out millions, and the reputation of this ranch would have been shot to hell."

Pasty swallowed with difficulty. "Give me one more chance, Angus. I swear--"

"I've heard this speech before. Clear your stuff out of the bunkhouse and drop by the office at the end of the week. I'll have the bookkeeper draft you a check."

"Angus--"

"Good-bye and good luck, Pasty."

The old cowboy glanced plaintively at Junior, but knew before looking that there would be no help coming from that quarter. Junior kept his eyes lowered. Eventually Pasty left the room, tracking mud with each step.

When they heard the front door close, Junior got up and headed for the refrigerator built into the paneling. "I didn't know you were going to fire him," he said resentfully.

"No reason you should."

He carried a beer to his father and twisted off the cap of another for himself. "Was it necessary? Couldn't you have yelled at him some, taken away some of his responsibilities, docked his pay? For crissake, Dad, what's an old guy like that gonna do?"

"He should have thought of that before he put the colt in that pasture. Now, let's drop it. I didn't enjoy doing it. He's been around here a long time."

"He made a mistake."

' 'Worse, he got caught!'' Angus shouted. "If you're gonna run this business, boy, you gotta grow steel balls. The job isn't always fun, you know. There's more to it than taking clients out to fancy dinners and flirting with their wives and daughters." Angus took a swig of beer. "Now, let's talk about Celina's girl."

Junior, resigned to accepting Pasty's harsh punishment, even if he didn't agree with it, dropped into an easy chair and sipped at his bottle of beer. "She went to see Joe, huh?"

"Yeah, and notice that she didn't waste any time doing it, either. Joe's jittery as hell. He's afraid his spotless tenure as judge is about to be flushed down the toilet."

"What did Alexandra want with him?"

"She asked some questions about why he rushed up Gooney Bud's incompetency hearing. Reede came to Joe's rescue, which was a smart move on his part."

"Reede?"

"Never asleep at the switch, is he?" Angus removed his boots and dropped them over the padded arm of his chair.

They hit the floor with a heavy thud. He had gout, and his big toe was giving him trouble. He massaged it thoughtfully while looking at his son. "What did you think of the girl?"

'I tend to agree with Joe. She's a threat. She thinks one of us killed Celina, and she's bound and determined to find out who.''

"She struck me that way, too."

"Of course, she's got nothing on any of us."

"Of course."

Junior looked at his father warily. "She's sharp."

"As a tack."

"And no slouch in the looks department."

Father and son shared a bawdy laugh. "Yeah, she is good-lookin',"

Angus said. "But then, so was her mama."

Junior's smile faded. "Yes, she was."

"Still miss her, don't you?" Angus shrewdly studied his son.

"Sometimes."

Angus sighed. "I don't suppose you can lose a close friend like that without it having a lasting effect on you. You wouldn't be human, otherwise. But it's foolish of you to pine for a woman who's been dead all these years."

"I've hardly pined," Junior countered. "Since the day I figured out how this operates," he said, touching the fly of his pants, "it hasn't gone inactive for long."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Angus said, frowning.

"Anybody can get laid on a regular basis. I'm talking about your life. Commitment to something. You were upset for a long time after Celina died. It took you a while to pull your shit together. Okay, that was understandable."

He pushed the footstool of his chair and sat up straight, pointing a blunt finger at Junior. "But you stalled, boy, and you haven't worked up a full head of steam since. Look at Reede. He took Celina's death hard, too, but he got over her."

"How do you know he got over her?"

"Do you see him moping around?"

"I'm the one who's had three wives, not Reede."

"And that's something to be proud of?" Angus shouted, his temper snapping. "Reede's made his life count for something.

He's got a career--"

"Career?" Junior interrupted with a contemptuous snort.

"I'd hardly call being sheriff of this piss-ant county a career.

Big fuckin' deal."

' 'What would you call a career? Screwing the entire female membership of the country club before you die?"

"I do my fair share of work around here," Junior argued.

"I spent all morning on the phone with that breeder in Ken tucky. He's this close to buying that colt by Artful Dodger out of Little Bit More."

"Yeah, what did he say?"

"That he's seriously thinking about it."

Angus came out of his chair, booming his approval.

"That's great news, son. That old man's a tough son of a bitch, I've heard tell. He's a crony of Bunky Hunt's. Feeds his horses caviar and shit like that after they win." Angus slapped Junior on the back and ruffled his hair as though he were three, instead of forty-three.

"However," Angus said, his frown returning, "that just emphasizes how much we stand to lose if the racing commission rescinds that license before the ink on it is even dry.

One breath of scandal and we're history. So, how are we gonna handle Alexandra?"

"Handle her?"

Favoring his ailing toe, Angus hobbled toward the refrigerator to get another beer. "We can't wish her away. The way I see it," he said, twisting off the bottle cap, "we'll just have to convince her that we're innocent. Upstanding citizens." He gave an elaborate shrug. "Since that's exactly what we are, it shouldn't be that hard to do."

Junior could tell when the wheels of his father's brain were turning. "How will we go about that?"

"Not we--you. By doing what you do best."

"You mean--?"

"Seduce her."

"Seduce her!" Junior exclaimed. "She didn't strike me as being a prime candidate for seduction. I'm sure she can't stand our guts."

"Then, that's the first thing we gotta change . . . you gotta change. Just seduce her into liking you ... at first. I'd do it myself if I still had the proper equipment." He gave his son a wicked smile. "Think you can handle such an unpleasant chore?"

Junior grinned back. "I'd damn sure welcome the opportunity to try."

Six

The cemetery gates were open. Alex drove through them.

She had never been to her mother's grave, but she knew the plot number. It had been jotted down and filed among some official papers that she'd found when she had moved her grandmother into the nursing home.

The sky looked cold and unfriendly. The sun was suspended just above the western horizon like a giant orange disk, brilliant but brassy. Tombstones cast long shadows across the dead grass.

Using discreet signposts for reference, Alex located the correct row, parked her car, and got out. As far as she could tell, she was the only person there. Here on the outskirts of town, the north wind seemed stronger, its howl more ominous.

She flipped up the collar of her coat as she made her way toward the plot.

Even though she was searching for it, she wasn't prepared to see the grave. It rushed up on her unexpectedly. Her impulse was to turn away, as though she'd happened upon an

atrocity, something horrible and offensive.

The rectangular marker was no more than two feet high.

She wouldn't have ever noticed it if it weren't for the name. It gave only her mother's date of birth, and date of death--nothing else. Not an epitaph. Not an obligatory,

"In loving memory of." Nothing but the barest statistical facts.

The scarcity of information broke Alex's heart. Celina had been so young and pretty and full of promise, yet she'd been diminished to anonymity.

She knelt beside the grave. It was set apart from the others, alone at the crest of a gradual incline. Her father's body had been shipped from Vietnam to his native West Virginia, courtesy of the United States Army. Grandfather Graham, who had died when Celina was just a girl, was buried in his hometown. Celina's grave was starkly solitary.

The headstone was cold to the touch. She traced the carved letters of her mother's first name with her fingertip, then pressed her hand on the brittle grass in front of it, as though feeling for a heartbeat.

She had foolishly imagined that she might be able to communicate with her supernaturally, but the only sensation she felt was that of the stubbly grass pricking her palm.

"Mother," she whispered, testing the word. "Mama.

Mommy." The names felt foreign to her tongue and lips.

She'd never spoken them to anyone before.

"She swore you recognized her just by the sound of her voice."

Startled, Alex spun around. Pressing a hand to her pounding heart, she gasped in fright. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"

Junior Minton knelt beside her and laid a bouquet of fresh flowers against the headstone. He studied it for a moment, then turned his head and smiled wistfully at Alex.

"Instinct. I called the motel, but you didn't answer when they rang your room."

"How did you know where I was staying?"

"Everybody knows everything about everybody in this town."

"No one knew I was coming to the cemetery."

"Deductive reasoning. I tried to imagine where I might be if I were in your shoes. If you don't want company, I'll leave."

"No. It's all right." Alex looked back at the name carved into the cold, impersonal gray stone. "I've never been here.

Grandma Graham refused to bring me."

"Your grandmother isn't a very warm, giving person."

"No, she isn't, is she?"

"Did you miss having a mother when you were little?"

"Very much. Particularly when I started school and realized that I was the only kid in my grade who didn't have one."

"Lots of kids don't live with their mothers."

"But they know they've got one." This was a subject she found difficult to discuss with even her closest friends and associates. She didn't feel inclined to discuss it with Junior Minton at all, no matter how sympathetic his smile.

She touched the bouquet he'd brought and rubbed the petal of a red rose between her cold fingertips. In comparison, the flower felt like warm velvet, but it was the color of blood.

"Do you bring flowers to my mother's grave often, Mr.

Minton?"

He didn't answer until she was looking at him again. "I was at the hospital the day you were born. I saw you before they had washed you up." His grin was open, warm, disarming.

"Don't you think that should put us on a first-name basis?"

It was impossible to erect barriers against his smile. It would have melted iron. "Then, call me Alex," she said, smiling back.

His eyes moved from the crown of her head to the toes of her shoes. "Alex. I like that."