Page 12

C HAPTER T WELVE

T he next morning, when Crystal went online to check her bank account, the $10,000 payment was there.

She took deep breaths as the panic eased. Last night, after the bleeding and the worst of the pain had stopped, she’d cleaned up the mess and curled into a blanket on the sofa, shaking and whimpering until dawn. Frank’s baby had been her one chance at a new life. Now it was gone.

But the sight of those numbers in her account had boosted her hopes. It wasn’t too late to carry out her plan. All she had to do was convince Lila Culhane that she was still pregnant.

That wouldn’t be easy. First she’d have to account for the changes in her appearance—not just in front of Lila but everywhere, the whole time. No one could be allowed to see her without the padding she’d have to wear. And the disguise would have to be perfect. Maybe there were fake pregnancy kits she could order online, inflatable or made in progressive sizes. Now, while she wasn’t yet showing, she could do some research.

But there would be other challenges. She would have to fake doctor visits. And when the time came, Lila would probably demand to see a sonogram. Surely it would be easy enough to borrow or buy copies of someone else’s.

In time, one of two things would happen. Either her fake pregnancy would become suspect, or she’d be expected to give birth and produce an actual baby. One way or the other, that would be the time to flee—take her money and disappear without a trace. For that, she’d have to be ready on a moment’s notice—plans made, cash on hand, and a bag packed to go.

Could she do it? She had to try. Otherwise she’d be forced to choose between leaving now with the $10,000 or confessing to the miscarriage while returning the money. Faced with those choices, how could she pass up the chance to be rich beyond her dreams?

* * *

Sam sat on the porch of the bungalow, drinking his morning coffee. From the direction of the game ranch, he could hear the whine of heavy power tools. Even from a distance the sound, which had started at first light, was loud enough to be irritating. It didn’t help to imagine that the work had something to do with Charlie’s plans for that poor, miserable elephant.

Staging a hunt for such a creature would involve a high degree of danger. Maddened by fear and rage, perhaps wounded as well, the huge animal could crash through the present fences and rampage across the countryside, destroying property, killing stock, and even taking human lives. A businessman like Charlie Grishman would want to keep that risk to a minimum. He would need to reinforce walls and fences, perhaps build an area of containment for the hunt.

Damn Charlie! The bastard deserved the same fate as his wretched animals. Nobody would miss him, except maybe a few bloodthirsty idiots who’d pay to act out their big game hunter fantasies and post the kills on Instagram.

Believing that Charlie had killed Frank was a stretch. There were higher names on Sam’s mental list. But nothing would give him more satisfaction than cuffing the odious little man and putting him behind bars for life.

From where he sat, Sam could see Lila seated on the patio, sipping her coffee as she gazed across the pastures. She didn’t look as if she wanted company, but he had some forthright questions to ask her. She might not like him for it, but this wasn’t a popularity contest. It was his job. And with Nick needing him back in Abilene, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting. It was time to kick this investigation into high gear.

Leaving his coffee mug on the porch, he crossed the distance to the house and entered the patio by the outside gate. Lila glanced up as he approached. She wasn’t smiling.

“May I join you?” Without waiting for a reply, Sam pulled up a chair.

“It appears you already have,” she said. “But as long as you’re here, what can I do for you?”

“I just need answers to a few questions. Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, but I’m as anxious to wrap this case up as you must be to get rid of me.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong. Sorry if I’m a little raw around the edges. That god-awful racket”—she gestured toward Charlie’s place—“woke me up early with a headache that’s only gotten worse. And now, here you are. So, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

She sipped her coffee. “I’ll take that for what it’s worth. I know I haven’t been a gracious host, but I’ve never lied to you, Sam.”

“I believe you.” But that didn’t mean she’d told him the whole truth, Sam reminded himself. In talking with Lila, what remained unsaid could be as revealing as her words. “This is why I’m here now,” he said. “I’ve done everything I can think of to solve your husband’s murder. I’ve interviewed suspects and witnesses, analyzed data, made up scenarios in my mind . . .” Sam shook his head. “So far, all I’ve got is a tangle of loose ends. I’m hoping you can help me tie a few of them together.”

For a long moment, she didn’t reply. The distant scream of power tools, cutting and drilling, filled the silence between them. At last she spoke.

“You can ask me anything. But I won’t promise to answer.”

“Fair enough.” Sam shifted in his chair, leaning toward her. “First question. If you were in my place, who’s the top person you’d suspect of having killed Frank?”

“Darrin, I suppose. But my guess is tainted because I can’t stand him. If he turned out to be the killer, and you arrested him, my troubles would be over.”

“And Simone?”

“The same. I can’t picture her taking on Frank. But she could bully her husband into doing it. He only pretends to be the man of the family.”

Sam remembered Simone’s bruised face. Something was going on between the couple, but he decided not to mention it now.

Roper’s truck had been in the parking lot since first light. He was working all hours to prepare the stallion and his backup horses for the big event. Sam had wanted to get Lila talking. Now, risking her anger, he went for the answers he really needed.

“Simone insists that you and Roper were having an affair before Frank’s death,” he said. “Is that true?”

Her coppery eyes blazed. “Absolutely not. Roper was Frank’s employee. I barely knew the man then.”

“What about now?”

Her brief hesitation spoke volumes. “Roper works for me. He calls me Boss. We’ve become friends, but only since Frank’s death. I assume there’s no law against that.”

“Of course not. But according to Simone, you’re more than friends. She claims that someone saw the two of you going into the sprinkler shed together.”

“Someone?” Heat flushed Lila’s face. “Who? And what does that have to do with Frank’s murder?”

“Simone claims that Mariah was ordered to spy on you.”

Lila exhaled sharply. “That would be Madeleine’s doing. Mariah would do anything for her.”

“Would Mariah kill for her?”

“God, no. Frank was always good to Mariah, especially after she lost her husband and baby. She practically worshipped him. She would never have hurt him.” Lila ran a hand through her hair, raking it back from her face. “I know she’d be happy to see me gone and Frank’s children back in the house. But it does surprise me that she’d risk her job by spying on me.”

“You’d actually fire her?” Sam asked.

“Not for that. But I do expect a degree of loyalty from the people I pay.”

“I assume that includes your horse trainer. Are you sure you can trust him?”

Lila’s gaze went cold. “Nothing that happened after Frank’s death is any of your business. That includes my relationship with Roper.” She stirred in her chair as if preparing to get up and leave.

“Not even if Roper fits the profile of the person who killed your husband?”

She went rigid, as if he’d drawn a pistol and aimed it at her heart. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Roper and Frank respected each other. They weren’t close friends, but they got along well.”

“So you say. But Roper wanted to compete. He was frustrated because Frank wouldn’t allow it. And let’s say that I believe you, Lila, when you tell me there was nothing between you and Roper before Frank’s death. But that wouldn’t keep him from seeing you. That wouldn’t keep him from wanting you and making plans. Now that Frank’s gone, Roper’s wishes have come true. He’s taking Frank’s place in the Run for a Million, and now it appears that he’s staking a claim to Frank’s widow.”

“Is that what Simone told you?” Lila was visibly seething. “That conniving little princess would say anything to get her hands on this house. And Roper couldn’t have killed Frank. He was home all night. His parents vouched for him.”

“I know what he claims,” Sam said. “But think about it, Lila. How many parents would lie to protect their children? And even if they weren’t lying, what they said was that Roper got up to chase a skunk off the porch. Maybe they were asleep when he went out and they woke up when he came home. They could easily have believed him when he said he’d gotten up because of the skunk. So, you see, his alibi has some holes in it.”

“That’s enough. Why are you telling me this?” Lila pushed to her feet. She stood over him, quivering.

“I’m telling you as a warning. If you trust Roper, you could be in danger, or he could take advantage of your situation. I can’t tell you what to do. I can only caution you to be on your guard.”

“Are you going to arrest him?” she demanded.

“Not until I have more evidence. I need something solid that will hold up in court. Sooner or later, I’ll find it. In fact I may have found some damning evidence already. But that remains to be seen.”

“In other words, you’ve got no proof at all,” she said. “It’s just as likely that I killed Frank myself. Have you thought of that?”

“I have,” Sam said. “Frank’s death has brought an avalanche of trouble down on your head—trouble you wouldn’t have knowingly brought on yourself. You might have divorced your straying husband and taken him for whatever you could get. But you didn’t kill him, Lila. You’re too smart for that.”

“Smart enough to know when I’m being played. I’ve heard enough. Let me know when you have some real news. Until that happens, I hope you’ll leave me in peace.” Lila turned away and stalked into the house.

Sam stood, watching her go. Yes, he had played her deliberately. It was part of a method he sometimes used on challenging cases—when you come to an impasse, throw a rock at the hornet’s nest and see what flies out.

Lila’s impassioned defense of Roper confirmed that she was in love with the man. She would almost certainly warn him. The question was, What would Roper do next?

Would he run? But that would be a sure admission of guilt. Roper was no fool. And with the Run for a Million coming up, he would risk anything to compete.

Sam’s mention of evidence had also been deliberate. If Roper had tossed the murder weapon into the creek, he might check to see whether it was still there. If he left fresh tracks at the bankside, that would be proof enough to justify an arrest. For Sam, that would be a matter of watching and checking.

He felt the familiar adrenaline rush as he walked back to the bungalow. He hadn’t wanted Frank’s killer to be Roper, and he could still be wrong. But his suspicions felt right, and he had a job to do.

The distant whine of power tools had paused. But as Sam mounted the porch, the racket started up again. Sam’s thoughts shifted to Charlie and his plans for that pitiful elephant. Time was growing short. If there was anything he could do to shut the vile man down, it would have to happen soon—perhaps now, while he waited for Roper to make a suspicious move.

What would Jasmine have done about Charlie? But Jasmine had already tried. She’d reported him and gotten nowhere. And then she’d joined the disastrous protest that had wrecked Charlie’s compound, freed a murderous animal, and almost gotten her arrested. Charlie was already back in business, driving her car and planning a brutal death for another innocent creature.

There had to be a way to stop him. He would find it, Sam resolved. He would do it because it was right. And he would do it for Jasmine.

With the distant construction noise ringing in his ears, Sam took a seat on the porch and forced himself to concentrate. Satisfying as it might be, he had yet to find a solid reason for Charlie to have murdered Frank. His business, tax, and bank records were all within regulation, and he had legal title to the property he owned. Sam had verified that when he’d checked the records in the County Clerk’s office. A copy of Charlie’s grandmother’s death certificate had been attached to the title, indicating that the transfer of the deed was due to inheritance, not to sale or default.

Sam had made a mental note of the woman’s name—Ethel Mae Hibbert Grishman—and the fact that she’d died at seventy-four of natural causes. Nothing to raise suspicion there.

But the recent conversation with Mariah had stayed with him—how dismayed Ethel had been that Charlie wanted to turn the property into a game ranch. While she lived, she’d refused to consider the idea. She’d even threatened to disinherit him if he tried to go ahead with his plans.

Sam recalled Mariah’s description of their last visit. “ The poor woman had bruises up and down her arms ,” Mariah had said. “ I asked her if Charlie had been abusing her. She swore he hadn’t. The bruises had just appeared, and she said she had other bruises on her body. She insisted that she must’ve gotten up in the night and fallen or bumped into something and couldn’t remember it the next morning. A week after that, I heard that she’d passed away—a surprise, since she’d been healthy for as long as I’d known her .”

Sam remembered an incident back in Chicago involving bruises. A four-year-old boy had ingested rat poison. The poison had contained warfarin, a blood thinner used in humans to prevent blood clots. The much higher dosage in the rat poison was deadly to rodents and had almost killed the child. Sam and his partner had rushed the boy to the ER, where his life had been saved. But Sam remembered the mottled bruises on the boy’s arms and body, caused by bleeding under the skin.

He needed to look at Ethel’s medical records, or at least talk with her physician.

He remembered the signature on the death certificate and the name typed underneath—Leonard Warburton, MD. Probably local. Maybe he’d acted as coroner. A quick call confirmed that he’d worked at the Willow Bend Clinic nine years ago and had since retired. The receptionist, who remembered Sam from an earlier visit, gave him the doctor’s phone number.

Dr. Warburton answered Sam’s call on the first ring and readily agreed to a visit. Sam drove to Willow Bend and followed the doctor’s directions to a quiet street on the far side of town.

The single-story brick house was modest in size, the casually tended yard overhung by willow trees and bounded by a low picket fence. A vintage Pontiac Firebird with expired plates was parked at the side of the house. As Sam climbed out of the SUV, a black Labrador retriever, lounging on the shaded porch, lifted its graying head, stretched, and trotted down the path to meet him.

Soon after he rang the doorbell, a gravelly voice spoke from the other side. “Come in, Agent. It’s unlocked.”

Sam opened the door. An elderly man, dressed in jeans and a faded flannel shirt, sat in a brown leather recliner. A metal walker stood within reach. A side table held glasses, a book, a phone, and a TV remote.

“Forgive me if I don’t stand to welcome you,” he said. “Getting out of this blasted chair takes a lot of effort these days. I have a young man who comes in to help me, but he’s only part-time. Have a seat, Agent Rafferty. What can I do for you?”

Sam positioned a lightweight wooden chair for easy conversation. As he sat down, he took a few seconds to study the man facing him. Leonard Warburton appeared to be in his eighties. He was stoop-shouldered, his finger joints swollen with arthritis. His prominent nose and chin were softened by furrows of age. Below a thatch of iron gray hair, the pale blue eyes that returned Sam’s gaze were sharp and alert.

“Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Warburton,” Sam said. “I have questions about a woman named Ethel Grishman, who died nine years ago. Your name is on the death certificate. Do you remember her?”

“Hell, yes, I remember. I’m not senile. She was a good woman, and strong. It surprised me that her health deteriorated so fast. But that’s the way it goes sometimes.”

“According to the death certificate, she died of natural causes. A friend I spoke with mentioned a lot of bruising. Did you notice that?”

The doctor scowled, then nodded. “Understand, I hadn’t seen Ethel as a patient for almost a year before she died. When I filled out the certificate, it was after she’d passed. I did question the bruising. But without an autopsy, including blood work, there was no way to know the cause. I suggested to her grandson that he might want to have it done. But he declined.”

“Charlie Grishman declined the autopsy and blood work?”

“That’s right. Since she was already gone, he didn’t see much point in it. It wasn’t a police matter, and as her next of kin, he had the right to make that decision. So I signed off, and he buried her on the ranch the next day. No funeral. The poor woman deserved better.” The doctor’s frown deepened. “What are you thinking?”

“A few years ago I saw a case of warfarin poisoning in a child who’d ingested rat poison. I remembered the bruises.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that Ethel might have been poisoned?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out. Rat poison could have killed her—or it could have been an overdose of blood thinners. Was she on any of those?”

“Not that I’m aware of. And I would have known. She was my patient for years.”

“Charlie had a reason to do it. He wanted to start his game farm, and his grandmother wouldn’t allow it. Maybe he got tired of waiting. Did that occur to you after she died?”

“It might have, briefly. But I dismissed the idea. She was an elderly woman, and there are autoimmune conditions that can cause bruising. I grant you that Charlie might have been capable of it—he’s a cold chap. He didn’t shed a tear when Ethel died, and I know she raised that boy. But there’s no proof, not even if you were to exhume the body. Warfarin doesn’t last that long in the system.”

Sam sighed. “I’m just looking for a reason to put Charlie away and shut down that damned game farm.”

“You’d be doing a lot of people a favor. But I understood you had come back to the ranch to find out who murdered Frank Culhane. Word travels fast in this small town.”

“That’s right. I’m still working Frank’s murder. This is just something that needs to be done, and there’s no one else to do it.” Sam stood and extended his hand. “I won’t keep you any longer, Doctor. Thanks for your time.”

“As you see, I’ve plenty of time to spare. I’ll call if I think of anything else that might help you.” He accepted Sam’s handshake, his arthritic fingers knotted like the limbs of an ancient tree. “Oh—Ethel was a churchgoer. First Community, on Main Street. You might want to talk to her minister. Sorry, I can’t recall his name, but he lives in that house behind the church. Ethel might’ve said something to him about her health or her grandson.”

“Thanks, I’ll check that out.”

After leaving, Sam drove down Main Street. He found the small frame house behind the church. But there was no vehicle in the driveway, and no one answered when he rang the doorbell. He would check back later. For now, it was time for him to return to the ranch.

* * *

Lila had watched Sam drive away, headed for town. There was no telling what he planned to do or how soon he’d be back. For the past couple of hours, she’d kept herself busy, trying not to think about what he’d told her. But she couldn’t keep the worries from pushing into her mind.

Now, in her room, she sank onto the bed and forced herself to ask the dreaded question. What if Sam was right in suspecting that Roper had murdered Frank?

But how could that be? She knew Roper, knew his gentleness, his wisdom, his integrity.

She loved him.

But had that love blinded her to who he was and what he was capable of doing?

Even with the window closed, the construction noise from the game ranch pounded in her head, echoing the pain of the headache that had awakened her that morning. Her hands splayed over her ears, failing to block the sound as she struggled to think.

Innocent or not, Roper would need to be told about Sam’s suspicions. But hadn’t that been Sam’s intent—to see that Roper was warned and then watch for his reaction? Would he run? Would he try to cover his tracks, or maybe do something else to hide his guilt? Sam would be counting on it.

But if Roper was innocent, as Lila believed him to be, what then? Even without solid evidence, the case against him was strong. If he were arrested, he wouldn’t be the first person to go down for something he hadn’t done. She had to make him aware of the danger and warn him that his every move was being watched.

As hers would be also. Sam had told her she was above suspicion. But she would be a fool to believe him.

Her first impulse was to find Roper in the arena, where he’d been working with the horses since dawn. But that could be risky. Sam had been gone for almost two hours. He could return at any time—or someone like Mariah could be watching. It wouldn’t do for them to be caught together right now. A phone call would be safer.

Strange, for as long as he’d been here, Lila had considered Sam an ally, almost a friend. Now suddenly, he’d become the enemy. Maybe he had been the enemy all along.

Lila called Roper’s cell phone. It rang several times and went to voice mail—not surprising, since Roper usually silenced his phone or left it in his office when he was training. Lila left a short message, asking him to call her. As she ended the call, she saw Sam’s SUV come in through the front gate.

Her body tensed with a hunted animal’s wariness. For now, she would have to watch her every move, guard her every spoken word. Her enemy had returned.

* * *

Roper took the call on his break. The message was brief, just a few words, but the anxiety in Lila’s voice set off alarms. He called her back. She answered on the first ring.

“Roper, thank goodness.”

“What is it, Boss? Are you all right?”

“For now. But we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, picking up on her distress. “Where are you? Can you talk now?”

“I’m in my room. I’d come to you, but I don’t think that’s wise right now.”

“Just tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

In the silence, he could hear her breathing. “It’s Sam,” she said. “He believes it was you who killed Frank.”

The words struck him like a shotgun blast. There had to be some mistake. “I didn’t do it,” he said. “I swear to God, I didn’t—I wouldn’t. You’ve got to believe me, Boss.”

“I believe you,” Lila said. “I tried to tell him that. But Sam seems to think all the pieces fit. He said that he just needs a critical piece of evidence and he’ll be ready to make an arrest.”

“What kind of evidence? Did he tell you?”

“No. But I’m sure he meant for me to let you know. He wants you to react and give yourself away.” She lowered her voice, as if she feared someone might be eavesdropping. “Listen to me, Roper. You’ve got to behave as if you know nothing about this. Go on with your training as if nothing’s happened. If you try to leave—”

“I understand,” he said.

“There’s more.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mariah’s been spying on us and reporting to Darrin and Simone. They claim that you and I were having an affair while Frank was still alive. Sam believes you killed Frank because of me—and he suspects that I might’ve helped you. And now you’re competing in his place. You can see how this looks.”

“Yes. It looks like hell.” Roper felt as if he were drowning in the flood of her words. “I’ll deal with this, Boss. What’s most important is that you believe I’m not a murderer. Can I count on that?”

Was there a beat of hesitation? “Of course you can,” she said. “But there’s one more thing. You and I mustn’t be alone together. Someone might see, and that could be bad for both of us.”

“Agreed.” That brief pause in her reply had cut deep, but at least he knew where she stood. “I’ll just keep training the horses and hoping for the best,” he said. “Keep me posted. I’ve got to get back to work.”

Roper ended the call, laid the phone on the desk, and turned away. A shudder passed through his body as he realized that his whole life could change in a heartbeat.

He had long since stopped believing in happy endings. Fate could be fickle, and there was no compassion in justice. He hadn’t killed Frank, but that didn’t matter—not when one stroke of bad luck could put him behind bars for good.