Seven
She had been expected. That much was evident from the
moment Junior escorted her across the threshold of the sprawling
two-story house on the Minton ranch. Eager to study her
suspects in their own environment, she had agreed to follow
Junior home from the cemetery.
As she entered the living room, however, she couldn't help
wondering if perhaps she was being manipulated, rather than
the other way around.
Her determination to proceed with caution was immediately
put to the test when Angus strode across the spacious room
and shook her hand.
"I'm glad Junior found you and convinced you to come,"
he told her as he helped her out of her coat. He tossed the
fur jacket at Junior. "Hang that up, will ya?" Looking at
Alex with approval, he said, "I didn't know how you'd take
our invitation. We're pleased to have you."
"I'm pleased to be here."
"Good," he said, rubbing his hands together. "What'll
you have to drink?"
"White wine, please," she said. His blue eyes were
friendly, but she found them disquieting. He seemed to see
beyond the surface and lay bare the emotional insecurities
she kept heavily camouflaged with competency.
"White wine, huh? Can't stand the stuff myself. Just as
well be drinking soda pop. But that's what my wife drinks.
She'll be down directly. You sit there, Alexandra."
"She likes to be called Alex, Dad," Junior said as he
joined Angus at the built-in wet bar to mix himself a scotch
and water.
' 'Alex, huh?'' Angus carried a glass of wine to her. ' 'Well,
I guess that name suits a lady lawyer."
It was a backhanded compliment, at best. She let her thank-you
suffice for both the remark and the wine. "Why did you
invite me here?"
He seemed momentarily nonplussed by her directness, but
answered in kind. "There's too much water under the bridge
for us to be enemies. I want to get to know you better."
"That's the reason I came, Mr. Minton."
"Angus. Call me Angus." He took a moment to study
her. "How come you wanted to be a lawyer?"
"So I could investigate my mother's murder."
The answer came to her lips spontaneously, which astonished
not only the Mintons, but Alex herself. She had never
verbalized that as being her goal before. Merle Graham must
have spoon-fed her doses of determination, along with her
vegetables.
With that public admission also came the private realization
that she was her own chief suspect. Grandmother Graham
had said she was ultimately responsible for her mother's
death. Unless she could prove otherwise, she would carry
that guilt with her for the rest of her life. She was in Purcell
County to exonerate herself.
"You certainly don't mince words, young lady," Angus
said. "I like that. Pussyfooting is a waste of my time."
"Of mine, too," Alex said, remembering her concurrent
deadlines.
Angus harrumphed. "No husband? No kids?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Dad," Junior said, rolling his eyes, embarrassed by his
father's lack of tact.
Alex was amused, not offended. "I don't mind, Junior,
really. It's a common question."
"Got an answer to it?" Angus took a swig from his long-neck.
"No time or inclination."
Angus grunted noncommittally. "Around here, we've got
too much time and not enough inclination." He shot Junior
a withering glance.
"Dad's referring to my failed marriages," Junior told their
guest.
"Marriages? How many have there been?"
"Three," he confessed with a wince.
"And no grandbabies to show for any of them," Angus
grumbled like a foul-natured bear. He aimed a chastising
index finger at his son. "And it's not like you don't know
how to breed."
"As usual, Angus, your manners in front of company are
deplorable."
Simultaneously, the three of them turned. A woman was
standing in the open doorway. Alex had painted a mental
picture of what Angus's wife would be like--strong, assertive,
feisty enough to meet him toe to toe. She would typify
the coarse, horsy type who rode to hounds and spent more
time wielding a quirt than a hairbrush.
Mrs. Minton was the antithesis of Alex's mental picture.