Ten
Reede let loose a string of curses the minute Alex left the
stable. Pasty Hickam had overheard them from his hiding
place in a nearby stall.
He hadn't planned to eavesdrop on their conversation.
When he had come into the barn earlier, he'd only been
looking for a place where it was dark and warm and solitary,
where he'd have some privacy to nurse his damaged pride,
cultivate his resentment of his former employer, and suck on
his bottle of cheap rye as if it was mother's milk.
Now, however, his ennui had vanished and his mind was concocting a nefarious plan. Sober, Pasty was merely crotchety.
Drunk, he was mean.
He'd barely been able to contain himself as he listened to
what that gal from Austin had to say to the sheriff, and vice
versa. Lordy be, she was Celina Gaither's daughter, here to
investigate her mama's killing.
Thanks to her, and a benevolent God he didn't even believe
in, he had been given a golden opportunity to get revenge
on Angus and that useless son of his.
He'd busted his ass on this place, worked for miserly
wages, and gone without completely when Angus was so
broke he couldn't pay him, but he'd stuck it out. He had gone
through thick and thin with the bastard, and what thanks did
he get? Fired and booted out of the bunkhouse that had been
home for almost thirty years.
Well, fortune had finally smiled on Pasty Hickam. If he
played his cards right, he could finally have some money for
his "retirement fund." Ruby Faye, his current lover, was
always after him about never having any money to spend on
her. "What's the fun of having an affair if I don't get something
out of it besides the thrill of cheating on my husband?"
she was fond of saying.
Monetary compensation, however, would be icing on the
cake. Revenge would be sweet enough. It was past time that
somebody kicked Angus where it hurt.
His impatience was at a near-frantic pitch by the time Reede
finished examining his mare and left the stable. Pasty waited
several moments to make sure he was alone before leaving
the empty stall where he'd been curled up in the fresh hay.
He moved down the shadowed corridor toward the wall telephone.
He cursed a horse that nickered, spooking him. For
all his meanness, courage had never been his strong suit.
He called Information first, then quickly punched out the
digits of the number before he could forget them. Maybe she
hadn't had time to get there, he thought anxiously after he'd
asked the clerk to ring her room. But she answered on the
fifth ring, a trifle breathlessly, like she might have come in
while the phone was ringing.
"Miz Gaither?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"You don't need to know. I know you, and that's enough.''
"Who is this?" she demanded, with what Pasty thought
was false bravado.
"I know all about your mama's murder."
Pasty cackled to himself, enjoying the sudden silence. He
couldn't have got her attention any sooner or any better if
he'd walked up and bit her on her tittie.
"I'm listening."
"I cain't talk now."
"Why not?"
"Cause I cain't, that's why."
It was risky to go into it with her now over the telephone.
Somebody might pick up another extension somewhere on
the ranch and overhear him. That could prove to be unhealthy.
"I'll call you back."
"But--"
"I'll call you back."
He hung up, enjoying her anxiety. He remembered the way
her mama used to sashay around, like she owned the world.
Many a summer day, he'd ogled her lustfully while she frolicked
in the swimming pool with Junior and Reede. They'd
put their hands all over her and call it roughhousing. But she
was too good to even cast an eye in Pasty's direction. He
hadn't minded that she got herself killed. He sure as hell
hadn't interfered and stopped it when he could have.
He remembered that night and everything that had happened
like it was yesterday. It was a secret that he'd kept all
this time. Now it would be divulged. And it was gonna tickle
him to death to tell that prosecutor all about it.
Eleven
"Are you waiting to give me a parking ticket?" Alex asked
as she got out of her car and locked it. She was feeling chipper
this morning, due to the unexpected telephone call she had
received the night before. Maybe the caller was the eyewitness
she'd been praying for. But it could have been a crank
call, too, she realistically reminded herself.
If he was genuine, it would be a tragedy if he named Reede
Lambert as Celina's murderer. He looked extremely attractive
leaning against the parking meter. Actually, since the meter
was listing to the right, it might have been leaning on Reede.
"I should change my mind since you're being a smart ass,
but I'm such a nice guy . . ."He slipped a canvas hood over
the meter. In blue letters it was labeled, city of purcell-- official car. "Take this with you when you leave and use
it from now on. It'll save you some change."
He turned and started up the sidewalk toward the courthouse.
Alex fell into step beside him. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." They climbed the stairs and went
inside. "Come down to my office," he said. "I've got something
to show you."
Curious, she followed his lead. They hadn't parted on the
best of terms the night before. Yet this morning, he was
going out of his way to be hospitable. Deciding that was
out of character, Alex couldn't help but be suspicious of his
motives.
When they reached the lower level, everyone in the squad
room stopped what he was doing to stare. The scene became
as still as a photograph.
Reede gave the room one slow, meaningful sweep of his
eyes. Activity was immediately resumed. He hadn't spoken
a single word, but it was apparent that he wielded tremendous
authority over his staff. They either feared or respected him.
Alex suspected the former.
Reede stepped around her, swung open a door to the left
of the staircase, and moved aside so she could go in. She
stepped into a small square, windowless, cheerless office. It
was as cold as a meat locker. There was a desk so dented
and scarred it looked like it had been made from scrap metal.
The particleboard top was ink-stained, and holes had been
chipped out of it. Sitting on it were an overflowing ashtray
and a black, no-frills telephone. Behind it was a swivel chair
she had little confidence in.
"It's yours to use if you want it," Reede told her. "I'm
sure you're accustomed to fancier office space."
"No. Actually, my cubicle in Austin is not much larger
than this. Whom should I thank?"
"The city of Purcell."
"But it was somebody's idea. Yours, Reede?"
"So what if it was?"
"So," she said, drawing out the word in an effort to ignore
the chip he carried on his shoulder, "thank you."
"You're welcome."
Trying to temper the animosity between them, she smiled
and said teasingly, "Now that we're in the same building, I
can keep a closer eye on you."
He pulled the door shut as he backed out. "You've got it
backwards, Counselor. I can keep a closer eye on you."
Alex tossed down her ballpoint pen and vigorously rubbed
, her chilled arms. The electric space heater she had bought at
: the hardware store was on full blast, but it wasn't helping
I much. The square little office was frigid and seemed to be
the only dank, damp spot in this otherwise arid climate.
Earlier she had bought office supplies: paper, pencils, pens,
paper clips. The office was hardly comfortable, but at least
it was functional. It was also much more centrally located
than her room at the Westerner Motel.
After checking to see that the heater was indeed working
at its maximum, she bent over her notes again. It had taken
all afternoon to compile and arrange them according to the
individuals involved.
Beginning with her profile on Angus, she reread the briefs.
Unfortunately, they were no more concrete or factually based
than they had been the first dozen times she'd read them.
What she had was conjecture and hearsay. What few facts
she had, she had known when she left Austin. So far, this