be where he'd worked hard all his life to get. She could mess
it up royally. She didn't even have to finger him. If she
indicted any one of them, she would snatch his future away
from him before he had fully grasped it. For that, he could
easily choke her.
But when he thought about putting his hands on her again,
it wasn't to choke her.
"They told me you were in."
"Did they also tell you that I'm due in court in a few
minutes, and that between now and then I'm too busy to see
anyone?"
Alex stepped into Reede's office and closed the door behind
her. "They mentioned it."
"Where'd you get the idea that you're exempt?"
"I thought you'd want to question me about the man who
got killed."
"You aren't really a suspect. You were just at the wrong
place at the wrong time, something you have a bad habit of
doing.'
"You don't think there's a connection between me and his
murder?"
"No, but obviously you do." Propping his feet on the
corner of his desk and stacking his hands behind his head,
he said, "Let's hear it."
"I think you already know it. Pasty Hickam witnessed
Celina's murder."
"How do you know?"
"He told me over the telephone."
"He was a legendary liar. Ask anybody."
"I believed him. He sounded nervous and terribly afraid.
We made an appointment to meet at the Last Chance, but
when he saw you following me, he got frightened off."
"So, that makes me Celina's killer?"
"Or someone who's covering up for the killer."
"Let me tell you what's wrong with your theory." He
lowered his feet to the floor. "Angus fired Pasty the other
day. He was on a revenge trip, something you should be able
to relate to, Counselor. He made up some cock-and-bull story
that you wanted to believe because so far, your investigation
hasn't turned up one goddamn scrap of concrete evidence.
"You think the two murders are connected, right?
Wrong," he said. "Think about it. Last night's killing doesn't
match Celina's murder. The M.O.'s wrong. The guy who
cut Pasty a new smile found out Pasty was humping his wife
while he was working over at the potash plant near Carlsbad.
We've got an APB out on him."
It sounded so plausible that Alex squirmed under his direct
gaze. "Isn't it possible that this ranch hand witnessed my
mother's murder? He kept quiet until now out of fear of
retribution, or simply because no one ever conducted a thorough
investigation. Knowing what he did got him killed before
he could identify the killer. That's what I choose to
believe."
"Suit yourself. But waste your time on it, not mine."
Reede made to stand up, but she said, "That's not all."
Resigned, he sat back down.
Alex took an envelope out of her purse and handed it to
him. "This came in the mail this morning. It was addressed
to me at the motel."
Reede scanned the letter quickly and handed it back to her.
She stared at him in amazement. "You don't seem very
disturbed by it, Sheriff Lambert.''
"I've already read it."
"What? When?"
"Day before yesterday, if I'm remembering right."
"And you let them send it?"
"Why not? It's not obscene. I figure even the postmaster
general would agree that it meets postal regulations. It's got
the correct amount of postage on it. As far as I can tell, that
letter isn't illegal, Counselor."
Alex wanted to reach across his desk and slap the gloating
smile off his face. The impulse was so strong she had to curl
her hand into a fist to keep from doing so.
"Did you read between the lines? The people who signed
this, all--" she paused to count the signatures, "--all fourteen
of them, have threatened to ran me out of town."
"Surely not, Miss Gaither," he said, feigning shock.
"You're just being paranoid because you found Pasty. That
letter simply underlines what I've been telling you all along.
Angus and Junior Minton mean a lot to this town. So does
that racetrack.
"You get somebody's attention quicker by kicking him in
the bank account than you do by kicking him in the nuts.
You've put some sizable investments in jeopardy. Did you
expect folks to stand by and watch all then-dreams
go down
the tubes because of your vindictiveness?"
"I'm not being vindictive. I'm conducting a valid and
long-overdue investigation into a severe miscarriage of
justice."
"Spare me."
"The district attorney of Travis County sanctioned my
investigation."
His eyes drifted over her insultingly as he drawled, "In
exchange for what?"
"Oh, that's good. Very professional, Sheriff. When you
run out of viable ammunition, you resort to throwing sexist
rocks at my character."
With angry, jerky motions, she stuffed the letter back into
the envelope and replaced it in her purse, snapping the catch
firmly.
' 'I don't have to explain my reasons to you. Just understand
this," she enunciated. "I won't quit until I can draw some
satisfactory conclusions about my mother's murder."
"Well, I wouldn't worry about being mugged, if I were
you," Reede told her with an air of boredom. "As I've
explained, Pasty's killing had absolutely nothing to do with
you. The people who signed that letter are pillars of the
community--bankers, businessmen, professionals. They're
hardly types who would accost you in a dark alley.
"Although," he went on, "I'd recommend that you stop
cruising in hotbeds of trouble like you have the last two evenings. If you've just got to have it, there are a couple of
fellas I could recommend."
She released a slow, contemptuous breath.' 'Do you dislike
all professional women, or is it me in particular?"
"It's you in particular."
His bluntness was an affront. She was tempted to remind
him that his kiss yesterday hadn't conveyed dislike, but she
didn't. She didn't want to remind him of it. She hoped to
forget it herself, pretend that it had never happened, but she
couldn't. It had left her feeling drastically and irrevocably
altered.
No, she couldn't forget it. The best she could hope for
was to learn to cope with the memory of it, and the addictive
craving it had instigated.
His statement hurt her deeply. She heard herself asking,
"Why don't you like me?"
"Because you're a meddler. I don't like people who meddle
in other people's business."
"This is my business."
"How could it be? You were peeing in your diapers when
Celina was killed," he shouted.
"I'm glad you brought that up. Since I was only two
months old at the time, what was she doing out at the ranch
that night?"
His stunned reaction to the question was swiftly covered.
"I forget. Look, I'm due--"
"I doubt you ever forget anything, Reede Lambert, much
as you pretend that you do. What was she doing there? Please
tell me."
He stood up. So did Alex. "Junior had invited her for
supper, that's all."
"Was it a special occasion?"
"Ask him."
"I'm asking you. What was the occasion? And don't tell
me you don't remember."
"Maybe he felt sorry for her."
"Sorry? Why?"
"For being cooped up with a kid, not getting out. Her
social life had gone to zilch. She was only eighteen, for
crissake." He stepped around her and headed for the door.
Alex wasn't ready to let it go at that. His answer was too
pat. She caught his arm and forced him to face her. "Were
you there at dinner that night?"
"Yeah, I was there." He jerked his arm free.
"The entire evening?"
"I left before dessert."
"Why?"
"I don't like cherry pie."
She groaned with frustration. "Answer me, Reede. Why
did you leave?"
"I had a date."
"With whom? Does she still live here in town?"
"What the hell difference does it make?"
"She's your alibi. I'd like to talk to her."
"Forget it. I'll never drag her into this."
"You might have to, or plead the Fifth."
"Don't you ever give up?" he asked through bared teeth.
"Never. Did you return to the ranch that night?"
"No."
"Not at all?"
"No."
"Not even to sleep?"
"I told you, I had a date." He put his face close enough
to hers that she could feel his breath against her lips. "And
she was hot."
He gave a terse bob of his head to emphasize his point,
then turned to leave. "I'm due in court. Close the door on
your way out, will ya?"