layers of deception. If she kept at it long enough, surely she
would eventually get to the truth.
But her time was running out. She had only a few days
left before Greg would demand to see some results. If she
couldn't produce something concrete, he would demand that
she desist.
As she approached the city limits on her return, she became
aware that the vehicle behind her was following too close.
"Jerk," she muttered, glancing into her rearview mirror.
For another mile the pickup rode her rear end like a shadow.
The sun was at an angle to prevent her from seeing the driver.
"Come on around if you're in such a hurry."
She tapped her brake pedal, enough for the taillights to
blink on. He didn't take the hint. On this rural highway, the
gravel shoulder was so narrow it hardly qualified as such.
She edged toward it anyway, hoping that the driver of the
truck would pass her.
' 'Thank you very much,'' she said when the truck straddled
the center yellow stripe and sped up to pass her.
It pulled up even with her. She was aware of it from the
corner of her eye. She didn't realize that the driver had a
more nefarious purpose than vehicular horseplay in mind until
he stayed even with her, a hazard at the speed they were
driving.
"You fool!" She whipped her head around to glance out
the window. The pickup truck accelerated suddenly and deliberately
swerved, catching her front left bumper with his
right rear one. She lost control of the car.
She clutched the steering wheel and stamped on the brakes,
but to no avail. Her car skidded off the loose shoulder and
plowed into the deep, dry ditch. Alex was held in by her
seatbelt, but flung forward hard enough to bang her head on
the steering wheel. The windshield shattered upon impact,
showering the back of her head and hands with glass. It
seemed to rain down forever.
She didn't think she had lost consciousness, but the next
thing she knew, there were voices speaking to her. They were
soft and melodious, but she couldn't understand what they
were saying.
Groggily, she raised her head. The motion gave her a
searing headache. She fought down rising nausea and struggled
to focus her eyes.
The men surrounding the car and looking at her with concern
were speaking Spanish. One opened her door and said
something that was gently inquiring.
"Yes, I'm all right," she answered automatically. She
couldn't imagine why they were looking at her so strangely
until she felt the wet trickle against her cheek. She raised her
hand and investigated. Her trembling fingers came away red.
"I'd rather you spent the night here at the hospital. I can
arrange for a room," the doctor said.
"No, I'll be fine in the motel. After a couple of these, I
should sleep till morning.'' She shook the brown plastic bottle
of pills.
' 'You don't have a concussion, but take it easy for a couple
of days. No sports, or anything like that."
She winced at the very mention of physical exertion. "I
promise."
"In a week, we'll take out the stitches. Good thing that
gash was on the top of your head and not on your face."
"Yes," Alex replied uncertainly. He'd had to shave a small
patch of her scalp, but with artful combing, her hair would
cover it.
"Are you up to having a visitor? There's somebody waiting
to see you. Since this is a weeknight, things are kind of slow,
so use the room for as long as you like."
"Thank you, Doctor."
He left the treatment room. Alex tried to sit up, but discovered
that she was still too dizzy. The sight of Pat Chastain
walking through the door didn't help her equilibrium.' 'Well,
Mr. Chastain, long time, no see," she said with sarcasm.
He moved toward the examination table and sheepishly
asked, "How are you?"
"I've been better, but I'll be fine."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No. There was no need for you to come here. How'd
you know about it, anyway?"
He pulled forward the only chair in the room and sat down.
"Those Mexicans flagged down a passing car. The driver
went to the nearest phone and called for an ambulance. The
deputy who went out to investigate the accident speaks Spanish,
so he heard from them what happened."
"They saw the truck force me off the road?"
"Yeah. Could you identify it?"
"It was white." She met the D.A.'s eyes. "And it had
the Minton Enterprises logo stenciled on the side."
He looked troubled and nervous. "That's what the Mexicans
said, too. The deputy couldn't locate Reede, so he called
me." He nodded toward the bandage on her head. "Is that
gonna be okay?"
"In two or three days. I can take the bandage off tomorrow.
It required several stitches. And I've got these as reminders."
She held up her hands, which were covered with tiny scratches
where glass fragments had been tweezed out.
"Alex, did you recognize the driver?"
"No." The district attorney gave her a hard look, testing
her truthfulness. "No," she repeated. "Believe me, if I had,
I'd be after him myself. I didn't even catch a glimpse. All I
could make out was a silhouette against the sun. I think he
was wearing some kind of hat."
"Do you think it was a random incident?"
She came up on both elbows. "Do you?"
He patted the air, urging her to lie back down. "No, I
guess it wasn't."
"Then don't tax my strength with stupid questions."
He ran a hand through his hair and swore. "When I told
my old buddy Greg Harper that you'd have carte blanche, I
didn't know that you were going to wreak havoc in my
county."
Her patience with him snapped. "It's my head that moun-
tains are being slammed against, Mr. Chastain. Why are you
whining?"
"Well, dammit, Alex. Judge Wallace, who didn't like me
much in the first place, is hotter than a pistol. I can't win a
single point in his courtroom these days. You've all but called three of the county's leading citizens murderers. Pasty
Hickam, a fixture in this town, turns up dead while you're with him. You were at Nora Gail Burton's whorehouse when
a shooting took place. Goddamn it, why'd you have to open
up that hornets' nest?"
She pressed her hand to her throbbing forehead. "It wasn't
by choice. I was following a lead." She lowered her hand
and gave him a pointed look. "And don't worry, your secret
interest in Nora Gail's is safe with me."
He squirmed guiltily in his chair. "I tell you, Alex, you've
got a bull by the horns here, and it almost got you killed
tonight."
"Which should prove that I'm getting closer to the truth.
Someone's trying to bump me off to protect himself."
"I guess," he said morosely. "What have you got that
you didn't have before you got here?"
"Firmly established motives, for one thing."
"Anything else?"
"A shortage of concrete alibis. Reede Lambert says he
was with Nora Gail. She admitted that she would perjure
herself if necessary to corroborate that, which leads me to
believe that he wasn't with her all night. Junior hasn't produced
any kind of alibi."
"What about Angus?"
"He claims he was at the ranch, but so was Celina. If
Angus was there all night, he would have had ample opportunity."
"So would Gooney Bud, if he'd followed her out there,"
Pat said, "and that's what a good defense attorney will tell
the jury. No one gets life on probable cause. You've still got
nothing that places one of them in that stable with a scalpel
in his hand."
"I was on my way to your office this afternoon to talk to
you about that when I was run off the road."
"Talk to me about what?"
"The vet's scalpel. What happened to it?"
An expression of surprise came over his face. "You're the
second person this week to ask me that."
Alex struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. "Who
else asked you about it?''
"I did," Reede Lambert said from the doorway.
Thirty-eight
Alex's insides lifted weightlessly. She had dreaded the moment
she would see him again. It was inevitable, of course,
but she had hoped to appear unscathed by what had happened
between them.
Lying on a hospital examination table, her hair clotted with
blood, her hands painted with pumpkin-colored antiseptic,
too weak and muzzy to sit up, didn't exactly convey the
impression of invincibility she had desired.
"Hello, Sheriff Lambert. You'll be pleased to know that
I took your advice and stopped looking over my shoulder for
bogeymen."
Ignoring her, he said, "Hi, Pat. I just got off the radio
with the deputy."
"Then you heard what happened?"
"My first thought was that Plummet was involved, but the
deputy said her car was struck by an ME truck."
"That's right."
"ME encompasses a lot of companies. Just about anybody
in the county could get access to one of those trucks."
"Including you," Alex suggested snidely.
Reede finally acknowledged her existence with a hard stare.
The D.A. looked at them uneasily. "Uh, where were you,
Reede? Nobody could find you."
"I was out on horseback. Anybody at the ranch could tell
you that."
"I had to ask," Pat said apologetically.
"I understand, but you ought to know that running somebody
off the road isn't quite my style. Besides me, who do
you think could have done it?" he asked Alex pointedly.
It was difficult for her to even conceive of the idea, much
less speak it aloud. "Junior," she said quietly.
"Junior?" Reede laughed. "Why in hell?"
"I met with him this morning. He doesn't have an alibi
for the night Celina was killed. He admits he was terribly
angry." She glanced down. "I also have reason to believe
he might be angry at me."
"Why?"
She glared up at him with as much defiance as she could
muster. "He came to my room this morning." That's all she
was going to supply him. He could draw his own conclusions.
His eyes narrowed fractionally, but he didn't ask what Junior had been doing in her room. Either he didn't want to
know, or he didn't care. "Anybody else?" he asked. "Or
have you narrowed it down to the two of us?"
"Possibly Angus. I saw him this afternoon, and we didn't
part on the best of terms."
"The three of us again, huh? Do you believe we're to
blame for everything that happens around here?"
"I don't believe anything. I base my suspicions on facts."
She was assailed by a wave of dizziness and nausea and had
to close her eyes for a moment before going on. "I have
another suspect in mind."
"Who?"
"Stacey Wallace."
Pat Chastain reacted like he'd been goosed. "Are you
shittin' me?" He glanced toward the door to make certain it
was closed. "God, please tell me I'm dreaming. You aren't
going to publicly accuse her of anything, are you? Because
if you're even thinking about it, I have to tell you right now,
Alex, that you'll be on your own. I'm not sticking my neck
out again."
"You haven't stuck your neck out for anything, yet!" Alex
shouted, causing a blast of pain through her skull.
"Where would Stacey get access to an ME truck?" Reede
asked.
"I don't have any solid facts," Alex said wearily. "It's
just a hunch."
"Which is all you ever seem to have," Reede said. Alex
gave him a menacing look, which she hoped packed more
punch than she felt it did.
Pat intervened. "About Stacey, what do you base your
allegations on?''
"She lied to me about where she was on the night of the
murder." She related what Stacey had told her in the ladies'
room at the Horse and Gun Club. "I know she still loves
Junior. I don't think I'd get an argument from anyone on
that."
The two men exchanged a glance that signified agreement.
"She's like a mother hen to her father, and she doesn't want
his reputation ruined. And," she added with a sigh, "she
hates me for the same reason she hated Celina--Junior. She
thinks I'm stealing his affection from her, just as my mother
did."
Pat jingled the change in his pockets as he rocked back
and forth on the balls of his feet. "Sounds logical when you
put it that way, but I just can't imagine Stacey using physical
force."
"And here lately, your guesses have been way off base,
Counselor."
Alex struggled to a sitting position. "Let's go back to the
scalpel." She was so dizzy she had to grip the edge of the
table to remain upright. "When did Reede ask you about it,
Pat?"
"If you have something to ask, ask me." Reede moved