Lila gave her a wry smile. “As your great-grandma would say, there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. There’s a war going on over this house and the ranch. And as far as Mariah’s concerned, we’re the enemy.”
Simone had tried on every outfit in her closet, from flowery summer sundresses to the elegant party frocks in fabrics like silk, chiffon, and lamé that she’d worn backhome in Dallas. She’d looked like a tiny-waisted princess back then, floating into her parents’ country-club dances and dinners. Now the gowns would no longer fit over the growing lump of her belly. Either the zippers wouldn’t close or the full skirts made her look like a pregnant elephant hiding under a tent.
Aunt Cora, her mother’s sister, had rhapsodized about how expectant mothers had a special glow about them. But Simone wasn’t glowing. She was getting bigger and more repulsive every day. Her husband didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t even want to touch her, except to punish her.
She was supposed to love the baby growing inside her. But when was that supposed to happen? So far, she felt nothing, except for the awareness that she was carrying the only legitimate Culhane heir.
That was her power. She would learn to use it.
Simone’s gowns, stripped from their hangers, lay scattered on the bed. Even if they still fit her, she would have no place to wear them in a flea-bitten, one-horse town like Willow Bend. She was smothering here, with nothing to do but read magazines, watch TV, and get fat on chocolate-fudge ice cream.
Frustrated, she scooped up the dresses and bundled them in her arms. The fragrance of perfumes she no longer wore rose from the delicate fabric as she carried them across the bedroom and stuffed them into the back of closet. Then she pulled on her blue sweats and left the bedroom.
She could hear Darrin’s Mercedes pulling into the driveway. He’d been in court that morning. His mood would depend on how his case had gone.
Through the living room window, she watched him climb out of the car. His shoulders were slumped, his tieloosened—a sign that he must have lost. Darrin wasn’t a great lawyer or even a good one. She couldn’t depend on him to win their lawsuit against Lila Culhane. The attempt at a hit on the freeway had failed, and he didn’t seem inclined to try again.
If she wanted to raise her family on the Culhane ranch, in the Culhane mansion, Simone knew that she couldn’t wait around for her weak husband to do his job. Their future would have to depend on her.
Earlier that morning, Simone had received a call from Mariah at the ranch house. It appeared that Lila and her daughter would be flying to Las Vegas for the big event. The rattlesnake bite Lila had suffered, purely by accident, had left her weakened. And she would be away from home—a rare chance for Simone to put things right for her future family.
Feet dragging, thoughts churning, Darrin mounted the steps. The property-damage suit he’d lost in court should’ve been a slam dunk. But he’d found himself so preoccupied with last night’s phone call that he’d blown it wide open. His client, now owing the plaintiff $25,000 for the death of a prize bull that had wandered in front of his truck, was probably mad enough to kill him.
Last night’s call from an alleged unknown brother had ended without giving him a chance to ask questions. Was it a prank? Maybe some kind of blackmail? Was it fake—or could it be real? Frank Culhane had been a notorious womanizer. But so far, aside from Miss Crystal Carter’s unborn baby, no illegitimate bastards had turned up. So why now?
Another question: What should he do about the phone call? Ignore it? Hire an investigator? Meet the caller in Las Vegas?
And what was he supposed to tell Simone?
Once the words were out, they couldn’t be taken back. He would wait on sharing the secret with his wife, Darrin resolved as he crossed the porch to the door. That would buy him time to make his own decision about the phone call.
Simone met him at the door with a cold Michelob from the refrigerator. “Listen to me, Darrin,” she said, handing him the beer. “I’ve made a new plan. Today I’m going into Abilene to buy some new clothes.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “That’s okay, I guess, as long as you don’t spend too much. What—?”
“I said listen to me, Darrin. One way or another, we’re going to get that house. Cancel your appointments for the rest of the week. We’re going to Las Vegas.”
He brightened. This was just the coincidence he’d been hoping for. “You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he said. “We could use a break. You go shopping, and I’ll get our tickets.”
Sam waited until the end of the day to phone Nick, his boss at the Bureau in Abilene. He hadn’t looked forward to the call. He’d hoped to have good news for the man who needed it so desperately. But the day had only brought him more dead ends.
“I’ve been trying to learn more about Frank while I’m here,” he said. “Nobody seemed to like him much. Cheyenne McKenna called him a control freak. I spoke with one of the judges who mentioned that Frank had a thing for young women.”
“No surprise there,” Nick said. “We already knew that.”
“A jealous boyfriend could’ve killed him,” Sam said. “But on the ranch in the middle of the night? That doesn’tmake sense. I’m guessing the killer was someone he already knew and knew well.”
“Which brings us back to Roper.” Nick sounded weary. “Or if not Roper, maybe you should take a closer look at Frank’s daughter, Jasmine. She was right there, and we’ve only skimmed the surface of her relationship with her father. The fact that she found the body doesn’t clear her of the crime.”
“True.” Sam felt a stab of dread. Not Jasmine. She was so gentle. And she’d adored her father. Sam had never heard her say a word against him.
“What about that syringe the boys found in the creek?” Sam said, changing the subject. “Is the lab still working on it?”
“They were. But it’s been put aside for now. There’s nothing new to report. As you know, we’re pretty sure it’s the murder weapon. But there are no prints or DNA that could tie it to any of your suspects. If any evidence was there, it was probably washed away in the water. Oh—and we checked Frank’s phone records. The last call he took on his cell phone was from a burner. That call could’ve lured him to the stable. But, of course, we can’t trace it.”
“Well, keep me posted.” Sam had already known what the answer to his question would be. Otherwise, he would have heard.
“How about you, Nick?” he asked. Sam’s old friend was battling cancer. He had chosen to hold off treatment until Sam could get back to the Bureau and replace him. Sam knew that every delay worsened the odds against his survival.