After Dark (18 page)

    When Buddy entered the library,
he paused just as he stepped over the threshold and, realizing she wasn't
aware of his presence, listened to her telephone conversation.

    "You heard me, Wes,"
Edith said. "It's time to send whatever evidence you have against
Lane to a grand jury. We've waited long enough. Nothing else is going to
show up now. Kent's been dead for over two weeks. I want formal charges
brought against Lane. And one more thing-do your best to get a capital
murder indictment!" She slammed down the receiver.

    Goose bumps broke out on Buddy's
arms. She was actually going through with it-forcing Wes Stevens to move
forward in Kent's case, when the police had nothing but circumstantial
evidence against Lane. No fingerprints had been found on the baseball
bat used to perpetrate the crime. He and his investigators had come to
the conclusion that whoever had beaten Kent to death had done it fast
and quick. In the heat o passion. And the coroner's findings had substantiated
theirs. He doubted that Wes could make a case for capital murder. Only
the fact that Lane had found the body and called the police and the possible
motive of her having killed Kent to, in some way, protect Will made her
the prime suspect. A lot of people had disliked Kent. In the past few years,
he hadn't ingratiated himself to anyone with his drunken binges that
often resulted in Miss Edith calling the police to pick him up for his
own safety. Buddy had lost count of the times he had personally locked
Kent up for the night. And each time he had been tempted to take the law
into his own hands.

    At least half a dozen people, including
him, had as much or more motive than Lane. But she was the only suspect
without an alibi and the only one found with the body. Lillie Mae had been
with Will, giving them both an alibi. Miss Edith had been with Mary Martha.
James Ware had been with Arlene Dothan, a fact James had admitted only
under great duress. And he himself had been at the police station. And
yes, he, as much as anyone else, had wanted to see Kent Graham dead.

    "Wes will never get a capital
murder indictment," Buddy said, then smiled when Miss Edith jumped
and gasped aloud.

    ''Mercy, Buddy, you scared me to death."
She lifted her hand and fluttered it over her bosom. Her ample bosom. It
amazed him that a sixty-year-old woman could be so attractive, so downright
sexy. But Edith took full advantage of being wealthy, getting a nip here
and a tuck there from time to time. The last thing he wanted was for Mary
Martha's mother to turn him on. But he hadn't been with a woman in months,
and Miss Edith had been flirting with him lately. It didn't take a genius
to figure out that she was on the prowl. And the strong resemblance between
mother and daughter only added to Miss Edith's appeal.

    "The most he can hope for is
felony murder, and my guess is, if the grand jury hands down an indictment,
it could be for nothing more than manslaughter," Buddy said.
"If Lane was protecting Will, as some folks are speculating, and
she didn't mean to kill Kent, only stop him from tormenting the boy,
then-"

    "I'll take what I can
get," Edith said, her mouth curved into a snarl. "Lane deserves
to be punished and so does Johnny Mack."

    "And just how will convicting
Lane of Kent's murder punish Johnny Mack?"

    "Because Johnny Mack has sworn
to be her protector, her savior, her knight in shining armor." Edith
sauntered over to Buddy and laid her hand on his chest. "That means
he cares about her, perhaps more than anyone ever suspected. And when a
man like Johnny Mack cares… ah, my dear Buddy, that means we have a weapon
to use against him."

    "You aren't willing to accept
the fact that Kent brought his brutal death on himself, are you?"
Buddy captured Edith's hand as it strayed down his chest, her fingertips
edging beneath his belt buckle. "You need someone other than yourself
to blame for the way your children turned out, don't you? If you'd been
paying attention to what was going on in your own house, instead of
trying to out-fuck your whore-hopping husband-"

    "No one speaks to me that
way." Edith drew back her hand and prepared to strike, but Buddy manacled
her wrist and stopped her blow in midair.

    "How dare you! Release me
this instant!" Edith tried to jerk free, but Buddy increased the
pressure until she cried out. "Damn it, you're hurting me."

    Buddy yanked her forward until
her breasts pressed against his chest. Twisting her arms behind her, he
held her in place and lowered his head. His lips hovered over hers. She
stared at him, wild-eyed and breathless.

    "This is what you want, isn't
it, Miss Edith?" Buddy ground his erection against her mound.
"This is what you liked about Mr. John and Johnny Mack. And what you
can't get with James. You like it a little bit rough, don't you? You want a
man to dominate you."

    "You son of a bitch, let go of
me or I'll scratch your eyes out." As if to demonstrate her threat,
she bared her teeth and snarled.

    He brought his mouth down on hers
with forceful intent. Crushing. Bruising. Invading, when she tried to
protest verbally. The moment his tongue touched hers, she moaned and
suddenly ceased struggling. When she melted against him, he deepened the
kiss.

    Not here. Not now. What little
part of his mind that still worked cautioned him. He couldn't screw Miss
Edith in this house. Not with Mary Martha upstairs.

    Abruptly, Buddy ended the kiss and
gave Edith a gentle backward shove. She stood there glaring at him,
her breasts rising and falling with each labored breath.

    "You know where I live, if
you're interested in finishing what we started," he told her.

    "Don't you feel the least bit
disloyal to Mary Martha?" Edith asked. "After all, you profess
to love my daughter more than life itself."

    "I do love Mary Martha, but
you and I both know that she and I have no future together. I can never
take her in my arms and carry her to bed and make love to her the way I want
to do." Buddy swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping the
taste of Miss Edith from his lips.' 'I'm a man and I have needs. But don't
kid yourself into dunking I care about you. If I could have Mary Martha
instead, then-"

    "Shut up! Just shut up!"

    "What's wrong? Haven't you
ever been any man's first choice, Miss Edith, or have you always been an
also ran? Mr. John preferred any pretty woman in town over you, didn't he?
And James… well, just because you aren't warming his bed doesn't mean he's
doing without. And what about Johnny Mack? Do you honestly think you meant
anything to him?" When Edith gasped, Buddy chuckled. "Yeah,
Kent told me all about catching you two. Ever wonder how many other people
he told?"

    "Shut up! I could ruin you
and have you run out of town for treating me like this. But you know I
won't, because I need you. Because Mary Martha needs you."

    For the first time in all the years
he had been associated with the Graham family, Buddy felt a sense of power.
And he liked it. He liked it a lot. But he didn't dare push Miss Edith too
far. He knew just exactly what she was capable of doing.

    "If Wes has enough evidence
to take to a grand jury, then I could go ahead and arrest Lane, today,"
Buddy said. "Is that what you want?"

    "Trying to placate me?"

    "Trying to cooperate,"
he said. "We both want the same ending to this story, and that means
pinning Kent's death on Lane. So, I ask you again, do you want me to arrest
her today?"

    "No. Not today. Wait for the
indictment. Then I want her arrest to make the front page of the Herald."

    "You'll try and convict her in
her own newspaper. You are a devious bitch."

    "Yes, I am. And don't you ever
forget it."

    Lane rested on her antique Louis
XVI style bed. With her arms folded behind her, her fingers entwined and
her head braced against her open palms, she stared up at the ceiling. After
her divorce from Kent, she had returned home and immediately redecorated
her old bedroom. She had brought down some of her maternal grandmother's
antiques that her mother had stored in the attic during the late sixties.
More than anything, Lane had wanted her bedroom to be a sanctuary
from the world, a welcoming, feminine abode to which she could retreat.

    Glancing around the room, she smiled
as her gaze scanned the off-white walls, the poppy red drapes and matching
Roman shades that graced the three windows overlooking the back of the house.
Then her gaze lingered to appreciate the eighteenth century Italian
commode over which she had hung an assortment of photographs of Will,
from infancy to the present day. The summer cotton gown she had worn last
night lay across the back of the Italian fauteuil, which she'd had reupholstered
in a muted red-and-gold-striped silk brocade.

    She loved this room. She felt safe
here, in a space she had never shared with Kent. There were no bad memories
haunting these four walls.

    How had she reached such a low point?
How had Bill and Celeste Noble's spoiled little darling become the prime
suspect in a murder case? All her life, she had been a good girl, obeying
orders, following the rules. Pleasing her parents had been so important
to her. As her mother had pointed out to her quite often-she was all they
had, and because they gave her only the best, they expected nothing less
than the very best from her.

    Falling in love with Johnny Mack Cahill
had been a major faux pas, a secret act of defiance that her mother
had only suspected and her father had quietly ignored. Her parents had
never known the truth about Will's paternity, and now that they were gone,
she was glad that they had died not knowing. Her father would have understood
and even stood by her, but her mother would have disowned her.

    Closing her eyes, she sighed and
tried to relax. She had come upstairs to take a nap because she hadn't
had a good night's sleep since Kent's murder. She had intended talking
to Will when he came home, but he had phoned Lillie Mae to tell her that he
was going to a matinee movie with a couple of his school buddies and
he wouldn't be home until dinnertime. He was avoiding her as well as avoiding
the situation. But sooner or later Will would have to deal with the
fact that Johnny Mack was his father and the man wasn't going to go away just
because Will wanted him to.

    And you're going to have to deal
with the fact that Johnny Mack is back in town and you can't stop those old feelings
from resurfacing. You thought Kent had destroyed your ability to feel
any kind of sexual urges, that his cruelty forever vanquished your desires,
your sexual hungers. You thought you’d never again want a man, need a
man. But after all these years, you’ve discovered that what you thought
was dead was only traumatized and waiting to be healed.

    But Johnny Mack is no healer, she
reminded herself. He wasn't a destroyer the way Kent had been, but he
was a user. She didn't dare trust him. Not with her life. Not with Will's life.
Not yet. And most certainly not with her heart. Not ever.

    The insistent ring of the telephone
on her bedside table brought her abruptly back to the present moment.
She rolled over, reached out and grabbed the receiver.

    "Hello."

    "Lane?"

    "James, is that you?"

    "Yes."

    "You're talking so low, I can
barely hear you."

    ''Listen, Lane, as your lawyer…
and as your friend, I'm advising you that Wes Stevens is taking what evidence
he has against you to a grand jury, and my guess is that within a week, maybe
less, you'll be indicted for Kent's murder."

    "Oh, God!" She sucked in
several huge breaths of air. "I knew it was bound to happen, but I
had hoped…"

    "You're going to need a better
lawyer than I am," James said. "If I held the purse strings, I'd
offer to hire someone for you, but I doubt Edith-"

    "I appreciate the thought,"
Lane told him. "But you needn't worry about me."

    "But I do. I know you don't have
the cash-"

    "I have a friend who has offered
to hire one of the best criminal lawyers in the country for me."

    "If I were you, Lane, I'd take
him up on that offer."

    Johnny Mack pondered his options.
He could stay put at the Four Way or he could leave in the morning and move
to either a Holiday Inn or a Ramada Inn, the only two other choices in
Noble's Crossing, unless he wanted to stay at Miss Charlotte's Bed &
Breakfast. Or he could rent an apartment, maybe even a house. Although
he might have to make a few short business trips back to Houston from time
to time, he had no intention of leaving town until he had made every effort
to connect with his son. And he certainly wasn't going to desert Lane, as
long as the possibility that she would be indicted for Kent's murder
hung over her head.

    Restless, unaccustomed to having
this much idle time on his hands, Johnny Mack paced the floor. Maybe he
should take in a movie tonight, after he had dined alone at the restaurant
next door to the motel. Or he could hit one of the bars. He wondered if
the Boogie Barracks was still the hottest spot in town or if that old honky-tonk
had been closed down years ago. Years before he was legal drinking age,
he'd gone there with Wiley Peters. The proprietor had been an old war
buddy of Wiley's and hadn't worried much about checking his clienteles'
IDs.