Always Time To Die (14 page)

QUINTRELL RANCH
TUESDAY EVENING

MELISSA OPENED THE FRONT DOOR
. “
HELLO,
DAN
,
CARLY
.”
THOUGH SHE HADN
’
T
expected either one, she smiled and stepped back to clear the doorway. “Come in. How’s your mother, Dan? Lucia keeps talking about the miracle she’s working with her tutoring.”

“Mom is like you, always busy, always beautiful.”

Melissa’s smile broadened. “You be sure to give her a hug from me when you see her. And that handsome father of yours, too.”

“I’ll do that.”

The housekeeper turned to Carly. “Winifred said something about your car needing work and you would be staying in town…?”

“How did she know?” Carly asked before she could think better of it.

Melissa tried not to laugh. “Blaine was in town running errands for the ranch. He heard about your car getting trashed from the mechanic who heard about it from the tow truck driver. Living in a small town takes getting used to.” Then she shook her head and said irritably, “It’s that snowboarding riffraff. They take designer drugs and then they do whatever they want and think the townsfolk shouldn’t get upset because they’re spending so much money here. I’ll bet the sheriff said as much, didn’t he?”

It took Carly a moment to sort out the syntax and realize that Melissa was giving out the standard full-time resident’s complaint about the high-living tourists who brought money and irritation to the town in equal measure.

“The sheriff didn’t mention anything about snowboarding,” Carly said.

“Well, I hope your insurance covers the damage. Cars are so expensive, and we can’t do without them, no matter how little we earn.” She shook her head. “I hope you won’t have to delay your work with Winifred over this. She’s not getting any younger.”

“Dan offered himself as a taxi service while my car is being fixed,” Carly said. “I’m just here to pick up my stuff.”

“But what about the history project?”

“This won’t put me behind at all,” Carly assured the housekeeper. “I’ll stay in town so Dan won’t have to make the drive out here several times a day. Instead of interviews, which Winifred shouldn’t be giving until her cough gets better, I’ll concentrate on newspaper archives and scanning in the photos and documents she has already provided.”

“Documents?” Melissa frowned. “Winifred didn’t mention anything like that to me. What kind of documents? Some papers are certainly too important to be removed from the house without Governor Quintrell’s permission.”

And both women knew that permission wouldn’t happen.

“I’m talking about simple family documents,” Carly said. “Marriage and birth and death certificates, diplomas, old letters, memorabilia such as wedding invitations and special-occasion greeting cards, report cards, a child’s first drawing, whatever the family thought important enough to add to the ‘box in the attic.’ Or boxes, in Winifred’s case. Sylvia apparently was quite the collector before her stroke.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s okay.” But Melissa was still frowning. “I should probably make a record of whatever you take with you.”

“Let’s ask Winifred,” Dan said, easing Carly past the housekeeper. “They’re her documents, after all. Please tell her that we’re on the way to see her.”

Melissa stood for a moment, undecided. Then she went to the intercom that connected Sylvia’s suite to the rest of the house.

Dan didn’t wait for Melissa’s permission. He simply led Carly through the hallway that ended in Sylvia’s suite.

“Melissa wasn’t real thrilled, was she?” Carly said.

“From what I hear, Governor Quintrell isn’t as easy a man to work for as the Senator was. Melissa is probably reporting daily to her new boss. Everyone will be nervous until they’re sure their jobs are secure.”

“And housekeepers tend to think they run everything—or should.”

“In Melissa’s case, it’s pretty close to the truth,” Dan said. “She got the job from her mother. I think one of her grandmothers worked for the Senator, too. But then, so have most of the old families in the valley, one way or another.”

As Dan and Carly approached the closed entrance to Sylvia’s suite, both of them started shedding everything they could and still be reasonably decent. Dan stopped at the black T-shirt he wore beneath his wool shirt and jacket. Carly wasn’t that lucky. She’d come back to pick up her equipment and some clothes. She really hadn’t expected to see Winifred tonight, so she was wearing a knitted silk body shirt under a heavy pullover sweater, plus coat. She thought about leaving the sweater on, but knew she wasn’t going to. She’d been through enough for one day.

From the corner of his eye, Dan watched her struggle out of the heavy forest-green sweater. When she finally managed to yank it over her head, he forgot to breathe. Something that was thin, midnight blue, and fit like skin itself covered her from shoulders to wrists, and neck to waistline and beyond.

He’d wondered about her breasts and if she wore a bra. He didn’t wonder anymore. Her breasts were just right for a man’s hands and there wasn’t a bra in sight. If there had been, the dark blue material was so tight he’d have been able to tell if the bra fastened in front or in back.

He wondered if the top was stretchy enough to be pulled up over her hips or if it had snaps at the crotch.

“Something wrong?” Carly asked, watching him watch her. “Technically this isn’t underwear, if that’s what is bothering you. It’s workout gear.”

“Workout.” He smiled slowly.

“Yes.” She looked sideways at him. “And it’s no tighter than your T-shirt.”

“Um,” was all he said.

His pants weren’t going to fit right if he kept looking at her nipples pushing against the sleek fabric. He raised his hand and knocked on the door when what he really wanted to do was find out how Carly’s body shirt stayed in place.

Instead of calling out, Winifred opened the door herself. “You all right?” she asked Carly gruffly. “Melissa told me about your car.”

“Other than being angry, I’m fine.”

Winifred looked at Dan as if for confirmation.

“She’s a lot tougher than she looks,” he said.

“She better be. The Senator’s son is a hard one.” Winifred gestured curtly. “Get on in here. Can’t have Sylvia’s room getting cold. Glad you brought your man with you,” she added to Carly. “I have a lot of stuff for you to take out of here.”

Before Carly could object that Dan wasn’t hers, she saw the cartons, bags, and boxes stacked against the wall.

“Photos,” Winifred said, following her glance. “Documents, all the stuff you said you wanted. Even my mother’s wedding dress.”

“I didn’t mean that I had to take everything with me right now,” Carly said. “I can just take a box or two at a time and—”

“Here’s a list of local women who might have been the Senator’s lovers,” Winifred interrupted curtly. “As for the boxes, take all you can and then come back for the rest. The stuff is no good to me unless it gets into the book you’re going to write. There aren’t any more Castillos in my line to give it to.”

“What about the governor?” Carly asked.

“He’s a Quintrell.”

Carly looked at Dan.

He was watching the old woman intently, adding up facts and hunches, and not liking the bottom line. A distinct chill blew across his nape.

Danger.

He’d felt the same way when he walked out of a hotel in Colombia—and right into an ambush. He’d survived, but only because he’d worn body armor and carried a Desert Eagle. He was firing before the attackers figured out to aim for his legs. The 10 mm Eagle was like carrying a sawed-off elephant gun in his pocket—great stopping power if you were a good shot.

He’d been good enough to survive. Not good enough to take out the men before the children screamed and fell.

“If you need help,” Dan said, “you call me or Dad. Anytime, day or night, Miss Winifred. Anytime at all.”

Winifred waved off the suggestion with a motion that shifted the heavy Indian bracelet she always wore at her wrist. “You just keep the rats off Carly’s pillow and I’ll do fine.”

“How did you find out about the rat?” Carly asked, startled.

“Alma’s sister-in-law works for the sheriff,” Winifred said. “She about hurt herself laughing over the rat.”

“What a sweetheart,” Carly muttered.

If Winifred heard, she didn’t show it. She just went to the corner adobe hearth and added two more chunks of piñon to the already fierce fire. “With the Senator dead, things are going to change. His son isn’t a patient man. I want my history book in one month, not three. You get it done, and get it done right, and I’ll give you twice as much as we agreed on.”

Carly looked into the old woman’s blazing black eyes and wondered again just how sane Miss Winifred was. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“If you need to hire some work done, I’ll pay for it,” Winifred said.

Dan put his hand on Carly’s arm. “I’m lazing around doing nothing. I’ll help her just to keep from getting bored.”

“Then start hauling boxes,” Winifred said.

“Melissa was worried that some of the documents you have might be so valuable that Governor Quintrell would have to approve their removal,” Carly said.

“Sometimes Melissa is as full of crap as a Christmas goose.”

Carly blinked. “So I guess it’s not a problem.”

“Not for me,” Winifred said. “What’s mine is mine and to hell with the Senator’s son.”

“Okay, then I guess I should pack the things I’ll need in the next few days,” Carly said.

Reluctantly she started to leave. She really hoped that there wouldn’t be any more gory surprises on her pillow, but she was afraid there would be.

“I’ll come with you,” Dan said. “Wait while I load this stuff into the truck.”

“You don’t have to go with me.”

“Yes I do.”

Carly smiled, hoping she didn’t look as relieved as she felt. She wasn’t a helpless little flower, but the sly violence of the dead rat, the paint-drenched car, and the threatening phone call made her feel angry and sick and more frightened than she wanted to admit. She’d much rather deal with Alma’s brand of in-your-face bitchiness.

Dan made quick work of the cartons, boxes, bags, and ancient leather suitcase Winifred had gathered. Carly picked up the shirt, sweater, and jackets that she and Dan had shed.

“I’ll call you as soon as the car is fixed,” she said to Winifred.

“You do that. And put that man of yours to work. He has the best mind of the lot.”

Carly didn’t ask which “lot” Winifred meant. She just let herself out of the overheated room with a sigh of relief and went to catch up with Dan. Together they pulled on warm clothes, got in the truck, and drove it around to the guesthouse.

“Thanks for doing this,” Carly said when Dan parked close to her room. “I know I shouldn’t let that dead rat bother me, but…” She sighed. “It does.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not used to ugly little games.”

“Can people get used to this?”

“Oh, yeah.”
And a lot worse.

But talking about it wouldn’t make her feel better, so he shut up and climbed out of the truck. Together they walked quickly through the cold night to the old house. The wide front door stuck as it always did, the gallery was chilly and dark, and there was a light burning in Carly’s room.

“Did you—”

“No,” she cut in, her voice low.

“Same shit, different day,” he muttered.

“The door is wide open this time, does that count?”

He pushed her down next to the antique sideboard. “Stay here.”

“Déjà vu all over again,” she grumbled, but she didn’t get up and follow him.

Dan walked quietly toward the open door. There wasn’t any noise from the room. He crouched and took a swift look inside.

The bed was neatly turned down.

Not a dead rat in sight.

No living ones either.

Just to be sure, Dan went through the room and then the small bathroom next door, which served the other guest rooms as well. Clean towels neatly folded. Clean glass in the holder.

He went back to the hall. “It’s okay.”

Despite the assurance, Carly hesitated just an instant before she looked at her neat room. “Well, somebody lit a fire under somebody’s butt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Turn-down service on the sheets. My pajamas neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Everything but a piece of chocolate on the pillow.”

“The towels in the bathroom looked fresh. Place smelled like disinfectant, too.”

Carly lifted her eyebrows. “Gee, and I have to leave all this belated luxury.”

“Life’s a bitch.” Dan went to the tall cupboard that served as a closet. “Where’s your suitcase?”

“Under the bed, along with my other stuff.”

He bent and pulled out a suitcase and several other pieces of luggage, including some specialized aluminum cases of the kind made for carrying cameras or guns. Given what he knew about Carly, Dan was betting on cameras.

“Dan?”

The quality of her voice brought him to his feet in a single motion. She was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at some boxes that had been pushed into a corner of the small room.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Carly went to the boxes and looked again. No mistake. The boxes had all been closed wrong.

“I left them lined up along the bed,” she said. “Now, even if a really helpful maid put them along the wall out of my way, what was the maid doing pawing through the contents?”

“How can you tell?”

“I get a lot of boxes of stuff in my line of work,” Carly said. “The first thing I learned was to mark the boxes so that I know what’s inside without having to look. With cardboard cartons I mark one flap on the top and two sides. I close the box so that the inventory flap is on top.”

He looked at the top box. The overlapping flaps were bare of any writing.

“Wonder what’s missing. Or added,” Carly said bitterly.

He caught her hand before she could touch the box. “Let me do it.”

But instead of opening the box, he pulled off his jacket, crouched on his heels, and studied the two-foot-square carton.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.