Always Time To Die (22 page)

QUINTRELL RANCH
LATE THURSDAY NIGHT

WINIFRED IGNORED THE SLUGGISHNESS OF HER BODY AND MIND
,
STRENGTH LOST
to a drug, strength she couldn’t afford to lose.

Who was it?

Who drugged us?

Why?

The questions battered her mind as much as illness battered her body.

Everybody could have. Once the doctor brought me into the room, my back was to the bottle holding the farewell toast. Or it could have been put in the empty cups.

Anyone. Anyone at all.

With a sharp movement of her head, she tossed back the stimulant she’d mixed for herself as soon as she’d understood what had happened. While the false strength hummed through her blood, she put away the old questions and asked another one.

Who couldn’t have drugged us?

That was the person she would trust to mail the envelopes.

With steady rhythm and unsteady hands, she wheeled herself through the house’s wide hallways to the Senator’s office. She didn’t see the paintings and sculpture, the expensive knickknacks from another time; she thought only about the members of the household, the people who had access to her herbs and those who didn’t.

Nothing changed. It still could have been anyone. She would have to see to the copying and mailing herself.

She opened the door to the office and nudged her wheelchair through. Across the room, the old-fashioned clock ticked between photos of the Senator smiling into the camera, his eyes on the main chance and his hands ever ready to grab a female butt.

I should have killed him years ago.

But she hadn’t. She’d been afraid of his son, a fear that proved wise.

She wheeled over to the desk. Everything she needed was there, from copier to computer to supplies. Melissa kept the office as if the Senator was still alive, still able to dictate letters and watch them typed. Outgoing material—bills and checks and orders for supplies—lay bundled on the polished wood tray at the edge of the old desk, just as mail always had at the ranch.

Winifred turned on the copier and went to work, reproducing the old document she’d taken from a locked box hidden in her room. When she was finished copying, she shut off the machine and turned to the desk. The wheelchair made reaching everything awkward, but she had no choice.

The side drawer stuck, then finally gave with a creak when she kept tugging. Deliberately she counted out three envelopes crisp with the Quintrell ranch logo and began addressing them. Into each envelope she put a copy of the old document. She hesitated, then put the receipt for the DNA samples that she’d sent into the envelope destined for Carolina May. She also put the original document in that envelope, folding the brittle paper ruthlessly.

With deliberate motions that belied the frantic beating of Winifred’s heart, she sealed the envelopes and put stamps on each. Then she carefully mixed the three envelopes in with the ranch’s normal outgoing mail, bundled everything up again, and set it neatly on the tray. Whoever took them in to town tomorrow morning—the Snead boys or Alma or Lucia—wouldn’t notice the extra mail.

Winifred hesitated, but finally couldn’t resist. She wanted the Senator’s son to know. She wanted him to understand that she’d won. Grimly she dialed the governor’s cell number. The governor answered after four rings.

“What is it, Pete?” Josh asked. “More problems with the books?”

“It’s not Pete,” Winifred said. “But you have more problems than balancing the ranch books.”

“Winifred? Is something wrong?”

“No, something’s right.” She coughed but managed to get her breath. “Finally it will be right.”

“Look, it’s late. I have a speech to edit, a plane to catch in four hours, and I’m still sick from whatever—”

“Oh, it’s late all right,” she interrupted. “Late for you and the Senator’s plans. I fixed him, and you.” She wanted to laugh but was afraid it would dissolve into coughing.

At the other end of the line, Josh pinched the bridge of his nose, shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and wondered what in hell was going on. Had the old woman finally cracked?

Just what I need right now—a certifiably nutty aunt.

“Winifred,” he said curtly, “you’re not making sense. Put Melissa on the line and—”

“Sylvia’s great-grandmother, Isobel’s mother, was
una bruja
,” Winifred said, ignoring Josh’s attempt to talk. “She knew the Senator couldn’t be trusted with the land. She made him sign a document agreeing that—”

“Isobel? Isobel who?” Josh said impatiently. “What’s this all about?”

“Castillo,” Winifred hissed. “It’s about the marriage between Castillo and Quintrell.”

“That was a long time ago, long before the Senator was even born. How could anyone trust or not trust a man who wouldn’t be born for forty years?”

Winifred took a shallow, careful breath. She had to focus so that the governor would understand.

So that he would know she’d won.

“They signed a marriage agreement,” Winifred said. “Sylvia and the second Quintrell. One of the things they agreed was that only children with Sylvia Castillo’s blood in them could inherit the land.
Her
children, not his.”

“And your point would be?” Josh asked sarcastically. “Sylvia and the Senator had kids, and only one survived. That would be me. I inherited the ranch, and this whole conversation is nuts.”

“Can you prove it?” Winifred asked, her voice hoarse and triumphant. “Can you prove Sylvia Castillo Quintrell is your mother?”

“Of course I—”

“No you can’t,” Winifred said, her voice trembling with victory and rage and illness. “You’re no more a Castillo than I’m a Quintrell.”

“You’re crazy. Don’t make me prove it and lock you up. You don’t want to spend whatever time you have left wearing a hug-me jacket in a padded room. And that’s just what will happen if you keep flogging this nonsense.”

The governor hung up before Winifred could say another word.

You’re crazy. Don’t make me prove it and lock you up.

“You can threaten me and brush me off like a fly,” Winifred said to the dead phone, “but not Jeanette Dykstra.”

The thought made Winifred smile, then laugh, then cough until she was dizzy. Leaving the office was harder than entering had been. She was feeling age and sin and illness like a thousand cuts bleeding her strength away, even the raging strength of hatred. Death was coming to her in the body of a raven soaring on the wind. She didn’t know when it would come, but she was certain it was soon.

If the pneumonia didn’t kill her, the Senator’s son would.

TAOS
FRIDAY MORNING

CARLY AWOKE WITH THE FIRST LIGHT SLIPPING PAST THE CURTAINS INTO DAN
’
S BEDROOM
. She felt a moment of disorientation at the warm weight along her left side and over her waist. Then she remembered what had happened the night before.

Part of her still didn’t believe someone wanted her dead.

Most of her did.

None of her liked it.

“You awake, honey?” Dan asked very softly.

His breath stirred her hair.

“Yes,” she said.

“How do you feel?”

“Like myself. Mostly.”

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. He made a low sound as her rear fit against his crotch. “What’s not like you?”

“I’m scared,” she said.

He stilled. “Of me?”

She looked over her shoulder and deliberately moved her hips against his erection. “No.”

“Good. I’d let you go if I had to, but…” He let out a long breath. “I want you, Carly.”

“So that’s not a giant pickle in your pocket?” she asked wryly.

“I’m not wearing any pockets. No clothes, either.”

“Funny thing. Neither am I.”

“That was your idea,” he said.

“It was?”

“Yeah. You decided you had to have a bath. At three
A.M
. You spent the next thirty minutes in the shower. Used up all the hot water and still didn’t get out until you were shivering.” He nuzzled against her nape. “Then you started for your bed wearing only a wet towel.”

“Something must have happened on the way. This is your bed, not mine.”

“You were cold and headed barefoot for a room that probably still has pieces of glass on the floor somewhere. Couldn’t have that happen, could we?”

Carly smiled. She hadn’t wanted to sleep alone but hadn’t been up to being anyone’s sex kitten, not even Dan’s. He hadn’t pushed her. He’d just wrapped her up in a dry towel, put her in his bed, curled up around her to keep her warm…and she’d fallen asleep. Sometime during the night, she’d lost the towel.

“Once we were in bed,” Dan said, tasting her warm neck, “I didn’t want you to feel underdressed, so I took off my clothes.”

She murmured, savoring the feel of Dan’s body pressed against hers. She liked the faint roughness of his hair rubbing over her skin. She liked the smell of him.

She couldn’t wait to taste him.

The thought startled her. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sensual person. She liked men, enjoyed the physical differences between the sexes, and had never found a man she couldn’t do without. But Dan sparked a hot kind of curiosity in her. She wanted to know what it would be like to have sex with him, what
she
would be like in his arms, if the heat pooling in her body would finally find release.

“Now I remember,” she said lazily. “The hot water ran out and I was cold and then this electric blanket warmed me up.”

“Electric blanket? Have I just been insulted?”

“It was a really superior electric blanket.”

He nipped her shoulder.

“Hey, at that point I still was a cheeseburger short of a Happy Meal,” she pointed out. “I just assumed anything that warm had to plug into a wall socket.”

She felt as much as heard Dan’s laughter.

“So that’s why you wouldn’t kiss me,” he said. “You didn’t want a mouthful of flannel and wires.”

“No, I just tasted too bad to share. Even those industrial-strength mints you bought for me weren’t enough to get rid of the taste in my mouth.” She grimaced. “I vaguely remember stuffing a mint under my tongue just before I fell asleep. Which explains it.”

“Okay, you lost me. Which explains what?”

She licked her lips and swallowed. Everything was in working order, including her salivary glands. “I don’t usually wake up tasting like a peppermint factory.”

“Really?” He tipped her chin up and kissed her slowly, sampling the flavor. “Spearmint, actually. My favorite.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her again, loving the feel of tongue against tongue and his woody snug against her naked hips. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

“Not peppermint?” She watched him, her smoky golden eyes alive with teasing and something more, something hot.

“Maybe I should taste again,” he said.

Carly turned to face him fully. “Maybe you should.”

He caught his breath at the feel of her breasts moving against him, her nipples hard and hungry.

“You sure?” he asked, repeating her question.

“Very sure. But I’m not taking anything, so we’ll have to be creative until we get to a drugstore.”

“Creative.” His smile was like his kiss, slow and hot. “We’ll try that, too, but I bought condoms after the first time I saw you.”

She blinked. “I must have looked real easy.”

“You were fire and I was cold all the way to my core. I needed you so much I couldn’t breathe. I still do.”

The look in his eyes and the catch in his voice sent heat through her in a liquid wave, preparing her body. She’d never been wanted the way Dan wanted her. Blindly she reached out to him, understanding in that moment that she needed him in the same way, no questions, no hesitation, just a certainty that burned through a lifetime of doubts.

“I want you so much I don’t know what to do first,” she admitted raggedly.

His eyelids lowered in a sensual reflex that was as uncontrollable as the increased heart rate sending blood beating through his veins.

“Come here,” he said, rolling over on his back, taking her with him. “This way I know I won’t rush you.”

She gave a shaky laugh as she fought off bedding to straddle him. “You aren’t rushing me, you’re driving me crazy.”

He groaned at the sleek feel of her sliding over him. “You’re making it hard for me to slow down.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“I want it to be good for you.” His hands cupped her breasts and his thumbs rubbed over the tips. “I want it to be the best you ever had.”

He caught her hard nipples in his fingers and squeezed with sensual precision.

Twin spears of pleasure shot through her, going from her breasts to her thighs, making her breath and her body come apart. She felt liquid heat bathing her, spilling over to him. Suddenly his fingers were opening her, tracing over her hot folds, moving inside her, sending pleasure spiraling until she couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could only need and need and
need.

And then it stopped.

“No!” she said.

“Easy, darling, let me get this damn thing on.”

Her eyes opened, dazed and hungry. She saw him toss away a foil wrapper and sheathe himself with an impatient motion of his hand. Her breath filled her throat. She’d forgotten what a big man he was.

Way too big.

“Too late to be scared now,” he said, teasing her with his fingers, positioning himself at her entrance. “You’re wet enough to take me. Slide down, Carolina May. Trust your body. Trust us.”

It was impossible not to, for her body was once again on fire, rings of pleasure radiating up, shaking her. He felt the lush heat of her response, felt her widen her thighs to take him, felt the hot satin inside her pressing around him, and gritted his teeth against coming right there. He wanted to be all the way in before he came, as deep as possible. He wanted to feel her orgasm squeeze him from tip to base. He wanted it all with her, everything he’d ever imagined, every way, every—

The wild shuddering of her release tore away his breath and his control. He held her deep and hard, pumping into her until there was nothing left but a kind of dazed satisfaction that turned his body to sand. The way she lay slumped against him told him that she felt the same way.

“Carly?”

“Wow.”

“Whew,” he said, smiling.

“No, wow.”

“You’re wowing. I’m whewing with relief.”

Her laughter was a ripple of her body around his. She lifted her head, swiped hair out of her eyes, and kissed him almost shyly. Red stained her cheeks.

“What?” he asked, touching her face.

“
Cosmo
articles don’t cover this moment.”

Dark eyebrows rose. “Really? There’s something about sex that hasn’t been headlined in a woman’s magazine?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

She shook her head and glanced down, sending her hair flying again.

“C’mon.” He lifted her chin gently. “I’m dying here.”

“How do you say thanks for the best sex of your life?” she mumbled, looking at his mouth rather than his eyes.

His smile made her warm all over again.

“That’s easy,” he said against her lips. “Thanks for the best sex of my life.”

“Not you, me.”

“Both of us.”

She banged her forehead lightly against his chest. “One of us isn’t making sense.”

“Do that some more, honey. I like the way it feels.”

“I could tell. Do you have another condom or is it time to be creative?”

“Hell of an idea,” he said, pulling her mouth down to his.

The phone rang.

He ignored it.

It kept ringing.

Blindly he felt at the bedside for the receiver, picked it up. “What,” he snarled.

“Just wanted to make sure you got home okay,” Gus said. “Two of the guests at the memorial service ended up in Urgent Care. Something in the food apparently. It was touch-and-go for Winifred just because she was already weak, but she’s stable now. The governor was dog sick, but he recovered and is on his way back to the campaign trail.”

Carly could hear Gus’s voice. She separated from Dan and lay along his side. He tilted the phone so she could hear both ends of the conversation.

“Anyone else?” Dan asked.

“Alma and Melissa both were sick. Alma was the worst, really woozy, but Winifred gave her something before she started getting nauseated herself.”

“What about the minister?”

“He was a little queasy but didn’t hurl. Same for Pete. Lucia said she threw up once and that was it. No one else on the ranch was sick, even the Sandoval women who prepared the food and drink. Same for the Snead brothers, who were snitching samples.”

Shivering, Carly drew blankets up over herself and Dan. He pulled her back into place along his side, tucking her head against his neck.

“Carly and I were sick, but we’re fine now,” Dan said. “Are they testing the drink we toasted Sylvia with?”

“Nothing was left of it.”

“Not even a drop?”

“The container is gone. So are the cups. One of the maids saw Winifred smashing everything and throwing it in the fireplace to burn. She said it was part of the ritual. But that’s not for the general public,” Gus cautioned.

Dan looked at Carly. She nodded; she wasn’t going to spread the news around.

“What did Sheriff Montoya say?” Dan asked.

“For the record?”

“Fuck the record.”

“Right,” Gus said without a pause. “Montoya said that the old curandera must have screwed up her potion, added something that was an emetic, and made folks sick.”

“That’s how he’s treating it? Accidental poisoning?”

“Poison was never mentioned. Bad food, according to the report. Maybe even flu.”

“Off the record,” Dan said.

Carly looked at the grim line of Dan’s mouth as he waited for Gus to speak.

“Agreed,” Gus said unhappily.

“I don’t know what hit the others, but Carly and I were fed a hefty dose of opiate.”

Gus whistled softly. “You okay?”

“I had enough body mass to dilute the dose. Carly didn’t. If she’d been alone, she would have nodded off and frozen to death. Somebody was expecting her to be alone.”

She felt the tension that didn’t show in Dan’s voice. Coolness slid over her skin. She didn’t like remembering how close she had come to waking up dead.

“What?” Gus said. “How can you be sure? Wait. Forget I said that. You’re like Mom, always knowing things. Shit, brother.
Shit.
Why would anyone want to hurt Ms. May?”

“Somebody doesn’t want the Senator’s family history researched and put into print. Things have happened to her since she arrived. Threats and vandalism.”

“Are you talking about Governor Quintrell being the one behind it?” Gus asked cautiously.

Carly was curious about that herself.

“He’s number one on my list,” Dan said. “But there has to be someone else working with him.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t have a chance to slip anything into whatever Winifred prepared,” Dan said.

“You’re sure? From what the doctor said, it was a near thing for Winifred. If she’s dead, the history won’t get done.”

“The governor never came near the stuff except to drink some. In any case, Carly has made it real clear that she’s going to finish the history, no matter what.”

She nodded vigorously.

“She can’t finish it if she’s dead,” Gus pointed out.

Dan made a rough sound.

“What can I do?” Gus asked.

“Find out everyone who was born in this county three years on either side of Sylvia’s stroke.” Then, remembering his work with the photos, Dan added, “Stillbirths and miscarriages, too.”

Gus didn’t say anything.

Dan looked at Carly and saw the same question in her eyes that must have been eating at Gus.

“Mind telling me why?” Gus asked finally.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Then how—”

“Call it a hunch, okay?” Dan interrupted.

“A hunch. Hell, bro. You and that silver forelock are going to make me crazy. You sure you’re all right?”

Dan brushed a kiss over Carly’s lips. “Never better.”

“Then tell Mom. She knows where you were. Everyone knows there was something wrong with the food. She’ll be worried and she’s too stubborn to call you and ask. I’ll let you know when I have the names.”

“Thanks. And, Gus?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing for me.
Anyone.
”

“You’re saying you don’t trust anyone, including family?”

Dan waited.

“Okay,” Gus said. “Call me Zipped Lips.”

The phone went dead.

“Why the births?” Carly asked when Dan hung up.

“Something sent Sylvia over the edge. Given the Senator’s track record, I’m thinking it was one of his women. Question is why? And who? When we know that, maybe we’ll know who wants you seriously inconvenienced, as in dead.”