The Gift (13 page)

Beth clicked her way out of the webcam, purged her cache and cleared her history, then put her laptop to sleep. “Sheesh. I’m jealous of a damn horse.”

She gathered her gear and headed down to the kitchen, hoping to find Pearl before she went out front to crawl under her car again. She wanted to spend some casual time with the woman, see if she might glean a few tips about how best to approach Bill and Ruby Brubaker. She needed to talk to Gary Harlan, too, and another visit to Rick Heppel’s was probably on the agenda.

It wasn’t as if Beth didn’t have enough to keep herself busy. Maybe that would help keep her mind off Ty Malone’s kisses.

In the kitchen, she discovered some hot coffee still in the pot, but no other sign of human life. Everybody had gone about their daily business. She found a mug and helped herself to the bottom of the pot. After two big swigs, the caffeine started to work its magic. She felt almost alive.

She drained the cup and left it on the counter, then headed out through the mudroom and into the overly bright morning. The sun was working overtime today. She shaded her eyes and then headed around toward the driveway.

At the front corner of the house, she stopped to
stare at a tow truck backing up to her car. “What the hell…?”

Running the last several yards to where Ty stood, she grabbed his sleeve. “What’s going on here?” she demanded.

He blinked. “Friend of mine has a garage in Marysville.” Ty aimed his thumb that direction. “Don’t have to cross the bridge to get there.”

“Hey, that’s
my
car. I’ll decide if it gets towed or not.”

The man driving the truck hopped out to attach the winch. “I’ll need the key to this heap.”

“That heap belongs to me.” She pushed past Ty and approached the bearded man. “Did you happen to look under the car to check the brake line?”

“No, ma’am. Ty said it was leakin’ fluid. That’s all I know.”

Beth had to know if the line had been cut or not. Was Ty trying to get rid of the evidence, since he knew she’d seen someone messing around her car last night? Or was he honestly just trying to be helpful?

Shit.

“Do me a favor and have a look at my brake line first. Will you?” She sighed when Ty rolled his eyes. He sure didn’t act guilty of anything.

“Sure, lady. Whatever you say.”

“Thanks, Mitch,” Ty said, inclining his head as if giving the man permission to obey the crazy lady’s silly request.

Mitch dropped to the ground and inched under Beth’s car, let out a low whistle a second later. He slid back out and scrambled to his feet while wiping his hands on a grease rag.

“Lady, a brake line don’t wear out that neat and straight.” He shook his head.

“Meaning what, Mitch?” Ty asked.

Mitch shoved his greasy rag into his pocket. “Looks like they were both cut, Ty.”

Ty watched Beth retrieve her backpack from her trunk, then remove a pair of sunglasses from the driver’s side visor. She hadn’t spoken since Mitch’s revelation about the cut brake line. Last night, she’d asked Ty if he’d been “messing around” with her car.

And now she was clearly fuming about it, but keeping it to herself. He hated that. Why couldn’t she just let it fly instead of stewing?

One of the ways he’d been able to tell when Lorilee had been drinking was by the way she controlled her temper. As a rule, she’d tended to get angry and get it over with, unless she’d been in the rum bottle. Then, she’d sulked.

Which type was Beth Dearborn? Right now, he figured her for the suspicious type. Of course, considering her line of work, that probably came in handy.

He really didn’t know much about her at all, except that she came from Chicago, used to be a cop, and worked for an insurance company. Oh, and she was single. He released a long sigh as she slammed the car door and swung the leather backpack over her shoulder.

“Give us a call when you have some idea how long
it’ll take, Mitch.” Ty pulled out his wallet and handed the man a twenty. “A little extra for crawling under the car.”

“And humoring the crazy lady?” Beth asked, her tone unreadable, her hazel eyes glinting with suspicion.

“Heh.” Mitch rolled his eyes in Ty’s direction and muttered his thanks, then headed for the cab of his truck. “I’ll give you a call after we get it on the lift and find out what parts cost from the nearest Honda museum.”

“Very funny. A real comedian.” Beth kicked at the loose gravel as they both stood and watched the truck drive away with her little car secured on its flatbed. “Well, isn’t this just dandy? My luggage is in Brubaker, my car’s going to Marysville, and I’m stuck here.”

“There are other vehicles here you can borrow,” Ty reminded her. “Besides, you said most of your research starts here in Lorilee’s files.”

She drew a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at the house. “So I did.” Then she shaded her eyes and leveled her gaze on him. “So, Ty, who cut my brake line? And why?”

“That’s a damn good question.” He hooked a thumb through his belt loop. “What do you think?”

“First rule? Opportunity. You had that by being out here last night, and here you were trying to get rid of the evidence this morning.”

He threw his head back and laughed out loud. The woman was either crazy or the most brazen one he’d ever met. After a moment, he realized he was laughing alone. “Okay, so I had the opportunity, but I don’t have a motive.” He leaned close to her face. “I
asked
you to come here. Remember? I
want
you to investigate Lorilee’s disappearance.”

“And whoever cut my brake line doesn’t.” She didn’t even blink.

“You’re good.” He shook his head slowly. “Yeah, I’d say that sums it up. Somebody doesn’t want—”

“Me here.” She shifted the pack to her other shoulder. “Which means somebody has something to hide.”

“Interesting.” He rubbed his chin, the raspy sound of his thumb against his whiskers sounding in his head. He hadn’t shaved this morning, because he’d been in a hurry to check on Cissy. “I wonder what.”

“You don’t know?”

Something snapped in Ty. He grabbed her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “I did not cut your damn brake line. I’m one of the good guys. We’re on the same side. Remember? I think those were your words.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Will you stop suspecting everybody and learn to trust once in a while?”

Her eyes widened and she blinked repeatedly. Her expression went from shock to shuttered in record time. He’d obviously struck a nerve. Trust. Beth Dearborn had trust issues. She was like a skittish wild mustang, full of courage and spirit but frightened at the same time.

“Well, you’re right,” she said finally. “I’m sorry I suspected you.”

He wasn’t sure she really meant that, but he’d accept it for now. “Good. So we’re going to work together to find out what happened to Lorilee. Right?”

“That’s the plan,” she said, then took a deep breath that drew his gaze down to her breasts.

“If you keep walking around here without a bra, I can’t be held responsible for my actions, ma’am.”

Her face flared crimson so fast he thought, at first, he might have been mistaken. “My God—you’re blushing.” He tried not to laugh, but couldn’t prevent the low chuckle. “I’ll be damned. I made Beth Dearborn blush.”

“You did not. It’s…just the sun.” She folded her arms and stuck her chin out. “I don’t blush.”

“Sure.” He winked. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re actually enjoying this.” She shoved her hand through that wild mass of hair, but the wind had it flying in her face again in no time.

“What are you hiding from, Beth?” he asked, his tone serious now. “Sometimes I think you use all that hair to hide from the world, to hide your eyes.”

He tilted his head at an angle when she stood frozen with her hand holding her hair away from her face. Their gazes locked, and he suddenly knew he was right. She was definitely hiding, but from what?

“Well, I’d better get to work,” she said, breaking the spell. “I’m going to start in Lorilee’s studio, if that’s all right.”

“You have run of the place.” He reached out to slip his finger through one of her curls. “But be careful. I don’t like knowing someone cut your brakes. What if you hadn’t known and had driven out of here?”

She looked at his hand instead of at his face, but at least she didn’t shy away now. Maybe she would learn to trust him. “Whoever got to my brakes wasn’t just sabotaging my car, Ty.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze now. “They were trying to kill me, or at least hurt me enough to slow me way down.”

He swallowed hard. His stomach tied into a knot of dread. “Shit.”

“I’m a big girl, and I know how to take care of myself.”

“I found that out last night when you threw me to the ground and planted your knee in my spine.”

She smiled. Really smiled. Her entire face was transformed, and her eyes sparkled. The woman sure was beautiful when she smiled like that. He found himself wishing she’d do it more often, and that he could be the cause.

She pointed at him with her index finger. “Don’t you be forgetting that lesson, cowboy.”

With that, she spun around and walked back to the house, swinging her hips with her signature long stride. “I am
not
a cowboy,” he muttered.

“Did I say you was?” Cecil asked from right beside him.

“How long have you been standing there?” Ty narrowed his eyes and turned to face his old friend.

“Not nearly long enough, I reckon.” Laughter sparkled in Cecil’s dark eyes. “But that don’t matter now, son. Your mare is ready. Doc Barnes is on her way.”

“Hot damn.” Both men ran toward the barn.

Beth slipped in through the back door, hoping to find the kitchen empty. Of course, earlier, when she’d been hoping to find Pearl there, she hadn’t been. Now the woman was busy peeling carrots at the sink.

The short, plump woman looked over her shoulder to identify the intruder. “Mornin’, Ms. Dearborn.”

“Beth. Remember?” She wanted to befriend this woman who’d known Lorilee her entire life, and Ty much of his. Plus, instinct told her Pearl Montgomery was a woman worth getting to know. She was one of the good people in this world, and her husband probably was, too. “Pretty outside today.”

“That it is.” Pearl studied Beth a few moments. “Did you find yourself any breakfast? I’d be happy to—”

“No, don’t go to any trouble. I overslept, so I’ll just have lunch when it’s time.” Beth smiled. “I wanted to thank you for helping me the other night after I fell and hit my head.”

“You’re welcome.” Pearl paused in her peeling and stared out the window. “Don’t know what got into Sarah, calling you that way. She knows better.”

“It really wasn’t her fault, and—as you pointed out—it’s better that I’m stranded here than on the other side of the bridge.”

“True enough.” She started scraping carrots again. “Making stew for dinner. Beef and barley.”

Beth wasn’t much of a cook, and her mother had generally opened or heated dinner, or they’d ordered pizza. “I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

“If you like it, I’ll give you the recipe.” Pearl wiped her hands on her apron and dropped the peeled carrots onto a cutting board, where she diced them into chunks. “Was old Mrs. Brubaker’s recipe.”

“Lorilee’s mother?”

“Her granny.” Pearl smiled, one gold tooth flashing amid many white ones. “That old woman lived to be a hundred and one, and ran the kitchen until the day she died.”

“Sounds like an interesting person.”

Pearl gave a wheezing chuckle. “That’s one word for it.”

She went to the stove and stirred a massive kettle of sizzling meat. “You want to brown the beef before you start adding vegetables.” She dumped a bowl of diced onions and another of minced garlic into the pot. Then she rinsed and cleaned two green bell peppers and tossed them in as well.

“You want to hand me that pot of thyme from the window there, Beth?”

Beth rose and stared at the row of small herb pots lined up along the kitchen windowsill. “Um…which one is thyme?”

Laughing again, Pearl picked up a pot and held it up to Beth. “Take a whiff.”

“Nice.”

“That’s thyme.” Pearl pinched some off with her fingers and sprinkled it into the sizzling pot. She picked up a different herb. “This un’s rosemary.” She let Beth smell it as well before she repeated the entire process.

The kitchen filled with wonderful aromas as Pearl kept adding and stirring items into the pot. Beth’s stomach rumbled hungrily, making the older woman chuckle again.

“Lorilee was always skippin’ breakfast, too.” She smiled sadly. “There’s sandwich fixin’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll do that.” Beth pulled bread and cheese out of the refrigerator. “Can I make you one, Pearl?”

“No, I ate breakfast with the kids and Cecil, so I’m good for a bit yet.” Pearl pointed at the food.
“You go ahead. Plates are over there.” She aimed a thumb across the room. “And there’s iced tea in that pitcher.”

Sweet tea. Blech.
“I’m more of a water person, actually.”

“Suit yourself.”

Beth smiled to herself as she constructed the sandwich and poured herself a glass of water, then took a seat at the table. “So the kids have school today?”

“Yes, and Mark is still fit to be tied that the schoolhouse isn’t on the other side of that durned bridge.” She laughed again. “The girls, now, they both like school pretty much.”

“That’s good.” Beth had hated school, mostly because she’d had no friends. She was too weird growing up, trying to come to terms with her gift and learn to control it. Since her gift had come from her father’s side of the family, and he’d died when she was an infant, the only people she’d ever had to share her secrets with were Sam and his father, who was also gone now. Their mothers had always tried to stay out of it. Though they knew about the family gift from their husbands, they didn’t understand it well enough to help their children. So she and Sam had been more like siblings than cousins.

Beth took a bite of the sandwich and reached for a flier on the table. Some kind of cancer fund-raiser. Sam’s mom had died from breast cancer. What a horrible waste.

“Some hairdressers have donated their time and are coming to the school for this,” Pearl explained, when she saw what Beth was reading. “I think they need at least nine inches of hair to make a wig for chemo patients, or something like that.”

Beth took another bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. She probably had enough hair to make three wigs and still have some left over for herself. A smile spread across her face. Ty thought she was hiding behind “all that hair.” Well, maybe she had been, but no more. Someone else needed it more than she did.

Besides, for some crazy reason, she needed to prove to herself she wasn’t hiding from anyone or anything. At least no one living.

“So when is this fund-raiser, Pearl?” she asked. “I feel the need for a change.”

“That’s the spirit. It’s this afternoon.” Pearl put the lid on the stew. “We’ll both go. I’ll get a trim, and you can donate hair for wigs. Won’t they be surprised when they see you?”

“I’ll bet they won’t be the only ones.” Beth finished her sandwich. “Don’t tell anyone. We’ll surprise everybody.”

Pearl laughed again. “We sure will. They won’t have a big turnout today, because folks from Brubaker won’t be able to get to the school, so they’ll need all us country folks to make it worthwhile.”

Imagine that—Beth Dearborn as “country folk.” She smiled again and finished the water. “Maybe on the way, you can tell me more about Lorilee and her parents.”

Pearl looked over her shoulder and nodded. “Sure, I don’t see why not. If you think it might help.”

“You never know what might help. Thanks. I’ll just get my things.”

“And I’ll dump all this into the slow cooker, get my car, and meet you in the drive.”

On her way up the back staircase, Beth promised
herself she’d visit Lorilee’s attic studio as soon as they returned. This would give her another chance to observe the locals. Maybe she’d run into Bill and Ruby Brubaker again, or the very strange Gary Harlan.

Maybe she’d get some inkling of who might want to see her dead.

In her room, she dropped the antiquated Rolodex into her backpack alongside her Glock and put her cell phone in the outside pocket. She paused in front of the dressing mirror to stare at her wild mane of hair.

“Hiding, huh?” She held it away from her face with both hands. “Probably.”

With a sigh, she swung her backpack onto her shoulder and headed for the door. “Definitely time for a change.”

Ty was as nervous as an expectant father. He’d raised Cissy herself from a foal. She was the daughter of Lorilee’s beloved Tennessee walking horse, which had come to the farm with her after their marriage. Ty had hesitated to have Cissy bred, but Sarah and Bill had both insisted they keep the line going.

So here they were, waiting and pacing while Amanda Barnes examined the mare. Cecil patted Ty on the back. “She’s from good, strong stock,” he said, reading Ty’s tension. “She’ll do fine.”