The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (46 page)

A fragile-looking older woman in a belted cardigan was the only other passenger. A Prada satchel of woven leather rested on her lap; at her feet, two Neiman Marcus shopping bags.

“Hello,” she addressed Sky with a soft drawl. Gold bifocals magnified brown eyes. “It’s just you and me today. My name is Brenda.”

Sky offered her name and settled into a seat.

“I do love your red cowboy boots.” Brenda smiled. “Are you visiting family in Tempest?”

“I’m doing research for a story,” Sky lied.

“You’re a journalist? My oldest granddaughter writes for the
Dallas Morning News
.” Brenda gave a nod of approval and gestured to the hat Sky wore, a last-minute purchase at Logan: a baseball cap embroidered with the Texas A&M logo. “You write for the college newspaper?”

“Yes,” Sky lied again. “I’m doing a piece on successful Texas entrepreneurs.”

“We have so many.” Brenda brushed at her gray bangs. “May I ask who you’re researching?”

“His name is Porter Manville. Do you know him?”

A shadow passed across the kind eyes and Brenda paused a beat. “Why, yes,” she replied too brightly. “His grandfather founded Raleigh Porter Medical Center. I know it quite well. My late husband was a cardiologist at the clinic for nearly forty years. I’m terribly involved with the Ladies of Raleigh Porter. A volunteer organization,” she explained. “We staff the Sunbeam Gift Shop.” Brenda babbled nervously about the shop’s latest shipment of Willow Tree figurines and Fossil watches.

“Do you know Olivia Porter?” Sky broke in. “Manville’s aunt?”

“I do.” Brenda gazed out the window. “Tempest is a small town, Sky. Precious little to offer, the Medical Center notwithstanding. Church, family, and the high school football team. Not necessarily in that order. Everybody knows everybody. A more stifling environment cannot be imagined.” She gave Sky a sad smile. “As a girl I had every intention of moving away.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“A handsome young surgeon arrived at Raleigh Porter. I was home from college the summer of my junior year. We met at the Country Club dance. He proposed in August and I accepted. I didn’t even finish school. It didn’t seem important at the time.” She twisted the grape-sized diamond on her ring finger. “I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I’ve never admitted that to a living soul.”

“Fasten those seatbelts, girls,” the pilot’s voice came from the cockpit. “We’re approaching the Bluebonnet Capital of the world. To your left, the bright lights of Baby Peach Airport. And just look at that Texas sunset. I’ll have you on the ground in five minutes.”

Brenda sniffed into a tissue. “It’s the craziest thing. I’m fine while I’m away, but the instant I get home …” She shook her head. “I really do think I’m allergic to Tempest.”

“Leave,” Sky urged. “It’s not too late. Move to Dallas.”

“Me? I couldn’t possibly. I’m much too old.” Brenda grew pensive. “But what a delightful idea.”

The jet bumped down the runway and came to a stop fifty yards from a modest hangar. The women climbed down the stairs and said their goodbyes in a hot wind.

“My dear, I’m beholden to you.” Brenda set her bags down and removed the cardigan. “You’ve inspired me. Why it took a stranger to light the fire, I cannot say. But I believe I will relocate. I have the perfect place in mind.”

“Where?”

Brenda’s face was radiant. “Sedona,” she said. She looked twenty years younger.

“Arizona?”

Brenda nodded. “Did you know that Juniper trees in Sedona grow in a spiral twist? The energy is that powerful.” She plucked at the neck of her blouse. “This Texas humidity saps me. I know I’ll revive in Sedona. It is a dry heat.”

“Sedona sounds perfect.” Sky unzipped the
OBEY
hoodie and slipped it off. The air was stifling.

“I do wish you luck with your article.” Brenda searched Sky’s eyes. “What is the name of your newspaper, again?”

Shit.

Sky fiddled with a backpack strap while she tried to think of a reasonable response. She had absolutely no idea what the college newspaper was called.

“I thought as much.” Brenda offered a cynic’s arched brow. “The Aggies have a respectable endowment. I give faithfully and gladly to the Foundation every spring. But I very much doubt
The Battalion
sends their reporters on assignment in Lear jets.”

Sky extracted a business card from the backpack and offered it.

“Massachusetts,” Brenda read. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” She frowned at the card. “Something’s happened. Something bad.”

“Yes. Porter Manville murdered a woman named Nicolette Mercer and mutilated her body. He planted evidence at the crime scene to frame a friend of mine. I’m here to find out about his past.”

Brenda shoved the card back at Sky. “Do not flash this around Tempest. Do not bring up … that name.” She grabbed Sky’s arm. “You gave me some good advice and now I’m returning the favor. Turn tail and run, honey.”

“Tell me,” Sky pushed. “You know something.”

“Yes, ma’am. I do know something.” Brenda released Sky’s arm and stepped away. “I know what they think up North. We’re just a bunch of country bumpkins, straight up stupid.”

“No,” Sky protested.

“Of course they do.” Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “Why else would they send a tiny thing like you on such a mission?”

Brenda turned abruptly and hurried across the tarmac to a small parking lot. She tossed the Prada satchel and Neiman bags into a white Cadillac Escalade and pulled out of the lot with determined speed.

Like she was trying to put as much distance between herself and Sky as possible.

Sky stood alone on the landing strip absorbing the flat expanse of central Texas.

A bloody orange sunset stained the western horizon.

The wind died. The air reeked of jet fuel.

I’m only a few miles from Porter Manville’s hometown, Sky thought. The place where he grew up.

She considered the unopened letter rescued from Manville’s garbage, Aunt Olivia’s plea:
“Come home … All is forgiven.”

What happened all those years ago? Why did Manville never come back to Tempest? Or even open his aunt’s letters? Why did the mere mention of his name turn a gentle soul like Brenda so skittish?

Sky pulled the brim of the baseball cap low over her eyes and walked into Baby Peach Airport to rent a car.

CHAPTER FORTY- FOUR

WACO 100 was blasting country music on the FM dial.

Sky steered the sluggish Impala south on a two-lane road while Travis Tritt riffed on flip-flops and bikini tops, something about girls gone wild. “Nine o’clock and ninety degrees in downtown Waco,” the DJ announced.

Waco wasn’t that far from Tempest, which meant it was ninety degrees in Tempest, too. Sky was ten minutes out of Little Peach Airport before she discovered the Impala’s air conditioning was busted.

She opened all the windows and kept driving.

The low lights of Tempest soon appeared in the distance. Sky floored the gas pedal. By the time she pulled into a Dairy Queen on the edge of town, sweat was dripping down her brow and between her breasts.

She maneuvered the Impala into a parking space beside an empty picnic table and took a seat on the bench. The heat was driving most customers inside or back into their air conditioned vehicles – most of which, Sky noted, were pickups. The drive-through was doing a brisk business.

Sky yanked off the red cowboy boots and peeled the argyle socks from her feet. She chucked everything in the Impala, including the baseball cap. Raking sweat-soaked hair with her fingers, she secured it in a knot at the back of her head with a black scrunchie.

Still hot!

Sky slammed the Impala door shut and joined the queue.

Heat radiated off the black asphalt beneath her bare feet. She leaned down and rolled each leg of the
7 For All Mankind
jeans to the knee. Her pink camisole was so sheer Sky could detect the outline of her nipples. But it was too hot for modesty. Tomorrow she’d buy cut-offs, a t-shirt, some flip-flops.
Girl gone wild.

The Dairy Queen line consisted of a teenage couple and a noisy family of redheads – mom, dad, and five boys of varying heights, all wearing denim shorts and red t-shirts that read
Dallas Cowboys Football
.

“Hello, sweet thing,” a man’s voice said from behind. “All alone on a Friday night? Nice tattoo. Is that a fairy?”

Sky looked straight ahead and tried her best to ignore the come-on. She should have used the drive-through!

When a light tap registered on her shoulder, she stared straight ahead and said, “Not interested.”

“I don’t usually have to work this hard, but I’m willing,” the voice said.

Sky whipped around to face a young man in faded jeans and a blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. A deep tan accentuated his blonde hair and blue eyes. Sky couldn’t decide which actor he looked more like, Channing Tatum or that guy in the
Tudors
, what was his name? Henry Cavill.

Yeah, that was it. A blonde Henry Cavill.

Sky didn’t say anything and she didn’t smile. But she did try and guess his height. Well over six feet, she decided.

“Six feet, eight inches,” he grinned. “I get that a lot. Six feet nine, with the boots. Ya’ll aren’t from around here, are you? I would’ve noticed.”

“I’m here on business.” Sky studied his boots. They were the color of aged oak, with horizontal seams running across the vamp at two inch intervals. And they were scaled. Like reptile skin.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. The name is Ben. Ben Yost. Ben Yost Junior, to be technical. But my friends call me Butch.”

He offered to shake but Sky hesitated.

“No worries, sweet thing. I’ve got the sun in my hand.” Butch Yost gave her a look of such genuine warmth that Sky was thrown slightly off kilter.

“Maybe you could recommend a hotel.” She extended a wary hand and offered her name. “Is Tempest always this hot in April?”

“No, ma’am. We’re smack in the middle of a heat wave. Day three and counting.” Butch held the shake too long. “Gold fingernails,” he observed. “Fancy. And gold toes to match?”

Sky snapped her hand back.

“I do not recommend going barefoot, Sky.” Butch offered a solicitous frown. “Rattlesnakes. Heat wakes ‘em up. The males come out, lookin’ to mate. I ran across a six-footer on the ranch this morning. Biggest I’ve ever seen. If I was the superstitious type – which I am
not
– I’d call it a bad omen. Slithered right out of the rocks, my horse nearly threw me. Diamondback.”

The family of redheads collected their cones and drifted away. Sky stepped up to the window.

The server was a freckled girl with brown braids. “What’ll it be?” she asked with a smile.

“Orange Julius and an order of fries,” Sky said. “With extra salt and ketchup, please.”

“I’ve got this young lady’s meal, Amarilla.” Butch slapped a wad of greenbacks on the counter.

“No.” Sky handed Butch his money and gave the girl a fifty dollar bill.

“Hey, Butchie.” The girl shoved two twenties and some change at Sky. “Heard you was back from New Orleans.” She twisted the tip of a braid around her finger. “You home for good?”

“I’m home for now. You sure are growing up fast, Amarilla. Tell your big sister I said hey.”

“Nadine is real mad at you, Butchie.” The girl’s forehead creased with concern. “Watch your back. She might go after you with her new rifle. Tikka T3 Lite. She’s crazy ‘bout that gun. Says the trigger breaks like glass. An’ she’s a crack shot. Spends half an hour every morning before work, shooting tin cans off the back yard fence.”

Amarilla leaned out of the concession window and peered down the dark road. “Nadine was booked full up today. And her last appointment was a double process. That always makes her mean. She’ll be leaving the Fountain of Beauty any minute, to pick me up. You’d best leave now.”

“I expect I can handle Nadine,” Butch said.

“Yeah,” Amarilla nodded. “You’re about the only guy ever could. Can’t ya’ll get married an’ have a baby? Me and Spike – that’s my boyfriend – we’d babysit for nothin’. Just like you and Nadine used to babysit me.”

“Can I get a Coke?” Butch said.

Sky finished stuffing the change in her jeans pocket and carried her food back to the picnic table. She sat facing the restaurant and watched Butch at the window.

Amarilla was chattering away, gesturing with her hands and touching his arm. The tie of affection was obvious, but Sky could tell Butch was trying to extricate himself from the conversation because he kept looking over his shoulder at her. Like he was afraid Sky might disappear.

Which was not a bad idea. Did she need this cowboy on her ass? So what if he looked like Henry Cavill?

Dairy Queen ketchup had just the right amount of vinegar, Sky decided. She nibbled a fry and watched Butch Yost lope across the parking lot.

“Blizzard,” he said, taking a seat across from Sky at the picnic table. “My treat. Midnight Truffle. Kinda’ goes with the gold fingernails, don’t you think?” He shoved the absurdly large concoction across the table to Sky. “The Deadwood Hotel,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked about a place to stay? The Deadwood has decent rooms. And a respectable restaurant. What do you say to a steak dinner tomorrow night? I’ll even let you pay, if you insist.”

Sky ignored the flirtation and took a sip of her Orange Julius. “I have a question,” she said.

“Shoot.” Butch snapped the plastic lid off his Coke and drank deeply.

“Say I wanted to find out things about your life. But I didn’t want to talk to Amarilla. Or anybody in town, for that matter. How might I go about it?”

“Wasn’t expecting that one.” Butch leaned back. “Who you so interested in? I probably know ‘em. Tempest ain’t that big.”

“I’d rather not say.”

Butch shook the Coke so the cubes rattled. “What about Google? I got a bio on our website, tells a little bit about me. Circle Y Ranch, in case you’re interested.”

“No,” Sky said. “I’m talking about information of a more personal nature. About your life here in Tempest. As a teenager.”