Wink of an Eye (21 page)

“
Okay,
” she said, and judging by her tone, I braced myself for the coming storm. “You want to tell me what's going on?”

I was wanting that pain pill something fierce. “Actually … I need to talk to you about your husband.”

She stared hard at me with questioning eyes. “Steven?”

“Unless there's another one I don't know about.”

She laid her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl and smiled softly. “Steven's the only man I ever married. The only man I ever
wanted
to marry loved Las Vegas more than he loved me.”

Oh, that was a low blow. The same could be said for the only woman I ever wanted to marry who loved horses and cows more than she loved me. “Why'd you marry him if you didn't love him?”

She blew a heavy sigh. “He needed a wife for his career, and I needed a husband to keep the ranch.”

“What do you mean to
keep the ranch
?”

She rolled her eyes. “Daddy and his stupid ideas of what a woman can and can't do. After his stroke, he was going to sell the ranch. He didn't think a woman could run it. Even if that woman was his own daughter.”

“Does Steven know anything about running a ranch?”

She looked at me and grinned. “About as much as you do.”

I returned the smile but something wasn't adding up. She had told me the night at the motel that they had been married twelve years. Carroll Kinley suffered his stroke four years ago. They were married long before Daddy threatened to sell.

“But weren't you and Steven already married when your dad had the stroke?”

She stared at me for a long time, then finally looked away as her eyes filled with tears. “What do you want me to say, Gypsy? That I got tired of waiting for you to come back? Steven was nice, he was convenient.”

I'm sure Senator Sellars would like to know he was convenient. “Do you love him?”

She turned to me, her lips arched in a sweet smile. “No.”

I took a deep breath, wanting to avoid what I knew was coming next.

“I've never loved anyone like I love you.”

I called that one as if she were reading from a script. Probably because I was reading from the same script, reciting the same lines.

“And a divorce wouldn't be good for his political career,” I said quietly.

She shrugged slightly. “That's a part of it. If I divorce him, I lose the ranch.”

I stared at her, uncertain of what she meant. “The ranch is in Steven's name?”

“It's in both of our names. Daddy transferred ownership a few years ago.”

“You could buy him out.”

“Do you know how much the ranch is worth? Where would I ever get that kind of money?”

I hated that ranch with a passion but because I knew what it meant to her, I was suddenly scrambling for ways for her to never lose it. “You could use your share as collateral.”

“A loan against the ranch? With Carroll Kinley still alive?” She chuckled.

“I guess killing him's out of the question.”

Her mouth dropped as she gently punched my shoulder. “Gypsy!”

God knows the man had thought about killing me enough. I simply returned the thought. I lightly touched the scar on my lip. “I'm just kidding,” I finally said so she wouldn't get any ideas. I had enough blood on my hands. I wondered how much blood Claire had on her hands? “How involved
is
Steven with the ranch?”

She looked at me as if she didn't understand the question, then slightly shook her head. “He's not involved at all. I oversee most of the day-to-day operation. Sam—remember Sam? He's still the foreman so he helps a lot.”

“Who does the hiring?”

She cocked her head and stared at me, grinning slyly. “Why? You need a job?”

I laughed. “I tried that once. It didn't end very well.”

“Yeah, I never did get the mud out of my blouse.”

She had the most annoying ability to change the subject, or totally distract me. I pushed the memories of our rain-soaked lovemaking out of my mind. “No, I don't need a job,” I said and smiled. “But my current job does have a couple questions about the ranch.”

“Your current job? You're investigating the ranch?” She turned away and stared straight ahead, nodding angrily. “She won't give up.”

She'd lost me. “Who won't give up?”

“That Mexican reporter. The one that was just in here. Did she put you up to this?”

“Claire, no one put me up to anything. I was hired by a family to investigate a suspected
murder.
”

She sprang from the bed and spun around to stare at me. “A murder? At the K-Bar? When?”

I shook my head and quickly raised my hands to calm her rising anger. “It wasn't at the ranch. The ranch isn't even involved, not directly anyway.”

“What do you mean ‘not directly'?” She was getting louder, and angrier.

“Claire, calm down. No one is investigating the ranch.”

“Then why all the questions? Who does the hiring … how involved is Steven … you were interrogating me.”

She always did have a flair for the dramatic. “I wasn't interrogating you. I had some questions because there were some things that came up during the course of the investigation that jumped out at me.”

“What kind of things?”

I took a deep breath and figured I might as well put it out on the table. “The K-Bar employs several undocumented workers. I didn't know if you were aware of that.”

She looked away, her mouth twisted into a tight knot. She didn't say anything for a long while and I could see the words tumbling around in her head as she contemplated what to say. Finally, she looked at me, then sat back down on the bed. “I don't know that much about your business, Gypsy, but I imagine you work by yourself most of the time. I doubt in your line of work you've ever had the need to hire someone. The Mexicans who work at the ranch are good men. They're hard workers. It's not an easy job. I mean, you lasted what … one summer?”

“Claire, I'm not saying they're not good men. But it can't look good for a state senator to knowingly be working illegals.”

She sighed again then spoke in a soft voice. “He doesn't know.”

That's
not
what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to tell me her husband was the mastermind behind everything and she was totally mortified at his unscrupulous behavior. But it's not a perfect world.

“Did you hire them or did Sam?”

She closed her eyes and spoke in a sad voice. “I did. I think part of me did it out of spite, thinking how it might even benefit me for the good senator to be caught in a scandal. He couldn't really make too many demands for a divorce settlement if his career was at stake.”

“And what about the other part?”

She stiffened her back and set her jaw. “It was strictly business. It was financially beneficial to everyone involved.”

Everyone except the eight missing girls.

She sniffled back tears, then laid her head on my shoulder. “So what do we do now? Is your pretty Mexican girlfriend going to expose Senator Sellars's dirty little secret?”

“It's not
his
dirty little secret.”

She wiped at her face, then glanced up at me. “You know, this might not be a bad thing. If he thinks his political career is in jeopardy, he might be willing to negotiate a more reasonable settlement.”

That was my Claire. Always thinking. Always thinking about how she could benefit from someone else's problems.

“She's not my girlfriend. She's a business associate,” I said, referring to Sophia.

She pulled away and looked at me. “I hope you're not one to mix business with pleasure.”

I put my arm around her and pulled her to me. “Only at the company Christmas party, sweetheart.”

 

CHAPTER 18

I wanted to kill Rhonda as soon as Rodney pulled into the driveway. I had the sinking feeling my sister was throwing a coming-home party and I was the guest of honor. Rodney parked behind Tatum and Burke's truck. My mother's two-seater sports car was parked in the yard and a shiny red Mercedes convertible was parked behind my van.

“Rodney … what is she doing?” I asked, staring at the bright yellow balloons and yellow ribbon tied to the porch rail.

“Don't be mad at her, Gypsy. She means well.”

He closed the passenger-side door after I got out. I maneuvered the crutches along the walkway, still unable to put any weight on my left foot. I stopped and stared at the Mercedes, praying Dr. Merrick hadn't taken my mother up on her offer.

Inside, a “Welcome Home” banner stretched across the top of the archway between the living room and the kitchen. Clusters of yellow balloons were taped to each end of the banner; a few strays had escaped and were floating around the ceiling.

I was more than pleasantly surprised, and a bit embarrassed, to discover the Mercedes didn't belong to Dr. Merrick. It was Sophia's. She was sitting beside Tatum on the sofa and smiled coyly at me.

“He's here!” Tatum squeaked as he leapt up. He ran over and awkwardly wrapped his arms around my waist.

“We can see that, Tatum,” Burke said, and shook his head, grinning. He was parked in his chair near the television. “Don't knock him down or he might need this ol' chair before the night's over.”

Rhonda, Mom, and Gram all gathered at the doorway. Rhonda was wearing an apron, Mom had an oven mitt on one hand, and Gram was holding a wooden spoon. With this collection of women in the same kitchen—the house hadn't burned to the ground yet—I was impressed.

Rhonda squealed like she was meeting a rock star. “Welcome home!” She hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek.

“How's the foot?” Mom asked.

“Good,” I lied. I wasn't going to say it hurt like hell in front of Sophia.

“Damn lucky they didn't cut it off,” Gram huffed, then went back to the kitchen mumbling something about Grandpa and a nest of rattlers.

“Gram—keep that spoon out of the spaghetti,” Rhonda said, and hurried to follow her back into the kitchen. “You're goin' to make it gummy.”

Mom looked at me and shrugged. What did she know about spaghetti? She turned and headed back into the kitchen to referee.

I smiled apologetically at Sophia. At least, to my knowledge, Rhonda's spaghetti dinner was a family-and-friends affair and not a community-wide fund-raiser.

“Tatum, help him over to the sofa while I put his bag away,” Rodney said.

I didn't need the help but humored Tatum anyway and let him think he was my rock of stability.

“I sure am glad they didn't have to cut your foot off,” he said, his arm still wrapped around my waist.

I grinned. “So am I.”

I eased myself down beside Sophia onto the sofa and laid the crutches across the coffee table. She still hadn't said a word but her presence was undeniable. She was generating enough electricity to power a small city.

“Well … this is kind of embarrassing,” I mumbled.

Her perfect nose twitched as she controlled a small smile. “I think it's kind of sweet,” she whispered, leaning toward me as if sharing a secret.

Tatum sat down in an old recliner Gram had brought with her when she moved in years ago. It had once smelled like cigar smoke. In recent years, it had taken on an old-person, menthol smell. “So, what do we do now?” Tatum asked. “We have the proof we need, right?”

“Will you let the man enjoy his first night at home?” Burke said. “The evidence isn't going anywhere. Is it?” He looked at Sophia, then at me.

“Rodney has everything secured, and properly tagged. And I do plan on getting back to work tomorrow.” I grinned at Tatum.

“Great. What are we doing?”

“Tatum,” Burke scolded.

I laughed and Sophia giggled softly. “It's okay, Burke. He has other motives. He wants to put this thing behind him so I can take him up to the sinkholes to take some pictures.”

“You didn't forget,” he said, beaming.

Whatever his reasons, I couldn't blame him for wanting it to be over. But I wasn't going to be the one to tell him it would never, ever really be over. Whether dead or absent, the first birthday that comes and goes without an acknowledgment is the hardest. After that, you just become numb to it. But it's always there.

Rhonda popped her head into the living room. She looked overwhelmed. “Dinner's almost ready.”

Poor Sophia. Subjected to all three Moran women and their nonexistent cooking skills at one time. I hope she didn't consider this a date.

*   *   *

After dinner, Sophia, me, Rodney, and Burke went out to the deck. Tatum remained in the kitchen, giving the Moran women cooking advice. Rodney quickly brushed off a chair for Sophia, then pulled his chair beside her, leaving me to fend for myself. I leaned a crutch against the rail, then struggled with one arm and one good foot to position the other chair within hearing distance.

“So, how long have you been a reporter?” Rodney asked.

“Since junior high,” she said, offering nothing more.

“A whole three years, huh?” He cackled at his own joke.

I groaned, expecting him to say something about heaven calling because they were missing an angel. If he was going to flirt, he at least needed to come up with some decent lines.

I cleared my throat to remind him I was there. “Sophia, why don't you tell Burke about your meeting with Sheriff Denny?”

“Gypsy told me you thought he had dementia,” Burke said.

She told him what she had told me. “He just seemed to be a doddering old man who didn't even know what day it was, let alone being the ringleader of a human trafficking ring.”

Burke leaned forward in his wheelchair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe you just got him flustered. He always did have an eye for a pretty woman.” He winked at her and I closed my eyes.