Best Kept Secrets Read online

  “Where’d you get the idea that you’re exempt?”

  “I thought you’d want to question me about the man who got killed.”

  “You aren’t really a suspect. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, something you have a bad habit of doing.”

  “You don’t think there’s a connection between me and his murder?”

  “No, but obviously you do.” Propping his feet on the corner of his desk and stacking his hands behind his head, he said, “Let’s hear it.”

  “I think you already know it. Pasty Hickam witnessed Celina’s murder.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me over the telephone.”

  “He was a legendary liar. Ask anybody.”

  “I believed him. He sounded nervous and terribly afraid. We made an appointment to meet at the Last Chance, but when he saw you following me, he got frightened off.”

  “So, that makes me Celina’s killer?”

  “Or someone who’s covering up for the killer.”

  “Let me tell you what’s wrong with your theory.” He lowered his feet to the floor. “Angus fired Pasty the other day. He was on a revenge trip, something you should be able to relate to, Counselor. He made up some cock-and-bull story that you wanted to believe because so far, your investigation hasn’t turned up one goddamn scrap of concrete evidence.

  “You think the two murders are connected, right? Wrong,” he said. “Think about it. Last night’s killing doesn’t match Celina’s murder. The M.O.’s wrong. The guy who cut Pasty a new smile found out Pasty was humping his wife while he was working over at the potash plant near Carlsbad. We’ve got an APB out on him.”

  It sounded so plausible that Alex squirmed under his direct gaze. “Isn’t it possible that this ranch hand witnessed my mother’s murder? He kept quiet until now out of fear of retribution, or simply because no one ever conducted a thorough investigation. Knowing what he did got him killed before he could identify the killer. That’s what I choose to believe.”

  “Suit yourself. But waste your time on it, not mine.”

  Reede made to stand up, but she said, “That’s not all.” Resigned, he sat back down.

  Alex took an envelope out of her purse and handed it to him. “This came in the mail this morning. It was addressed to me at the motel.”

  Reede scanned the letter quickly and handed it back to her. She stared at him in amazement. “You don’t seem very disturbed by it, Sheriff Lambert.”

  “I’ve already read it.”

  “What? When?”

  “Day before yesterday, if I’m remembering right.”

  “And you let them send it?”

  “Why not? It’s not obscene. I figure even the postmaster general would agree that it meets postal regulations. It’s got the correct amount of postage on it. As far as I can tell, that letter isn’t illegal, Counselor.”

  Alex wanted to reach across his desk and slap the gloating smile off his face. The impulse was so strong she had to curl her hand into a fist to keep from doing so.

  “Did you read between the lines? The people who signed this, all”—she paused to count the signatures—”all fourteen of them, have threatened to run me out of town.”

  “Surely not, Miss Gaither,” he said, feigning shock. “You’re just being paranoid because you found Pasty. That letter simply underlines what I’ve been telling you all along. Angus and Junior Minton mean a lot to this town. So does that racetrack.

  “You get somebody’s attention quicker by kicking him in the bank account than you do by kicking him in the nuts. You’ve put some sizable investments in jeopardy. Did you expect folks to stand by and watch all their dreams go down the tubes because of your vindictiveness?”

  “I’m not being vindictive. I’m conducting a valid and long-overdue investigation into a severe miscarriage of justice.”

  “Spare me.”

  “The district attorney of Travis County sanctioned my investigation.”

  His eyes drifted over her insultingly as he drawled, “In exchange for what?”

  “Oh, that’s good. Very professional, Sheriff. When you run out of viable ammunition, you resort to throwing sexist rocks at my character.”

  With angry, jerky motions, she stuffed the letter back into the envelope and replaced it in her purse, snapping the catch firmly.

  “I don’t have to explain my reasons to you. Just understand this,” she enunciated. “I won’t quit until I can draw some satisfactory conclusions about my mother’s murder.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about being mugged, if I were you,” Reede told her with an air of boredom. “As I’ve explained, Pasty’s killing had absolutely nothing to do with you. The people who signed that letter are pillars of the community—bankers, businessmen, professionals. They’re hardly types who would accost you in a dark alley.

  “Although,” he went on, “I’d recommend that you stop cruising in hotbeds of trouble like you have the last two evenings. If you’ve just got to have it, there are a couple of fellas I could recommend.”

  She released a slow, contemptuous breath. “Do you dislike all professional women, or is it me in particular?”

  “It’s you in particular.”

  His bluntness was an affront. She was tempted to remind him that his kiss yesterday hadn’t conveyed dislike, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to remind him of it. She hoped to forget it herself, pretend that it had never happened, but she couldn’t. It had left her feeling drastically and irrevocably altered.

  No, she couldn’t forget it. The best she could hope for was to learn to cope with the memory of it, and the addictive craving it had instigated.

  His statement hurt her deeply. She heard herself asking, “Why don’t you like me?”

  “Because you’re a meddler. I don’t like people who meddle in other people’s business.”

  “This is my business.”

  “How could it be? You were peeing in your diapers when Celina was killed,” he shouted.

  “I’m glad you brought that up. Since I was only two months old at the time, what was she doing out at the ranch that night?”

  His stunned reaction to the question was swiftly covered. “I forget. Look, I’m due—”

  “I doubt you ever forget anything, Reede Lambert, much as you pretend that you do. What was she doing there? Please tell me.”

  He stood up. So did Alex. “Junior had invited her for supper, that’s all.”

  “Was it a special occasion?”

  “Ask him.”

  “I’m asking you. What was the occasion? And don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

  “Maybe he felt sorry for her.”

  “Sorry? Why?”

  “For being cooped up with a kid, not getting out. Her social life had gone to zilch. She was only eighteen, for crissake.” He stepped around her and headed for the door.

  Alex wasn’t ready to let it go at that. His answer was too pat. She caught his arm and forced him to face her. “Were you there at dinner that night?”

  “Yeah, I was there.” He jerked his arm free.

  “The entire evening?”

  “I left before dessert.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like cherry pie.”

  She groaned with frustration. “Answer me, Reede. Why did you leave?”

  “I had a date.”

  “With whom? Does she still live here in town?”

  “What the hell difference does it make?”

  “She’s your alibi. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Forget it. I’ll never drag her into this.”

  “You might have to, or plead the Fifth.”

  “Don’t you ever give up?” he asked through bared teeth.

  “Never. Did you return to the ranch that night?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “Not even to sleep?”

  “I told you, I had a date.” He put his f
ace close enough to hers that she could feel his breath against her lips. “And she was hot.”

  He gave a terse bob of his head to emphasize his point, then turned to leave. “I’m due in court. Close the door on your way out, will ya?”

  Chapter 18

  “Miss Gaither?”

  “Yes?”

  Alex didn’t feel like having company. Her latest altercation with Reede had left her drained. After last night, her nerves were shot. Neither Reede’s glib explanation of the Hickam man’s murder or any amount of her own sound reasoning had convinced her that she wasn’t in danger.

  So, when someone knocked on her motel room door, she had approached it cautiously and looked through the peephole. A strange, but evidently harmless couple, were on her threshold. She opened the door and looked at them expectantly.

  Suddenly, the man stuck out his hand. Startled, Alex jumped back. “Reverend Fergus Plummet.” Feeling foolish, Alex shook hands with him. “Did I frighten you? I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  The reverend’s mannerisms were so deferential, his tone of voice so sympathetic, he hardly posed a threat. He had a slight build and was shorter than average, but held himself erect with almost military posture. His black suit was shiny in spots and inadequate for the season. He wore no overcoat and nothing to cover his wavy dark hair, which was fuller than current fashion dictated. In a community where almost every male from the age of twelve wore either a cowboy hat or bill cap, it looked odd to see a man without one.

  “This is my wife, Wanda.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Plummet, Reverend.”

  Mrs. Plummet was a large woman, with a notable bosom that she’d tried to minimize by covering it with a drab olive cardigan sweater. Her hair was pulled back into a knot on the back of her head, which she kept meekly lowered. Her husband had referred to her with no more personal regard than he might give a lamppost.

  “How’d you know my name?” Alex asked, curious about the couple.

  “Everybody does,” he replied with a brief smile. “There’s talk going around town about you.”

  The minister had a Bible tucked under one arm. Alex couldn’t imagine what a minister was doing at her door—recruiting new members?

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” he said, correctly reading her puzzled expression.

  “Frankly, yes. Would you like to come in?”

  They stepped into the room. Mrs. Plummet seemed ill at ease and unsure where to sit until her husband pointed her to a corner of the bed. He took the only chair. Alex sat down on the edge of the bed, but far enough away from Mrs. Plummet for both of them to be comfortable.

  The preacher gazed about him. He seemed to be in no hurry to disclose the reason he was there. Finally, and with a trace of impatience, Alex asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Reverend Plummet?”

  Closing his eyes, he raised his hand heavenward and evoked a blessing. “May heaven’s rich blessings pour down on this beloved daughter of God,” he intoned in a deep, vibrating voice.

  He began to pray with loud earnestness. Alex had the wildest impulse to giggle. Merle Graham had seen to it that she was raised with traditional Protestant beliefs. They had attended church regularly. Though she had never embraced the fundamentalist dogma her grandmother adhered to, Alex’s Christian faith was well cemented.

  “Please, Reverend Plummet,” she interrupted when his prayer extended into overtime, “I’ve had a very long day. Could we get to the point of your visit, please?”

  He looked rather piqued over her interruption, but said with a mysterious air, “I can assist you with your investigation of Minton Enterprises.”

  She was stunned. She had never expected him to be connected in any way to her investigation. She reminded herself, however, to proceed with caution. She was, after all, extremely skeptical. What deep, dark secrets could this weird little man know about Celina, Reede Lambert, or the Mintons? Ministers were privy to confidences, but experience had taught her that professional ethics usually prevented them from revealing any confessions. They strictly abided by the rules of privileged information, and only imparted it in life-threatening situations.

  It didn’t seem likely that either Angus or Junior would bare his soul to a mousy little man like Plummet. Based wholly on outward appearance, he would have a minimal amount of influence with the Almighty. The thought of Reede Lambert confessing a sin was preposterous.

  She responded with a professional detachment that Greg Harper would have been proud of: “Oh, really? How can you do that? Did you know my mother?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I can speed along your investigation just the same. We—my congregation of saints and I—believe that you’re on our side. And our side is God’s side.”

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered, hoping that was the correct response.

  Obviously, it was. It earned a soft amen from Mrs. Plummet, who had been silently praying all this time.

  “Reverend Plummet,” Alex said uncertainly, “I’m not sure you understand. I’m here at the behest of the district attorney’s office to—”

  “The Lord uses people as his holy instruments.”

  “—to investigate the murder of my mother, which occurred here in Purcell twenty-five years ago.”

  “God be praised… that this wrong… will soon be set right!” He shook his fists heavenward.

  Alex was flabbergasted. She gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well, I hope so, too. But I fail to see how my investigation concerns you and your ministry. Do you have inside knowledge of the crime?”

  “Oh, that I did, Miss Gaither,” Plummet wailed. “Oh, that I did, so that we could speed along God’s work and punish the iniquitous.”

  “The iniquitous?”

  “Sinners!” he shouted fervently. “Those who would corrupt this town and all the innocent children of God living here. They want to build Satan’s playground, fill the precious veins of our children with narcotics, their sweet mouths with foul liquor, their fertile little minds with carnality.”

  From the corner of her eye, Alex glanced at Mrs. Plummet, who sat with her head bowed, her hands folded in her lap, her knees and ankles decorously pressed together, as though they had been glued that way.

  “Are you referring to Purcell Downs?” Alex asked tentatively.

  Just as she had feared, the very words opened up a wellspring of evangelical fervor. Prophecies came spewing out of the preacher’s mouth like a fountain run amok. Alex endured a sermon on the evils of horse-race gambling and all the ungodly elements that accompanied it. But when Plummet began to tout her as a missionary sent to Purcell to vanquish the sons of Satan, she felt compelled to bring the fiery sermon to a halt.

  “Reverend Plummet, please.” After several attempted interruptions he stopped speaking and looked at her blankly. She licked her lips anxiously, not wanting to offend him, but wanting to make herself explicitly clear.

  “I have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not Minton Enterprises is granted a gambling license. The fact is that they’ve already been approved by the racing commission. All that remains are the formalities.”

  “But the Mintons are under investigation for murder.”

  Choosing her words carefully, and omitting any direct reference to the Mintons, she said, “If enough evidence or probable cause is found as a result of my investigation, the case could be brought before the grand jury. It would be up to it to bring forth an indictment. In any instance, the parties involved are to be presumed innocent until proven guilty, in accordance with our Constitution.”

  She held up a hand to stave off his interruption. “Please, let me finish. Whatever happens regarding the proposed racetrack after I conclude my investigation will be the responsibility of the racing commission. I will have nothing to do with its final decision on this or any other application for a gambling license.

  “Actually, it’s coincidental that the Mintons are personally involved with both issues simultaneously. I reope
ned my mother’s murder case because, as a public prosecutor, I was dissatisfied with its resolution, and thought that it warranted further investigation. I do not hold a personal grudge against this town, or anyone in it.”

  Plummet was squirming with the need to speak, so she let him. “You don’t want to see gambling come to Purcell, do you? Aren’t you against this device of the devil that snatches food from children’s mouths, destroys marriages, and plunges the weak onto paths bound for hell and damnation?”

  “My views on pari-mutuel betting—or anything else, for that matter—are none of your business, Reverend Plummet.” Alex came to her feet. She was tired, and he was a wacko. She’d given him more time than he deserved. “I must ask you and Mrs. Plummet to leave now.”

  He wasn’t an educated and eloquent churchman, who had researched the issue and drawn enlightened conclusions. There were well-founded arguments for both sides. But whether pari-mutuel gambling came to Purcell County or not, Alex had nothing to do with it.

  “We’re not giving up,” Plummet said, following her to the door. “We’re willing to make any sacrifice to see that God’s will is carried out.”

  “God’s will? If it’s God’s will that the Mintons be denied that gambling license, then nothing you do will help or hinder, right?”

  He couldn’t be trapped with logic. “God uses us to do his work. He’s using you, though you might not know it yet.” His eyes smoldered with fanatical fire. It gave Alex goose bumps. “You are the answer to our prayers. Oh, yes, Miss Gaither, the answer to our prayers. Call on us. You’ve been anointed by God, and we’re your humble and willing servants.”

  “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind. Good-bye.”

  Reverend Plummet’s theology was warped. He gave her the creeps. She couldn’t get her door closed behind him fast enough. As soon as she did, her telephone rang.

  Chapter 19

  “How does dinner and dancing sound?” Junior Minton asked without preamble.

  “Like a fairy tale.”

  “It’s not. Just say yes.”

  “You’re inviting me out for dinner and dancing?”

  “It’s the monthly fete at the Purcell Horse and Gun Club. Please say you’ll go with me. Otherwise, it’ll be boring as hell.”