killer. If we uncover something to prove—”
“I’m still not convinced Daddy was helping Ben. And do you really believe Daddy could have kept that big a secret from us?” Kate asked.
She had a point. But maybe someone in Daddy’s past—an employee, perhaps—was somehow connected to Cloris Grayson’s death. “If Daddy didn’t share this secret with us,” I said, “he had a damn good reason. A good- hearted reason. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said.
“Okay. So our job is to find out why Ben was hunting for a killer at our house. What, if anything, did his presence have to do with Daddy?”
I was about to start sorting through more documents when I noticed something taped to the folder Kate was using as a fan. “What’s that?”
She returned my puzzled expression. “You mean this?” She held up the manila folder.
“It’s an envelope,” I said, crawling over beside her.
Kate peeled off the tape that attached a small envelope to the back of the folder. Inside was a key.
“Looks like a safe-deposit box key,” I said, searching for an identifying logo.
“I thought we emptied all the bank boxes after Daddy died,” Kate said.
“Apparently not. So how do we find out where this one is located?”
“I have no idea,” Kate said.
“Maybe this is the clue we need. By the way, Willis called me early this morning and said Ben’s funeral is tomorrow. Can you drive to Shade with me?”
“Tomorrow? No way. I have marathon family therapy sessions.”
“I guess it’s me and Willis, then. How exciting.” I rolled my eyes, thinking about riding up and back to Shade having to endure his company, listening as he carried on about how, if I’d only give him the chance, he could expertly run my life. For a small fee, of course.
8
As we drove the sixty miles to Shade in Willis’s Mercedes the next day, the blended scents of leather and aftershave threatened to tranquilize me. I’d have preferred we travel in my car, rather than his bragging machine, since I’ve always had a problem with driving around in an automobile worth the price of a college education. But Willis wouldn’t hear of making the trip in anything but his fully appointed Mercedes. I was certain that before we left Shade after the funeral, I’d hear some good old boy oohing and aahing over Willis’s car, saying things like, “That dog’ll hunt, and bring back the duck stuffed.” Then Willis would beam with satisfaction. After all, that was what he paid a small fortune for—those Mercedes Moments.
The hearse carrying Ben’s body stayed close behind us on the interstate. I’d had no problem forking over the money for Ben’s transportation home. He deserved what little I could offer in that department.
As if reading my thoughts, Willis said, “I still don’t understand why you’re paying a fortune to bury this man, Abby.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why foot the bill for his funeral? I say let the widow pay.”
“Like I can’t afford it.” I pushed the scan button on the radio, wishing I could turn the conversation in a different direction. I sensed a lecture in my imminent future.
“If you want to run your father’s business and make a profit, you’d best learn to thoroughly evaluate each charitable impulse. You can’t pay through the nose for every employee who experiences a stroke of bad luck.”
I looked at him, incredulous. “Is that what you call being murdered? A stroke of bad luck?”
The familiar strains of “Hotel California” filled the car, and I reclined the seat, closed my eyes, and hoped the conversation was over.
But no. He kept on talking. “Did you ever consider that the police might conclude you’re trying to ease a guilty conscience by going to all this trouble today?”
“I
“But you don’t have an alibi, do you?”
I glared over at him. If he wanted my attention, he had it now. “Like I told Aunt Caroline, I don’t need an alibi.”
His heavy-lidded eyes held that legal glint I always saw when we’re reviewing contracts at CompuCan. He said, “If you say you don’t need an alibi, I believe you, Abby, but that doesn’t mean the police will.”
“I didn’t have a reason to murder Ben. I don’t have a reason to murder anyone.” If he’d turned my way he would have been blinded by my stare.
“Perhaps you should concentrate your efforts on your cash flow. Bail for murder is usually high. And you should be prepared to tell the police exactly what you were doing on the afternoon in question, should they ask.”
“They already asked and I already answered. If that detective has even half a brain, he’ll realize Kate and I had nothing to do with Ben’s death. Now could we please drop this? I’m sure I’ll be called to testify before a grand jury, but I promise to let you know before I go to court. Does that make you happy?”
He nodded, pleased at this small compliance, then abruptly switched radio stations. Much to my dismay, Wynonna’s contralto filled the car.
After the service at the First Baptist Church, we drove to the cemetery. Willis and I joined those assembled for prayers at the grave site, and stood under the tent I’d arranged to shade us from the unbearable heat. Ben was being laid to rest next to his first wife.
Daddy had died in the spring, and the day we buried him had been clear and cool—nothing like this. It was hot enough to sunburn the birds.
I looked at Ruth, her head bent, her hands clutched tightly together at her waist. She was about the same age my mother would have been had she lived. Feeling a familiar ache in my gut, I whispered, “Was it this hot the day of Mom’s funeral?”
Willis leaned toward me, looking confused. “What?”
“You were there, right?”
“Well... yes. But I don’t remember what the weather was like.”
“Daddy never talked about her... service.”
“Her death was not something he wanted to remember. Never saw a man so miserable as when she finally died.”
“And what about our real parents? If they were buried out in El Paso, where the plane crashed, it was probably even hotter than this.” Kate and I were adopted after Jane and Morris Mitchell’s private plane went down in the West Texas desert, leaving their twin daughters orphaned.
“Why are you bringing all this up now?” Willis whispered, sounding irritated.
“I guess funerals make you think about details, about a past you weren’t a part of but that’s still a part of you,” I said.
Willis placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t think you and Kate are alone, Abby. You have Caroline and me. We’ll always be here for you.”
The preacher began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, so I shut up. But before I bowed my head, I spotted Sheriff Nemec, who’d stopped a good distance from the grave, out of Ruth’s sight. Not that she would have said anything about his showing up for Ben’s burial. She wasn’t the type for confrontations. At least by hanging back beneath a live oak, Nemec showed her a measure of respect—which surprised me. After our last encounter, I wouldn’t have pegged him as being even that sensitive.
From his passive face, bloated on one side from a chaw of tobacco, I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. Elation? Satisfaction? Or did I detect a hint of sadness because the pursuit had ended? Whatever was going through his mind, he stood quietly, hat in his hand, until they lowered Ben’s casket into the ground. When the coffin disappeared completely, he put on the Stetson, wheeled on his booted heel, and returned to a pickup parked
