Bethany Campbell - A Little Town In Texas

Gloria looked at him with malicious satisfaction. He didn’t like it. It was his job to find the weaknesses of Fabian’s enemies, and the McKinneys were among those enemies. But where in hell was this leading?

With cool politeness he said, “I asked about the reporter.”

The woman tilted her head knowingly. “And I’m telling you about her background.” She jabbed her manicured finger toward his chest. “There was something strange about Gordon Jones’s death. Cal McKinney and Nora and Ken were in it up to their necks. The McKinneys have enough money to buy their way out of anything.”

Mel looked at her in disbelief. “You’re saying they bought their way out of a killing?”

Her little pink mouth smiled, but her eyes were hard as ice. “I’m pointing out things, is all. Suspicious things. You get my drift.”

Mel clamped his mouth shut so that he wouldn’t swear. Ralph came in, bearing a pitcher of fresh margaritas. “Woo, boy!” he said. “This is some party, eh? Well, how’s my girl doing, Belyle? She giving you an earful?”

“I think I’ve shocked him plumb silent,” Gloria said smugly. “And I haven’t but scratched the surface of what I know. Now Bubba Gibson—do you know he served prison time?”

Hell and damnation, thought Mel, who did this woman think she was? The Recording Angel of All Sins? “Kitt Mitchell,” he said. “Was she even in town when this—Gordon Jones died?”

“No,” Gloria said, holding out her glass to be refilled. “She was at her fancy college. But I want to tell you about Bubba Gibson—he was cheating with this woman young enough to be his daughter—it was a scandal.”

Mel interrupted. “How did a poor kid like Kitt Mitchell get to a rich school like Stobbart’s?”

“I’m telling you about Bubba going to prison,” she said. “When you want to know something about somebody in this town, Mr. Belyle, you come to me. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

Time for my vanishing act, Mel thought grimly. He was sick unto death of this fat gossipy woman. “I really have to go,” he said rising. “Long day. Had to get up early. Jet lag.” He made his way toward the door and as he did so, he lied about having a nice evening and being grateful for their hospitality.

Gloria tried to follow him, but she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. He’d just made it to the porch. She peered out through the screen door and added, “We didn’t talk about your brother.”

His spine stiffened, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. She didn’t notice. “And that woman he married. If you want to know the full truth about Shelby Sprague and your brother, ask me. I have the goods on her and him. Because I know—”

—where all the bodies are buried, you bitch, he finished mentally.

This last jibe, at his brother’s wife, somehow offended Mel most deeply. He could not forgive his brother, and he did not want to. He had no desire to meet Nick’s wife. So why did he resent Gloria Wall mentioning them?

He drove back to the Crystal Creek Hotel, smoldering with anger. He hadn’t merely disliked the Walls, he detested them with vehemence.

And these people, God help him, were his allies.

KITT DROVE BACK to the hotel about ten-thirty.

The night was cloudy, drizzle fell, and the darkness seemed supernatural. Twice she had to swerve to avoid hitting white-tailed deer that suddenly bounded into the glow of her headlights.

Kitt had grown used to New York, where there were always nearby buildings and lights burned all night long. This black, vast space on either side of the highway almost frightened her.

She was restless and fidgety, too. This restiveness came from unpleasant truths that she didn’t like to face. But Kitt was not cowardly about such things. She made herself face them.

In truth, she was surprised by Nora’s marriage, maybe even a bit…jealous? When Kitt had heard, years ago, that Nora had married Ken Slattery, Kitt had thought: Another cowboy. Won’t she ever learn?

As a girl, Kitt had paid little attention to Ken. He’d been attractive in an old-fashioned Randolph Scott sort of way—but aloof. The sort of man who’d worked hard, kept to himself, and talked little.

She’d told herself that since he was foreman, Nora might have some security at last. She had never imagined that Nora could really be in love with him or that he would treat her as anything more than a hardy pioneer wife, born to do woman’s work.

“Okay, so I was wrong,” Kitt admitted to the darkness.

The man obviously adored Nora, and she adored him in return. Kitt had sensed the strength of their feeling every moment she was with the two of them. From the way they’d looked at each other when they’d said good-night, they were probably making love at this very moment.

The thought of Nora, naked and happily abandoned in Ken’s strong arms, made Kitt feel like a voyeur. She quickly shooed the image away.

But still she felt unsettled. Kitt had always considered herself the lucky one, the one who escaped. She’d thought of Nora as trapped—and that sex was what had trapped her.

So why did Kitt feel suddenly lonely? She never felt lonesome; she never allowed it. And why did her series of safe, comfortable affairs suddenly seem empty, almost soulless?

Kitt wasn’t promiscuous. She took her time between romances—in fact the time between romances usually lasted far longer than any of the romances themselves. Nora was right. Kitt seldom stayed involved with a man. She’d always thought it the fault of the men. But maybe it was something that was missing within her….

Thinking of the men in her life reminded her again of Mel Belyle. There was no sense in this linkage of thoughts; it just happened. All evening he’d haunted her.

She was above all a professional, but she had acted frivolously with him. That was a mistake. This assignment made them adversaries. That could not be helped. But at least he should see her as a worthy one.

Did she think of him as a serious opponent? She would be a fool if she didn’t. Nora had told her that Nick Belyle was smart as hell—and that he himself had said his younger brother just might be smarter.

KITT PARKED in the hotel’s back lot, picked up her laptop and backpack and went in the service entrance leading to the lower floors. She remembered it from years ago, when she and Nora used to deliver fresh eggs to the hotel kitchen. Kitt’s mother had raised hens on her patch of tenant land. The yard around the house had always been pecked bare and smelled of chickens. Kitt still hated eggs.

She went down the long hall that led to the registration desk. The hotel had been spiffed up nicely, she thought with approval. She eyed the oak paneling and the spruce green carpet with its pattern of thistles.

At the desk she smiled at a blond woman with a Scottish accent. She’s a newcomer, I don’t know her, thought Kitt. The realization made her feel odd. This was her hometown, but she was a stranger in it.

She took the brass keys to the back entrance and her room—no plastic card keys for this old-fashioned place—thanked the blond woman, and picked up her bags. She turned from the desk and looked directly into a man’s broad chest.

He smelled divinely of expensive aftershave, and the sweater looked like cashmere. Sapphire blue cashmere. She looked up and met the beautiful, enigmatic eyes of Mel Belyle.

Although she knew he was staying here, he’d caught her by surprise. Her heartbeat sped, and her breath felt just as stuck in her throat.

His perfect mouth twitched, as if he might say something. But he was silent, and almost self-consciously he touched his forefinger to his upper lip. There was something shy in that gesture, and it surprised her.