Chapter Twenty-Three
Turns out it wasn’t all that hard to convince Mrs. Stanton to have a drink. In fact, he hadn’t had to lift a finger. Which was a good thing. He’d told Grace he’d do it, but he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of destroying a woman’s sobriety. As it stood, there was no sobriety. Mrs. Stanton wanted a signed picture, which of course he didn’t exactly have. She’d dragged him into her office where she’d Googled one from his last ride and then excused herself to the bathroom while he waited for the color photo to print. When she returned, she’d sprayed on enough perfume to kill a steer, but that couldn’t mask her breath.
So here they were, sitting in her office, chatting about rodeos. She was smart, he’d give her that, but then again alcoholics always knew how to get their next drink. That woman visited the bathroom more than a bar full of drunk cowboys. Lucky for him, she was in no hurry to head back to the party. Her family would catch on and he suspected the senator wouldn’t be happy with yet another public display of alcoholism. Frankly, Cowboy was stunned he’d even allowed her to come home… and so early.
“Do you know,” she said, her words slurring, “my love af-affair with horses started after my father took my brothers and I to the rodeo?” She giggled. “Of course you don’t know that.” She swayed. “How would you know that? I love horses.”
“Are you going to get a chance to ride Black Magic before you return to the center?” After nearly an hour in her company, he needed to steer her in the right direction.
“No.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Not likely.”
“Are you all right?” He didn’t want her passing out before he got what he wanted.
“Just a little dizzy. I think I need to lie down.” She fell back onto the sofa. “Oh, this will do,” she said, leaning left.
“The senator won’t let you ride her?”
“The senator won’t let me do anything.”
Who could blame him? “I’m sure your father-in-law could sway him.”
She snorted in a not very ladylike way. “Presley listens to him even less. He doesn’t understand,” she said, staring up at the ceiling, her expression sullen. “He never understood. You would understand, wouldn’t you?” She swiveled her head to look at him with droopy eyes. “You’re a nice man.”
“Couples sometimes fight. It will pass.”
She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “It’s been sixteen years. Nothing’s changed.”
“Since your son died?” he chanced to say.
Her eyes flew open. “M-murdered, my son was murdered,” she said. “A mother never gets over that. He died because of that girl. I’m tired. I need to go to my room. Can you help me? My legs don’t seem to work.”
What were the odds no one would see them? “If we’re seen—”
“Piss pot, we’ll take the back way.”
There was a back way? Why didn’t he know that?
She tried to stand and twice fell back on her ass. He helped her up, and she weaved her way to the door. It would be comical if it wasn’t so pathetic. She tried a handful of times to turn the knob, which somehow kept slipping out of her grasp. Gently, he removed her hand and opened the door himself. He stuck his head out, making sure the hallway was clear, then waited for her to follow.
“If you go that way,” she pointed right, the way he knew. “It goes to the front staircase. That way,” she pointed left, “goes through the utility room to the second staircase.”
She made it two steps before her knees buckled and he had to pick her up. She leaned her head on his chest and shut her eyes. “I like your girlfriend. She’s very nice.”
“You mean the reporter?”
“Yes.”
“What about the other reporter? Did you like her too?” The utility room was easy to find, as was the staircase.
“Jessie? She killed my son.”
Cowboy nearly dropped the woman. “How so?”
“It’s her fault. It’s all her fault.”
He reached the top of the stairs. “Why is it her fault?”
“Stupid girl.” Mrs. Stanton took a shaking breath before falling silent.
Cowboy gave her a small shake. “Mrs. Stanton, which room is yours?”
Startled, she blinked several times. “That way.” She pointed down the hall, being no help at all.
By process of elimination, he headed to the room he hadn’t searched his first time up here and tried once again to get something useful out of her. “Why was is it Jessie’s fault your son died?”
“Because… she was a tramp.”
He resisted the urge to squeeze the woman out of what little sense she had left. Jessie was no tramp. “Was she now?”
“If she hadn’t been, Eddie wouldn’t have had to run to her rescue. She as good as killed him.”
He managed to open the door without dropping her. What he found in her room was disturbing. On every available surface, the mantle on the fireplace, the tall dressers, and several of the walls, photographs of Edward Stanton stared back at him.
He set her down on the bed and pulled the throw over her. She stirred once, then passed out. On the nightstand, in a silver frame, Edward wore his cap and gown from graduation day. He was smiling, the way he always did, confident, in charge. How Cowboy had hated that smug smile. Did a mother know? Did she see the evil in her child’s heart, or was she blind to her child’s flaws? His own mother had never raised her voice to him, even when he’d deserved it.
On the plus side, Grace was right. This woman blamed Jessie for Edward’s death. How deep did that hate go? All he had was more questions. Did Mrs. Stanton really call Jessie to remind her of the notepad she’s left behind, or had she had other things on her mind? Only one thing was for certain—Mrs. Stanton was obsessed with her dead son. Obsession could make people do all kinds of things.
After making sure Mrs. Stanton was settled, Cowboy made his way back to the party without being noticed. The sun had started to set and cast pink streaks low into the sky. Grace was seated on one of the outdoor patio chairs talking to a woman whose back was turned to him. She looked up when she saw him, a beautiful smile lighting up her face. His Cinderella. Too bad he could never be her Prince Charming. She was a cop’s daughter. And if she somehow understood why he and Jessie had chosen to lie, he’d never be able to ask her to keep his secret. That was, if she ever forgave him. And he doubted she would. He wasn’t even sure she’d forgiven Jessie for lying to her.
“Daniel, look who’s here.”
Cowboy’s heart stopped beating, stopped dead in its tracks, as his mother stood and turned.
“Yes,” he said, managing to make his mouth work. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too. I only wish…well,” she said, “I didn’t know the body the police found in the river had been Jessie. Very disturbing to hear that.”
“Yes, it is.” He looked to Grace to see what if anything she’d told his mother.
“I explained that the police don’t want us discussing the case, especially with the Stantons, and given that Mrs. Danielle is their neighbor, it’s best she not to mention our discussion in the mall.”
“Yes,” his mother said, lowering her voice. “You two don’t want them knowing you’re investigating her disappearance and now, unfortunately, her death.”
His mother was a smart woman. “You understand?”
“A girl is dead. Enough said.”
“Thank you,” Grace said. “That means a lot to me.”
“The truth will eventually come out. It always does,” she said, giving Grace’s forearm a squeeze but zeroing in on Cowboy. “You know, there is something so familiar about you.”
Thankfully, the music had gone from classical to more lively tunes. If not, anyone close to him would have surely heard his heart pounding.
“Daniel is a bit of a celebrity,” Grace interceded for him. “He’s been handing out more autographs today than waiters have been handing out drinks. He’s a rodeo champion. Maybe that’s how you know him.”
“Maybe. That’s a big sport in these parts.” But she didn’t look convinced. “Are you from around here? Could be I know your parents.”
“No, ma’am, and I don’t think so.” Why wouldn’t his brain work? He had to come up with better answers than that or she’d stay suspicious.
“You never know, Daniel,” Grace chimed in again. “Mrs. Danielle has a ranch too. Maybe when your father was alive they somehow met. Sometimes the world is a small place.”
And getting smaller every second. Why wouldn’t she shut up?
“Your father has passed?” his mother asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you look like him? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just…” She looked him straight in the eyes. Her eyes.
He told himself to breathe. To relax. No way would she reconcile the man he’d grown into with the runt he’d been when he’d left home. The smart thing to do would be to leave. Make up an excuse. Go get a drink. But as she stared at him, this overwhelming need to throw himself in her arms sucked him in stronger than any undertow would. But that terror of his mother turning her back on him should she ever find out what he’d done was enough to bring him to his senses. So he did the one thing he’d never done to her. He lied.
“I’m told I look a lot like my daddy.” He didn’t. He was all his mother. “He was a monster of a man. Cleared my height by nearly two inches. Of course, my sister didn’t much appreciate it. She grew to be six feet. I always tell to thank her lucky stars. No one wants a short woman on the runway.”
“Oh. Your sister is a model?”
“Yes, ma’am. Been on the cover of several magazines. She looks like me. Maybe that’s where you think you’ve seen me. Of course, she’s a might prettier.” He laughed, hoping she was buying what he was selling.
“Well, that might explain why you look familiar. Can’t go to a grocery store without some fashion magazine grabbing your attention in the checkout line.”
“True enough. I was on my way to the bar. Would you ladies like a drink?”
“Nothing for me, thank you. I was actually on my home. I didn’t want to be rude and not come but I hadn’t intended to stay long.”
His parents’ relationship with the Stantons had been friendly, near as he could remember. So why now did it look like she couldn’t wait to get out of here? What had happened in the years that he’d been gone? What did she know that he didn’t? He tried to draw Grace’s attention, wanting her to understand there was something here they needed to further examine, but when he did, her focus was already on him—and his mother. “Grace, can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you,” she said, her sudden aloofness unexpected.
“Okay.” What had he missed? “Maybe Mrs. Danielle will stay a little longer and keep you company while I go talk to Senator Stanton. I just remembered something he should know about Black Magic.” He turned to his mother and said, “Grace doesn’t know anyone here. Would you mind staying a bit longer?”
Ever the polite lady, she nodded. “I’d be happy to.”
“Great. You know she’s writing a story on the senator. Maybe you can give her a better insight into this family since you’re neighbors and all.”
“I doubt there is anything I can tell her that hasn’t already been printed,” she said, her downcast eyes saying different.
“Never can tell. Ladies.” He tipped his hat to the women and left, confident Grace had caught on to what he wanted her to do.
He forced himself to walk away at a slow, even pace. Later, he could tell himself it was a figment of his imagination and she hadn’t recognized him. Now, he couldn’t afford to think about it. He could’ve made the worst mistake of his life, leaving the two women alone. But Lois Danielle was nothing if not discreet. He was counting on his mother not to ask questions that could arouse Grace’s suspicions, that might lead her to hate him.
And it was then he realized how much he didn’t want that to happen. This thing between them wouldn’t last forever, but to think he’d walk away with her disdain was more painful than he cared to think about. Grace was the type of woman a man could fall in love with. And for someone like him, someone who’d sacrificed his mother’s affection—and damn all to hell, even the respect he’d tried so hard to earn from his daddy—finding love was akin to water being a parched man’s salvation. Even if he’d have to eventually give it up. Which was far sooner than he liked.
With more questions than answers, he realized now was the time Lyle Stanton had to be baited into doing something stupid.
* * *
Grace wanted to go after the man who’d just told a bold-faced lie. But she didn’t. Two brothers. He’d told her two brothers. No mention of a sister and certainly not one who modeled. So why lie to this woman?
“Are you a couple?” Mrs. Danielle asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“The way your face lit up when you saw him… and his, before he noticed me. I guess he’d wanted you to himself. Sorry about that.”
His expression had changed. He was good at schooling his features and he’d gone from that gorgeous grin to something unreadable. She thought he’d had something to tell her but then realized he couldn’t share it. Now, she wasn’t sure. “We’re…”
What were they? Friends? Lovers? She certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Mrs. Danielle. It would be like telling her mother. “We’re getting to know each other.” Although that wasn’t entirely true.
“Have you just met?”
“Recently, yes.”
Mrs. Danielle appeared disappointed and said as much. “Oh, I was hoping…. Never mind. So, how can I help you with your story?”
She didn’t have an answer to that question. Although Cowboy was clearing looking for answers, but to what she didn’t know. She, however, had some of her own. “What were you hoping for?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
“You never know,” she said, trying to coax her.
“It’s just, I feel like I know Daniel and not from a magazine picture. Something about his eyes.” She got this forlorn look that broke Grace’s heart.
What had happened to make her so sad? She reached out and touched the woman’s hand, wanting to give whatever comfort she could.
Mrs. Danielle gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, the musings of a heartbroken mother. I must be losing it to think such utter nonsense.”
“What nonsense?”
“Daniel. He reminded of my son. Foolish.”
“Your son? Is he…did something happen to him?”
“He ran away when he was fourteen. I know you’ll think I was an awful mother, but…” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
She couldn’t see this nice lady being an awful mother, an awful anything for that matter. But what kid takes off at fourteen? How old had Cowboy been when he left home? She couldn’t recall his ever having told her.
“We spent years searching. But after a time, you imagine the worst. He had no reason to run away. You see he and his father were going through a difficult time. My husband was very demanding of the boys. He was old school but hadn’t had the same problems with my two other boys. They were more the athletic type, bigger, stronger. Able to do the chores asked of them with little effort, able to do anything with little effort.”
“You have two boys?”
“Three. I had three sons,” she said, a woman proud of her family. “Austin was my youngest, my little surprise, if you will. The runt of my litter. A mother isn’t supposed to have a favorite, but when that little preemie was placed on my stomach…” Her tears began to fall. “I knew he was special. We were very close. I rather spoiled him. But his father was afraid for him. Being smaller and having two older brothers who’d accomplished so much before him, well it was a tough act to follow. And he didn’t want the boy to be bullied. So he tried to toughen him up. But in Austin’s eyes, he was never good enough. Even though that wasn’t the case.”
“And you think he ran away because of that?” That didn’t make sense.
“I don’t know. He didn’t leave a note. I don’t think he expected to not return. He left most of his things, took only a knapsack with a few of his clothes. When we’d heard about Eddie, that’s the Stantons’ son, when we heard he’d been killed, and then we couldn’t find our boy…. Eddie’s killer was never found. One assumes the worst.”
What she wouldn’t give to be able to tell her that her son wasn’t killed by a rapist. That maybe he was alive because whoever had taken care of Edward was the real hero. But she couldn’t do that. Not yet anyway.
“The Stantons spent a small fortune trying to hunt down their son’s murderer. But they came up empty. He disappeared without a trace. Along with my son.”
“I’m sorry,” she said because what else could be said? A fourteen-year-old boy runs away believing his father doesn’t love him, yet his mother had played favorites. Wouldn’t the kid at some point realize he missed his mom and return? Perhaps Mrs. Danielle had been right to believe her son had met with some misfortune.
“Thank you. Maybe one day we’ll learn the truth. Speaking of which, there is something you should know. Madeline never got over her son’s death. The town forgave her drinking because of that. But they, Madeline and Lyle anyhow, never forgave Jessie. She was blamed. One can forgive her. She’d lost a son and needed someone to blame. But Lyle Stanton is a racist pig. I don’t doubt that had Jessie been white, there’d have been less finger-pointing.
“It wasn’t fair,” she went on. “The girl had done nothing wrong and yet Lyle was determined to ruin her. Presley, on the other hand, never once accused Jessie of any wrongdoing. He chose to focus on his son dying a hero. He chose to honor his son’s name, while Lyle chose to spread vile gossip.” Mrs. Danielle shook her head. “So much so, Jessie left our town. She finished school in Atlanta and never returned. Her parents traveled to see her. I find it very odd that she had returned. Even when the Cooks were killed. She made all the arrangements and was only here for the day of the funeral, disappearing shortly afterward. I barely had time to give her my condolences.”
Yet more things Jessie hadn’t told her. She really hadn’t known her friend. “So it begs the question: Why did she take the assignment?”
Mrs. Danielle looked at her quizzically. “Didn’t you say you work for the same paper?”
“Yes.”
“The Dallas Star, right? Do you not know who owns that paper?”
“Sure, CML. They’ve been around for almost a hundred years.”
“Yes, that’s true. But the company was originated in Houston by Thomas Carruthers, Walter Mayberry, and Cedric Longfield. CML.”
Grace didn’t understand where she was going with this and she guessed her expression said as much.
“Cedric Longfield is Presley Stanton’s great grandfather on his mother’s side. Some but not all of the family shares were sold a few years back. And while she gave up her seat on the board of directors, his mother wanted to pass that legacy on to her grandchildren, Ella and William. They stand to inherit a tidy sum on their twenty-first birthdays.”
“How does nobody know this? How do you know this?”
“She told me herself, a few short years before she died. You see, my son, my eldest son, he’s a lawyer and she wanted to make changes to her will but needed someone to be discreet. Lyle’s little claws are far reaching, if you get my meaning. I’m not one to gossip but the woman is dead and another has been murdered. Keeping secrets just doesn’t seem right. Her ownership of the paper was kept quiet. When Presley announced he wanted a life in politics it was advantageous not to remind the public, and as it stood she was no longer a member of the board of directors and held little influence over what was printed. My son naturally didn’t tell me what changes she made to her will and I didn’t ask, but when the estate passed to Presley and not his father, I knew then.”
A soft wind blew through Grace, sending chills down her back. She wished she’d brought a shawl but she had not expected to stay this late. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d packed anything to go with the exquisite gown. “Do you know if Lyle has any influence over the paper?”
“He golfs with the sports editor every Monday. It’s not too far-fetched to believe he can call in a favor if he wants to.”
So Lyle made her editor force Jessie to take the story? Why? She and Jessie had just moved to Dallas. And Jessie had started building a name for herself, and she’d just bought a new car. Starting over at a new paper wasn’t a good option.
She needed to find Cowboy and tell him everything Mrs. Danielle said. She scanned the group of partygoers but came up empty. “Thank you, Mrs. Danielle, but I think I need to find…” She’d been about to say Cowboy. “…Daniel.”
“And I need to get home. If there is anything else you need from me, I’m about thirty miles down the road. Would you like my phone number?”
Mrs. Danielle’s gave Grace her contact information and stood, straightening her black cocktail dress. “It was nice to see you again.”
“I hope you find your son,” Grace said, also standing.
“So do I.” Then she wrapped her arms around Grace and held her close.
Caught off guard, Grace stiffened, then realizing she liked this woman, allowed the warm embrace to fill a need she’d always refused to think about. Was this what it was like to have a mom who cared? It wasn’t her mother’s fault she’d died. Grace inhaled deeply, letting the soft perfume imprint on her brain. Whenever she’d smell orchids, she’d think of Mrs. Danielle.
After she watched her disappear into the house, Grace looked around the garden, searching for Cowboy. The black Stetson was nowhere to be seen. She did the same for the pool area and again came up empty, which meant he was either in the house or in the stables again. Not liking the latter option, she picked up her wineglass and headed inside. It seemed like even more people had arrived as she tried to maneuver around the crowds of milling guests. One man wasn’t watching and, after a boisterous guffaw, knocked her off her heels and into another guest, spilling her wine down the front of her dress. “Shit,” she said, not caring who heard her. The ass didn’t even bother turning around.
The man she’d bumped into handed her a napkin.
“Thanks.” She took the napkin and dabbed the spill.
“Best get a towel from inside.”
“You’re right.” A paper napkin wouldn’t do.
“If you follow me, I have a pretty good idea where they’re kept.”
“Again, thank you,” she said, praying she hadn’t ruined the gown. Then remembering she had manners even if some people didn’t, she lifted her head to smile at the nice gentleman. “You’re very nice.”