Chapter Twenty-Four
Standing in Lyle’s presence made cuddling with a nest of rattlers appealing. The resemblance between him and his grandson was uncanny. But it didn’t stop there. As Lyle went on and on about horse breeding and good stock, Cowboy was reminded of all the times he’d wanted to punch Edward in the face. The young heir to the Stanton fortune had thought he knew everything about everything. Arrogance, it would seem, ran in this family. It was funny how he had never gotten that vibe off the senator.
“So I hear you’re a rodeo champion.”
“Was and yes. I gave up my spurs a long time ago.”
“Is there much money in that?” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box of thin cigars.
It wasn’t about the money, at least, not for him. “If you win.”
“And you won?” he asked in a tone that said he really didn’t give a shit. He withdrew a cigar and offered him one.
“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
“It’s a nasty habit, I know. My wife hated it. But like most women, she hated a lot of things.”
That didn’t describe the woman he remembered. She’d been sweet and kind. Unlike some, she practiced what she preached.
“How well do you know the reporter?” he asked. “I’ve been told you arrived together.”
When the conversation turned to Grace, Cowboy’s hackles rose. “We’re staying at the same hotel. She’s been riding out with me.”
“She’s the police chief’s daughter. Did you know that?”
“No, sir,” he said trying to act surprised. Lyle Stanton had been doing some snooping of his own. Why? “We haven’t done much talking past the weather and her story. She seems real keen on painting the senator in a good light.”
“Does she now? That’s good to hear. Nothing worse than a nosy reporter stirring a pot that’s better left to boil empty.”
This was his chance. He opened his mouth, ready to suggest Jessie Cook was a good pot stirrer, when they were interrupted.
“There you are Lyle, you ole coot.”
The hairs on the back of Cowboy’s neck stood on end.
“Coach Wyatt. What happened to joining us for golf last week?” Lyle said, shaking the hand of the man who had single-handedly ruined Cowboy’s freshman year in high school.
“Sorry about that. My wife insisted we visit the grandbaby up in Austin. Ain’t no stopping that woman when she gets an idea in her head.” He looked at Cowboy with curious anticipation, waiting for Lyle to introduce them, which didn’t appear to be happening anytime soon.
“Daniel Bailey,” Cowboy said, regrettably having to touch his old coach’s sweaty palm. He’d thought it then, he thought it now: the man had a serious problem with body fluids.
“Oh yes,” he said, still loud as ever. “You’re the bronco champ. Glad to meet you. Wish I had kids like you in my gym glass.”
No he didn’t.
“Coach Wyatt here is head of the PE department at Peterson Christian High. Retiring this year, if his wife has anything to say about it. Which I’m sure she will.”
“Oh come on, Lyle, just because you ain’t found someone who’ll tolerate your bullshit anymore, don’t mean the rest of us should join your wagon train. One corral to go home to is enough for me.”
Lyle waved him off. “Say that after you retire and she no longer puts food in your trough or it’s the same bland shit night after night. Or should I say month after month.”
Yeah, he kind of figured it wasn’t food they were shooting the shit about.
“We’re not as young as we used to be. Leave the fine dining and spice to men like Daniel here. Country cooking is fine with me.”
Cowboy had never liked the coach. He was mean, and if you didn’t meet his standards of what he thought athletic prowess was, he’d either pick on you or ignore you. Unfortunately, given that Cowboy’s brothers were captains of everything, Coach Wyatt had made it his personal mission to see all three Danielle boys lived up to their father’s expectations. But considering what he was hearing, he’d found a new respect for the man. And quite possibly the reason as to why Presley inherited the ranch, bypassing good old Lyle. Dollars to donuts the SOB had been caught cheating.
Lyle blew out an exasperated breath. It looked like they’d had this conversation before. And as the men continued to exchange barbs, it looked like they’d keep having this conversation. Cowboy decided to regroup and try later. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to make sure Ms. Irvine’s drink is taken care of.”
“You do that,” Lyle said, “and maybe it won’t be the weather you’ll be discussing tonight.”
Cowboy forced a smile because punching him would draw far too much attention.
Returning to the garden, he saw Ella finally appeared to be enjoying herself. Surrounded by people her own age, they had kicked off their shoes and were dancing to a deejay inside the tent that up to now had remained empty. The weather was perfect, so everyone had stayed outside. Now with the sun gone down, the entire property was illuminated by small pin-lights, except for the pool. There, dozens of votive candles floated on lily pads.
He scanned the area but couldn’t find Grace or his mother. Had she decided to escort his mom to her car? He went inside. She wasn’t in any of the public rooms, or the kitchen. The stables were out. Would she have been naïve enough to check out the barn? Once the sun had gone down, darkness would allow for some cover but in the dress she was wearing… ? She’d stick out like a sore thumb if moonlight caught her. He walked through the house and toward the front gate, hoping to see her in the driveway. When he didn’t, he approached the guard and inquired there.
“No, sir. She hasn’t passed me.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir. I’d have thanked her again for the cheesecake.”
Disappointed, worried, and a little scared, he asked the guard to keep an eye out for her and not to let her leave should she pass him. “She’s got my car keys,” he explained.
The man nodded. “Sure thing.”
Inside the house, he again saw no sign of her. Where the hell was she? And had he not told her to stay where he could find her? Distracted, he collided into someone. “Sorry, my mind is—” He realized the man he’d bumped into was bald with a red beard. “Sorry,” he repeated.
“No damage done,” the man said, changing his glass from one hand to the other and flicking his spilled drink off his fingers. “Second time tonight,” he said, then sped off like he was in a hurry.
The waitress they’d questioned described the man as a “lumberjack wannabe.” She couldn’t have been more dead-on in her description. Now more than ever he needed to find Grace. He called her cell. No answer. Where the hell was she? He told himself not to panic, not yet. The house was huge and she could be anywhere inside. If she was, he was going to personally deliver her to her father for lock up. Is she wasn’t, he was going to kill someone.
* * *
How the hell did she end up in this predicament? And where was her dress? Grace rubbed her arms. It wasn’t that she was cold, but trapped with nothing to do but wait was grating on her nerves. She paced the small room. She’d left her evening bag on the washing machine and now she was without her phone. Could she leave without anyone catching her?
A creak startled her. The doorknob slowly turned. She backed herself into the corner, out of eyesight, and snatched the pillow off the bed to cover herself with. The door opened and a black Stetson peaked inside.
“Cowboy?” Relief washed over her.
“Grace, honey.” He pulled her into his arms. “You all right?” he asked, sounding panicked.
Then she remembered he’d specifically told her to stay where he could find her and he was probably worried. In her defense, how did she know Lily would strip her naked and take the dress to clean? “I’m fine,” she squeaked through his bear hug.
He pulled away, scanning her body for injuries. “Are you sure? No one hurt you?”
“Hurt me? Why would someone hurt… Oh, you couldn’t find me and assumed….” This wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Lily. She pushed me in her room while she went off to try to clean my dress. Someone bumped into me and spilled wine all over it.”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
“I left my purse in the laundry room, but I couldn’t exactly go out there looking like this,” she said motioning to the strapless, form-fitting slip she had on.
His expression changed from worry to something far more intense when he realized what she wore… or wasn’t wearing. “Where’s your dress?”
“Weren’t you listening?”
“No,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “I was getting ready to tear this place apart.”
“You were worried about me,” she said, unable to stop from smiling.
“Don’t look so happy. Did you forget who we’re dealing with?”
She dropped her smile. Of course he’d be worried about her. He was good at his job. And she was a job. He was doing this to prove a point. If they’d never slept together he’d still be on the payroll. She hadn’t thought of it that way before now. “I’m sorry.” She stepped out of his grasp. “I didn’t plan on getting stuck here without my clothes or my phone. One minute Lily’s freaking out about my dress getting wet and the next it’s in her hands and she’s shoving me in here. Why don’t you go see what’s keeping her? And Monty. Shouldn’t he have gotten that file by now?”
“He got it and is reviewing it as we speak. We should hear from him soon.”
Then he said nothing. Just stood there. Being cooped up in here had exhausted all her patience and she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why aren’t you going to find my dress?”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. What the hell was the matter with him?
“Do we have a problem?”
“No. Yes. I mean yes. I have some things I need to tell you.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“Right, but… shit.” He rubbed his neck.
What was it he wanted to say?
“Grace, you scared me to death.”
“And I’m sorry about that. But as you can see I didn’t mean to and I’m fine.”
“Right, yes. It’s just… I’ve never been scared like that before.”
Now she was confused. “Scared like what?”
“You remember the waitress from the diner? The one that said someone else had been in asking about Jessie?”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember what she said the guy looked like?”
She thought back. “Men in black without the suit… bald… red lumberjack beard.” Holy… The man she’d run into. “There’s a guy here that fits that description.”
“You saw him too?”
“He’s the one I bumped into. He helped me back here and got Lily. Come to think of it, it’s odd that he knew where the laundry room was. Oh. You saw him too and when you couldn’t find me, you imagined the worst.”
Cowboy nodded. “But you’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
It was sweet that he’d been worried. “Everything is fine,” she repeated and threw the pillow back on the bed. It was then she noticed something peaking up from under the sheet. Curious, she went to see what it was and recognized it immediately. “Cowboy.” She waved him over and pointed to the blue and white stripped notebook. “That’s Jessie’s.”
“Are you sure?”
“I gave it to her.” Jessie refused to use a recorder for interviews, and this notebook had been on sale.
“What is she doing with Jessie’s notebook? We need to find Lily. Don’t move.”
What choice did she have?
Cowboy opened the door just as someone screamed.
“Stay here,” he told her.
“Not a chance.”
“Grace—”
She pushed him into the hallway. “We’re wasting time. Go. I think it came from the foyer.”
“Damn.” Together they ran to the front of the house.
At the bottom of the staircase kneeled a young woman, one of the girls she’d seen dancing with Ella. In front of her lay Lily, wearing Grace’s blue designer gown.
Cowboy flung his jacket at Grace to help cover her. “Someone call 911.” Then he proceeded to take Lily’s pulse.
“I have my cell phone,” the girl offered and stood to move out of Cowboy’s way.
“Make the call,” Grace told her.
As Grace slipped on Cowboy’s suit jacket, her eyes drifted up the long staircase, but she saw no one. And she was curious as to why no one else had heard the scream until she could faintly make out the last chorus of “Happy Birthday.” They must have brought out Ella’s cake and everyone had moved outside.
She heard the girl being drilled with questions she couldn’t answer from the 911 dispatcher. “Here,” Grace said, taking the phone and putting a reassuring arm around the young woman’s shoulder.
Grace answered all the questions she could, then declined to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
“I was going up to get Ella’s phone. She’d forgotten it in her room. Is she dead?” the girl asked Cowboy.
“No, but her pulse is faint. What’s your name?” he asked, gentling his voice.
“Pamela. Pamela Rushing.”
“Pamela, honey, did you see her fall?”
“No, sir. She was there when I got here.”
“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor. Think you can manage it?”
She looked at Lily, then back at Cowboy. “She’s not dead, right?”
“No,” he said, “she’s not dead.”
“Then I’m good. What do you need me to do?” she asked, standing a little taller and impressing the hell out of Grace.
Form the angle of Lily’s body, Grace was sure Cowboy had lied.
“Can you go and get Senator Stanton? Tell him to be discreet and that he’s needed inside. Don’t let anyone know what’s happened. I know you must want to tell your friends, but that wouldn’t be good for Lily.”
“No, sir. I mean yes, sir. Should I come back with him?”
“That would be a good idea,” he said, standing. “The police will follow the ambulance and they’ll want to talk to you.”
Grace returned Pamela’s phone and waited for the girl to leave before asking. “Is she dead?”
He nodded. “Broken neck.”
“That was really nice of you. Lying to Pamela, I mean.”
“There’s a time and a place for lies, and this was one of them.”
Grace had to agree. “Poor Ella. Bad way to remember your birthday. You think she fell, or was she pushed?”
“Hard to tell. When Pamela gets back, do me a favor and take her outside. Tell her you want to wait for the ambulance or something. We’ll have to figure out how to keep the guests away from here too. Your father will kill me if we muck up a crime scene.”
“We don’t know if that’s what this is. She may simply have fallen. Right?”
“Right,” he said, but not very convincingly.
In the distance sirens wailed.
“That was fast.”
“Fire trucks. There’s a station ten miles up the road.”
How did he know that?
“Ms. Irvine, what happened to your dress?” the senator said, not having noticed the dead woman in his foyer. Then, “What the hell?”
“Senator,” Cowboy said. “Can we get a couple of your ranch hands to keep the guests outside?”
“Is she—”
“She’s hurt,” Grace interjected before he freaked out Pamela, who’d returned with him.
“Should I go get a blanket? They told us in health class we should use a blanket in case a person was in shock.”
“And they were right. Except she could have a neck injury, so it’s best not to touch her. Come on, Pamela, let’s go outside and wait for the paramedics.” Grace wrapped an arm around the girl. She took one last look at the scene over her shoulder. Cowboy gave her an encouraging smile and out they went.
Cowboy turned back to meet the senator’s shocked eyes.
“What’s this all about?” the senator said, pointing to the dead woman.
“I would think that was obvious. The ranch hands, Senator. I believe it would go a long way with the police.”
Catching Cowboy’s meaning, he walked over to the security panel by the door, punched in a code, then waited for a reply.
“Rick here. What can I do for you?”
“Rick, this is Presley. I need you and your men to make sure no one enters the house. Direct anyone who needs to use the facilities to the portable bathrooms outside. Tell them we have…” He thought about it for a minute, then said, “Tell them we had a small fire in the kitchen but not to worry—it’s been taken care of.”
“Fire, sir?”
“Yes. Send some men out front too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stanton disconnected. Both men now stood over poor Lily. “I take it she’s dead.”
“Broken neck,” he said, giving the same reply he’d given Grace.
“Why is she wearing Ms. Irvine’s dress?”
“Good question. Grace had spilled some wine on it and Lily here was so supposed to be helping her clean it up.”
“I can see the stain.”
She’d obviously hadn’t had time to clean the dress before she’d put it on. “Yes, sir. And it doesn’t explain why she’s wearing it.”
“She didn’t come from money. Could be she just wanted to try it on. Maybe in her hurry to return it, she slipped.”
Wishful thinking on his part? Given that from behind Lily and Grace would look alike to anyone who didn’t know the two women, then add the configuration of the stairs, it didn’t sit right. Coupled with the terror he’d felt when he hadn’t been able to find Grace, it didn’t sit right one fucking bit.
“Damn,” Stanton said. “I don’t need another scandal and that poor girl… damn,” he repeated. “Look, can you handle it here? I need to tell my daughter what happened.”
“Sure.” He couldn’t blame him for not wanting to hang around. Lily had already begun to turn ashen. Which raised another question: When had she died?
Two first responders rushed through the door. They examined the body and confirmed her death. When the ambulance arrived, they’d already packed up. The police showed up some thirty seconds later. He’d answered all of their questions by the time Chief Irvine charged in ten minutes later, with Grace following close behind. He took one look at Lily and scowled at Cowboy.
“Dad,” Grace said, “this is Daniel Bailey. He drove me here. We’re staying at the same hotel.”
“Is this your jacket my daughter is wearing?”
Well it was nice to pretend meet him again too. “Yes, sir.”
“Irvine?” the senator returned, not look happy about the chief of police showing up at his doorstep.
“Senator. Really sorry about this. Shame to ruin your granddaughter’s birthday.”
“Then let’s not do that,” Lyle Stanton said, now having joined his son. “I don’t mean to be coldhearted, but why is her body still here?” And if he’d been unhappy before, it didn’t compare to how his face darkened when he spotted Grace. “Is this going to be in tomorrow’s paper. young lady?”
By the time Grace registered it was her the asshole was talking to, Cowboy unwisely stepped between them. He was supposed to be here because of the horse, not her. She, however, was more on the ball.
“No need to be chivalrous twice, Mr. Bailey. The jacket was enough.” Then she zeroed in on Lyle. “A girl dies in your house, sorry, your son’s house, and all you can think about is whether it will make front page or not.”
“Someone has to.”
The asshole was revolting.
“Well if the media does find out, it won’t be my doing. I’m not going to exploit this woman’s death to sell papers. Besides, I’m sure you’d do your little magic trick and have the story pulled.”
Making an enemy out of Lyle Stanton wasn’t a good idea. The glare he shot her, even with her father standing right there, said she was treading on thin ice. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Lyle Stanton had his slimy little hands wrapped around an editor’s throat, but he hadn’t heard a hint of doubt. Why? And from the way she was returning his steely stare, he had his answer. She had something on him. And damn it all to hell, she was baiting him.
“Chief, if the police are done with us, I’d be happy to escort Ms. Irvine back to her hotel,” Cowboy said.
“That’s very generous of you,” Irvine said, in a polite fuck you tone. “But I think I’ll take my daughter home with me.”
“Gee, thanks, but I need clothes. Let’s go, Mr. Bailey.”
“Grace—”
“A girl just died in my dress. Excuse me for wanting comfy jeans and a sweatshirt.” She walked to the front door and, just like that, left.
Cowboy, again, had no choice but to follow.