Whirlwind, p.19
Whirlwind, page 19
“I can’t control the folks who listen in on the dispatches,” the sheriff said. “But until we know more, I’ll try to keep things quiet. Call me if you find anything else that might help.”
Tess thanked him, took his card, and watched the van drive away. Then, leaving Aaron, she headed back down the road to the house.
Memories swept over her as she walked—Callie making birthday cakes, cutting paper dolls, and reading stories to her sisters; Callie listening to her teenage troubles and hugging her tight when she got the news about Mitch; Callie by their father’s bedside, holding his hand as he died. Warm, laughing, loving Callie.
This couldn’t be real.
But there was no getting around the truth. When it came to the acts of destruction on the ranch, Callie had motive, means, and plenty of opportunity. Even so, Tess couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
She reached the house and crossed the porch—the porch where she and Callie would no longer sit in the lawn chairs with a cold drink while they watched the sunset and talked over the events of the day. She passed into the kitchen where the coffee sat cold on the counter, and no one had even started breakfast—not that anybody, except maybe the boys, would have much appetite.
Standing at the back door, looking out over Callie’s lovingly watered garden, Tess sucked in her tears and prepared to call her sisters.
* * *
When Lexie got the call from Tess, she was in the hospital parking lot, clearing Shane’s personal belongings out of his truck. Except for the pistol and ammo clip in the glove box, the other odds and ends, like his spare keys, sunglasses, and faded baseball cap, along with his boots, clothes, and the things Casey had taken from his locker, would go with him when he went to rehab tomorrow morning. After he left, she would be driving the truck back to the ranch.
Yesterday she’d bought a nylon zipper bag and filled it with several sets of sweatpants, shirts, tees, socks, and underwear, along with a pair of sneakers for Shane to wear in rehab. Seeing to these small needs was becoming routine. It even gave her pleasure. Tomorrow, when they went their separate ways, she would miss being there for him. But she knew that Shane needed to move ahead with the next chapter in his life, and she needed to let him—even if it meant losing him.
She was locking the truck when her phone rang. The connection was a bad one, cutting out Tess’s too-calm voice. Only when Tess ended the call and switched to texting did Lexie get the essence of the message.
Callie is dead. Come home.
Coming.
Lexie sent the single word before the news sank in, doubling her over like a body blow. Callie dead? How could that be? She wasn’t sick. She wasn’t old. It couldn’t be true.
Lexie barely remembered her own mother. From her early childhood, it had been Callie who’d tucked her in at night, Callie who’d brushed her hair, read her stories, driven her to the bus stop, and helped her with her homework. Callie who’d done everything a mother would do except give birth to her.
“No!” She wanted to scream the word at the top of her lungs. First Jack, then her father, then Shane’s terrible injury, and now this.
Fighting tears, she carried the bag of Shane’s things up to his hospital room. She didn’t want to burden him by falling apart, but he’d always been able to read her.
“Tell me,” he said.
Sinking onto the chair when her legs failed to hold her, she told him what little she knew. Toward the end she broke down. Leaning over the edge of the bed, she pressed her face against his shoulder. Her body quivered with sobs.
“God, I’m sorry, Lexie.” He stroked her hair. “You already had too much to deal with. Now this. I wish I had some way to help.”
“It’s not just me . . .” Lexie spoke between sobs. “Tess didn’t say how Callie died. I have the feeling it was something awful.”
“You need to go home,” he said. “You need to go now.”
“What about you?” She raised her head. “What about the transfer to Tucson?”
“I’ll be fine. Brock’s arranged for helicopter transport. I didn’t ask for his help, but this will save me a long day of lying in the ambulance on bumpy roads. I couldn’t say no.”
“That’s great.” Lexie forced the words. Brock again—and she could only imagine what helicopter transport from Pueblo to Tucson would cost. The man was fighting her for control of Shane’s future, with a whole arsenal of weapons she would never possess. All she could offer Shane was her love and a lifetime of challenges.
But she had to let him be the one to choose.
She pulled away from him, stood, and placed the things she’d brought for him on the chair. “These are to go with you,” she said. “Make sure—”
“I’ll be fine, Lexie. Your sister needs you. Just stop mothering me and go.”
“All right, I’m going.” Stung, she gathered up her purse and forced herself to say what needed to be said. “One last thing. You’re right about my mothering you. And I’m not going to do it anymore. You need some space while you get strong and figure out your life. While you’re in rehab, I’m going to give you that space. If you don’t see me or hear from me, you’ll know why.”
“Lexie—”
“No more. We’ve both said enough.” She leaned over the bed and gave him a quick kiss, then turned and walked out of the room.
Struggling against waves of emotion, Lexie took the elevator to the hospital lobby and strode outside to the truck. For now, Shane would have to fight his own battles. It was time for her to go home and face whatever awaited her there.
* * *
The Jensens, father and son, showed up with their bull that afternoon. Named Gadianton after a Book of Mormon villain, he was old and surly with a bad hip. But Alma Jensen claimed he’d been a great bucker in his time and could still satisfy the ladies.
“We’ll see. I’m holding back my end of the bargain until I know for sure.” Tess had taken the grief and shock of Callie’s death and locked it into a black box while she dealt with other things, like this bull. It was a skill she’d mastered with far too much experience.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Back up to the pasture gate and turn him loose. Let’s see how he does.”
Jensen’s son backed the trailer up to the open gate. When the big, black bull stumbled on the way down the ramp, Tess’s heart sank. But once he caught the scent of the cows, who’d been herded away from the gate by the two boys on horseback, he came to full attention. His head went down and forward. His upper lip curled. Lowing his intent, he trotted toward the cows. Soon enough, it became clear that, although the old boy had a hitch in his gait, he knew how to make babies.
So far so good. Tess could only hope she’d made the right choice. Spring calving would tell the tale. “All right,” she said, dreading the next step. “Let’s go look at the yearlings.”
The yearling bulls and heifers had been herded into the paddock. Alma Jensen sat on the fence, looking them over for a good twenty minutes. The more time he spent, the more Tess’s spirits drooped. The man was a good judge of animals. He wouldn’t just pick the biggest or the flashiest and call it good. He would choose the best one—the brother of Whirlwind and Whiplash.
And that was exactly what Jensen did.
Tess cursed her own sense of honor as the young bull was loaded into the trailer. To hell with doing the right thing. She should have hidden him in the stable or with the beef cattle. Lexie had predicted what would happen—and she’d been right.
The only good thing that could come of this would be the hope of getting some quality calves out of old Gadianton.
As the trailer disappeared over the pass, Tess reopened the black box that held the awful circumstances of Callie’s death. She’d been able to get word to Lexie, telling her as little as possible. But there was no answer on Val’s phone. She hated delivering tragic news by text, but that might be her only chance to reach her unpredictable sister—unless Val had lost her phone again or changed her number. If that was the case, she was out of luck.
Sooner or later, the authorities would release Callie’s remains. Then what was to be done? Tess didn’t want to make plans without her sisters. Whatever vengeance Callie might have carried out in the past few weeks, she had been a mother to them all.
A surge of grief raised a lump in her throat. Tess willed it away. Mourning would have to wait. Right now, there were bills to be paid, decisions to be made, and supper to cook for Ruben and the boys. She didn’t even know what was in the fridge, but she would find out. With Callie around, there’d always been something good to eat on the table.
Always . . .
Squaring her shoulders, Tess mounted the porch and walked into the house.
* * *
It was after midnight when Lexie drove Shane’s truck the last few miles over the pass. As she descended the switchback road, she could see the shadowy outlines of the house and outbuildings below. The porch light shone through the darkness like a single star, guiding her home.
A coyote—a flash of gray in the headlights—streaked across the road in front of her. Lexie braked hard, the tires crunching gravel. As the animal dashed off into the scrub, she took a moment to breathe before shifting down and starting again at a crawl—the only safe speed at this hour. She was exhausted—not only from the long hours of driving, but from the constant turmoil playing like a loop in her head.
Leaving Shane, without knowing whether they’d have a future together, had been wrenching. Now she was returning to a home that would be forever changed—braced to hear truths that she didn’t want to know.
But this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself. Tess would be grieving, too—probably struggling to be strong and carry on as she always seemed to. But Lexie couldn’t let her sister deal with this tragedy alone. Whatever had to be faced, they would face it together.
As she drove into the yard and climbed out of the truck with her duffel, the front door opened, spilling light onto the front porch. Tess stood in the open doorway. Wrapped in Jack’s old flannel bathrobe, she hurried across the porch and down the steps. Tess had never been physically affectionate, but as she wrapped her sister in her arms, Lexie could feel her desperate need to give and receive comfort. “Thank you for getting here so quickly,” she said. “Come on inside. I’ll tell you everything.”
* * *
In the glare of the kitchen light, Tess’s face showed the strain she’d been under. She looked haggard and pale, with pools of shadow below her eyes. Her hair was tangled, as if she’d tried to sleep and ended up tossing and turning.
Lexie sipped the chamomile tea Tess had made for her. The cup grew cold in her hands as she listened to her sister’s account of all that happened on the ranch since she’d left to take Whirlwind to the PBR in Pueblo—the poisoned bull feed and the death of old Thunderbolt; the search for Callie and the discovery of her body with the poison nearby.
Too shocked to cry, Lexie stared across the table at Tess. “So she was the one—the note, the opened gate, the slashed tire, all of it? I can’t believe—I won’t. Callie would never do those things.”
Tess shook her head. “I don’t want to believe it either. But the evidence says otherwise. She had the poison when she fell. She even had a motive. According to Aaron, she was angry about Dad’s will. And the note—”
“I know what it said. And yes, it fits. But Callie didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She would never have done those things. There has to be another explanation.”
“Well, if that’s true, I hope the police can find it.” Tess rose, massaging the small of her back with one hand. “Meanwhile we need to decide on funeral and burial arrangements.”
“Have you talked to Val?” Lexie asked.
“I’ve tried her a half-dozen times and left messages for her to call back. So far, no luck. You know Val. If we don’t hear, all we can do is move ahead without her.”
“Val loved Callie. I can’t help thinking she’d want to be here.”
“Then why in blazes hasn’t she called?” Fatigue and frustration laced Tess’s voice. “Get some rest while you can. You’re going to need it.”
“You, too. Promise me.” Lexie stood and carried the two cups to the sink.
“Did you tell Shane about my offer?”
“I did. He seemed interested, but he said it was too soon to decide. I’ll tell you more in the morning.”
“And morning will be here before we know it.” With a weary sigh, Tess turned away and headed down the hall to her bedroom.
Lexie turned off the kitchen light and made her way to her own room. Before sitting down with Tess, she’d tossed her duffel on the bed. Everything inside needed to go into the wash. Unpacking could wait until morning.
A plastic laundry basket, stacked with clean, folded clothes, sat next to the bureau. Callie’s work. As Lexie lifted out a fresh nightgown, stripped off her underwear, and pulled the soft, fragrant cotton over her head, the loss hit her. Tears she’d been holding back for long hours came in a flood. Crawling into bed, she pulled up the covers, buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs, and let the world cave in on her.
* * *
The barking dogs woke Lexie from an exhausted but fitful sleep. Still muzzy, she lay still a moment. Then, turning, she glanced at the bedside clock. The glowing digits said 4:10 A.M., too early for anyone to be out doing chores.
The aging border collies were still barking. Maybe the coyote she’d seen earlier had ventured into the yard. But no—she knew those dogs. She knew the threatening tone of their barks when they sensed an intruder. But that wasn’t what she was hearing now. It sounded more as if the dogs were excited.
What on earth?
Lexie flung herself out of bed. In the dim hallway, she almost bumped into Tess. Her sister was wrapped in a bathrobe and armed with a pistol. “Stay behind me,” she said.
“But the dogs—”
“Keep still. This could be anything—or anybody.”
Better safe than sorry, Lexie told herself as she moved behind Tess and followed her across the dark living room to the locked door. Someone outside was rattling the latch. From the other side came a voice, husky but unmistakably female, the words muffled by the thick wood.
“Damn it, unlock this door and let me in!”
“Oh, good grief!” Tess lowered the gun and flung open the door. A figure in a rakish fedora stood on the porch, fighting off the licking, wagging, ecstatic welcome of the dogs.
“For crying out loud, get these damned mutts off me!” There could be no mistaking that gravelly Lauren Bacall voice.
Val was home.
* * *
While Val fled to the bathroom and Tess started an early breakfast, Lexie pulled on sweats and sneakers and went out to bring Val’s luggage in from the car. To her surprise, she found the back seat and trunk of the vintage red Cadillac convertible crammed with boxes, bags, and an assortment of suitcases. This could only mean one thing. Val hadn’t just arrived for a short visit. It appeared that she’d come home to stay.
Bursting with questions she knew better than to ask, Lexie began carrying items inside and stacking them in the living room. Where they’d go from there would be up to Val and Tess. It felt almost like the old days, being the little sister again—not that she’d ever liked it much.
Lexie had been in her early teens when Val had left for California. Since then, it was as if her sister were living on some distant, glittering planet—acting in movies, dating co-stars and producers, attending premieres and parties dressed in glamorous designer clothes. Lexie had never envied that life or wanted it for herself. But over the years, Val had become like a mythical goddess or a fairy-tale queen, living in a make-believe world. Now, suddenly, she had become real.
“Lexie!” Val came rushing back into the living room to clasp Lexie from behind and spin her around. “Let me look at you! My God, you’re a grown woman! And you’re gorgeous!”
Val, with her mother’s petite stature, was a halfhead shorter than her sisters. Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, her hat gone, she looked thin and tired. But she was still beautiful with her stunning green eyes, porcelain skin, and fiery mane of auburn hair.
“It’s . . . good to see you, Val.” Lexie was still at a loss for words.
“Breakfast!” Tess called from the kitchen. “I’m guessing you’d rather sleep than eat, Val. But we need to talk now, so come on in and sit down.”
“I could do with a bite or two.” Val walked into the kitchen, with Lexie following. Tess had made coffee and toast, and was adding cheese to some scrambled eggs.
Taking a seat at the small table, Val glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Callie?” she asked.
The spatula that Tess was holding dropped from her hand and clattered onto the floor. She stared at her sister in horror. “You didn’t get my messages? You don’t know?”
“My phone got stolen last week. What—?” The color drained from Val’s face as the implication sank home. “What’s happened? Tell me.”
While Lexie pulled the cast-iron pan off the burner to save the eggs, then poured the coffee, buttered the toast, and scooped the eggs onto a plate, Tess told Val the whole story. By the time she’d finished, Val was slumped in her chair, looking as if she’d been flogged. Her thin shoulders shook with unvoiced sobs.
“I didn’t . . . know,” she muttered, the words breaking apart. “I loved Callie. I had . . . no idea.”
“You’re saying that, after all these years, you just decided to come home?” Tess demanded.
“I need a minute.” Val took a few sips of coffee, then set her mug down with a ragged sigh. “You’ll find out sooner or later, so I might as well come clean now. I’ve spent the past nine weeks in rehab for alcohol and opioid addiction. The doctors told me that if I didn’t get away from the Hollywood scene, I’d be right back where I was and probably end up dead. So yes, I just decided to come home. Any questions?”
“Only one.” Tess’s expression remained frozen, like a mask. “Are you clean?”
