Final Scream (48 page)

“Which isn’t here.”

“But…” With me standing, shivering in rage, he slowly pulled out his wallet and began reading from a card.

“You have the right to remain silent…”

“You’re serious about this?” I screamed, my face flushing. Why hadn’t I driven away? Why had I been so fascinated with the fire I’d set…because of Derrick. Everything I’d done was for him and now…now, he was dead…oh, God…I think I let out a long, horrid wail of grief. For a brief, painful second I thought of my girls…precious babies. I squeezed my eyes closed and shut out the images of my children, of my husband. “Look, you’re making a huge mistake here,” I said, fighting a rising tide of panic that crept up my spine. “My father is Judge Caldwell. I assume you’ve heard of him. He’ll have your job, your badge and your gun. You’ll be railroaded out of Prosperity…”

The stupid detective just kept reading, and when he was finished, he looked up at me with dark eyes that glittered in victory.

Fear squeezed my heart and then I saw another man hurry up. Him, I recognized. Detective T. John Wilson.

“You got her,” he said to Gonzales.

“Standin’ here, watching the whole thing. Screamin’ that she didn’t mean to kill her husband. Already got her truck, parked on the federal land.” He nodded in the direction where I’d hidden the pickup. A sick, horrible sensation swept over me and I thought I might puke.

“We got her,” Gonzales said and he grinned.

“What? No,” I said, panic taking hold of me. What had I said? I had to backtrack to fix things. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I’d just seen my husband die and…and…I was telling the officer here—”

“He’s a detective,” T. John said.

“Yes, well, he’s making a huge, career-ending mistake.” I was blinking back tears, trying to keep my mind on the conversation while grief was ripping me apart. How could Derrick have been so stupid? How could he have died?

“Gonzales doesn’t make mistakes,” T. John said and his eyes were even colder than his partner’s. “It took us a long time to catch you, Mrs. Buchanan, but we’ve got you, dead to rights. You can tell us all about how you arranged the murders of your best friend, Angie Buchanan, and her baby.”

I cringed at the thought of that little unborn bastard. Derrick’s bastard.

“And Jed Baker, Chase McKenzie, just to begin with. We were already piecing it together, but your confession a few minutes ago helped a lot.”

“My confession? No…I was out of my mind with grief. I…I didn’t know what I was saying…”

“Tell it to The Judge,” T. John said and I thought for a second it was his pitiful attempt at humor but his face was hard and cold as granite.

“You can’t do this!” I yelled as they herded me to a police cruiser and T. John opened the door.

“We’re doing it.”

“No, you can’t.” I saw the future then, not the bright, beautiful life I’d planned with Derrick, but years ahead of living in a small cell, alone, or with dozens of women who were criminals…oh, no…no…“You can’t,” I said, my voice betraying my fear.

Finally T. John smiled. “No?” he mocked as Gonzales protected my head and pushed me inside the car. “Just watch.”

Squinting against a lowering sun, Brig pounded a nail into place and listened as a car approached, but the engine wasn’t the familiar rumble of Cassidy’s Jeep. He waited and a cruiser from the Sheriff’s Department slid to a stop in the old lane that his mother had used for years. Sliding the hammer into his tool belt, he cracked his back and walked stifffly to what would eventually be the door of his new house. It was just an open space now, a wider opening between the walls framed with fresh two-by-fours.

T. John stretched out of his car, and Brig steeled himself. He hadn’t been able to shake off his distrust of the authorities. After a lifetime of running, his instincts were still on alert every time he saw a uniform. T. John scaled the board that bridged the chasm around the foundation of the new house—his house for Cassidy.

“I thought you might want to see a couple of things.” T. John smiled as he surveyed the newly framed walls of a permanent dwelling at the site of Sunny’s old trailer. He handed Brig an envelope and black cassette case. Sawdust and nails littered the plywood floors and the roof was half completed, while the joists smelled of freshly cut wood.

“Why—what’re they?”

“You might want to return ’em to their rightful owners.”

Inside the envelope were two checks, each for a hundred thousand dollars made out to T. J. Wilson. One from Rex Buchanan. One from The Judge.

“Bribes?”

T. John lifted a shoulder. “Could be construed as such.”

Cassidy drove up just then and climbed out of the Jeep. Brig couldn’t help but smile each time he saw her. She was slim and tanned, no visible evidence yet of the child she was carrying. Their child. His smile widened as she joined them and set a paper bag and small cooler in what would someday be the front hall.

Brig fanned the checks out for her to see.

“I was told to use them for my election campaign or my retirement. Whatever I wanted. But the county takes care of one, and I’m not too worried about the other. Since I solved the two fires and murders, looks like I’ve become the local hero. Imagine that.” T. John smiled as Cassidy glanced at the checks, then handed him a beer.

“I’m on duty.”

“It’s lunchtime,” she said. “And you may as well celebrate, hero.”

“Fair enough.”

“What’s this?” Brig asked, fingering the plastic case.

“Pornography. With Derrick as the star.”

“Great.” Cassidy sighed. “What’re you going to do with it?”

“Give it to The Judge. He wants it, you know. Since Felicity’s already serving time, and Derrick’s not around anymore, he’d like to destroy all copies. We already nailed the woman who owns it with attempted blackmail, but The Judge, he’s afraid there might be more copies around and he doesn’t think it would be good for his granddaughters to see it.”

“They’re doing remarkably well,” Cassidy said. “Angela’s spending as much time as possible with that boyfriend of hers and Linnie—well, Linnie reads a lot. I told her she could come and live with us, but she seems okay with the Caldwells.” Sighing, she said, “She keeps talking about Felicity coming home.”

“I don’t think so. She’s got a crackerjack of an attorney, but it’ll be a long time, probably never,” T. John said, and Cassidy understood. The evidence against Felicity was overwhelming. She’d learned about incendiary devices from books in the library and years ago, afraid of losing Derrick to his sister, had decided to kill Angie and Brig while they were together to prove to Derrick that his sister was unfaithful, but she’d ended up killing Jed instead.

Cassidy hated to think about it, but she assumed that after Brig wouldn’t fall for Angie’s attempts at seduction, she needed another man to name as her baby’s father. Jed was the choice and happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Years later, the prosecution was presuming, Felicity not only tried to kill Chase, but the company records as well, hoping to hide the fact that Derrick had been embezzling. She hadn’t known of Brig then, hadn’t realized that Chase was going to meet someone. So she wanted both McKenzie boys killed and had nearly succeeded. She had to set the third fire to finish the job, hoping to kill Chase, but then, realizing he was Brig, thankful that she could get rid of him as well. If the McKenzie boys died, so would all of Derrick’s sordid secrets.

“I’m afraid Felicity will never get out, which is fine by me,” T. John said. “And she’s not the only one. We got Lorna and her ex-husband on some drug charges, so I think they’ll willingly cough up the copies of the tape and cop a plea. The Judge won’t have to worry. Then he can raise his granddaughters the way he wants.”

Brig opened his beer and took a swallow. Cold against the hot of early October. Some of the leaves had already fallen and he worried a little about building the house in the winter, but the roof would be on soon and he didn’t really give a damn if the rain and winds tore the whole place apart.

He wondered about Felicity. Though he’d never trusted her, he hadn’t considered her as a suspect, not really. Probably because she was so outwardly submissive to Derrick. Brig had been fooled; hadn’t expected her to go to such lengths to protect what was hers. How could a woman who was slapped around by her husband commit murder to save her relationship with him? Crazy, that’s what it was. Crazy.

“How’s your mother?” T. John asked Brig as Cassidy unscrewed the cap of a bottle of iced tea.

“She’s gonna live here.”

“With you?” T. John’s eyebrows shot over the rims of his aviator shades.

“In the guest house. We’re building it, too—see over there—” He pointed to a bridge and an excavation site on the other side of the creek.

T. John took a long swallow from his can. “You sure she shouldn’t be back in a hospital—”

“She’ll be fine,” Brig cut in. “Losing Chase was tough, but Ma believes in all things spiritual, seems to think she’ll see him in an afterlife or two. Besides, she’s got Buddy to take care of.”

“He was lucky. We all were,” Cassidy said, smiling at Brig.

“Thank God.” He rubbed his chin. “Ma also wants to be close to Rex since Dena finally left him.”

Cassidy ran her fingers through her hair. “My mother was convinced that he was involved with Angie.”

“Jesus,” T. John whispered.

“Lots of people thought so,” Brig agreed.

“He swears he never touched her, and Sunny backed him up,” Cassidy said, staring at the hills in the distance. Her emotions were still jumbled. It was strange to think of her parents divorced and yet she’d known their marriage had never been rock-solid. She only hoped they would be happier now that the ghost of Angie had been laid to rest. “I don’t think Dad ever touched Angie, not inappropriately—at least not that I remember. Dad loved her, yes, but his one true love was Lucretia. He just mixed Angie up with her, but not so far as to…” She couldn’t even say it. Incest. So ugly. Surely if it had happened, she would have known. But then she hadn’t guessed about Angie and Derrick—though Rex had. The confirmation of their affair had nearly destroyed him. Thankfully he had Sunny to see him through. At the thought of her half brother and Angie together, Cassidy’s stomach turned and she took a quick swallow of tea. Now that she was pregnant, her stomach was often anxious to rid itself of its contents. She noticed that both men were still looking at her, expecting her to say more. “Dad, he was just like every other male in town—half in love with Angie.”

“Not every male,” Brig reminded her, his grin nearly wicked.

“Okay, not
every
male, but the majority. Anyway, Mom’s a lot happier in Palm Springs—away from the scandal and away from all the gossip. No one down there really knows what happened.”

Brig winked at his wife. “I think she was afraid that Ma might curse her.”

“Oh, you!” Cassidy made a face, but laughed.

The detective’s grin stretched to cover the lower half of his face. “I don’t really blame Dena. Sunny’s different and…well…that gift of hers—”

“Could come in handy for the next sheriff if he learned to work with her rather than against her,” Brig said.

“Humph.” T. John downed the rest of his beer and crushed the can in his fist. “I’ll think on it.”

“Do that.”

“Take care.” With a wave, he was off, and Brig stared at the videocassette and checks. As the cruiser pulled out of the drive, he winked at his wife, proud that she finally bore his name—Mrs. Brig McKenzie.

She touched her abdomen; they’d already decided on names if their baby was a boy. Chase William McKenzie—sometimes known as Buddy. If they had a girl, she’d probably still bear the nickname of Buddy. It was the least they could do, as Buddy had saved Brig’s life.

So much pain, but now, so much happiness. She stared into her husband’s devilish gaze and couldn’t let grief pull her down. She felt the corners of her lips twitch upward.

“You know, I have a great idea,” Brig said, pulling her gently against him.

“Oh?” Cassidy looked at him with those gold eyes that had touched his soul so many years ago. “Something dangerous?”

“Of course.”

“Does it involve disrobing?”

“Definitely.” He pulled on her hand and led her down to the basin of Lost Dog Creek, where Buddy had nearly drowned so many years ago. Now, in late autumn, the creek was barely a trickle. Brig kicked some dry leaves and sticks onto the muddy bank, then knelt down. With a wicked glint in his eye, he set the checks and videocassette on his makeshift pyre, adding a couple of squirts of lighter fluid.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting rid of garbage.” He flicked his lighter and a flame shot skyward, then he watched as the lighter fluid ignited. Small flames crackled and hissed, devouring the checks. Paper and wood went up in smoke, and the videotape melted from the heat. The smell was ugly, but the fire died a quick death as he kicked dirt over the ashes.

It was over. Finally. His heart ached for Chase, for the years lost in Alaska, but now he was home. With Cassidy. Where he belonged. Forever. A horrid weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Standing, he slipped his arms possessively around her waist. “Now, wife,” he said, savoring the word as the fire smoldered to ashes, “what do you say to initiating our bedroom?”

“It’s hardly a room.” She turned to look at the framed structure and the opening where French doors would eventually open to a veranda overlooking the creek.

“Do you care?”

Laughing deep in her throat, she asked, “What do you think?”

He stared at her so hard a pink flush stole up her neck. Then he scooped her off the ground and carried her to their house—the home where they would raise their family and live proudly, heads raised over the ugly rumors of their past. Their love had sustained them; their lives would be blessed. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally, their lives would be complete.

Brig’s lips brushed over hers, and desire sparked to life. “What I think, lady,” he whispered against her ear as he dragged her to the floor, “is that I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

“Mmmm. Does that make me the luckiest woman?”

He grinned wickedly. “Damned straight.”