Heat Wave (Riders Up) (30 page)

Cassie snapped a
lead pencil in half and then stood. Both men looked at her and remained quiet. Cassie
wet her lips before directing her attention to Ed. “So things are bad. I’m
still trying to understand why you think you can’t call Maggie to let her know
you’re at least alive. That woman must be worried sick.”

Slumping further in
his chair, Ed shook his head. “She’s in more danger if Prater finds out I’m
still in the picture. She probably thinks I walked out, or that I got drunk and
ran away. Maggie won’t want anything to do with a drunk.”

“Nonsense,” Cassie
protested, “she’s got more faith in you than that. You’re supposed to get
married, for god’s sake.”

Ed shrugged.

Running fingers
through his thick black hair, Clint said, “I expect it’s time we took the
initiative. You’re right, Ed, we can’t just sit back and wait for Prater to
strike again. Each time he acts, the danger gets higher.

“I believe it’s
about time we set a trap for the outstanding banker of Beaverhill. That will
require you going back to Iowa, Ed.”

Clint laid out a
plan to which Ed reluctantly agreed. His stomach knotted. He wanted to get the
goods on Prater, but he wasn’t so sure he was ready to deal with Maggie. Would
she even believe his story? Would she take him back? Would she want him back? What
the hell would he do if she’d given up on him?

As if reading his
thoughts, Cassie sat down beside him and placed her hand on his trembling arm. “Harrington,”
she confided, “I’ve known you for quite a while now. I used to think you were a
sexist lout. Then I began to see a gentle spirit that you tried to hide behind
bravado. You’ve come a long ways, but you still have a few things to learn
about women. We may like to be taken care of at times, but we don’t want to be
protected from things that matter. We may at times appear vulnerable, but never
underestimate the strength of a woman.”

“Thanks for your
vote of confidence, I think.” Grinning sheepishly, Ed continued, “I can just
about hear Maggie saying the same thing.”

Closing his eyes,
he winced. Opening them, he looked over at Cassie. “Okay, I’m ready. Where’s
the phone?”

“It’s over there on
the desk,” Cassie said softly. Both she and Clint rose. “We’ll be in the
kitchen.” She paused. “Trust the love you two have. It’s strong and has been
tempered by a lot already.”

- o -

Maggie answered the
kitchen phone on the third ring and immediately recognized the deep gravelly
voice. Her throat constricted while her heartbeat seemed suspended in
weightless time. After mumbling that she was fine, tears streaming down both
cheeks, she concentrated on listening. Desperately, Maggie tried to hear him
out with her whole body.

With the phone cord
wrapped several times around her, Maggie’s senses reeled first one way and then
the other. Relieved that he was safe with their Chicago friends. Horrified that
someone had drugged him and thought they could buy him off. Guilty that she had
initially believed he had run away from her love, and that he had climbed back
into the bottle, that he had placed the lives of others at risk by getting
behind the wheel of his pickup when drunk. Angry that he’d just now called—she
expected Cassie had more than a little to do with that. She felt like she’d
been given an overdose of Novocain. Would she ever be coherent again?

- o -

“Are you still
there, Maggie?” Ed stammered. He regretted that his story had rolled off his
tongue so rapidly without giving her time to react or think and without really
finding out how things were with Maggie and the kids. But he’d been unable to
stop the flow of words. He just hoped to God she would understand.

Choking, Maggie
blurted out, “I’m here, cowboy. When are you going to stop letting people beat
you over the head? Not that you don’t have a hard enough head to withstand a
ton of concrete.”

Relief swept
through his body. For a moment he felt weightless. “When they let me see them
coming,” he countered. “What did they tell you happened?”

“That you were
driving drunk and ran off into the ditch. That you probably were too scared to
come back here and simply fled. No one really looked for you because foul play
wasn’t suspected.”

He groaned
listening to the disembodied voice. “And what did you think, Maggie?”

Maggie hesitated. “I
didn’t want to believe them.”

“But you did,” he
said softly.

“Briefly,” she
admitted between sobs. “But Carolyn and my brother actually saw through the
sham. They got me back to thinking with my heart. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust
you.”

“Don’t be,” Ed
said. “I don’t get high grades on trust, either, or I would have called before
now. You have Cassie to thank for helping me see and believe in what you and I
have.”

Maggie chuckled
softly. “Give her a great big hug for me. So when are you coming home?”

Ed thought his
heart was going to split in two at the word
home.
He went on to explain
the plan for setting a trap for Prater and why it was crucial she not yet tell
Johnny and Carolyn where he was. No word could leak out that he remained in
contact with the Andersons. They could not even risk meeting in Des Moines or
in Chicago because Prater might have someone trying to keep tabs on both of
them.

And the entire
family could be in dire danger if their planned trap failed. There was no
telling what the deranged banker would conjure up next.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Absently, Maggie
pulled at her sweater collar while sitting with one leg tucked under her. Although
it was nearly mid-December, the heat in Ben Templeton’s office was stifling. She
glanced over at Cassie Travers sitting alertly next to her in an identical
light-green cushioned chair. As planned, the Chicago woman had come along to
support her friend in this moment of confrontation. Templeton sat behind his
desk idly drumming his fingers, glancing frequently at the clock on the office
wall.

The three of them
waited for Josh Prater, who had been told that Maggie wanted to discuss the
possibility of selling the farm and that she wanted Templeton to be her
financial advisor in any such proceedings.

Fidgeting with the
folder of papers in her lap, Maggie wondered if the banker would come. Had he
been tipped off? She didn’t see how that could have happened. He’ll come. He’d
wanted her land for as long as she could remember. He’d come.

At last, the
intercom buzzed. A tinny voice announced, “Mr. Prater is here to see you, Mr.
Templeton.”

“Show him in,” was
the response.

Maggie had never
seen Prater appear so cheerful. The man beamed a confident smile. Nodding, he
quickly removed his coat and scarf and sat on the edge of the third chair in
front of Ben’s desk. The semi-circle of chairs was now filled, with Maggie
sitting in the middle.

Maggie looked at
Ben Templeton. The level of anticipation in the room was palpable.

“So,” Prater said,
looking directly at Maggie, “you have finally come to your senses, young lady. It’s
never too late, I guess.”

Stunned by his
arrogance, Maggie merely stared at him. Maggie’s muscles clinched with the
effort of restraining her turbulent emotions.

Ben cleared his
throat. “Before we begin, Josh, I’d like to introduce Cassie Travers to you. You
may recall that Ms. Travers has been working with some of Maggie’s horses in
Chicago. She’s a friend of Maggie’s and Ed Harrington’s.”

“Ah, yes, the
knight errant,” Prater mocked, hardly acknowledging Cassie’s presence. “There’s
a rumor about that he’s disappeared. That maybe there wasn’t enough here in
little Beaverhill to hold him after all. My, my, Ms. Anderson, you must be disappointed
on a number of counts.”

Maggie couldn’t
keep herself from blushing, but she kept her tongue still. If she lost her
composure under Prater’s gloating the entire trap could spring prematurely and
Prater would slither away like the rat he was.

In the ensuing
silence, the only noises she could hear were the ticking of the wall clock and
the pounding of her heart.

“Well, what are we
waiting for?” Prater demanded. “I don’t have all day. I’m a very busy man.”

“So it seems. So it
seems,” Ben drawled, shifting his weight in his swivel chair. “Before we get
down to business of considering offers, there are some other matters to clear
up.

Ben peered over his
glasses at Prater. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “I think I neglected to say that
Ms. Travers’ husband operates, among other things, a detective agency out of
Chicago. Seems he’s had a man looking into some of the problems that have been
plaguing Maggie and Mr. Harrington of late.”

Prater started to
speak but stopped. Beads of perspiration dotted his furrowed brow.

“Maggie, why don’t
you tell us about the documents you have in your lap,” Ben suggested.

“I don’t see what
her problems have to do with selling the land,” Prater interjected.

Maggie looked at
Prater, who was scowling deeply.

“Patience, my
friend,” Ben said. “I expect it’s all tied together. Do you suppose that Maggie
Magee Anderson would sell her family’s legacy if she weren’t dealing with
insurmountable problems?”

“I don’t need to
hear all the details to carry out a simple land transaction,” the banker
protested, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

“I insist, Josh. The
details are quite titillating. You used to like to puzzle things out. Maybe you
can be helpful this morning. Begin, Maggie.”

“The first item the
detective discovered is a purchase receipt for gallons of a rapid fire starter.
The same kind of accelerant used to burn down my barn.” Maggie glanced up from
the documents. Prater’s eyes were wide with surprise, if not fright. Ben gave
her a satisfied smile. Maggie continued, not believing the calm in her voice. “The
receipt is from a store in Ames.”

“And who signed the
sales slip?” Ben prompted.

“The signature is
that of Joshua Prater.”

“I can explain
that,” Prater sputtered.

“I’d like to hear
that,” Ben responded.

“I had some brush
to burn on my property?”

“Seems like a lot
of special fuel to accomplish that. What else do you have there, Maggie?”

“Copies of cash
withdrawal slips for two thousand dollars and twenty-five thousand. The first
occurred the day before Ed was beat up leaving Mel’s Bar and Grill, and the
other the day before he disappeared from Beaverhill. Oh. I forgot,” she said,
pointing in the banker’s direction, “Mr. Prater withdrew the money from
accounts he has in an Ames bank.”

“So what?” Prater
screamed, turning deep red. “I spend money like everyone else.”

“That’s a lot of
cash purchases, my friend,” Ben declared. Tipping back in his chair, he
appeared bemused. “I wonder how many folks here in town know the president of
their local bank keeps large sums of money in a competitor bank in another
town. Is that all, Maggie?”

“I know what you’re
trying to do,” Prater rasped, sitting back in his chair.

The man all of
sudden looked too relaxed. Maggie worried.

“You can’t prove a
damn thing, or we wouldn’t be sitting here. Where’s the cops?”

Determined to
ignore Prater’s remarks, Maggie spoke up, “There is also a handwritten signed
note from a Mr. Sonny Burdette explaining that he and Mark Fellows did not kill
Ed Harrington. They were paid by Prater to rough him up, drug him and deposit him
in Chicago. The note says if Harrington is dead, then Prater paid someone else
to do it, or he did it himself.”

Pressing his hands
against his chest, Prater cried out, “I didn’t kill him. They weren’t supposed
to kill him. Oh, my God.” The man sobbed. “I’m not a murderer. I’m not a
murderer.”

“But you did burn
down the barn,” Maggie said calmly, “and you could have killed Ed and me then.”

Prater’s eyes
glazed over before he responded, “Yes, yes. It was a glorious fire. Stupendous.
I was only trying to frighten you off the land.”

Prater looked at
Ben and his voice went flat. “Every time it looked like she might have to sell,
that dumb horse trainer showed up. If we could have gotten rid of him,
everything would have been fine.”

“You still don’t
understand that by burning down my barn you were also attempting murder,”
Maggie said, clenching her hands in her lap. “Ed and I were in the loft when
you set the fire.”

“If you were a
decent woman, you wouldn’t have been up there. If you hadn’t been whoring
around in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

Ignoring the shrill
verbal slap, Maggie asked, “Why me, Mr. Prater? My farm isn’t huge. It’s worth
something, but certainly more to me than to you.”

Maggie retreated back
in her chair in the face of the man’s sneer.

“The land! That’s
all you can think about, is the land,” he accused. “The land didn’t have
anything to do with it. Your mother, the bitch.”

Maggie gasped,
wanting to close her ears but needing to listen.

“It was all about
her treachery.” Prater dropped his jaw to his chest and mumbled, “She threw me
over for that no-account Colt Magee.”

Hearing the
disbelief in his voice, Maggie realized that Prater’s romantic wounds were as
fresh today as they must have been decades earlier. His hysterical laugh gnawed
at her soul.

“You’re a spittin’
image of her, and apparently just like her. Giving your body to any boy who
could get it up. Married right out of high school. You should’ve done better
than that.”

The man sobbed
bitterly. “You could’ve been my daughter.”

The vacant pain in
the banker’s eyes chilled Maggie to the bone. Had her mother slept with the
creep? She sure hoped not. She glanced quickly at Ben. He shook his head in
response. They needed to hear Prater’s story now that he was talking. Sorting
out details would have to wait. Maggie sucked in her breath and tried to stay
focused on what the banker was saying.

 “No man would’ve
been good enough for my daughter. My daughter would never have lusted like a
common tramp. But not you,” he yelled, pointing accusingly at Maggie, “you
lusted for the land, and then for that vagabond horse trainer, and then for
horses. You knew no boundaries, no decorum, no morality.”

Maggie blanched under
his tirade, but otherwise remained calm. How could his mind have twisted
everything so? Everything she loved he tried to make dirty.

Looking furtively
about the room, Prater continued, “Can’t you see? I did it all for you. To save
you from others and from yourself.” He shivered a deep sigh, winding down like
a seven day clock. “You should have been satisfied living alone. Like me.”

The door to the
adjoining room opened. Ed Harrington and Clint Travers entered quickly.

Looking grim, Ed
moved directly to stand by Maggie. “I think we’ve heard enough,” he said. Maggie
stood. His wide open arms encircled her.

“He’s not dead!”
Prater gasped, pointing at Harrington. “He’s not dead,” he reiterated, as if trying
to convince himself and forestall a dawning of his mind. He paused. The silence
hung like an early morning fog.

Glaring at Ben,
Prater rose and bellowed, “You tricked me! This is entrapment. None of this
will hold up in court.” More smugly, he added, “So much for this entire show,
this charade. I’ve heard enough.”

Clint stepped
between the banker and the exit. “Oh, it will hold up all right. We’re not law
officers. We can hardly be accused of entrapment. But the sheriff should be
coming in any moment now. Eye witness reports of what transpired here along
with the tape of the meeting should go a considerable ways to getting you
behind bars—a prison or a mental institution.”

Letting go of
Maggie, Ed stepped across to confront Prater. The banker stumbled back into his
chair, where he sat cowering under Ed’s steady gaze.

“You seem to have
done everything in your power to destroy a lot of folks, including me,” Ed said.
“Looks like the only person you destroyed was yourself. Before they take you
away, I have something of yours.”

Reaching into his
back pocket, he retrieved an envelope. “Don’t quite know how you’ll spend it
where you’re going, but I certainly have no use for it. Maybe you should learn
that not everyone can be bought or frightened.”

Snickering, Prater
grabbed the envelope. “You’re wrong. Everyone has a price. I just didn’t go
high enough for you. I mistook you for a cheap hustler when you were playing a higher
stakes game with the pure Ms. Anderson, one worthy of a top drawer con man.”

Ed grabbed the
banker by his suit lapels and held him off the floor before Clint could
intervene. “Drop him,” Clint demanded. “He’s not worth it. A man who kills cats
isn’t worth your getting into trouble with the law.”

“You’re right,” Ed
responded, shoving Prater back into his chair. “Vermin is vermin whether at the
track, in the city, or in a small town. If you get too close to them, you risk
starting to smell like them.”

Sadly, Maggie
watched the sheriff lead his handcuffed brother-in-law off to jail. She
wondered how Prater could carry so much hate for such a long time. What had
snapped? Why had he chosen this year to come after her land in such a blatant
manner? It had started before the arrival of Harrington, although the trainer
had upset Prater’s plans. Was the trigger simply the terribly hot summer? She
doubted she’d ever really know.

Maggie moved to Ed.
He hugged her tightly. Even in the excessively heated room, Maggie had been
chilly ever since Prater had arrived. Now she warmed up in her lover’s arms. Ed
kissed the top of her head.

“You know,” he
said, “we may at last be free to walk around without wondering who is going to
knock us over the head next.”

Smiling in
agreement, Ben stood to shake hands all around. “Now tell me. I’m curious. How
much of what Maggie said was true, and how much of it was speculation?”

“The bank slips and
sales slips were real enough,” Clint offered. “Our man in the field was quite
certain that Burdette and Fellows were the thugs that Prater hired. While they
wouldn’t admit it, they were reported as bragging about making some big money
in Iowa by simply transporting somebody out of town. They claimed they didn’t
even have to maim or kill the guy.”