Lone Star Winter (18 page)

“Who'd put up with him?” she asked honestly. “Now there's a mixer for you,” she said enthusiastically. “He actually threw another lawyer out the front door and onto the sidewalk last month. Good thing there was a welcome mat there, it sort of broke the guy's fall.”

“What did he want?” Curt asked.

She shook her head. “I have no idea. But I don't expect him to be a repeat client.”

Curt chuckled. “I see what you mean.”

 

Libby went to bed early that night, without another word to Janet. She knew that anything she said would be too much. But she did miss her father and she couldn't believe that he wouldn't have mentioned Libby and Curt in his will. He did love them. She knew he did.

She thought about Jordan Powell, too, and about Curt's remark that he thought Jordan was sweet on her. She tingled all over at the thought. But that wasn't going to happen, she assured herself. Jordan was gorgeous
and he could have his pick of pretty women. Libby Collins would be his last resort. The world wasn't ending yet, so she was out of the running.

She rolled over, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

J
anet wasn't at breakfast the next morning. Her new gold Mercedes was gone and she hadn't left a note. Libby saw it as a bad omen.

The weekend passed with nothing remarkable except for Janet's continued absence. The truck was ready Saturday and Curt picked it up in town, catching a lift with one of Jordan's cowboys. It wasn't as luxurious as a Mercedes, but it had a good engine and it was handy for hauling things like salt blocks and bales of hay. Libby tried to picture hauling hay in Janet's Mercedes and almost went hysterical with laughter.

Libby went back to work at Blake Kemp's office early Monday morning, dropped off by Curt on his way to
the feed store for Jordan. She felt as if she hadn't really had a vacation at all.

Violet Hardy, Mr. Kemp's secretary, who was dark-haired, blue-eyed, pretty and somewhat overweight, smiled at her as she came in the door. “Hi! Did you have a nice vacation?”

“I spent it working,” Libby confessed. “How did things go here?”

Violet groaned. “Don't even ask.”

“That bad, huh?” Libby remarked.

Mabel, the blonde grandmother who worked at reception, turned in her chair after transferring a call into Mr. Kemp's office. “Bad isn't the word, Libby,” she said in a whisper, glancing down the hall to make sure the doors were all closed. “That lawyer Mr. Kemp got to fill in for him got two cases confused and sent the clients to the wrong courtrooms in different counties.”

“Yes—” Violet nodded “—and one of them came in here and tried to punch Mr. Kemp.”

Libby pursed her lips. “No. Did he have insurance?”

All three women chuckled.

“For an attorney who handles so many assault cases,” Violet whispered, “he doesn't practice what he preaches. Mr. Kemp punched the guy back and they
wound up out on the street. Our police chief, Cash Grier, broke it up and almost arrested Mr. Kemp.”

“What about the other guy? Didn't he start it?” Libby exclaimed.

“The other guy was Duke Wright,” Violet confessed, watching Libby color. “And Chief Grier said that instead of blaming Mr. Kemp for handling Mrs. Wright's divorce, he should thank him for not bankrupting Mr. Wright in the process!”

“Then what?” Libby asked.

All three women glanced quickly down the hall.

“Mr. Wright threw a punch at Chief Grier.”

“Well, that was smart thinking. Duke's in the hospital, then?” Libby asked facetiously.

“Nope,” Violet said, her blue eyes twinkling. “But he was in jail briefly until he made bail.” She shook her head. “I don't expect he'll try that twice.”

“Crime has fallen about fifty percent since we got Cash Grier as chief,” Violet sighed, smiling.

“And Judd Dunn as assistant chief,” Libby reminded her.

“Poor Mr. Wright,” Mabel said. “He does have the worst luck. Remember that Jack Clark who worked for him, who was convicted of murdering that woman in Victoria? Mr. Wright sure hated the publicity. It came just when he was trying to get custody of his son.”

“Mr. Wright would have a lot less trouble if he didn't spend so much time out looking for it,” came a deep, gruff voice from behind them.

They all jumped. Blake Kemp was standing just at the entrance to the hallway with a brief in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He was as much a dish as Jordan Powell. He had wavy dark hair and blue eyes and the most placid, friendly face—until he got in front of a jury. Nobody wanted to be across the courtroom from Kemp when a trial began. There was some yellow and purple discoloration on one high cheekbone, where a fist had apparently landed a blow. Duke Wright, Libby theorized silently.

“Libby, before you do anything else, would you make a pot of coffee, please?” he asked in a long-suffering tone. He impaled a wincing Violet with his pale blue eyes. “I don't give a damn what some study says is best for me, I want caffeine. C-A-F-F-E-I-N-E,” he added, spelling it letter by letter for Violet's benefit.

Violet lifted her chin and her own blue eyes glared right back at him. “Mr. Kemp, if you drank less of it, you might not be so bad-tempered. I mean, really, that's the second person you've thrown out of our office in a month! Chief Grier said that was a new city record….”

Kemp's eyes were blazing now, narrow and intent.
“Miss Hardy, do you want to still be employed here tomorrow?”

Violet looked as if she was giving that question a lot of deliberation. “But, sir…” she began.

“I like caffeine. I'm not giving it up,” Kemp said curtly. “You don't change my routine in this office. Is that clear?”

“But, Mr. Kemp—!” she argued.

“I don't remember suggesting anything so personal to you, Miss Hardy,” he shot back, clearly angry. “I could, however,” he added, and his cold blue eyes made insinuations about her figure, which was at least two dress sizes beyond what it should have been.

All three women gasped at the outrageous insinuation and then glared at their boss.

Violet flushed and stood up, as angry as he was, but not intimidated one bit by the stare. “My…my father always said that a woman should look like a woman and not a skeleton encased in skin. I may be a little overweight, Mr. Kemp, but at least I'm doing something about it!”

He glanced pointedly at a cake in a box on her desk.

She colored. “I live out near the Hart Ranch. I promised Tess Hart I'd pick that up at the bakery for her before I came to work and drop it by her house when
I go home for lunch. It's for a charity tea party this afternoon.” She was fuming. “I do not eat cake! Not anymore.”

He stared at her until she went red and sat back down. She averted her eyes and went back to work. Her hands on the computer keyboard were trembling.

“You fire me if you want to, Mr. Kemp, but nothing I said to you was as mean as what you were insinuating to me with that look,” Violet choked. “I know I weigh too much. You don't have to rub it in. I was only trying to help you.”

Mabel and Libby were still glaring at him. He shifted uncomfortably and put the brief down on Violet's desk with a slap. “There are six spelling errors in that. You'll have to redo it. You can buzz me when the coffee's ready,” he added shortly. He turned on his heel and took his coffee cup back into his office. As an afterthought, he slammed the door.

“Oh, and like anybody short of a druggist could read those chicken scratches on paper that you call handwriting!” Violet muttered, staring daggers after him.

Libby let out the breath she'd been holding and gaped at sweet, biddable Violet, who'd never talked back to Mr. Kemp in the eight months she'd worked for him. So did Mabel.

“Well, it's about time!” Mabel said, laughing delightedly. “Good for you, Violet. It's no good, letting a man walk all over you, no matter how crazy you are about him!”

“Hush!” Violet exclaimed, glancing quickly down the hall. “He'll hear you!”

“He doesn't know,” Libby said comfortingly, putting an arm around Violet. “And we'll never tell. I'm proud of you, Violet.”

“Me, too,” Mabel grinned.

Violet sighed. “I guess he'll fire me. It might not be a bad thing. I spend too much time trying to take care of him and he hates it.” Her blue eyes were wistful under their long, thick lashes. “You know, I've lost fifteen pounds,” she murmured. “And I'm down a dress size.”

“A new diet?” Libby asked absently as she checked her “in” tray.

“A new gym, just for women,” Violet confessed with a grin. “I love it!”

Libby looked at the other woman with admiration. “You're really serious about this, aren't you?”

Violet's shoulder moved gently. She was wearing a purple dress with a high collar and lots of frills on the bodice and a very straight skirt that clung to her hips. It was the worst sort of dress for a woman who had a
big bust and wide hips, but nobody had the heart to tell Violet. “I had to do something. I mean, look at me! I'm so big!”

“You're not that big. But I think it's great that you're trying so hard, Violet,” Libby said gently. “And to keep you on track, Mabel and I are giving up dessert when you eat lunch with us.”

“I have to go home and see about Mother most every day at lunchtime,” Violet confessed. “She hates that. She said I was wasting my whole life worrying about her, when I should be out having fun. But she's already had two light strokes in the past year since Daddy died. I can't leave her alone.”

“Honey, people like you are why there's a heaven,” Mabel murmured softly. “You're one in a million.”

Violet waved her away. “Everybody's got problems,” she laughed. “For all we know, Mr. Kemp has much bigger ones than we do. He's such a good person. When Mother had that last stroke, the bad one, he even drove me to the hospital after I got the call.”

“He is a good person,” Libby agreed. “But so are you.”

“You'd better make that coffee, I guess,” Violet said wistfully. “I really thought I could make it half and half and he wouldn't be able to taste the difference. He's so uptight lately. He's always in a hurry, always
under pressure. He drinks caffeine like water and it's so bad for his heart. I know about hearts. My dad died of a heart attack last year. I was just trying to help.”

“It's hard to help a rattlesnake across the road, Violet,” Mabel said, tongue in cheek.

Libby was curious about the coincidence of Violet's father dying of a heart attack, like her father, such a short time ago. “Violet could find one nice thing to say about a serial killer,” Libby agreed affectionately. “Even worse, she could find one nice thing to say about my stepmother.”

“Ouch,” Mabel groaned. “Now there's a hard case if I ever saw one.” She shook her head. “People in Branntville are still talking about her and old man Darby.”

Libby, who'd just finished filling the coffeepot, started it brewing and turned jerkily. “Excuse me?”

“Didn't I ever tell you?” Mabel asked absently. “Just a sec. Good morning, Kemp Law Offices,” she said. “Yes, sir, I'll connect you.” She started to push the intercom button when she saw with shock that it was already depressed. The light was on the switch. She and Libby, who'd also seen it, exchanged agonized glances. Quickly, without telling Violet, she pushed it off and then on again. “Mr. Kemp, it's Mrs. Lawson for you on line two.” She waited, hung up, and swung her chair around. She didn't dare tell poor Violet that
Mr. Kemp had probably heard every single word she'd said about him.

“Your stepmother, Janet,” Mabel told Libby, “was working at a nursing home over in Branntville. She sweet-talked an old man who was a patient there into leaving everything he had to her.” She shook her head. “They said that Janet didn't even give him a proper funeral. She had him cremated and put in an urn and there was a graveside service. They said she bought a designer suit to wear to it.”

Libby was getting cold chills. There were too many similarities there to be a coincidence. Janet had wanted to have Riddle Collins cremated, too, but Curt and Libby had talked to the funeral director and threatened a lawsuit if he complied with Janet's request. They went home and told Janet the same thing and also insisted on a church funeral at the Presbyterian church where Riddle had been a member since childhood. Janet had been furious, but in the end, she reluctantly agreed.

Violet wasn't saying anything, but she had a funny look on her face and she seemed pale. She turned away before the others saw. But Libby's expression was thought-provoking.

“You're thinking something. What?” Mabel asked Libby.

Fortunately, the phone rang again while Libby was deciding if it was wise to share her thoughts.

Violet got up from her desk and went close to Libby. “She wanted to cremate your father, too, didn't she?”

Libby nodded.

“You should go talk to Mr. Kemp.”

Libby smiled. “You know, Violet, I think you're right.” She hugged the other girl and went back to Mabel. “When he gets off the phone, I need to talk to him.”

Mabel grinned. “Now you're talking.” She checked the board. “He's free. Just a sec.” She pushed a button. “Mr. Kemp, Libby needs to speak to you, if it's convenient.”

“Send her in, Mrs. Jones.”

“Good luck,” Mabel said, crossing her fingers.

Libby grinned back.

 

“Come in,” Kemp said, opening the door for Libby and closing it behind her. “Have a seat. I don't need ESP to know what's on your mind. I had a call from Jordan Powell at home last night.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Well, he jumped the gun!”

“He's concerned. Probably with good reason,” he added. “I went ahead on my own and had a private
detective I know run a check on Janet's background. This isn't the first time she's become a widow.”

“I know,” Libby said. “Mabel says an elderly man in a nursing home left her everything he had. She had him sent off to be cremated immediately after they got him to the funeral home.”

He nodded. “And I understand from Don Hedgely at our funeral home here that she tried to have the same thing done with your father, but you and your brother threatened a lawsuit.”

“We did,” Libby said. “Daddy didn't believe in cremation. He would have been horrified.”

Kemp leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his long legs, with his hands behind his head. He pursed his lips and narrowed his blue eyes, deep in thought. “There's another thing,” he said. “Janet was fired from that nursing home for being too friendly with their wealthiest patients. One of whom—the one you know about—was an elderly widower with no children. He died of suspicious causes and left her his estate.”

Libby folded her arms. She felt chilled all over now. “Wasn't it enough for her?” she wondered out loud.