Ride the Thunder (35 page)

“How did the interview go?” Brig asked.

“Fine.” The one word answer was given with pipe stem clamped between his teeth. Puffing out a cloud of smoke, her father removed it from his mouth and appeared to examine the pipe bowl. “They didn’t ask us many questions. Mostly they were just confirming what you had told them.”

“I’ve made all the arrangements to have the body shipped to New York.”

“That reminds me.” Her father glanced to Kit. “You should call your mother before the media picks up the story and she hears it from them.”

“Why should I telephone?” Kit tipped his head to meet his father’s look.

“She’ll take the news better if it comes from you. You can assure her that we are all safe and unharmed. I know when she hears about Max’s death, she’ll be worried about us.” The last sentence was delivered in a sardonic tone. Fletcher let his gaze swing to Brig. “My wife tends to believe that I minimize things. She will believe my son’s assurances, but not my own.”

Kit’s mouth tightened in grim displeasure, but he didn’t attempt any further protests. “Is there a telephone in here?” he asked Brig.

“There’s a pay phone back by the restrooms.” Brig nodded toward a dimly lit hall at the back of the room.

“I’ll come with you,” Jordanna offered, eager to escape this tension playing on her nerve ends and regroup her chaotic emotions.

Her father rose courteously in his chair when she stood up, but Brig didn’t copy his action. In fact, he didn’t even glance at her. She was hurt and confused
by his indifference toward her. When she had told Brig to stay away from her the morning Max had died, she had said it in anger, not really meaning it and not expecting him to believe her. She had wanted some capitulation from him, some admission that she meant something to him other than simply a bed partner. Her love and her pride needed it. Instead, Brig was acting as if she didn’t exist.

Jordanna walked with her brother to the telephone. Absently she heard him place the call, her thoughts on the man at the table. With only half an ear, she listened to Kit speak to the maid, Tessa, asking her to call their mother to the phone, and not to leave.

After an exchange of greetings and a few irrelevant remarks, Kit said, “Mother, I have some bad news for you. There has been an accident . . . No, I’m fine. Jordanna is here with me and Dad is sitting at a table. It was Max Sanger.” . . . There was a flurry of questions issued by a hysterically raised voice on the other end of the line, but Jordanna paid scant attention to them. She was unaware of Kit’s sharp glance at her. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Brig . . . “I’m sorry, Mother. Max was . . . killed by a fall.” He hurriedly began to explain the circumstances. Jordanna had no desire to hear it again. Glancing at the restroom door marked “Ladies,” she gestured to Kit that she was going in it. He nodded and smiled briefly. Jordanna pushed open the door and walked inside.

Jordanna’s departure had ended his distraction. Brig didn’t have to pretend any more to concentrate on his opponent, Fletcher Smith. It came naturally—as naturally as the deadly calm that settled over him. Reaching in his jacket pocket, he took out the thorny twig and laid it casually on the table.

“What’s that?” There wasn’t a flicker of recognition in Fletcher’s expression.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Brig countered.

“I’m a hunter, not a horticulturist,” the man joked. “Where did you find it?”

“The briar was lodged under Max’s saddle blanket. His statement produced no reaction from Fletcher.

“I suppose it was picked up during that tumble down the slope.” The tone indicated only a minor interest in where it might have come from. Trudie returned with their order and Brig kept silent until she left.

“That was my first thought. Tandy said almost the same thing when I showed it to him,” Brig admitted. “Interestingly enough, there aren’t any thorn bushes on that slope. I checked. As a matter of fact, there was none anywhere in the vicinity of our camp.”

“That is interesting.” Fletcher nodded in an absently curious fashion and took a sip of his beer. “I suppose it was picked up someplace else.”

“That’s a logical assumption,” Brig agreed. “It has one major flaw. If the briar was in the saddle blanket a couple of days before the accident, the pinto wouldn’t have taken a step until it was found and removed. Remember, that horse won’t tolerate even a wrinkle in the blanket, let alone thorns.”

“That’s true. I had forgotten.” Fletcher puffed on his pipe and frowned thoughtfully. “How do you suppose it got there?”

“I thought you might already know.” His light brown eyes gleamed with hard challenge. “Obviously, it was put there.”

“You can’t be serious!” Fletcher declared with a scoffing laugh. “You do know what you are suggesting?”

“That Max’s death wasn’t an accident? I’m not suggesting it. I am stating it.” This confrontation might be a reckless move, but Brig had examined the alternatives over the last couple of days and decided that the only hope of forcing Fletcher into the open was to admit his knowledge of how Max bad died.

The half-smile faded from the older man’s face as
his gaze narrowed on Brig. “You do realize what you are implying? That Max was murdered.”

“Yes. Someone placed this . . .” Brig flicked the briar with his finger, the action moving it closer to Fletcher. “. . . under the saddle blanket that morning, aware that the bay horse had a reputation for bucking. After that, it was merely a matter of waiting until we reached an uphill grade steep enough that a rider’s weight would shift back in the saddle and the thorns would dig into the hide.”

“But who would do that? And why?” Fletcher frowned in a most convincing manner.

“I know who,” Brig stated. “I just haven’t figured out the why.”

“Then who did it?”

A cold smile twitched Brig’s mouth. “You did, Fletcher.”

“Me?!” His handsome features were carved with incredulous surprise. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am—deadly serious. You had the opportunity when you tied the bay up after Tandy had topped him off. And you knew which trail we were taking.” Brig paused. “I can’t help wondering if those two other incidents weren’t unsuccessful attempts Max might have died from shock if that snake had bitten him. It was sheer luck that I managed to save him from that other fall.”

An indignant anger spread across Fletcher’s expression. “If we are going to start pointing fingers, you had opportunity and knowledge of our route. Plus, you have one thing I don’t have—a motive. The Sanger Corporation is yours with no strings attached now that Max is dead,” he accused. “Men have been known to kill for a lot less than control of a multi-million dollar corporation.”

Brig’s gaze narrowed shrewdly. “How did you come by that piece of information? I’m sure Max never volunteered it, not when he was trying so desperately to sell out his shares to you.”

Fletcher sat back for a moment, considering his answer
and Brig. “Naturally, when Max offered to sell his stock, I had my people investigate the company. And later, you. I wanted to know what kind of man I was hiring to guide my hunt. The correlation of the two investigations produced that information.”

“In that case, you have to be aware that the company is on the verge of bankruptcy. I’m inheriting a white elephant—hardly a motive to kill someone.”

“Maybe your motive was revenge. After all, it was Max’s bad investments that brought the company to the brink of ruin. Maybe you were angry with him for mismanaging the firm’s assets. You could have arranged for him to die before the company went under, thinking you could save it,” Fletcher reasoned. Brig saw the circumstantial evidence of guilt framing him. “You could save it—with some financial backing. That was an offer I was considering making to Max. I’ll make it to you.”

“In return for what? My silence?” he mocked. “Do you want me to throw this briar in the garbage and forget I ever saw it?”

“I don’t know anything about this twig.” Fletcher tossed it to Brig’s side of the table. “You tell me that you found it under Max’s saddle. I have no proof that’s where it came from. For all I know, you could have picked it up anywhere.” He lifted his gaze to blandly meet Brig’s. “My proposition was strictly a business one.”

Fletcher was a cool one. Brig realized he wasn’t going to stampede him into any kind of an admission. Fletcher had denied every one of his allegations and countered them with ones more damaging to Brig. The whole scheme had been very well laid out.

“You overlooked one major thing. I don’t want Sanger Corporation. I didn’t want it fourteen years ago and I don’t want it now. I can’t be bought by your business proposition, Fletcher. There isn’t enough money in the world to make me keep quiet about the fact that you murdered Max.”

Fletcher shook his gray head in confused amazement.
“Why do you persist in this ridiculous accusation against me? Don’t forget I offered to ride the bay horse instead of Max. I wasn’t likely to do that if I had put that thorn under his saddle. I could have been the one killed, instead of him.”

“I haven’t forgotten. It was a very clever ploy, too. You knew my cousin would never agree to it, for fear that it would make him look cowardly. You were quite sale to make the offer,” Brig countered.

“There is one thing I don’t understand about all this. If you are so convinced that I arranged Max’s accident, why didn’t you tell your story to the authorities?” Fletcher challenged.

A cold smile curved the mouth beneath the mustache. “Because I haven’t got enough proof against you. But I’ll get it.”

“Why this righteous crusade, McCord? Max Sanger never meant anything to you. You despised him and everything ho stood for. Why do you care how he died?”

“Were you counting on the fact that I would be glad to see the last of him, and not care what might have caused his death?” The question was low and taunting. “I may not have liked my cousin, but that isn’t reason enough to let his murderer go unpunished. Your second mistake, Fletcher, was setting me up for the fall guy.”

“You positively amaze me with your persistence of this absurd notion!” the man laughed. “Max died in a fall, caused from being bucked off a horse. As you pointed out, it was a horse that has a reputation for bucking. Or is that what you are concerned about? Are you afraid you might get charged with negligent homicide for putting an inexperienced rider on a dangerous horse?”

“Did you implant that thought in the minds of the authorities?” Brig leveled a hard gaze at his implacable opponent.

“I had no reason to be suspicious of any involvement you may have had in Max’s death until this
moment. Even if I had, I doubt that I would say anything without some hard proof.” Fletcher admitted with an indifferent shrug. “Jordanna has become fond of you. I wouldn’t want to hurt her by making possibly unfounded accusations against you.”

“Yes, Jordanna,” Brig agreed dryly. “She is almost as good at acting as you are. It’s a pity she didn’t do a better job of keeping me distracted. I might never have found that briar.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Fletcher’s voice sounded weary from repeating the phrase. “Am I to understand that you aren’t interested in marrying my daughter?”

“I’ll bet you’d like me to marry her. As your son-in-law, you think I could be trusted to keep your secret and not spread around what I know about Max’s death, is that it?” Contempt coated his words. He had little respect for a man who would sell his daughter to obtain silence.

“I could be very generous when Jordanna married. If you aren’t interested in the Sanger Corporation, I’m sure you will admit there are a great many costly improvements that could be made to your ranch.”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I like the place just the way it is,” Brig replied. “In the second place, I wouldn’t like being an accessory to murder. And thirdly, I wouldn’t trust your daughter. It’s very possible that if I married her, I might meet with an untimely hunting accident in a couple of years, one of those peculiar lapses of safety by an expert rifleperson.”

“I do believe you are a little insane,” Fletcher mused.

“Do you? Why? Because I’m turning down not only your money but the considerable attraction of your daughter as well? You could be right. Maybe I am,” he conceded. “But I can promise you that I’m going to prove you killed Max—and I’m going to find out why.”

“If you find a motive, I do hope you will tell me.”
There was a taunt of arrogant amusement in his voice. “As you know, Max was the kind of man I mild buy and sell a half-a-dozen times. If he was any sort of a problem to me, there were any number of ways I could have gotten rid of him without resorting to murder.”

That was the part that troubled Brig, because he knew Fletcher was right. He couldn’t visualize Max posing such a large threat that Fletcher had felt the only way to dispose of him was to kill him. He could have ruined him financially. Brig suddenly wondered if that’s what Fletcher had been doing. Perhaps he was responsible for the financial problems Max was having personally, as well as with the company. That possibility only complicated things. If Max was going under in a matter of months, why had Fletcher killed him now? There was an important piece missing in the puzzle. Brig had to find it somehow.

“When I discover your reason, Fletcher, you will know.” Brig concealed his confusion and uncertainty. “Although I won’t promise that you will be the first.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you, McCord.” For an instant, hatred burned undisguised in his brown eyes. “You might be tackling something you aren’t big enough to handle.”

“Is that a threat, Fletcher?” Brig jeered. “Or just more impotent words from an old man? The truth is, you might have gone too far this time. Don’t think you’re going to get away with murder, because
you
will be making a mistake then.”

Just when Brig thought he might have goaded Fletcher into letting something slip, a smooth mask slipped over the man’s expression. He was looking beyond Brig and wearing a paternally benign smile.

“Did you speak to your mother, Kit?” he asked and Brig realized that Kit and Jordanna were returning to the table. He smothered the brief flames of irritation.