The Gift (4 page)

His expression grew solemn again. “Fair enough.”

Their gazes met and locked. Something Beth didn’t dare try to define passed between them. She looked away first, breaking the spell, and walked slowly toward the easel. She needed physical distance between herself and Ty. Not only was she sexually attracted to the man, but she found something else about him compelling as well. Just her rotten
luck. If only she knew what the hell it was that drew her to the man…

Focus.

Dust coated Lorilee’s unfinished painting. Beth mentally anchored herself in the half-finished scene, looked out the long window directly behind the easel, then back at the canvas. “Landscape?”

“Looks like.” Ty walked to her side and touched the corner of the canvas. “Lorilee loved this place. This farm. This house. And especially her kids. She didn’t run away, Beth. She had no reason to.”

Beth half turned to face him. He’d left out one very telling piece of the perfect family scenario. “And how about you and Lorilee? Was your marriage solid? Strong? Fulfilling? Happy?”

His lips pressed into a thin line and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Ah, so maybe everything wasn’t perfect in paradise. Her homicide-detective persona scratched at the door of her brain, asking for free rein. But Beth wasn’t ready to grant that just yet.

“Lorilee and I loved each other very much,” he said gruffly. His eyes snapped, but he continued to hold Beth’s gaze. “She would never have left me, either. We both said, ‘Until death do us part,’ and meant it.”

Whose death? The hairs on the back of Beth’s neck stood on end and a chill chased itself down her spine. As appealing as Ty Malone was, she had to remember that
if
his wife was dead, he might have been responsible.

Silence stretched between them again, and despite her commonsense warnings, Beth found herself pulled toward him in more than just a physical way now. She
wanted
to believe him, and that was dangerous.
She couldn’t afford to let herself become emotional about her work.
Facts, Dearborn. Evidence. Truth.

“Let’s find the truth, then,” she said quietly.

“That’s what I want.”

“No matter what it is?”

Again, he swallowed audibly. “No matter what it is.”

“Okay.” Beth walked to the nearest window and stared through the drizzle at the fields below. A stream meandered through the green valley. Cottonwood and hickory trees followed its banks. Mountains ringed the entire area, and she felt as if she’d arrived in a fairy-tale land.

At least she hadn’t experienced any other close encounters of the eerie kind since leaving the entryway. “Mr. Malone—er, Ty?” She turned to face him. “Is there another way into the house and up the stairs to this room?”

He furrowed his brow and angled his head, his expression curious. “Sure. Why?”

Beth rubbed her arms. This was awkward. How could she explain that she was
afraid
to use the front door again? “I think it might be less disruptive to the household if I come and go through the back door. That’s all.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. We’ll leave that way, and I’ll let Pearl know you’ll be back in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

Ty handed her the list of names he’d written. “These women were in Lorilee’s women’s group at church, PTA at school, and most of them knew her from childhood.”

Beth scanned the list. “What about Rick Heppel?”

Ty chuckled. “Half-crazy Vietnam vet who lives next farm to the east. Rick’s a good old boy, but missing a few screws since Nam. Lorilee was nice to him after he first inherited his grandpa’s farm and moved down here. After that he was like her self-proclaimed protector.”

“Interesting.” Beth circled Heppel’s name on the list. She’d pay him a visit first. Maybe Lorilee and Rick Heppel were more than just friends.

She glanced at Ty through veiled lashes.

Did that leave Ty in the role of jealous husband?

Beth stood in front of the Brubaker Arms and watched Ty drive away. The moment his truck turned the corner, she spun on her heel and headed across the town square toward her Honda. Even without a spare, she was driving out to Rick Heppel’s farm.

She glanced at her watch, then at the sky. She had about two hours of daylight left if she was lucky. The rain had stopped, and patches of blue broke through heavy clouds, though she’d heard on the radio that they were under a tornado watch. Having grown up in Illinois, she had a healthy respect for violent spring weather.

Unfortunately, it also made her restless as hell. She had to keep busy tonight. This would be one of
those
nights. A vulnerable one. A night when comfort sounded like the clink of ice against glass and smelled like the acrid aroma of bourbon. No matter what happened, she couldn’t give in to weakness.

Ty had said Heppel’s place was due east of his. She should be able to find that. Shouldn’t she?

Okay, so she’d stop at Gooch’s to see when her new spare would be ready, and ask for directions. No testosterone on board to prevent her from a simple safeguard like that. The wisdom to ask directions was
one of the virtues of womanhood, in her humble opinion.

She drove the short distance to Gooch’s Garage, where she found the father instead of the son in charge this time. Lester Gooch was easily the skinniest man Beth had ever seen. She figured the reason he wore overalls was probably because he couldn’t find jeans small enough to stay put around his scrawny hips.

“My boy told you earlier the tire would take a couple weeks to get in, li’l lady,” he drawled, shifting an unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

Little lady? Beth bit her tongue.

The guy’s bald head glowed in the fading afternoon sun as he looped his thumbs through the bib of his overalls. “Month at the outside.”

Month my ass.
She’d be long gone before then, and she definitely knew bullshit when she smelled it. Gooch’s excuses reeked. “Thanks, Mr. Gooch, but—”

“Just Gooch, ma’am.”

“Just Dearborn, Gooch.” She flashed him her belle smile and batted her lashes.

The man threw his head back and guffawed, his cigar falling to the pavement. “All right, Dearborn. What can I do for you, since your tire ain’t here yet?”

“I need directions to Rick Heppel’s farm.” Beth watched with interest as a scowl replaced Gooch’s grin. “You know where it is?”

He stooped to retrieve his cigar stub, wiped it on his overalls, and shoved it back between his teeth. “Yep.” He swung around to face her again. “What in tarnation you wanna go see that no-account for?”

“Business.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Lorilee Brubaker-Malone.”

“Ah.” Gooch stroked the gray whiskers on his chin, which far outnumbered the hairs on his head. “Disappearance, is it?” He snorted.

One of those.

“I’d appreciate directions to Heppel’s farm, if you don’t mind,” Beth urged. She wanted to take advantage of the remaining daylight. “I figured you would know everything there is to know, so you’re the first person I asked.”

Gooch puffed up a little at that and finally gave her the damned directions. Beth thanked him and left before he could launch into his opinion of what had really happened to Lorilee. His snort had given her a pretty fair impression of that already, and now she was even more curious about Rick Heppel than ever.

Heppel’s house sat near the creek that bordered the Malone farm—the property line, more or less. She parked her car next to a metal barn easily more than twice the size of the house.

It was little more than a cabin. The porch sagged, the roof had been patched with tar paper, and heavy plastic covered two of the windows. Beth glanced back at the high-tech metal building. Interesting.

A black and tan hound scurried out from beneath the porch and barked a warning. His tail wagged furiously, though, so she figured the mongrel was more friend than foe. “Hey, fella,” she said. The old dog stopped barking and melted against her leg, tail still wagging. She couldn’t resist scratching him behind the ears.

The front door of the cabin squeaked open and the largest, hairiest man she’d ever seen materialized on
the threshold. He could easily have passed a screen test for Sasquatch.

The overall-clad monster stepped out onto the porch and stared. Wiry gray hair hung to his shoulders, and a bushy beard fell halfway down his barrel chest. “Yeah?” He folded his arms and kept staring.

“Rick Heppel?” Beth straightened from petting the dog.

The man didn’t move. “Depends who’s asking.”

Oh, goody. “Beth Dearborn.” She approached him, her right hand outstretched. When he didn’t reach for it, she dropped it to her side. Well, no Southern gentleman here, or risk of being treated like a little lady. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Lorilee Brubaker-Malone.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed to dark slits. “Why? What’s your interest in Lorilee?”

“I’m an insurance investigator.” No point in hiding that fact. “The Malones want Lorilee declared legally dead.”

Heppel chewed his lower lip for several seconds and stroked his beard. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Did you know Lorilee?”

He blinked once. Twice. Moisture collected at the corners of his brown eyes, and he looked beyond her at something she suspected only he could see. Then he drew a deep breath and met her gaze, all evidence of emotion carefully masked. “Everybody around here knew Lorilee.”

He’s hedging.
“Some better than others.”

His beard twitched as one corner of his mouth lifted upward. “Lorilee treated me decent.”

“How decent?”

He narrowed his eyes again and set his lips in a hard line. “I won’t stand here and listen to you badmouth a fine lady like Lorilee.” He turned toward his house.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or Lorilee.” That much was true, though her suspicions about the relationship between Heppel and Lorilee had just escalated tenfold. “Her family and Avery Mutual are looking for the truth. Maybe you can help us find it.”

He stood with his broad back to her for several seconds. His head lowered, then he sighed and turned to face her again, lifting his chin to meet her gaze. “I was in the middle of fixin’ supper.” He looked the length of her. “You don’t appear vegan to me.”

And you
do
?
Beth blinked, biting back the smart-ass comments that came to mind. “I’m more the burger-and-fries type.” She lifted a shoulder. “Guilty.”

“If you expect me to answer questions about Lorilee, you won’t be eating flesh tonight.”

She grimaced and shook her head. “Well, that’s a…graphic way to put it.”

A sad smile split his beard. “That’s a fact.”

Eating dinner alone with this odd man didn’t rate high on her list of wise ways to spend her first evening in Brubaker, but she needed to hear about Lorilee. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Without speaking, he motioned for her to follow, then turned and lumbered into his house.

Beth glanced down at the hound and whispered,
“If I’m not out of there in one hour, run for the sheriff, Lassie.”

The dog licked her hand and ambled back to the porch, circled three times, then dropped with a contented sigh.

Beth stepped over the hound on her way to the screen door. “Big help you’re gonna be.”

The inside of Heppel’s cabin came as a surprise. It was immaculate, first of all, and furnished with bentwillow and log furniture. Some of the tables had intricate carving, and after a few minutes, she realized all the pieces were handmade—not the type found on a showroom floor.

She brushed her hand along the back of a rocker with a gorgeous grapevine motif. “You make all these?”

“Keeps me off the street.” He flashed her a sheepish grin that had “gentle giant” written all over it.

This guy is a pussycat. And an artist.
“It’s beautiful. I hope you charge a fortune for it.”

“I get lucky now and then.” He pulled out a chair at the table.

“Can I help?”

“Set the table if you want. Plates are in there.” He pointed to a cabinet near one of the plastic-covered windows. Beth didn’t ask the questions that sprang to mind—at least, not yet.

Rick Heppel was a walking, breathing contradiction. The scents of onions, garlic, and ginger filled the room as he stood stir-frying vegetables and spices in a hot wok at the small stove.

They sat down to eat a spicy mixture of wild rice, greens, seeds, and sprouts that made Beth’s mouth
water. She took one bite and moaned. “This is delicious, even without meat.” She refused to say flesh. “Wow. You make furniture, you cook, and this place is neat as a pin. You’d make someone a great wife.” She grinned, hoping to soften him up a little.

Rick’s expression grew solemn as he ate his food and sipped his herbal tea. “You might as well know I was in love with Lorilee,” he said at last.

Beth coughed. She’d suspected something, but having him come right out and say it shocked the hell out of her. “I…see.” She took a sip of herbal tea, though she was more the black-coffee type, and mentally patted herself on the back for trusting her instincts enough to drive out here this evening. It would be dark before she headed back to town, but she was a big girl.

“So…does Lorilee return your feelings?”

Rick took a long drink of his tea before answering. His soft brown eyes held a wealth of sadness. Why? Unrequited love? Or had they been lovers, and Lorilee had left him, too?

“Oh, Lorilee loved me all right,” he finally said. His smile was sad, distant. “She
did
—like a brother.” He sighed. “Ty was the only man for her.”

“Ah.” A tangle of emotions warred within Beth. Disappointment. Relief. Jealousy? She couldn’t quite define them, but they all irritated her, and that pissed her off.

Time to get back to work, Dearborn.
“Do you know where Lorilee is, Mr. Heppel?” she asked.

His fork clattered to the table, making Beth jump. His dark eyes glowered at her. “Lorilee is
dead.
Period. End of discussion.”

Beth swallowed the glob of stir-fry stuck in her
throat, washed it down with tea. Yep, a walking contradiction. Gentle one minute, almost violent the next. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, but her martial-arts training would help even the odds. Theoretically…

Not to mention the knife in her boot and the Glock in her backpack. She nudged the bag with her foot, where it rested on the floor beneath the table.

Calmly, she rested her hands in her lap and kept her expression bland. “No, Mr. Heppel, it isn’t the end of the discussion. Lorilee’s family wants, needs, and deserves answers.” She drew a deep, steadying breath. “And from a practical standpoint, I have a job to do. An insurance claim has been filed. A large one. And there’s no proof that Lorilee is really dead. An investigation is standard procedure. That’s all there is to this. Really.”

His shoulders relaxed, dropping at least two inches as he shook his head. “I—I’m sorry.” His cheeks reddened and he ran his beefy fingers through his long, gray hair. “I just get so all-fired pissed off when somebody speaks ill of Lorilee.”

Beth took another sip of the flower-and-twigs brew to hide the relief that oozed through her. He didn’t have to know she’d almost peed her pants when he dropped that fork and yelled at her. Detective training or not—Glock or not—she was a woman alone with a giant of a man, a long way from anything remotely resembling backup.

“I stopped at the library today.”
Proceed with caution, Dearborn.
“I read some of the nasty things people wrote after she dis—”

“Lies. All lies.” He seemed more disgusted now than angry.

“I was surprised by how quickly the townspeople turned on Lorilee.” Beth paused, leaned forward, hoping to encourage him. “Just a few months before her disappearance, an article called her the town’s ‘guardian angel,’ or something like that.”

“Nothin’ but a bunch of damn hypocrites.”

“Seems like.” Beth took another bite of stir-fry. Time to change the subject. “I’d love to have this recipe, if you have it written down.” Keep him off guard, mellow, friendly…“I had no idea vegetarian meals could be so tasty, Mr. Heppel.”

He smiled—really smiled. “Call me Rick. We broke bread together, after all.” He passed her the basket of muffins to punctuate his point. “These are made from flax meal.”

“All right. I’m Beth.” She took a muffin, broke it open, drizzled molasses over it. She’d already been informed that vegans didn’t eat honey, since it came from bugs. “So, Rick, I know you believe Lorilee’s dead. We’ve established that.” She peered at him from beneath her lowered lashes, noting that he still seemed mellow enough. “What do you think happened to her? Really.” She took a bite of muffin, letting the warm, chewy sweetness fill her mouth and soothe her.

Rick steepled his fingers on the table in front of him and drew a deep breath. “I honestly believe Lorilee was murdered.”

Beth stiffened, her homicide-detective antennae on alert. Ty hadn’t actually used that term to describe his wife’s fate. Why? Or maybe, Why not? was the right question. Did he know something he didn’t want Beth to know?

“Murder is a strong word, Rick.” Beth pushed her
empty plate aside and took another sip of tea. “Why do you believe that?”

“She would never leave her babies.”

Those words echoed, verbatim, what Ty had said. “Yet…we both know there are others in Brubaker who believe Lorilee abandoned her family.”

Renewed anger flashed in Rick’s eyes. “I told you, they’re
wrong.
” He rose and started clearing the table.

Beth followed, carrying her empty plate and cup to the sink. “What about that letter from England?”

Rick didn’t look at her, and his words were barely audible. “Find the bastard who sent that letter, and he’ll lead you to Lorilee’s killer.”

Ty had said,
Whoever wrote that letter knows what happened to my wife.
Again, he echoed Ty’s opinion, though the word
killer
had never left Ty’s lips.