The Gift (5 page)

Why did that omission disturb her?

Beth shoved the thought aside. Right now she needed facts, not speculation about Ty Malone’s guilt or innocence. Beth had been in this business too damned long not to trust her hunches, and she had a hunch Rick Heppel knew things about Lorilee her husband might not.

She needed to stay in Heppel’s good graces. Somehow.

Make nice.

“Dinner was great, Rick. It was really nice of you to invite me.”

“It really is about damned time someone found out what happened to Lorilee,” he said. “Past time.”

His words sounded genuine. Beth nodded. “Let me help wash these dishes.”

“Nah, it’ll only take me a minute.” Thunder
boomed outside, and lightning flashed outside the window. “You oughta head back before the storm.”

A chill swept through her. “I hate storms.”

“Storms are in my blood. I’m from Kansas,” he said through a grin. “But I can’t fly in weather like this, so I hate ‘em, too.”

“Fly?”

“Chopper pilot.”

“Oh, so that’s what’s in the metal building.”

“Yep.” He grinned again. “Truth is, I earn a lot more money hauling water and hay with my chopper than I do selling my furniture and carvings.”

“That’s a shame.” She glanced around the cabin again. “Because this stuff is gorgeous.”

He blushed above his gray beard. “Thanks.” His tone softened. “Lorilee thought so, too. You know she was an artist—a painter?”

“I saw some of her work at the house.” Beth saw genuine grief in this man’s eyes, but he still seemed more than a little unstable. “Guess it takes an artist to know one.”

He muttered something unintelligible, and lightning flashed again. “You’d best get goin’.”

Beth wished she could stay longer, draw him out more. But there was a storm coming, and she sensed that if she pushed too hard too fast, this man could very well withdraw completely. She needed his trust and cooperation. One step at a time.

“I’d like to meet—have met—Lorilee,” Beth said.

Rick nodded. “She had her…problems, but she sort of took me under her wing after I got here, encouraged me to keep up my craft, even though I’m quite a bit older than she was.”

“Artist to artist?”

“Exactly.”

“So you’re from Kansas, huh?”

“Still a damn Yankee to these folks.” He walked her to the door. “And they don’t approve of my socalled hippie lifestyle either. Stir-fried sprouts are sinner’s food.”

Beth chuckled. “Even so, you’re a sprout-eating veteran.”

Rick stiffened. “Who told you that?”

She studied his expression for a few seconds. “Ty must have mentioned it.”

Rick’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head before looking up at her again. “I reckon Lorilee told him.”

“Why don’t you want people to know?”

His nostrils flared slightly, and she heard him swallow. “I try not to think about Nam. The only good thing the army taught me was how to fly a chopper.”

“I won’t mention it.” It was hard not to like this guy. She could easily see how he and Lorilee had become good friends. “Here’s my card with my cell number, and I’m staying at the Brubaker Arms. If you think of anything I should know that might help solve Lorilee’s case, give me a call.”

“Will do.” He tucked her card in his bib pocket, then opened the squeaky screen door and held it. The wind picked up, and lightning flashed in the dark sky. “I don’t think you’re gonna beat that storm back to town.”

Beth drew a shaky breath. “Won’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Country dark and city dark were two entirely different beasts. Once she’d left the comforting glow of the security light on Rick’s hangar, Beth drove through black ink, broken only by intermittent flashes of lightning.

“Great, Dearborn.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Just dandy.”

Her first day in Brubaker had turned into a marathon that would end in hell. And another thing—stir-fried sprouts didn’t mix well with violent weather.

Clenching her teeth, she steered her car along the curvy dirt road that led back to the highway. At least it had led
from
the highway
to
Heppel’s house. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed as far driving in the other direction in calm weather and daylight.

The road meandered along the creek, ducking into and out of the trees. Lightning flashed, transforming the blackness into a photographer’s negative. Blinded, she slammed on her brakes. Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she licked her dry lips.

It’s just a storm, you wimp.

“Just a storm,” she repeated aloud. Of course, they were never
just storms
for her. It had something to do with her freaky gift—something she’d failed to suppress, unlike her empathy with murder victims, because she couldn’t avoid Mother Nature the way she could crime scenes. Electrical storms affected her, sometimes violently. She
felt
them—either with a giddy sense of power, an overwhelming fear, or an almost sexual lust that reverberated through her until she thought she’d go insane waiting for the storm to pass.

Tonight, terror crept along the fringes of her sanity. The lightning flashes came more frequently, and the wind whipped the trees into a frenzy. Small twigs and leaves scraped across her windshield on their way to Oz.

“Where the hell is the yellow-brick road when you frigging need it?”

Finally, Beth found the highway, squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, and breathed a sigh of relief. She turned on her blinker, preparing to turn left onto the two-lane highway just as her cell phone played a few notes of theme song from
Twilight Zone.

“Shit.” Beth grabbed her cell out of her backpack. “Dearborn here.”
Sitting in a tin can during an electrical storm in the middle of nowhere, like an idiot, talking on a frigging cell phone.

“This is Sarah Malone,” a young woman said.

Whoa! Ty and Lorilee’s kid?
“Yes? What can I do for you?” Ty didn’t want her to speak to the children, but Beth couldn’t very well stop them from contacting her. Could she?

“I—I heard you’re here to solve my momma’s murder.”

Oh, boy. There’s that word again.
“Sarah, who told you that?”

“No one. You’re an investigator,” the girl said, the tremor in her voice audible even though the signal was breaking. “I just thought…”

“How did you get this number?”

“I found your card on my dad’s desk.”

More static garbled the line, and Beth glanced at her dashboard. Eight o’clock wasn’t late. “Then you know I work for an insurance company.”

“Y-yes.”

“Does your dad know you called me?”

“No. He went to town this evening. I’m the one who asked him to find out what happened to Momma.”

Suddenly, Beth had to talk to this girl. Tonight. “How old are you, Sarah?”

“Sixteen.”

Not an adult, but not a baby, either. Ty would have a fit. Lighting struck the ground somewhere nearby. Too near. Beth could
smell
it. Feel it. Hear it in her bones.

“I’m not far away from your place now.” Beth might regret those words, but she pressed onward. “Is it too late for us to talk?”

“No.” The girl sounded eager. “Come now. I’m babysitting my little brother and sister. They just went to bed.”

Common sense told Beth to turn left and head back to the hotel. Gut instinct told her to turn right and cross the bridge, turn right again, and return to the Malones’ house for the second time today.

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Beth disconnected and headed in that direction, mentally kicking herself as she made the necessary turns. The kicking didn’t help. She still had to risk this.

Fat raindrops pelted her windshield, and the storm rocked her tiny car. Lightning transformed the inky landscape to pseudowinter. Raindrops sparkled like eerie ice shards in the flash, then reverted to watery missiles landing on the hood of her car.

Beth clutched her steering wheel. A fierce blast of wind slammed into the vehicle, and she swerved on
the graded gravel road leading to the Malones’ Victorian farmhouse. And shelter.

She hit the brake and stopped the car, pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone. Her heart hammered frantically against it. “Easy. It’s only a storm.”

She could handle this. If only she weren’t so alone. If only it weren’t so damned dark. In town, it wouldn’t be so dark. The storm wouldn’t seem so…eerie. So otherworldly. But she knew better.

Tiny pellets of hail scurried against her windshield. “Drive, Dearborn. Drive, damn you.” She eased her foot off the brake and pressed on the gas. The car inched forward through the deluge. Her wipers barely cleared the glass enough to enable her to see the path illuminated by her headlights and Mother Nature’s electrical show.

She crested the final hill and envisioned the valley floor the way she’d seen it this afternoon from Lorilee’s studio window. Pastoral. Picturesque. Amazing what a difference a few hours, a little pitch-blackness, and Mother Nature’s ire could make.

She squinted into the darkness, spotted the comforting lights of the farmhouse and the outbuildings in the distance. The rain and wind increased, but the hail stopped. Lightning and thunder followed one another in rapid succession now, matching the staccato rhythm of her pulse.

Sweat rolled down her neck and dampened her bra. She didn’t dare release the steering wheel to adjust the temperature on the defroster. Her palms slipped and she tightened her grip even more. Lightning struck the ground nearby, and a whimper escaped
her lips. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end; she smelled something burning. Too close. Too dangerous. “Show-off.”

Her bravado didn’t help.

The wind whistled around her closed doors as she pulled to a stop in front of the big white house at last. It looked more like the haunted house at an amusement park than the pastoral scene she’d viewed earlier today. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat, but that didn’t stop the tremor that had taken hold. She shook like a human vibrator from head to toe, and she knew it wouldn’t stop until the storm had passed.

Lightning flashed again. Again. Again. The hot, burning stench filled her nostrils. Panic swarmed around her. Raindrops pummeled her car, sounding like a semiautomatic battering a metal coffin. Terror and heat crowded the cramped interior. She released the clutch while the car was still in gear and it lurched forward, sputtered, and died. She groped in the dark for the door handle and wrenched it open, but the seat belt held her captive.

Like an animal caught in a steel trap, she struggled to free herself. An inhuman sound rumbled from somewhere deep inside her until, finally, she broke loose and bolted for the front door. The house was dark now. Damn!

Rain soaked her within two steps of her car. By the time she lurched onto the porch she was drenched.

Terror ripped at her. Shelter. She had to escape. Hide. Run. She pounded and clawed at the front door, pounded again. It swung open and she stumbled. Beth plunged forward into the Malones’ foyer.
Her screwup registered just as a new kind of fear closed in on her.

Please don’t hit me again.

Crushing pain slammed into her face before she fell with a sickening thud.

Don’t hit
—

Then blessed blackness saved her ass.

Pearl pulled open the back door and slipped into the Malones’ mud room. Sarah would still be awake, of course, but Mark and Grace should be in bed by now. Ty had insisted that Sarah could handle the children, but this storm was a humdinger.

All right, she was really here to ease her own worries. “Might as well ‘fess up, Pearl, old girl,” she muttered as she removed her hooded raincoat and hung it from a peg. She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. She’d just sit with the kids a spell until the storm passed, then head back home and listen to Cecil gloat, “I told you they’d be fine.”

But she couldn’t help herself. With Lorilee gone, worrying about this family was her job, and she always took pride in a job well done.

Ty hardly ever went out in the evening, but tomorrow was Mark’s twelfth birthday, and he had to pick up the gift he’d ordered from Robey’s. The least Pearl could do was check on the youngsters.

If you asked her, which nobody ever did, that young man needed to get out more, meet a nice woman, fall in love again…Pearl paused just inside the kitchen and drew a deep breath.

Lordy, Lorilee, but we sure miss you, child.

The lights flickered as a fierce blast of wind struck the house. “Please, no twisters.” She gazed upward and mouthed a silent prayer. Just in case.

Sarah came down the back staircase into the kitchen, her eyes widening when she spotted her. “Pearl? You aren’t supposed to—”

“I remembered how much that last storm scared your li’l sister.” She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to study Sarah. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, too.”

“No, of course not.” Sarah licked her lips, and her gaze darted toward the door leading to the foyer. “It’s just that—”

The lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. Pearl sighed. She’d expected this.

“If your brother didn’t get his hands on it, the flashlight should be in this drawer right here.” She felt her way past the now-silent refrigerator to the second drawer, fumbled around, and flipped on the flashlight. “Fetch that oil lamp from the pantry. Better save these batteries. No tellin’ how long the power might be out.”

Pearl shone the light in the pantry while Sarah collected the lamp and a box of matches. Once the girl carried the items to the drop-leaf table beneath the window, Pearl passed her the flashlight. “Here, hold this steady.”

She struck a match and touched the flame to the wick. The golden flame cast eerie shadows along the walls and ceiling. “There, that’s better.”

Sure it is, Pearl.

She studied Sarah’s expression for several seconds. Pearl’s heart constricted. “You remind me so much of your momma when she was your age.” She
reached out and cupped Sarah’s cheek, detecting a faint tremor. “What is it, child? The storm?”

Sarah released a long, slow breath as a gust of wind shook the house and the lights flickered again, only teasing. They remained in darkness. Wind sifted in beneath the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the foyer.

“Hmm. Do you suppose your ornery brother left the parlor window open again? Let’s check. Then we’ll peek in on him and Grace.” She took Sarah’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nothin’ to be afraid of now, honey. Pearl’s here.”

They pushed through the swinging door together. The front door stood wide open, transforming the foyer into a wind tunnel. A wet one.

“I do believe the devil has come a callin’,” Pearl muttered.

“The wind must have blown it open.”

“This floor is slicker than greased piglets, but we’ve gotta get that door shut.” Pearl released Sarah’s hand and trod carefully along the glistening wood. She held the oil lamp higher to flood the foyer with light.

Sarah gasped from behind her, and Pearl almost dropped the oil lamp. “What…? Who…? Lord have mercy!”

A woman lay flat on her face right inside the front door in a puddle of rainwater. Pearl handed the lamp to Sarah and hurried to the woman’s side.

Rain and wind slashed through the open door. “Sarah, shut the door,” Pearl shouted over the racket. “She’s either sick or hurt. Reckon I’d best see which.”

Sarah eased past them and closed the heavy front door. Without being told, the girl grabbed towels
from the kitchen and sopped up the rain from the wood floor, then brought more dry ones to Pearl.

“Do—do you know who she is?” the girl asked.

Pearl nodded. “The insurance investigator who was here earlier, talkin’ to your daddy.” She gave the woman a gentle shake. “Ms. Dearling, or something like that.”

“Dearborn.” Sarah blinked when Pearl glanced up at her. “I saw her card on Dad’s desk.”

“That’s right.” Pearl shook the woman’s shoulder again. “Ms. Dearborn? Can you hear me, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

“Help…me,” she whispered, though it sounded more like a groan. “Don’t…hit me.”

“Nobody’s hittin’ you, child.” Pearl stroked the woman’s damp hair and patted her back maternally. She couldn’t help herself—that was her way. Cecil swore she was forever bringing in strays, and this one had come right in the front door.

She leaned down and sniffed. At least the woman didn’t smell like liquor, so she couldn’t blame her condition on that. She winced inwardly as another memory surfaced—one she tried not to think of often. Her sweet Lorilee had sometimes drunk in secret.

Don’t think about that, old woman. Not now.

Someone had obviously hurt Ms. Dearborn, and she needed some good, old-fashioned TLC. Pearl knew just the person to give it to her.

“Sounds like the storm is blowing over,” Sarah whispered.

“Good. Maybe the power’ll come back on soon. Now let’s see to our patient here. I don’t think anything’s broken.” Even so, she hesitated to move Ms.
Dearborn. It would be best if she could stand up on her own. “Can you get up, honey? We’ll move you into the parlor.”

Ms. Dearborn opened her eyes, her expression frantic. “Out of here. Away from…door.”

“You got it, but first you stand up for Pearl.” She put one arm around the woman’s waist, and her shoulder braced under her armpit as she rose. Ms. Dearborn was considerably taller than Pearl, but on the slender side. The lights flickered twice more, then finally stayed on. “Let there be light. Now if only they’ll stay on for good.” She squeezed her eyes closed for a second.
Amen.

“Sarah, grab a quilt from the linen closet. She’s shakin’ like a sinner on Judgment Day. But we’re gonna have to put ice on that goose egg bloomin’ on her forehead, and I’m afraid that’s gonna make her shake even more.”

Thunder rattled the house again. “After we get her settled, you’d best check on your brother and sister. Make sure the storm didn’t scare the bejeebers outta them.”

Once they had the woman settled on the sofa with a quilt wrapped around her and a pouch of frozen peas on her forehead, she looked half-alive again. The color returned to her cheeks, that desperate hunted expression disappeared from her eyes, and her shivering slowed.

Assured that Mark and Grace had—amazingly—slept through the raging storm, Pearl sent Sarah to the kitchen again, this time for hot cocoa to counteract the chill from the frozen peas.

“What brings you back out here at this hour, Ms. Dearborn?” If the woman wasn’t injured, Pearl would
be
demanding
an answer to her questions. The investigator wasn’t supposed to return until tomorrow morning. “And in this god-awful weather?”

“Well…” The woman glanced toward the doorway where Sarah had gone. “I was nearby when the storm broke, and I think—”

“I called her,” Sarah announced as she returned. She placed a tray bearing cups of steaming cocoa with floating marshmallows on the coffee table.

“Oh. I see.” Pearl knew full well how Ty felt about the children being touched by this investigation. “You put Ms. Dearborn in a nasty spot, girl.”
Not just the storm, but your daddy’s temper, too.

“I—I’m sorry.” Sarah handed a cup of cocoa to the investigator.

“I’m a big girl.” No longer trembling, Ms. Dearborn took a long drink. “Mmm. Besides, anyone who brings me chocolate this rich receives instant forgiveness.”

Pearl chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth? Old family recipe, passed down from Lorilee’s great-granny.” She reached for a cup. “Creole from New Orleans, she was.”

“So Lorilee’s family wasn’t from here originally?” The investigator watched them over the rim of her cup as she took another sip.

“Oh, her daddy’s family founded Brubaker, but her momma’s side came from Louisiana.”

Pearl turned her attention to Sarah, who kept shooting nervous glances at the grandfather clock against the far wall. “Why’d you call Ms. Dearborn out in this storm tonight, Sarah?”

“I…”

“Really, I was already out,” Ms. Dearborn said.

“But Sarah must’ve had a reason for callin’ you,” Pearl said. “And she knows her daddy’s feelings on the subject. So…why?”

The clock’s ticking filled the strained silence for several seconds. Then someone cleared his throat from across the room. Their heads turned toward the foyer, where Ty leaned against the doorframe as if he’d been there for quite a spell. Listening.

“Yes, Sarah. Why?”

Ty felt as if he’d been rode hard and put up wet.

And now this. What was Beth Dearborn doing here at this hour? And hadn’t Pearl gone home hours ago? What could Sarah have said to Beth? What the
hell
was going on here?

“Well?” He gritted his teeth and counted silently to ten. Again. “Sarah, I’m waiting. You put Ms. Dearborn in danger. She—and I—deserve an explanation.”

Tears welled in his daughter’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Strands of blonde hair, so much like her mother’s, clung to the dampness. She shoved them back and sniffled. “I—I’m sorry.” Her lower lip trembled.

“I know that, honey, but you still haven’t told us why.” Damn, but he hated it when she cried. Reminded him that Lorilee wasn’t here to pick up the broken pieces of their little girl’s life. Reminded him the buck stopped with him. Reminded him he was alone in this parenting deal…

“I saw her card on your desk.” Sarah cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. The girl had the Malone stubborn streak a mile wide. “I thought…” Her face crumpled.

Ah, shit.
Ty walked across the room and gathered his daughter in his arms. “Shh.” He tucked her head under his chin and held her while she cried. That was one thing he’d grown to excel at in the past seven years. “Sorry, darlin’. I dang near had to swim home, and I’m getting you all wet.”

She giggled a little at that. “I don’t care.” Her voice sounded muffled against his chest.

Ty turned his attention to Beth Dearborn. She looked even worse than he felt. Her upper lip and nose were swollen as if she’d taken a blow to the face, and she had a bag of frozen peas plastered to her forehead.

“What happened?” He eased Sarah slightly away from him and turned her to face Beth as well. His daughter was, at least indirectly, responsible for this. “Were you in an accident, Beth?”

Crimson crept upward along her neck, from the opening of the tightly clutched quilt. Holy crap! Was she naked under there? He glanced down and saw her damp jeans beneath the quilt, putting an end to that speculation. Remembering his manners, he dragged his gaze back to her flushed face and waited for an answer. Come to think of it, Sarah still owed him an answer as well.

“We aren’t sure what happened,” Pearl said after several awkward moments. “We found her passed out on the floor by the front door with that goose egg on her forehead.”

Ty raked a hand through his damp hair, keeping his gaze fixed on Beth, who set the now-sweating bag of peas on a towel, then turned her attention to spinning her empty cup in her saucer. Anything but risk making eye contact?

The quilt slipped from her shoulders, and her damp T-shirt clung to her like shrink-wrap. Shit. He swallowed hard, and a thin film of sweat coated his brow.

She had nice breasts. Firm, full, though smaller than average. Still…nice. And her nipples…Well, he’d noticed those earlier today, and he’d thought about them all damned—

Criminy, Malone. Get a grip.

Yeah, he’d like to get a grip all right. On her. Vaguely aware of Pearl and Sarah talking to each other, he drew a deep breath and looked up at Beth’s face again. Of course,
now
she would look at him—just in time to catch him ogling her nipples.

She wasn’t blushing now. She arched an eyebrow, tilted her head slightly to the right, parted her lips ever so slightly in a knowing smile…

And winked.

Ty choked, and Sarah stepped away to pat him on the back. “You really are wet, Daddy. What happened?”

He coughed for a minute, trying not to bust out laughing at Beth Dearborn’s audacity. The woman was perplexing as hell. Finally, he shook his head and ended his fake coughing spell, mustered the sternest expression he could, and faced his daughter.

“I’m not answering your question until you answer mine.”

She ducked her chin. “Oh.”

“Thought you women could change the subject on me.” He nodded and crossed his arms over his abdomen. “Not this time. I want to know why you called Ms. Dearborn this evening.” He swung his head toward Beth. “Then I want to know how you got hurt.”

“Okay.” Sarah sat on the end of the couch and rested her chin in her hands. “I heard you and Pearl talking after dinner, and you said you thought maybe Ms. Dearborn was the one who would finally find the truth.”

Damn. Ty wasn’t sure how he felt about Beth hearing that. “That still doesn’t explain why you called her, Sarah.”

“I—I’m not sure.” The girl looked anxiously from Beth to Ty to Pearl, then back to Ty. “I just needed to talk to her—to tell her how important it is that we find out what happened to Momma. That we make people stop thinking…” She drew a stuttering breath and brought her hand to her quivering lips.

“Sarah,” Beth said gently. “You know I work for an insurance company. Right?”

The girl nodded. “It said so on your business card. Of course I know.”

“I
am
here to find the truth.” Beth looked up at Ty, her expression open and sincere. “No matter what it is.”