The Gift (9 page)

A voice interrupted her first bite. “So…it’s you. You’re the one.”

Beth looked up and saw a short, stout woman nod knowingly before pivoting on her heel to march
away to a cluster of other moms who had their heads together.

“Oh, boy.” Beth bit into the drumstick. “Bet I’m the flavor of the week,” she muttered around a mouthful of herbs and spices that put the Colonel to shame.
Pearl should franchise.

Beth cast a covetous glance toward the back staircase. What were the chances of smuggling a plate of fried chicken up the stairs to her room, or anywhere in this big old house that was unoccupied by either the living or dead?

Murmurs swept through the room, and the stares directed at her became more numerous and overt.
No escape now, Dearborn.
Besides, she was here to work. The sooner these people knew who she was and why she was here, the sooner she could get on with her life. Right?

Her conversation with Sam this morning had triggered that old mental soundtrack of her mother’s nagging voice.
Marry a nice boy and settle down, Beth.
A sad smile tugged at her lips as she set her empty plate on a nearby table.

The woman had died before Beth made detective, and had been harping at her only child for years about making her a grandmother. Acid joined the fried chicken and cold pizza in Beth’s stomach. Memory lane was not on her mental GPS today.
Eject tape now.

Beth finished the iced tea—sweetened, of course—and wondered how long birthday parties lasted. How long would it take for everybody to get their fill of gaping and gossiping, before she could ask some questions? Shouldn’t they get to the “Happy Birthday”
business soon? She walked around the buffet table and stared out the window at the cars parked in the circle drive. Hers looked even more out of place than she felt.

“How much will it take to make you go away?”

The whispered words were clearly intended to sound menacing, but Beth couldn’t suppress the chuckle that bubbled from her throat. This entire day was shaping up like a scene from the latest television-mystery cozy.

The cloud of expensive perfume already told her the walking, talking cliché’s gender. Despite that knowledge, she really didn’t expect to find herself staring down into the angry green eyes of Grandma Ruby herself.

The woman was about five feet nothing and built like Dolly Parton—easy to see why the old man had been attracted. “Would you like to repeat that?” Beth encouraged. Emboldened, she thrust out her right hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m—”

“I
know
who you are.”

“Oooookay.” Beth dropped her hand back to her side. “And you’re Mrs. Brubaker. Correct?”

“That doesn’t matter.” She looked around nervously, as if she actually might believe most of the mothers in the room weren’t staring right at them. “I just don’t want my Bill to be upset by…this.”

“This…?” Beth’s fingers itched to reach for her notebook and pen, but she folded her arms instead. This would be even better on tape. Pity she wasn’t wired. “This…what?” she repeated, knowing exactly what
this
Grandma Ruby meant. What Beth didn’t know was
why
it was so important to the woman.

“Investigation about Lorilee.” Ruby leaned closer. “Bill was crazy about his little girl, and when she ran off like she did…”

“
If
she did.” Beth definitely had to add the stepmother to the list of nonbelievers.

Ruby stiffened and her cheeks flamed, contrasting horribly with her dyed hair. The woman had obviously been a natural redhead once upon a time, but now covered the gray with far too much zeal. “She was spoiled rotten, that girl. Trust me, she stole her daddy’s money and ran off to Europe.”

Beth remained silent, waiting to see if Ruby would continue. When she didn’t, she nodded and said, “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Brubaker—to find out for sure what happened to Lorilee.”

“But I
told
you—”

“There’s no proof.” Beth studied the woman’s face, making mental notes about her level of anxiety. “My job is to prove one way or another if she’s dead or not.”

“Not. Definitely not.” Ruby shook her head rapidly and fished a handkerchief from her pocket. After managing a few impressive tears without mussing her heavy mascara, she added, “She ran off and broke her family’s hearts. I just don’t want her daddy upset again. That’s all.”

Beth knew beyond any doubt that wasn’t all. She wasn’t sure why or how she knew, but she’d learned to trust her instincts—more than just her empathic ones—in this line of work. “I’ll do my best not to disrupt your family any more than necessary,” she promised. “But I have a job to do, and I intend to do it.”

Ruby pressed her lips into a thin line and narrowed her green eyes. “Damn Ty for stirring up this
mess again.” Without another word, she spun around and returned to her husband’s side, her Italian heels clicking across the oak floor.

Beth noticed Ty emerging from the kitchen with the birthday cake on a wheeled cart, candles blazing. The crowd burst into the “Happy Birthday” song. Beth took that opportunity to fish her notepad from her backpack, so she could scribble down a few key points about her encounters with Lucy Wilkes and Ruby Brubaker.

So far it seemed the only person she could list as a friend to Lorilee Brubaker-Malone, outside Pearl and her immediate family, was Rick Heppel.

Interesting. Why had the woman once known as Brubaker’s “guardian angel” fallen from grace so far and so fast? There was more going on here than a simple disappearance. But what?

She wrote a question mark on her notepad and felt someone’s gaze on her again. Beth looked across the room toward the archway leading to the foyer, where she’d had the close encounter of the empathic kind. A tall, lean cowboy leaned against the wall, his hat pulled low over his eyes, obscuring his features.

The man was not here for the party—at least not as a guest. That was obvious. He must have been an employee, but why was he staring at her?

And why did she suddenly feel unreasonably comforted by the presence of her backpack and Glock?

The crowd burst into applause at the end of the song. She looked away from the cowboy long enough to watch Mark blow out his candles before his grandfather handed him an envelope and a package.

Ty looked up from his son’s activities and toward
the foyer archway. Beth noticed the way he stiffened, and his brow furrowed. Tension radiated from the man.

She followed his gaze back to the archway.

But the cowboy was gone.

What the hell was Gary Harlan doing here? Ty caught Cecil’s gaze, and the older man followed the intruder when he ducked out the front door. Mark’s birthday party was not the time to follow up on an old grudge. Cecil would make sure Harlan didn’t set foot back inside this house today.

Bastard has a lot of
—

“Dad, look!” Mark held out an electronic handheld video something-or-other. “See what Grandpa gave me?”

“
And
Grandma Ruby,” Bill gently reminded his grandson.

“Yeah, and Grandma Ruby.” Mark squirmed when his stepgrandmother gave him a squeeze.

Ty was as grateful as he knew his son was when she kept it brief and stepped away. Boys crowded behind Mark to examine and comment on the device. “Looks complicated,” Ty said.

“Kids these days figure these things out a lot faster than we do,” Bill explained.

“I’m off to the powder room. ‘Scuse me.” Ruby left in a cloud of the expensive perfume she always wore.

Ty tolerated Ruby for the same reason Lorilee
had—she made Bill happy. Otherwise, she was shallow, self-centered, and downright annoying. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his son’s gift.

Even though both Ty and Lorilee had asked the older man repeatedly not to spoil the kids, he never listened. They always received the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos. Sarah had a fancy MP3 player from her last birthday, and Grace had an electronic keyboard that did everything except her homework and cook dinner.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford to give the kids some of these things. His spread did well enough now. He and Lorilee had wanted their children to learn the value of work and saving for special items, so they would learn to appreciate them more.

However, since their mother’s disappearance Ty had lost the heart to argue about the expensive gifts. Plus, he recognized the old man’s need to fill some kind of void in his own life through his lavish generosity. He’d treated his own daughter the same way, and now he was transferring that to Lorilee’s children.

With a sigh, Ty nodded. “Thanks, Bill.”

“You bet. It’s not every day a boy turns twelve.”

“Cake and ice cream, anybody?” Pearl called. The crowd shifted from the gift table back to all-important dessert, leaving Ty alone with his father-in-law.

“Ruby said that Amazon in the corner is the insurance investigator.” Bill shoved his fists into his trouser pockets. “That a fact, son?”

“Yes, sir.” Ty held the older man’s gaze. “She wants to talk to you about Lorilee.”

Bill huffed out a sigh and raked his beefy fingers
through his hair. “Dammit all to hell, Ty…” He looked down at the toes of his custom Tony Lamas, then looked up and asked, “Why? Is it the money, son? I would have been happy to write you a check for the insurance money instead of putting the family through this crap.”

Ty had anticipated this. “No, Bill—it’s the lies. We want the lies and gossip to end.”

“What if the lies and gossip
aren’t
lies, Ty?” Bill’s voice remained low, but his eyes snapped with barely suppressed anger. “What if you dredge all this up only to find out it’s all true? That Lorilee ran away and left us all to wonder whether she’s dead or alive?”

“Momma wouldn’t do that.” Sarah’s voice trembled.

Ty hadn’t noticed his daughter come in from the kitchen. Damn. “Sarah, honey…”

“No, Daddy. I’m not a baby anymore.” She faced her grandfather and drew a stuttered breath, released it slowly before continuing. “Grandpa, I asked Daddy to do this. I
begged
him to do this. I want Momma’s name cleared. I don’t want people thinking she ran off to live it up in Europe, when she’s really dead.”

Silent tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks. “Sarah, honey, please don’t cry.” Bill reached toward her, but she shied away from his embrace.

Ty knew the rejection had to smart. “Bill, we have a right to put this to rest, once and for all. Let us try. Do it for the kids. Hell, do it for your daughter’s memory.”

Pain played itself out in the man’s eyes. Finally, he
held his palms upright in surrender. “I can’t stop you.”

“No, in all honesty, sir, that’s a plain fact. You can’t.” Ty held his father-in-law’s gaze. “But you can sure help by cooperating with Ms. Dearborn.”

“Please, Grandpa?” Sarah reached for his hand.

Her emotional timing was perfect—definitely her mother’s daughter. Pride in his oldest child swelled within Ty’s chest.

“I’ll talk to her.” Bill half turned and looked across the room at Beth Dearborn, who was fidgeting with objects on the bookshelf. “I swear, she could probably go bear huntin’ with a switch.”

Ty had to chuckle at that, though he kept his opinion about the investigator’s long legs private. “She’s tall enough. That’s a fact.”

“I think she’s a very nice person,” Sarah intervened somewhat defensively.

“No one said she isn’t.” The girl obviously still felt guilty for bringing Beth out here in last night’s storm.

Ty placed his palm in the small of his daughter’s back. He wouldn’t nudge, but he hoped she would take the hint and give her grandfather the hug he obviously needed. Hell, Ty could use one himself about now.

Sure enough, Sarah rose on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Bill Brubaker’s wrinkled cheek, then wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and rested her head against his barrel chest. The old man’s expression softened as he held his oldest grandchild.

“Thanks, Grandpa. I’m sure Ms. Dearborn can help us find the truth.”

“We’ll see, honey.” His sigh ruffled Sarah’s blonde hair. “I’ll go talk to her now, but don’t get your hopes too high. You hear?”

“I just want the truth, Grandpa.”

Bill met Ty’s gaze over Sarah’s head, his expression solemn, but his unspoken warning was unmistakable. Any trouble stirred up from this investigation would land squarely back in Ty’s lap.

“Why don’t you give Pearl a hand with the birthday cake, and I’ll introduce your grandpa to Ms. Dearborn.”

“Okay.”

Once Sarah was out of earshot, Bill jabbed his index finger at Ty, then dropped it to his side. “Dammit, Ty.”

“You gave your word, Bill.”

Muttering under his breath, he took a few steps and stopped. “My God. Is she…is she wearing Lorilee’s clothes?”

Ty shook his head in disbelief. “You actually recognize that getup?”

“Just answer me.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“Because of the bridge. Remember?” Annoyed with himself for allowing irritation to edge his words, Ty dragged in a deep breath. “Sorry, Bill. Tempers are short. She came out here to talk to Sarah and ended up stuck on this side of the bridge. Pearl put her things in the wash, so…”

“All right, fine. Fine.” Bill squared his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Bill?” Ty had to ask one thing first.

“What?”

“What was Gary doing in my house at my son’s birthday party?”

Redness crept from Bill’s collar and up both sides of his neck to his ears. “I told him to wait outside.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Ty…”

“He’s trouble, Bill.”

“So you say. Look, I don’t want to get into that now, Ty.” He looked up at the ceiling and mouthed something under his breath. “I broke my driving glasses, and he was the only hand in the bunkhouse, so Ruby asked him to drive us over here.”

“Ruby couldn’t manage to drive the car herself?” Ty put his fists on his hips. “You know how things are between us since Mom died.”

“I know. Sorry. Won’t happen again, Ty.” Bill jabbed a thumb toward Beth Dearborn. “Can we
please
get on with this before I change my mind?”

The mountain is coming to Mohammed.

Beth cracked her knuckles and tried to pretend she didn’t know what was happening. Even though she hadn’t been able to overhear the conversation taking place across the room, instinct and several covert glances had alerted her that she was the topic.

And now Ty was bringing Daddy Warbucks to meet her, as promised. It wasn’t like her to feel nervous, but she wiped her suddenly damp palms on Lorilee’s denim skirt before meeting the woman’s father. Maybe that was it—she was about to meet the allegedly dead woman’s father while wearing her clothes.

That was a first, even for Beth. Having dead people in her head was one thing, but having their
clothes on her body was another. Of course, from all accounts, William Brubaker was among the nonbelievers, regarding Lorilee’s fate.

“Ms. Dearborn,” Ty said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. “This is Bill Brubaker—Lorilee’s father. Bill, Beth Dearborn is with Avery—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know who the hell she is. We can stop pretending I don’t.” Brubaker waved his hand dismissively. “You go eat cake with the kids and leave us be.”

Beth made the mistake of letting Ty capture her gaze with his incredible turquoise eyes. She inclined her head very slightly, hoping to reassure him that she would “behave,” as promised. Of course, she’d also promised him and Sarah both that she would do her best to find the truth, and a little misbehavior might be necessary from time to time…

“Get on with you now, son,” Brubaker said, his tone relatively mild now, all things considered. “We’ll be fine. Ms. Dearborn and I are both grownups, and neither one of us is armed and dangerous.”

Speak for yourself.
Beth grinned, and managed not to blush, though she thought Ty might have given her backpack a more-than-cursory glance before nodding and walking away.

That man sure filled out the backside of his jeans well. That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him out on the highway when he’d stopped to change her tire.

“Okay, so what do you want to know about my Lorilee’s disappearance?” Brubaker asked.

He took her elbow and steered her toward a pair of chairs in the corner. She found the gesture annoying and macho, though she recognized he was a victim
of his generation and upbringing. For that reason, and to get the answers she needed, she let it go. This time…

“Here, let me take your bag.” He reached for her backpack when she started to lower herself into a chair with it still on her shoulders.

“No, no—it’s fine where it is.”

He gave her a look as if he found her totally insane, and said, “All right.” The chair looked ridiculously small beneath his large frame. He rested one booted ankle across the opposite knee, and draped his hands there as well. “Fire when ready.”

If he only knew…Beth suppressed a chuckle and removed her notepad and pen from her pocket. “Do you mind…?”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I really think this is a huge waste of time.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Easy, Dearborn.
“Just that most people around town believe your daughter left and is alive somewhere in Europe.” She met and held his gaze. “Is that what you think, too, sir?”

He remained silent for several seconds, lowered his chin to his chest, then looked at her again. “I…Yes. I don’t want to, but what choice do I have, with that letter and all?”

“Right. The letter you never had analyzed.”

He stiffened, and she thought for a moment he would stomp away in a huff. However, he simply sat staring, an expression of amazement in his eyes.

“You’ve got grit, Ms. Dearborn,” he finally said. “I’ll grant you that.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from someone like you.”

“Fair enough.” Sadness filled his brown eyes, and the wrinkles across his forehead deepened. “Lorilee’s my only child. I spoiled her rotten after her momma died.”

“That’s understandable, sir.” Beth waited, hoping he would continue without too much urging. She didn’t want to inadvertently steer him in the wrong direction, just in case he was about to reveal something useful.

“She was a good girl. I thought she was anyway.” He stared beyond Beth at something she suspected only he could see. “She sure loved these kids. That’s why it didn’t make sense at first.”

Beth waited and watched as he stroked his chin thoughtfully, still staring across the room. “What didn’t make sense?” she asked quietly.

He jerked his head around and pinned her with his gaze. “The
why
of it. Why did she just walk away from those little kids? Grace was barely out of diapers, for Christ’s sake!” He swallowed audibly. “And Ty. And…and me. Neither of us ever mistreated her. Always the opposite. She never wanted for anything—at least not that I knew of.”

He fell silent again. Beth didn’t make any notes, because she feared it would distract him, and she didn’t want him to stop, now that he’d started. “You’re right, sir,” she said finally, hoping he would continue. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“You know, Lorilee is an artist. A painter.” He smiled then. “She has some real talent, but of course I’m biased.” The sadness crept back into his features. “Some folks think she went to Paris to paint…”

Time to get some answers. So far, he’d been pretty consistent about referring to his daughter as if she was still alive. “What do you think, sir?”

“I…” He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Until that letter came, I was right there with Ty, demanding the sheriff find out who’d hurt my…baby.” His voice caught on the last word. “But that letter…”

“Where is that letter now, sir?”

He looked at her, confused. “I haven’t seen it since that first day.” He shoved a stray lock of hair back from his eyes. “The sheriff must still have it.”

“So it was addressed to you.” Beth made some quick notes. “Is that correct, sir?”

“Right.”

“And you gave it to the sheriff?” she urged when he fell silent again. The letter could be the most damning evidence regarding Lorilee’s fate.

“Yes, including the envelope it came in, because of the postmark.” He removed a handkerchief and mopped perspiration from his brow. “It was mailed from the UK somewhere.”

“Was the letter handwritten or typed, Mr. Brubaker?” Beth already knew the answer from the newspaper articles, but she wanted his reaction.

“Typed.” He looked around the room. “I wonder where my wife got off to. I’m about ready to call it a day. These youngsters can wear an old man down.” He rose, and Beth stood as well.