The Perfect Letter (27 page)

She kept going up the path toward the door of her little stone cottage on the hillside, Jim a few steps behind. The wind was sighing through the trees, lifting the hair on the back of her neck, the valley below carpeted with bluebonnets, tingeing the air purple, but at that moment Leigh felt she couldn't enjoy it, couldn't look at it and feel calm, content. And for that, as much as anything, she hated Russell Benoit.

At her cottage she turned the handle and opened the door, standing in the doorway, looking inside as if she expected Russell to jump out at any moment. But no one was there. No Russell. No Joseph. No Jake. Just Leigh and the mess she'd made. She stood in the doorway as if uncertain how even to begin to tackle the things that needed to get done.

Then Jim was behind her on the porch, watching her. She felt him there but didn't turn around. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“I take it you talked to him. Your fiancé.”

Leigh gave an apologetic smile. “I did. Late last night.” She went inside the room and set the duffel behind the door, where she knew it would be safe, but still she felt vulnerable, exposed, with all her money in cash just sitting there for anyone to take. Like she'd been caught swimming naked.

She whirled on Jim. “Wait a minute. How did you know I talked to him?”

“Because I spoke to him myself about an hour ago. He asked if he could publish my book.”

“He did
what
?” She took two steps back and bumped into the bed. She sat down hard.

Whatever Leigh had been expecting from Joseph, it was certainly
not
that he would try to poach one of her projects just hours—minutes, maybe—after she had dumped him. So much for breaking his heart.

“What did he say?”

“He said he loved it and wanted to publish it. That he'd give me a nice advance and a big marketing push. That he could send the contracts this week.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine,” Jim said, and grinned at her. “I already told you, darlin', I won't trust this book to just anyone. I'm giving it to you, and no one else.”

Jim was standing in the doorway, watching her. He was being proper; he wouldn't come inside a woman's room unless Leigh invited him, which she did with a wave of her hand. She couldn't believe Joseph had taken Jim's manuscript with him. She couldn't believe Jim had turned down the offer. He'd probably just made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Oh, Jim,” she said. “I don't even know where I'll land, or how long
it will take. It might be months before I can start signing projects again. Was it a big advance?”

“More zeros than I've seen at one time ever in my life,” he said, coming in but leaving the door open. “But I didn't write this book for the money. So you two are over?”

Leigh invited him to sit down, then closed the door behind him. “We are,” she said. “It's for the best, really. I told him I'm quitting the company. He was pretty angry, and he deserved to be.”

“He'll get over it,” Jim said. “What about you? Are you doing all right?”

Leigh collapsed in the chair opposite him. “Not as well as I'd like. It had to be done, but it was a lot to give up. I'm going to have to rethink a lot of things I used to take for granted.”

“Only natural,” he said. “I'm sorry you had to lose your job over it, though.”

“So am I. I loved that job. But it wouldn't be unheard of for me to get another one. I just scored the biggest publishing triumph of the year. There are probably other places I could work.”

“Just ‘probably'?”

“The thing is,” she was saying, “I'm not sure I want to go back. Part of me wants to stay right here. If I could come home, somehow . . . But that's stupid. There are no publishing companies in Texas, not the kind that do what I do, anyway.”

“There should be,” Jim said. “All those writers at the conference, they'd be thrilled to have someplace local publish their work.”

“I agree, but all the biggest firms are in New York.” She sighed. “I guess I just don't want to face the mess I've made. Maybe I think it would be easier if I don't go back.”

She was looking over her shoulder at the door. Any minute now, Russell would come knocking, she was sure of it. He knew she had the money. Probably he was waiting for Jim to leave, but he wouldn't
wait much longer than that, she was certain. He'd want to collect his duffel and get the hell out of town, get on with the business of spending money that wasn't his. All she had to do was hand it over and she'd be rid of him, rid of the threat of jail. She only hoped a million would be enough to keep Russell out of her life forever.

Jim was watching her closely. “Everything all right?” he asked. “You keep looking at the door like you're waiting for someone.”

“Do I? I'm sorry. It's been a trying couple of days.”

He reached across the table and patted her hand, and she let him. For a minute it was as if Gene Merrill were still there, trying to ease her mind. “If you need me,” he said, “I'm here.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You remind me of my grandfather. I miss him a lot.”

“I don't think I'm quite old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Not in age, but physically the resemblance is remarkable. Look,” she said, pulling out her wallet and taking out the picture of her grandfather she kept there. In it, the old man was leaning on a white fence post, his thumb hitched through the loop of his jeans, his skin deeply tanned and his pale eyes twinkling. He was smiling directly into the camera with the same kind of casual confidence Jim had, the same careful expression of pleasure deeply masked. “He died when I was in college. We were very close. My mother died when I was ten, and he nearly raised me. It wasn't until just now that I realized how strong the resemblance is.”

“I'm flattered.”

“You are?”

“Of course. He obviously meant a lot to you. He must have been a good man, to earn your love and respect. I'd like to do the same.”

“I'd like that,” she said. “When I get back to New York and get settled, expect a call from me.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You're the first person on my list.” She meant what she said—she would do what she could to help him, in whatever capacity she could, whether or not it was her name on the spine of his book. That's what good editors did: they brought good work into the world.

“All right. I'll look forward to it.” Then he was gone.

Leigh closed the door behind him with a little bit of reluctance. Gene Merrill had been her last and practically only family; it was natural for her to feel a deep affection for a man who looked so much like him. But watching him leave was a little like losing Gene all over again.

She laughed to herself, thinking about what Chloe would say when Leigh told her about it.
Welcome to
Issues
with Leigh Merrill, where we discuss the strange inner workings of the subconscious female mind!
Chloe would say.

She wished Chloe were here now. While she was wishing for things, she wished Jake were here now, too.

Then, a knock. Someone was at the door.

She opened it up to find a man in a scruffy-looking business suit and a baseball cap standing there, lifting his chin at her arrogantly.

“Hello, beautiful,” said Russell Benoit.

L
eigh's first instinct was to block the door and bar Russell Benoit from entering. This disgusting man was the last person she wanted inside her cottage at the moment, but she realized quickly that any attention she drew to the situation was going to be bad for her—calling the cops was not an option. She would just have to let him inside and get it over with. All she could do was hope for Chloe to show up with Jake in time to put a stop to Russell's ridiculous scheme.

“Well?” he asked. “You gonna invite me in or not?”

She couldn't choke out a proper invitation, so instead she stepped aside to let him pass. “Thanks, sugar,” he said, and gave a long, low whistle as he looked around the room. “These are some nice digs, let me tell you. I might have to get me a little place like this, a nice little business with some property.”

“Thanks,” she said sourly. “But I don't think you'll be able to afford it even with my money.”

“We'll see. Where's Pretty Boy?”

“Excuse me?”

“The guy with the expensive haircut you were with the other night. Where'd he run off to?”

Leigh went cold. “He went home.”

“Without you? What happened? Did he find out you're a murderer?”

“I'm not. It was an accident.”

“Tell it to the judge, sugar.”

Russell moved slowly through the discarded clothes and piles of paper, picking up a vase from a table and setting it back down again, fingering the curtains like he owned the place. She didn't know if he was appreciating the cottage or planning to raid it.

“Lost your boyfriend and your money,” he said. “Oh dear, oh dear. Whatever will you do?”

“I'm doing just fine. Thanks for your concern.”

Somewhere in the mess her phone dinged: someone had sent her a text message. It had to be from Chloe; no one else ever texted her. But Leigh didn't see where the phone was, and she didn't want to turn her back on Russell for even a minute.

Russell flopped in the chair where just last night Joseph had sat while she'd broken his heart. But unlike the day before, Leigh felt no pang of sorrow, just a cold rage, a towering hostility. It was no use getting angry—there was nothing to do but pay him off and get it over with. She only had to get through this one last distasteful chore, this final task, and then she'd be free to move on with the rest of her life.

Russell put his feet up on the coffee table, dislodging a stack of manuscript pages and sending them tumbling in a heap to the floor. “Sorry about that,” he said as Leigh bent over to pick up the pages,
though she could tell he wasn't really sorry, not at all. “You ain't much of a housekeeper, are you?”

“Not really,” Leigh said through gritted teeth.

“You ought to be. Good for a woman to keep a nice house,” he said. “Maybe after you're broke you'll learn how to do for yourself for a change. Won't be able to afford a maid to do it for you anymore.” He cackled at the thought.

“I never had a maid,” Leigh said.

“Well, maybe you needed one.” Russell continued to eye her with amusement while she crouched on the floor cleaning up his mess. “I do like to see a woman on her hands and knees. Makes me remember the natural order.”

Leigh looked up. “Don't get too used to it,” she said. “It won't happen again.”

“If you say so, little lady.”

He was grinning at her with evident pleasure, his baked-bean teeth glistening in the pale light of the room. She wished she could call the cops on him right now, get him thrown out of her room and back in jail. While she was wishing for things, she wished she'd called the cops on Dale Tucker all those years ago instead of getting her grandfather's gun. How different her life might have been if she'd been smart enough never to go into the tack room for the .357 in the first place. Jake wouldn't have gone to jail, for one thing, and Russell Benoit wouldn't be in her room right now. Her grandfather might still be alive, even.

There was no point in wishful thinking. She'd pulled the trigger, and that action had consequences. It was time for her to pay up, finally. The only problem was that she was paying the wrong person.

Underneath a stack of pages, she felt something buzz insistently: her phone. She picked it up and unlocked it to find the text from Chloe. She opened the message and read.
DON'T GIVE HIM THE MONEY,
it said.
WE'RE ON OUR WAY RIGHT NOW.

She'd found Jake!
Oh, Chloe,
she thought,
I love you.

But how to stall Russell until the two of them got to the ranch? He knew she had the money—he'd seen her drive into town, go into the bank—but he didn't know where it was now, hidden behind the door of the cottage, half buried beneath the mess in Leigh's room. He could search the room, take the duffel and run, but that wasn't his style, was it? Russell Benoit was enjoying himself too much, enjoying getting the best of her, the rich girl from Wolf's Head who'd never struggled a day in her life. He wanted her to offer the bag to him. He wanted to take it straight out of her hands before he could enjoy spending it.

Russell was eyeing her. He said, “So. You gonna make me wait all day, or what, sweetheart?”

Leigh stood with a stack of pages pressed to her chest, then set them down, sliding her phone back into her pocket. All she had to do was stall a little.

She stood up straight, and said, “Not much longer. I'll be glad to have you on your way, but there's something I want to know first. Some answers I want, in exchange for my money.”

He crossed one foot in front of the other, but he looked skeptical. Maybe he'd tell her what she wanted to know, and maybe not. “Shoot,” he said.

“So I was wondering about something. Jake told me you knew his dad, Ben. You'd known Ben Rhodes from a long way back, he said. What I want to know is how you know him.”

For the first time Russell looked surprised by something she'd said. “Ben? Oh, old Ben and I go way back.”

“Way back to what?”

“I don't think you really want to know that. Still in love with his son and all. Still pining for your first love.”

Leigh's stomach flopped. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure. Your tearful reunion was some kind of act, let me tell you.”

“What?”

“You think the boat dock is a private place for a reunion? Please. Get a room. Oh, I forgot—you did.”

Had Russell been following Leigh and Jake all this time? He could have been behind her the minute she stepped off the plane. She felt cold all over, picturing him lurking behind every corner and every curtain. How had he even known she was coming back to Texas?

Maybe he'd been following Jake, not her. Maybe he and Ben Rhodes had worked out this blackmail scheme together. Maybe Jake had been in on it the whole time. She accused him of being in on it once, and he'd denied it, vehemently, but maybe that was all an act, too.

“Maybe it would have been better if we'd never met.” Was this what you meant, Jake? That you knew Russell Benoit was coming to find me? Maybe even that you were involved?

Leigh chose her words carefully and said, “A million dollars isn't really going to be enough for you and Ben to live on forever. It'll go fast. Cars, houses, travel. A bunch of money like that, it makes people crazy, makes them do stupid things. What makes you think Ben won't take it for himself? Screw you over?”

Russell looked at her sideways, a slow grin spreading over his face like honey. “What makes you think your money is all we've got?”

He'd practically admitted that he and Ben were in this together. Leigh's mind whirled. “There are others?”

“Of course.”

“Other people who don't want to go to jail for murder?” she said. “You meet a lot of those types?”

Russell smiled as if Leigh had told a joke. “Other people who want to keep their reputations intact, let's say. I believe in diversifying my portfolio. Looking for new opportunities. I'm a businessman, like.”

Leigh thought a minute. Who else in Ben's world would be worried about their reputations?

The Thoroughbred breeders.

It made sense. Ben must have been doping the horses and bribing the owners into keeping their mouths shut because their breeding businesses would suffer if everyone knew their horses weren't healthy. A horse with an injury wasn't worth the paper its pedigree was printed on. There were millions of dollars on the line. Hundreds of millions, probably. Ben knew every Thoroughbred breeder between Kentucky and the Colorado. He'd worked for dozens of farms before coming to Wolf's Head.

But if he'd made so much, why was he after Leigh and her trust fund? And what was Russell's role in the operation? “Ben wouldn't need a partner. He wouldn't need you.”

“Sure he would. He needs a bagman, and I'm the best.”

“A bagman?”

“He doesn't want to pick up the money himself, does he? That just looks bad. Might be too obvious.” Russell tilted his head to get a better look at her. He was not only relishing the fact that he'd caught a fish, he wanted the fish to know just how it had been outsmarted. His repulsiveness was matched only by his ego.

“When I got out of Huntsville, I knew enough about Ben from Jake's letters that I was sure he was dirty. I looked him up, found out where he was working. He gave me a chance, got me in on the ground floor. He needed a new partner after you killed his old one.”

Come on, Chloe, where are you?
“How much has Ben made over the years, do you think?” Leigh asked.

“Oh, I don't keep track.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Lots. Millions, probably. Tens of millions. Your grandfather was supposed to be his biggest prize, but then the old boy up and croaked before he could pay. Ben thought Gene was going to be the one who got away. Was he ever happy when I showed up with photocopies of the
letters you wrote to Jake in prison! You should have seen Ben's face. He knew he was finally getting what your grandfather promised him all those years ago.”

“My grandfather was paying him off?” Leigh asked. It couldn't be—her grandfather would never have tolerated such behavior on his place. Would he?

Still, there were signs that, in retrospect, started to make more sense. The brand-new shiny red pickup truck Ben had driven to the farm that first day. The expensive saddles and boots, the riding clothes, the trips to Vegas—it had all been stolen money, extorted from other horse owners.

Now it sounded like Leigh's own grandfather had been a victim of Ben's schemes, too. No wonder he'd been so anxious to keep Leigh away from Jake—he must have known even then that Ben Rhodes was a crook, and that he was trying to get his son involved in the family business.
That boy's no good, Leigh,
he'd told her.
I want you to stay away from him.

It wasn't snobbery that was making Gene so cautious. He'd known something Leigh hadn't. He'd been trying to protect her.

Oh, Pop, I'm so sorry. I didn't understand.

There was one thing she still didn't know: whether or not Jake had been in on that part of the operation. Had he known all along his dad was blackmailing Leigh's family? Leigh felt sick. Their tearful reunion, their lovemaking—was it all a lie?

“What about Jake? What's his involvement?”

Russell gave a wolfish grin. “Sweetheart,” he said, “how do you think I found you in the first place?”

Leigh felt the blood drain to her feet.
No. Oh, no.

She struggled to regain her composure. Russell had told her a lot—too much, probably.

“I could go to the police, you know. Tell them everything you told me.”

Russell looked pleased she'd said this, as if he'd been waiting for her to come around to that conclusion. “You know you don't want to do that,” he said. “If I even smell the cops behind me, it's off to jail with you, sugar. A nice fat anonymous packet of letters in your own handwriting will arrive at the district attorney's office. And don't think Ben Rhodes won't enjoy doing it, too, seeing as how you got his only son wrongly convicted and Ben fired from his job and all. He's practically salivating at the thought of you doing some serious time.”

Leigh felt cold. The money would not be enough to get Russell and Ben off her back—she was now complicit in their crimes, and to save her own skin, she was going to have to keep silent. Even Jake's arrival wouldn't be enough to put him off now, because Jake was in on all of it.

They had her, they owned her completely; they could keep extorting money from owners all over the country, and Leigh would have to keep her mouth shut, just like everyone else.

She felt dirty, like she needed a shower.

“So, that about it, Sherlock?” he said, rapping his knuckles on the arm of the chair with relish and standing up. “Can I have my money now?”