The Rebel's Return (6 page)

“How's it going?” Maddie asked.

“Beautifully. Everyone is having such a good time, including me.” Alicia glanced at Maddie and smiled, then did a double take as she stared at Maddie's hair.

“The French twist was so tight it gave me a headache,” Maddie said in way of explanation. “So, do you think you're ready for the next big event here at the club? We really should start planning the Labor Day barbeque as soon as possible.”

“Yes, we should. And I have a few ideas I'd like to go over with—Drat, there's Mr. Small motioning to me. He's been the one unpleasant aspect of this entire evening. He keeps giving me suggestions, as if he's my boss instead of you.”

Maddie laughed as she glanced at the short, squat man who tried to rule the club with an iron fist. Poor Harvey. If a person could buy Harvey for what he was worth, then sell him for what he thought he was worth, that person could make a fortune. “Better you deal with him than me. Go on over there and see what he wants. And humor the man, at least until this party ends.”

“Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best.”

Using a microphone to broadcast this part of the ongoing fictitious murder mystery, the actor playing Detective Madison interrogated Flynt Carson, while Archy Wainwright's godson, Joe Turner, stood at his
side, waiting his turn to be questioned about the make-believe murder of a man named Jeffrey Hughes.

“Just where were you when Mr. Hughes was shot?” Detective Madison inquired. “And just how well did you know Mrs. Hughes? I've been told that you and she are secret lovers.”

Flynt couldn't keep a straight face, but he tried not to laugh as he replied, “Somebody's been filling your head with a pack of lies, Detective. I'm a one-woman man.” Flynt glanced across the room at a smiling Josie, who sat with his parents, and seemed to be enjoying the good-natured fun as much as her husband.

Suddenly Detective Madison turned to Joe. “And what about you, Mr. Turner? Where were you at approximately five after nine tonight? And isn't it true that Mr. Hughes cheated you out of a great deal of money on a land development deal recently?”

“I have an alibi,” Joe said, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I was with Flynt and he was with me, so you'd better find yourself somebody else to question.”

Everyone burst into gales of laughter. Detective Madison scratched his bald head, then playing right along with the game, returned his accusatory gaze to Flynt. “You're a rich man, Mr. Carson. Just how much did you pay Joe Turner to lie and give you an alibi?”

While the game continued, Maddie made an inspection of the buffet table and reminded the jazz band
what music to play when the “killer” was identified, then she rescued Alicia from Harvey. And as she went about her duties, she searched for Dylan. Where was he? She'd thought he planned to return to the ballroom when she'd left him to go to the ladies' room nearly fifteen minutes ago. Had he changed his mind and gone home?

“There's that handsome man everyone's been talking about,” Alicia said.

Maddie's heartbeat accelerated. “Where?”

“There.” Alicia nodded toward the entrance to the ballroom. “I think he's looking for someone.”

Maddie tried not to glance his way, but need overruled subtlety. With a good twenty feet separating them, their gazes met and locked. Maddie's breath caught in her throat. How in the world was she going to resist Dylan, when what she wanted more than anything was to run to him and throw herself into his arms?

Idiot, she chided herself. You're asking for trouble if you buy into the fantasy that Dylan is the one man on earth who will love you for yourself. You've been fooled before and gotten your heart broken. But if you're stupid enough to let him manipulate you, you deserve whatever you get.

If Dylan broke her heart, Maddie knew she might not ever recover.

“Watch out, there goes Fiona Carson into action,”
Alicia said. “I wondered how long it would take her to zero in on Mr. Fabulous.”

Maddie watched while the lovely Fiona sashayed up to Dylan and began flirting with him. Dylan broke eye contact with Maddie, then turned his considerable charm on the wild and luscious Carson twin who went through men as if they were disposable tissues. An unwanted, sickening feeling of jealousy came to life inside Maddie. She knew such feelings were ridiculous; after all, Dylan Bridges didn't mean anything to her. She had no claims on him. He was certainly free to romance any woman he wanted.

As the evening wore on, Maddie deliberately avoided Dylan, who had attracted several other single ladies. However, when any of those other women ventured forward, Fiona quite efficiently dismissed them. From time to time, Maddie caught Dylan staring at her and whenever he noticed her looking at him, he'd grin and wink. Devil! Maybe he wasn't such a reformed character after all. Apparently there was still quite a bit of bad boy left in him. And that was probably what had attracted Fiona. Well, let Fiona have him. Fiona Carson wasn't the type who'd let any man break her heart.

With the murder mystery solved and a sputtering middle-aged actor carted off to jail, overacting his part as the killer, the crowd began milling around, a few preparing to leave, while others hit the dance floor or entered the buffet line. Maddie watched while the
waitresses refilled the silver chafing dishes that lined the elegant table.

Joan O'Brien came up beside Maddie and handed her a flute of champagne. “Where did you disappear to earlier this evening?”

“I stepped out for a breath of fresh air.”

“With Dylan Bridges?”

Maddie gasped, then laughed. “We had some old business to take care of.”

“I see.” Joan inclined her head toward Dylan and Fiona on the dance floor. “So, what's Fiona—new business?”

“I wouldn't know. And I don't care.”

“You wouldn't lie to your best friend, would you?”

“I'm not—”

The shrill screams rent the still night air. From somewhere outside, a woman's bloodcurdling shrieks stopped everyone dead in their tracks.

“What on earth…?” Joan stared at Maddie.

The band continued playing, but the dancers stopped and joined the others as they questioned the location of the screams and the identity of the woman. Maddie headed for the raised dais on which the band presided. She had to take charge of this situation before anyone panicked.

Gripping the microphone tightly in her hand, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please stay calm. I'm sure very shortly we'll have an explanation about
what's going on. I'm on my way downstairs to find out what has happened.”

If the actors she'd hired for tonight's performance had taken it upon themselves to improvise something extra for her guests' entertainment, she'd let them know she didn't appreciate their upsetting everyone this way.

Before Maddie made it across the ballroom and to the door, Harvey Small and the actor who had played Detective Madison rushed into the room. Harvey's round, fat face was pale, and his beady brown eyes bugged out with sheer horror.

“There's been a murder,” Harvey said. “A real murder. There's a body floating in the pond in front of the club.”

Murmurs mixed with shocked cries. Maddie drew in a deep breath.

“Who was that screaming?” someone asked.

“Who got killed?” another inquired.

“Erica Clawson, one of our waitresses, had gone outside for a smoke,” Harvey said, his voice trembling slightly. “She—she discovered the body.”

“Whose body?” Ford Carson asked as he made his way forward through the throng of party-goers.

Harvey swallowed hard, then looked right at Dylan, who stood, with Fiona on his arm, only a few feet away from her parents. “It's Judge Bridges. Judge Carl Bridges.”

A
t first Maddie couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely breathe. Carl Bridges was dead? Murdered? No, it wasn't possible. Harvey had to be wrong. It couldn't be Carl. Not now when Dylan had just returned to Mission Creek to rebuild a relationship with his father.

Dylan! Oh, God, Dylan!

Turning quickly, Maddie moved toward Dylan, who stood stiffly, a dazed expression on his face. Was he in shock? she wondered. Then abruptly, as if he'd suddenly understood what Harvey had said, as if reality had broken through the veil of disbelief, Dylan ran out of the ballroom.

“Have you called the police?” Justin Wainwright, the local sheriff who'd been attending tonight's gala, questioned Harvey.

“I did that immediately,” Harvey replied, then motioned toward the door by which Dylan had just left. “Wasn't that Carl Bridges' prodigal son running out of here? Sheriff, you might want to catch him before he gets away.”

“I'm sure Dylan isn't running away,” Maddie said.
“He probably wants to see for himself that his father is dead.”

“With their past history I'd say that Dylan Bridges should be a prime suspect.” Harvey puffed out his rotund chest. “The whole town knows that father and son haven't spoken to each other in years.”

Maddie glowered at the roly-poly manager. “Why don't you shut up, Harvey? You don't know what you're talking about.”

Hart O'Brien, who was a detective on the Mission Creek police force, stepped forward. “Let's not panic, folks. And let's not start pointing fingers. Until officers on duty show up, I guess I'll be taking charge of this situation.”

Maddie had to find Dylan, had to go to him and help him if she could. While speculations of who might have killed Carl and why surfaced in the crowd, several of the men made their way downstairs. Maddie rushed past the men, disregarding the sounds of her mother's hysterical voice and Joan calling her name. She'd deal with her mother later, and she knew Joan was simply concerned about her.

When Maddie reached the lobby, she saw two Lone Star Country Club security guards holding Dylan back, away from the pond. Emotion clogged Maddie's throat. Oh, Dylan…Dylan. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she hurried outside, across the circular drive and toward the small crowd of people who had con
gregated around the pond. Some were club members, others employees.

“Let me go!” Dylan struggled with the guards. “That's my father in there. Please, for God's sake, let me go to him.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” one of the guards—Curt Dodd—said. “But our orders are to keep the crime scene secure until the police arrive.”

Maddie came up behind the guards. “Curt, please release Mr. Bridges. He's simply upset about his father. I'm sure you can understand what he's feeling right now.”

“Are you going to stay put?” Curt asked Dylan.

Dylan nodded, and Curt released him.

Maddie eased over to Dylan's side and laid her hand on his shoulder. He snapped his head around and looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“It's him, Maddie,” Dylan said. “That's my father lying there in that pond and they won't let me go to him.”

Maddie ventured a glance, then winced when she saw Judge Bridges' body floating face-up in the pond. He wore slacks and a short-sleeved shirt that had probably been blue, but was now stained a vivid red. There was blood all over the upper part of his torso, and the water surrounding him showed evidence of where his life's blood had drained from him and tinted the pond a deadly red.

“Who'd want to kill my dad?”

Maddie thought Dylan sounded like a little boy, and hearing that vulnerability made her want to wrap her arms around him and offer him comfort. But before she could act on her instincts, Hart O'Brien walked past them and took a look at the murder scene.

“The chief's on his way over here now,” Hart said. “I'm afraid no one can leave until we've questioned each person here tonight.”

“You might as well start with the most likely suspect,” Harvey Small shouted. “Ask Dylan Bridges to account for every minute of his time tonight. He most certainly wasn't at the party the entire evening.”

“Why don't you keep quiet, Harvey?” Justin Wainwright said. “I think Hart and I can handle things without your assistance or interference.”

“Well, I'm just stating the obvious.” Harvey huffed. “Everybody in and around Mission Creek knows that Dylan Bridges hated his father because the judge didn't do anything to stop him from being sent to a reform center. Maybe he came back to Mission Creek for revenge.”

Maddie slipped away from Dylan's side and marched over to Harvey. She spoke softly, keeping a mild expression on her face. “If you say one more word about Dylan Bridges, I will personally see to it that you're fired from the club. And I'll make sure no one in Texas will ever give you another job. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Small?”

Harvey swallowed. He narrowed his gaze and pursed his lips. “You have no right to—”

Maddie grabbed his arm. “You do not want to make an enemy of me.”

Harvey tensed. Maddie released his arm. He stepped away from her and kept his mouth shut.

Hart bent over the edge of the pond and inspected the body, then reached down and touched it. Dylan took a tentative step toward the pond. When Curt Dodd made a move to grab Dylan, Hart held up his hand and signaled for the security guard to leave Dylan alone.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Bridges,” Hart said. “But it looks like your father took a couple of bullets in the chest.” Then Hart spoke to Justin, but his voice carried on the nighttime air. “From what I could make out, I'd say the shooting happened fairly recently. Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet and the body isn't cold.”

“I hear sirens now,” Justin said. “I imagine that's the chief. Why don't I get everybody back inside before he gets here? You'll have your hands full out here.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Hart said.

Dylan refused to go. “I want to stay,” he said.

“All right,” Hart replied. “But back away from the pond. Mr. Bridges, do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm the judge?”

Dylan shook his head. “I have no idea. My father
and I have been out of touch for years…until recently.”

“Then what Harvey Small said about you is true?”

“The part about my past history with my father is true,” Dylan admitted. “But believe me, I didn't do this. I'd never—” Dylan's voice cracked.

Maddie rushed to him, clutched his arm and said to Hart, “When Dylan left the party tonight, I was with him. We went for a drive. So, you see, he has an alibi…if he needs one.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Hart looked down at his feet. “Were you with Mr. Bridges the entire time he was absent from the party?”

“Yes, I—” Maddie had been willing to lie for Dylan.

“No, she wasn't,” Dylan said. “I was alone for about fifteen minutes.” His gaze met Maddie's and she saw great sadness in his eyes. “When Maddie…Ms. Delarue and I returned from our drive, I took a walk around the club and got a little fresh air before I went back to the ballroom.”

“Did anyone see you?” Hart asked.

“As far as I know, not a soul.”

A maroon Chevy Blazer pulled to a screeching halt in the country club's circular drive. Chief of Police Burl Terry jumped out and came barreling toward the pond, two officers scurrying behind him like eager-to-please puppies. Following the massive arrests in the Mission Creek police department several months ago,
Terry, a straight-arrow, bulldog cop from Houston, had been hired to take over Ben Stone's position, after the corrupt chief had been killed.

Terry started barking orders as he marched around the pond. A police photographer snapped photo after photo.

When the ambulance arrived a few minutes later, Hart came over to Maddie. “Why don't you take Mr. Bridges inside and get him a cup of coffee?”

“All right.” But when Maddie tugged on Dylan's arm, he balked.

“I want my father's killer found,” Dylan said.

“Then we want the same thing,” Hart replied. “Once we finish up out here, I'm sure the chief will want you to come downtown with us. Just to answer a few questions. You might know something that can help us.”

Dylan shrugged. “You don't have to tell me not to leave town. I'm not going anywhere until the person who murdered my father is found and brought to justice.” Dylan jerked away from Maddie. “I appreciate your trying to help me, but you don't want to get involved with a bad boy like me. Not again. Ironic, isn't it, that every time you hook up with me, you wind up being questioned by the police?”

“Dylan, I—”

“Run, honey. Run like hell before you get dragged into this mess with me.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say or do,
but when she heard her mother's voice crying out her name, she turned and walked across the driveway. The last thing Dylan needed was having to listen to Nadine Delarue's rantings. When she approached her mother, who was being restrained by Joan O'Brien, Maddie gave her friend an appreciative glance, then faced Nadine's displeasure.

“What do you mean defending that young hoodlum?” Nadine shouted. “He's done more than steal a car this time. He's murdered his father.”

“You're hysterical, Mother. I don't know who killed Judge Bridges, but I do know that Dylan didn't.” Maddie lowered her voice to a whisper as she grasped her mother's arm. “So will you, please, quiet down and stop voicing idiotic suppositions.”

“Idiotic…?” Nadine sputtered. “I thought you'd wised up about men, but it seems you're as naive about that Bridges boy as you were when you were sixteen.”

“As soon as Hart tells us it's all right to leave, I'm going to take you home,” Maddie said. “It's been a trying night for all of us and I'm sure we should—”

Nadine glanced over Maddie's shoulder and gasped. “Oh, God.”

“What is it?” Maddie turned around just in time to see the medics zipping Carl Bridges into a body bag. “Oh.” She sought Dylan in the crowd and found him standing beside Justin Wainwright, who laid his hand on Dylan's shoulder and said something to him.
Knowing Justin as she did, she felt certain that whatever he'd said had been spoken with kindness.

An hour and a half later, Dylan drove off in his Porsche and the police told everyone that they could leave the country club. Hart walked over to where Joan waited with Maddie, each in turn soothing Nadine's overwrought nerves.

“Maddie, would you mind giving Joan a lift home?” Hart asked. “I'm going to head on down to the station.”

“Yes, I'd be glad to,” Maddie replied, then reached out to grasp Hart's arm. “Dylan Bridges might have been Mission Creek's rebel bad boy when he was sixteen, but he wasn't—and he isn't now—capable of murder. He'd come home to mend fences, to make things right with the judge. He was even considering moving back here to Mission Creek permanently.”

“And just how do you know so much about that man's personal plans?” Nadine demanded.

Maddie ignored her mother. “Hart, please, as a favor to me, do what you can to make things easier for Dylan when he's questioned. Remember, the man who was killed here tonight was Dylan's father.”

Hart patted Maddie's hand. “If there's no evidence against Dylan Bridges, then there's no way we can hold him. And unless something shows up, I'd say he's in the clear.”

“Mark my word,” Nadine said. “That boy killed his daddy.”

“Mother!” Maddie turned on Nadine, her hands balled into tight fists. Take a deep breath and count to ten, Maddie ordered herself.

“Why don't y'all head on out now?” Hart said, then leaned over to kiss his wife. “Don't wait up. I'll probably be at the station all night.”

As Maddie herded her mother and Joan toward the parking lot where her Mercedes Cabrio was parked, she said a silent prayer for Dylan. God help him and give him the comfort that no one else can.

 

“So, do I need to call a lawyer?” Dylan asked Chief Terry.

“You're not being charged with anything,” the chief told him. “At this point, you aren't even a suspect. But since so many people seem to think you might have had a motive, I thought it best to ask you to come in and clarify a few things for us.”

“Just what do you want clarified?”

“Mostly, we're curious about your relationship with your father. Why don't you go with Officer White and answer a few questions for him?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dylan followed the tall, broad-shouldered officer down the hall and into a quiet room.

“Have a seat,” Officer White said.

Dylan sat.

“I'm Jake White, Mr. Bridges. I'm real sorry about
your father. Everyone who knew Judge Bridges liked and respected him.”

“Yeah. My dad was an all right guy.”

“We'll try not to keep you long. We just need to get some information.”

Jake White sat at the table directly across from Dylan. “What sort of relationship did you have with your father?”

God help me, Dylan prayed. This has to be the worst nightmare of my life. Much worse than getting caught stealing Flynt Carson's Porsche. And even worse than spending two years in reform school. How was it possible that his father was dead? Who the hell would want to kill a good guy like his dad?

The reality of tonight's events played around the edges of Dylan's consciousness. His mind knew the facts. Someone had shot and killed his father. He'd seen his body floating in the pond at the country club. He'd watched while the medics took him away from the crime scene in a body bag. Took him to the morgue. But Dylan's heart refused to accept the facts. His dad couldn't be dead. Not now, not when they'd just found each other again after all these years. Four days wasn't nearly enough time together. Four lousy days being a real father and son. It wasn't fair that they'd been reunited only to be separated again. This time permanently.