A Man for All Seasons (22 page)

“That's a tall order, Bib,” Brannon said honestly.

“Somehow or other, it's all tied to Dale Jennings's murder,” Bib told him. “And I can't help thinking that Jake Marsh is up to his ears in all of it, somehow.”

“I did have that much figured out,” Brannon replied. He glanced at Josette. “We've been putting in a lot of overtime on this case. We're making progress. If we could just find the woman…”

Becky opened her mouth to speak, and Bib looked up, silencing her.

Josette frowned as she noticed a small ornate bowl of candy on the coffee table. She got up and moved closer to look at it.

“Oh, those are just mints,” Bib said easily. “Help
yourself. I can't stand them. Becky orders them from a sweets firm in France.”

Josette caught her breath and looked straight at Brannon. They both made the connection at the same time. Expensive mints, Mrs. Jennings had said. The woman who was trying to get that ledger from Dale liked expensive mints…!

Brannon stared at her evenly and shook his head. She got the message. She picked up one of the mints and opened the fancy package, sticking it in her mouth. She glanced at Becky Wilson, who was staring at Bib with her heart in her eyes. Becky wasn't blond. But she could have been wearing a wig…

“Delicious,” Josette said, smiling. “Thanks.”

“They are, aren't they?” Becky murmured. She was still looking at her boss. She drew in a shaky breath. “Who do you think the killer is after, Mr. Brannon?” Becky asked worriedly. “You don't think he means to kill Bib?”

“That would probably defeat the whole purpose,” Brannon replied. “Think about it. That ledger must have information that could put the killer in prison, or he wouldn't be willing to go to such lengths to obtain it, even to use in a blackmail scheme. I'd be willing to bet good money that it would exonerate Bib even while
it condemned someone else. And that's why the killer is so desperate to get it.”

“It's probably someone on my own staff,” Bib guessed miserably. “But who do I know who's desperate enough to get mixed up in murder to keep the secret?”

Brannon had a good idea. But he couldn't say a word. Not yet.

“We'll keep you posted. Meanwhile,” he told Becky, “string that reporter along. Try to keep him quiet, just long enough.”

“But where's the ledger?” Bib asked worriedly. “Who's got it? And what's in it?”

“That's what we still have to find out,” Brannon said. “But we will. I promise you, we will.”

Bib got to his feet, smiling sadly. “You always supported me,” he said. “Even when they were trying to make me into a murderer at Dale Jennings's trial. You never believed that I might be involved.”

“I know you,” Brannon said simply.

Bib extended his hand. “And I know you,” he replied. “You're the best friend I ever had. I think I'm going to need one more than ever before this is over.”

“I'm not deserting you,” Brannon said, grinning.

“Neither am I,” Becky said firmly. “And I don't care if Mrs. Webb likes it or not. She should be here instead
of on another shopping trip. She's never here! She's never in Austin, either!”

“Becky, don't,” Bib pleaded gently. “We both know that Silvia doesn't care what happens to me. She only cares about the wealth and prestige.”

“She doesn't care about anybody, except herself,” Becky muttered. “You should have had a houseful of kids…”

“I'd love that,” Bib mused, and he smiled at Becky in a way that made her flush and avert her face.

“We'd better go,” Josette said quickly, sparing Becky's blushes.

“Yes. Take it easy. And don't sign anything,” Brannon advised Bib.

“I have a law degree,” Bib reminded him.

“I know. But it doesn't hurt to advise people—even lawyers.”

Bib nodded. “You be careful, too,” he added as he saw them to the door. “Two people are already dead—three if you count Henry. Whoever's doing this won't hesitate over another couple of people if they get in his way.”

“I know that,” Brannon said. He smiled secretively. “In fact, I'm counting on it. I'll be in touch.” He hesi
tated. “One other thing. Did Silvia ever mention taking college courses?”

Bib laughed heavily. “Silvia? My God, she barely got to ninth grade, and there was no way she'd even talk about continuing her education. It would take away from her time shopping!”

N
o sooner were Brannon and Josette in the SUV than she turned to him excitedly, fumbling her seat belt in place.

“Silvia didn't go back to school. So why was she at that coffee shop, and on campus?”

“I'd like to know the answer to that, too,” Brannon said.

“And what about those expensive mints on the coffee table?” she said, flashing the wrapper that she'd pocketed. “Mrs. Jennings said that her son's girlfriend loved expensive mints, and that she knew about the evidence!
Becky orders those mints and you said yourself that she would do anything to protect Bib Webb…!”

“Anything short of murder,” he retorted, meeting her eyes in the overhead light as he revved the engine. “And she's not blond.”

“She could have worn a wig,” she persisted.

“Josie, can you really see Becky holding a lighted cigarette to an old woman's arms?” he asked.

She hesitated. “It's hard to imagine her doing something like that,” she had to admit. “But it's obvious how she feels about Bib Webb. And how he feels about her,” she added. “People in love do irrational things.”

He sighed. “She's loved him for years. She and Silvia have never gotten along. In fact, Silvia's tried repeatedly to get her fired, but Bib won't have it. That's another source of friction between them. Silvia's ambitious. Becky isn't.”

“Becky wants children,” Josette murmured, remembering the pain and hunger in the other woman's eyes when she'd looked at Bib.

“So does Bib. Silvia can't have kids. She took a bad fall years ago. She said it made her barren.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you think it did?”

He chuckled. “I don't think a gunshot would faze
her. She's hard as nails and manipulative. Whatever she wants, she gets.”

“Maybe Silvia was at that coffee shop for a purpose. Does she cheat on Bib?” she asked.

He glanced her way as he pulled out of the Webbs' driveway onto the highway. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“They had a photo of Jake Marsh in the file at the D.A.'s office,” she murmured, thinking aloud. “He's very attractive, dresses well, apparently has exquisite manners for a man on the wrong side of the law. And they say he's beginning to get rich, from all the interests he invests in. What if,” she continued, “the absent Mrs. Webb has an affection her husband isn't aware of?”

Brannon scowled. He'd never considered that angle seriously, because of Silvia's love of her social status. “She values her position in life above everything else. Would she risk all she's got for a fling with another man? Especially a man like Marsh?”

“Danger attracts some women like honey attracts flies.”

He gave her a wicked glance. “Does it? Let's test that theory. How about a nice game of billiards?”

“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not back to the underworld again!”

“You went there with Grier,” he pointed out. “Why
can't you go with me? I'm just as mean as he is, and I can coax people to talk to me, too.”

“I like you better than I like him,” she said absently.

“Why?”

Josette met his searching eyes. “He can't cook.”

He burst out laughing.

 

The billiard parlor, despite the hour, was full. If it closed, it closed very late. They found the diminutive Mr. Bartlett bent over a billiard table, making a tricky shot. He finished it, grinned and looked up, right at Brannon.

He put the cue stick down and held up both hands. “I never said a word against the Texas Rangers,” he said emphatically. “And I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with that attempted hit-and-run on Judd Dunn last month. I don't know who did, either!”

Josie glanced at Brannon and was surprised at his demeanor. He was alternately teasing and mocking around her, but here, among the local underworld element, he looked downright intimidating. He didn't smile as he moved closer to Bartlett.

“I don't know. I swear, Brannon!” the little man repeated quickly.

“I never said you did,” Brannon replied, but he kept coming. “Let's take a little walk.”

“Not until you swear in front of witnesses that I'm going to be
able
to walk, afterward! I've heard stories about you. I'm not taking any chances.”

Josie was intrigued. She'd have to ask someone about those stories, later.

“You'll be able to walk,” Brannon assured the man. “No Texas Ranger would ever act like a street tough with any witness. We have a tradition to maintain.”

“Okay then.”

“What about this game?” a heavyset man complained.

“We'll start over when I'm done” he was told.

Brannon and Josie followed the informant out into the dimly lit back alley.

“What do you want, Brannon?” the man asked uneasily.

“I want to know about Jake Marsh's playmate.”

There was a harsh, indrawn breath. “Listen, Grier was down here a few days ago, asking me the same question…”

“And got zilch for his pains,” Brannon finished for him. He moved relentlessly closer to the smaller man, his eyes glittering, unblinking. He stopped an arm's
length from the little man and looked down at him. “But you're going to tell me what I want to know. You don't want to get mixed up in a murder. That's not your style.”

“No,” the other man said after a minute. “It isn't. I'm not going to take a fall for Marsh, I don't care what threats he makes. But he's got something on me…”

“It won't do him any good if he's in prison. Now, talk,” Brannon interrupted.

“All right.” The other man let out a long breath. “He's got some rich woman in his pocket,” he said. “He says he's made sure that she has to help him get his hands on that missing ledger. She's got as much to lose as he does if that little package of dynamite shows up in the hands of law enforcement. More, even. He said she wouldn't be rich much longer if that information got into the wrong hands.”

“Have you seen her?” Brannon asked curtly.

“Yeah. I've seen her. She's a show horse, I can tell you that. She and Marsh both dress like fashion plates.”

Brannon glanced at Josette, who was frowning curiously. That didn't sound like Becky. On the other hand, maybe the blonde computer expert Sandra Gates had a hidden wardrobe, and she really was blonde. And there
was
that expensive mint they found in her trailer…

“Does Marsh stake the blond?” Brannon asked.

“I don't know stuff that intimate,” he said. “All I can tell you is that she's as hard as he is. From what I hear, she was the one who tortured the old lady they killed.”

That was chilling stuff. Josette remembered the tough little blonde hacker, in her cheap trailer. A woman who'd think nothing of breaking the law to help free a convicted murderer might not stop at torture. But Sandra Gates was in Argentina and couldn't be extradited.

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Sandra Gates?” Josette interjected.

“Gates? Yeah. She can do anything with a computer. Marsh uses her sometimes for investigative work, when he wants to get something on somebody. She's tough as nails.” The little man looked worried. “Listen, Brannon, you aren't going to tell Marsh I talked, are you? Because he'd send York after me…”

Another piece in the puzzle. That, and the expensive mint in Gates's trailer, began to fit. A tough woman, he'd also said.

“I don't sell out informants. One more question and we're through,” Brannon told him. “How was Dale Jennings connected to Marsh and the blonde?”

The little man stopped to light a cigarette with hands that shook, blew out a puff of smoke and chuckled.
“That's the best part. Jennings was having an affair with her. Marsh found out and had some pictures made that they didn't know about. Marsh said she went white as a sheet when they told her. Seems her husband wants a divorce and she won't give him one.” He chuckled again. “If those pictures got out, she'd have to give him one, wouldn't she?”

Josette's eyebrows arched. If those photos were of Sandra Gates, did she have a secret husband? Or Becky Wilson? Now the puzzle started to fall apart again.

“Okay,” Brannon told the smaller man after a minute. “That's all I wanted. Thanks, Bartlett. I won't forget this.”

“If Marsh finds out…!”

Brannon's fist shot out so fast that Josette never saw it until Bartlett's head rocked back and he was holding his jaw and grimacing. She gasped out loud, but the little man only grinned.

“You can show that to the guys inside,” Brannon said pleasantly, and smiled as he nodded toward the closed door of the billiard parlor, “and tell them that I was questioning you about Dunn's close call.”

Bartlett laughed through the pain. “Thanks, Brannon. You're all right.” He paused. “Just by the by, who did try to run Dunn down? Do you know?”

“No, I don't know. But Judd says he does, sadly for the perpetrator,” he added with a chuckle. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smiled, but it was a shaky sort of smile. He walked past Brannon gingerly, and went quickly back into the billiard parlor.

“Sandra Gates,” Josette said as soon as the door closed behind the small man. “She's blonde, she doesn't hesitate to do illegal things, there was an expensive mint in her trailer, she knows Marsh and she was probably Dale's mysterious girlfriend. She could have been blackmailed by Marsh to help him get the evidence. It all fits!”

“It seems to,” he agreed. “But if she's got a husband, he's well hidden, and she doesn't live like a rich wife. There's something else not quite right.”

“What?”

Brannon shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don't know,” he said irritably. “I can't get it in focus.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I'm tired. So are you.” He hesitated. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to take you back to your hotel instead of my apartment. We'll both have a good night's sleep, and then in the morning, we'll try to put it all together.”

“Spoilsport.”

He gave her a long look. “Torture is supposed to be against the law,” he reminded her with a wicked grin. Josette hesitated.

“I'll bring your things by the hotel tomorrow. If you need me, I'm as close as the phone,” he continued when she was trying to think of a way to tell him something he didn't know yet.

It probably was a good idea to let things cool down, she decided finally. For a day or so, anyway. “Okay,” she agreed. She gave him a mischievous look. “If you're through throwing punches at people for the night.”

He helped her into the SUV and drove her back to the hotel. “I just noticed something. You're not wearing the sling tonight,” he noted.

Josette flexed her arm. “The wound isn't all that bad. I hate the sling. It gets in my way.”

“If you see any redness, or feel any heat in it…”

“I have a good brain,” she pointed out.

He just looked at her.

“I'll keep an eye on it,” she said with resignation. “Thanks for the crepes.”

“You're welcome. I like them myself.” Brannon tugged at the nape of her neck. “Come here and kiss me good-night,” he murmured in a deep, soft tone that made her tingle all over.

She laughed with delicious anticipation as she leaned toward him. “Want me to read you a story, too?” she whispered.

He smiled as he bent to her mouth. “Sure. How about a nice Agatha Christie murder mystery?”

“We've got a murder of our own to solve. That would be redundant.”

Brannon drew her mouth under his and kissed her softly, nibbling on her upper lip until it parted on a husky little sigh.

“I think this is going to be habit-forming,” he murmured.

“Do you?”

He drew her closer, wrapping her up in his arms. “Are you sure you want to go back to Austin?” he persisted, and kissed her insistently.

Her whole body went up in flames from the devouring pressure of his warm, hard mouth. She reached up to hold him while she returned the kiss with more enthusiasm than expertise. He didn't seem to mind.

His lips slid across her smooth cheek to her ear. “San Antonio has a lot to offer,” he whispered. “A symphony, a ballet, an opera company…”

Josette touched his mouth with light, caressing fingertips. She didn't know how to answer him, what to
say, what to think. He'd been actively hostile back in Austin, but here he was cooking her crepes and kissing her with such tenderness. Just the thought of not having him in her life after this case was depressing. Her eyes mirrored her troubled thoughts.

Brannon made a sound deep in his throat and kissed her again. This time she clung to him as if he was going to his death. She whimpered as the kiss grew more insistent, more ardent. She felt his hand between them, unfastening buttons again. And then it was there, there, inside her blouse, against her bare skin. She sobbed as he touched her with slow, hungry possession, the palm of his big hand warm against the hard, sensitive nipple…

The sound of a car approaching made him lift his head. He looked dazed. His pale eyes went to his hand inside her blouse and his teeth ground together as he withdrew it and rebuttoned the buttons.

“Oh, damn!” she said, and so plaintively that he laughed.

“It's just as well,” Brannon said with resignation. “Under the circumstances.”

She swallowed. “Actually…well, you could…come upstairs with me,” she managed in a strangled tone.

“And do what, Josie?” he asked in a tormented voice. “It's not possible…”

“I had it two years ago,” she blurted out.

He frowned. “You had what two years ago?”

She cleared her throat and looked at his chest. His heartbeat, quick and hard, was visible against his shirt. She pressed her nervous hands into the warm fabric. “That…minor surgery,” she confessed.