Best Kept Secrets (37 page)

"Business, my ass," he muttered as he pulled into the wide, circular driveway of the judge's home and brought the car to a jarring halt. He jumped the flower bed and landed a hard blow on the front door with his fist.

Stacey didn't get to the door quite fast enough to suit him.

He was practically frothing at the mouth by the time she answered.

"Junior!" she exclaimed gladly when she saw him. "This is a sur--"

"Shut up. Just shut up." He slammed the door behind him, rattling every piece of china and glassware in the house.

Taking Stacey by both arms, he backed her into the wall of the foyer and covered her stunned, gaping mouth with his.

He kissed her roughly while his hands attacked the buttons on her blouse. They scattered like BBs across the marble floor when he got too impatient to work them out of their holes and ripped them open.

"Junior," she gasped, "what--"

"I gotta have you, Stacey," he mumbled, plunging his face between her breasts. "Please, don't give me a hard time about it. Everybody gives me a hard time about everything.

Just shut up and let me fuck you."

He flipped up her skirt and slip, worked down her panty hose, and then opened his trousers. He rammed into her dryly, and she cried out.

He was causing her pain. While he knew it and hated himself for hurting her when she didn't deserve it, he was glad, in a dark part of his soul, that somebody else besides himself was suffering. Why should he be the only person in the whole freaking world to be miserable?

Everybody picked on him. It was time he got to pick on somebody. Stacey was available . . . and he knew he could get away with it.

Her dismay, her debasement made him feel powerful. His release came from subjugating her, not from the sex itself.

When it was over, he collapsed against the wall, sandwiching her between himself and the floral wallpaper.

He regained his breath and his reason gradually. He eased away from her and stroked her cheek. "Stacey?" Slowly, she opened her eyes. He gave her a disarming smile and a soft kiss. Realizing that she was dressed up, he asked, "Did I keep you from going somewhere?"

"A meeting at church."

The dimple in his cheek grew deeper as his smile widened.

Playfully, he tweaked an exposed breast. "You don't look much like going to a church meeting now."

As he knew she would, she responded to his caresses, which got bolder. "Junior," she whimpered breathlessly when he pushed her blouse off her shoulders, yanked down her brassiere, and fastened his mouth to her raised nipple.

She chanted his name, interspersing it with avowals of love.

He moved his head down her body, pushing aside clothing as he went.

"Junior?" she asked timorously when he dropped to his knees.

He smiled up at her beguilingly as he slipped his thumbs between the lips of her sex and spread them apart.

"Junior! Don't. No. I can't. You . . . can't."

"Yes, I can, honey. What's more, you're just dying for me to." He licked her lightly, enjoying the taste of himself on her, the musky smell of aroused female, her uneasiness.

"Still want to go to church?" he whispered, nuzzling her with his mouth. "Huh, Stacey?"

When her orgasmic sobs echoed off the walls of the empty house, he pulled her down to straddle him as he lay on his back on the cold marble floor. He emptied himself into her again. Afterward, when she was curled against him like a rag doll, he felt better than he had in weeks.

When he moved to sit up, Stacey clung to him. "Don't go"

"Hey, Stacey," he said teasingly, "look what a mess I've made of you. You'll have to spruce up, or the judge will know the mischief you've been into while he was at work today."

He stood, readjusted his clothing, smoothed back his hair.

"Besides, I've got work to do myself. If I stay a minute longer, I'll cart you off to bed and waste the entire afternoon there. Not that it would be a waste, mind you."

"Are you coming back?" she asked plaintively as she trailed him to the door, covering her nakedness as best she could.

"Of course."

"When?"

He frowned, but concealed it from her by turning to open the front door. "I'm not sure. But after the other night and today, you don't think I could stay away, do you?"

"Oh, Junior, I love you so much."

He cupped her face and kissed her lips. "I love you, too."

Stacey closed the door behind him. Mechanically, she headed upstairs, where she bathed her aching body in warm water and scented bubble bath. Tomorrow, she'd likely be black and blue. She would cherish each bruise.

Junior loved her! He had said so. Maybe after all this time, he was finally growing up. Maybe he had come to his senses, and realized what was good for him. Maybe, at long last, he had expunged Celina from his heart.

But then Stacey remembered Alex, and the calf eyes Junior had had for her at the Horse and Gun Club. She recalled how closely he'd held her while they twirled around the dance floor, laughing together. Stacey's insides turned rancid with jealousy.

Just like her mother, Alex was what stood between her and total happiness with the man she loved.

Thirty-two

As soon as Reede and Alex arrived at the courthouse, they went into the interrogation room, followed by a court reporter.

Fergus Plummet was seated at a square, wooden table. His head was bowed in prayer over an open Bible, his hands clasped tightly together.

Mrs. Plummet was there, too. Her head was also bowed, but when they came in, she jumped and looked up at them like a startled deer. As before, her face was void of makeup and her hair was drawn back into a severe knot on the back of her head. The clothes she wore were drab and shapeless.

"Hello, Mrs. Plummet," Reede said politely.

"Hello, Sheriff." If Alex hadn't seen her lips moving, she wouldn't have been certain the woman had spoken. She appeared to be scared out of her wits. Her fingers were knotted together in her lap. She was squeezing them so tightly, they had turned bluish-white.

"Are you okay?" Reede asked her in that same kind tone.

She bobbed her head and glanced fearfully toward her husband, who was still fervently praying. "You're entitled to have a lawyer present when I and Miss Gaither question you.''

Before Mrs. Plummet could offer a reply, Fergus concluded his prayer on a resounding, "Ah-men," and raised his head.

He fixed a fanatical stare on Reede. "We've got the best lawyer on our side. I will get my counsel from the Lord God, now and through eternity."

"Fine," Reede said drolly, "but I'm putting it on the record that you waived the right to have an attorney present during questioning."

Plummet's eyes snapped to Alex.' 'What is the harlot doing here? I'll not have her in the presence of my sainted wife."

"Neither you nor your sainted wife have anything to say about it. Sit down, Alex."

At Reede's directive, she lowered herself into the nearest chair. She was grateful for the chance to sit down. Fergus Plummet was a prejudicial, ill-informed fanatic. He should have cut a comic figure, but he gave her the creeps.

Reede straddled a chair backwards and stared at the preacher across the table. He opened a file one of his deputies had prepared.

"What were you doing last Wednesday night?"

Plummet closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, as though he were listening to a secret voice. "I can answer that," he told them when he opened his eyes seconds later.

"I was conducting Wednesday-night services at my church.

We prayed for the deliverance of this town, for the souls of those who would be corrupted, and for those individuals who, heedless of the Lord's will, would corrupt the innocent."

Reede affected nonchalance. "Please keep your answers simple. I don't want this to take all afternoon. What time is prayer meeting?"

Plummet went through the listening act again. "Not relevant."

"Sure it is," Reede drawled. "I might want to attend sometime."

That elicited a giggle from Mrs. Plummet. None of them was more surprised than she by her spontaneous outburst. Mortified, she looked at her husband, who glared at her in reproof.

"What time was prayer meeting over?" Reede repeated in a voice that said he'd tired of the game and wasn't going to be a good sport any longer.

Plummet continued to give his wife a condemning stare.

She lowered her head in shame. Reede reached across the table and yanked Plummet's chin around.

"Stop looking at her like she's a turd floating in a punch bowl. Answer me. And don't give me any more bullshit, either."

Plummet closed his eyes, shuddering slightly, greatly put-upon.

"God, close my ears to the foul language of your adversary, and deliver me from the presence of these wicked ones."

"He'd better send a whole flock of angels down to save you fast, brother. Unless you start answering my questions, I'm gonna slam your ass in jail."

That broke through Plummet's sanctimonious veneer. His eyes popped open. "On what charge?"

"The feds would like to start with arson."

Alex looked quickly at Reede. He was bluffing. Racehorses were considered interstate commerce, and therefore, would come under the Treasury Department's jurisdiction. But government agents didn't usually get involved in an arson case unless damage amounted to more than fifty thousand dollars.

Plummet didn't fall for the bluff, either.

"That's ridiculous. Arson? The only fire I've started is in the hearts of my believers."

"'If that's so, then account for your time from last Wednesday night until today, when Deputy Cappell spotted you slinking out the back door of that house. Where'd you go after prayer meeting let out?"

Plummet laid a finger against his cheek, feigning hard concentration. "I believe that was the night I visited one of our sick brothers."

"He can vouch for you?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Let me guess--he died."

Plummet frowned at the sheriffs sarcasm. "No, but while I was in attendance, the poor soul was delirious with fever.

He won't remember a thing." He made a tsk-ing sound. "He was very ill. His family, of course, could attest to my presence at his bedside. We prayed for him through the night."

Reede's incisive eyes sliced toward Wanda Plummet. She guiltily averted her head. Reede then swiveled around and looked at Alex. His expression said that he was getting about as far as he had expected to. When he turned back around, he asked abruptly, "Do you know where the Minton ranch is?"

"Of course."

"Did you go there last Wednesday night?"

"No."

"Did you send someone out there last Wednesday night?"

"No."

"Members of your congregation? The believers whose hearts you had stoked a fire in during prayer meeting?"

"Certainly not."

"Didn't you go out there and vandalize the place, paint on the walls, shovel shit into the drinking troughs, break windows?"

"My counselor says I don't have to answer any more questions." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Because you might incriminate yourself?"

"No!"

"You're lying, Plummet."

' 'God is on my side.'' He worked his eyes like the focusing lens of a camera, making them wide, pulling them narrow.

" 'If God is on our side,' " he quoted theatrically, " 'then who can be against us?' "

"He won't be on your side for long," Reede whispered threateningly. Leaving his chair, he circled the table and bent over Plummet. "God doesn't favor liars."

"Our Father, who art in heaven--"

"Come clean, Plummet."

"--hallowed be thy name. Thy--"

"Who'd you send out there to trash the Minton ranch?"

"--kingdom come, thy--"

"You did send members of your congregation, though, didn't you? You're too much of a gutless coward to go yourself."

The praying ceased abruptly. The preacher's breathing became choppy and light. Reede had struck a chord. Knowing that, he pressed on. "Did you lead your ratty little army out there, or did you just furnish the spray paint?"

Reede had told Alex earlier that he'd made the rounds of variety and hardware stores, checking out places where spray paint was sold. So far, none of the merchants recalled a significant demand for it on a single day.

Plummet was probably too clever to have bought it all in one store; perhaps he'd gone out of town. Reede couldn't hold him indefinitely because he had no evidence, but Plummet might be fooled into thinking he'd left behind an incriminating clue.

For the second time, however, he called Reede's bluff.

Having composed himself, he stared straight ahead and said,

"I can't imagine what you're talking about, Sheriff Lambert."

"Let's try this again," Reede said with a heavy sigh.

"Look, Plummet, we--Miss Gaither and I--know you're guilty as hell. You all but told her to get tough with the sinners, or else. Wasn't the vandalism out at the Minton ranch the or else!"

Plummet said nothing.

Reede took another tack. "Isn't confession supposed to be good for the soul? Give your soul a break, Plummet. Confess.

Your wife can go home to your kids, and I'll be able to take off early today."

The preacher remained silent.

Reede began at the top and methodically worked down his list of questions again, hoping to trap Plummet in a lie.

Several times, Reede asked Alex if she wanted to question him, but she declined. She had no more to link him to the crime than Reede had.

He got nowhere. The preacher's story never changed.

Reede didn't even trip him up. At the conclusion of another exhaustive round of questions, Plummet grinned up at him guilelessly and said, "It's getting close to supper time. May we be excused now?"

Reede, frustrated, ran his hand through his hair. "I know you did it, you pious son of a bitch. Even if you weren't actually there, you planned it. You killed my horse."

Plummet reacted visibly. "Killed your horse? That's untrue.

You killed it yourself. I read about it in the newspaper.''