“Just be neat,” Minette said easily. “I mostly kick around in jeans and T-shirts, although I dress when I go to political meetings or to interviews with state or federal politicians. You’ll need to learn how to use a camera, as well. We have digital ones. They’re very user-friendly.”
“This is very exciting,” Michelle said, her gray eyes glimmering with delight.
Minette laughed. “It is to me, too, and I’ve done this since I was younger than you are. I grew up running around this office.” She looked around with pure love in her eyes. “It’s home.”
“I’m really looking forward to it. Will I just be reporting news?”
“No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”
Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”
“And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.
The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”
“It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”
“Thanks.”
“If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”
Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I know how it feels.”
The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”
Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”
“I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”
“My pleasure.”
* * *
Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.
She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.
Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”
Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”
“Doing what?” came the tart query.
She shifted. “Getting a job.”
“A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy enough to hire you!”
“I have a ride,” she replied.
“A job,” she scoffed. “As if you’re ever around to do chores as it is. You’re going to get a job? Who’s going to do the laundry and the housecleaning and the cooking?”
Michelle bit her tongue, trying not to say what she was thinking. “I have to have money for lunch,” she said, thinking fast.
Roberta blinked, then she remembered that she’d said Michelle wasn’t getting any more lunch money. She averted her eyes.
“Besides, I have to save for college. I’ll start in the fall semester.”
“Jobs. College.” Roberta looked absolutely furious. “And you think I’m going to stay down here in this hick town while you sashay off to college in some big city, do you?”
“I graduate in just over three months...”
“I’m putting the house on the market,” Roberta shot back. She held up a hand. “Don’t even bother arguing. I’m listing the house with a San Antonio broker, not one from here.” She gave Michelle a dirty look. “They’re all on your side, trying to keep the property off the market. It won’t work. I need money!”
For just one instant, Michelle thought about letting her have the stamps. Then she decided it was useless to do that. Roberta would spend the money and still try to sell the house. She comforted herself with what the local Realtor had told her—that it would take time for the will to get through probate. If there was a guardian angel, perhaps hers would drag out the time required for all that. And even then, there was a chance the house wouldn’t sell.
“I don’t imagine a lot of people want to move to a town this small,” Michelle said out loud.
“Somebody local might buy it. One of those ranchers.” She made it sound like a dirty word.
That made Michelle feel better. If someone from here bought the house, they might consider renting it to her. Since she had a job, thanks to Minette, she could probably afford reasonable rent.
Roberta wiped her face. She was sweating.
Michelle frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right, I’m just hungry!”
“I’ll make supper.” She went to her room to put her books away and stopped short. The place was in shambles. Drawers had been emptied, the clothes from the shelves in the closet were tossed haphazardly all over the floor. Michelle’s heart jumped, but she noƒticed without looking too hard that the baseboards in the closet were still where they should be. She looked around but not too closely. After all, she’d told Roberta that Chief Grier had her father’s stamp collection. It hadn’t stopped Roberta from searching the room. But it was obvious that she hadn’t found anything.
She went back out into the hall, where her stepmother was standing with folded arms, a disappointed look on her face. She’d expected that the girl would go immediately to where she’d hidden the stamps. The fact that she didn’t even search meant they weren’t here. Damn the luck, she really had taken them to the police chief. And even Roberta wasn’t brash enough to walk up to Cash Grier and demand the stamp collection back, although she was probably within her legal rights to do so.
“Don’t tell me,” Michelle said, staring at her. “Squirrels?”
Roberta was disconcerted. Without meaning to, she burst out laughing at the girl’s audacity. She turned away, shaking her head. “All right, I just wanted to make sure the stamp collection wasn’t still here. I guess you were telling the truth all along.”
“Roberta, if you need money so much, why don’t you get a job?”
“I had a job, if you recall,” she replied. “I worked in retail.”
That was true. Roberta had worked at the cosmetics counter in one of San Antonio’s most prestigious department stores.
“But I’m not going back to that,” Roberta scoffed. “Once I sell this dump of a house, I’ll be able to go to New York or Los Angeles and find a man who really is rich, instead of one who’s just pretending to be,” she added sarcastically.
“Gosh. Poor Bert,” Michelle said. “Does he know?”
Roberta’s eyes flashed angrily. “If you say a word to him...!”
Michelle held up both hands. “Not my business.”
“Exactly!” Roberta snapped. “Now, how about fixing supper?”
“Sure,” Michelle agreed. “As soon as I clean up my room,” she added in a bland tone.
Her stepmother actually flushed. She took a quick breath. She was shivering. “I need...more...” she mumbled to herself. She went back into her own room and slammed the door.
* * *
They ate together, but Michelle didn’t taste much of her supper. Roberta read a fashion magazine while she spooned food into her mouth.
“Where are you getting a job? Who’s going to even hire a kid like you?” she asked suddenly.
“Minette Carson.”
The magazine stilled in her hands. “You’re going to work for a newspaper?”
“Of course. I want to study journalism in college.”
Roberta looked threatened. “Well, I don’t want you working for newspapers. Find something else.”
“I won’t,” Michelle said firmly. “This is what I want to do for a living. I have to start somewhere. And I have to save for college. Unless you’d like to volunteer to pay my tuition....”
“Ha! Fat chance!” Roberta scoffed.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to a public college, but I still have to pay for books and tuition.”
“Newspapers. Filthy rags.” Her voice sounded slurred. She was picking at her food. Her fork was moving in slow motion. And she was still sweating.
“They do a great deal of good,” Michelle argued. “They’re the eyes and ears of the public.”
“Nosy people sticking their heads into things that don’t concern them!”
Michelle looked down at her plate. She didn’t mention that people without things to hide shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Roberta took her paper towel and mopped her sweaty face. She seemed disoriented and she was flushed, as well.
“You should see a doctor,” Michelle said quietly. “There’s that flu still going around.”
“I’m not sick,” the older woman said sharply. “And my health is none of your business!”
Michelle grimaced. She sipped milk instead of answering.
“It’s too hot in here. You don’t have to keep the thermostat so high!”
“It’s seventy degrees,” Michelle said, surprised. “I can’t keep it higher or we couldn’t afford the gas bill.” She paid the bills with money that was grudgingly supplied by Roberta from the joint bank account she’d had with Michelle’s father. Roberta hadn’t lifted a finger to pay a bill since Alan had died.
“Well, it’s still hot!” came the agitated reply. She got up from the table. “I’m going outside. I can’t breathe in here.”
Michelle watched her go with open curiosity. Odd. Roberta seemed out of breath and flushed more and more lately. She had episodes of shaking that seemed very unusual. She acted drunk sometimes, but Michelle knew she wasn’t drinking. There was no liquor in the house. It probably was the flu. She couldn’t understand why a person who was obviously sick wouldn’t just go to the doctor in the first—
There was a loud thud from the general direction of the front porch.
Four
M
ichelle got up from her chair and went out onto the porch. It sounded as if Roberta had flung a chair against the wall, maybe in another outburst of temper.
She opened the door and stopped. Roberta was lying there, on her back on the porch, gasping for breath, her eyes wide, her face horrified.
“It’s all right, I’ll call 911!” She ran for the phone and took it outside with her while she pushed in the emergency services number.
Roberta was grimacing. “The pain!” she groaned. “Hurts...so...bad! Michelle...!”
Roberta held out her hand. Michelle took it, held it, squeezed it comfortingly.
“Jacobs County 911 Center,” came a gentle voice on the line. “Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. This is Michelle Godfrey. My stepmother is complaining of chest pain. She’s short of breath and barely conscious.”
“We’ll get someone right out there. Stay on the line.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Help me,” Roberta sobbed.
Michelle’s hand closed tighter around her stepmother’s. “The EMTs are on the way,” she said gently. “It will be all right.”
“Bert,” Roberta choked. “Damn Bert! It’s...his...fault!”
“Please don’t try to get up,” Michelle said, holding the older woman down. “Lie still.”
“I’ll...kill him,” Roberta choked. “I’ll kill him...!”
“Roberta, lie still,” Michelle said firmly.
“Oh, God, it hurts!” Roberta sobbed. “My chest....my chest...!”
Sirens were becoming noticeable in the distance.
“They’re almost there, dear,” the operator said gently. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Yes, I hear them,” Michelle said. “She says her chest hurts.”
There was muffled conversation in the background, on the phone.
Around the curve, the ambulance shot toward her leaving a wash of dust behind it. Roberta’s grip on Michelle’s hand was painful.
The older woman was white as a sheet. The hand Michelle was holding was cold and clammy. “I’m...sorry,” Roberta bit off. Tears welled in her eyes. “He said it wasn’t...pure! He swore...! It was too...much...” She gasped for breath. “Don’t let Bert...get away...with it...” Her eyes closed. She shivered. The hand holding Michelle’s went slack.
The ambulance was in the driveway now, and a man and a woman jumped out of it and ran toward the porch.
“She said her chest hurt.” Michelle faltered as she got out of the way. “And she couldn’t breathe.” Tears were salty in her eyes.
Roberta had never been really kind to her, except at the beginning of her relationship with Michelle’s father. But the woman was in such pain. It hurt her to see anyone like that, even a mean person.
“Is she going to be all right?” Michelle asked.
They ignored her. They were doing CPR. She recognized it, because one of the Red Cross people had come to her school and demonstrated it. In between compressions one EMT ran to the truck and came back with paddles. They set the machine up and tried to restart Roberta’s heart. Once. Twice. Three times. In between there were compressions of the chest and hurried communications between the EMTs and a doctor at the hospital.
After a few minutes, one EMT looked at the other and shook his head. They stood up. The man turned to Michelle. “I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry. Sorry?” She looked down at the pale, motionless woman on the dusty front porch with a blank expression. “You mean, she’s...?”
They nodded. “We’ll call the coroner and have him come out, and we’ll notify the sheriff’s department, since you’re outside the city limits. We can’t move her until he’s finished. Do you want to call the funeral home and make arrangements?”
“Yes, uh, yes.” She pushed her hair back. She couldn’t believe this. Roberta was dead? How could she be dead? She just stood there, numb, while the EMTs loaded up their equipment and went back out to the truck.
“Is there someone who can stay with you until the coroner gets here?” the female EMT asked softly, staring worriedly at Michelle.
She stared back at the woman, devoid of thought. Roberta was dead. She’d watched her die. She was in shock.
Just as the reality of the situation really started to hit her, a pickup truck pulled up into the driveway, past the EMT vehicle, and stopped. A tall, good-looking man got out of it, paused to speak to the male EMT and then came right up to the porch.
Without a word, he pulled Michelle into his arms and held her, rocked her. She burst into tears.
“I’ll take care of her,” he told the female EMT with a smile.
“Thanks,” she said. “She’ll need to make arrangements....”
“I’ll handle it.”
“We’ve notified the authorities,” the EMT added. “The sheriff’s department and the coroner should arrive shortly.” The EMTs left, the ambulance silent and grim now, instead of alive with light and sound, as when it had arrived.
Michelle drank in the scent that clung to Gabriel, the smells of soap and spicy cologne, the leather smell of his jacket. Beneath that, the masculine odor of his skin. She pressed close into his arms and let the tears fall.
* * *
Zack Tallman arrived just behind the coroner. Michelle noted the activity on the front porch, but she didn’t want to see Roberta’s body again. She didn’t go outside.
She heard Gabriel and the lawman and the coroner discussing things, and there was the whirring sound a camera made. She imagined that they were photographing Roberta. She shivered. It was so sudden. They’d just had supper and Roberta went outside because she was hot. And then Roberta was dead. It didn’t seem real, somehow.
A few minutes later, she heard the coroner’s van drive away. Gabriel and Zack Tallman came in together. Zack was handsome, tall, lean and good-looking. His eyes were almost as dark as Gabriel’s, but he looked older than Gabriel did.
“The coroner thinks it was a heart attack,” Zack was saying. “They’ll have to do an autopsy, however. It’s required in cases of sudden death.”
* * *
“Hayes told me that Yancy Dean went back to Florida,” Gabriel said. “He was the only investigator you had, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Zack said, “so when he resigned, I begged Hayes on my knees for the investigator’s position. It’s a peach of a job.”
“Pays about the same as a senior deputy,” Gabriel mused, tongue in cheek.
“Yes, but I get to go to seminars and talk to forensic anthropologists and entomologists and do hard-core investigative work,” he added. He chuckled. “I’ve been after Yancy’s job forever. Not that he was bad at it—he was great. But his parents needed him in Florida and he was offered his old job back with Dade County SO,” he added, referring to the sheriff’s office.
“Well, it worked out for both of you, then,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.” He sobered as Michelle came into the living room from the kitchen. “Michelle, I’m sorry about your stepmother. I know it must be hard, coming so close on the heels of your father passing.”
“Thanks, Mr. Tallman,” she replied gently. “Yes, it is.” She shook her head. “I still have to talk to the funeral director.”
“I’ll take care of that for you,” Gabriel told her.
“Thanks,” she added.
“Michelle, can you tell me how it happened?” Zack asked her.
“Of course.” She went through the afternoon, ending with Roberta feeling too hot and going out on the porch to cool off.
He stopped her when she mentioned what Roberta had said about Bert and had her repeat Roberta’s last words. He frowned. “I’d like to see her room.”
Michelle led the way. The room was a mess. Roberta never picked anything up, and Michelle hadn’t had time to do any cleaning. She was embarrassed at the way it looked. But Zack wasn’t interested in the clutter. He started going through drawers until he opened the one in the bedside table.
He pulled out his digital camera and shot several photos of the drawer and its contents before he put on a pair of gloves, reached into it and pulled out an oblong case. He dusted the case for fingerprints before he opened it on the table and photographed that, too, along with a small vial of white powder. He turned to Gabriel who exchanged a long look with him.
“That explains a lot,” Zack said. “I’ll take this up to the crime lab in San Antonio and have them run it for us, but I’m pretty sure what it is and where she got it.”
“What is it?” Michelle asked, curious.
“Something evil,” Zack said.
Michelle wasn’t dense. “Drugs,” she said icily. “It’s drugs, isn’t it?”
“Hard narcotics,” Zack agreed.
“That’s why she was so crazy all the time,” Michelle said heavily. “She drank to excess when we lived in San Antonio. Dad got her into treatment and made her quit. I was sure she was okay, because we didn’t have any liquor here. But she had these awful mood swings, and sometimes she hit me...” She bit her lip.
“Well, people under the influence aren’t easy to live with,” Zack replied heavily. “Not at all.”
* * *
Zack sat down with Michelle and Gabriel at the kitchen table and questioned Michelle further about Roberta’s recent routine, including trips to see Bert Sims in San Antonio. Roberta’s last words were telling. He wrote it all down and gave Michelle a form to fill out with all the pertinent information about the past few hours. When she finished, he took it with him.
There was no real crime scene, since Roberta died of what was basically a heart attack brought on by a drug overdose. The coroner’s assistant took photos on the front porch, adding to Zack’s, so there was a record of where Roberta died. But the house wasn’t searched, beyond Zack’s thorough documentation of Roberta’s room.
“Bert Sims may try to come around to see if Roberta had anything left, to remove evidence,” Zack said solemnly to Michelle. “It isn’t safe for you to be here alone.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Gabriel said with a smile. “Nobody’s going to touch her.”
Zack smiled. “I already had that figured out,” he mused, and Gabriel cleared his throat.
“I have a chaperone in mind,” Gabriel replied. “Just so you know.”
Zack patted him on the back. “I figured that out already, too.” He nodded toward Michelle. “Sorry again.”
“Me, too,” Michelle said sadly.
* * *
Michelle made coffee while Gabriel spoke to his sister, Sara, on the phone. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. He was speaking French. She recognized it, but it was a lot more complicated than, “My brother has a brown suit,” which was about her level of skill in the language.
His voice was low, and urgent. He spoke again, listened, and then spoke once more.
“C’est bien,”
he concluded, and hung up.
“That was French,” Michelle said.
“Yes.” He sat down at the table and toyed with the thick white mug she’d put in front of him. There was good china, too—Roberta had insisted on it when she and Alan first married. But the mug seemed much more Gabriel’s style than fancy china. She’d put a mug at her place, as well. She had to have coffee in the morning or she couldn’t even get to school.
“This morning everything seemed much less complicated,” she said after she’d poured coffee. He refused cream and sugar, and she smiled. She didn’t take them, either.
“You think you’re going in a straight line, and life puts a curve in the way,” he agreed with a faint smile. “I know you didn’t get along with her. But she was part of your family. It must sting a bit.”
“It does,” she agreed, surprised at his perception. “She was nice to me when she and Daddy were dating,” she added. “Taught me how to cook new things, went shopping with me, taught me about makeup and stuff.” She grimaced. “Not that I ever wear it. I hate the way powder feels on my face, and I don’t like gunking up my eyes and mouth with pasty cosmetics.” She looked at him and saw an odd expression on his face. “That must sound strange....”
He laughed and sipped coffee before he spoke. “Actually, I was thinking how sane it sounded.” He quietly studied her for a couple of moments. “You don’t need makeup. You’re quite pretty enough without it.”
She gaped at him.
“Michelle,
ma belle,
” he said in an odd, soft, deep tone, and he smiled.
She went scarlet. She knew her heart was shaking her to death, that he could see it, and she didn’t care. He was simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and he thought she was pretty. A stupid smile turned her lips up, elongating the perfect bow shape they made.
“Sorry,” he said gently. “I was thinking out loud, not hitting on you. This is hardly the time.”
“Would you like to schedule a time?” she asked with wide, curious eyes. “Because my education in that department is really sad. This one boy tried to kiss me and missed and almost broke my nose. After that, I didn’t get another date until the junior prom.” She leaned forward. “He was gay and so sweet and shy about it...well, he asked me and told me the reason very honestly. And I said I’d go with him to the prom because of the way my other date had ended. I mean, he wasn’t likely to try to kiss me and break my nose and all... Why are you laughing?”
“Marshmallow,” he accused, and his smile was full of affectionate amusement.
“Well, yes, I guess I am. But he’s such a nice boy. Several of us know about him, but there are these two guys on the football squad that he’s afraid of. They’re always making nasty remarks to him. He thought if he went with a girl to a dance, they might back off.”
“Did they?” he asked, curious.
“Yes, but not because he went with me,” she said. She glowered at the memory. “One of them made a nasty remark to him when we were dancing, next to the refreshment table, and I filled a big glass with punch and threw it in his face.” She grinned. “I got in big trouble until the gym coach was told why I did it. His brother’s gay.” The grin got bigger. “He said next time I should use the whole pitcher.”
He burst out laughing. “Well, your attitude toward modern issues is...unique. This is a very small town,” he explained when her eyebrows went up.
“Oh, I see. You think we treat anybody different like a fungus.” She nodded.
“Not exactly. But we hear things about small towns,” he began.
“No bigots here. Well, except for Chief Grier.”
He blinked. “Your police chief is a bigot?”