Page 16 of One in a Million
“Did you see anybody? Anything out of place?”
She braked the car to avoid a family of feral pigs trotting across the road. Sam had seen features about them online. They were dangerous pests, their numbers increasing.
In the distance, Sam could see several tall windmills and the gleam of morning sunlight on a cluster of light-colored buildings. The two-story house, with its wide balconies, rose above them like Tara inGone with the Wind. Cattle and horses made dark clusters in the spreading pastures. The horse arena, with its sheltering roof, lay on the far side of the house.
“I should have taken time to look,” she said. “But it was my father lying there. I dropped down beside him in the stall. When I realized he wasn’t breathing, I screamed. People came running. Sorry, things are blurred after that. I just remember being helped away, the county police coming, and my brother showing up and throwing his weight around. Darrin is family, but he can be an ass sometimes.”
“How did he get along with your father?”
“He worshipped Dad and would have done anything to please him. But he was cowed by the big man. Nothing Darrin did was ever good enough for Frank Culhane. I’ve felt sorry for my brother sometimes.” An ironic smile tugged at her lips. “But only sometimes. With me, Daddy had no expectations. I was his baby. I’m still working past that.”
“Do you think your brother could be capable of murder?”
A bitter but musical laugh rippled through her body. “Darrin? He might have motive, but he hasn’t got the balls.”
“So who might?”
There was a silent pause as the ranch came into full view.
“Lila, the widow,” she said. “She was a showgirl in Vegas who stole Dad from Mom for his money. Just ruthless. She didn’t care at all about the family she was breaking up.”
“How long were they married?” Sam asked.
“Eleven years. She never even gave him babies. But she’s ruled the house like an empress. She barely tolerates the rest of the family coming to Friday-night dinners or even just going in and out.”
“Who’s your father’s heir?” Sam could have tried taking notes on his phone, but he wanted her to keep talking.
“Sheis! But it was with the understanding that their children would continue the Culhane line. Since she didn’t have any, my mother’s lawyers are working on that angle to get her out of our family home. Darrin and I are heirs to our mother’s share of the estate—mostly investments and the cattle. She’s got plenty of money. But the heart of our legacy, our family tradition, is the house and the horses. And Lila is hanging onto those like a rabid badger.”
“So why might she do away with your father? Might not his death weaken her grip on his estate? What was their relationship like?”
“Smooth on the surface. I never heard them fight. But I know my dad, and I sensed something. I think there was somebody else, maybe younger, and he was planning to move Lila aside. They have a prenup. She wouldn’t get much if they were to divorce. But with his death . . .”
Her voice trailed off as the house came into full view. Even grander than it had looked from a distance. Old South style with touches of Texas, like the immense rack from a longhorn mounted above the front door.
No one was in sight. Sam assumed that because of his late arrival, the people who’d waited were going about their business. Tracking them down would be up to him. Nick had included a list of family and associates in the material he’d handed over. But Sam didn’t need the list to know whom he wanted to find first.
CHAPTERFIVE
Sam studied Lila Smith Culhane from across the patio table, the pool behind her reflecting a halo of morning light. Jasmine had ushered him onto the walkway that led behind the house and disappeared inside. He already knew that the two women were enemies. How would Lila’s take on the relationship differ from Jasmine’s?
Fortified by the stout, black coffee her cook had delivered with a slab of thick, sourdough toast and blackberry jam, Sam could feel his instincts surging—a raw hunger to get into this case and rip it apart—judiciously—with his bare hands. This drive was part of what made him good at his work, and he ran with it—the tabloid-fodder situation, the clashing personalities, the interactions and motives, all the nuances and details of a challenging crime, perhaps the most challenging of his career. Somebody had murdered a powerful man in cold blood. It was up to him to discover the truth. New job and promotion aside, that was what really mattered.
In Chicago he’d worked as part of a team. The tragic shooting of his young partner there and the accident that had taken out two vital agents in Abilene had left him on his own. He would find a way to make that work for him. But he couldn’t play the traditional good-cop, bad-cop game with his partner playing the gentleman. He would have to walk the line between.
“There’s no hotel out here, so I’ve arranged for you to stay in one of our guest cottages, Mr. Rafferty,” Lila Culhane said. “You may take your meals in the kitchen—just walk in and ask the cook. Mariah’s her name. And you may call me Lila. I, however, will call you Agent Rafferty. I know you’re not here as a friend.”
She was a stunner, her voice low and velvety, and she had a lead showgirl’s tall, commanding presence. A few years older than Sam, she had the look of a woman who’d taken excellent care of herself. Botox? Sam could usually tell by the slight rigidity. But Lila’s flawless golden skin showed no signs of the treatment.
Her hair was tied back with a coppery scarf that matched her striking eyes. Dressed in a silk blouse, khakis, and a fitted leather belt, she wore no jewelry, not even a wedding band. Whether out of habit or in deference to her husband’s death, Sam had yet to learn.
She appeared strong and in charge. But something in him sensed her vulnerability. Was she afraid of him? Was he looking across the table at Frank Culhane’s murderer?
“How long are you planning to be here, Agent Rafferty?” she asked.
“For now, as long as it takes—and I’m grateful for your hospitality. How soon will you be having the funeral?”
“The mortuary in Abilene has the body. Once we get it back, we’ll be laying him in the family plot on that hill behind the arena, with just the ranch family in attendance—you’re welcome to join us as an observer, at a respectful distance, of course. Then, in a few days, as soon as we can plan it, we’ll be hosting a memorial service with a big Texas barbecue. The governor will be invited, neighbors and friends, officials from the National Reined Cow Horse Association, and more. There’ll be a big crowd. You’ll be welcome to circulate and meet people. But I would appreciate your discretion in not discussing Frank’s manner of death or whom you suspect.”