Page 20 of One in a Million
“You can’t leave while this investigation is ongoing, Jasmine.”
“Ha!”Her chuckle held defiance. But to run would suggest guilt. She was smarter than that.
Willow Bend, a sleepy community of 2,811, featured a main street with a grocery store, a bank, a saloon, a ranch supply business, a respectable-looking restaurant, and a church. Houses, most of them small, some well-tended, some with junk-cluttered yards, old cars, or kiddie swings, some vacant with boarded windows, lined the side streets. The town had clearly known better days.
“Darrin’s place is at the far end of the street,” Jasmine said. “It belonged to the cattleman who started the town a hundred years ago. Darrin rented it after Dad married Lila. It’s served him as a town office, but he wants to get rid of her and move back to the ranch house. He wants to be the next Frank Culhane.” Her tone made it clear that Darrin would never replace her father.
“I get the picture.” Sam could see the oversized bungalow with its broad, covered porch at the end of the street. It was probably the most imposing home in Willow Bend, but a poor comparison to the mansion on the Culhane Ranch. He could sense Darrin’s ambition as he pulled up to the curb. Jasmine had opened the passenger side door and was climbing out of the Jeep.
“Are you coming along to introduce me?”
“No, you’re on your own.” She led him up the front steps. “I’ll wait on the porch. It’ll get hot in the Jeep.”
She sank into an Adirondack chair, crossing her lovely, suntanned legs as if fully aware that she had his attention. “Good luck with my brother and his wife. I never know what to expect when I step through their door. That’s why I’m not going with you.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Sam crossed the porch and stepped to the door. He was reaching for the bell when he heard, from somewhere inside, the shrill, almost hysterically angry sound of a woman’s voice.
“You promised me that house, Darrin! You vowed you’d fight for it as a home to raise our children and continue your family line. But you’re not fighting for that or anything. You’re caving in to your stepmother at every turn.”
“Simone, I can’t just throw her out.” The responding voice was male, with a nasal undertone. “This has got to be done legally, based on her failure to provide any descendants to continue the Culhane line. Lila will have lawyers, too. It’s going to be a battle. I’m preparing to fight for you and our children, but it’s got to be done in court.”
“But that could take months, even longer! And this baby will be here in December, Darrin, I’m not bringing our child home to raise in this hovel you’ve put us in! I’ll leave you and go home to my family first!”
CHAPTERSIX
Sam hesitated, but only for an instant. He’d known persons in a state of emotional stress to reveal vital pieces of information. But he needed to follow procedure.
With Jasmine watching him like a cat at a mouse hole, he pushed the doorbell button. The sound of the chime reverberated through the house. He spoke. “Mr. Culhane, FBI. I need to talk with you and your wife.”
From the far side of the heavy wooden door came a scrambling sound. The door opened far enough to reveal a slender, russet-haired man in his thirties, dressed in shirtsleeves and a loosened navy-blue tie. A long, brown coffee stain, still wet, dripped down the front of his shirt. He eyed Sam up and down, his gaze lingering on the faint bulge of the Glock 19M service revolver at Sam’s hip.
“Oh, hell, talk about timing,” he muttered as Sam presented his credentials. “Come on in. We might as well get this over with.” He glanced down at the stain. “Sorry about the situation. My wife’s in a family way, and she’s having an emotional morning. You know women.”
Actually, he didn’t, or he might have kept the woman he’d had, Sam reflected. But it was a passing thought. He refocused his attention on the job at hand. The entry and living room were cluttered with cast-off odds and ends—a slipper, a knitted throw, a wispy piece of underwear, a pizza box, a magazine, and a couple of recent tabloid papers on the floor next to the sofa. A fifty-inch TV was mounted above the fireplace. The room was clean enough—Darrin’s wife would surely have help. But Sam had seen enough in his work to recognize the domain of a woman who felt trapped, scared, frustrated, and physically miserable.
He saw her now, down a hallway to a dining alcove off the kitchen. She was slumped at the table, dressed in a light robe, visibly embarrassed.
“Have a seat.” Darrin closed the door and motioned Sam to the sofa. His wife had vanished from the alcove. “I waited for you this morning, Agent Rafferty. When you didn’t show, I had to leave.”
“Sorry. Trouble with my rental car. Your sister rescued me. She’s become my self-appointed guide for today.”
“Yes. Jasmine.” He glanced toward the door, frowning. “If she’s out there, she’s probably got her ear pressed to the door right now, trying to listen to us. Don’t trust her, Agent. She may look like an angel, and she comes at you sweet as strawberry pie with whipped cream. But don’t be fooled. My sister can be a grasping, lying little weasel. And if you happen to get soft on her, she’ll suck you dry. I’ve seen it happen to a couple of our cowboys. They left good jobs here after the thrill faded and she dumped them.”
“So noted.” Sam opened his laptop and switched it on.
“Jasmine has designs on the ranch, too,” Darrin continued. “She can be ruthless when she chooses to be. And she despises Lila. It wouldn’t even surprise me if she’d killed Dad with the idea of blame falling on his widow.”
Sam had heard different versions of that story. He would reserve judgment. “Let’s get started,” he said. “Your full name?”
Darrin gave him the basic information.
“If you’ve seen the autopsy report, you know your father died between two and three in the morning. Where were you then?”
“Right here in this house, in bed with my wife. Nobody saw us at that hour, but we can vouch for each other.”
“Fine.” Sam typed his notes. “If you can think of some way to verify that—a TV show, something happening outside, like hearing a police siren, for instance, that would help.”
“This is Willow Bend. They roll up the streets at night. And we were fast asleep, not watching TV.”