Page 33 of One in a Million

“Goodbye, Dad.” She sounded as if she might have been weeping, but then, she was an actress. “After all the things you did for me, I never got the chance to thank you. You were my hero, and I was your baby girl. But I’ve been a baby too long. Now that you’re gone, it’s grow-up time. I promise to find a path and make something of my life—not just to succeed but to contribute. I promise justice for your death. And I promise to put things back as they should be in your house. If you can hear me, Dad, I will make you proud of me. You’ll see.”

Another shot fired, this one more subtle but definitely aimed at her, Lila thought. Did Frank’s children believe that she’d killed their father? Probably, since it would serve their purpose—unless one of them had done it.

Now it was her turn. But she wasn’t going to rise to the bait. This was no place for a battle. Lila stepped closer to the edge of the grave and cleared her throat.

“You were always your own man, Frank. I loved you, and in your own way, I know you loved me. But there was a part of you that was unreadable and unreachable. We weren’t perfect, but we had enough love going to hold us together. Thank you for the good times. Thank you for teaching me to love your beautiful horses. If there’s one promise I swear to keep, it’s that I will fight to protect those horses and continue your legacy of beauty, sportsmanship, and dedication.” She drew a sharp breath, trying not to think of Frank’s betrayal. Denial was a powerful drug.

“Goodbye, Frank,” she said. “Rest easy. Be at peace.”

Had she said the right things? Roper stood a stone’s toss behind her, outside the fence. The look on his face would answer her question. But she couldn’t depend on Roper for validation or anything else except where the horses were concerned. That was his domain. She would have to make sure it was his only domain. This was no time to depend on a man.

Sam had remained silent and inscrutable through the ritual, empty-handed but surely taking mental notes about what had been said, who had shown emotion, and who, like Lila, had kept grief veiled by cool composure. If she’d broken down and wept, would that have changed his mind? Would he still believe, as he appeared to, that she had murdered her husband?

Turning away from the grave, Lila pulled off the veiled hat and passed through the gate. The party trooped after her along the trail that wound its way down the hill. Behind them, the miniature backhoe was already starting its engine to fill in the grave.

As they neared the bottom of the hill, the sound of an engine overhead riveted their gazes to the sky. Darrin groaned. “Oh, hell, it’s the news chopper. The mortuary probably alerted them for a little free promo. At least they didn’t get here in time to cover the burial!”

Hearing him, Lila felt a spark of satisfaction. If nothing else, she’d made one right decision today.

* * *

The TV news helicopter had landed in the pasture beyond the house. The three-person broadcast team—a cameraman, a sound man, and a chatty female reporter in a spotless white pantsuit, descended on the Culhanes where they’d gathered on the patio to await their delayed lunch. Roper had already returned to work in the arena.

Sam, who hadn’t been invited to join them, stood well back from the fray, watching and listening. Not surprisingly, the antagonists had put up a united front for the press. What did surprise him was that the one stepping forward to speak for the family was Simone.

Dressed in a fitted black sheath, she’d removed her flattering, broad-brimmed hat and donned a wistful look that fell just short of smiling through tears. Sam couldn’t help wondering if she’d practiced the sound bite in front of a mirror.

“Frank Culhane, my father-in-law, was a legend who represented the true spirit of our great state of Texas. It was his longtime wish to be buried without delay, next to his dear departed parents. In the days ahead, the people who knew him, loved him, and felt his influence will honor him with a memorial service—by invitation only, of course—at the Culhane Ranch. Then his family and friends will move on. But Frank’s memory will remain always in our hearts. Thank you.”

Maybe it was Simone who’d leaked news of the burial to the press. Darrin’s wife was full of surprises. At least she appeared to have learned something in that finishing school.

Then there was Lila, stepping forward to dismiss the reporter and her crew. After allowing them a single long-distance shot of the grave with the rose arrangement laid atop the mound of fresh earth, she ordered them off the property.

“You’ve got enough for a spot on the late news. Now leave our family in peace to rest and mourn. No—no questions allowed at this time. And no interviews.” Sam knew that she was talking about the murder. However the news crew might interpret her words, her fierce defense of her home had been unmistakable. Ten minutes later the chopper was in the air.

With a collective sigh of relief, the family sat down at the patio table, under the shade of the umbrella, while Mariah brought out their lunch. Jasmine had shed her enveloping wrap. Underneath she wore ripped jeans and a black tank top. That she hadn’t bothered to dress for her father’s burial could be interpreted as some kind of statement. But from what little Sam knew of the elusive Jasmine, it could mean anything, or nothing.

Sam had been taking his dinners at the bungalow and his other meals at the kitchen table. Now he stepped into the kitchen, where a place had been cleared and set for him at one corner.

Right now the kitchen was empty. But Mariah would be returning once the sandwiches, salad, and sodas were served. With emotions running high, this could be his best chance to catch her for an interview—if only she would cooperate. Over the past days, he’d done his best to win her trust. But even if he could, he respected the woman too much to try to trick her into talking.

A few minutes later, she came back into the kitchen. There were two sandwiches on the tray she carried. “It’s leftovers for you and me, Mr. FBI man.” She gave him a rare, tired smile. “Beef or chicken. Your choice.”

“I’ll take the beef.” He left her the chicken.

Passing him a chilled Diet Coke, she sank into the chair across from him. “I know you need to talk to me as part of your investigation. Shall we get it over with now?”

Sam could have kissed her. He didn’t have his laptop or his notes. He could only ask, listen, and hope to remember.

She sat across from him, a slightly plump woman in middle age, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a bun from a face that was bare of makeup. After a lifetime of hard work, she looked strong and healthy. In her eyes and face, Sam glimpsed the pretty young girl she must have been years ago. In her own way, she was still beautiful. But if he were to say so, she might see it as manipulation.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“A woman who has lived a long story. A woman with secrets.”

“A woman with secrets she’ll never tell anyone. So don’t even ask me. But if you promise to listen without judging and not interrupt too much, I’ll give you a little family history and my part in it. Then we’re done. Agreed?”

“Agreed. And I’ve learned not to judge—either in my work or in my life. Agreed.” But if Mariah had hidden knowledge about Frank’s murder, he would have to follow the law. He finished the sandwich and sipped the Diet Coke while he listened.