Page 33 of Lie for a Million

Sam had spent the past few days poring over bank records, land title histories, news articles, and any written accounts he could get his hands on. This work wasn’t his favorite part of the job. But somebody needed to do it—and only Sam knew his subjects well enough to do it effectively.

Now he sat at the computer, in the bungalow, organizing what he’d discovered. So far, he’d found no earthshaking revelations. But he was learning more about the principal suspects in his murder case.

The McKennas were exactly what they appeared to be—honest, hard-working, and frugal. They’d been poor until the four young rodeo stars had started raking in prize money. Now the family had a sizeable nest egg in the bank, but they still lived as if they were on the edge of poverty. The mother made regular donations to her church. Most of Roper’s income went into supporting the ranch, including the mortgage payments. The younger family members paid for their rodeo fees, their horses, and their top-of-the line hauling equipment. They were allowed spending money, but none of them lived lavishly. The girl had a contract to do a modeling spread forVoguemagazine. The second boy was out on bail pending a charge of cocaine possession. Too bad, but it happened in the best of families.

All Sam could conclude from the evidence was that if any of the McKennas, including Roper, had killed Frank Culhane, it hadn’t been over money.

But he couldn’t rule out other reasons.

Sam hadn’t forgotten the signs that Darrin Culhane was abusing his pregnant wife. Darrin’s explosive temper was something to consider, but there were no surprises in their financial records. As a small-town lawyer, he didn’t earn much, but the money from the management of his mother’s cattle herd and from serving as her attorney made up the difference. Their house in Willow Bend was a rental. They’d made no move to buy a home, because their ambitions were set on booting Lila out of the family mansion and taking over the ranch.

None of this information had come as a surprise. Darrin could have killed his father in a burst of anger. But that was unlikely. Frank’s murder had been carefully planned. And if Jasmine’s claim was to be believed, Darrin didn’t have the balls to carry it out.

Then there was Charlie Grishman. Sam had done a thorough search hoping to find incriminating evidence—anything that would cause that horror of a game ranch to be shut down. But Charlie’s record was as clean as the man had claimed, every financial transaction accounted for. Legally, he didn’t have so much as a parking ticket, and he held clear title to the land he’d inherited from his grandmother nine years ago. On paper, at least, Charlie was almost too good to be true.

But the man reeked of evil intent. There had to be something that wasn’t showing up—something Charlie was clever enough to hide. Maybe Frank had discovered a secret that could get Charlie in trouble, that could be motive for murder. But Sam was grasping at straws now. He had no proof of anything against the obnoxious little rat.

He had a mountain of work left to do. But he was getting tired, which could put him at risk of missing something important. It was time for a break.

The time was just past eleven thirty—early for lunch, but he’d skipped breakfast to get an early start on work. Mariah had given him leave to rummage up his own snacks in the kitchen. With luck he could make himself a quick sandwich and get out of her way before she got impatient with him.

He entered the kitchen through the back door. Mariah, a handsome, middle-aged woman with a buxom figure and graying hair, was cutting up meat and vegetables for the slow cooker. She glanced up as Sam closed the screen door behind him.

“Missed you at breakfast.” Her deft hands didn’t pause. “I figured you’d be hungry, so I made your sandwich. It’s in the fridge, middle shelf. And help yourself to a couple of cookies from the blue jar.”

“Thanks. That’s kind of you, Mariah.” Sam moved past her to get to the fridge, poured himself a glass of chilled water, and took a seat at a corner of the cluttered kitchen table. Most of the time Mariah, who’d been with the family since the early days of Frank’s first marriage, treated him like a bothersome child. But now and again she surprised him with a small favor, like this one.

In the one interview she’d given him, she’d made it clear that family secrets would be off-limits. But as Sam ate his sandwich, taking his time, it occurred to him that what he was looking for now had little to do with the Culhane family. But it was about someone she knew.

What harm would it do to question her? The worst she could do was order him out of her kitchen.

“Maybe you can help me with some research, Mariah,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you or the family, but I’ve come to a dead end. I need some answers, and I was thinking you might know something.”

Mariah looked back at him, over her shoulder. She wasn’t smiling, but he caught a glint of curiosity in her expression. “Try me,” she said.

“It’s about your neighbor, Charlie Grishman. How well do you know him?”

In the silence, her knife blade whacked onto the cutting board, beheading a carrot. “I know him,” she said. “But I’d be happier not to. His grandmother was a good friend of mine, a fine old woman. She took Charlie in and raised him after his parents died. You think he’d have been grateful. But the way he treated her . . . I’ve always believed it drove her to her grave. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.”

Sam laid his sandwich on the plate and turned his chair in her direction. “Tell me more,” he said.

CHAPTERNINE

Lila pulled into the parking lot on the south side of the Trail’s End restaurant. The battered Hyundai, parked in one of the spaces, told her that Crystal was waiting for her.

She could feel the nervous tension as she parked the white Jeep Liberty next to the dumpster at the back of the lot. She’d decided against driving the Porsche into town. The last thing she wanted was to be noticed, and the sleek luxury car was a flag for attention.

Meeting at the restaurant had been Lila’s idea as well. Crystal had suggested a spot by the old railroad bridge, where teenage lovers liked to park at night. But Lila had insisted on a safe, public place where words and actions would be limited to a civil exchange. She’d also chosen lunchtime, when the place would be crowded and too noisy for their conversation to be overheard. She’d even reserved a booth in the far corner, where they could talk in relative privacy.

So far, everything was under control.

Walking around the corner to the front door, Lila reminded herself to be cool, confident, and in charge. Crystal mustn’t be allowed to call the shots.

Walking through the door was like diving into a sea of noise. Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” blared from the speakers.Appropriate, Lila thought as she wove her way through the busy dining room. But Crystal was no Jolene. She was just a greedy little tramp who’d been impregnated by a married man and was out to profit from it.

She could see Crystal now, sitting in the booth, sipping a drink and watching her approach with a faint smile on her pretty, made-up face, which struck Lila as odd. Surely the woman didn’t think the two of them could be friends.

Lila slid into the opposite side of the booth. There was an untouched Coke with ice, a straw, and a lemon in front of her. A basket of French fries with paper cups of ketchup sat in the middle of the table. “I ordered Cokes for us,” she said. “Yours is diet. And you can help yourself to the fries if you want. They’re to share.”

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