Page 56 of Lie for a Million

As they lay spent in each other’s arms, he felt the wetness of tears on her face. He knew what she must be thinking. He feared it too. He was innocent, but with so much circumstantial evidence against him, he could be arrested as soon as tomorrow. Any hope for the future would be gone as if it had never existed.

* * *

Sam had seen Lila enter the arena after him and slip into the shadows. Later, when she didn’t come out, it was easy enough to guess what was happening.Let it happen, he told himself. He already knew that Lila and Roper were lovers. Sam’s focus now was on proving that Roper had killed Frank Culhane. If he could establish that, the only remaining question was whether Lila might have helped him.

What if Simone’s wild claims about the pair had been spot-on?

He settled into the chair on the porch of the bungalow. The air was cooler after the torrid heat of the day. A light breeze whispered through the oleanders that bordered the driveway. A train whistle echoed through the distant darkness. Bittersweet memories of Jasmine in his arms and in his bed tormented his thoughts. What if their forced separation had changed her mind about him? What if he’d already lost her?

But brooding over a woman wouldn’t helping him wrap up his case here. He had a solid lead. But he needed to follow through with evidence that would hold up in court.

The construction noise from Charlie’s ranch had ceased for the night. Would Charlie be getting ready to hunt that wretched elephant? Sam listened for vehicles and scanned the distance for lights. But there were no signs of activity. Ending the man’s cruelty was not in Sam’s job description. But if there was a way to stop him, Sam couldn’t walk away—especially when it would mean so much to Jasmine.

His conversation at the church, after Rachel’s departure, hadn’t given Sam all that he’d hoped for. But he had learned something new. The reverend had mentioned that Ethel Grishman had been in good health for most of the time he’d known her. A few weeks before her death, she’d stopped coming to church.

Concerned, the reverend had finally called the ranch. He’d reached Charlie, who told him his grandmother was resting and couldn’t talk on the phone now. In the background, the reverend could hear a woman’s voice, which seemed to be calling for help. When asked, Charlie said it was only the TV, which Ethel turned up loud because she was hard of hearing.

Charlie had ended the call, saying he needed to go. The reverend hadn’t called back, but he’d had an uneasy feeling about the situation. A few days later, he heard that Ethel had died. Charlie had declined his offer to conduct a funeral service. Ethel hadn’t wanted one, he’d said. She’d already been buried on the ranch.

“About that feeling I had,” the reverend had told Sam. “I think the good Lord was trying to tell me something. Sadly, I didn’t listen. I may have to answer for that when I meet Ethel in the hereafter.”

Had Charlie murdered his grandmother to get his hands on the ranch? The reverend’s story sounded plausible. But again, the woman’s voice he’d heard might have really been the TV. Charlie could have declined an autopsy because it was inconvenient, or because he didn’t want to subject the body to the indignities of cutting and opening. There was no proof of how the good woman had died.

But if Charlie had killed Ethel, and Frank somehow knew about it, that could throw a whole new light on Frank’s murder.

Why couldn’t things be simple for once? But Sam knew better than to ask that question. He also knew that he mustn’t be blindsided by his need to close this case.

A mosquito settled on Sam’s arm long enough to sample his blood. Sam flattened the pesky insect with a slap, but another one was buzzing around his ears. With a muttered curse, he rose, walked back inside, and closed the door behind him.

The air inside the bungalow was warm and stale. Sam was about to turn on a fan when his phone rang. The caller was Nick.

“Is everything all right, Nick?” Sam’s first concern was for his boss’s health.

“If you’re asking about me, everything’s on track. No need to fuss.” Nick sounded tired. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Complications around every corner. But my money’s still on Roper McKenna. All I need is solid proof.”

“Then I might have some good news for you,” Nick said. “I asked the folks in the lab to take a closer look at that syringe from the creek. Still no prints, but they did find a trace of blood in the needle. There wasn’t enough of it to run a DNA test, but the B-negative blood type is the same type as Frank’s. It’s rare enough that I’d say we can assume our syringe is the murder weapon. Now, if our techs can trace the serial number, then track where it came from and who bought it, the search could give us the evidence we need.”

After the call ended, Sam walked back outside. Ignoring the mosquitoes, he gazed toward the horizon, where the moon was rising above the distant hills. If Nick was right, he could be making an arrest in days. He should be excited, even elated. But his instincts told him that something was missing from the picture—something he should have noticed earlier.

What was it?

What the hell was it?

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Roper finished taking Fire Dance through his early-morning paces. The chestnut stallion was performing flawlessly, responding to the lightest pressure of Roper’s hands and knees. At last, the horse’s trust issues seemed to be fading.

“Good boy.” Patting the sweat-dampened shoulder, Roper spoke as if nothing had changed since yesterday. “Keep doing what you just did, and we’ll have a good chance of winning our million.”

The stallion snorted and tossed his head, as if in agreement. But Roper had to force himself to focus on the coming event. After yesterday’s confrontation with Sam, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed to compete.

Last night, after making love to Lila, he’d insisted that they stay apart until he was cleared. She’d wanted to fight for his innocence. But Roper knew that her involvement would only strengthen Sam’s case against him. It could even implicate her in the crime.

This morning he struggled to keep her out of his thoughts. But as always, she was there. In his imagination, he pictured her in her bed, yawning herself awake, her hair tousled, her body a little sore from his loving . . . Roper blocked the image with a silent curse. Nudging the stallion to an easy walk, he began the cooldown.

Last night he’d arrived home late to find his supper of ham and beans warming on the stove. The rest of the family had already eaten. Cheyenne had an ugly bruise on her cheek, from a barrel-racing accident, she’d said with a shrug. Rachel had made a fuss over the injury, forcing her daughter to sit with an ice pack on her face. Rowdy had been sulky as usual, especially when his brothers described their winning rides. His trial was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Roper would sacrifice needed training time to be there for him.

---