Best Kept Secrets(147)
been calling up folks on the telephone, asking for volunteers
to picket at the gates of the Minton ranch. He solicited money.
He wanted to place full-page antigambling ads in the newspaper.
Well-publicized crusades were expensive.
Most people hung up on him. Some had called him ugly
names before slamming down their receivers. A few had
listened and given halfhearted pledges to send a supportive
offering.
But, five hundred dollars.
He'd also spent time on the phone in secretive, whispered
conversations. Wanda didn't know what these covert calls
were about, but she suspected they had something to do with
that business at the Minton ranch. One of the hardest things
she'd ever had to do was lie to her old friend, Reede. He
had known she was lying, but he'd been gentlemanly enough
not to accuse her of it.
Afterward, when she had expressed concern to Fergus
about her sin of lying, he had told her that it had been justified.
God didn't expect his servants to go to jail, where they would
be ineffectual.
She timidly pointed out that Paul had spent a lot of time
in prison, and had done some of the most inspired writing in
the New Testament while behind bars. Fergus hadn't appreciated
the comparison and had told her that she should keep
her mouth shut about matters that were too complicated for
her to comprehend.
"Wanda?"
She jumped at the sound of his voice and reflexively
clutched the money to her sagging breasts. "What, Fergus?"
"Was that the postman at the door?"
"Uh, yes." She glanced down at the envelope. The money
was surely related to those furtive telephone calls. Fergus
wouldn't want to talk about them. "I was just bringing you
the mail."
She went into the kitchen. He was seated at the Formica
dining table that served as his desk between meals. She laid
the stack of mail on the table. When she returned to the sink
to finish washing dishes, the fancy envelope and its contents
were in her apron pocket.
She would give it to Fergus later, Wanda promised herself,
as a surprise. In the meantime, she would fantasize about all
it could buy for her three kids.
Alex had had thirty-six hours to think about it. While
nursing her debilitating headache, she'd lain in bed, reviewing
everything she knew and filling in what she didn't know with
educated guesses.
She couldn't continue to run around in circles indefinitely.
She was probably as close to the truth as she was ever going
to get, short of taking desperate measures. The deadline Greg
had set was imminent. It was time to force someone's hand,
to get aggressive, even if she had to bluff.
Days ago, she had reached the heartbreaking conclusion
that she had been the catalyst for Celina's murder, but she
didn't plan to bear the burden of that guilt alone for the rest
of her life. Whoever had done the actual deed must suffer
for it also.
That morning when she woke up, she still had a headache,
but it was one she could live with. She spent the morning
reviewing her notes and doing some research, and was waiting
in Judge Wallace's anteroom when he returned from lunch.
He didn't look pleased to see her.
"I told Ms. Gaither that you had a full schedule today,"
Mrs. Lipscomb said defensively when he turned a baleful
glance on her. "She insisted on waiting for you."
"She's right, Judge Wallace, I did," Alex said. "Can you
spare me a few minutes?"
He consulted his wristwatch. "A very few."
She followed him into his office. He took off his overcoat
and hung it on a brass coat tree. Not until he was situated
behind his desk, trying to look intimidating, did he say,
"What is it this time?"
"What did Angus Minton use to entice you?"
His face became instantly mottled. "I don't know what
you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. You confined an innocent man to a state
mental hospital, Judge Wallace. You knew he was innocent,
or at least strongly suspected that he was. You did that at
Angus Minton's request, didn't you? And in exchange, you
demanded that Junior marry your daughter Stacey."
"This is incredible!" He banged his fists on his desktop.
"It's extremely credible. On the morning after Celina Graham
Gaither was found murdered in a stable on the Minton
ranch, you received a phone call or a visit from Angus. Bud
Hicks had been arrested nearby, covered in blood and in
possession of a scalpel presumed to be the murder weapon.
That was never ascertained because the scalpel wasn't thoroughly
analyzed. The autopsy report specified that she died
of repeated stab wounds, but a forensic expert didn't have
access to the body before it was cremated, so she could have