Best Kept Secrets(160)

flopped back against the easy chair's cushions and rested his

head. With a bitter, humorless laugh, he said, "Celina's daughter. Jesus, can you beat that?"

"Alex spent the night with Reede?" Angus thundered.

Sarah Jo made a sniffing sound of disgust. "That doesn't

surprise me."

"Why didn't you keep it from happening, Junior?" Angus

demanded.

Junior, sensing his father's rising temper, shouted, "I

tried!"

"Evidently, not hard enough. It's your bed she's supposed

to be in by now, not Reede's."

"She's a grown woman. She didn't need my permission

to go to bed with him. With anybody.'' Junior pushed himself

out of the chair and headed for the bar.

Sarah Jo blocked his path. "I don't like the girl. She's as

trashy as her mother, but if you wanted her for yourself, why

did you let Reede Lambert have her?''

"It's more critical than that, Sarah Jo," Angus said tightly.

"Our future rested on Alex's opinion of us. I was hoping

she would become part of the family. As usual, Junior fell

down on the job."

"Don't criticize him, Angus."

"Why the hell not? He's my son. I'll criticize him if I

damn well feel like it." Then, curbing his impatience with

her, he exhaled a heavy sigh. "Too late now to be bawling

over spilled milk. We've got a bigger problem than Junior's

love life. I'm afraid we're extremely vulnerable to prosecution."

He left the room and slammed out the front door.

At the bar, Junior poured himself a straight vodka. Sarah

Jo grabbed his arm as he raised the glass to his lips. "When

are you going to learn that you're as good as Reede? Better. You've disappointed your father again. When are you going

to do something to make him proud of you? Junior, my



darling, it's time you grew up and seized the initiative for a

change."



Alex stared at Reede with wordless disbelief. He calmly

swept the spilled coffee grounds off the counter with the back

of his hand and continued to fill the filtered basket of the

coffee maker. Once it was dripping boiling coffee into the

glass carafe, he turned to face her.

"You look like you've swallowed a marble. Isn't that what

you expected to hear?"

"Is it true?" she asked hoarsely. "Did you kill her?"

He looked away, staring at nothing for several moments,

then back into her eyes, penetrating them. "No, Alex. I did

not kill Celina. If I had wanted to, I would have done it before

that night, and with my bare hands. I would have felt that it

was justifiable homicide. I wouldn't have gone to the trouble

of stealing a scalpel. I sure as hell wouldn't have let that

unfortunate retarded man take the rap for me."

She stepped into the circle of his arms and hugged him

tight. "I believe you, Reede."

"Well, that's something, I guess." Holding her close, he

moved his hands over her back. She nuzzled his chest.

He made a low sound of arousal, but set her away from

him. "The coffee's ready."

"Don't push me away, please. I'm not ready to stop hugging."

"Neither am I," he said, stroking her cheek, "buthugging

isn't all I want to do, and I have a strong feeling that our

conversation isn't going to be conducive to romance." He

poured two mugs of coffee and carried them to the table.

"Why do you say that?" She sat down across from him.

"Because you want to know if I know who went into the

barn that night."

"Do you?"

"No, I don't," he said with an emphatic shake of his head.

"I swear to God I don't."

"But you know it was either Junior or Angus."

He shrugged noncommittally.



"You've never wanted to know which, have you?"

"What difference does it make?"

She was aghast. "It makes a difference to me. It should

to you."

"Why? Knowing won't change a damn thing. It won't

bring Celina back. It won't alter your unhappy childhood or

mine. Will it make your grandmother love you? No."

Reading her horrified expression, he said, "Yes, Alex, I

know that's why you've appointed yourself Celina's avenger.

Merle Graham always had to have a scapegoat. Whenever

Celina did something she considered wrong, I usually caught

the blame for it. 'That Lambert kid,' she used to call me,

always with a sour expression on her face.

"So it doesn't surprise me that she laid a lifelong guilt trip

on you. She wouldn't take the blame for Celina's mistakes

upon herself. And she wouldn't admit that Celina, like every

other human being ever to grace this earth, did what she