Best Kept Secrets(19)
called the vet in to assist."
"How? Did he have to do an episiotomy?" she asked.
"In the long run, no. We were finally able to pull the foal.
But Doc Collins's bag was right there. The scalpel could have
fallen out. I'm guessing, of course, but it's logical to assume
that Gooney Bud saw it and picked it up."
"That's a very broad assumption, Sheriff Lambert."
"Not so broad. As I've told you, Gooney Bud collected
all kinds of stuff like that."
"He's right, Miss Gaither," Judge Wallace hastened to
say. "Ask anybody. Something as shiny as a surgical instrument
would have attracted his attention the moment he
went into the stable."
"Was he in the stable that day?" she asked Reede.
"Yes. There were people coming and going all day, Gooney
Bud among them."
Alex wisely decided that it was time to retreat and regroup.
She gave the judge a peremptory thank you and left the
chambers. The sheriff followed her out. As soon as they'd
cleared the anteroom, she turned to confront him.
"From now on, I'll thank you not to coach whoever I'm
questioning."
He assumed an innocent look. "Is that what I was doing?"
"You know damn well it was. I've never heard such a
flimsy, farfetched explanation of a murder in my life. And I
would eat alive any attorney who attempted to defend a client
with it."
"Hmm, that's funny."
"Funny?"
"Yeah." She was subjected to another sly, arrogant once-over
"I was thinking you were the one who looked good
enough to eat."
Blood rushed to her head. She attributed it to outrage.
"Don't you take me seriously, Mr. Lambert?"
His insolence dissolved along with his insinuating smile.
"You're damn right I do, Counselor," he whispered fiercely.
"Damn right I do."
Five
"Calm down, Joe." Angus Minton was angled back in his
red leather recliner. He loved this chair. His wife, Sarah Jo,
loathed it.
When he spotted Junior standing in the doorway of his
den, he waved him inside. Covering the mouthpiece of the
cordless phone he whispered to his son, "Joe Wallace is in
a tizzy."
"Now, Joe, you're jumping to conclusions and getting
upset over nothing," he said into the mouthpiece. "She's
just doing what she thinks is her job. After all, her mama
was murdered. Now that she's got a law degree and a highfalutin
job as a prosecutor, she's on a crusade. You know
how these young career women are."
He listened for a moment. No longer cajoling, he repeated,
"Goddammit, Joe, calm down, you hear? Just keep your
mouth shut, and all this will blow over. Leave Celina's daughter
to me, to us," he said, winking at Junior.
"In a few weeks she'll go back to Austin with her tail
tucked between her pretty, long legs and tell her boss she
struck out. We'll get our racing license, the track will be
(unit on schedule, you'll retire with a perfect record, and this
time next year we'll be sitting over drinks, laughing about
this."
After saying good-bye, he tossed the portable phone onto
the end table. "Jesus, he's a pessimist. To hear him tell it,
Celina's daughter put his scrawny neck through a noose and
pulled it tight. Fetch me a beer, will ya?"
"Pasty's in the hall waiting to see you."
That piece of news did nothing to improve Angus's sour
mood. "Shit. I guess now's as good a time as any. Go get
him."
"Don't be too hard on him. He's shivering in his boots."
"For what he did, he ought to be," Angus grumbled.
Junior returned a few seconds later. Pasty Hickam shuffled
along behind him, head bowed in contrition, battered cowboy
hat in hand. He had come by his nickname by imbibing a
whole bottle of Elmer's glue on a dare. His real name had
been long forgotten. The deed must have occurred at some
point in elementary school, because Pasty had forsaken education
before reaching the ninth grade.
He'd ridden the rodeo circuit for several years, but never
successfully. What purses he won were small, and quickly
expended on drink, gambling, and women. His job at the
Minton ranch had been his first venture into gainful employment,
and it had endured for almost thirty years, a surprise
to everybody. Angus tolerated Pasty's occasional binges. This
time, however, he'd gone too far.
Angus let him stand and sweat for several interminable
moments before he barked, "Well?"
"Ang . . . Angus," the old ranch hand stuttered, "I know
what you're gonna say. I ... f*cked up sumthin' royal, but