Best Kept Secrets(25)

today."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh," he said, taking both her hands. "To invite you

out to the house for drinks."



Seven



She had been expected. That much was evident from the

moment Junior escorted her across the threshold of the sprawling

two-story house on the Minton ranch. Eager to study her

suspects in their own environment, she had agreed to follow

Junior home from the cemetery.

As she entered the living room, however, she couldn't help

wondering if perhaps she was being manipulated, rather than

the other way around.

Her determination to proceed with caution was immediately

put to the test when Angus strode across the spacious room

and shook her hand.



"I'm glad Junior found you and convinced you to come,"

he told her as he helped her out of her coat. He tossed the

fur jacket at Junior. "Hang that up, will ya?" Looking at

Alex with approval, he said, "I didn't know how you'd take

our invitation. We're pleased to have you."

"I'm pleased to be here."

"Good," he said, rubbing his hands together. "What'll

you have to drink?"

"White wine, please," she said. His blue eyes were

friendly, but she found them disquieting. He seemed to see

beyond the surface and lay bare the emotional insecurities

she kept heavily camouflaged with competency.

"White wine, huh? Can't stand the stuff myself. Just as

well be drinking soda pop. But that's what my wife drinks.

She'll be down directly. You sit there, Alexandra."

"She likes to be called Alex, Dad," Junior said as he

joined Angus at the built-in wet bar to mix himself a scotch

and water.

' 'Alex, huh?'' Angus carried a glass of wine to her. ' 'Well,

I guess that name suits a lady lawyer."

It was a backhanded compliment, at best. She let her thank-you

suffice for both the remark and the wine. "Why did you

invite me here?"

He seemed momentarily nonplussed by her directness, but

answered in kind. "There's too much water under the bridge

for us to be enemies. I want to get to know you better."

"That's the reason I came, Mr. Minton."

"Angus. Call me Angus." He took a moment to study

her. "How come you wanted to be a lawyer?"

"So I could investigate my mother's murder."

The answer came to her lips spontaneously, which astonished

not only the Mintons, but Alex herself. She had never

verbalized that as being her goal before. Merle Graham must

have spoon-fed her doses of determination, along with her

vegetables.

With that public admission also came the private realization

that she was her own chief suspect. Grandmother Graham



had said she was ultimately responsible for her mother's

death. Unless she could prove otherwise, she would carry

that guilt with her for the rest of her life. She was in Purcell

County to exonerate herself.

"You certainly don't mince words, young lady," Angus

said. "I like that. *footing is a waste of my time."

"Of mine, too," Alex said, remembering her concurrent

deadlines.

Angus harrumphed. "No husband? No kids?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Dad," Junior said, rolling his eyes, embarrassed by his

father's lack of tact.

Alex was amused, not offended. "I don't mind, Junior,

really. It's a common question."

"Got an answer to it?" Angus took a swig from his long-neck.

"No time or inclination."

Angus grunted noncommittally. "Around here, we've got

too much time and not enough inclination." He shot Junior

a withering glance.

"Dad's referring to my failed marriages," Junior told their

guest.

"Marriages? How many have there been?"

"Three," he confessed with a wince.

"And no grandbabies to show for any of them," Angus

grumbled like a foul-natured bear. He aimed a chastising

index finger at his son. "And it's not like you don't know

how to breed."

"As usual, Angus, your manners in front of company are

deplorable."

Simultaneously, the three of them turned. A woman was

standing in the open doorway. Alex had painted a mental

picture of what Angus's wife would be like--strong, assertive,

feisty enough to meet him toe to toe. She would typify

the coarse, horsy type who rode to hounds and spent more

time wielding a quirt than a hairbrush.

Mrs. Minton was the antithesis of Alex's mental picture.



Her figure was willowy, her features as dainty as those on a

Dresden figurine. Graying blond hair curled softly about a