Best Kept Secrets(40)

continued to stare up at her, apparently thinking she was

certifiable. "Why would you want to do such a ghastly thing

as that?"

"I don't want to. I wouldn't ask for a court order if I didn't

think exhumation was absolutely necessary."

Having recovered some of his aplomb, he ungraciously

indicated a chair. "You might as well sit. Explain your reasons."

"A crime was committed, but I can find no incriminating

evidence."

"I told you you wouldn't," he exclaimed. "You didn't

listen. You came charging in here, slinging unfounded accusations,

bent on getting vengeance."

"That's not true," she denied evenly.

"That's how I read it. What does Pat Chastain have to say

about this?"

"The D.A. is unavailable. It seems he's spontaneously

taken a few days' vacation and gone hunting."

The judge harrumphed. "Sounds like a damn good idea to

me."

It sounded cowardly to Alex, and she'd been ready to chew

nails when the aloof Mrs. Chastain had informed her of it.

"Will you permit me to look for evidence, Judge?"

"There is no evidence," he stressed.

"My mother's remains might provide some."

"She was autopsied when she was killed. That was twenty-five

years ago, for crissake."

"With all due respect to the coroner at that time, he might

not have been looking for clues when the cause of death was



so readily apparent. I know an excellent forensic specialist

in Dallas. We use him frequently. If there is anything to be

found, he'll find it."

"I can guarantee you that he won't."

"It's worth a try, isn't it?"

He gnawed at the corner of his lip. "I'll take your request

under advisement."

Alex recognized a brush-off when she saw one. "I'd appreciate

an answer tonight."

"Sorry, Miss Gaither. The best I can do is think about it

overnight and give you an answer in the morning. Between

now and then, I hope you'll change your mind and withdraw

the request."

"I won't."

He stood up. "I'm tired, hungry, and damned perturbed

that you've put me in this awkward position." He aimed an

accusatory index finger at her. "I don't like messes."

"Neither do I. I wish this weren't necessary."

"It isn't."



"I believe it is," she countered stubbornly.

"In the long run, you'll be sorry you ever asked me for

this. Now, you've taken up enough of my time. Stacey will

be worried. Good night."

He marched from the room. A few seconds later, Mrs.

Lipscomb appeared in the doorway. Her eyelids were fluttering

with indignation. "Imogene told me you'd mean trouble

around here."

Alex swept past her and returned to her temporary office,

only long enough to retrieve her belongings. The drive out

to the Westerner took longer than usual because she got caught

up in Purcell's rush hour. To further complicate the snarled

traffic, it began to sleet.

Knowing she wouldn't want to go out again, she picked

up a box of carryout fried chicken. By the time she spread

the meal on the round table near the windows of her room,

the food was cold and tasted like cardboard. She promised

herself that she would buy some fruit and healthy snack food



to supplement her unbalanced diet, and maybe a bouquet of

flesh flowers to brighten the dismal room. She debated taking

down the lurid painting of the bullfighter that dominated one

wall. The swirling red cape and slavering bull were real

eyesores.

Loath to review her notes again, she decided to switch on

the TV. The HBO movie she watched was a comedy she

didn't have to think about. She was feeling better by the time

it was over, and decided to take a shower.

She had just dried off and wrapped her wet hair in a towel

when someone knocked on her door. Pulling on her long,

white terry cloth robe and knotting the tie at her waist, she

peered through the peephole.

She opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow.

"What are you, the Welcome Wagon?"

"Open the door," Sheriff Lambert said.

"What for?"

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"I'll tell you when I get inside." Alex didn't move. "Are

you going to open the door, or what?"

"I can talk to you from here."

"Open the friggin' door," he shouted. "I'm freezing my

balls off."

Alex slid the chain out of its mooring, then pulled the door

open and stood aside. Reede stamped his feet and brushed

off the ice pellets that were clinging to the fur collar of his