Best Kept Secrets(45)

"Since you started taking advantage. Like now."

"Don't give me any lip tonight." He was already at the

top of the stairs, heading toward her private room. "I don't

want conversation. I don't want to be entertained. I just want

to be screwed, okay?"

Propping her fist on a generous and shapely hip, the madam's

voice dripped sarcasm as she called up to him, "Do I

have time to put the cat out first?"



Alex was unable to sleep, so she was awake when the

telephone rang. It still alarmed her because of the hour. Instead

of turning on the nightstand lamp, she groped in the





darkness for the receiver and brought it to her ear. "Hello,"

she croaked, her voice hoarse from crying earlier. "Hello,"

she repeated.

"Hidy, Miz Gaither."

Her heart raced with excitement, but she said crossly,

"You again? I hope you're ready to talk, since you woke me

from a sound sleep." She'd learned from Greg that reluctant

witnesses were often more prone to talk when you diminished

the importance of what they might have to say.

"Don't go gettin' hoity-toity with me, little lady. I know

sumpthin' you want to know. Bad."

"Such as?"

"Such as who did in yore mama."

Alex concentrated on regulating her breathing. "I think

you're bluffing."

"I ain't."

"Then, tell me. Who was it?"

"You think I'm stupid, lady? You think Lambert ain't

bugged yore telephone?''

"You've seen too many movies.'' All the same, she looked

suspiciously at the receiver she held in her hand.

"You know where the Last Chance is?"

"I'll find it."

"Tomorrow evenin'." He specified a time.

"How'll I know you?"

"I'll know you."

Before she could say anything else, he hung up. Alex sat

on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring into the darkness.

She recalled Reede's warning about getting hurt. Her imaginative

mind conjured up all the horrible things that could

happen to a woman alone. By the time she lay back down,

her palms were sweating and sleep was even more elusive.



Thirteen





"You'll never guess what she's up to now."



Purcell County's sheriff lifted the steaming coffee mug to

his lips, blew into it, and sipped. It scorched his tongue. He

didn't care. He needed a fix of caffeine in the worst way.



' 'Who are we talking about?'' he asked the deputy who was

standing in the doorway of his private office, wearing a goofy

grin that annoyed the hell out of him. He didn't like guessing

games, and he was especially in no mood for one this morning.



The deputy jerked his head in the direction of the other

side of the building. "Our resident prosecutor with the baby

blues, perky tits, and the legs that go on forever." He kissed

the air with a noisy, juicy smack of his lips.



Reede slowly lowered his feet from the corner of his desk.

His eyes glittered with a frigid light. "Are you referring to

Miss Gaither?"



The deputy didn't have an overabundance of gray matter,

but he knew when he'd gone too far. "Uh, yeah. I mean,

yes, sir."



"Well?" Reede demanded darkly.



"That funeral parlor man, Mr. Davis, well, sir, he just

called, raisin' Cain on account of her. She's over there now

going through his files and all."



"What?"

"Yes, sir, that's what he said, Sheriff Lambert. He's good

and pissed off because--"



"Call him back and tell him I'm on my way." Reede was

already reaching for his coat. If the deputy hadn't sidestepped

quickly, he'd have been ran down as Reede rushed through the door.

He was impervious to the inclement weather that had kept

schools and most businesses closed. They could handle snow,

but an inch-thick sheet of ice covering everything was another

matter. Unfortunately, the sheriffs office never closed.

Mr. Davis met him at the door, anxiously wringing his

hands. "I've been in business for over thirty years and nothing

like this--nothing, Sheriff Lambert--has ever happened to

me before. I've had caskets disappear. I've been robbed. I

even had--"

"Where is she?" Reede barked, cutting short the funeral

director's litany.

The man pointed. Reede stamped toward the closed door

and wrenched it open. Alex, seated behind a desk, looked up

expectantly. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Good morning, Sheriff."