“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.”
Chapter 5
“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 high-falutin’ 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 built 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… fucked up sumthin’ royal, but I swear to God I didn’t mean to. You know how it’s said that all cats look gray in the dark? Well, damned if it ain’t true of horses, too. ’Specially if you’ve got a pint of Four Roses sloshing around in yore gut.” He smiled, revealing that what few teeth he had remaining were black with decay.
Angus wasn’t amused. “You’re wrong, Pasty. That isn’t what I was going to say. What I was going to say is that you’re fired.”
Junior shot up out of the leather love seat. “Dad!” Angus shot him a hard look that quelled any further interference.
Pasty’s face turned pale. “You cain’t mean that, Angus. I’ve been here nigh on thirty years.”
“You’ll get fair severance pay—a damned sight more than you deserve.”
“But… but—”
“You put a colt into a paddock with ten high-strung fillies. What if he’d mounted one of them? That one from Argentina was in there. Any idea what that horse is worth, Pasty—over half a million. If she’d been injured or come in foal by that randy colt…” Angus blew out a gust of air. “Jesus, I can’t even bear to think about the mess that would’ve put us in. If one of the other hands hadn’t caught your mistake, I could have been out millions, and the reputation of this ranch would have been shot to hell.”
Pasty swallowed with difficulty. “Give me one more chance, Angus. I swear—”