And The Winner--Weds!

“No one.” The sheriff adjusted his holster, his expression uneasy. He cleared his throat. “We’re still investigating your uncle.”

Frannie nodded slowly. Her mother’s brother had died before Frannie was old enough to remember him, but she’d heard plenty of tales about him. According to her mother, Jeremiah had been cold-hearted, bigotted and controlling. Based on what she’d heard about him, Frannie wasn’t at all surprised that he was a suspect. Jeremiah’s hatred of Raven Hunter was well known.

“We’d like to talk to your mom and your aunt again, to see if they remember anything else about the night Raven disappeared,” Rafe said gently.

“I’m afraid Mom’s in Minnesota. Dad’s mother just had hip replacement surgery, and so Mom and Dad went to stay with her for a while while she recovers.”

“When will they get back?” Gretchen asked, pulling a small notebook out of her tote bag.

“I don’t know exactly. But I can give you a phone number where you can reach them.”

“Thanks. I can take her statement over the phone.”

Rafe glanced at Gretchen. “And if need be, we can get the police in Minnesota to take a deposition from them.”

Frannie rounded the front desk, flipped through a Rolodex file and located the number. She wrote it on a slip of white paper. “Here it is.” She handed the number to Gretchen. “I’m afraid Mom won’t be much help to you, though. As she told Rafe, she was in Bozeman when Raven disappeared.”

Gretchen tucked the number into a pocket of her folder. “Well, we’ll give her a call and get an official statement.”

“What about Celeste?” the sheriff asked, leaning on the front desk. “Is she around?”

“Yes. She’s upstairs, resting.”

Rafe’s brow pulled together. “I thought she was always up at the crack of dawn.”

“She usually is. But she hasn’t been herself lately. She hasn’t slept well for the last couple of weeks.”

The sheriff glanced at Gretchen. “That’s about how long it’s been since we found Raven’s skeleton.”

Gretchen nodded, then turned to Frannie. “Could I talk to your aunt?”

“Of course.” Frannie motioned toward to the large silver coffee urn that sat on a sideboard in the hall, next to a stack of cups, spoons and cloth napkins. They always kept it filled in the mornings for the convenience of their guests. “Help yourselves to some coffee. I’ll go get her and we’ll join you in the living room.”

Frannie climbed the winding staircase, headed down the long hall, then turned right at the end, where it intersected a shorter hallway. She stopped at the second door and knocked softly. “Aunt Celeste?”

“Come in, dear.”

She found Celeste sitting in a rocker by the window, her eyes closed. Frannie paused. She was used to seeing her aunt bustling around the house, full of energy and vitality, tending to everyone else’s needs. It was disturbing, seeing her so still in the middle of the day.

“Aunt Celeste?” She hesitantly stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Rafe and a new detective are here. They want to ask you some more questions about the night Raven disappeared.”

Celeste opened her eyes and gave a long, deep sigh that sounded as if it came from the depths of her soul. “Fine. I’ll talk to them.” She got up from the rocker. “But I’ve already told Rafe what I know.”

The forlorn, troubled look on Celeste’s face touched Frannie’s heart.

At least Rafe was an old family friend, she thought as she followed her aunt downstairs. That should make the interview process easier on Celeste.

The sheriff stood as they entered the room.

Celeste mustered a warm, hospitable smile and kissed him on the cheek. “Hello, Rafe, dear. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you, too, ma’am.”

“How are your lovely wife and child?”

The lawman’s face softened. “Raeanne’s just fine. And Skye keeps us plenty busy.”

Celeste smiled. “I bet she does. You’ll have to bring her by.”

“I’ll do that.” Rafe turned and gestured to Gretchen. “Celeste, I’d like you to meet Gretchen Neal, my newest detective. Gretchen, this is Celeste Monroe.”

Celeste nodded. “It’s a pleasure.” She shook Gretchen’s hand, then waved her palm toward one of two mission-style sofas that faced each other in front of the massive stone fire place. “Please have a seat.”

Rafe and Gretchen lowered themselves onto one of the sofas. Frannie sat beside Celeste on the opposite one, across the heavy oak coffee table.

Rafe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I suppose Frannie told you I’ve put Gretchen in charge of the investigation into Raven Hunter’s death.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Celeste, but she’d like to ask you some questions you and I have already discussed.”

Gretchen pulled a small tape recorder out of her black leather tote bag. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

Celeste looked questioningly at Frannie, her green eyes round. Frannie nodded encouragingly.

“I—I suppose that would be all right,” Celeste conceded.

Gretchen punched a button on the machine and placed it on the coffee table, then opened her notebook and pulled out a pen. “Let’s start at the beginning, then, Mrs. Monroe. Would you please describe the relationship between your brother Jeremiah and Raven Hunter?”

Celeste eyed her warily. “What do you mean?”

“Were they friendly? Did they get along?”

Celeste wound her fingers together in her lap and stared down at them. “No. Not at all.”

“Why not?”

Celeste took a deep breath and exhaled it in a sigh. “My sister Blanche was in love with Raven. She wanted to marry him, but Jeremiah wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” Celeste looked at Rafe pleadingly. “I hate to speak ill of the dead. We don’t know if they can hear us.”

Rafe’s eyes were sympathetic, but his tone was firm. “You need to tell us everything you know, Celeste. We need all of the facts.”

Celeste nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She took another deep breath. “Well, I’m afraid Jeremiah was something of a racist. He didn’t want a Kincaid from our side of the family to marry an Indian. And Raven, of course, was Cheyenne.”

“Did Raven and Jeremiah have an argument about it?”

“Oh, many. Jeremiah forbade Blanche to see Raven.”

“Did Blanche routinely do what Jeremiah told her to do?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. We all did—me, Blanche, and Yvette. After our parents died, Jeremiah ran the family. He was very strong-willed.”

“You and your sisters lived with Jeremiah at that time?”

“Yes. In the old house.”

Rafe turned to Gretchen. “Garrett’s Kincaid’s place now. It was boarded up for years until he moved in a couple years ago.”

Gretchen jotted the information down in her notebook, then looked at Celeste. “Did your brother own a gun, Mrs. Monroe?”

Celeste’s fingers tensed in her lap. “Yes. He had a whole collection.”

“Did he have a pistol in his gun collection?”

“Several.”

“Where did he keep that gun collection?”

“In his study. He had a glass case built into the wall for it. He was very proud of it.”

“What happened to those guns?”

“I—I don’t know. I imagine they’re all still in the house.”

Gretchen and Rafe exchanged another look, and Gretchen scribbled another notation. At length she looked back up at Celeste. “I’d like to get back to the topic of Blanche and Raven. Did Blanche follow Jeremiah’s orders to stay away from Raven?”

The older woman stared down at her hands. “No.” She shifted uneasily and plucked at the fabric of her skirt. “She continued to see him. And she became pregnant with his child.” Her eyes took on a gentler look. “With Summer.”

“What was Jeremiah’s reaction to that?”

“Oh, my.” Celeste’s fingers twisted and untwisted the fabric. Her forehead creased in a frown. “Oh, dear. I—I really don’t remember. I know he was upset. I know Blanche and Raven planned to run away and elope. But my…my memory about those days is all kind of a blur.”

“Do you remember when Blanche told him she was pregnant?”

Celeste shook her head. “Blanche didn’t want to tell him. She kept putting it off. But as time went on, it became impossible to hide her condition. And when Jeremiah found out, he—” Celeste broke off.

“He what?”

Celeste pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m not really sure. Everything about that time gets all jumbled up in my mind.”

Gretchen leaned forward. “This is really important, Mrs. Monroe.”

“I—I’m afraid I’m getting a terrible headache. Everything is all mixed up and confused.”

“Take your time, Celeste,” Rafe said soothingly. “Do you remember anything at all about that time?”

Celeste leaned her head back against the sofa and wound the fabric of her skirt around her index finger. “Let me see… Well, I remember Summer’s birth. I was there, you know, when Blanche gave birth. And I was there when she died of complications, a week afterward.” Celeste grew silent. “I promised her that Yvette and I would raise her baby. Jeremiah didn’t want us to, but we did.”

“You and Yvette did a fine job of that,” Rafe said softly.

Celeste smiled. “We did, didn’t we?”

“Yes, indeed. And I’m sure Gavin agrees.” Rafe returned her grin. After a companionable silence, he pressed forward. “Do you remember anything about Jeremiah’s reaction to Blanche’s pregnancy?”

“No. But I remember something Blanche told me about it after Raven was gone.”

“What?” Gretchen took over the questioning.

“She said that Jeremiah tried to pay Raven to leave town.”

“Did she think Raven took the money and left?”

“Oh, no. Raven had told her about the offer. He said at first he thought it would be best if he accepted it—that Blanche and the baby would have a better life without him. But when push came to shove, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break Blanche’s heart like that. He loved her—everyone knew that. He told her he was going to give back the money….”

“So he’d taken the money?” Gretchen asked.

Celeste massaged her right temple. Her eyes looked dazed and confused, and her face had grown pale. “I—I guess. I don’t know. I—I really can’t remember.”

Gretchen glanced at the sheriff.

“Do you remember the night Raven disappeared?” Rafe asked.

Celeste shook her head.

“When was the last time you saw Raven?” Gretchen asked.

“I—I don’t know. I’m all confused. And my head…” Celeste pressed her palm against her forehead.

Frannie noted with alarm that Celeste’s hand was trembling. She put an arm around the older woman. “She hasn’t been sleeping well,” she said apologetically to Rafe and Gretchen. “I think she needs to go back upstairs and lie down.”

“Yes. I think I should. I—I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Celeste said weakly.

Gretchen and Rafe exchanged a meaningful glance, then both simultaneously rose from the sofa. Celeste and Frannie rose, as well.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Monroe,” Gretchen said. “I hope you get to feeling better.”

“Me, too.” Rafe studied the older woman, his dark eyes thoughtful. “Give me a call if you remember anything you think might help us, all right?”

“I will.”

“I’ll see our visitors out, Aunt Celeste,” Frannie said. “You go on upstairs.”

“All right. Goodbye.” Celeste shuffled from the room, looking old and wan.

Rafe gazed after her for a long moment, then turned to Frannie. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Frannie smiled at Gretchen. “It was nice meeting you, Gretchen.”

“Nice meeting you, too.”

“Good luck with your investigation.”

“Thanks. With a thirty-year-old murder case, we’re likely to need it.” Gretchen tucked her pen and notebook into her tote bag, then looked at Frannie. “Has your aunt ever told you anything about that night?”

Frannie shook her head. “She never talks about Jeremiah.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

Frannie lifted her shoulders. “Celeste is very superstitious. She used to live in Baton Rouge, and she picked up a lot of Cajun beliefs about spirits and such. She’s probably afraid Jeremiah will hear her talking about him. My mom said all of them were afraid of Jeremiah. He evidently had quite a temper.”

“Hmm,” Gretchen murmured. “Well, I’m sorry if we upset your aunt.”

Rafe followed the detective out the front door, then paused on the porch. He turned to Frannie. “Have a good day. And thanks for your time.”

“Any time.”

The sheriff paused, his hand on the door. “We’ll probably need to come back and question Celeste again.”

“I understand.”

Frannie leaned against the door as soon as she closed it behind the sheriff. Aunt Celeste was one of the kindest, warmest, most helpful women she’d ever known. She was a natural-born nurturer, and she’d always been open and straightforward.

Her reluctance to talk about Jeremiah and her inability to recall the events surrounding Raven’s death struck Frannie as highly unusual. The sheriff and his new investigator seemed to think so, too. There was more to the story than Celeste was telling, and Frannie couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

Three

Frannie looked up from a stack of loan applications late the next morning to see a familiar figure in a white physician’s coat approach her desk at the Whitehorn Savings and Loan. “Summer! What brings you here?”

“You do.” Summer sat in the armchair across from the desk and grinned at her cousin. “Jasmine tells me you’ve agreed to let us give you a makeover.”

Frannie shifted uneasily in her desk chair. She’d told Jasmine yesterday that she’d go along with Summer’s plan, but now she was having second thoughts. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and—”

“Oh, no,” Summer broke in, lifting her hands in a stop gesture. “We’re not going to let you back out now. I’ve already told Kyle that his date with you is confirmed.”

“Confirmed!” Frannie’s eyebrows flew up. “What do you mean, confirmed?”

Summer’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Gavin and I ran into Kyle at the country club Saturday night, and I asked if he’d be interested in having me fix him up with you for the dance. He seemed quite eager.”

Probably because he thinks I look like you. Frannie eyed her cousin suspiciously. “Saturday night? But how did you know I’d agree?”

Summer didn’t even pretend to look apologetic. “I didn’t.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “Anyway, here’s your first assignment.”

“Assignment?”

Summer nodded. “Jasmine and I are going to give you assignments, and you’re going to follow them exactly.”

Oh, dear, what had she let herself in for? Summer’s take-charge attitude and sense of initiative had served her well—it had helped her work her way through medical school, and she’d used it to see her husband through a difficult episode when he’d been falsely accused of a crime—but sometimes Summer could make Frannie feel as if she’d been hit by a steam roller. She eyed her cousin warily. “What kind of assignments?”

Summer handed Frannie the clipping. Frannie glanced down at it, then looked up quizzically. “This is an ad for Kiss of Dew makeup and skin care products.”

Summer nodded. “A representative is giving free facials and makeup lessons at Kaylor’s Drug Store today. I want you to go on your lunch hour.”

Summer read the clipping more closely. “It says you have to call and schedule an appointment.”

“I’ve already done it for you. I know you take a late lunch, so your appointment is set for one.”

“Summer, I usually eat lunch on my lunch hour.”

“As a physician, I’m fully aware of your nutritional needs.” Summer took out a packaged sandwich from her purse. “That’s why I brought you this from the hospital vending machine.”

Frannie sighed as Summer set the sandwich on her desk. “You’re a real piece of work, Summer. You know that, don’t you?”

Summer flashed a blinding smile. “So I hear.” She glanced at her watch and rose from the chair. “I have to get to the clinic. I’ll stop by the Big Sky on my way home this evening to see how your makeup looks.” She hoisted her large purse on her shoulder and raised a hand as she walked away. “Ta-ta!”

Frannie watched her go, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Why had she ever agreed to this silly plan? She’d be better off taking an assertiveness training class—or lessons in basket weaving or tea cozy knitting or trapeze flying. Then, at least, she’d stand a ghost of a chance of succeeding.

“We need the smoothest skin possible under our foundation, so we’re going to start with this lovely kiwi avocado skin mask.”

The Kiss of Dew cosmetics representative evidently spoke of everything in terms of “we.” She’d already told Frannie that “we” had beautiful skin. All the same, she’d spent the past five minutes preparing it for a beautifying skin treatment.

Frannie winced as the stocky middle-aged woman poured a mound of green slime into her palm and picked up a cotton ball. “Is this really necessary?”

The heavily made-up lady nodded, jiggling her well-powdered multiple chins. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. Why, it’s part of our Essential Exfolliants and Emollients Kiss Kollection.”

Frannie glanced at the bottle and wondered if it was merely a coincidence that the initials spelled out EEEKK. That was certainly her reaction to the prospect of having the green goo slathered all over her face.

Especially in such a public setting, Frannie thought morosely. Right in the drugstore window.

Oh, well. Frannie had already endured having her face cleaned and swabbed with two different potions while passersby stopped and gawked. Wearing the green goop couldn’t be too much more humiliating. Folding her arm under the black cosmetics cape, she closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable.

The woman began dabbing the cold, gooey substance on her face. “There. Doesn’t that feel refreshing?”

It felt like having a mixture of gelatin and undiluted pea soup globbed on her skin. Frannie pulled her lips into an expression simulating a smile and tried not to cringe as the woman smeared the thick paste across her forehead, over her nose, on her cheeks and down her chin.

“There! We’re all done.” The woman held a mirror up to Frannie’s face.

She looked as if she’d just stepped off a space shuttle from Mars. The only parts of her face that weren’t vivid green were her eyelids and her lips.

“Now all we have to do is sit and wait fifteen minutes while the mask works its magic,” the woman said perkily, batting her false eye lashes. “Then we’ll sponge it off and apply your makeup.”

Great. Fifteen minutes of sitting in the front window of Kaylor’s, looking like Swamp Thing. The only good thing about it was that nobody would be likely to recognize her under all that gunk.

Frannie pulled on her eyeglasses and stared out at Main Street, noting that there seemed to be more traffic than usual. Three yellow dump trucks cruised slowly past in single file, heading toward the resort and casino construction site.

She was following their progress when a small black-and-white object on the sidewalk across the street caught her eye. It was a dog, Frannie realized—an adorable, tiny dog with a puglike face and long, fluffy hair, probably a Shih Tzu. As Frannie watched in horror, the little dog wandered into the street and narrowly missed being hit by a passing blue van. The animal headed back to the curb, but a white Chevy cruised by, forcing the dog into the center of the road. Turning, the little dog skulked down the yellow line in the middle of the street, its tail tucked between its legs.

Frannie tensed. The dog was in front of the drugstore window now, directly in her line of vision. Judging from the rhinestone-studded collar and red bow, it was obviously someone’s pampered pet.

The little animal timidly started across the street again, heading right into the path of a red sports coupe. Frannie gasped as the driver swerved and honked. She didn’t realize she’d shut her eyes until she opened them a second later to see the little dog cowering in the street, its tail tucked, as the red car zoomed past.

Before she had time to consider her actions, Frannie flew off the stool, dashed through the drugstore and ran out the door. She stood on the sidewalk for a second, scanning the street for the little dog, then spotted it standing in the middle of the eastbound lane. The creature’s big brown eyes gazed at her pleadingly as it cringed in the road, directly in the path of a sleek black Jaguar rapidly barreling toward it.

“Stop!” Frannie yelled, waving her arms and stepping toward the road. The car showed no signs of slowing. The driver honked, but continued to speed toward the little dog.

“Don’t hit the dog!” Frannie screamed. The driver either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

There was no time to waste. Frannie dashed into the street, the black plastic cape flapping wildly around her. She threw herself headlong at the little dog, clutched it to her chest and rolled onto the pavement, praying she was rolling out of harm’s way.

She heard the squeal of brakes and smelled the burn of rubber. When she opened her eyes, she was facedown on the pavement, so close to the concrete that the pebbles in it looked like boulders.

She slowly lifted her gaze to see the bumper of the Jaguar less than a foot away. It was a good thing she was lying down. Otherwise, she surely would have fainted.

The driver’s door jerked open, and an angry man climbed out. His face was so mottled with rage that it took her moment realize that it was Lyle Brooks, the owner of the Whitehorn-based construction company building the resort and casino.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, running in front of my car like that?” Lyle demanded.

Frannie gazed down at the black and white dog wriggling in her arms. “I was saving this dog.”

“To hell with the dog! He’s not big enough to have caused any damage to my car. You, on the other hand, are a different story. Do you have any idea what it would have done to my insurance premiums to have an accident like that?”

Frannie gasped. She knew who Lyle was—his picture had been in all the papers when he won the contract for the casino and resort—but she’d never met him before, even though he was a distant Kincaid cousin. She’d heard he was callous and hard-hearted, but she’d always figured the stories were exaggerated. She was beginning to think differently.

“Your insurance premiums wouldn’t have been nearly as high as your court costs and bail bond,” said a low male voice from behind her, a familiar smoky voice, full of unfamiliar, barely controlled anger. “I saw the whole thing, and it looked to me like you were speeding. And I’d testify to that in a court of law.”

Frannie turned to see Austin Parker behind her, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a hard, ungiving line.

The woman on the pavement stared up at him, her strangely familiar hazel eyes huge in her bright green face. Under any other circumstances Austin was sure he’d be amused, but what he’d just witnessed left him too shaken and angry to feel any sense of humor.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He reached down a hand and helped her up. The moment he touched her, he knew why she looked familiar. This was the woman from the bed-and-breakfast—the one who’d fallen over her chair when he first met her, then spilled egg all over both of them. He peered at her curiously.

“Frannie?”

“Yes?”

How the devil had her face gotten in that condition? “You didn’t just try to serve someone something green, did you?”

She looked at him blankly, then pulled her hand away to get a better grip on the dog, who was licking her cheek with gusto. Comprehension dawned. “Oh. N-no. I was having a facial.”

Austin turned back toward the driver of the Jaguar, a feeling of distaste rising in his throat. Even if he hadn’t just seen the man nearly run down a helpless animal with what looked like cold-blooded deliberation, he was certain he would have disliked him on sight. His lips were set in what looked like perpetual disdain, and he had a foppish, overly groomed look that spoke of self-absorption. His perfectly combed hair was so heavily moussed and gelled that the wind lifted it as a single unit. He wore a Rolex watch on his left wrist and a pinky ring on each hand. A gold chain was visible at the open neck of his custom-made shirt.