Chapter Thirteen #2
Most likely, the sheriff had more pressing matters on his hands, like the investigation of Chet Barr’s fatal plane crash.
Or maybe there was nothing new to report.
At least it might be helpful to know whether Hayden had flown home or stayed here in Las Vegas.
Sam had kept his eyes open, but he hadn’t seen Hayden since yesterday.
Several questions troubled Sam. Why hadn’t Hayden flown directly home after Chet’s death—or at least after winning the cutting competition? Was it Hayden who’d made the mysterious call to Darrin, or could it have been someone else? And where had Hayden been when Darrin was killed by the horse?
Hayden had shown a puzzling lack of grief over Chet’s death, and he’d barely acknowledged the pregnant fiancée who’d perished with him. Sam was aware that Chet wasn’t Hayden’s natural father. Still …
But what was the use of letting his mind wander in circles when the results of the DNA test could solve his case? He was here to do one job. And distraction was only a waste of time and energy.
He signed for the breakfast and wandered back through the lobby.
The casino was already coming to life, the slots dinging, the wheels spinning.
Country music blasted from speakers in the background.
He’d long since grown tired of hearing that music everywhere.
There were times, like now, when he would give anything for some good New Orleans jazz.
Sam wandered outside for some quiet. The parking lot was already full.
The Run for a Million would be starting at 6:30, preceded by a new competition.
The Race to the Slide, with its $70,000 prize for the fastest and longest slide to a stop, was scheduled for 5:00.
By the time the pre-show started at 6:00, the main arena would be filled with cheering fans.
Spotting Hayden in the crowd wouldn’t be easy, but Sam would keep his eyes open.
Roper was the prime suspect in Frank’s murder.
But the lab would also have a sample of Frank’s DNA.
If the trace in the hypodermic was a Culhane family match, the suspects would be narrowed down to three—Darrin, Jasmine, and, by elimination, Hayden, which would mean more testing for a final result.
Sam’s money would be on Darrin—a relief to everyone concerned.
The blazing sun, reflecting off the cars, was making Sam’s migraine worse.
He turned around and went back into the hotel.
The urge to call Jasmine was a constant burning.
By now, he couldn’t even be sure where she was.
She could have caught an early plane back to California.
She could have been caught up in Darrin’s funeral arrangements.
Or she could still be in her room at the Excalibur, passing the time while she waited for her Sunday flight.
Sam had booked his own flight back to Abilene for late the same day.
He had promised to be there on Monday morning so Nick could start his cancer treatments.
By then, if he hadn’t arrested Frank’s killer, the case would either be closed or given to another agent.
When, or even whether, he would see Jasmine again remained to be seen.
He checked his phone again. No calls. With a curse of frustration, he pushed the elevator button and headed back to his room. For now, he was up against a wall. There was nothing to do but wait.
Sunlight glittered on the surface of the L-shaped swimming pool, one of several in the Excalibur’s vast outdoor complex.
The pool was surrounded by desert palm trees and separated from the outside world by a high wall.
Tourist kids splashed in the shallows and dived into the deep end, while parents watched from the sidelines, their well-oiled bodies basking in the midday heat.
Jasmine reclined in a lounge chair, her face protected by sunglasses and shaded by a floppy-brimmed hat. Her long, golden legs lay exposed to the sun, displaying toenails that had been painted a jewel-like turquoise in the hotel beauty salon.
Checking the time on her phone, she sighed. Coming here to be with Sam had been a disastrous mistake. She could hardly wait to climb onto that plane tomorrow and fly back to California.
She’d had such hopes, but after a wonderful reunion the first night, everything had gone downhill.
Sam couldn’t be with her—not only because he was working but because he couldn’t be seen with anyone who might be a suspect in her father’s murder.
Then Darrin and Simone had seen them and tried to blackmail her. And then—
Despite the blistering heat, a shudder passed through her body.
She’d never gotten along with her brother.
But she’d never wanted him dead. And now, with Sam out of touch, nobody was telling her anything.
She didn’t even know when and where the funeral service would be held or where Darrin would be buried.
If Simone was in charge, she might not even be invited.
One person might know what was going on—Mariah usually had her ear to the ground. And Jasmine had always looked on her as an ally. Scolding herself for not having thought of it sooner, she took her phone from her purse and scrolled to the house number at the Culhane ranch.
“Hello, honey.” The voice of the Culhanes’ longtime cook and housekeeper reached out to her over the phone like a warm hug. “I was hoping to hear from you. You must be devastated about your brother—especially that awful way he died. Have you been able to reach your mother?”
“Mother’s gone underground, if she’s even in the country. She won’t know about Darrin unless she sees the story in the news. I keep hoping to hear from her, but so far, there’s been nothing.”
“Well, don’t you worry. Your mother’s a smart woman. She can take care of herself. You’ll hear from her when she feels safe to make contact.”
“You were always a good friend to her, Mariah.”
“Well, she and your dad always took good care of me. I miss them both. And you.” Mariah sounded as if she might be wiping away tears. “Now, is there anything I can do for you?”
“I just need to know about Darrin’s funeral,” Jasmine said. “I suppose I should be there, out of courtesy to Simone.”
“There isn’t going to be a funeral,” Mariah said.
“Simone was too distraught for a funeral—she was right there when he was killed, you know. She had his remains cremated and sent to her in Dallas. Lord knows what she plans to do with them. Put them on the mantel maybe, the poor thing. At least the baby seems to be all right. Her mother—that’s who I talked to—says it’s a boy.
Darrin never knew. He would have been so pleased. ”
“That’s a shame. I suppose most of his estate will go to Simone and the baby. That’s no problem for me. But some things will need to be sorted out. Does Simone still want to fight Lila for the house?”
Mariah sighed. “I don’t think she’s got the energy for it.
Now that Darrin is gone, she might be happier someplace close to her family.
Too bad. I would’ve enjoyed helping raise a little Culhane boy here.
Lila will probably flood the place with those trashy McKennas.
I made it clear that if she did, I wouldn’t be staying on. I’ve got my standards.”
“And how are you, Mariah? I haven’t asked.”
“Oh, my health is fine. And I’m enjoying the peace and quiet of an empty house. You’ve no need to worry on my account.”
“Good to know. I wish we could talk longer, but it’s getting noisy here by the pool. Call me if you get any news.”
Mariah hung up the landline phone in the kitchen.
Jasmine was a dear—the closest thing to a daughter Mariah had ever known.
She would be welcome in the house. But she was a free spirit who’d never be happy settling down on a Texas ranch.
She’d most likely marry that FBI man and end up living in some big city.
Let her go, Mariah told herself as she cleared off the parlor coffee table and polished the glass surface. With Madeleine’s disappearance, Jasmine’s indifference, Frank’s murder, and now Darrin’s tragic death, there was nothing left of the family she’d served for half her life.
She’d come here as the bride of a ranch hand and found a place in the kitchen.
When her husband had been killed and she’d lost the baby she was carrying, it was Madeleine and Frank who’d supported her, paid her expenses, and given her time off to recover.
Their kindness had won her loyalty forever, even after their divorce.
But that wasn’t all.
Frank’s framed photo stood on the mantel.
Even after his death, his smiling presence seemed to dominate the room.
Mariah took the picture down and held it between her hands.
Madeleine had shown her kindness after her husband’s death.
But it was Frank, and his late-night visits to her room, who’d made her feel like a woman again.
If Madeleine had known about those visits, she’d had the grace to keep silent. As for Lila—she hadn’t known, of course, or Mariah would’ve been sent packing.
The trysts had grown less frequent with the years and finally ceased altogether. Mariah suspected that it was because her youth had faded. Even so, when Frank was killed, she had felt his loss as keenly as if she’d been widowed again.
Mariah replaced the photograph and surveyed the parlor with its comfortable leather furniture and stone fireplace.
Through the archway lay the dining room with its great slab of a table and the kitchen, her true domain.
This house had been her home for more than half her life.
If things had gone differently, she might have been its mistress, with the designer clothes, the fancy cars, and the shared king-sized bed in the master suite upstairs. But that dream had never come true.