Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 4

"Its a surprise for Maggie," Mom said, looking proud. "It was Bobbys suggestion, something to lift her spirits."

"Good idea," I said, thinking Mom looked cute when shes smitten.

"Ive got a full day at the office tomorrow," Bobby said, explaining that his family business, Barker Oil, was getting into a bidding war over an oil company that had just recently gone up for sale. "The company president died suddenly. I figured if your mom and I were going to do this for Maggie, we needed to do it tonight."

"Well, it looks great. See you two at the house." That said, I drove up the driveway, parked the Tahoe, and got out. Then I decided to walk back to the gate for a little talk.

"Which oil company?" I asked Bobby, who was bending over, picking up the remains of the packing materials from the lights.

"What?" he said, looking at me over his shoulder.

"Which company are you bidding on?" I asked. "Is it Century Oil?"

"How did you know that?" he asked, standing beside me. He looked uneasy, as if called on something he found distasteful. "I hated to pick it up like this, but with the whole place in chaos after Billie c.o.x went and shot herself, the two old guys who own it are selling, and companies are lining up to put in a bid. Oil as high as it is right now, its a no-brainer. But how did you know?"

Ignoring his question, I asked, "Did you know c.o.x?"

"Sure," he said. "Great gal. Lots of fun, and a great businesswoman. I thought the world of Billie. Cant understand why shed do anything so blatantly stupid. Just not like her. That gal, why she was smart as a whip."

"Whens the last time you saw her?"

"A couple of weeks ago," he said. "We were getting ready to do a deal together, buy up an old field in East Texas and co-develop it. Combining our a.s.sets made it easier. Now, Im looking at buying the field alone, for Barker Oil. Its a good investment. Theyre widow wells, abandoned decades ago because it was too expensive to get to the oil. But we figured with prices so high and new technology, we could cash in, big time."

"Thats interesting, and Id love to hear about it sometime, maybe the same day we discuss the loan I need to take out to fill up my gas tank?" I interrupted.

"You know, finding more oil isnt a bad thing, Sarah," Bobby said, patiently. "More supply brings down prices, not raises them."

He, of course, had a point.

"We can argue about oil prices later," I offered. "But for now just tell me what youre hearing from folks in the oil patch. Whatre folks in the business saying about c.o.xs death?"

Mom moved forward, as interested as I was in hearing what Bobby had to say. He looked at both of us and a small smile inched across his face. "You know," he said, with a chuckle, "Ive been hoping to find a way to get this kind of attention from you two women. Didnt know all I had to do was spread a little gossip."

"Dont think of it as gossip. I have reasons for wanting to know," I told him. "What are you hearing?"

"Most folks dont think she did it, Sarah-killed herself, I mean," he said. "She was a gung-ho kind of gal, Billie was, but not the kind to do anything rash. Billie was young and aggressive. Under her, Century pulled together one h.e.l.l of a portfolio, one of the best in the industry for a medium-size company. With its share of this field we were buying, the company would have been the envy of nearly every privately owned oil company in Texas."

"Folks who arent questioning why she did it," I said. "What are they saying?"

Bobby sucked in a breath. It was obvious hed prefer not to talk about those rumors. My moms suitor was more the strong, quiet kind of man, one who offered a steady hand without a lot of fanfare. Id grown to believe that was what Mom saw in him, the same quality Id always recognized in her, someone there for the long haul, no matter what.

"Well, there are folks who say someone broke Billies heart," he said. "And there are others, a few, who, the way I hear it, are spreading rumors that shed been seeing a therapist, maybe because she was having a hard time splitting off from the guy. The way folks tell it, Billie had an affair of the heart that went wrong, because the man she was after was married."

Mom scowled, and I figured talk of an adulterous relationship had crossed the line for her. Shed never been one to approve of what she called "such shenanigans." Of course, she didnt know the reason for my questions, and, at least at this juncture, I preferred that no one, not even Bobby and Mom, know that I was looking into Billie c.o.xs suicide as a possible murder. If the news broke, it would only add fodder to the swirl of gossip around her death.

Appearing intent on changing the subject, Mom said, "Lets light this gate up and see how she looks."

Figuring I had enough information for the time being, I didnt object. "Good idea, Mom," I said. "It looks like I got here just in time for the grand unveiling."

With that, Mom bent down and plugged the cord into an outlet under the coach light on the post next to the gate. The lights flared, covering the arch over the gate like a bright, white rainbow, and we stood there for just a moment enjoying the view. "Beautiful," I said. "Just beautiful."

"It is pretty," Bobby agreed. "Maybe itll help give Maggie some peace about Emma Lou."

"You dont think the horse will make it, do you Bobby?" Mom said.

"I think the pinto will pull through, but that foal is in for one h.e.l.l of a fight," he admitted. "Id be willing to bring in a specialist, someone to treat the horses, if youd like, Nora?"

Mom thought about that a bit, but shook her head. "I trust Doc Larson," she said. "Hes been watching over our livestock for years. And I dont want to give Maggie false hope. If the foal comes too early, no vets going to be able to keep it alive. Seeing some expert will only give the wrong impression. At least for the next few days, until the mares pregnancy hits three hundred days, that foal is in G.o.ds hands, not ours."

"Youre right, of course," he said, and I saw him slip his arm around Moms waist.

"Well be up at the house in a few minutes, Sarah," Mom said, and I took that as my dismissal. As I headed toward the back door, I turned for another glimpse of the gate glowing in the night. Maggie would love it. Like the corral, the lights were another bit of heaven brought closer to earth. Mom looked happy, too. Bobby had her in his arms and they were locked into a long, slow kiss. I thought about how I missed those, and how I missed Bill, but I couldnt help but think that even with so much pain in the world, life had so much to cherish.

Inside the house, I found Maggie at the living room window, barefoot and in her nightgown, holding the blinds apart so she could see the gate. She must have expected me, because she didnt seem startled when I walked up behind her.

"Its wonderful, Mom. Dont you think so?" Maggie asked, staring out at the lights in the darkness.

"It is, Magpie," I agreed. "It truly is."

In the kitchen, I made myself a cup of Moms chamomile tea, and then decided on one last phone call before I turned in for the night.

"Was your sister having an affair?" I asked Faith Roberts.

"No, at least not lately," she said. "I thought awhile back there was someone, but I was never sure. For a time she seemed busier than usual, and I didnt hear from her like I typically do. She never told me about any particular man, although we usually shared everything in our lives. That stopped before her death, maybe a couple of weeks. I saw more of her, and things got back to normal. But even if Billie had an affair, she didnt kill herself over it."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Like I told you, those last weeks, Id never seen Billie look happier," she said.

"One last question," I said. "Was your sister seeing a therapist?"

The phone went quiet. "Well, I guess I should have told you about that," Faith said, finally. "But its not what you think. Shes not the usual kind of therapist. It wasnt because Billie was depressed."

"What kind was she seeing?"

Again, silence.

"Faith, I cant help if youre not honest with me."

She must have considered that and decided I was right. "My sister and I shared a belief in the supernatural. Perhaps thats why Im so certain shes communicating with me," Faith said. "The therapist she saw deals primarily in hypnosis and past lives."

"You want to say that again?" I asked.

"Past lives, like reincarnation," Faith said. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she realized how bizarre I thought this sounded. "I know its pretty unusual, but you really need to talk to Dr. Dorin. Sh.e.l.l explain it. Its not really that eccentric, I promise."

As I wrote down the doctors name and phone number, I thought that this just might be the oddest case of my career. If it werent for that bruise Dr. Joe showed me, by now I would have agreed with H.P.D.s conclusion and written the whole thing off. It didnt help my mood any when Faith said she had something else she wanted to tell me.

"This is the first evening since Billies death that six oclock came and went and nothing unusual happened," she said. "I think its because she knows youre going to help us."

"Ill do my best, Faith," I said. "But please remember, in the end it may turn out that H.P.D. is right, and your sisters death is a suicide."

Thinking about how much I would have liked it if Bill had dropped in to leave messages after his death, then shrugging off even the thought that that was possible, I hung up the telephone, and went into the living room to check on Maggie. She wasnt there, but I knew where to find her. I walked out to the shed, and there she was, in her soft flannel nightgown, slumped down in one of the old metal chairs, in a light sleep. I peeked in on Emma Lou, who slept peacefully in her temporary home. Confident that, at least for now, all was well, I nudged Maggie a bit, whispered her name, and she woke up. We were past the point where I could carry her. She opened her eyes, and I walked her down the hill. As we approached the house, she caught another glimpse of the Christmas light dream catcher over the gate, with Mom and Bobby still standing beneath it.

"It really is beautiful, Mom. Just like the stars," Maggie said. She smiled, and then cuddled against me for the rest of the walk into the house.

Eight.

Ca.s.sidy Collinss heart pounded so hard as she walked onto the stage, she worried it might rivet its way through her chest. She used to look forward to performances, but now they filled her with an acute dread, an overriding foreboding. Ive got to pull it together, she thought. I cant let this perv get to me.

Oblivious to her plight, all around her the San Diego audience cheered, called out to her, a sea of strangers that intensified her fears. Were they, as they appeared, simply a throng of parents, daughters, and sons? Were they all there just to have a good time? Or had something else brought one spectator to the concert?

He could be out there, she thought. He could be watching.

The tempo built, hard and solid, the music pulsing around her, and Ca.s.sidy concentrated on the beat, trying to ease her disquiet. The stage was her territory, where she felt the most alive. Im not going to let some dude with an overblown ego ruin this for me, she thought. He wont try anything, not here, not now, not with all these people watching. That creep wouldnt dare.

Behind her the band kicked into a hard-rocking number, and Ca.s.sidy relied on instinct for the dance moves that maneuvered her across the stage. In the audience, a girl in the front row reached up toward her, holding a red rose. Ca.s.sidy bent down to take it. As her hand closed around the stem, a searing pain pierced her palm. Four more dance steps and as she began the songs second verse, she threw the rose back into the audience, where a heaving patchwork of bodies rushed forward to catch it. Still singing, she glanced at her hand and saw red, a b.l.o.o.d.y smudge. She needed to be more careful. Leave the roses and take the daisies, she thought. Remember the thorns.

Per the routine, the dancers shadowed the superstar stage right, and she spun and fell back into a web of their bodies. They held her up by her extended arms, an ear-to-ear smile resolutely anch.o.r.ed on her face. Her hand throbbed and tears formed in her eyes, but from the audience, Ca.s.sidy appeared to be exhilarated by the excitement of being on stage.

In truth, she couldnt get him out of her mind.

Five rows back, she thought she saw a glint in the audience, something bright. She wondered if it could be a knife, and if the hand holding it belonged to Argus. It pa.s.sed quickly. Silly, she decided. Probably just one of those battery-operated fans, the ones with the whirly bird tips that light.

She shook it off.

Calm down, she thought. I have to relax before I drive myself crazy.

As the evening wore on, she sang, danced, and fought back waves of anxiety. Until, nearly an hour into the concert, after the fourth costume change, Ca.s.sidy realized she had only fifteen minutes left on stage. The concert was nearly over. For the first time that day, she began to loosen up. One more concert and nothing had happened. Im freaking myself out for no reason, she thought. This creep just gets off scaring people. If so, she a.s.sured herself, Argus had picked on the wrong girl. Life had fed Collins more than her share of pain, and shed always survived. She needed to take it one day at a time, and before long the stalker would be nothing more than a bad memory.

Suddenly, her in-ear monitor went dead, quiet.

Ca.s.sidy turned and looked at Jake, the audio guy, off in the wings, and saw him frantically search the sound mixer, flipping switches. The lights had all gone out, and nothing was working. He looked up at her and shook his head. Not a clue, he seemed to be saying.

Then, as unexpectedly as it clicked off, the equipment flicked back on. Dancing and singing her way across the stage, Ca.s.sidy trembled with relief. It was nothing, she chastised herself, a computer glitch.

Shaking it off, she sang as the dancers formed a circle around her for the songs finale. Ca.s.sidy moved into place, and the muscular young men dropped to their knees. Four grabbed her by her calves and thighs, lifting her up, until two moved beneath her and slipped her onto their shoulders. Ca.s.sidy thrust her arms up into a triumphant "V" and belted out the final refrain, just as again, without warning, her in-ear monitor went stone silent.

As the dancers walked the stage, displaying her in front of more than twenty thousand screaming fans, Ca.s.sidys monitor snapped back on. Rather than music, she heard a voice, an unfamiliar voice.

"Im here," he taunted, mocking her. He let lose a thick-throated laugh, and then whispered, "Im here, and Ive come for you."

Nine.

Theres no doubt about it: its easier to work one case at a time than balance multiple investigations. If I ever meet a cop who routinely has the luxury of focusing entirely on a single case, Im going to leave the rangers and sign on with her department, whether its Detroit, Miami, or Sacramento. So far, I sure havent been that lucky. That is, unless Im in crisis mode, like last year on the Lucas case. Thats different. But on your average day I work two, often three cases. Then there are the files sent in from across the state, the ones that pile up on my desk, waiting to be reviewed. Not to mention the cold cases, those Ive never been able to solve. Some nights, one or another wakes me up in a sweat, reminding me that I havent given the victims justice. Its a juggling act, trying not to let any case fall, afraid the one I drop is the one that takes me down. I love my work, but Id only been back on the job a day, and it was already getting wild.

Thats what I was thinking sitting in the Rice University Police office waiting for Sergeant Jim Herald. Emma Lou and I had both slept peacefully the prior night, not a blip on the baby-now-turned-horse monitor. Doc figured this was day number 299 of her pregnancy. Anything over three hundred and the foal had a chance. Aware that I had a full day ahead, I got up early, checked on the pinto, and then called Sergeant Herald to tell him Id be dropping by. If Faith was right and her dead sister was keeping tabs on me, for the time being Billie c.o.x was just going to have to trust that Id get back to her. Right now, Ca.s.sidy Collins and her stalker had my undivided attention.

Id asked Herald to get an update on our prime suspect, Justin Peterson, from his professor, and to find out where the piano protege was on the night Argus was in the audience in Las Vegas. Afterward, I planned a knock and talk. Id knock on Petersons door and talk my way in. The truth is that I didnt have nearly enough probable cause to get a search warrant, but I wanted a look inside his apartment. You can tell a lot about folks from the way they live.

At least that was the plan.

Fifteen minutes later than wed agreed, Sergeant Herald, a tall, angular man with hollow cheeks and a precisely cut brown flattop, walked in the door and guided me to his cubicle. Wed barely begun talking when my cell phone rang. I noticed the 213 area code, Los Angeles, and realized it was near dawn on the West Coast. This wasnt going to be good news.

"Argus was at Ca.s.sidys concert last night," Barron said. "You have to do something, Lieutenant Armstrong."

"Let me talk to her," a young female voice shouted in the background. "Theyre not taking this seriously. I want this perv stopped, now!"

"Im working on it, Ca.s.sie," Barron said. "Ill get it done!"

"Get real, Rick. Youve been handling this, okay, and what have you done to stop this creep?" the voice demanded. "Give me that stupid phone. From now on, I talk to the cops."

Barron must have handed over the telephone, for the next thing the girl said was directly to me, "I want you to take care of this Peterson jerk for real. Get him the h.e.l.l out of my face. You got that, cop?"

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Ca.s.sidy Collins, Lady Cop," she said. "And like I said, its like . . . this is it, you know? No more excuses. You need to arrest this jerk now."

"My name is Lieutenant Sarah Armstrong, and Im a Texas Ranger," I said. "If youll just explain to me what happened last night, perhaps I can help you."

"Rick told you. That Peterson guy showed up again, this time while I was onstage in front of twenty-thousand kids. All of a sudden the dude talks into my ear monitor. He was laughing and stuff, threatening me," she said. "You need to stop him, now. No excuses. I want this guy gone."

This case wasnt going to be easy, and it sure wasnt turning out to be fun. "Did Mr. Barron call San Diego P.D.?" I asked. "Did you file a report?"

"Weve filed enough paper to supply the johns in Caesars Palace. Ask me if it helped. It didnt," she said. "Ive had it with this dude. I cant go to bed without figuring hes outside my window. I just bought the hottest red Porsche, but I cant drive it without a bodyguard because this Argus dude could follow me. You getting this, cop? You understand?"

"Yes. I understand. And one more time, my name is Lieutenant Armstrong," I said. It shouldnt have mattered, but this was one irritating sixteen-year-old.

"Whatever. I dont care what your name is, Lady Cop. All I care about is that you catch this dude. Give him one of those lethal injections you Texans are so good at, and get the h.e.l.l rid of him."

There were things this kid was going to have to understand. "Despite stalking not being a death sentence offense, I recognize your need to find and stop this man," I said. "So tell me everything that happened last night, and maybe instead of attempting to bully me, you can help me figure out how to stop him."

The kid balked some, but got over my "dissing" her. By the time I hung up, I was not only convinced that when I returned to the ranch that night I would burn every one of Maggies Ca.s.sidy Collins CDs, but also that the ill-mannered pop star had more than enough justification to be frightened. It had to be unsettling to be up on a stage in front of thousands of strangers and hear someone whisper threats in your ear. His final words were enough to haunt anyone: "You will die."