Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,40

of love, they grew out of it or it just died a slow death from lack of attention. I didn’t know that you could love someone totally, completely, one moment and not love him the next. But that’s what happened.”

His gaze shifted from her to the house, then back again. “He didn’t—”

“Do it here? God, no. At Fair Winds. On the front lawn. He shot himself.” She watched Stephen shudder, presumably at the thought that they’d been there just last night. Did he think it odd that she’d said nothing then, reacted to nothing then? Or was he too shaken by the story now to think about her behavior last night? Would that occur to him later?

“His grandmother didn’t—?”

“No. Miss Willa wasn’t home. In fact, she was with me. We’d had lunch with Mark at the country club, then she and I went to a meeting of the local historical society. But his cousin was at the house, and her husband. They saw him do it.” She left out the fact that he’d been trying to kill Reece and Jones at the time. Had it been desperation that made him turn the gun on himself? The certainty he was caught? That all the money and influence in the world couldn’t buy his way out of the nightmare he and Arthur had created?

Maybe it had been the shame he’d brought on the Howard name. That damn name had always meant so much to him and Miss Willa. He would have killed to protect it.

Though, apparently, finding a reason to kill hadn’t been difficult for Mark.

And truth was, she didn’t care why he’d done it. She was just glad he had. The evil residing within her husband’s heart and soul hadn’t deserved to live.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Stephen said quietly. “I’m sorry I asked you about it.”

She drew a deep breath and smelled flowers, the lingering aroma of steak and, fainter, the scent that was Stephen. It was nothing special. It didn’t smell as if he’d bathed in money. But it was comforting. It didn’t make her stomach churn. Even the slightest memory of Mark’s cologne inside the house could do that.

“It was a huge shock,” she admitted. “But that part of my life is almost over. Once I leave this place and settle down somewhere with Clary, it will be over. Done. Until Clary’s grown, all she’ll know is that her father is dead.”

“What about his mother? Won’t she want her son’s memory kept alive for her granddaughter?”

Macy listened to the song of a whippoorwill in the trees beyond the yard as an image of Lorna Howard formed. Average height, sturdy, the sort of woman who could have taught General Patton a few lessons about being in charge.

At least, that was Lorna before Mark’s death.

“Lorna rarely sees Clary.” Not since Miss Willa’s funeral, in fact. Lorna had visited Macy a time or two in the Columbia hospital, but she’d had little to say. Loss and grief had overwhelmed her. She’d insisted Mark was guilty of nothing. He’d been a good man, a loving son, husband and father. She’d sworn he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone. After all, she was his mother, and a mother knew these things.

She’d never believed the manner of his death, either. She’d accused Reece, Jones, some unseen stranger passing through. As far as Macy knew, nothing had changed her mind. Lorna had become reclusive, hiding away at her Raleigh estate, convinced her son had been murdered and falsely accused. Though Macy had contacted her several times, offering to take Clary to visit for a few days, the answer had always been no.

Secretly relieved by the flat refusal, and guiltily ashamed of the relief, Macy had quit offering. Lorna knew how to reach her if she changed her mind.

“It’s a good thing Clary has your family,” Stephen said quietly. “Sounds like the Howards aren’t worth much besides money.”

“Yeah. But Reece is different. So is Clary. She’ll be the complete opposite of them all.”

“I have no doubt.”

On the patio, Scooter stirred, stretched, then trotted out to them. Standing between them, he scented the air and a sound started low in his throat as the hair on his spine straightened. The growl sent a chill straight through to Macy’s bones.

It didn’t seem to concern Stephen at all. He gave the dog a reassuring pat. “What do you smell, buddy? Neighbors have a cat?” He chuckled. “He’s friendly to every animal around except cats. There are