Nevertheless the images that Judy—that bitch—had conjured up enraged him. Crystal and Burnet. Naked and sweaty. Her begging for more, more. Him obliging.
If that wasn’t reason enough to want to kill Burnet, he was also now edging in on the Maxwell girl. Arden.
Oh, yeah, Ledge Burnet had been right there with her when she slipped her kid in the produce aisle.
During their conversation in the bar last night, Ledge had acted uninterested in Joe’s youngest, even after Rusty disclosed that he knew Ledge had been there during her emergency situation. Burnet had dismissed his involvement, of course. He was a fucking hero, after all. Modesty went with the territory.
But Rusty wasn’t dumb enough to believe that Burnet’s being Johnny-on-the-spot that day had been a coincidence.
According to people who witnessed the incident and told Rusty about it later, Burnet and Arden had entered the store separately, hadn’t looked at each other, hadn’t spoken. They had appeared to be totally unaware of each other until she went to the floor. He was told that Ledge happened to be nearby and did what any decent human being would do. Someone had said, “Ledge helped out, is all.”
“Bullshit,” Rusty said now as he took a gulp of vodka.
It had been reported to him today that Burnet had been seen on the road that led to the Maxwell property. He’d been headed back toward town, but where had he been? Wasn’t much else out that way except the Maxwells’ place.
The timing of it couldn’t be pooh-poohed, either. Last night he and Burnet had had a lengthy discussion about Arden, and today Ledge had been within a couple miles of her house, when his was on the other side of town?
“No. Uh-huh,” Rusty muttered as he refilled his glass. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
But what did the Maxwell girl think of Burnet? During the months she’d been back, Rusty hadn’t heard of her making any local friends, socializing, or mixing or mingling anywhere. It seemed she kept pretty much to herself out there and lived like a nun.
Well, she had fucked somebody, hadn’t she? But who? And where was her baby’s daddy now? He remained a mystery. In fact, a lot of mysteries swirled around Miss Arden Maxwell, the chief one being the whereabouts of her thieving father, who had made off with Rusty’s half a mil.
Folks thought Joe had gotten off scot-free.
But in Rusty Dyle’s book, nobody got off scot-free.
The clock on Arden’s nightstand read eleven twenty-two. Her drive-by had made his round, but still she couldn’t sleep.
She was so angry over what she’d learned from the unwitting Lois Miller that she punched her pillow extra hard as she turned onto her side and tried to find a more comfortable position.
From the top of the dresser, an oscillating fan blew a gentle stream of cool air across her. It also provided a lulling white noise. She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax by engaging in a meditative exercise that eased tension out of muscles.
But two minutes into this sleep-inducing drill, a noise shattered her concentration and jerked her bolt upright.
The fan hummed; it didn’t clank.
When the sound came again, she threw off the sheet and slipped out of bed. She crept to the door that connected to the kitchen, where the range light shed a soft glow. The door stood ajar. She peered through the crack.
Ledge Burnet was standing just inside the back door, leaning with his back against it, arms folded, ankles crossed. “See how useless that lock is?”
His arrogance made her want to kill him. She raised her right hand and aimed her pistol at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Proving my point.” Upon seeing the pistol, his natural squint had narrowed. Otherwise he remained exactly as he was.
“Get out of my house.”
“You lied about having a gun.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to announce it to a potential intruder, and I was right to be suspicious of you.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
“I had lessons.”
“How long ago?”
“When I bought the gun.”
“And when was that?”
“A few years ago I worked in an art gallery in the French Quarter. Sometimes I had to close up for the night. I thought—Why do you need to know?”
“Because the gun under review is in your hand, and it’s aimed at me.”
“Because you broke into my house.”
“Put the gun down. You’re not going to shoot me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I—”
“You could have proven your point about the locks this morning.