Texas Tall - Janet Dailey Page 0,95

show you,” Lauren said.

The canyon, which Will hadn’t visited since his boyhood, was much as he remembered. But in one place, where heavy scree had fallen down from the overhead cliff, something was different. In one spot the rocks had been cemented together to form a wall, about four feet wide and just as high. In its center was a marker of polished granite, with an inscription etched into its surface.

COOPER PRESCOTT

March 12, 1940–July 9, 1949

Sleep in the Arms of Angels

“This little boy would have been my great uncle,” Lauren said, turning to Will and Beau. “He’s the reason my grandfather wanted this canyon. Jasper knows the story. He’s agreed to tell you when you get home.”

She drew a folded document from under her coat and held it out to Will. “Here’s a signed, notarized deed. It’s yours on condition that this grave never be disturbed, and that I and my family be allowed to come here and visit it.”

“Of course.” Will had never considered himself an emotional man, but he felt the welling of tears.

Lauren wiped her own eyes and managed a smile. “Now,” she said, “how about that dollar you owe me?”

CHAPTER 17

Clay Drummond’s day had been long and tiring, and it wasn’t getting any better. He’d just climbed into his white diesel Mercedes and thrust the key into the ignition when his cell phone rang. Even without glancing at the caller ID, he knew it was Stella. The bitch is probably somewhere nearby, spying on me. Her timing was too good to be a coincidence.

“What is it?” he muttered.

“Just checking to make sure you’re ready. The trial’s two days off. I’ll be in that courtroom watching you every minute, and I don’t want any slipups. If Will Tyler doesn’t walk out of there in handcuffs, you know what I’ve got and what I can do with it.”

Clay blinked, struggling to focus his eyes. The sun, a blinding glare through the windshield, was triggering a migraine. “Maybe, Stella, but you can only do it once. Ruined, I won’t be any good to you. I’ll have nothing left to lose.”

“Then it won’t be my problem, will it? Just put that murdering bastard behind bars. Then we can negotiate for the tape.”

She was doing it again, dangling that damned surveillance tape in front of him like a carrot on a stick. At times like this, Clay could almost imagine putting his fingers around her throat and squeezing until her breath stopped and her cat-green eyes glazed over.

“Who’s the judge?” she asked. “Any leverage there?”

“Sid Henderson. He’s a friend, but he’s a pretty straight arrow. Anyway, the verdict will be up to the jury.”

“How about Abner?” she asked. “Is he on board to do his part?”

“Why don’t you ask Abner? You’ve probably got something on him, too. That’s how you operate, isn’t it?”

She laughed, a sound that reminded Clay of the villainess in a Disney movie. “Now, now. Play nice. We’re on the same team, remember? I’ll see you in court.”

She ended the call. Grinding his teeth, Clay drove home. He wasn’t looking forward to the trial. Yesterday in court Tori had whipped his butt in an assault case that he’d expected to be a slam dunk for the prosecution. The woman was good—damned good. As his onetime junior partner, she knew all his strategies. Clay had taught her well. Now his lessons were coming back to kick him in the face.

The worst of it was, he knew Will, and he knew the man didn’t deserve to go to prison. Will had done what any protective father would have done—what Clay himself would have done in a similar situation. But he couldn’t let that sway him. All his focus would have to be on doing his job, which was to win.

Clay thought about his career, his children, his marriage, and all the advantages that Louise’s money made possible. Everything was hanging on the outcome of Will Tyler’s trial.

If he lost this case, his life, as he knew it, would be over.

* * *

Stella kept her brother’s ashes on a shelf behind the bar, where he’d worked and kept her company for the past two years. The black metal urn was a constant reminder of the childlike man who’d done whatever she asked of him—the only person she’d ever truly cared about.

With Nicky gone, the urge to pull up stakes and leave Blanco Springs was growing stronger every day. Even without selling the bar, she had plenty of money stashed away. All