The phone in her hand rang, causing her to stumble over a stick as she halted her pacing. She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Hello Mandy, this is Bridget Murphy.”

  Shit, not now. But Bridget didn’t give Mandy a chance to speak.

  “I’ve got some wonderful news,” Bridget said, her voice high with excitement. “The couple who are interested in buying your uncle’s place have countered with a bid that’s ten thousand more than their first offer. That’s only five thousand less than your counter and the appraisal.”

  “I need some time to think it over,” Mandy began. “I’ve got a lot going on, and—”

  “This couple is looking at other properties, Mandy. I don’t think we have the luxury of waiting. This is a good offer, and I urge you to accept it.”

  “Look.” Mandy tried to keep testiness from creeping into her voice. “A friend of mine was just arrested—for murder. That’s all I can think about right now. Send a copy of the offer letter to my email, and I’ll get back to you Monday with an answer.”

  “Oh my, yes, I guess you do have a lot going on. I’ll try to stall the other agent. Can I say what the reason is, or should I just say you need the weekend to think it over?”

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care what you say.”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll give the reason,” Bridget said almost to herself. “Shouldn’t mention the word ‘murder’ to potential buyers. That wouldn’t be seemly. I’ll just say you’re really busy. You’re involved in that fishing tournament, right? Yes, that’ll be a good excuse.”

  “Fine. I’ve gotta go now.”

  “Wait, wait,” Bridget said quickly. “Please look the offer over carefully sometime this weekend. I’ll call you first thing Monday morning. And I’m keeping my fingers crossed that your answer will be yes! Good luck with your friend.”

  “Thanks. And goodbye.” Mandy swooped down, picked up the stick that she had reached again in her circuit, and hurled it over the fence. “God damn it!” she shouted.

  Dealing with a counteroffer on her uncle’s place was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. But before she could vent anymore, her phone rang again. This time it was Quintana.

  “Cynthia’s been processed in,” he said. “You can visit her now.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “Subdued, almost as if she expected it,” he replied.

  What Quintana didn’t say, but that Mandy heard in his voice, was that Cynthia’s reaction only made him more certain he had the right person pegged as Howie Abbott’s killer. Cynthia was just digging a bigger hole for herself.

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  _____

  An hour later, Mandy sat on one side of a gray metal table in a small private visitor’s room at the jail, used primarily by inmates to talk to their lawyers. She drummed her fingers on the table while waiting for a guard to bring Cynthia in. A noise at the door made her stop.

  A female guard swung the door wide, and Cynthia walked in, clothed in a bright orange jumpsuit. “Sit there,” the guard said, while pointing to the chair on the other side of the table.

  Cynthia sat.

  “Don’t move from that chair.” The guard turned to Mandy. “I’ll be watching right outside this door. Just shout if you need anything.” She closed the door, and her face appeared in the small glass window embedded in the door.

  “So much for privacy,” Mandy said, in an attempt to cut the thick tension in the air.

  Cynthia huffed. “You should see the open toilets in the cells. And some guard got the privilege of watching me get undressed and poking her gloved fingers where they didn’t belong. Privacy doesn’t exist inside these walls.”

  Mandy peered at Cynthia, who refused to meet her gaze directly. “You okay? Really?” Visions of jail assault made Mandy shudder. She leaned forward. “Any signs that anyone’s going to, you know, come after you?”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been raped before.”

  “Cynthia! C’mon, if anyone’s harassing you, guard or prisoner, I can tell Quintana. Get him to protect you.”

  “Don’t bust a gut. I’m okay. For now.” Cynthia rested her chin on one hand and drew circles on the table with the other. “They put me in a cell by myself, since I’ve been arrested for murder. That’s the one saving grace from the charge.”

  “Okay, that’s a small relief. When’s your arraignment? I want to find out how much bail the judge sets and get you bailed out of here.”

  Cynthia sighed. “By the time they finished processing me, the judge had taken off for the weekend. Gone fishing, they said. He won’t be back until Monday, so my arraignment’s scheduled for Monday morning.”

  “Damn! You have to spend the weekend here? I’ll contact Quintana, see if anyone knows how to contact the judge.” Mandy pushed off from the table and rose.

  “Don’t bother,” Cynthia covered Mandy’s hand on the table with one of her own. “Sit, as the guard out there so eloquently put it. Spending the weekend here won’t be so bad, and I don’t want you making waves because of me.”

  Mandy lowered herself back to her seat. “But you’ll miss work, and—”

  “I called my boss already. He’s cool. Even offered to help with bail.”

  “That’s another thing I want to talk about. Who can help pay. I’ll organize a group to chip in the money. So there’s your boss, and me, and I’ll call the Ellis family and your mom.”

  Cynthia’s eyes went wide and she sat up straight. “No, don’t call my mom.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to be beholden to her. And I need to explain this mess to her. If she hears it from someone else, she’ll go ballistic. I’ll call her after I get out, though I’m sure not looking forward to it.”

  “Okay,” Mandy said warily, “if that’s what you want.”

  “Yes, that’s what I want.” She paused. “Thanks. For understanding about my mom. For being willing to chip in for bail and organize the others. For everything.” Cynthia’s eyes reddened. She turned her gaze toward the ceiling and swallowed a few times.

  It was Mandy’s turn to cover Cynthia’s hand on the table. “That’s what friends are for, Cynthia. I just wish I’d been able to convince Detective Quintana he was arresting the wrong person.”

  “Who’s the right person?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know. I just know it can’t be you.”

  “But it could have been me.” Cynthia withdrew her hand from under Mandy’s and dropped both of her hands into her lap.

  Aghast, Mandy asked, “What do you mean?”

  Cynthia leveled a steady gaze at her. “If I’d known that good ole Uncle Howie had already raped Faith, I would have killed him, no question. I couldn’t kill him to save myself, but I know I would have done it to save her. The man was a predator, evil incarnate. He deserved to die for what he did to her.” She looked down. “For what he did to me.”

  “But you didn’t, did you?”

  Cynthia searched Mandy’s face. “You aren’t sure, are you?”

  “Of course I’m sure. You’re my friend. I know you. There’s no way you’d kill someone.” Despite her words, Mandy could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks.

  “But I just told you I could. In fact, I should have killed Uncle Howie before he got to Faith.” Cynthia raised her balled-up fists from her lap to pound them on the table. “I knew he was sniffing around her like a hound dog after a bitch in heat. Do you know how many times I’ve regretted NOT killing him?”

  Mandy’s mouth hung open as she watched rage consume Cynthia’s face, hardening her features, blackening her eyes. Then she had a horrible thought. “Oh God, you shouldn’t be saying things like this to me. What if I’m subpoenaed to testify at your trial?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I probably do deserve to be in here,” Cynthia continued. “You know, it’s a pretty sobering thing to find out about yourself—that you’re capable of murder, murder of a relative, even.”

  “Maybe, under the right circumstances, anyone is capable of murder,” Mandy said, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. She just hated to see Cynthia beating herself up. “But with a hatchet, with all that blood? Could you have done that?”

  Cynthia’s gaze focused on the wall behind Mandy, as if she was visualizing the scene. “I can imagine getting a lot of satisfaction out of watching the bastard bleed to death. I hope it hurt. A lot. Someone else did it for me, but not soon enough. Not before Faith was scarred, before she threw herself in the river.”

  “You really think she committed suicide?”

  Cynthia nodded. “Remember, he abused me, too, when I was about Faith’s age. I know what she was feeling. He was a master at making it seem like it was all my fault, making me think I was evil, that I was the one who seduced him.”

  She held up a thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I came that close to throwing myself into the Arkansas. That’s why I eventually ran away. To put some distance between me and the river and that man before I did do it.”

  Cynthia flattened her palms on the table. “I was too afraid to kill him back then, just as Faith was too afraid, I’m sure. If only I was strong enough, then, or fast enough, now, Faith might still be alive.”

  A pregnant silence grew and filled the room as Mandy tried to process the venom that Cynthia had just poured out against her uncle. An uncle who seemed to be the evil opposite of Mandy’s own caring Uncle Bill. “God, Cynthia, what you’ve been through. I wish, I wish—”

  “What?” Cynthia cocked her head to one side.

  “That I’d been able to help you somehow back then, but I didn’t even know you.”

  “Well, you can help now, by getting bail together, once we find out how much it is.”

  “And I won’t stop looking for the real killer,” Mandy added. Though she had severe, gut-wrenching doubts that she would be able to find anything that Quintana had overlooked.

  Cynthia pushed off from the table and stood, prompting the guard to open the door. “You’d have to find someone who wanted Uncle Howie dead as much as me, Mandy.”

  As the guard came in and put a hand around her arm, Cynthia said, “You know, I can’t blame Detective Quintana for fingering me, not at all. The man’s a good cop.” With that, she turned and walked out with the guard, leaving Mandy shaken to her core.

  Was what she had just heard the convoluted confession of a killer? Was Cynthia telling her that no one wanted Howie Abbott dead as much as she did? But she kept saying she “should have” and “could have” killed her uncle, not “did.” Did only innocent people talk like that, or did killers do it, too, trying to distance themselves from their crime?

  What if Detective Quintana was indeed a good cop and had found his murderer after all?

  Sixteen

  It has always been my private conviction that any man who pits

  his intelligence against a fish and loses has it coming.

  —JOHN STEINBECK

  Mandy walked into the ballroom of the Salida SteamPlant Friday evening for the festivities closing the Rocky Mountain Cup fly-fishing tournament, but she sure wasn’t in a festive mood. She was emotionally wrung out after her session with Cynthia. The roar of many conversations going on at once assaulted her ears and threatened to overwhelm her.

  She moved woodenly into the chow line and let servers pile barbecued beef strips, coleslaw, and a sandwich bun on her plate. After collecting a glass of lemonade, and an oatmeal-raisin cookie, she looked around for a place to sit. She spotted Rob and Gonzo at a table talking to Tim, the Aussie fisherman she’d rescued a week ago. Another large, ruddy-skinned man, presumably one of Tim’s fishing buddies, sat next to him, shoveling coleslaw into his mouth. Mandy wended her way through the buzzing crowd to the table and sat in an empty seat next to Rob.

  Before she could say hello, Tim whacked his friend on the arm with the back of his hand, sending a forkful of coleslaw sliding onto the floor. “Speak of the devil, here she is, the lovely lady I was telling you about who fished me out of the river.” He introduced his companion as Vince.

  Mandy shook Vince’s hand. “Were you Tim’s partner in the competition?”

  “Yes, and a finer fisherman can’t be found in all of Down Under. You should have seen the huge rainbow he pulled out of the river this morning.”

  Tim nodded. “Lurking in a hole, he was, but he was more than happy to take a snap at my San Juan worm. Who would’ve thought that a cheap bit of plastic like that would look so tasty to a big, old trout? Got Rob here to thank for that. He told me a few days ago how partial your local trout are to dry-nymph combos. You two know each other?”

  Gonzo, who was drinking a soda, gave a snort then grabbed a napkin to wipe his face.

  Rob smiled and showed his palm to Mandy, indicating the floor was hers.

  “You could say that,” Mandy said to Tim with a wry smile. “We know each other very well. We’ve been dating for a few months.”

  “Exactly five months tomorrow,” Rob added.

  Mandy raised a brow at Rob. “I didn’t know you were keeping track of the days so closely.”

  “Hey, I would, too,” Tim said, “if I was dating a looker like you.” He held up his left hand to display his wedding ring. “But don’t get me wrong. I’ve got a good woman at home myself who knows how to keep her bloke happy.”

  Vince gave him an elbow nudge. “Like giving you a kitchen pass to fly halfway around the world for a fishing tournament.”

  Tim just grinned while Rob gave Mandy’s thigh a gentle squeeze under the table.

  Mandy used the break in the conversation to study Rob’s face. Every color of the rainbow, it seemed, appeared in the bruises under his eyes and in his puffy cheeks. Under the bandage, his broken nose still looked swollen, though less than it had the night before. “How’s your nose?”

  Rob shrugged. “Still hurts like hell, but at least I can breathe some now. I took the stuffing out right before I came over here.”

  “We saw the fight yesterday,” Vince said. “You really copped it fair in the face. Glad to hear you’re on the mend. I bet you’re still pissed at the bloke who whacked you, though.”

  Rob shook his head. “As soon as he saw me walk in here tonight, Jesse came over to apologize. He said he was so mad at Ira that he didn’t know who he was swinging at. He even offered to bring over a six-pack of Pacifico, which I didn’t turn down.”

  Mandy bristled. “A six-pack is hardly apology enough. How about paying your hospital bill?”

  “We’ll talk about that over the beer,” Rob said quietly.

  Mandy knew from his tone that the subject was closed, and the two men would resolve the issue between them, so she turned to Gonzo. “How’d it go in the office today? I meant to come in and help, but I ended up visiting Cynthia in jail instead.”

  “It went fine,” Gonzo said. “We only had one trip, and Kendra stayed to help clean up.”

  “I’m sure you handled everything well.” Rob gave Mandy’s thigh another squeeze.

  Realizing this was her cue to add her compliment, too, Mandy said, “Yes, it’s great that we can count on you when we can’t come in. Thanks so much, Gonzo.”

  Gonzo sat up a little straighter. “How’s Cynthia? I heard Quintana arrested her. That guy’s got his head up his ass.”

  “I wish I agreed,” Mandy said. “But I can’t come up with a better suspect for him.”

  Tim and Vince had quizzical looks on their faces, and Mandy really didn’t want to have to explain the whole situation to the two Aussies. She was saved by a screech of the microphone followed by John Squire’s voice booming in the room, “Quiet, everyone, please. It’s time to start giving out some of these awards.”

  A round of applause broke out, accompanied by a few whistles, as people focused their gazes on the front of the room. John and his wife, Carol, stood there behind a table laden with trophies and brand-new fishing gear still in cellophane packages. Mandy used the break in conversation to take a couple of bites of her barbecue and slaw. When Rob draped his arm over her shoulders, she smiled at her injured hero. Maybe she could apply some of her own brand of tender loving care after the ceremony.

  He smiled back at her as if his thoughts were along the same lines.

  Her growling stomach interrupted her reverie so she scooped another forkful of the succulently sauced beef into her mouth and chewed appreciatively. She realized she was starving and hadn’t eaten all day, what with her worrying about Cynthia.

  She ate and clapped at the appropriate times as John went through the process of handing out some of the donated gear for the biggest fish caught in each species, the most fish caught each day, and so on. Of course, the donors of the prizes, fishing shops, outfitter services, suppliers, and so on, had to be profusely thanked and acknowledged.

  The tension in the room grew as John awarded the third, and then the second-place team and individual cash prizes for the tournament. The clapping and hollering grew louder for each announcement. Then John signaled for quiet before the first-place announcements. He used the pregnant pause to thank all of his volunteers and ask them to stand for applause. Almost half of the people in the room stood up, including Rob.

  Mandy smiled up at her battered champion and whistled her appreciation.

  Once all of the volunteers were seated and the room was quiet again, John said, “Okay, I’m sure everyone is anxiously waiting to hear who won the big cash prizes for the first place awards. The team that scored first place really racked up the fish count on the wading day, pulling in a total of forty-six trout between them.”

  He paused for the crowd to acknowledge this, and Mandy saw Jesse Lopez and his partner high-fiving each other. She leaned over to Rob. “Looks like Jesse and his partner think John’s talking about them. Is that Jesse’s brother?”

  “Yes,” Rob said. “When Jesse apologized, he told me he thought their scores were good enough to win. His brother’s wife is expecting again, so they could really use the money.”