CHAPTER 4

"How come you and Mom keep fighting?"

Alan emerged from the closet in the bedroom of the furnished apartment he'd rented after the break-up with Eileen Chandler, his three suits and a few shirts-still on their hangers draped over his left arm. 'enough Alison appeared to be concentrating on packing his clothes into the battered suitcase on the bed, he could sense the tension in her body as she waited for his answer.

"It just happens that way sometimes," he said. And your mother's being pig-headed about giving me another chance, he didn't add, though the words were on the tip of his tongue.

"Did Little Miss Blondie really kick you out?" Logan piped.

"Logan," Alison groaned. "You're not supposed to call her that! We're not even supposed to know that's what Mom and Susan@' She clapped her hands over her mouth and turned to look at her father.

"Little Miss Blondie?" Alan echoed, not certain whether to laugh or be angry at the appellation his wife had assigned to his former girlfriend.

But then, seeing the fear of a blow-up in both his children's eyes, he chuckled. "Well, Eileen is small, and she is blond, and she is still single, so I guess it fits, doesn't it?" As the children relaxed, and he began laying the suits and shirts into the suitcase, he @ to dismissed his transgression with a shrug. "And I guess the whole thing was just a stupid mistake. Anyway, it's over, and all I want to do now is make things right with your mother, and move back home so everything can be like it used to be."

"Then why don't we just move all your stuff ?" Logan suggested. "That way, when Mom comes home, you'll already be there. I mean, you're going to be there anyway, aren't you?"

Alan reached out and tousled his son's hair. "I wish it were that simple," he replied. But as he glanced around the dingy room he'd been sleeping in for almost a month, he began to wonder. Why not? September's rent was almost due. It made far better sense simply to move out now, than to stay in this depressing place. The furniture in the living room, great sagging masses upholstered in some coarse green fabric that threatened to peel the skin off his fingers every time he touched it, should have been relegated to a Dumpster years ago, and the sagging bed wasn't any better.

There was no real kitchen only a converted closet barely big enough for one person, in the living room, which he suspected had been the dining room of a much larger apartment, back when the building was new, decades ago.

So why not just move back in? Even if MaryAnne kicked him out again when she got home, he could certainly find someplace better than this to stay until she came to her senses.

Besides, hadn't MaryAnne herself suggested it? What was he supposed to do for the next few days, come over here every time he needed something?

"You know, you're right Logan," he declared, his mind suddenly made up.

"Let's go down to the basement and find some boxes and pack everything up."

With the prospect of their father moving home permanently, the mood of both the children immediately lifted from the silent tension of the ride to and from the airport to one of noisy joy. Twenty minutes later the job was done, the few things Alan had acquired in the months since he'd walked out on MaryAnne barely filling two large cardboard cartons.

After they'd stowed the two boxes and his suitcase in the car, Alan left a note for the manager, announcing that he'd left, stuffed the note and his key into an envelope, and slid it under the manager's door.

TWenty minutes later he was back in his own house, the suitcase open on the bed. His suits slung over his arm, he went to the large closet that had always been roomy enough to hold both his and MaryAnne's clothes, and slid some of his wife's dresses down to make room.

And found himself staring at an unfamiliar sport shirt, at least two sizes too large for himself.

"Alison?" he called. "Alison!"

A second later his daughter appeared at the bedroom door. The look on her face as her eyes focused on the shirt clutched in his hand made the message clear.

"What the hell's been going on around here?" he demanded. "What did your mother do, move her boyfriend in the minute I was gone?" As Alison stood frozen in the doorway, her younger brother hovering behind her, Alan hurled the shirt to the floor, then kicked it against the wall.

Reflexively, Alison scurried across to pick it up.

"I-It's Bob's," she stammered. "I guess he... Her voice trailed off as she saw the fury in her father's eyes.

"Who the hell is Bob?" Alan demanded. "What's been going on around here, anyway?"

Logan fearfully clutched Alison's hand, and her eyes glistened with tears. "H-He isn't anybody, Dad," she said, "He's just a guy Mom went out with a few times, that's all."

"A few times?" Alan repeated, his voice crackling. "If she just went out with him a few times, what the hell is his shirt doing in my closet?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Alison was suddenly shouting, the tears of a second before giving way to anger.

"Maybe he just left it, Dad! Maybe he was helping Mom out with the yardwork, so she washed his shirt for him!"

"Yeah, sure!" Alan spat the words out bitterly, his rage ballooning.

"How dumb do you think I am?"

Alison recoiled almost as if she'd been slapped, but held her ground.

"Well, so what?" she shot back. "So what if he even spent the night with Mom? What were you doing?

Why is what she was doing when you weren't even here any of your business? Come on, Logan. Maybe Mom's right! Maybe she shouldn't let Dad move back in!" Still grasping her brother's hand, Alison half dragged the little boy out of the room. A second later Alan heard her slamming the door of the room the children shared.

His fury only inflamed by his daughter's outburst, he snatched up the offending shirt and ripped it up the back.

What the hell kind of tramp was MaryAnne, anyway?

And how many men had there been since he'd been gone?

She'd probably had one waiting all the time. No wonder he'd fallen for Eileen Chandler, with MaryAnne ignoring him while she flirted with every man in town! It would serve her right if he didn't move back in at all.

And trying to make him feel guilty over one lousy mistake! He ripped the shirt again, yanking one of the sleeves loose, then wadded the remains up and hurled them against the wall. What else had this guy left around the house?

He began jerking the drawers of the bureau open, pawing through them, then abandoned the chest in favor of the bathroom. He threw open the medicine cabinet, searching for anything MaryAnne's boyfriend might have stored away.

But all he found were his own things.

His shaving brush, still on the shelf where he always kept it.

His toothbrush, hanging in the rack, just where it always was.

His Right Guard was still there and his shaving cream; even the antibiotics Dr. Weinberg had prescribed two years ago when he'd come down with a bronchial infection. All exactly where he'd left them.

His rage began to drain away. As he stood gazing at the array of his things, things that hadn't even been moved aside while he was gone, a feeling of shame began to creep over him.

What the hell had he been thinking of ? Alison was right-what business was it of his if MaryAnne had seen someone else while he was sleeping with Eileen Chandler?

Maybe he should just count himself lucky that she hadn't actually divorced him. Leaving the bathroom, he went to the kids' room, and tapped soffly.

"Go away," Logan said, his voice muffled by the closed door.

Alan knocked again, then turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

"Kids? Hey, look, what I said just now well, I guess it was pretty stupid. Anyway, what do you say we start over, huh? Let's pretend I just got here, okay?"

Alison and Logan glanced uncertainly at each other, then Alison spoke for both of them. "You're not mad at Mom anymore?"

Alan took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh that was half resignation, half defeat. "No," he agreed. "I'm not mad at your mom anymore. But I guess she's still pretty mad at me." Logan scrambled off his bed, grinning. "It'll be okay," he declared. "She gets real mad at me sometimes, but she still loves me. And I bet she still loves you, too!"

A few minutes later, as Alan resumed putting away the few things he'd taken with him when he left, Logan's words echoed in his mind.

What if MaryAnne didn't still love him? Then what would he do?

Bleakly, he realized he didn't have the slightest idea.

"Mrs. Carpenter? MaryAnne Carpenter?"

MaryAnne, her large purse slung over one shoulder and her single suitcase clutched in her right hand, had just stepped through the door into the gate area of Boise Municipal Airport. She instinctively ran her free hand through her hair, certain that she must look even worse than she felt. But the rugged-looking man striding toward her, arm outstretched to take her suitcase, seemed not to see the exhaustion she was feeling.

"I'm Charley Hawkins," he said, his deep voice resonating in the nearly empty waiting area. He looked to be about sixty, with salt-and-pepper hair and a craggy face that MaryAnne found oddly reassuring. "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances." His voice trailed off, but then he plunged on. "But anyway, it seemed like I should be the one to come down and pick you up. I'm-I was Ted and Audrey's attorney. Or, anyway, their attorney up here.

Of course, Ted had a firm in San Francisco that handled most of his affairs, but for the ranch, he pretty much always used me. This all the luggage you broughtt'

Taken aback by the sudden change of subject, MaryAnne managed a nod, then let herself be steered along by Charley Hawkins's firm grip on her elbow.

"My car's right outside. It won't take more than a couple of hours to drive up to Sugarloaf." He kept up a steady patter of innocuous talk until MaryAnne's suitcase was in the backseat of his Cadillac, she was settled in the front next to him, and they were well away from the airport, heading northeast on Highway 21 toward Stanley.

"What happened?" MaryAnne finally asked when she felt ready to hear the details of her friends' deaths. "I can hardly believe they're both . .

." She left the sentence unfinished, even now knowing that if she said the final word, she might well lose the little control she still had over her emotions.

Charley Hawkins shook his head sadly. "Accidents, so far as anyone can tell," he began. For the next few miles, as the big car hurtled through the bleak landscape around Boise, the lawyer exlylained what details he knew of the tragedies that had befallen Ted and Audrey Wilkenson the day before. But all the time he spoke, the words of his first sentence hung in MaryAnne's mind.

"You said they were accidents 'so far as anyone can tell,' " she repeated when he was finished. "Is there any question about it? Is there some possibility that-well, that someone might have killed them?"

Charley Hawkins glanced over at her, but for a long moment said nothing.

When he did finally speak, though, the timbre of his voice had changed slightly, and MaryAnne knew she was now listening to a lawyer, not merely a friend of Audrey and Ted's. "Like I said, as far as we know, they were both accidents. But there's a question about what could have spooked that animal. Sheika's always been the steadiest, gentlest horse around. Almost more like a dog than a horse, if you know what I mean.

And as for Audrey, well, there weren't any witnesses, and it wasn't like she didn't know exactly where she was. With the moon last night, it had to be almost as bright as day up there, and Audrey wasn't the kind to take many risks. So I guess you could say there's a question of what made her fall. Not that we're ever likely to find any answers, but . .

But.

The word hung in the air between them. MaryAnne waited for him to finish his sentence. When he didn't, she turned in her seat to look more directly at him. "Mr. Hawkins, is there something you're not telling me?"

The lawyer's eyes remained steady on the road ahead as they began climbing up into the Sawtooth Mountains.

"Whenever there are two deaths this close together, and a lot of money is involved, there are going to be questions, Mrs. Carpenter."

"But wh@' And then, unbidden, a thought came into her mind. "You can't be talking about Joey, can you?" she demanded. "My God, he's just a little boy!"

"He wouldn't be the first thirteen-year-old to have killed his parents,"

Charley Hawkins replied. Then, catching a glimpse of MaryAnne Carpenter's suddenly ashen face out of the corner of his eye, he hastened to try to soften his words. "I'm afraid the police don't have any choice but to look at the situation with Joey, Mrs. Carpenter.

That's not to say anyone seriously thinks the boy had anything to do with it, but unfortunately, when two parents die the way Ted and Audrey did, you have to look at the son. Too often these days, that's the way it turns out."

"But Joey was crazy about his parents!" MaryAnne protested.

When Charley Hawkins's expression hardened slightly and he made no reply at all, she pressed harder. "There wasn't a problem, was there?"

"Depends on what you mean by a problem," the attorney hedged. "Joey's just starting into his teens, and that always means some kind of problem, doesn't it?" He glanced over at her, saying with more confidence than he actually felt.

"He's a teenage boy, Mrs. Carpenter. Things aren't always great with teenage boys, especially when you're their parents. Now, I don't want you to start worrying," he added quickly. "All I'm trying to tell you is that I suspect the police are going to want to talk to Joey again, if for no other reason than to make sure he's told them everything. There might be something he doesn't even know he knowssomething he saw or heard that might be a clue. So just don't be surprised if someone comes to talk to Joey, that's all.:, 'I see," MaryAnne breathed, easing herself back against the heavily cushioned seat. "But it seems so-I don't know-so far ,fetched, I guess."

Charley Hawkins offered her a faint smile. "And it probably is, when you get right down to it. Anyway, there are a lot of other things you and I need to talk about, and I'm not much of a man for putting things off. I assume you know you're Joey's guardian."

MaryAnne nodded. "Audrey and I made an agreement years ago. She didn't have anyone else, and I couldn't think of anyone but her taking care of my kids, so we did it. But of course, I never really thought it would ever happen."

"No one ever does, Mrs. Carpenter," the lawyer agreed.

"But at least you and Audrey talked about it, and Ted and Audrey put it in writing. And a lot more, too."

His last words were said in a tone that left an uneasy feeling in MaryAnne's stomach. All through the flight out from Newark, she had sat staring out the window of the airplane, doing her best not to think at all. And she certainly hadn't thought about what was going to happen once she got to Sugarloaf. Had she assumed she could just help get Joey through his parents' funeral, pack his clothes, and take him back to New Jersey?

She hadn't even bothered to think about the ranck or Ted's company, or any of the other details of his and Audrey's complicated lives. But from the way Charley Hawkins had just spoken, apparently Audrey and Ted had thought about it all. When she finally replied to his last statement, she chose her words carefully. "I assume the estate is complicated, and from what you just said, I'm beginning to suspect I must be the executor, too."

"Not quite," Charley Hawkins corrected her. "I'm the executor, which means I'm the one who will be dealing with all the paperwork. You're the trustee."

MaryAnne turned to gaze at him blankly. "The trusteet' she repeated. "I thought I was Joey's guardian."

Hawkins turned to smile at her, and she thought she detected just the faintest tinge of sympathy in his slate-gray eyes. "Oh, you are. But when an estate is the size of Ted and Audrey Wilkenson's, and their is a minor, things get complicated. It was not sufficient simply to make you the boy's guardian, they also made you the trustee of his estate."

"Dear God." MaryAnne suddenly thought of the company in California in which Ted still had a major interest.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, for one thing, it means you and I are going to be doing a lot of business together. Ted and Audrey and I became good friends almost the minute they arrived in this area, and they knew that if anything ever happened to them, you were going to need help."

The uneasy feeling in MaryAnne's stomach jelled into fear. "Just exactly what kind of help are you talking about, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Managing a fortune. And in the business Ted was in, they don't come small. As of this morning, Joey is a very wealthy young man. And you are a rather wealthy woman."

"Me?" MaryAnne asked, still dazed by the implications of what Charley Hawkins had just revealed. "I'm afraid I don't understand......

"It's pretty simple, really," the lawyer explained. "They decided that given the size of the estate, and the problems concomitant to raising their their of the estate the position of guardian should not be without compensation. It was put on a sliding scale, decreasing according to the age Joey had reached in the event he was orphaned. The sum they decided upon was one percent of the estate."

"One percent!" MaryAnne exclaimed. "But that could be hundreds of thousands of dollars! It's crazy!"

"It's not crazy, MaryAnne," Charley Hawkins replied quietly. "When you think about it, it makes a lot of sense. It makes the guardian-you, Mrs.

Carpenter-independently wealthy. A precaution, you might say, against Joey being resented for his wealth. It also prevents Joey from attempting to control you by holding money over your head."

"Good Lord," MaryAnne breathed. "How much is it?"

"A lot more than you're thinking," Hawkins replied.

"Because it's actually one percent of the total for every year remaining until Joey's twenty-first birthday. Which means that your share is eight percent of the total."

MaryAnne felt a strange numbness forming in her body.

"It's not possible," she breathed. "It's just not possible!"

Charley Hawkins chuckled hollowly. "Just be glad you were in New Jersey last night. If you'd been here, I'm afraid you'd be very high on my list of suspects."

MaryAnne gasped and turned pale. "You don't think-"

"A joke, MaryAnne," the lawyer told her quickly. "It was only a joke!"

"My God, everything's changed!" MaryAnne exclaimed as they drove through Sugarloaf on the way up to El Monte Ranch. The village was at least twice the size she remembered it from her single visit eight years before, although if she'd had to identify which buildings were new and which were original, she wouldn't have been able to, so perfectly had the recent structures been blended with the old.

"New money coming in," Charley Hawkins connnented.

"So far, we're managing to keep the flavor of the place, but it seems like a new developer comes in every week. I'm spending most of my time these days fighting off challenges to our zoning restrictions. And now,"

he added grimly, "I've lost my strongest ally. If Ted hadn't died . . ."

He was silent a moment, then shrugged. "I guess we'll figure out a way to get by without him, won't we? Since we don't seem to have a choice."

They made the rest of the drive up to the ranch in silence, but MaryAnne was relieved, once they left the town behind, to see that the valley seemed much the same as she recalled. At last they pulled through the gate to El Monte, and up the narrow, curved drive to the front of the big, lodgelike house.

Bigger, MaryAnne realized, than she'd remembered it.

She had just stepped out of the car and started toward the front steps when the door opened and Joey burst out, charging across the broad porch, taking the three steps in one leap and throwing himself on MaryAnne.

"Aunt MaryAnne? What are we going to do? Mom and Dad are-2' His words died on his lips, and MaryAnne hugged him close.

"It's going to be all right, Joey," she said softly, stroking his hair.

"I'm here now, and it's going to be all right."

The boy gazed up at her, his eyes fearful. "Are you going to take care of me?" he asked.

"Of course I'm going to take care of you," MaryAnne reassured him.

"That's why I'm here." She gently led him back into the house, with Charley Hawkins following behind with her suitcase. Standing in the doorway was a small friendly-featured woman in her mid-forties, clad in jeans and a plaid shirt, looking as tired as MaryAnne felt.

"I'm Gillie Martin," the woman said, offering MaryAnne her hand. "My husband's the senior deputy out here, and I came up with him last night when"-her eyes shifted to Joey for an instant, and she shook her head sadly@'when I heard about Audrey," she finished uncomfortably. "If there's anything I can do for you, you call me anytime.

There's plenty of food in the kitchen@people have been dropping by all day-and I went ahead and got one of the guest rooms ready for you." She flushed slightly. "I hope that's all right."

"It's fine," MaryAnne assured her quickly. "If you've been here all night, you must be exhausted. You must want to go home@'

"Not until you're settled in, and I know you and Joey are going to be all right," Gillie said in a tone that left no room for argument. "I'll just call Rick-that's my husband. He can pick me up." She smiled wan-nly. "And I can hold him off for a while. I know he'll want to talk to you, tell you what happened here. But not today, right?"

MaryAnne nodded gratefully.

The house seemed to fill up with people, and MaryAnne, struggling to fight off the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, let herself be taken care of by the throng of neighbors who had arrived to offer her help with whatever might be necessary for the next few days. By early evening, though, they had begun to disperse, and finally she was at the front porch saying good night to Charley Hawkins.

"You're sure you feel all right staying here tonight?" he asked. "If you and Joey want to come and stay with me, I've got plenty of room. Since Mabel died last year, I've just been rattling around like the last bean in the coffee can."

"Thanks, but we'll be fine," MaryAnne replied. "Or as fine as we can be, given the circumstances. But I think tonight Joey and I need to be alone together, if you know what I mean."

"I do," Hawkins replied. "If you need anything anything at all-you just give me a call." As he started down the steps, a thought that had been flitting through MaryAnne's mind for the last hour suddenly came to the forefront.

"Charley?" The rawboned lawyer paused at the bottom step and glanced back. "I've been thinking. Obviously I'm going to have to be here for a while. I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't have my children come out."

Charley Hawkins grasped what she was saying. "Just let me know. I'll arrange for the tickets. And I'll have a checking account set up for you at the bank tomorrow morning.

If you come into the village, just stop in and sign the cards, or I could bring them up for you."

"I'll come in," MaryAnne replied. "And thanks, Charley.

I'm very glad that Ted and Audrey chose you to be their attorney."

A crooked smile creased Charley Hawkins's cheeks.

"And I'm glad they chose you to take care of Joey. Of course, I wasn't too worried. One thing about Ted and Audrey-they were never wrong about people. Have a good night."

When he was gone, MaryAnne closed the door behind her, then leaned against it for a moment, finally releasing the steel grip with which she'd held her emotions in check.

For a moment she felt as if she might faint, but then her strength came back to her, and she went upstairs to check on Joey. He was stretched out on his bed, fully dressed, his big dog lying beside him.

"Joey?" MaryAnne said, stepping into the room. "Are you asleep?" There was no reply from the boy, so she went over to the bed, pulled the large Pendleton blanket at its foot up to cover him, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of him, Storm," she whispered as she switched off the light. "He needs you right now."

Almost as if he understood her words, the big dog thumped his tail on the bed and pressed closer to his master.

Leaving the door ajar, MaryAnne went back downstairs and began wandering through the rooms on the lower floor.

In the den, her eyes came to rest on a double silver frame that held pictures of Audrey and Ted, and she made no attempt to wipe the tears that began to run down her cheeks.

Finally she settled herself at Audrey's desk, picked up the phone, and dialed her own number in New Jersey. On the third ring, Alan picked up.

"It's MaryAnne," she said. "I wanted to let the kids know I got here all right."

"I'll tell them," Alan replied. There was an uncomfortable silence, their quarrel that morning still fresh in both their minds. Then Alan spoke again. "Are you okay?"

"Considering the circumstances, I suppose I'm all right," MaryAnne replied. She hesitated, then went on. "But I'm going to have to be here for a while, and I think maybe you should bring the kids here."

She heard a dark chuckle from her husband. "Right," he said. "I'll just call the travel agent and order up some tickets. First-class. Jesus, MaryAnne, we barely have enough money to live on, and you want me to fly us all out to Idaho for a couple of days?"

"Alan, I've got some money," MaryAnne began, but before she could go on, her husband interrupted her.

"You're kidding! You mean you've been whining at me about money every month for the last year, and you've been saving it? What the hell is going on with you? You've been acting like you were at the poorhouse door!"

His words froze MaryAnne. Should she tell him what had happened, what the terms of Ted and Audrey's wills were?

And then she remembered Eileen Chandler.

I'll never be able to trust him, she thought. If I tell him about the money now, I'll never be able to trust him again, I'll never know if he wants to come back to me, or just to the money.

"It's been tight, but I've still managed to save a little," she said, her voice cold. "There's enough for the plane tickets, and I don't want to argue with you. But I want my children with me right now, and you can either bring them or send them. It's up to YOU."

Her tone of voice told Alan not to argue with her any further. And it also told him that if he hoped to put his marriage back together, he'd better go, too.

"We'll be there," he said. "I'll get the kids packed, and we can be on the same flight you took, tomorrow morning.

Okay?"

MaryAnne let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Thank you, Alan," she said quietly. "I'll have the tickets waiting for you at the airport. See you tomorrow."

She put the receiver back on the cradle, then leaned back in the chair.

In the space of twenty-four hours her entire life had changed.