The others grabbed bottled water and milled around the tiny kitchen, finding snacks to eat.
“Do you think she was responsible for getting Culvert out of the hospital?” Priscilla sat down next to Mac.
Luc edged closer, standing beside them to listen to their conversation.
“Culvert is taking care of loose ends.” Mac set his lips in a firm line.
“Any sign that Culvert came to the motel?” Priscilla asked.
“Not yet.” Mac’s phone rang, and he hit the speaker button. “Mac here. You’re on speaker.”
“Marshal MacIntire. It’s been a long time.” The man’s raspy voice filled the room and the steel behind it caused Luc’s stomach to clench.
Everyone crowded closer to Mac, all eyes on the phone sitting on the coffee table.
“Who is this?” Mac propped his elbows on his knees.
What might have passed for a chortle came over the phone’s speaker. “I can’t believe you would forget such an old friend.”
Mac stared at the phone as Laura slipped her cell from her pocket and hit the record button to capture the call. “I haven’t forgotten you, Mason Culvert. Calling to gloat over your handiwork?”
Luc put his hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. Why was Culvert calling Mac? And how did he get Mac’s cell number?
“I’ve never been one to gloat.”
“It’s only a matter of time before we find you again.” Mac’s voice held determination. “How did you get this number?”
Again that laugh, which held no humor. “It wasn’t hard.”
“Why don’t you turn yourself in?” Mac loosely clasped his hands together. If he was trying to project an unruffled demeanor, the tension lines around his mouth betrayed him.
“To you? I don’t think so.” Culvert’s voice sharpened. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“I didn’t kill Rachel.” Culvert sounded aggrieved.
“What?” Mac smirked. “You’re calling to report a crime, are you?”
“Just setting the record straight.”
“We have you dead to rights.” Mac’s voice dropped to a growl. “You’re cleaning house. You can’t stand the fact that we can put you away for a very long time. Better hope a death-penalty state doesn’t get to you first.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Rachel.”
“And why should I believe you?” Mac shot back.
“Because I’m not the only one with something to lose.”
Click.
SEVENTEEN
Priscilla rotated her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had converted the muscles into rocks. Forty minutes ago, Myers, Aldrich and Laura had arrived back from the motel, but the marshals sent her and Luc to one of the bedrooms while they debriefed. With the door firmly closed, she couldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation, and being kept in the dark added to her jitters.
“I hope this gets wrapped up soon.” Luc quirked his lips into a smile. “My sister will kill me if I miss her birthday.”
She sank onto the love seat, grateful for the distraction. “Sister, huh? I don’t remember anything about your family.”
He joined her on the sofa. “My mother’s name is Joann, and my father’s is James. I’m the youngest of four. I have three older sisters. The eldest is Lucy, who married Paul Bonneville, and they have two adorable little kids. The second oldest is Elise, and she’s in South Africa as part of her international humanitarian work. Elise is also recently engaged to a wonderful South African named Zane Okiro.”
“And your youngest sister?”
“Octavia is only thirteen months older than me, and she teaches kindergarten. Not married or ‘even close,’ as she puts it.”
“Where do your parents live?” Removing her sneakers, she tucked her feet up underneath her legs.
“In a tiny little town called Clintwood in southwest Virginia near the Kentucky border.” Luc propped his feet on the small coffee table. “My father runs a small hobby farm that sells produce at farmers’ markets and area restaurants. He’s also been the town mayor for forever.”