They were in the air less than an hour later, on a southeasterly course toward the state capital. Alex had used a quarter of that hour to get herself looking human again. She had washed her face in cold water, applied fresh makeup, brushed her hair, and changed into a pair of wool slacks and a sweater. Whatever she wore to the meeting in the morning could come out of her closet at home.
On the way to Purcell’s municipal airfield, Reede stopped at a hamburger joint and picked up the order he’d phoned ahead for. There was a single-engine Cessna waiting for them on the tarmac when they arrived at the landing strip. The sheriff knew how to pull strings.
Purcell was no more than a patch of glittering light on the black carpet beneath them before she thought to ask, “Does this plane belong to you?”
“Minton Enterprises. Angus gave me permission to use it. Pass me one of those cheeseburgers.”
She devoured almost half of hers—Sarah Jo’s cucumber sandwich hadn’t gone far—before she came up for air. “When did you learn to fly?”
Reede munched a french fry. “I was about eight.”
“Eight!”
“I had salvaged an old beat-up bike from a junkyard and repaired it well enough to get around on. I pedaled out to the airfield every chance I got.”
“It must be three miles from town,” she exclaimed.
“I didn’t care. I’d have gone twice that far. The planes intrigued me. The old guy who ran the place was as testy as a rattlesnake, a real loner, but he kept a strawberry soda pop waiting for me in his ancient icebox. I guess I pestered the snot out of him, but he didn’t seem to mind all my questions. One day, he looked over at me and said, ‘I gotta check out this plane. Wanna go along for the ride?’ I nearly peed my pants.”
Reede probably didn’t realize that he was smiling over the happy memory. Alex remained silent so he wouldn’t be reminded that she was there. She enjoyed his smile. It attractively emphasized the fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes and those around his mouth.
“God, it was great,” he said, as though he could feel the surge of pleasure again. “I hadn’t discovered sex yet, so flying was the best thing that had happened to me. From up there, everything looked so peaceful, so clean.”
An escape from the awful realities of his childhood, Alex thought compassionately. She
wanted to touch him, but didn’t dare. She was about to venture down a rocky, hazardous path. One wrong word or turn of phrase would spell doom, so she felt her way carefully.
Quietly, she asked, “Reede, why didn’t you tell me that my mother was pregnant when she came back from El Paso?”
“Because it doesn’t make any difference.”
“Not now, but it did twenty-five years ago. She didn’t want to marry my father. She had to.”
“Now that you know, what does it change? Not a goddamn thing.”
“Perhaps,” she replied uncertainly. After another brief silence, she said, “I was the quarrel, wasn’t I?”
He looked at her sharply. “What?”
Letting her head fall back on the headrest, she sighed. “I wondered why the two of you didn’t kiss and make up when she got back that summer. Knowing how much and how long you had cared for each other, I wondered what could possibly keep you apart after a silly lovers’ spat. Now, I know. It wasn’t silly. It was more than a spat. It was me. I kept you apart. I was the quarrel.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“It was.”
Grandma Graham had said it was her fault that Celina had been killed. Everything Alex uncovered was bearing that out. Had Celina, by having another man’s child, driven her passionate, jealous, possessive lover to kill her?
“Reede, did you murder my mother because of me?”
“Damn,” he swore viciously. “I could strangle Sarah Jo for telling you about that. My quarrel with Celina wasn’t over you—not originally, anyway.”
“Then, what?”
“Sex!” Swiveling his head around, he glared at her. “Okay?”
“Sex?”
“Yeah, sex.”