“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Angus said, frowning. “Anybody can get laid on a regular basis. I’m talking about your life. Commitment to something. You were upset for a long time after Celina died. It took you a while to pull your shit together. Okay, that was understandable.”
He pushed the footstool of his chair and sat up straight, pointing a blunt finger at Junior. “But you stalled, boy, and you haven’t worked up a full head of steam since. Look at Reede. He took Celina’s death hard, too, but he got over her.”
“How do you know he got over her?”
“Do you see him moping around?”
“I’m the one who’s had three wives, not Reede.”
“And that’s something to be proud of?” Angus shouted, his temper snapping. “Reede’s made his life count for something. He’s got a career—”
“Career?” Junior interrupted with a contemptuous snort. “I’d hardly call being sheriff of this pissant county a career. Big fuckin’ deal.”
“What would you call a career? Screwing the entire female membership of the country club before you die?”
“I do my fair share of work around here,” Junior argued. “I spent all morning on the phone with that breeder in Kentucky. He’s this close to buying that colt by Artful Dodger out of Little Bit More.”
“Yeah, what did he say?”
“That he’s seriously thinking about it.”
Angus came out of his chair, booming his approval. “That’s great news, son. That old man’s a tough son of a bitch, I’ve heard tell. He’s a crony of Bunky Hunt’s. Feeds his horses caviar and shit like that after they win.” Angus slapped Junior on the back and ruffled his hair as though he were three, instead of forty-three.
“However,” Angus said, his frown returning, “that just emphasizes how much we stand to lose if the racing commission rescinds that license before the ink on it is even dry. One breath of scandal and we’re history. So, how are we gonna handle Alexandra?”
“Handle her?”
Favoring his ailing toe, Angus hobbled toward the refrigerator to get another beer. “We can’t wish her away. The way I see it,” he said, twisting off the bottle cap, “we’ll just have to convince her that we’re innocent. Upstanding citizens.” He gave an elaborate shrug. “Since that’s exactly what we are, it shouldn’t be that hard to do.”
Junior could tell when the wheels of his father’s brain were turning. “How will we go about that?”
“Not we—you. By doing what you do best.”
“You mean—?”
“Seduce her.”
“Seduce her!” Junior exclaimed. “She didn’t strike me as being a prime candidate for seduction. I’m sure she can’t stand our guts.”
“Then, that’s the first thing we gotta change… you gotta change. Just seduce her into liking you… at first. I’d do it myself if I still had the proper equipment.” He gave his son a wicked smile. “Think you can handle such an unpleasant chore?”
Junior grinned back. “I’d damn sure welcome the opportunity to try.”
Chapter 6
The cemetery gates were open. Alex drove through them. She had never been to her mother’s grave, but she knew the plot number. It had been jotted down and filed among some official papers that she’d found when she had moved her grandmother into the nursing home.
The sky looked cold and unfriendly. The sun was suspended just above the western horizon like a giant orange disk, brilliant but brassy. Tombstones cast long shadows across the dead grass.
Using discreet signposts for reference, Alex located the correct row, parked the car, and got out. As far as she could tell, she was the only person there. Here on the outskirts of town, the north wind seemed stronger, its howl more ominous. She flipped up the collar of her coat as she made her way toward the plot.
Even though she was searching for it, she wasn’t prepared to see the grave. It rushed up on her unexpectedly. Her impulse was to turn away, as though she’d happened upon an atrocity, something horrible and offensive.
The rectangular marker was no more than two feet high. She wouldn’t have ever noticed it if it weren’t for the name. It gave only her mother’s date of birth, and date of death—nothing else. Not an epitaph. Not an obligatory “In loving memory of.” Nothing but the barest statistical facts.
The scarcity of information broke Alex’s heart. Celina had been so young and pretty and full of promise, yet she’d been diminished to anonymity.
She knelt beside the grave. It was set apart from the others, alone at the crest of a gradual incline. Her father’s body had been shipped from Vietnam to his native West Virginia, courtesy of the United States Army. Grandfather Graham, who had died when Celina was just a girl, was buried in his hometown. Celina’s grave was starkly solitary.