The Fixer's Daughter Page 19

  “It’s a different house, Daddy.” Callie pulled him gently away. “Mom’s redecorating the main house, remember? This is the gatehouse.” She was probably doing it all wrong, making up a story to explain whatever confusion his mind was going through at that moment, a story that would cause the least upheaval and that he would quickly forget. If some doctor knew of a better way of dealing with it, she’d be glad to listen.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, obviously embarrassed. “Why the hell didn’t Sarah say that? Redecorating. I forgot.”

  “You have more important things to think about.”

  “I thought for sure…” Buddy looked around. “Some of this furniture I remember from the other house.”

  “It was in the other house.”

  “Darlin’, darlin’”. He grabbed her by the shoulder and shook his head. “Why do I get so confused? My mind was never fuzzy like this. It’s not right.”

  “Why don’t you sit down and read the paper? I’ll get you the paper, okay?”

  Buddy let himself be led to a plush couch in the living room. His breathing slowed. “You want some tea, darlin’?” he asked as he settled into the cushions. “English breakfast tea with a little cream?”

  Callie smiled. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  “Just a little cream, no sugar,” he called out as she left the room. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

  “I know.”

  She made the tea just as ordered and delivered it in one of her mother’s china cups. A copy of the American-Statesman was in the magazine rack. It was yesterday’s, but in his current state it didn’t matter. “Just relax and read the paper,” she said then kissed him on the forehead and went out to get some air.

  The day had turned into a prelude to summer, with the humidity shooting into the uncomfortable range. It was second nature for her now to start walking up to the main house whenever she stepped outside. This time, as she walked, she saw the fire marshal’s red and white SUV parked by the charred remains of the door. The marshal emerged from the house just as Callie came within hailing distance. “Ms. McFee. How y’all doing? Your daddy got everything he needs?”

  “He’s fine, thank you.” Callie reminded herself to keep an eye open, just in case the marshal decided to stop on his way out and pay a visit to the great man. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, no.” He was holding a clipboard and now rested it on his sizable stomach. “The arson squad finished their report. Just thought I’d check it before filing.”

  “Their report?” Callie tensed. “Was it arson?”

  “Undetermined,” the chief drawled, rebalancing the clipboard as he searched for the right paragraph. “Not electrical,” he summarized. “No accelerant detected. The hot spot was between the desk and the file cabinets, in the vicinity of the wastebasket.” He flipped a page. “This doesn’t rule out arson. But if it was, it was very good, a professional job.”

  “How could it be accidental?” She reached out for the clipboard, but he ignored the silent request. “It was in an empty room that hadn’t been used in maybe fifteen minutes. If the fire wasn’t electrical…”

  “That’s why it says ‘undetermined’. Their job is to look at the physical evidence, not grab at one conclusion or the other.” He removed the clipboard from its perch and flipped the page back. “You’ll be glad to know we’re releasing the site. The officer’s coming off your front gate, so it won’t look like you’re living in a crime scene. Gil and your daddy can get their insurance people in here and whatnot. I know they got a small army wanting to start repairs.”

  “That’s good,” she said, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome. It was good seeing you, Ms. McFee.” He checked his watch and began waddling toward his SUV. “Got go meet with the attorney general right now. Can’t be late.”

  For a second, she thought he meant her father. “Oh. Felix Gibson.”

  He laughed. “I guess I’m dealing with two of them, huh? How do you say that? Attorneys general? Mr. Gibson is very interested in this case, no doubt ‘cause it involves an old friend. He wants to review everything before the report goes out.”

  She watched the marshal drive off then walked through the blackened doorframe. The remains of the French parquet floor, the one her mother loved so much, would soon be torn out. Callie’s choice for its replacement would probably be a dark mahogany. It would match the rest of the house much better than Anita McFee’s choice, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  The guard, in a folding chair by the winding staircase, didn’t notice her until she was halfway through the entry hall. “Excuse me?” he said, looking up from his phone. The name on his tag announced J. Durban while the patch on his sleeve said Eagle Security. The man himself – thirtyish, overweight, seemingly devoid of energy – was armed with a black handgun in a side holster, half-hidden by his paunch. Callie wondered how long he’d had this job and if he’d actually ever used the gun nestled under his layer of fat.

  Callie introduced herself, adding that she was Buddy McFee’s daughter and was living with him in the gatehouse. “The guy who owns this place, right?” said J. Durban. She found his clueless response oddly liberating.

  “Right,” she said. “And you are . . .”

  He pointed to his nametag. “Jeremy.”

  “Well, Jeremy, the fire department has released the house, so I’m just going to take a look around.”

  “Does that mean I can leave? Job over?”

  “No. First of all, you can’t walk off because some woman comes up and says so. That’s not exactly security.”

  “Sorry,” Jeremy stammered. “This is my first assignment.”

  “No problem. But you wait till your boss tells you. Your company’s being paid by Gil Morales. Gil’s in the hospital, but I’ll ask him next time I have the chance. My guess is he’ll want it guarded until he can get a security system installed. Until then, your orders are to keep everyone out.” Then, in direct defiance of what she’d just said, Callie walked from the front hall back into the rest of the house. Jeremy didn’t try to stop her.

  The odor of wet charcoal permeated the lower story. Would it go away, or would it always be there, the faintest of scents lingering under every other scent? It was disconcerting to be in a place so familiar, the only real home she’d ever known, and yet have it be so different. Even in her darkest days, when she and her father had lost contact and she was in a claustrophobic one-bedroom in Dallas, the ranch had been there, comforting and full of memories, six generations full. And yet, like all material things, it was impermanent, something that would be sold some day, or fall into ruin. Or burn to the ground. This had been an incomprehensible possibility, right up to the day it almost happened.

  After making a slow circuit of the main floor, she emerged back in the hall and waved good-bye to Jeremy. He was back on his phone and didn’t see her leave.

  The unmoving, muggy air enveloped her as soon as she stepped outside. At the end of the corridor of live oaks, by the gatehouse, stood a black limousine, the kind her father had once used, its black-suited driver lounging against the passenger side door. Next to the limousine was the fire marshal’s red and white SUV. What was it the chief had told her right before driving away? That he was going off to meet the attorney general? Not Buddy, of course, but the current one, Felix Gibson - although he did make some joke about dealing with both attorneys general, she recalled.

  Oh, shit!

  Callie began to run. Her pace slowed to a brisk walk only when the driver looked up and saw her. “Hi,” she shouted from a distance. She’d never realized how hard it was to appear nonchalant when you’re shouting and race-walking. “Hi,” she said again, combining it with an open-mouthed smile. “I’m Buddy McFee’s daughter. Sorry I’m late. Where are they, the living room? Mr. Gibson told me to come…”

  The driver raised a hand, his face expressionless. With his other hand, he took a police-style communicator from his
belt and spoke a few soft sentences into it. Callie recognized the breed, a driver/bodyguard, the same macho, intimidating type that had attended her father for so many years. He lowered the communicator and deigned to speak. “It’s a private meeting. You’ll have to wait out here.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. This is my house.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I have my orders.”

  “I don’t care about your orders. You can’t keep me out of my own house.”

  The driver took a few steps, placing himself firmly between Callie and the front stoop. “It’s a private meeting, Miss. The fire chief and the attorney general and Mr. McFee.” His mouth turned up into a slight, totally fake smile. “You’ll just have to talk to me.”

  “Sounds lovely, but I don’t know you. I do know Felix Gibson, however.”

  “Ma’am…” He had progressed from Miss to Ma’am, not a good sign. “I’m going to have to ask you to step back from the door.”

  Callie had a decision to make – to push things, make a scene and further arouse whatever suspicions Felix Gibson may already have; or to let it go and deal with the aftermath. She decided to let it go.

  She was still pacing the driveway when the front door opened and the fire marshal walked out, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Ms. McFee, good luck with the repairs. And don’t forget new smoke detectors, ones with fresh batteries this time.”

  “Is the meeting over?” Callie asked.

  “All over. Have a good one,” he said and headed for his red and white SUV.

  “Calista, long time. How are ya’?” Felix Gibson stood in the middle of the living room, motioning her to come inside. Felix was State’s godfather and had been a ranch regular, always ready to laugh at Buddy’s jokes, to whisper in his ear and be part of whatever backroom deals were in the works. Gil had never been a Felix fan. Callie thought it was because the men were too much alike. Both were political animals. The difference was that Gil proved to actually have loyalty, which had probably been his downfall. Felix had gone on to be lieutenant governor and was now attorney general, a much more powerful position. Gil could have left the McFee employ at any time, even after the scandal. He’d had offers. But he stayed by Buddy’s side.

  Felix was about the same size and build as Gil, but clean shaven and of Scottish descent. “Tim, my boy, let the girl in. Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping her out here.”

  “Sir?”

  “Me and Calista are old friends. Come in, come in.”

  Callie didn’t gloat, just stepped over the threshold and looked around. Three half-empty glasses of lemonade sat on leather coasters on the coffee table. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Little boy’s room.” Felix waited until Tim the driver had left and closed the door. “The marshal told me he was doing his sign-off. Thought I might as well drop by. Your daddy seems none the worse for wear.”

  “The whole experience was very hard on him,” Callie said, hoping to explain away whatever Buddy might have said or done.

  “I can see,” Felix said. “He likes talking about the past, things I barely remember. I guess we all do when we hit a certain stage in life.”

  “Like I said, it hit him hard.” Callie put on her good hostess face. “It was so sweet of you to come.”

  “Nonsense. We’ve been through a lot, me and your daddy. You know, I was up at the house the night before the fire, in that very same room.”

  “That’s what Uncle Gil says.”

  “I’ll bet we brokered more deals there than in the State Capital. Boy, if those walls could talk…”

  “Well, they’re not going to talk any more, are they?”

  If Felix understood her innuendo, he didn’t let on. “Ah, it’ll look as good as new. Just you wait. Do you mind if I go up and take a look? Marshal Regan showed me pictures, but…” His smile broadened. “Do you mind?”

  Why does he want to see it? she asked herself. To see if Buddy’s files were all in cinders and ash? “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “What doesn’t she mind?” It was Buddy, just exiting the powder room and zipping up his fly.

  “Us going up and taking a look at the house.”

  “In the midst of the redecoration? I wouldn’t mind that myself, though I gotta warn you. It may not be looking its best.”

  “Redecoration,” Felix cackled. “I love it.”

  “No, Dad. You stay here and rest.” She had no idea how Buddy would react to it in his current state of mind. “I’ll take Mr. Gibson up.”

  “No, I want to see the redecorating.”

  “But you promised you would wait.”

  “I did?”

  It took a little persuading, but Buddy gave in and Callie got her way. She and Felix walked up the shady drive and did the tour by themselves.

  That evening on the phone – her real phone, not the burner – Callie informed Gil of what had happened. He seemed low-key but attentive, undoubtedly still in pain.

  “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you. Having Lawrence go up to the house could have been a disaster. Do you think Felix suspects?”

  Callie had spent hours thinking about this. “Dad was in a mood, so he has to suspect something. Whether or not he attributes it to old age or the shock of the fire or exhaustion, I’m not sure.”

  “Did Felix go into the study?”

  “He did,” she confirmed. “He pretended not to stare at the wall where the file cabinets used to be, but he definitely did.”

  “Well, that’s understandable. I would have stared, too.”

  “Is Dad in danger?” It made her nervous to even ask.

  Gil’s tone was reassuring. “No, not at all. Felix is a sly, vindictive son-of-a-bitch, but if he set that fire, he’s probably feeling pretty safe for now. I think we’re okay with him.”

  “That’s good to hear.” The new topic of safety and danger had just reminded her. “Oh, the fire marshal is through with the house, so there’s no more officer at the front. The guy from Eagle Security wants to know if you’ll still be needing them.”

  “Good God, yes.” His voice erupted into a painful cough. “Yes,” he finally managed to add. “I’ll give Eagle a call. We should add a perimeter walk to his schedule, too. Thanks for telling me.”

  “I thought you said we were okay.”

  “Oh, honey, there are many different kinds of okay. You know that as well as I do.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “My brother says this is just another form of prostitution.” She didn’t know why she mentioned this. But she had consumed most of the bottle of Chardonnay with only a shrimp Caesar salad to absorb it and felt, in her foggy, happy state, that such an admission might seem authentic.

  The evening was warm and moist with barely a rustle of air. A full moon illuminated their way as Callie and Will walked hand in hand, a little boat of calm passing through the waves of rowdy college kids. “You told your brother about us?”

  “Not us in particular,” Callie said quickly. “But we discussed the general topic. He’s a good sounding board.”

  “And he disapproves?” She didn’t need to answer. “I never thought of it as that,” Will said. “My first sugar baby – God, there has to be a better term – it started as a sexual transaction, I guess. First time for both of us. We were just feeling our way. Then we got to know each other and, I think, care for each other. Not in any permanent way. Just two people sharing what they had. The money wasn’t much, from my point of view, and I got to be a part of her life. Listen to her hopes and dreams. Watch her eyes light up when I gave her something.” His chuckle was soft and sad. “Makes me sound pretty pitiful, doesn’t it?”

  “No, not at all.” She shook her head and felt the ponytail wave between her shoulders. It was part of her Heather persona but she actually liked it. Maybe she would keep it. “We all need certain things at certain times. In a way, I guess that is transactional.”

  “And is this something you need now?” Will asked. “Or something you w
ant?”

  It wasn’t what Callie wanted at all. But she felt herself envying the mythical Heather who might have embarked on a little adventure of being spoiled and having an older, wiser, very attractive mentor. As for her investigation, it really wasn’t one, she had to admit, more like an excuse to have a couple of great dates and discuss some alternate universe where he would put money into her account every month and spoil her rotten. And the sex. Who knew what the sex would be like?

  Will, she remembered, might still be a killer. But what would drive him to kill someone he barely knew? Did they have a fight? Had Briana threatened to tell his wife? Briana had never threatened to tell Sam Paget’s wife. And how would she even contact the wife? Callie had gone on two dates with Will, just like Briana, and she had no idea if Will Peterson was even his real name. Asking to see a driver’s license is not something she usually did on a date.

  When she didn’t answer the question, Will rephrased it as a statement. “I would love to take care of you, Heather. But we’re both going to need more than great dinners. I know you’re hesitant. That’s obvious.”

  They had just arrived at Sherry Ann’s building. This time she found her set of keys without a problem. “You’re right. I should jump at this. It’s everything I imagined it would be. You’re a terrific guy.”

  “Uh-oh.” Will combed a hand back through his hair. “Not sounding good.”

  “Give me a night to think it over.”

  “I can get you the money tomorrow. Then we can go about renting that new apartment.”

  Callie was surprised. “So soon?”

  “I want to prove I’m serious. I already checked with the rental agent in this building.”

  “You did?”

  “It was one quick phone call. There’s a great one-bedroom on the top floor. Monthly rental. Fully furnished. You can move in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” She had to laugh. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

  “Then I’m out a few grand, and you have an apartment for a month. But I’m betting it works out. I’m betting on us.” He waited for an answer and when it didn’t come, he turned serious. “It’s an arrangement, Heather. If you don’t want an arrangement, you shouldn’t have signed up.”