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  "So does that mean I can let Frank keep his stupid boat if I want to?" Bubba asked.

  "Technically, yes." Kelly said. "He's guilty of theft and we ought to turn him in but I've got an idea that might appeal to you."

  "I'm all ears." Bubba grinned and grabbed his ear.

  "Seems to me it isn't right for Frank to get away with ripping off Anna's money but I agree with you, jail's not the answer," Kelly said. "So what I've been thinking is how about if you tell Frank you'll let him slide on the theft provided he donates both the boat and his services to the Indian Creek Boy Scouts."

  Cam's black eyes popped. Unable to contain himself, he threw back his head and laughed.

  "Hot damn!" Bubba yelped. "Frank'll be so busy with them kids, he won't have no time left to poke his nose into other folks' business."

  Kelly grinned. "I kinda figured you'd cotton to that one."

  "This calls for a beer," Cam stood up. "You ready for another one, Bubba?"

  "You're damn right I am. I just wish Anna was here. She'd laugh her ass off at this plan of yours."

  "Hey!" Kelly said. "Who's to say she's not looking down on us right now."

  Bubba's eyes misted with tears. "I sure do miss the old gal."

  "Let's have a toast." Cam set a tray of longnecks on the table and picked one up. The others did the same and all three bottles clinked mid-air.

  "To Anna!"

  The End

  A Murder State of Mind – Book 2

  Chapter One

  Marcy slipped the peach chiffon over her head, smoothed it down her hips and peered into the full-length mirror. A frown tugged at her lips and her eyes focused on the bulge below her waist.

  “Darn,” she muttered. “It shows already.”

  Tonight, over a romantic dinner, she planned to tell Alex about the baby and she didn’t want him guessing beforehand.

  Not long now. She glanced at her watch. In the bathroom, she applied makeup and took a brush to her short curly hair—finishing it off with a few tendrils pulled around her face. After fastening a gold chain around her neck, she slipped her feet into high- heeled sandals and stood back to inspect herself. Satisfied, she turned out the vanity light and hurried into the living room. She’d made reservations at Mystique Taverna for nine and it was nearly eight but Alex still hadn’t arrived.

  “I should’ve made them for ten,” she muttered, pulling aside the draperies and peering out at the street.

  The ringing phone momentarily distracted her and she reached over to answer it. “Hello!”

  “Marcy, sweetheart. I haven’t heard from you in ages.” The caller’s husky drawl brought a smile to Marcy’s lips.

  “Hi, Aunt Stella,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to call you but it’s been crazy around here. I just finished filming a video and tonight’s the first night I’ve had free in a month.”

  “You’ve been working too hard,” Stella scolded. “Why don’t you come to Houston and spend some time with me?”

  “Oh, Aunt Stella, I’d love to but I have a complication in my life right now that’s going to require most of my attention for the next seven months.”

  “You’re not?” Stella gave a delighted shout. “You rascal, you. I’d given up hope of ever being a Great-Auntie Stella.”

  Marcy laughed. At thirty-eight, Stella was more like an elder sister than an aunt. It hadn’t taken her a minute to figure out what the seven months implied and she wasn’t the least bit shocked.

  “I wish your reaction was what I could expect from the rest of my family,” Marcy said.

  “Pooh on them. They’re a bunch of old fogies. You let me take care of the family. Now tell me. When is your due date and what are your plans? Why don’t you come stay with me?”

  “Let me catch my breath,” Marcy said, laughing at Stella’s exuberance. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I haven’t told the father and it’s just possible he might have some ideas along those lines.”

  “Oh, men! What do they know about having babies? Okay, I won’t push you but give it some thought. I’m going nuts rattling around in this ten-room house by myself. I’d love to have you stay with me until the baby comes—and for as long after as you want. I’m sure you know you’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you!” Marcy’s voice caught in her throat. “You’re wonderful, Aunt Stella and I promise, I’ll call you just as soon as I’ve had a chance to talk to Alex.”

  “Alex Wyatt!” Stella snapped the name.

  “I know you don’t like him.” Marcy swallowed to keep the hurt out of her voice. “But I love him so much and I know he’s going to make a wonderful father.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Stella hurriedly retracted the angry words she’d spoken at the mention of Alex’s name. “I didn’t mean to snarl. I don’t care who the father is as long as he takes care of you. When are you planning to tell him?”

  “Tonight. We’re going out for dinner. I’ll tell him then.”

  “Well, good luck, kid and call me later, will you?”

  “I will, Aunt Stella. And thanks.”

  * * *

  Stella hung up the telephone and grabbed a pillow off of the sofa. “Damn,” she cursed, punching her fist into the pillow. “That son of a bitch is going to break her heart.”

  Clamping a cigarette between her lips, she pulled open the top drawer of her desk and grabbed a thick address book. Opening the book, she flipped rapidly through the pages to the name McWinter. Marking the spot with a finger, she reached for the phone and with a sharp red fingernail, tapped out the number.

  Kelly McWinter was the Fort Worth detective who’d been instrumental in catching the murderer of Stella’s husband and sister-in-law the previous year. He had become a friend during the long months of the investigation. He’d promised to be there if Stella ever needed his help and right now seemed like a good time to test the promise.

  “Be there,” Stella muttered as she counted the rings.

  “Hello,” Kelly’s soft drawl sent a tingle down her spine.

  “Kelly! Thank God! I was afraid you’d be away on a job.”

  “Hi, Stella,” Kelly’s voice warmed with recognition. “Must be that ESP of yours,” he said. “I just got back from Beaumont this morning.”

  “I need you to check someone out for me.”

  “You’ve only got to ask.”

  “It’s my niece, Marcy. She’s gotten herself pregnant by a jerk named Alex Wyatt. He’s married and I’ve heard a few rumors about him that have me worried. Maybe you’ve heard of his wife? She’s Lorena Miller, daughter of one of those Texas oil millionaires.”

  “Can’t say as I have but then I don’t exactly move in those circles.”

  “Smart man,” Stella mumbled. “Alex and Lorena are supposed to be big news with the Dallas social set and I thought maybe you could do some checking on him. Alex will probably give Marcy the brush-off as soon as he finds out about the baby but I’d like to know a bit more about him just in case.”

  “Consider it done,” Kelly said. “I’ll get hold of Jim Forbes. He’s a friend of mine on the Dallas PD. If there’s any dirt on Wyatt, Jim will dig it out.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I knew I could count on you.”

  “No problem. I’ll try to get hold of him tonight. Now, before I let you off the line, I have a favor to ask. I’ve been talking to the recruiter at American Mutual Indemnity in Sugar Land. They need another investigator on their staff and I have an appointment on Monday. I thought it might be fun to combine business with the pleasure of your company—that is, if you can put me up for a couple of days?”

  “Can I? You know damn well I can. Besides, having you around will take my mind off Marcy’s troubles. And don’t forget to bring that mutt Jake along.”

  “Good! I’ll have a talk with Jim tonight and, depending on how fast he can dig up the information on Wyatt, I’ll see you either late tomorrow afternoon or early evening.”

  “Wonderful! I’ll be waiting.”<
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  * * *

  After her talk with Stella, Marcy hung up the phone and lay back down on the bed. Stella’s reserve about Alex had intensified her own fears but she absolutely refused to believe he wouldn’t be happy about their baby. Months ago he’d told her Lorena refused to get pregnant because it might spoil her figure and there’d been real bitterness in his voice. Marcy was sure he’d go ahead with a divorce once he heard the news.

  From the living room came sounds of Alex moving around. Slipping into her dress, Marcy smoothed her hair one last time and hurried to meet him.

  In the car, Alex drove with one hand on the wheel and the other stroking her thigh. “I see you’ve climbed a couple more notches up the charts,” he said.

  Marcy nodded. “Mike’s thinking about having me do a single but I don’t know if I’m ready right now. I may take a few months off.”

  “Better not.” He shook his head. “The public’s fickle and you need to strike while the group’s hot. If I were you, I’d listen to Mike. He’s the best there is. That’s why I’ve got him working for Miller-Wyatt.”

  Marcy kept her thoughts to herself. She was sure Alex would change his mind once he knew she was pregnant. He wouldn’t want her endangering the baby by going through those long, grueling recording sessions.

  The car lurched and swerved. “Shit,” Alex snapped and jerked the wheel. “I think I’ve got a flat.”

  “Oh, no! It’s twenty to ten. What will the people at Mystique think if I have to call them again?”

  “Screw Mystique. It’ll probably take an hour for the auto club to get here this time of night. I’ll have to change the damn thing myself.”

  He got out of the car and bent down to look at the tire. “It’s flat all right,” he muttered, reaching inside to pull the keys. “You better get out while I jack it up.”

  Alex opened the trunk and took out the tire bar and lug wrench. “Hold onto these while I get this tire out of here,” he said, handing her the tools and bending over to grab the spare. Marcy followed him to the front of the car and dutifully handed him the tire bar.

  “I feel like a nurse,” she giggled.

  Alex grunted and bent to the job of removing the lugs and pulling off the old tire. After he had the new tire in place, he tightened the lug nuts and handed her the wrench. “Put those back in the trunk,” he snapped.

  Marcy replaced them and grabbed a rag from the box. “Here, you can wipe your hands,” she said when he’d finished storing the tire.

  He grunted and grabbed the rag. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Ten minutes to ten. That didn’t take long. We should get there right on time.”

  “Hell of a way to start the night,” he muttered.

  Marcy climbed into the car and shut her eyes. She’d wanted tonight to be so perfect but the flat tire had put a damper on things. Alex’s good mood had evaporated and a headache had started pounding away at her temples.

  * * *

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Marcy kept her eyes closed until Alex swerved into Mystique’s driveway and stopped the car. The Taverna, a long low building set discreetly back from the street, had been painted a deep Mediterranean blue, its entrance flanked by two Romanesque columns. Mystique had been etched into the black woodwork and a brass ring hung from the set of double doors.

  After turning the car over to a valet, Alex grasped Marcy’s elbow and guided her up the short flight of stone steps.

  “Ready?” He smiled down at her.

  She nodded and Alex pulled the ring. The doors swung open, admitting them into a cool, dim foyer with frescoed walls and plush green carpeting.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wyatt.” A smiling maître d’ stepped forward. “You’re looking charming this evening, Miss Benson.”

  “Thank you,” Marcy acknowledged the compliment.

  Alex kept his hand pressed against her waist as they crossed the room to an intimate table set up on one of the small platforms surrounding the main dining area.

  Marcy and Alex smiled and nodded to mutual acquaintances as they crossed the room. At the table, a waiter appeared with a menu. “Mr. Marston has ordered a bottle of Andre Brunel Cotes Du Rhone for you and Miss Benson,” he said, motioning toward a thin, gray-haired man with wire-rimmed spectacles and a beak nose, who was cuddled up to an attractive brunette at the opposite side of the platform.

  Alex turned and waved a thank you. “We’ll start with a gin martini and a daiquiri,” he said. “I’ll give you our order later.”

  Handing back the menu, Alex turned to Marcy. “Is that okay with you?” he asked. Marcy hesitated, then said to the waiter, “I’d like that daiquiri virgin, please.”

  He nodded and went to fill their order.

  Alex leaned his elbows on the crisp white cloth, reached for the centerpiece — a cornucopia of fresh fruit and crimson dahlias—and shoved it aside. “You’re not going to be a drag are you?” His eyes gripped hers.

  “I’ve got a bit of a headache.” She flushed uncomfortably. “I’ll feel better after I have something to eat.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll go have a word with Kenneth,” he said, rising to leave the table.

  Marcy smiled wearily. She frequently spent half the night sitting alone while Alex table-hopped. Watching him cross the floor, she felt a tightness in her chest. He was so good-looking—tall and slender with thick, blond hair and piercing blue eyes set off by a deeply tanned face.

  A lot of women yearned to be in Marcy’s shoes and as she watched Alex cross to the table occupied by Winn and Theresa Gordon, the memory of a rumor she’d heard sprung to mind. Winn was a sales representative for Wyatt Recording and Alex had spent a weekend at the Gordons’ ranch a couple months ago. One of the rumors circulating at Wyatt Recording was that Winn had been out of town the weekend Alex paid his visit.

  Watching him greet the Gordons, Marcy wondered about Winn—a colorless, nondescript, little man who paled beside Theresa — a cool, elegant brunette with hungry eyes. Rumor had it she’d slept with half the men at Wyatt Recording. Marcy had put the rumors down to jealous gossip but now, watching Theresa plaster herself against Alex, she wondered.

  Turning away, Marcy’s mind wandered back to her first date with Alex. She’d grown up in the small town of Maryville, Tennessee and after winning a talent contest sponsored by a local radio station, she’d received an invitation to audition with the Livewires, a hot new country rock band from Nashville. They’d loved her voice and hired her on the spot. Her father had ranted when she told him but Marcy had refused to give up the job. Leaving her mother to deal with her dad’s anger, she’d moved to Nashville. Marcy had met Alex, the Dallas-based owner of Wyatt Recording when he’d stopped by the studio to watch a recording session and when he invited her out to dinner, she’d awkwardly accepted.

  For their first date, he’d picked her up in a limousine and taken her on the General Jackson. It had been Marcy’s first time on a riverboat and she’d been thrilled. Alex had told her he was married but that he and his wife lived separate lives. She’d had some qualms but Alex had been a perfect gentleman and they’d had a wonderful time. After the date, he’d sent her two dozen, long-stemmed red roses and the deliveries had continued all week.

  The following Saturday, when he called for another date, Marcy had laughingly told him that if he didn’t stop the deliveries, she was going to have to move or open a flower shop.

  “You seem deep in thought,” Alex said, returning to the table.

  Marcy smiled up at him. “I was thinking about our first date and all those roses you sent me.”

  Alex grinned. He liked being the center of her thoughts.

  “Are you ready to order, sir?” The waiter appeared at Alex’s elbow.

  “I think so. We’ll start with a spanakopita, then Greek salad and the arni psito, I think.”

  “Very good.” The waiter noted the order in his little book. “Would you care for the wine now?” he asked. “Or do you wish ano
ther cocktail?”

  “The wine,” Alex replied.

  The waiter hurried off and Alex turned back to Marcy. “Okay,” he said. “You’ve got something on your mind. I can tell by the way you’ve been moping. Let’s get it over with, shall we? Then maybe we can enjoy our dinner.”

  Marcy’s face dropped. She hadn’t realized her anxiety was so obvious. “I’m going to have a baby.” She surprised herself by blurting it out.

  Alex stared. His hand reached for his glass and he drained the rest of his drink. “When?”

  Marcy laughed. “Not for another seven months.”

  “Good!” He set his glass back on the table. “You’ll have plenty of time to get an abortion. I’ll find you a good doctor.”

  Marcy recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Her face blanched and tears rushed to her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Alex’s eyes searched her face. “Are you going to be sick?” Marcy shook her head. She couldn’t speak.

  “You’re not going to be stupid about this, are you?” he growled. “Surely you know a baby is out of the question.” Alex seemed genuinely confused. “Damn!” He dug in his pocket for his cigar case.

  “I will not kill my baby.” Hysteria rose in Marcy’s throat. She fought it down and forced herself to meet his eyes.

  Alex shook his head. “Fuck!” He slammed his case down on the table.

  Marcy stood up and clutched her stomach, as if to shield the baby. “I’m going to have this baby and nothing you say or do is going to stop me.”

  A hush fell over the dining room and several heads turned toward their table but Marcy kept her eyes fixed on Alex. Tears streamed down her face. “I never want to see you again,” she choked, grabbing her bag and starting down the steps.

  “Wait a minute.” Alex jumped up and reached for her arm.

  Marcy jerked away from him, eyes blazing. “If you so much as touch me, I’ll kill you,” she shrieked.