Natalie tried to slow her breathing. “I, um—certainly, Detective Monroe. I’ll happily come in. But I really wasn’t kept abreast of my ex-husband’s business affairs. I’m not sure what, if anything, I can tell you.”
“I feel fairly sure you can shed some light on this,” the detective insisted.
Natalie glanced at the clock. “Do you have a particular time in mind?”
“Eleven?”
“Sure,” Natalie agreed. “Eleven is fine.”
“Mrs. Patterson?”
Something in the detective’s tone raised goose bumps on Natalie’s arms. “Yes?”
“Be sure to bring legal counsel.”
Natalie was shaking when she broke the connection. She glanced meaningfully at the kids and then sought Zeke’s gaze. “That was Monroe. He has some more questions.”
“About?”
Natalie led the way into the living room so Chad wouldn’t overhear. Turning back to Zeke, she said softly, “Something about Robert’s business affairs. I didn’t like his tone, especially at the last. He told me to bring my attorney.”
Zeke frowned. “What can you possibly tell him about Robert’s business affairs?”
That was a question Natalie couldn’t answer. “I only know something’s up.”
Zeke glanced at his watch. “I can go with you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Sterling Johnson will be there. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure? I came over to get your club keys. A couple of my brothers are going to meet me there and have a look at your wall. But it’s no problem for me to postpone.”
Natalie managed to smile. “No way. Free manpower? I’d be crazy to pass on that. Let me get you the keys.”
When Natalie met with Monroe at eleven, she felt a little more self-assured than she had yesterday. She’d had time to dress nicely, for one thing, and she’d done her hair and wore makeup. As she sat beside Sterling Johnson in front of the detective’s metal desk, she tried to look relaxed and blithely unconcerned.
Monroe wasted no time on pleasantries this morning. No offers of coffee. No friendly smiles. He slid a sheaf of papers across the blotter to Natalie. “You forgot to mention this when we chatted yesterday.”
Natalie barely glimpsed the paperwork before Sterling Johnson commandeered it. The old attorney settled his glasses on his nose and quickly skimmed the document. Only then did he hand it over to Natalie. “Were you aware of this?” he asked.
Natalie started to read. At first the legalese made no sense. Then she realized it was an earnest money agreement of some sort. Robert had been in land development and frequently acquired or sold large parcels, so that didn’t strike her as strange. Then her gaze landed on the address of the property.
“Old Mill Road?” she whispered incredulously. She glanced at the detective. “There must be some mistake. This is my father’s farm.”
“The deed on record says otherwise,” the detective replied. “That land is in your name, Mrs. Patterson.”
Natalie’s fingers convulsed over the edges of the document. “Well, yes, technically, it does belong to me. My grandmother Westfield left me the property when she died. It was originally Mitchell land. Her father gave it to her as a wedding gift with the stipulation that it should be passed down to her eldest daughter. My father was her only child, so the property came to me instead. My grandfather worked the farm all his life, and then my dad took it over. I’ll never actually take possession until both of them pass away.”
The detective interlaced his fingers. “I don’t care about your family arrangements, Mrs. Patterson. Bottom line, that property is yours, it was in your name before you got a divorce, and your ex-husband was granted fifty-percent interest in the decree. You must have been mighty upset when you discovered he was finagling to sell your inheritance and take his half of the proceeds.”
Natalie’s blood ran ice cold. She let the papers fall to her lap. Robert had been working a deal to sell Pop’s home? She couldn’t believe it.
Monroe rocked back on his chair. “Do you expect me to believe you knew nothing of this until now?”
It was all that Natalie could do to remain calmly seated. She began reading the document again. The amount of money mentioned, three and a quarter million, made her head go dizzy. A section of land surely wasn’t worth that unless it could be subdivided into lots. She skimmed through the pages until she found what she was looking for, a contingency that the buyer could get the land rezoned as residential.
“Is this final?” she asked her lawyer. “Surely it can’t be final. I can’t let Pop’s home be sold out from under him.”
“The sale can’t go forward now,” the detective assured her. “All of your ex-husband’s assets, including his interest in that land, will undoubtedly go into probate.”
Natalie realized the implications of that and sent her attorney a worried look. Sterling Johnson touched the sleeve of her suit jacket. She laid the papers back on the desk blotter and rubbed her hands over her skirt as if to decontaminate her fingertips.
“My client obviously wasn’t aware of this transaction,” Johnson told the detective.
“Ah, come on, Mr. Johnson,” Monroe said impatiently. “Robert Patterson was moving forward with the sale. She must have been aware of it. The man was no fool, surely. That’s a legally binding contract, and she had half interest in the land.”
“You’re making an erroneous assumption, Detective. In the state of Oregon, an earnest money agreement does not require the signature of more than one seller. In the case of married couples selling a home, for instance, only the signature of one of them is necessary on an earnest money agreement. Mr. Patterson could have transacted to sell the land without my client’s knowledge.”
“To what end? She’d have had to agree to sign later. If she refused, it would have blown the deal.”
Johnson removed his eyeglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “Another assumption. I haven’t reviewed the Patterson divorce settlement, but a clause to prevent either party from unreasonably hindering the liquidation of commonly owned assets is standard. Otherwise a husband or wife could stonewall an ex-spouse at every turn, preventing the sale of the marital home, vacation homes, and myriad other possessions.”
“So Patterson could have proceeded this far in the land sale without ever mentioning it to Mrs. Patterson?” the detective asked.
Johnson nodded. “As I said, I haven’t reviewed the terms of dissolution, but I will be very surprised if an unreasonable hindrance clause isn’t included in the fine print.”
Natalie felt sick to her stomach. Robert had been wheeling and dealing behind her back, conniving to sell her inheritance. This went beyond greedy. It was downright evil. He’d signed a written agreement never to touch the farm.
“Robert was way out of line, doing this,” Natalie said. “We had a written agreement, a settlement out of court, that said we both got to keep our family heirlooms and inheritances. A lawyer drew it up.”
“What was his name?”
Natalie rubbed her forehead. “Baskin, I think. Yes, that was it, Harry Baskin.”
Sterling Johnson frowned. “Was he here in Crystal Falls?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Johnson said, “and I know every lawyer in town. Did you check him out, make sure he was legit?”
Alarm mounting within her, Natalie stared at her attorney. “Of course he was legit. I went to his office, saw the gold letters on his window. He was even a notary public and authenticated the contract for us. Robert hired him.”
Monroe asked, “Did you have the contract reviewed by your own counsel?”
Natalie doubled her hands into fists over her skirt. She’d been flat broke at the time and grateful that Robert had offered to pay the attorney fees. She’d had no money to have another attorney look at the documents. “No,” she whispered.
Johnson cleared his throat, removed his hand from Natalie’s sleeve, and sat bac
k on his chair, looking deflated for a second. Then he recovered, straightened his shoulders, and smiled as if they’d stopped in to pay a social call.
Detective Monroe smirked. “It seems obvious to me, if you’ve never heard of Harry Baskin, that Mrs. Patterson got the wool pulled over her eyes. The contract that she and her ex-husband signed probably wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, meaning that the divorce decree took precedence. Robert Patterson could have forced the sale of that farm.” He slanted a speculative look at Natalie. “If Mrs. Patterson discovered what he was up to, what could she have done, save grow angry?”
Johnson’s lips thinned. “If my client had refused to co-operate, Mr. Patterson would have had legal recourse under the unreasonable hindrance clause in the decree to sue. Eventually, the land would have been sold.”
“Whether Mrs. Patterson liked it or not?”
Johnson cleared his throat again. “Precisely.”
Detective Monroe settled a piercing gaze on Natalie. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Johnson, but doesn’t that give your client a compelling motive for murder?”
Chapter Fourteen
On the off chance that she’d find Zeke at the club, Natalie drove past there before leaving town. On a rational level, she didn’t know why she so desperately needed to see his face, or why she yearned with such urgency to feel his arms around her. She’d been financially independent for nearly two years and emotionally independent for much longer than that, the key to her survival an ingrained confidence that she could make it alone, no matter what. But now, suddenly, like an addict hooked on a chemical substance, she absolutely had to be with him.
She wasn’t surprised to see the front door of the Blue Parrot standing open and Zeke’s Dodge parked at the curb. Rather than fight traffic to grab a parallel parking space, she drove around to the side lot. Zeke. Recalling the meeting with Monroe, her insides quaked with fear. She needed Zeke to hold her close and assure her that everything would be all right. Madness. He had no magic wand. Against the system, he’d be powerless to protect her if Monroe decided to arrest her for Robert’s murder.
When she entered the building a moment later, she saw Zeke hunkered down in front of an electrical socket in the wall he planned to remove. Dressed in his standard Wranglers, a chambray work shirt, and the chocolate-brown Stetson, he was studying an odd-looking gadget he held in one hand that had two wires with metal probes attached to it.
Still quivering with trepidation, Natalie stopped just inside the door to gather her composure. She didn’t want to project herself as a needy, clinging basket case who leaned on him every time something went wrong. She owned this business. She’d scraped and saved and worked her ass off to make a go of it without any man to support her in the endeavor. She needed him, yes, but she needed to maintain her dignity almost as much.
A playful, teasing approach might be best, she decided. After the initial hellos, she could tell him about the meeting with Monroe—calmly, stating only the facts, coming off as mildly upset, not frantic.
To that end, she crept up behind him, bent low, and lifted the brim of his hat to kiss the back of his neck. He jumped, spun, and almost fell over backward.
“Sweet Christ!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle—” Wrong man. Natalie gaped in astonishment. He looked enough like Zeke to be his twin. Her heart did a funny flip and squiggle in her chest when she realized what she’d just done. A stranger? It was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. “Oh dear!”
The man nudged up the brim of his Stetson to give her a lazy once-over with sky-blue eyes so similar to Zeke’s that Natalie could scarcely credit it. Then he flashed a slow grin. “You must be Natalie. I’m Hank, Zeke’s younger brother.”
“I’m sorry. You look so much like—”
“You taking a nap out there?” another deep voice called from the kitchen. “Did I throw the right switch or not?”
Natalie glanced up to see another sun-bronzed, blue-eyed cowboy in a chocolate-brown Stetson in the kitchen doorway. He stood exactly like Zeke, one hip cocked, his opposite knee slightly bent—a tall, well-muscled cowboy, every inch of him honed to a rugged toughness. Only he wasn’t Zeke.
“That’s Jake, the oldest,” Hank said. Then he startled her half to death with a shrill whistle. “Yo, Zeke!” he yelled. “Your lady’s out here!”
Zeke appeared in the doorway that led to the bar. He flashed her a slow, lopsided grin that she was quickly coming to realize must be the Coulter male trademark. “Hi, sweetheart. What’re you doing here?”
“Kissing perfect strangers,” Hank replied. “You’d best marry the lady and keep a closer eye on her, or some lonesome cowboy’s gonna snatch her up.”
Natalie’s face went fiery hot. “I thought—” She looked helplessly at Zeke. “You mentioned a family resemblance, but I had no idea—” She broke off again, feeling too stupid for words. “I thought it was you.”
Zeke chuckled. “You’re not the first person to make that mistake. And don’t let Hank nettle you. He’s an incurable tease.” He glanced at his brother. “Show your manners and stand up, little brother. I want you to meet my lady.”
This was the second time in as many minutes that she’d been referred to as Zeke’s lady. For a fleeting instant, Natalie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t a possession, after all. But then she looked into Zeke’s laughing blue eyes and knew the handle fitted her perfectly. She did indeed belong to him, just as he belonged to her. And she wouldn’t have changed that for anything.
“The lady and I have met,” Hank replied as he pushed to his feet. He sent Natalie a twinkling look and drew off his Stetson. “Hank Coulter,” he said with a grin and extended his hand. “Don’t believe a word he says about me, by the way. He lies through his teeth.” With a wink, he added in a stage whisper, “It’s the bane of my existence, being the handsomest one of the lot. They’re all jealous and pick on me.”
Zeke elbowed his brother’s arm, a not-very-subtle signal for Hank to behave himself. Hank staggered sideways, exaggerating the impact. “He’s mean, too. Don’t cross him.”
Natalie felt herself relaxing. Their brotherly razzing reminded her of the way she and Valerie teased each other. She shook Hank’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Hank. Zeke says you raise and train quarter horses?”
“Only when I’m not volunteering to do carpentry work,” Hank replied.
Jake sauntered from the kitchen, exhibiting the same, loose-jointed stride that Natalie had so often admired in Zeke. As he extended his hand to her, he said, “Good to finally meet you, Natalie. Now I know why Zeke’s been chasing his tail for a month.”
Like Hank, Jake had a friendly smile and warm blue eyes. Natalie immediately liked him. “We’re here to tear out your wall,” he explained, “and the electrical circuits aren’t clearly marked. Hank’s using the voltage tester to tell when I get the power shut off.”
“Ah.” Natalie glanced at the little box Hank held. “I really appreciate the two of you coming to help.”
“Not a problem,” Hank assured her. “That’s what family is for.”
He hunkered back down in front of the electrical socket. Jake tipped his hat to her in farewell and returned to the kitchen. Zeke curled an arm around Natalie’s shoulders and led her into the bar. After closing the door behind them, he caught her close in his embrace and soundly kissed her. By the time he released her, Natalie was breathless and hated to spoil the mood by telling him why she’d come.
“What?” Zeke said when he saw her face.
She wanted so badly to be strong and matter-of-fact. Instead she sank against him. “Oh, Zeke,” she whispered, “I’m so scared. The most awful thing has happened.”
He ran his hand over her back, his fingers gently massaging her muscles. “What, honey? What did Monroe say?”
“Remember yesterday when you said I had no motive to kill Robert?”
“Yes.”
“I do
now.”
Zeke led her over to the bar, caught her at the waist, and lifted her up to sit on a stool. Even as upset as she was, Natalie marveled at his strength. When he searched her gaze, the most wondrous feeling moved through her, a sense that he would be there for her, steady as a rock, no matter what. She could see the love he felt for her in his eyes and in his expression. Not Robert. She had to remember that. Posturing and facades weren’t necessary with this man. If she had weak moments and needed to lean on him, he wouldn’t mind or think less of her.
“You acquired a motive since yesterday?”
She nodded. “A really, really compelling motive.”
Zeke sat on a stool beside her as she filled him in on her visit with Detective Monroe. “He believes I knew about the land sale. Before we left, he even said, plain out, that he feels this gives me a strong motive for murder.”
Zeke swiveled on the stool to face her, his squared knees bracketing hers, his big hands enveloping hers in leathery warmth. His grip was as steady as his character, strong yet not punishing, dependable but not oppressive. “Robert was trying to sell your dad’s farm?”
“Technically it belongs to me.” She explained the terms of her grandmother’s will. “Someday it should go to Rosie. It was in my name when I divorced Robert, making it a part of our joint assets. Robert understood that it was Westfield land, only mine on loan, so to speak, and we signed a contract, agreeing to leave each other’s family property alone. Only it was a hoax.” She explained about Harry Baskin, who’d posed as an attorney and notary public. “Sterling Johnson says I could have been forced to sell the farm.”
“That doesn’t mean you killed Robert.”
“No, but it gives me a very good reason to have wanted him dead. In fact—” She broke off, sighed, and let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling. “Oh, Zeke, this is terrible of me, but had I found that contract two days ago, I might have considered killing him. Knowing he would stoop that low—that he wanted to toss Pop and Gramps out of their home without a thought for their welfare—it makes me so mad I could spit.”