The Bride Price

Though Julie Naminga’s tone was cool, it didn’t ring with censure or condemnation. “I understand you’re here to help your father prosecute him,” she said.

Kyra wasn’t sure how to respond. For some reason she felt incredibly guilty. Yet she hadn’t done anything. “Dad phoned and asked for my help, since Tom Hanrahan is out of commission,” she answered a bit defensively. “Since I happen to love him, I said yes.”

A licensed practical nurse at the local hospital, Julie didn’t attempt to soothe her with polite clichés. Or launch into a diatribe. Instead, she seemed simply to absorb Kyra’s explanation and accept it for what it was—the reason she’d chosen to give for her actions. She’s reacting as David might have, in her place, Kyra realized.

“I’d like to say something for the record,” Julie told her after a moment. “My husband’s innocent, just as Leonard was. When you and David were helping your father prosecute him, you sensed he wasn’t responsible for that elderly couple’s death. And you did what you could to find out the truth instead of pushing for a conviction.”

Kyra bit her lip. “You’re right. We did,” she admitted. “We weren’t very successful, I’m afraid.”

Again, Julie didn’t attempt to reassure her with platitudes. The fact that they’d failed was the simple truth. There could be no denying or glossing over it.

“I don’t expect you to switch sides…join in the defense,” she said. “Just that you’ll give my husband the same chance you gave Leonard, by keeping your eyes and ears open for holes in your father’s case. Or conflicting evidence.”

Kyra felt keenly that she was being put on the spot. “I can’t act as an informer for David Yazzie,” she said reprovingly.

“I’m not asking for that. Just that you keep an open mind.”

A loose strand of Kyra’s hair blew in her face and she brushed it back. “I like to think I’m capable of that.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

Kyra nodded. “Yes.”

They stood there, looking at each other for a moment.

“Any idea who might have wanted to kill Ben Monongye, if not Paul?” Kyra asked.

Julie Naminga laughed bitterly. “Lots of people,” she said, tossing off some names that ran the gamut from Anglo to Native American.

Though she’d been gone quite a while, Kyra knew most of them. One name that stood out was that of Dale Cargill, the forty-three-year-old, unmarried son of Roy and Betty Cargill, semiretired ranchers who were lifelong friends of her dad’s. Awkward, a loner given to gambling, tasteless jokes and drinking too much, Dale ran his father’s former construction business, which she’d heard hadn’t been doing too well of late.

In that role, he’d been a business rival of the victim’s. Coincidentally, he was also the owner of the pickup truck that Paul’s brother, Leonard, had allegedly stolen shortly before crashing it into the elderly couple’s Pontiac five years earlier, and killing them.

The oddly synchronous details didn’t appear to have any significance. Though she’d always considered Dale somewhat offbeat, and found his penchant for mooning over her distasteful, Kyra doubted he’d hurt a flea. With relief— because she liked his parents—she dismissed him as a suspect.

Bidding Julie goodbye, she got into the Cherokee and drove east, toward the country club and the area of better homes that surrounded it. Before heading for the one where she’d grown up, with its four big bedrooms, heated swimming pool and choice view of the mountains, she’d stop to see Flossie Miner, as planned. Favorite aunt, substitute mom and lifelong family friend rolled into one, plump, bespectacled Flossie was always good for what ailed her.

Apparently Big Jim had phoned to let her know Kyra was coming.

“Don’t you look nice, all duded up in your lawyer’s suit with your hair in that pretty braid!” Flossie exclaimed, popping out of her front door and holding out her arms, before Kyra could switch off the Cherokee’s engine.

“I imagine you’ve heard that you and your dad are scheduled to be our guests for dinner at the country club tonight,” Flossie said as she led Kyra to the patio for coffee and Danish. “What you may not realize is that, as of this coming Thursday, your dad will have worked in the Office of the County Attorney for forty years. That’s right! He started as a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of law school. In honor of the occasion, some of us have decided to throw him a little party tonight.”

Delighted for her father’s sake, Kyra fretted that she didn’t have a present for him.

“Not to worry,” Flossie reassured. “To avoid a wedding shower atmosphere, which would embarrass him, we’ve gotten together on a group gift…that expensive new set of golf clubs he’s been wanting. No stuffy gold watches for Big Jim!”

Though Kyra had spent very little time in Flagstaff since David had walked out on her, she and Flossie had stayed in close contact. She knew the older woman could keep a confidence. As a result, she decided to share some, though not all, of her feelings about seeing David again.

Sympathetic as always, Flossie patted her hand. “As I recall, the two of you made a handsome couple back in the days when you both worked on your daddy’s staff,” she said. “I guess you’ve heard he dates Suzy Horvath now when he’s in town. As a matter of fact, the grapevine has it that she’s bringing him tonight. Still, it wouldn’t surprise me that, if you crooked your little finger…”

Kyra blushed, remembering David’s kiss in the courthouse lobby. “I may have been madly in love with him five years ago,” she admitted. “But that was then. This is now. As far as I’m concerned, Suzy can have him. I’ll never forgive or forget the way he walked out on me. It can’t be put right.”

Heading home to her father’s house a few blocks away, she tried to take a nap. But she couldn’t get David out of her thoughts. With all her heart, she longed to confront him. Demand to know why he’d accepted a bribe to leave her. I’d like to hear him try to square that with his precious ethics, she thought.

She realized she’d never ask. Letting him know she still cared to that extent would be just too humiliating. It was a mercy when her dad came home and they had a little time to chat before she had to go upstairs and dress.

Returning to her former room, which was still decorated with the cream-colored bed linens and gentian-blueflowered wallpaper she’d chosen as a teenager, Kyra realized she hadn’t brought much in the way of party clothes. When she laid them out on the bed, the few dress-up outfits she’d packed seemed to lack interest.

I have no intention of working my wiles on David—just putting Suzy Horvath in her place and making him eat his heart out, she told herself forcefully as she rummaged in the back of her walk-in closet. A moment later she’d found what she was looking for, a short-sleeved, two-piece cocktail dress in sapphire blue crepe de chine that followed her every curve and accentuated her Scandinavian-blond hair. She’d worn it once for David when he was romancing her. And it had knocked his socks off.

When she tried it on, it still fit perfectly. The only difference was that, with a few years’ maturity under her belt, she filled the plunging sweetheart neckline with a little more cleavage. With a bitter nod of satisfaction, she hung the dress in readiness on the back of the closet door and slipped into the shower to perfume and pamper herself.

* * *

At the party, despite all the compliments and friendly greetings that came her way, Kyra found it difficult to control her jealousy when David entered the room with Suzy on his arm. Though the redheaded newspaperwoman was in her early forties, at least, she was still quite attractive, in Kyra’s opinion. It was all she could do to make small talk with her dinner companions—her dad, the Miners, Dale Cargill and his parents—and keep from glancing in their direction.

Following the meal, Red Miner sprung the surprise aspect of the get-together when he arose and offered a toast. A little red in the face from all the spontaneous applause and humorous anecdotes that followed, Big Jim couldn’t keep from wiping away a tear when Red presented him with his much-coveted golf clubs.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he said, gazing around the room at all his friends, and then laughing, added, “but I’m mighty glad you did. I’ve been eyeing these darn things… and trying to justify buying them…for months!”

Following her father’s speech, which included a plug for get-well cards to be sent to his temporarily disabled assistant, Tom Hanrahan, along with an announcement that Tom planned to run for county attorney following his retirement, the dancing began.

Partnered by Dale because she couldn’t get out of it without hurting his parents’ feelings, Kyra continued to be tormented by jealousy. She was compelled to endure Dale stepping on her toes with almost every move he made while David led Suzy around the floor with smoldering, attentive grace.

They’re lovers, she thought in anguish, forced to remember what it had been like to move in his arms. And everyone in the room knows it. Can’t they wait until he takes her home before having at each other? It didn’t occur to her that David had always danced that way, no matter who his partner was. Or that he wasn’t looking particularly pleased with himself.

At last she’d had all she could take. Excusing herself, she headed for the ladies’ room, only to dart out again when she overheard sandbox chitchat about David and Suzy coming from several of the stalls. To her relief, a different ladies’ room on the opposite side of the bar turned out to be deserted. She was able to hide out there for a few minutes in peace and pull herself together.

Despite her efforts, she was still looking a little grim as she headed back toward the party through the bar, navigating in her spike heels between its deserted, miniature dance floor and the rust-colored club chairs that surrounded a half dozen tables. Intent on maintaining some semblance of indifference, she didn’t notice the tall, dark-haired man in evening clothes who was lounging against the bar until he reached for her arm.

To her astonishment, David had abandoned his date and escaped for a solitary beer.

“I thought you’d gone,” he said, a world of surprise and pleasure in his deep, husky voice. “Stay. Have a drink with me. We ought to talk.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_9030a3b0-d389-57db-82ec-d25a1cb54709)

The moment spun out, gossamer thin, brimming with possibilities, yet as easily ravaged as a spider’s web, tentatively connecting them. What about your date? she longed to ask. Won’t she be miffed if she finds us with our heads together?

If she refused his invitation, or turned it into an occasion for sarcasm, she would never know what he wanted to talk to her about. Or if he’d have offered some explanation for walking out on her. The ache in her heart might continue to fester.

Deciding to accept, she slid onto the stool next to his and placed her small faille clutch purse on top of the bar. When he retook his seat, their knees were almost touching.

“What would you like?” he asked in the soft, deep voice that had figured in so many of her dreams. “A margarita?”

He’d fixed margaritas for them in the shabby trailer he’d called home when he was working for her father.

Having barely touched her champagne during the bevy of toasts that had been drunk to honor Big Jim’s forty years of service, Kyra thought it would be all right to indulge. “Sounds good,” she agreed, the toe of her left shoe accidentally brushing his trouser hem as she crossed her legs.