“Resler! Yes! That’s it.” She nearly jumped off her chair, as if she’d just solved the final puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. “Gary Resler!”
“Gerry,” Alvarez supplied.
“Oh. Yeah, that sounds right. Gary. Gerry. One of those.”
Her phone made a noise again and she glanced down at the table where it sat. A new text was being sent her way. “Gerry Resler,” Akina repeated, as if to embed it into her brain forever. “Now I remember, a real whack job.” But her attention had been diverted to her phone.
Pescoli asked, “What about Nolan Banks?”
She picked up her phone, but her head snapped sharply up as she texted a response. “That weenie? A killer? Don’t make me laugh.”
“He could have been upset with Dan’s attention to his wife,” Pescoli said.
Grayson’s ex glanced up from her screen. “There’s ‘upset’ and then there’s ‘upset,’ y’know, with rage and all that. I don’t think Nolan has it in him.”
Alvarez put in, “What about Grayson’s money?”
“What money? A retirement and an interest in the family ranch?” She set her phone back down on the table. “Dan Grayson is not a rich man. And anyway, what would Nolan Banks care?” Then the light dawned. “You mean she’s the one who would inherit? Cara? Son of a bitch!” As if she suddenly heard herself, she winced and glanced at her daughter. “Well, if that’s the case, Dan’s an idiot. I can’t believe it.”
Alvarez asked as a final question, “Did you think you would get his estate?”
“Are you kidding?” Akina shook her head, and her daughter started reaching for the band holding her hair away from her face. “I didn’t think about it much, but if I had, I would have thought he would leave everything to his brothers or his nieces. He’s nuts about them!”
Chapter 13
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayson, I just don’t have any other answers for you.” Karen Skinner, the critical care nurse at the desk, glanced at the chart on her computer monitor. “Your brother’s vitals are surprisingly strong considering the trauma he’s experienced, but he’s still in critical condition.”
Cade turned his head to view Dan on the bed, then spying all the tubes and monitors and electronic equipment, turned back to the nurse. “When’s the doctor coming back to see him?”
“Dr. Bennett will be here later this afternoon. She was already here this morning. Dr. Kapule is scheduled to return this evening.” She saw his hesitation. “I could have them call you.”
“Do that,” Cade said, snaking another look at his brother. Poor son of a bitch. Who could survive what he’d been through? Dan was strong, but this was too much. Hazarding one last glance at the bed, he felt his jaw tighten. The unconscious man on that hospital bed in no way resembled the brother Cade had known all his life.
After waiting two hours, he figured it was time to go. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change for a while. His brother just had to heal.
At least in the hospital he was safe.
From what?
From whom?
He’d already considered all the enemies Dan had made in his life, from football rivals, to political challenges, to people he worked with, and he’d come up blank. Aside from some crook Dan had sent up the river, or maybe that particular loser’s family, Cade couldn’t think of anyone who would resort to violence.
And whoever had tried to take him out was a good shot with a rifle, a hunter or military man, or maybe even another cop. But he couldn’t come up with anyone Dan had pissed off to the point of attempted murder.
The same damned questions that had been rattling around in his brain for the past two days still nagged at him, wouldn’t let him go. If a man couldn’t be safe in his own home on Christmas morning, things were bad.
Buzzed out of the ICU, Cade walked into the waiting room and past the female guard, giving the woman a nod. The guards, like the nursing staff, rotated, which he understood. He just hoped that the security offered by the county was enough.
As he made his way outside the building, he thought again about Hattie’s claims that someone had killed Bart, but Cade had never put much stock in that theory. He remembered Bart’s despair, his depression. Once, soon after Bart’s divorce from Hattie, Cade had heard the television in the den of the ranch house after he’d come in from his trip int
o town. As he’d walked down the hallway, shedding his coat and hat, then dropping his keys and wallet on a small table near the stairs, he’d recognized the sounds of a football game in progress. The room was dark, illuminated only by flickering images on the forty-two-inch screen.
Bart was seated in the battered leather recliner. A half-empty bottle of whiskey was on the coffee table, an empty glass on the side table, their daddy’s Colt .45 in Bart’s hands. The gun hung between his legs and he kept spinning the cylinder as he watched the Forty-Niners being handed their heads by the Seahawks. On the table was a thick manila envelope addressed to Bartholomew Grayson. The return address was for the law firm Bart had employed during his divorce.
“Bart?” Cade had asked cautiously.
“Hey.” But his eyes had stared blankly at the television.