Wyoming Christmas Conspiracy
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Juno Rushdan
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19
Chapter One
Amber Reyes sped down the snow-covered road, clenching the steering wheel so tight her fingers grew numb. Even though it was freezing outside—30 degrees, which wasn’t too bad for December in Wyoming—she was hot under the collar and not from the heat blasting out of the vent in her 4x4. She was headed to her half sister’s place.
A half sister whose existence she hadn’t been aware of until August, at the reading of her father’s will when the details of a legal trust he’d established had been explained. Amber, along with everyone else in the small town, knew of Pandora Frye—the beautiful, eccentric, arrogant, wild child.
But she’d been shocked to discover Pandora was also the beautiful, eccentric, arrogant, illegitimate child of Carlos Reyes, the product of an extramarital affair twenty-two years ago.
Amber believed her mother had never known that her father had cheated. They’d always had a loving, picture-perfect marriage until her mother died ten years ago of cancer. Then everything had changed. At nineteen, Amber had learned the people closest to her couldn’t be trusted.
Primarily her father. So she’d run from home to make her own way in the world. And that was before she found out about her half sibling.
A decade later, she hadn’t thought her father could top his previous conniving efforts to manipulate her into an arranged marriage—much less from the grave.
How wrong I was.
Though her father had bequeathed Amber most of the land, including the valuable river that ran through it, and the cattle, he had also stipulated ironclad conditions for her to receive it. The betrayal, his indomitable will to have things his way continued after his death.
But then came the real shocker. Her father had not only named Pandora in his living trust, claiming her as his daughter, but he had also given her the Reyes family home and one acre of land surrounding it, which she’d take ownership of at the beginning of the new year following his death. Giving Amber and her brother, Chance, one final holiday season in their home.
Thinking about it made Amber’s blood boil. The house her parents had been married in. The house she and her brother had been born in. Land they had been raised on. The house that had been in the family for generations would soon belong to a virtual stranger.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
A wave of nausea swept over her. Slowing down and keeping her eyes on the road, she kept driving as she unzipped her purse in the passenger seat of her Jeep Wrangler. Inside the handbag, her fingers skimmed over the unopened letter from her father, but she didn’t find what she was looking for. The saltine crackers were probably still sitting on the kitchen counter. She’d been in such a rush to speak with her sister—half sister—that she’d forgotten them.
Maybe she should’ve listened to her brother and stayed home.
But that was the problem. If she didn’t convince Pandora to sell them the house and the acre of land around it, she and Chance wouldn’t have a family home for much longer.
Her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed up on the Bluetooth screen on the dash. Sometimes she thought she had a psychic link with her big brother.
She hit the Accept button, putting the call on speaker in the rugged SUV. “What is it? I’m almost there.”
“You forgot your crackers.”
Despite her anger, she smiled. “I just realized. I’m pretty nauseous.”
“Pregnancy will do that to you,” Chance said.
She put a hand to her belly. Only four months along, but if not for the baggy sweaters she’d started wearing, the rounded bump that had emerged one morning like magic would be visible to everyone. One careless, reckless night, swamped by grief, she’d given in to a moment of weakness and slept with Montgomery Powell. “We agreed not to use the P-word.”
“Which one, Pandora, pregnancy or Powell? I can’t keep track.”
“Don’t use any of them,” she demanded, putting both hands back on the wheel. Best for things to be simple.
“You’re going to have to tell Monty sooner or later. I think you should’ve done it by now.”
“Thankfully it’s not up to you and I choose later.” Much, much later. “This is my body, my timeline. I won’t be harassed or bullied by Monty or his family or you.”
“Okay.” Chance’s snippy tone signaled he thought she was making a mistake.
Her death grip on the steering wheel made her forearms cramp. “I’d like to put out one dumpster fire before dealing with the next.”
She switched on the wipers to prevent the falling snowflakes from sticking to the windshield. This time of year, it was typical to get several inches. She’d been gone so long, she’d forgotten how early the winter storms started here in Wyoming, in the valley where the small towns of Laramie and Bison Ridge were nestled.
“You’re wasting your time,” Chance said.
“I am not. She agreed to hear my proposal.” Pandora, the leech, just as vicious as her mother, Fiona, had texted last night, telling Amber to come by for coffee at ten this morning. With flagrant disregard to the fact that Amber was filling in as a substitute teacher at the local elementary school and class started at nine. She had been up since five and decided to throw the young woman off-balance by showing up early. Inappropriately early. Outright rude, truth be told, but Amber didn’t care.
“Only to see your face when she rejects it. The girl was over the moon at the reading of the will and so was her mother. The house isn’t worth much, but she was ecstatic to get her grubby hands on it because it’s ours. Or was. At least Dad left you everything of value with the land and cattle.”
Everything but only one way to keep it, or lose all that, too, to Pandora.
“With that unconscionable proviso,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why aren’t you fuming? He left you nothing.”
“Dad set me up for success. He paid for my bachelor’s and law degrees, and I didn’t have to work through school. I was able to focus on being the top of my class and got hired by a powerhouse company.”
In a way, Chance was right. The day he started practicing, he did so debt-free. Not many of his colleagues had the privilege to say the same. Now he worked for Ironside Protection Services, earning a high six-figure salary, which was substantial compared to what she made as a schoolteacher.
A profession she’d chosen out of desperation after she fled the ranch, but surprisingly a rewarding one. “Still, he shouldn’t have left you nothing.”
“The simple watch he wore every day and his old rodeo buckles aren’t nothing. They meant a great deal to him. Besides, I read the letter he wrote for me. I’m at peace with his decision. You should read yours. It might change how you feel.”
Glancing at her purse, she seethed. “I have half a mind to burn mine.”
“You’d regret it. Just like you’re about to regret seeing Pandora.”
She sighed, hoping he was wrong. For once. Though Chance seldom was. A fact that grated on her like sandpaper scraping her skin. “I’m almost at the harpy’s abode. I’ll call you afterward to tell you how it went.” A long breath eased from her tight throat as she let up a bit on the accelerator.
“Don’t bother calling me back. But would you mind grabbing us breakfast from Divine Treats? I’ll take a bear claw. Also, one of those savory croissants. Ham and cheese.”
Amber pulled up to the block of a recently constructed town house complex, consisting of ten units, in the center of downtown Laramie. Why their father had felt the need to buy Pandora one of these sleek, newly built places as well as give her the family home, too, was beyond Amber. She’d been here once after the funeral, in a failed attempt to get to know the young woman better. The finishes were top-notch, with custom cabinets and furnished with whimsical luxury. Stunning eye candy filled the interior. Their father had spared no expense.
“Don’t you want the details on the meeting?” she asked.
“You can wait until you get home to fill me in,” Chance said. “That way I can say I told you so to your face.”
Shaking her head with irritation, she drove around the back to the parking lot. “You’re unbelievable. Instead of being the annoying, know-it-all big brother, why can’t you—” She lost the power of speech for a moment as her gut clenched.
“Amber? Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
She slammed on the brakes, fixing her attention on the vehicle parked beside Pandora’s sporty car behind her unit.
“Monty’s truck is here.” The words left a foul taste in her mouth.
For him to be here at seven forty-five in the morning could only mean one thing. He’d spent the night.
“Are you sure?” Chance sounded skeptical. “At least half the guys in town probably drive a Ford F-150.”
She stared past the swirls of white flakes in disbelief at the truck. “How many drive one that’s antimatter blue and has the vanity plate PWEL3?”
Buck Powell had a similar plate with the number one. Holly, domestic goddess extraordinaire and now mayor, had the designation number two. Their eldest son had the plate Amber was staring at right now.
Chance swore.
“That calculating, spiteful...” Amber swallowed the ugly words dancing on her tongue. “Is this the reason she agreed to meet me? Only to rub my face in the fact that she’s bedding Monty.”
“You’re so early. Maybe it’s coincidence.” Her brother’s words were comforting, but his tone full of doubt.
Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She didn’t know what hurt more, her heart or her pride. “How could he?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Not to sound like a callous guy on this one, but you two hadn’t seen each other for almost ten years. You came home for the funeral, still angry over how things imploded between you two, and had a one-time slipup with him. Four months ago, might I add? You’ve avoided him ever since then, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Even though Monty had called, asking to see her, she’d rebuffed his attempts at contact because she didn’t trust his motives and she didn’t trust herself around him. With the unalterable stipulation in her father’s living trust—Amber had to marry Monty within five months of her dad’s death and stay hitched for two years, or everything, the entire property, the cattle, the money, went to Pandora—how could she believe anything he said? Especially if it was all the things her heart longed to hear.
“Plus,” Chance added, “Pandora is easy on the eyes and comes across as, quite frankly, a floozy. It’s probably nothing more than a one-night stand.”
“But he didn’t simply have sex and leave.” Which would have been bad enough. “He spent the night.” With Pandora!
Amber had only had the pleasure of a few nights with Monty herself. Even a lifetime ago, before she learned the horrible truth about why he’d taken a sudden interest in her, he had never stayed and cuddled until the sun came up with her.
She squeezed her eyes closed and saw Montgomery Beaumont Powell, six feet three inches of pure sex appeal. Tawny hair, the same as his father’s. Intense brown eyes. A strong jaw with the perfect amount of stubble all the time, like he didn’t even have to try. And a sweeping landscape of muscle. His sculpted physique was created by hard work on his family’s ranch that was adjacent to hers, in addition to the extra effort he put into staying fit for his full-time job with the state police as a trooper. With his swagger and confidence, the man could’ve been a Hollywood heartthrob. Women swooned after him from Laramie to Jackson Hole. Not only for his heartbreaker looks, but also his status as heir apparent to the Powell fortune.
And Pandora Frye had sunk her claws into him.
The woman was taking everything that didn’t belong to her.
Amber opened her eyes. She stared at the antimatter blue truck parked beside the cherry red Alfa Romeo Stelvio and slapped the steering wheel, letting a small scream slip.
“Get a grip,” her brother muttered. “It’s only sex. Even if he spent the night.”
“He can sleep with whomever he likes. Except for her!” She whisked the tears from her eyes. I will not cry. Stupid hormones. “This may be a small town, but I’m sure there are tons of women willing to crawl into bed with him.” Monty had never had a problem in that department. “He didn’t have to sleep with her.” The living embodiment of her father’s broken marital vow. The woman who would move into her family’s house. “Yes, she’s classically beautiful and nubile—” in fact, they were exact opposites: Pandora was slender, sophisticated, with creamy skin and red hair, whereas Amber was curvy and simple, and a brunette with brown skin “—but he knows something like this would bother me.”
More like wound her to the marrow.
“Getting upset won’t solve anything. You need to calm down, Tinker.”
Tinker Bell. How she despised the nickname. It stopped being cute once she’d turned thirteen. At twenty-nine, it made her sound as ridiculous as she felt being back home. Still pining for Monty Powell, the veritable Peter Pan, who was only interested in using her for her pixie dust.
Straightening, she threw the truck in Park, blocking Monty’s and Pandora’s vehicles. No quick, clean exits for either party. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter what they do.”
“It really doesn’t so long as you marry Monty in twenty-nine days.”
The five-month deadline was creeping up on her. One dumpster fire at a time, starting with this. “I’ll show Pandora and him that I don’t give two figs they’re sleeping together. I just need her to agree to sell us back the house,” she said in a voice so strained she almost didn’t sound like herself.
“You’re not still going in there, are you?”
Amber grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “I most certainly am. I’m done running from things. This time I’m going to confront it head-on.”
“Says the woman running from telling the father of her child that she’s four months pregnant and wearing baggy clothes to conceal her burgeoning bump.”
“Instead of lecturing me—”
“Reasoning with you.”
She huffed. “You should be supporting me.”
“You mean enabling you to make poor choices you’ll regret.”
Why was it so hard for him to be in her corner for once? “Before you can try to talk me out of it, I’m hanging up.” She jabbed the red icon, ending the call.
Killing the engine, she pressed her door open against the frigid thrust of the wind. Another thing she’d forgotten about home: it was the second windiest state in the country. The town was in the perfect, or worst, spot depending on perspective. Rather than the mountains surrounding the valley blocking the wind, they made the jet stream faster. Add in high pressure from the Great Basin and low pressure from the plains and the town got squeezed, making the winters harsh.
Cold slapped her face as she climbed out. Icy flakes stung her cheeks. Crisp, clean air moved in the blustery wind, smelling of winter and snow and pine. Zipping up the oversize coat she’d recently purchased to hide that she was expecting, she marched up to the back door. Beside it a sign on the window read Pandora’s Box Photography.
Her half sister was a glamour and boudoir photographer. The profession seemed better suited for a big city, but when one’s father paid for their lifestyle in hush money, Amber supposed it didn’t matter whether their career was profitable.
Bitterness welled inside her. She struggled to tamp it down. Since the day she left home, she hadn’t taken one cent from her father or even spoken to him. Everything she had she’d earned and paid for herself, on a meager teacher’s salary.
The name, Pandora’s Box, was apropos, considering the seven deadly sins seemed tied to the woman. She was the product of lust, had seduced Monty—unless there was some other explanation for him being here—was envious of their status as legitimate Reyes offspring and had, driven by greed, held on to their family home. The Reyes home.
What great evil was next?
Amber raised her fist, wanting to bang out her frustration rather than ring the bell, and knocked—only once because the door swung open on contact.
It must’ve been slightly ajar. She hadn’t noticed. A gust of wind sprayed snow inside the entrance.
“Pandora!” she called out, crossing the threshold. She closed the door, keeping more cold air and snow from seeping in.
Music came from the first-floor bonus room Pandora used as her photography studio. A sultry Kacey Musgraves song just ended and a soulful one by Shawn Mendes started as Amber stood there.
A hopeful thought sprang to mind. Maybe Monty was here for some other reason. To get a portrait taken.
But at seven something in the morning with soft pop music playing?
Hope quickly withered. In its place, anxiety swelled, twisting through her.
Amber had no claim on Monty and no longer wanted any. Not after he’d deceived her right along with her father.
Only the house matters right now.
The door to the studio was cracked open. “Pandora!”
Still no answer. Hesitating at the entrance, Amber braced to encounter some tawdry scene inside, the two of them asleep or, worse, intimate. She set her mind to show no reaction.
Steeling her spine, she pushed on the door and strode inside.
She faltered to a stop and gasped. The blood in her veins froze, her stomach giving an acid twinge. A familiar copper scent wafted in the air.
Monty lay, utterly still, on his stomach on a curved, emerald colored velvet sofa, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs. His eyes were closed, his face slack. One long, muscular arm hung off the side, his knuckles on the floor.
A knife. An open butterfly knife was beside his hand. Covered in blood.
Her breath hitched in her lungs, but she forced herself to breathe as she shifted toward her half sister.
Pandora was sprawled on the floor in the center of the room, eyes frozen open and vacant, expression locked in an unnatural contortion, bruises on her pale face, her throat slit.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Amber turned away. Her mind spun. Steadying herself, she looked over the room.
Clothes were scattered about as though they had undressed in a hurry.
A bottle of whiskey was open on a side table next to the sofa along with a tumbler half-full of liquor. Another was broken on the floor. Lines of white powder were on a small mirror on top of a speaker from which music poured into the room.
Alcohol. Drugs.
Murder.
Sickening dread pooled in her chest.
This couldn’t be happening, but it was. Blackness edged her vision and she swayed. For a second, she stood there, hyperventilating. Shaking. Trying to make sense of the sordid, horrible scene.
Grim urgency punched through the paralyzing fear. “Monty?” Why wasn’t he moving? Was he dead, too?
Please be alive.
Snapping into action, she rushed to him. Red-lipstick kiss marks were on his cheek and neck. Along with some kind of rash. Hands trembling, she tugged off one of her leather gloves and pressed two fingers to the side of his throat.
He had a pulse. Thready and slow. But he was alive.
There was a strange sound. Was it coming from him?
She tipped her ear closer to his mouth. A wheeze came from him on every exhale.
Amber had never seen him like this, blacked out, wheezing, with a rash. What was wrong with him? And what had happened here?
Her gaze dropped to the bloody knife near his hand and then she looked back at Pandora.
Nausea churned her stomach. Amber had wanted this young woman out of her life from the second she became aware they were related, but not like this. Not murdered, dead, at twenty-two.
This was awful. She needed to call the police. Report it, and say what?
Monty was many things—a liar, a manipulative womanizer—but every cell in her body, every instinct in her gut, told her that he was not a killer.
She’d known him her entire life, once adored him, had kissed him, made love to him, created a baby together and still cared for him far more than she wanted to admit.
In spite of how this looked, and it did look as though he had killed Pandora, Amber knew he wasn’t capable of such a thing.
She crouched beside the curved sofa and cupped his face, gripping his chin. “Monty.” When he gave no response, she shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”
Moaning, he stirred slightly.
“Monty!” She gave him a harder shake, rolling him onto his side. The wheeze became more pronounced and the rash covered his torso. “Please, wake up,” she said, sick with worry.
His eyelids fluttered as if they might open but didn’t.
Her mind spun like a carousel.
Think, Amber. Think.
All of Monty’s brothers, even his cousin who also lived on the Powell ranch, were law enforcement. Any one of them would know exactly what to do and would protect Monty with his life. She took her phone from her purse, but she only had one of their cell phone numbers.
She dialed Logan, thankful he’d given her his number at her father’s funeral. He was with the Wyoming State Attorney General’s Office, Division of Criminal Investigation. She only prayed she’d catch him before he left Laramie to get on the road to Cheyenne, where he worked.
The line rang four times before he answered. “Powell.”
“This is Amber.” Her voice broke as she stared at Pandora’s lifeless body again. “Where are you?”
Never in a million years had she thought she’d ever call him—the one Powell who had always been in love with her and would’ve married her in a heartbeat, happily, proudly, if she had felt the same.
“Leaving Divine Treats.” Keys jangled over the line. “I had to satisfy my sweet tooth. I’m happy to hear from you. Finally.”
The Divine Treats bakery was within easy walking distance, three blocks away. “I need you.”
“What is it?” His voice tightened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Monty. You have to come, quickly.”
“Did something happen to him? Where are you?”
“At Pandora Frye’s.” She rattled off the address. “Monty is out. I can’t get him to wake up.” Her voice was shaky, and she took a steadying breath to control it. “But Pandora...” Hot bile rose in her throat. “There’s blood and a knife.”
“Is she alive?”
Amber shook her head and then realized she had to use her voice. “No. She’s dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her gaze trained on the lifeless body, and she had to fight the urge to cover the poor woman. “I’m positive. You have to hurry.”
“I’m climbing in my truck now. I’ll be there in less than two minutes.” A beat of silence. “Did you call 911?”
“No.” She wasn’t sure what to do. The right thing and the best thing might be different in this situation. Not once had she ever broken the law and she wasn’t considering doing so now, but when it came to Monty, she never could think straight. One thing was certain. He needed someone on his side out in front of this. “Not yet.”
“Okay. We have to hang up,” he said, the sound of a car starting in the background. “Then you need to call 911.”
But he didn’t fully understand what he was about to walk into. What he was about to see. The bloody knife. The alcohol. The drugs. Pandora—naked, slain.
Oh, God. “Logan, the way this looks—”
“Whatever you’re staring at will appear far worse if they pull our phone records and piece together the delay in calling 911.” Another pause. “We’ve been on the line for too long already. I’ll be there shortly.”
Logan disconnected.
Had she made a mistake in phoning his brother first? She hadn’t thought about the police looking at phone records. Would her actions make Monty look more guilty?
She only wanted to help, not hurt him.
A rush of mixed emotions battered Amber. She glanced back at Monty and desperately tried to rouse him. Heart pounding in her chest, she flicked another shocked look at Pandora.
No way Monty would’ve hurt her, much less kill her.
But someone had. Would anyone besides his family, her and Chance believe in his innocence? Half the town loved the Powells. The other half longed for their ruin.
Amber shook off the thought. The who and why behind this didn’t matter at the moment. How many would stand beside Monty or stand against him didn’t either. The only thing that did matter was proving his innocence and making sure Monty didn’t go down for this murder.
She dialed 911.
