Kate set the box aside. “I’ll take this to the lawyers tomorrow. Looks like that cabin where we went on our honeymoon is his primary asset, so I’ll have to deal with it. I’ll get in touch with his accountant tomorrow to see if he has kept the utilities paid.”

“How many times did I tell you that man was trouble?” Teresa sighed.

Kate didn’t answer. Arguing with her mother was like fighting with a tornado—lots of wind and noise with only mayhem and destruction remaining at the end of the argument. It wasn’t totally unlike fighting with Conrad these past thirteen years, but at least he didn’t start every other sentence with “I told you so.”

Teresa glanced around the room. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.” Kate looked down at the bag. Fourteen years all neatly tied shut with a red plastic drawstring. Nothing remained but a few phone calls and selling a cabin located two and a half hours north of Fort Worth. “I’ll take this out to your car and put it in the trunk.”

The mistake she made fourteen years ago was finished and over. He wouldn’t appear at her house once a month and rant about a divorce.

“Nothing else in the rest of the house?” Teresa put the lid on the box, picked it up, and followed Kate out into the foyer.

“Not one thing,” Kate said.

She’d long since gotten rid of pictures or anything that might remind her of him when he was gone. What he had was contained in a room she hadn’t set foot in since she came home from the hospital after losing the baby. That was the first time he’d asked her to divorce him. Emptiness was worse than any emotion that she could imagine, but that’s the only thing she felt as she carried the trash bag out.

“Okay, then, I’ll drop the bag by the charity donation center at the church. I’m going to the office an hour or so this afternoon, so I’ll put this box on your desk,” Teresa said as they made their way out to the curb where her car was parked. “You could come home for a few days if you don’t want to be alone.”

A sweet offer, but Kate would rather ask her housekeeper to come over and stay a couple of days as spend time in a house with her mother.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Kate tossed the bag into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. “I’ll deal with the accountant and start proceedings for probate on the cabin tomorrow.” She didn’t need or want sympathy that day. She wanted to be alone—period.

“If you change your mind, just give me a call.” Teresa slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

Kate waved over her shoulder as she slowly walked up the sidewalk to the big two-story house in one of the elite sections of Fort Worth. God, she hated that house and had for the past thirteen years. She’d loved her little two-bedroom bungalow set back on a wooded five acres south of Fort Worth, but Conrad wanted a big house, and in those first few months, he got whatever he wanted. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to leave his name off the deed.

She opened the front door, went inside, and slid down the back of the door. She drew her long legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She would sell the house and either build or buy a smaller place down around Aledo, where she’d lived before. She liked that little bedroom community.

Her phone rang while she was making plans. Figuring her mother forgot something, she rolled up on her feet, fished the phone out of her purse without even glancing at who was calling, and hit the “Answer” button.

“What did you forget?” she asked.

“Lots of things. Can we meet tomorrow?” a masculine voice asked.

“Who is this?” Kate snapped back.

“Detective Waylon Kramer. This is Kate Steele, right?”

“Yes, it is, and I’ve already answered your questions,” she said.

“This is a murder investigation, and there will be new questions coming up every week. May I talk to you tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“I don’t have my calendar with me, but you can stop by the office at ten and I’ll try to work you in,” she answered.

She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. She’d told him everything she knew. Her mother and a dozen people in the office had told him that she was there all day. There was no more to say, and she did not like the way that his sexy grin affected her.

“I’ve got a couple more stops to make, so I’d rather be there at nine,” he said.

“Can’t do it. It’s ten or it’ll have to wait until Tuesday or Wednesday,” she told him. She could rearrange her schedule, but Detective Waylon was not going to call the shots.

“Then I’ll be there promptly at ten,” he said.

“You could ask me whatever you want to know right now and save a trip.”

“I do not do interviews on the phone.” Without a good-bye, have a nice day, or kiss my butt, he was gone.

She tossed the phone onto the sofa and headed up the stairs to change from her cute little peach suit and high heels into something more comfortable. She had nothing to hide, so the detective could interview her every day for the next year, but by damn, he would do it on her terms. If he thought he could just pop into her business any old time, then he’d better bring a sandwich and a cup of coffee, because he might spend a lot of time in the waiting room.

With her Sunday outfit hung up and her shoes put back in the right box, she flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Maybe she wouldn’t sell the cabin. If it didn’t harbor bad memories when she went up there to take care of all the legal matters, she might just keep the thing. It was big enough, with three bedrooms, to use as a weekend company getaway. The lake provided fishing and swimming. She could envision a spreadsheet where employees could write in days for either weeklong or weekend vacation time. That way the place could be a company tax write-off.

Cold air from the ceiling vent chilled her body, so she swung her legs off the side of the bed and slipped into a pair of pajama pants. Pulling a chambray shirt on over a tank top, she made her way back down the stairs, picked up her phone, and carried it outside to sit beside the pool.

“I hate you, Conrad Steele.” She threw her hand over her eyes to block the setting sun. “You could have waited another year to get killed. Mother is retiring in December, and I’m up to my eyeballs in work. I don’t have time for this crap right now.”

Her phone rang, and she was careful to check before she answered this time. If it was the detective again, she planned to let it go to voice mail.

“Hello, Mother,” she said.

“I think you should take some time off,” Teresa said. “No one at the firm knows about the situation, but the news will break, and when it does . . .” She let the sentence hang.

“I’m going to be a big black spot on the company’s immaculate reputation, right?”

“Something like that.”

Kate counted to ten. “I’m not running away. That makes me look guilty.”

“It’s only taking part of the three months’ worth of vacation time you’ve got built up. It’s not running,” Teresa argued.

If she’d asked for a long weekend a month ago, Teresa would have gone up in flames higher than a Texas wildfire. But now that it was to do with the business, everything had changed quicker than the blink of an eye. Kate wasn’t going anywhere.

“You are retiring. I’m trying to get things lined up to step into your office. I can’t take time off.”

“Yes, you can.” When Teresa got an idea, she went at it like a hound dog chasing a coyote. “If we get into a bind, you can work from wherever you are. Go to that cabin and take care of the business involved with that so you’ll be finished with everything outside of the company when I’m gone. You can work from the computer if we have a problem. And if something really serious happens, you can be here in less than three hours.”

“I told you”—Kate smiled at how slickly those words came from her mouth—“that I’m fine. This whole thing was over years ago.”

“If you don’t take some time now, you will be too busy after I’m gone to get away. Don’t argue with me. Come into the office tomorrow, spend the week getting things lined up, and then go,” Teresa said.