Night Fever by Diana Palmer Page A

the next few weeks. We can’t afford any complications.”
    â€œYou don’t think killing the D.A. would cause complications?” Clay laughed, because Son loved to exaggerate.
    â€œNot if somebody else gets blamed for it.”
    Clay shrugged. “Well, count me out. I can’t shoot straight.”
    Son stared at him levelly. “We were thinking about something a little less dangerous than that. You know, like wiring his car.” He smiled at Clay’s dubious expression. “You’re real good in science, aren’t you, Clay? And you did that paper on explosives for the science fair last year. Not hard for a good investigator to dig out that information, you know. Not hard at all.” Son patted his arm. “So you be a good boy, Clay, and get to work on your brother. Or we may just have to bomb the D.A. and pin the rap on you.”
    â€œMack won’t budge,” he said hesitantly. Son was high already. Maybe this was his idea of a drunken joke. Surely they didn’t mean to do something that stupid. No, he assured himself. It was just talk. They were afraid Becky might say something to Kilpatrick, that’s all. They were trying to scare him. God, they couldn’t be serious!
    â€œMack had damned well better budge,” Son said in that soft voice that meant trouble. His dilated eyes met Clay’s. “You hear me, Clay? He’d better budge, soon. We want that business at the elementary school and we’re going to have it. So get busy!”
    Becky went home floating on a cloud, her mind full of Kilpatrick, her problems far away. She didn’t notice that Mack and Clay were missing for several minutes while she was working on supper, and Granddad was watching the news.
    Mack came into the kitchen white-faced, but he didn’t say a word. He mumbled something about not being hungry and he wouldn’t look Becky in the eye.
    She followed him into his bedroom, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel. “Mack, is something wrong?”
    He looked at her and started to speak, then looked behind her and abruptly closed his mouth.
    â€œNothing’s wrong. Is there, Mack?” Clay said, and smiled easily. “What’s for supper?”
    â€œAre you actually going to be here for supper?” Becky asked.
    He shrugged. “Nothing better to do—not tonight, anyway. Thought I might play Granddad a game of checkers.”
    She smiled with relief. “He’d like that.”
    â€œHow did you day go?” he asked as they went back to the kitchen and she checked on the homemade rolls she was baking.
    â€œOh, very nice,” she said. “Mr. Kilpatrick took me out to lunch.”
    â€œGetting chummy with the D.A.?” Clay asked, his eyes narrowing.
    â€œIt was nothing to do with you,” she said firmly. “He’s a nice man. It was just lunch.”
    â€œKilpatrick, nice?” He laughed bitterly. “Sure he is. He tried to put Dad in jail, now he’s after me. But he’s nice.”
    She went red. “This has nothing to do with you,” she repeated. “For God’s sake, I have the right to some pleasure in my life!” she burst out. “I cook and clean and work to support us. Don’t I even have the right to go to lunch with a man? I’m twenty-four years old, Clay, and I’ve hardly ever been out on a date! I—”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “Really, I am. I know how hard you work for us,” he added quietly. He turned away, feeling small and ashamed. There was so much he couldn’t tell her. He’d meant to bring in some extra money, he’d told himself, to help out. But he’d known he couldn’t show Becky any of it because she’d want to know where he got it. He’d made a god-awful mess of everything.
    Son Harris had him over a barrel. He didn’t want to go to jail, either. He sighed and looked out the window