“There is, kind of. I hate involving you in this.”
“I can’t wait to hear what this is exactly, but can we talk about it when I get home?”
“Yes. But I insist on hiring you. I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That isn’t it. I have something right now that is going to take all of my attention.”
He got off the call, cursing under his breath. If this was about marital problems between her and Charlie...
He really couldn’t deal with this right now. Ahead he could see Dana Cardwell’s black Suburban heading toward Big Sky. Beau followed, worried about Leah and Charlie, even more worried about DJ Justice.
What kind of trouble was DJ in? Her father thought it might have something to do with her grandmother? That her grandmother had found her? He cursed Walter. Who knew how many skeletons the man had in his closet?
But what did that have to do with his daughter?
If Beau had to lay money down on it, he would have bet there was a man in DJ Justice’s story. A man with a jealous wife or girlfriend? Or had DJ chosen a life of crime like her father? At least Beau’s father had reformed somewhat after that night here in the canyon when Beau had made the deal with Walter Justice.
Since becoming a private investigator, he’d thought he’d heard every story there was. Where it got dangerous was when the spouse or lover would do anything to cover up an affair—or even a score. Usually money was involved. And passion.
So what was DJ’s story?
* * *
MARIETTA PISANI STOOD at her mirror, considering the almost eighty-year-old woman she saw reflected there. Merda! She looked as cranky as she felt, which almost made her smile. When had she gotten so old? She didn’t feel all that different than she had in her twenties, except now her long, beautiful, raven-black hair was gray. Her once-smooth porcelain skin was wrinkled.
She knew what had aged her more than the years—her only child, Carlotta. That girl had seemed determined to drive her crazy. It had been one thing after another from an early age. She shook her head, remembering the hell Carlotta had put her through, and then softened her thoughts as she was reminded that her beautiful, foolish daughter was in her grave.
Not that she hadn’t left a storm in her wake. And now Marietta had to clean it up.
“Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Pisani?” asked a deep, elderly voice behind her.
She glanced past her reflection in the mirror to Ester, who’d been with her for almost fifty years. Ester had grayed since she’d begun working here as a teen. Sometimes Marietta mixed her up with her mother, Inez, who’d been her first housekeeper right after her marriage.
“No, Ester, I don’t need anything.”
“What about you, Mr. Douglas?” Ester asked Marietta’s solicitor.
Roger shook his head. “I’ll be leaving shortly.”
“You can turn in,” Marietta told the housekeeper.
“Just ring.” The sixty-seven-year-old woman turned to leave. “Sleep well.” She’d said the same thing every night for the past fifty years.
As Ester closed the door behind her, Marietta focused again on her own reflection. Nothing had changed except now her brows were knit into a deep frown. Ester hadn’t been herself lately.
The thought caused Marietta a moment of alarm. Was the woman sick? Marietta was too old to train another housekeeper. Not that Ester kept house anymore. A housecleaning crew came in once a week, and she employed a full-time cook, as well. Ester’s only job now was to see to her mistress.
Of course, Ester didn’t see it that way. She resented the housekeeping crew and the cook and often sent the cook home early so she could take over the kitchen. She would then make Marietta’s favorite meals, just as her mother had done.
The thought that Ester might leave her for any reason was more than she could stand. Ester was the only person in the world Marietta trusted—other than her granddaughter Bianca. She tried to put her worries aside, assuring herself that she’d be dead before Ester went anywhere.
Still, it nagged at her. Not that Ester had said anything. It was more of a...feeling that something was wrong. Unfortunately she knew nothing about the woman’s personal life—or if she even had one. Ester had married some worthless man years ago, but she’d had the good sense to get rid of him early on. Since then, as far as Marietta knew, there was no one else in her life. Ester had doted on her and Carlotta and thought that the sun rose and set with Bianca.
When Carlotta had died a few months ago, Ester had taken it harder than Marietta. The housekeeper had loved that child as if she were her own. She’d helped raise her and was the first to make excuses when Carlotta got into trouble, which was often.
But the one Ester loved even more than life itself was Bianca.
It was her thirty-four-year-old granddaughter Marietta worried about now because of Carlotta’s deathbed confession.
She clenched her gnarled hands into fists at the memory. The stupid, stupid girl. The secret she’d kept from them all could destroy the legacy Marietta had preserved for so many years—not to mention what it could do to the family fortune.
That was why the mess her daughter had left behind had to be cleaned up. For the family’s sake. For Bianca’s sake and the generations to come.
“I should go,” Roger said.
She’d forgotten he was even still in the room. A slight man with an unmemorable face, he practically disappeared into the wallpaper. “You’re sure you can handle this properly?” she asked as she looked past her own image to his.
He sighed. “Yes.”
“I don’t want Bianca ever to know. If that means paying this woman to keep quiet—”
“I told you I would take care of it. But it is going to cost you. Your daughter left us little choice unless you want to see your family’s reputation destroyed by a complete stranger.”
A complete stranger. That was what Dee Anna Justice was to her. Marietta had never laid eyes on this...granddaughter, hadn’t even known she existed until her daughter’s deathbed confession. “Just see that it’s done and spare me the sordid details.”
“Don’t I always?” As he started to leave, she heard a rustling sound and looked up in time to see Ester skittering away.
* * *
DANA WAS TELLING her about the “canyon,” as the locals called the Gallatin Canyon. It ran from just south of Gallatin Gateway almost to West Yellowstone, some fifty miles of twisting road that cut through the mountains. Sheer rock cliffs overlooked the highway and the Gallatin River.
The drive was breathtaking, especially for DJ, who’d never been in the mountains before—let alone in winter. The winding highway followed the river, a blue-ribbon trout stream, up over the Continental Divide.
“There used to be just a few places in the canyon, mostly ranches or dude ranches, a few summer cabins, but that was before Big Sky,” Dana was saying.
DJ could see that luxury houses had sprouted up along the highway as they got closer to the ski resort and community that had grown around it.
“Our ranch was one of the first,” her cousin said with obvious pride. “It is home. The only one I’ve known. And I have no intention of ever leaving it.”
DJ couldn’t imagine what it must have been like living her whole life in one place.
Dana slowed and turned not far past the sign for Big Sky Resort. Across the river and a half mile back up a wide valley,