A Man to Rely On. Cindi Myers
olive skin, a classic hourglass figure and an air of money and poise he associated with socialites from Dallas and Houston who spent weekends shopping in the “quaint” shops on the town square.
Jay rose to greet his visitor. “May I help you?”
“Mr. Redmond?” She flashed a dazzling smile. “I’m Marisol Luna.”
But of course they had both recognized her by then, the beautiful face less strained, the clothes less severe than they had been in countless pictures splashed across the front pages of newspapers and filling their television screens each night. The Lamar Dixon murder trial had all the elements of riveting drama: the celebrity victim, the beautiful accused, wealth, glamor, sexual affairs, gambling and unsavory secrets. People chose sides, wagered bets on Marisol’s guilt or innocence and read everything they could find about the case.
“Please sit down.” Jay gestured to the chair before his desk. “What can I do for you? Ms. Luna? You’ve gone back to your maiden name?”
“I thought it best.”
She sat, demurely crossing her legs at the ankles and smoothing her skirt down her thighs. Scott struggled not to stare at her.
“This is my son, Scott. You might remember him from school.”
Scott stepped forward to shake her hand, a brief silken touch gone too soon. He was sure Marisol did not remember him, though he had never forgotten her. His heart beat faster, remembering that day on the bridge. She wouldn’t have known him then, of course, but later, she had come to their house once. He’d been fourteen at the time, in awe of her sixteen-year-old beauty and her notoriety.
A notoriety she maintained years later, when the local papers were full of news of her marriage to basketball great Lamar Dixon. He’d seen Lamar on the basketball court once in Houston. Lamar had netted twenty-seven baskets in that game and hadn’t even broken a sweat. The papers had reported his last contract at seventeen million, making him one of the highest paid stars in the NBA.
And of course the murder charge and trial had only added to her reputation.
“I’m sorry about your husband’s passing,” Jay said. “And about everything you’ve been through.”
“Thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap. She looked very…contained. Behind the outward polish, Scott sensed she was shaken by more than grief.
“How have you been?” Jay asked.
“I’ve been fine.” Her voice was flat. Unemotional. The voice of someone concentrating on staying in control. Scott could feel the tension radiating from her, and she sat so rigidly he imagined she might shatter if touched.
Jay’s response was to relax even more, leaning back in the chair, hands casually clasped on the desktop. He’d once told Scott that the best way to handle fearful or nervous clients was to ease the tension with small talk. “It’s been a while since you’ve been back to Cedar Switch, hasn’t it?” he said. “I imagine it’s changed a lot since then.”
“It’s been a long time,” she said. “To tell you the truth, I’m more surprised by how much has remained the same.”
“Really?” Jay leaned forward. “Having lived here so long myself, it seems as if every other day some old building is being torn down and replaced by something new.”
She shifted in her chair. “I guess what I mean is that, for me at least, the town has the same feeling it always did.”
Scott and his father waited for her to elaborate on what that feeling might be, but when she did not, Scott wondered if she was waiting for him to leave. “I’ll let you two talk in private,” he said, moving toward the door.
“I don’t mind if you stay.” He felt a jolt when their eyes met, a shock of recognition that, even after all these years, this woman could stir him somewhere deep inside. He settled slowly into a chair a little ways from her and searched for something innocuous to say.
“Is your daughter with you?” Jay asked.
Scott vaguely recalled the mention in news reports of a teenage daughter.
“Yes. Antonia isn’t too happy about being here in ‘East Podunk’ as she insists on calling it.”
“I’ll bet she’s as pretty as her mother was at that age,” Jay said.
Scott could see the girl Marisol had been so clearly in his mind’s eye, exotically beautiful to a small-town boy like himself.
“Prettier, I hope. She’s tall, like her father.” Pride warmed her voice and softened her expression.
“You’re staying at your mother’s place?” Jay asked. “Your place now, of course.”
“Yes. I appreciate your handling transferring the title and everything after she died,” she said. “I obviously wasn’t in a position to come down and handle it myself.”
As Scott recalled, when Mercedes Luna had passed away, her only daughter had been confined to a cell in the Harris County Jail.
“I was happy to do it,” Jay said. “And it’s good to have you home.”
Marisol looked uncomfortable with the word, Scott thought. Then again, why would a woman like her, used to the finest things in life and the social whirl of a big city, ever feel at home in a small house in a sleepy place like Cedar Switch?
“I plan to stay here for a little while,” she said. “Until I can sell the house. That’s what I came to see you about. I was hoping you could recommend a real estate agent. I’d like to list the house as soon as possible. I didn’t know who else to ask.”
Jay’s smile broadened. “You came to the right place. Scott here is an excellent agent, and his office is right next door.”
She looked at Scott again, her gaze lingering, and he had the impression he was being judged. Sized up. “That’s very convenient,” she said. “Do you think you can sell my mother’s house?”
“I’ll be happy to help you find a buyer,” he said.
“Thank you.” She looked away from him again, her hands knotted tightly in her lap, gaze focused somewhere above his father’s desk. The silence went on so long he began to feel uneasy.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Jay asked.
She took a deep breath. “You’ve always been so kind to me,” she said.
“I’ve always liked you very much.” Jay’s voice was gentle. He cleared his throat. “We all do.”
Her eyes widened, as if in surprise, for half a second—such a fleeting expression Scott wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually seen it. The unnaturally calm mask was back in its place. “I have some questions I hope you can answer,” she said.
“I’ll do my best.” Jay relaxed in his chair again, while Scott continued to study the woman who sat a few feet away, unable to tear his eyes from her. The beauty he remembered had matured to something deeper, something more compelling even than the girl who had cast a spell over him.
“Why didn’t my mother want me at her funeral?” she asked, her accusing tone startling after the long silence.
“There wasn’t a funeral,” Jay said. “She insisted on that. I suppose, given the circumstances, she thought it best.”
Marisol laced her fingers together. “I had permission to come to town for a funeral,” she said. “My lawyers even thought it would help gain sympathy for me.”
When the media learned there was to be no funeral—that it had been her mother’s last wishes that Marisol not return to Cedar Switch—the press had trumpeted the news for weeks. Marisol was so bad, her own mother had rejected her. Of course a woman like that would murder her husband.
Jay frowned. “I didn’t know