Grave Secret - Charlaine Harris [69]
“What have you done?” Tolliver asked, not in an accusatory way, but more as if he was simply interested. He clicked off the television and reached out for the bundle, but I was there ahead of him. I pulled off the rubber band, putting it aside for future use, and I handed him the top file, the one labeled Lizzie Joyce.
“So she was there,” he said. “Dammit, she loved her little girl. This is getting worse and worse. Did it take long to find her?”
“Ten minutes,” I said. “A patrolman brought me back.”
“You stole the files?”
“Yeah. Out of her trunk.”
“How likely are they to come looking?”
“Don’t know how hard they’d looked before everyone scrambled to see if she could be revived. Maybe they’d already taken pictures.” I shrugged. I couldn’t undo it now.
“What are we looking for?” he asked.
“We’re trying to find out which one of these people is most likely to be the one who shot you.”
“Then you have my undivided attention,” he said.
I took off my wet, muddy boots, climbed up on the bed with him, and started in on Kate’s file while he tackled Lizzie’s.
An hour later I had to take a break and call room service for some coffee and some food. Neither of us had had breakfast, and it was now almost eleven.
We’d learned a lot.
“She was really good,” I said. I’d never appreciated Victoria before, but I did now. In a very short time, she’d amassed a lot of information and interviewed quite a few people.
Tolliver was grateful to get a cup of coffee, and he was also glad to get a bran muffin. I slathered it with butter for him, an unusual indulgence. He chewed and swallowed and took another sip of coffee. “God, that tastes good after hospital food,” he said. “Lizzie Joyce is a colorful woman, even more colorful than she seemed that day at the cemetery. She really is a barrel-riding champion, several times over, and she’s won a lot of other rodeo titles. She was rodeo queen in her teens, all over the state, looks like, and she was also an honor graduate from high school and ranked thirtieth in her class at Baylor.”
I didn’t know how many people were in a Baylor class, but that sounded pretty damn good to me. “What was her major, just out of curiosity?”
“Business,” he said. “Her dad was already grooming her to take over from him. The Joyces own a huge ranch, but the bulk of his money came from oil in the big boom, and it’s since been invested, a lot of it overseas. There is a corps of accountants who just look after Joyce holdings. Victoria says they all keep watch over each other, too, so no one can embezzle; or at least, they won’t get away with it if they do. The Joyces also have a big interest in a law firm founded by an uncle.”
“So, what do they do?” I asked.
Tolliver understood what I meant, which was kind of amazing. “They donate a lot of money to cancer research; that’s what took Rich Joyce’s wife. They maintain a ranch for disabled children. That’s their big charity. It’s open five months a year, and the Joyces pay the salaries of the staff, though they accept donations, too. Then they have the main ranch, which the boyfriend, Chip Moseley, is in charge of running. They live there, when they aren’t in the Dallas apartment or the Houston apartment. I haven’t read the boyfriend’s file yet.”
“I’ll get to it next,” I said. “Kate, also known as Katie, is not as smart as her sister. She flunked out of Texas A&M, after majoring in partying, sounds like. In her teens, she had a couple of arrests for driving under the influence, and she smashed the windows on a boyfriend’s car when they broke up. Since then, she’s grown up a little,