St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

had been pretty much dressed, but the sexual heat had been enough to make the air smoke.
    “Appreciate that,” Dan said. “Hang on. I’ve got another two-month block of articles to set up.”
    Gus walked down the stairs and stopped by Carly’s chair. Absently he tapped the envelope he held on the table.
    “Told you he could do it,” Gus said. “Bump on his head and all.”
    “You’re right. Your brother’s amazing. A nerd in wolf’s clothing.”
    Gus smiled but it faded quickly. The image of his brother lying in the snow on Castillo Ridge had been a lousy way to start the day. The rest of the day had gone in the same direction. He looked at the envelope he’d carried in from his office.
    “You hear from Winifred today?” Gus asked.
    Caught by something in Gus’s voice, Carly looked up from her computer screen. “No, why?”
    “There’s a rumor going through the hispano community.”
    Dan hit a key and faced his brother. “What kind of rumor?”
    “That Winifred is dead.”
    Carly opened her mouth and shut it just as fast. Her hands clenched in her lap. “Surely someone would have told me.”
    “Would they?” Dan asked. He put his hand over her fists and rubbed gently. “No one wanted you here but Winifred.”
    “If they think I’ll leave because she’s ill or dead, they’re going to be real disappointed.”
    Dan didn’t bother to argue that Winifred’s death would be a good excuse for Carly to go to a safer place. He was old enough to know which arguments would fly and which would die. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what was at stake. Lying in a snowy ravine waiting to be shot had a real clarifying effect on thought processes.
    “If she’s dead, what caused it?” Dan asked.
    “Pneumonia.”
    Carly bit the inside of her lip against a combination of anger and tears. Winifred wasn’t an easy person, but she was a living encyclopedia of Castillo and Quintrell history. If she’d died, all the insights, the love, even the hatred—all the emotions and memories that made history more than a litany of names and dates—had died with her.
    “She can’t be dead,” Carly said.
    And she knew she could.
    “She saw the raven flying,” Dan said. “Damn.”
    “We can’t be sure she’s dead,” Gus pointed out.
    “Did you call the ranch?” Dan asked.
    “Of course.”
    “And?”
    “Melissa gave me a very polite runaround. The doctor was with Winifred, she couldn’t be bothered, she’d get back to me.”
    “And she didn’t,” Dan said.
    Gus shrugged. “Not yet. But maybe Carly can help.”
    “How?”
    “This is addressed to you.” Gus held out the envelope he carried. “It looks like old-fashioned handwriting, it came from the Quintrell ranch, and I’m thinking—”
    “Winifred,” Dan cut in.
    “Yeah,” Gus said. “I guess she didn’t know where Carly would be staying, so Winifred sent it care of me.”
    Carly looked at the postmark. Friday morning. Quickly she opened the letter. A receipt of some kind fluttered out. With a speed that made her blink, Dan snatched a corner of the paper before it had fallen more than a few inches.
    “‘Genedyne Lab,’” he read. “Looks like a return receipt for some kind of tissue or blood samples.”
    “Why would Winifred mail her lab work receipt to Carly?” Gus asked.
    Dan smiled slowly. It wasn’t a nice smile.
    Carly looked at him warily, reminded of the man who had been lying next to her in the snow, bleeding, waiting with a drawn weapon, hoping to meet whoever was stupid enough to approach them.
    “It’s one of the top genetic testing labs in the U.S.,” Dan said. “Looks like Winifred mailed some samples to them.”
    “Why?” Carly asked.
    “Good-bye, Gus,” Dan said.
    Gus looked hurt.
    It would have been more effective if he hadn’t licked his lips at the thought of a hot story involving the single most newsworthy family in the state.
    “If you stay, you promise not to write, hint, or pass by sign language anything you hear,” Dan said. “If you want to keep Mom happy, you’ll abide by not only the letter of what I’ve said but the spirit. Or I’ll bust your balls and feed them to a coyote.”
    Gus gave a shout of laughter. “He’s baaaack!”
    “Who?” Carly asked.
    “My real brother, the one who has been off somewhere sulking for three months. It took a rap on the head to wake him up.”
    “Men don’t sulk, they brood,” Dan said.
    Carly snickered.
    Dan pinned his brother with a level