six parking spaces. Young folk never listen.”
“She was only here a minute, and there’s no traffic or clients at this hour.”
“Still, it’s the principle of the thing,” she complained, and sank into her chair. “I guess she was here about the Townsend case.”
“Yes, we discussed a few things,” he replied, not wanting to get into particulars with Miss Emma.
He started to ask about Herman, but decided to let that subject rest. He headed back to his office, then stopped. The last thing he wanted to do was gossip, but his curiosity about C. J. Doe overrode his aversion to cheap talk.
“Exactly what does C. J. Doe do for a living?”
Miss Emma glanced up from going through the mail and gazed at him through those ridiculous glasses. “She works cattle with the Watsons.”
“Works cattle?” he echoed blankly.
“Have you been gone from here so long you’ve forgotten what that is?”
“No,” he assured her in a crisp voice. “It’s just hard for me to imagine such a…small woman herding, branding and vaccinating cattle.”
“They say she’s the best,” Miss Emma said, ripping open a letter. “She can ride and rope better than anyone around here. Has a way with animals, too. The Watsons are getting older and C.J. does most of the work now.” She shook her head. “Never understood it. Why would a young girl give up a good job at the bank to work with those two old fools?”
“She worked at the bank?”
“Right after she graduated from college.”
“She went to college?”
Miss Emma frowned at his startled face. “What did you think? That they kept her locked up on the ranch?”
“No, I just didn’t see her as someone who could afford something like that.”
The sharp letter opener sliced through another letter. “An anonymous benefactor, that’s what it was.”
“Someone paid for her college education?” He felt like Herman repeating everything she said, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Sure did. An envelope of cash started coming to this office every month, and your dad deposited it in her account.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, then his eyes narrowed. “Did Dad know who was sending the money?”
“I don’t think so. The first envelope had a letter of instruction about how the money was to be used. C.J. asked all kinds of questions, but she never found out anything. She even staked out the office. Finally, to put an end to her snooping, a large sum was deposited in your dad’s name for her education. Money that couldn’t be traced, ’cause believe me, C.J. tried.”
Matthew tried to assimilate this bit of information. It was so unreal he had to find out more. “Why did she leave the job at the bank?”
Miss Emma shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess she didn’t like getting the cold shoulder from people who worked there. Your dad tried to talk her into staying there.”
“Seems she and my dad were quite close.”
“Your father helped a lot of people. C. J. Doe was just one of them.”
That didn’t explain anything, but he sensed Miss Emma was on the defensive, so he let it drop—for now.
Back at his desk his head was spinning. The money—that was how his dad had become involved with C. J. Doe. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He’d bet his dad had figured out who was sending the cash and confronted him or her. He’d also bet that person was one of C.J.’s parents, a parent who didn’t want to be known to C.J. or anyone else. So his dad had kept that person’s secret, not even telling his own wife. Who was it? And why so much mystery?
He didn’t have time to dwell on it now. He still had to deal with C.J.’s bombshell. “Miss Emma, call Rob Townsend and ask if I can see him this morning,” he said through the open door.
Acceding to C.J.’s request went against his every legal instinct, but then, nothing about this case was going according to form. He felt she was guaranteed to be the loser and would definitely get hurt in the process. But that was no concern of his. So why did he feel it was?
CHAPTER FIVE
TODAY’S DRIVE WAS THE SAME as yesterday’s, except that Matthew traveled about five miles farther down the road to the Cober ranch. Beyond the stone entrance were seven huge live oaks, hence the name Seven Trees. A towering Southern mansion with enormous white pillars stood proudly facing the trees, with a long drive circling in front of it. The scene was like something out of Gone with the Wind and it created the same impression of ante-bellum days. Bygone days.
The house had been built in the 1800s by Jeremiah Cober. His descendents had occupied it and Coberville ever since, a powerful family that time had not diminished.
Stopping on the circular drive, he got out and walked up the wide steps to the double front doors. He banged the brass door knocker and waited. A short man in a dark suit, white shirt and bow tie opened the door. The butler.
“Matthew Sloan to see Rob Townsend,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, stepping aside. “Come this way.”
In the entrance, Matthew stared at the magnificent dual spiraling staircases, expecting Scarlett O’Hara to gracefully descend one of them any minute. The place was breathtaking, from the marble floors to the velvet drapes and antique furniture.
He followed the man into a large room that resembled a library. “He will be right with you, sir,” the butler said, and closed the door.
“Thank you.” He scanned the room. Bookshelves covered two walls, and an antique desk and chair stood slightly to the right. Velvet chairs and sofa were grouped around a stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the room portraits of Cobers took pride of place, from Jeremiah Cober to William Cober and his two surviving children, Martha and Victoria, as well as his son, Will, who had died in early adulthood.
“Matthew,” Rob said, coming through the door dressed in casual slacks and a knit shirt. “Dad and Aunt Martha will be along in a minute. I would like the whole family to be in on this meeting. But my sister Joyce and her husband, Thurman Brown, the congressman, live in Austin and they’re busy with some political event. Clare, my other sister, also lives there. She’s the editor of one of our newspapers. I’ll have to fill them in later. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a velvet chair.
Before Matthew could move, the door opened and an elderly lady came in. Martha Cober was tall and big-boned, with cropped gray hair and a rather plain face. Matthew couldn’t help but be reminded of the difference between the two sisters. Victoria Cober had been a beauty, small and regal with flowing white hair.
“Matthew, I’m sure you remember my aunt Martha.” Rob made the introduction just as a nurse brought a man in a wheelchair into the room. John Townsend. With white hair and drawn features, he was a shadow of the forceful senator Matthew remembered.
