MM01 - Valley of Fire

Valley of Fire

(The Mississippi McGills)

Book One

Peggy Webb

 Copyright 2012 by Peggy Webb

 Cover Art Design Copyright 2012 by Kim Van Meter

 Publishing History, Bantam Loveswept, Copyright 1990 by Peggy Webb.

Author’s Note: Rick McGill, the lovable hero of Valley of Fire, first appeared as a secondary character in Higher Than Eagles, book five of the Donovans of the Delta Series. I’m delighted to bring him back in this first book of the Mississippi McGills Series, a romantic comedy classic.

Prologue

“Martha Ann! Where are you?”

“I'm in the basement, roller-skating. Come on down, Evelyn.”

Martha Ann stuck out her arms for balance and tried to stop. It didn't work. The skates kept on rolling. She probably would have rolled straight through the wall if she hadn't run into the sofa. She banged her shins against the sofa frame and landed bottom up on the cushions.

That's how her sister found her when she came down the basement stairs.

“For goodness sakes, Martha Ann. What in the world are you up to now?”

Martha Ann righted herself, smoothing down her dark hair and her white shorts at the same time.

“I'm learning to roller-skate. I never did get the hang of it when we were kids.” She patted the seat beside her. “Come sit down.”

Heaving a great sigh, Evelyn sat beside her older sister. “Next thing I know you'll be taking up something dangerous, like race car driving.”

“Not yet. But I'm only thirty-seven. There's still plenty of time.”

Evelyn let out another big sigh. It wasn't lost on Martha Ann. She'd watched Evelyn struggle through four years of a nightmare married to a man who gambled away every penny they had, working like a Trojan at her little clothing store in Pontotoc, trying to pay the rent and keep food on the table. And now Evelyn was pregnant.

The Riley girls never did have any sense when it came to men.

Martha Ann leaned down and took off her roller skates. Putting variety into her life could wait. Her sister needed her. “Tell me about it, Evelyn.”

“Lucky's gone again. I found this note when I got up this morning.”

She held a small scrap of paper toward her sister. “Sweetie Pie,” it said, “I hear the big one calling my name. Be back when I win a pot full.”

Martha Ann folded the note and handed it back to her sister.

“Where do you think he's gone this time?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that I love him.”

Martha Ann stood up and began to pace. “Well, gambling's not legal in Mississippi, so that means he's either found an illegal game or he's out of the state. The last time he went to Florida. Of course, the racing season is over, but still there's the lottery and jai alai.” She stopped pacing and looked down at her sister. “How much money did he take?”

“I don't know. I haven't had time to check.”

“You can do that this afternoon, and while you're at it, see if he called any travel agencies.”

Evelyn pushed off the sofa, using the arm for support. Folding her hands over her protruding abdomen, she faced her sister.

“What are you thinking?” she asked Martha Ann.

“I'm going to find that husband of yours. Then I'm going to bring him back and hog-tie him to his bed. He's going to be around when he becomes a father, and furthermore, he's going to enroll in Gamblers Anonymous.”

For the first time that day, Evelyn smiled. Martha Ann knew her sister thought she was brilliant and intrepid and resourceful. And although sleuthing was about as far from teaching history at a junior college as you could get, her sister's faith in her never wavered. Evelyn trusted her to find Lucky and bring him home.

The Riley girls had one thing in common—they never gave up.

“What about school, Martha Ann?”

“I have two weeks before I start teaching the summer session. Don't worry.”

“But I do. I can't help myself.” Evelyn snapped open her purse and took out her car keys. “Tell me one thing before I go. How do you propose to find my husband?”

“I'll think of something.”

Chapter One

Rick McGill leaned back in his cane-bottomed swivel chair, propped his feet on his scarred desk, and sipped warm orange soda straight from the bottle. His feet sent an untidy pile of papers skittering across his desk, but he didn't bother to pick them up. It was too hot. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and dampened the front of his open-neck shirt. The ancient air conditioner in the corner of his office did its best, but it was no match for the heat.

Outside his window he could see heat waves radiating from the streets of Tupelo. Not even the mellow voices of the Lennon Sisters crooning over station WOLD could take his mind off the heat. The weatherman had said it was ninety-five degrees, and that had been at eight o'clock in the morning. He'd bet it was a hundred and five by now.

He tipped up the bottle and took another swig of soda. Just as he was taking the bottle from his lips, a limousine rolled down Broadway and stopped in front of his office. A uniformed driver got out of the car and opened the back door. Out stepped the most stunning woman Rick had ever seen. She was wearing a white suit cut in the style of the forties. The tight skirt set off the finest pair of legs he'd seen since he'd met that cancan dancer out in Oklahoma, and the flirty peplum bounced around hips that could make a man give up orange pop. She was wearing a hat too—an honest-to-goodness hat with a sassy little veil that didn't quite hide the bow-shaped mouth and the glossy black hair.

And she was coming up his sidewalk. Fate was smiling on him today.

He set the soda bottle on the desk and watched his front door. When she came through, she stood a moment, one hand on her fine hips, the other draped artfully on the door frame.

By George, she was posing. Rick leaned further back in his chair and drawled, Humphrey Bogart style, “Anything I can do for you, sweetheart?” He loved games. If she wanted to be Betty, he'd be Bogey.

When she smiled, he noticed the beauty spot just above her lips. It looked real, but he couldn't be sure.

“I'm looking for a man.” The woman left the doorway and walked dramatically into the room.

She smelled like money: The rich smell of Italian leather, the clean smell of real silk, the elegant smell of expensive perfume. She looked like money too. She wore a square-cut diamond ring on her left hand and a bracelet of baguettes on her right wrist, the real McCoys if he wasn't mistaken—and he rarely was.

“Then you've come to the right place.” He moved his feet off the desk, taking his time. “I'm the best private investigator in Tupelo.”

“So I've heard.” Martha Ann Riley folded her hands in her lap so the rented diamonds would catch the sun coming through the window and shine in his eyes. She held her back straight and tried not to sweat on the borrowed silk suit. Then she crossed her legs and began to swing the left one, delicately, as she figured a lady of class and distinction would, the toe of the Italian leather high heels pointing straight at him.

The shoes were hers.

“You
are
Rick McGill, aren't you?”

“At your service.” He inclined his head with just the right amount of acknowledgment but absolutely no deference. His reputation had been built on arrogance and daring. He wanted to keep it that way. “What can I do for you, Miss...”

“Mrs.” She watched his face fall. Too bad, she thought. It was such an interesting face, lean and craggy and full of humor. The way her luck ran, though, he'd turn out to be a thief like her ex-husband or a scoundrel like her last boyfriend. Altogether, it was best if she pretended to be married. “Mrs. Lucky O'Grady.” She used her sister's title without a twinge of conscience. It was all for a good cause.

“Lucky?”

“That's his real name. Honest to goodness.”

“And you are…”

“I've told you my name.”

“No. You've told me your husband's name. If I take you as a client, I'll need to know yours.”

“Why?”

“Saves time. If we get into a tight situation, I can hardly take the time to say, 'Duck, Mrs. Lucky O'Grady,' now can I? By the time I got all that out of my mouth you could be dead.”

She briefly considered using her sister's name, but decided she might forget to answer to it. “My name is Martha Ann, but I can tell you, Mr. McGill—”

“Rick.”

“—Lucky is hardly the type of man who goes around carrying a gun.”

“You never know.”

He stared boldly at her in a way that would have insulted her if he'd been an ordinary man. But she'd long since decided this Rick McGill was no ordinary man. He was the dangerous type who could say or do anything and make a woman like it. Men like that had always attracted her. It was a darned good thing she'd decided on this charade.

“Not Lucky. All I want to do is find him, not get into a shoot-out with him.”

“You've already proved my point.”

“What point?”

“That you never know about people. If this Lucky O'Grady was fool enough to leave a woman like you, he'd do anything.”

“I suppose I should say thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“Will you take my case?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I'm interested and whether you can pay my exorbitant fee.”

Martha Ann had only two weeks to find Lucky, and then she had to be back at school. If she couldn't hire Rick McGill, she didn't know where she would turn. Anyhow, she wanted him and no one else. She'd done some checking before coming to Tupelo to see him. He was a flamboyant adventurer, an oil field fire fighter turned private investigator who selected his cases the way a jeweler would a fine diamond. Although his life-style was extravagant, he took very few cases. Talk was that he had a private source of income. Some people said it was Texas oil, others said Colombian emeralds, and a few even said gambling casinos and whorehouses.

He was just the kind of man she wanted. Finding her sister's husband was her primary concern, but she planned to have a grand adventure while she was searching. She figured if she was going to spend the money she'd saved for her trip to Europe on finding Lucky, she might as well have a blast.

She leaned forward and provocatively wet her lips. At the same time she made sure her borrowed skirt inched a little higher up her legs. She wasn't above flirtation to get what she wanted. And she wanted Rick McGill. Professionally speaking, of course.

“How can I make you interested, Rick?”

“By pulling down your skirt, for starters. I don't fool around with married women.”

She stood up so fast, her hat slid down over one ear. “Good day, Mr. McGill.”

“Not so fast.”

She heard his chair bang to the floor as she marched toward the door. She was almost through it when he caught her shoulders and spun her back around.

“Just a minute, Miss High-and-Mighty O'Grady. We have unfinished business.”

“We have no business, Mr. McGill.”

“You came to me, remember?”

The face she'd thought so full of humor had changed. He looked like a fierce hawk as he stared down at her.

“A decision I sincerely regret.”

“What about Lucky?”

He had her there. She'd just have to swallow her pride.

“Does that mean you're taking the case?”

“Any woman who can fill out a silk suit the way you can has my undivided attention.”

She gave him a triumphant smile. “I thought you didn't fool around with married women.”

“I don't. But that doesn't keep me from enjoying the view.”

“You can turn loose my shoulders now.”

“You won't try to flee?”

She tipped her head back, righting her dashing little hat as it threatened to slide off her head.

“I never make promises, Rick.”

“Then we understand each other. Neither do I.”

He let go of her and went back to his battered desk.

She followed him into the room and sat back down in her chair.

“I assume money is no object with you, Martha Ann.”

That's precisely what she had wanted him to assume.

“No,” she lied.

“Good. Now that the fee is out of the way...”

“Could you give me a ballpark figure?” His eyebrows went up. “My CPA, you know. He's a stickler for this sort of thing. Has to know the exact price tag on every little old diamond I buy.”

“Five thousand a week, plus expenses. Half is refundable if I don't deliver.”

She wanted to die right there in the chair, just scoot down to the floor and expire in mortification. Ten thousand dollars for two weeks, plus expenses. He probably ate steak and lobster every day and charged it to the account.

She bought time by carefully rearranging her hat. There was no backing out now. Evelyn had to have her husband. Anyway, she'd be along to make sure Rick McGill didn't have hundred-dollar dinners and put them on the tab. And there was always Las Vegas. She'd planned to supplement her savings by playing the tables. The fee he'd named was more than she'd counted on having to win, but if her luck held, she could do it.