Death at the Summit by Nikki Haverstock Page A

Suddenly, he leaned forward, imploring us. “You have to convince Elizabeth to clean house at MacSights. The whole family is corrupt. I know that M.C. was part of that rules situation. He is a cheat through and through. And Kandi is trouble, cold and calculating. I’m surprised she didn’t knife Mac in his sleep. She only married him for the money. They’re going to ruin Westmound if they stay. Poison, both of them.” He was heaving huge breaths.
    Moo whined next to me and huddled in close. I wrapped an arm around Moo’s frame and rubbed his side. Bucky’s intensity was unsettling. “I’ll mention it to Liam.”
    Bucky sat back in his seat, relaxed. His face was no longer red, and he casually crossed a leg onto the opposite knee. “Thank you. Liam’s a good guy. I can’t say how grateful I am that Mac is dead. I think I will throw a party when I get home.” He cupped his hands around a cup of coffee and smiled.
    I stood up. “That sounds nice.” No, it didn’t. It sounded insane. “If you need anything, let us know.”
    Mary mirrored my actions, and we practically ran out of the cafeteria and smacked right into M.C.
    He snorted. “What are you gals running from?” He looked over our shoulders. “Oh, Bucky, paranoid old goat. He’s such a weirdo. Business is business, but he’s a stick in the mud. I’m bored. Will you entertain me for a bit?” He had a broad smile and friendly nature.
    “Sure, we have a few minutes.” And a few questions. After we followed him back into the dining room, he pulled out chairs for Mary and me. On the far side of the room, Loggin gave us a quick glance before he looked away.
    I remembered Mac was M.C.’s father. “How are you holding up, M.C.?”
    He waved a hand in the air. “I think I’m in shock but also not surprised. Dad was an aggressive man. You live by the sword; you die by the sword. That’s how life is meant to be. Too many pansies around, unwilling and unable to do what needs to be done for success. Those that were weak resented Dad. Like Bucky—every time we ran into him he was like, ‘Wah wah you ruined my life. Boo hoo!’ What a sap.”
    I had thought the conversation with Bucky was awkward, but this was taking it to a new level. Mary shifted in her seat next to me then poked me in the side.
    “You think he killed your dad?”
    “Could be. Or Kandi. Or Cold. Or Loggin. Or Orion. Or Minx. Or heck, maybe one of you. The list is endless.” He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet on the table to reveal turquoise cowboy boots.
    “But not you?” The question popped out. I held my breath—I had just accused M.C. of killing his father. How heartless was I?
    He took it all in stride. “Why would I kill my father? I loved him and had nothing to gain. Dad was no idiot. Kandi’s hot, but she’s not trustworthy. He gave me my inheritance before the wedding. The company was doing well, and we both got enough from our salary. You’re admiring my boots, aren’t you?”
    The boots were distracting. They weren’t exactly good looking, but they were hard to look away from.
    “I got them in Spain last year. They were handcrafted by a man that had the secrets of leatherworking passed down to him through five generations. The leather is artisan tanned then formed with hand tools. The whole process took months, and the final step was to form them specifically to my feet. I shouldn’t tell you how much they cost, but if you promise not to tell, they were fourteen thousand dollars. I am thinking of getting a second set.”
    I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know boots could cost that much and couldn’t imagine ever having enough money to justify that kind of price tag. “Wow. That is…… wow.”
    “Nice, huh? Not everyone can appreciate the finer things in life, but when you have good taste, you see things others don’t.” He admired his boots some more.
    Mary seemed mesmerized by the boots. I saw her mouth, “Fourteen thousand,” a few