Free Born to Be Wild by Catherine Coulter Page A

seemed frantic. Did she want to warn Marci that he knew about Jason’s affair? He’d soon see. Jack said easily, “I’d appreciate that, Mrs. Hildebrand.”
    He heard her footfalls on the stairs, and turned back to Milo. He sipped at the coffee and nodded. It was rich and very hot. “I hear you’re a pretty good golfer.”
    Pat Bigelow said, “Be careful here, Chief—”
    Milo held up his hand. “Been golfing since my dad first took me out when I was nine years old. Olivia and I golf quite a bit.”
    â€œWhat brand of clubs do you use?”
    â€œTaylorMade. Why?”
    â€œDid Jason Maynard golf too?”
    Milo nodded. “He really liked to play the club course. He wasn’t all that good, but he was working at it. He and I went out once a week, usually on Saturday mornings.”
    â€œWhat was his brand of clubs?”
    â€œPing. Why?” Milo Hildebrand’s eyes clouded. “Oh, damn. He was killed with a golf club, a Callaway?”
    Jack nodded. “Yeah, a driver, specifically, a Big Bertha Fusion FT-3. Can you think offhand of anyone who uses Callaways at the club?”
    Milo nodded. “I can think of a few people, but it’s the caddies and the people at the pro shop you should talk to.”
    Mrs. Hildebrand was back more quickly than Jack had expected. “I don’t understand her.” She flapped her hands. “I thought she’d want to be alone, but no, Marci insists on speaking to you.” She cut her eyes to Pat Bigelow, cleared her throat. “I told her you were here, Ms. Bigelow, that you would make sure the chief didn’t bother her, but she said she wanted to see him alone.”
    And you don’t want that, Jack thought.
    Pat Bigelow said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mrs. Hildebrand.” And she walked toward Jack. “Shall we, Chief?”
    Jack saw no hope for it and nodded.
    Mrs. Hildebrand trailed along behind them up the stairs. When they reached the bedroom door, Jack asked Mrs. Hildebrand to wait outside. Pat Bigelow nodded to her. He knocked lightly, then went into the bedroom. It must have been Marci Maynard’s room for many years. It had stayed a teenager’s room, very girlie-girl, with lots of pink and white and rock star posters from ten years ago. And watercolors, mostly sailboats, like her work on the walls downstairs.
    Marci Maynard was propped up in bed, wearing a bathrobe, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and without makeup. She was as pale as the white bedroom walls. She was a big-boned woman, like her father, solid and fit, about thirty, with her mother’s vague gray eyes. She looked ten years older than the last time he’d seen her, only this morning. But her gaze was focused, no drugs. Good.
    Then she looked at Pat Bigelow. “I told my mother I wanted to see Chief Wolf alone.”
    Pat Bigelow’s voice was gentle. “I’m here to make sure you’re not harassed, Mrs. Maynard.”
    â€œPlease leave. I don’t need any protection.”
    â€œBut—”
    Marci Maynard stared her down. Pat Bigelow gave Jack a long look, shrugged, and said over her shoulder as she left, “I’ll be downstairs with your parents.”
    â€œGood,” Marci said when Jack closed the bedroom door. “I’ve never liked her.”
    Jack wanted to pursue that, but not now. He thanked her for seeing him and expressed his condolences. She was quiet, but alert.
    He pulled up a chair beside the bed and straddled it, his arms over the back. “Tell me, Mrs. Maynard, do you know where your husband was all night?”
    He saw her consider a lie, saw the instant she knew it wouldn’t fly. She shrugged, looked him dead in the eye. “We had an argument. He slammed out of the house about nine o’clock. I went to bed at ten, after watching a rerun of Alias. When the alarm rang