Blame It on Texas (2 page)

“Leo?” Tyler held up the two beers as if to say, “Come join me.” When Tyler saw the man coming, he stepped through the backyard gate and moved between Sam’s house and the neighbor’s. He heard the gate shift behind him.

“What’s up?” Leo asked.

Setting the two beers on top of an air conditioner that hummed as it cooled his sister’s house, Tyler faced Leo, who stood so close that the man’s beer-laden breath filled Tyler’s airspace. He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “You hit her.”

Leo stepped back, or he started to. “It was just a tap.” But before his foot hit the ground, Tyler’s fist punched the man’s nose and knocked him flat on his ass.

“Christ!” Leo reached for his nose.

“It was just a tap,” Tyler growled, but he knew Leo’s nose had to be hurting like hell because Tyler’s fist did. And he saw his knuckles bleeding where he’d obviously loosened a couple of teeth.

“You fucking jailbird clown! You broke my nose!”

Jailbird was the word that almost did Tyler in.

Leo started to get up, no doubt to give what he’d gotten, and Tyler almost let him. Almost chose to let go and
enjoy this. But taking a deep breath, he pulled his emotions back and moved in to tower over his slimeball of a brother-in-law.

“Don’t do it, Leo. If you get up, I’m going to hit you again. I know you think you want to hit me back. It’s only fair, right? But it wasn’t fair when you hit Sam. And I’m not planning on fighting fair now.”

He rubbed his fist in his other hand and continued, “If you get up, and if you even get one punch in, I’m going to yell for my four brothers, and when I tell them what you did, every one of them will help me beat your ass to a pulp. Consider yourself lucky you faced only me this time.”

Leo wiped his bloody nose and stared up with hatred in his eyes. But the man was smarter than Tyler gave him credit for. He didn’t get up.

A damn shame, too. “Oh,” he added, “if I see one bruise, one little bruise, on my sister, I won’t come alone next time.” Pulling off the red rubber nose, he tossed it at Leo. “Since I broke yours, have this one.”

“Spiders. Definitely spiders.”

“Don’t forget snakes.”

“Trust me, it’s clowns.” Zoe Adams removed her waitress apron and added her two cents to the conversation the other waitresses of Cookie’s Café were having about their biggest fears. She plopped down on one of the stools lining the breakfast counter and pulled out her tips to count. She hoped she had enough to pay the rent. Looking up at the other diner employees, she added, “And considering my regular gig is that of kindergarten teacher, I’ve had to face that fear more times than I care to admit.”

“I’d take a clown over a spider any day,” said Jamie. Like Zoe, she was in her mid-twenties.

“I can step on a spider,” Zoe said, looking at the other waitresses she’d worked with for two weeks. Crazy how in just two weeks she’d felt a part of something. A part of Cookie’s Café.

“Clowns are too big for my size sixes.” She held up her foot. “I don’t know what it is, but I see one and it’s like I hear scary music and my mind starts flashing
Friday the 13th
images.” In truth, clowns weren’t her biggest fear. Small, dark places scared Zoe more than anything. Not that she’d share that with her co-workers, or anyone else for that matter.

Some things Zoe didn’t talk about. Especially the things she didn’t understand. And for the last three weeks, her life was filled with a lot of those things. Crazy how watching that episode of the TV series
Unsolved Mystery Hunters
had turned her life upside down, and brought her from Alabama to Texas in search of the truth.

“Flying roaches. I hate ’em,” Dixie Talbot said, joining in on the conversation. In her sixties, Dixie was the matriarchal cook, waitress, and part-owner of Cookie’s Café. “Years ago, I stood right over there by Booth Two, and one of those nasty creatures flew into my shirt.”

Zoe stopped counting her money and laughed. “Yeah, Fred told me about the striptease you pulled, too.”

“Honey, he’d better be glad that roach flew off my right boob once the top came off, or I swear to everything holy I’d have been standing there naked as a jaybird.”

“Was that the day he proposed to you?” Zoe asked.

They laughed. It was the laughter, the camaraderie of Dixie and the other diner employees, that kept Zoe from
looking for a higher paying gig while she was here. God knew she could use the money. Kindergarten teachers didn’t rake in the big bucks.

Oh, it was enough to get by, but not enough to fund this research trip to Miller, Texas, when she had to pay for two apartments. Not to mention the entire month off from work—a month she only got because the principal had been friends with her mom. But more than money, Zoe needed companionship. When her mama died two years ago, Zoe had not only lost her last living relative, she’d lost her best companion. Then, last year when her live-in boyfriend had decided he’d rather date a stripper than a kindergarten teacher, Zoe had spent too much time alone.

And lonely.

Hey, maybe she should get Dixie to teach her a few moves. Not that Zoe wanted Chris back. Nope. For four years, she’d given her heart and soul to that man. She’d already had names picked out for the two kids they’d have together, thinking any day he’d pop the question. And he had popped one. It just wasn’t the question she’d expected.
“Do you mind if I bring home my stripper girlfriend to live here until you can find another place?”

Okay, he hadn’t actually worded it like that, but he might as well have. He’d taken Zoe’s heart and returned it, along with her self-esteem, in a big mangled mess. Not so much of a mess that she hadn’t reminded him that she’d been the one to rent the apartment, and he could just grab his stuff and get the hell out. Oh, he’d accused her of being so unfair. Didn’t she realize it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen in love with someone else?

What she understood was that she’d been played for a fool—paying most of the bills, being his personal
housecleaner, trying to be the perfect housewife. Even a year later, it still stung like a paper cut right across her heart.

Zoe’s cell phone rang. Considering she’d gotten only two calls in the two weeks she’d been in Texas—one from her principal back in Alabama confirming she’d be at work on September 25, and the other a wrong number—a call was a big thing. Zoe checked the number. Unknown Caller.

“Hello?” Zoe answered. While she hated it, there was a part of her that hoped it would be Chris, wanting her back, telling her he’d screwed up. Not that she’d take him back, but it would be nice to know he missed her.

She heard someone breathing, but nothing else. “Hello?”

“Leave,” the whispery voice said.

CHAPTER TWO

“W
HAT
?” Z
OE SAID
, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

Click.

“You okay?” Dixie asked.

“Yeah. Wrong number.” Stashing her phone in her apron, she looked up at Dixie. “Can I use your computer?”

“You betcha. Just stay off those porn sites,” Dixie teased.

“Just can’t help myself.” Zoe scooted her butt off the stool. “It’s been a month of Sundays since I’ve known bliss.”

“I could remedy that,” offered Juan, the fry cook.

“I’ll consider it as soon as you get written permission from your wife.” She shot him a smile, knowing he was only kidding because she’d seen him light up when his pregnant wife stopped by earlier.

“Heck,” Juan said, grinning back. “I was only offering to make you some French toast.”

While all the employees snickered, Zoe grabbed her bag that held a change of clothes and went to the office.

Ten minutes later, Dixie brought two big bowls of
chicken and dumplings into the office and set one in front of Zoe on the oversized and time-worn oak desk. “Eat before you go.”

Zoe smiled. It had been forever since she’d had anyone looking out for her. She was going to miss Dixie when she left.

“Thanks. I’ve smelled these cooking all morning.” She dished a spoonful into her mouth and moaned as the savory taste exploded on her tongue. “My mama used to make these.”

“Mine are better,” Dixie teased, and dropped into the desk chair beside Zoe and started eating. After a minute of silence, Dixie asked, “You miss her—your mama?”

“Like the dickens. She was special.” But if Zoe’s suspicions were true, her mama wasn’t the person Zoe had always thought she was. In the pro/con list Zoe had made before she decided to actually come to Texas, uncovering any ugly secrets about her parents had been the only con.

Dixie’s gaze shifted to the computer monitor.

Zoe reached for the mouse to delete the screen. Quickly realizing it would be rude, she moved her hand and spooned another dumpling into her mouth. Besides, Dixie had already gotten a peek at Zoe’s research last week when she’d gone for a potty break and forgot to close the screen. When she’d returned, Dixie was reading the article Zoe had found at the library and had downloaded onto a flash drive.

“The Bradfords again?” Dixie asked. “Is there a reason you’re so intrigued with that rich family?”

Zoe glanced at the screen. She couldn’t divulge everything. People would think she was crazy—hell, sometimes she considered the possibility herself. But she could
tell Dixie part of it. “There was a story about them on that
Unsolved Mystery Hunters
show three weeks ago. I guess I love a good puzzle.”

“About the murder of that kid?” Dixie asked.

Zoe nodded and her chest constricted.

“I remember that. They never did find out who killed her. Sad stuff.”

“Yeah.” Zoe spooned another bite into her mouth and stared at the picture of Thomas Bradford. It was as if Zoe felt by staring at the man, she could discover the truth. But no such discovery came.

“I heard that old man isn’t doing so well. The kids and grandkids are fighting over his inheritance. Lucky for me, all I’ve got is this run-down café, and neither of my kids wants it.”

“It’s not run-down,” Zoe said. “Best food in town.” She spooned a big chunk of stewed chicken into her mouth.

Dixie chuckled. “That’s because you’re not a citified gal like my kids. My son ran off to California to learn to talk like they do on the six o’clock news. Works for a radio station out there. Boy’s ashamed of his southern roots. And my daughter—you wouldn’t catch a dumpling within six feet of her lips. Says she’s allergic to carbs.”

Zoe frowned. “I haven’t met a carb I haven’t loved. Guess it shows, too. I’ll bet I’ve gained five pounds since I started working here.”

“And you’re wearing it well, too, honey. You should see the guys checking out your butt.” Dixie looked back at the computer screen. “If you’re real curious about the Bradfords, you should ask those PIs who come in for my chili cheeseburgers on Tuesdays. They do work for the Bradfords, I think.”

Zoe’s interest was piqued. “What PIs?” She didn’t have money to hire a private investigator, but if they had knowledge about the Bradfords, she could at least ask them some questions. How much would they charge just to talk to her? Nothing, she hoped.

“Those three hunk-a-hunk men, two dark haired and one blond. All of them drool-worthy. They own that PI agency, Only in Texas.” Dixie shook her head. “Are you seriously telling me you haven’t noticed them?”

Zoe tried to think. “They only come in on Tuesdays?” While she didn’t recall them, she mentally stored away the agency’s title.

Dixie dropped her spoon in her bowl. “Girl, you are either blind or a lesbian not to have noticed them.”

“Neither. Self-preservation. Just mending a broken heart,” Zoe said. “I’m not sure men are worth the risk, so I’ve trained myself not to notice things like sexy bedroom eyes or broad shoulders.” But she was getting a little breathless just thinking about it. Maybe she should reconsider dating again. If for no other reason than to have someone call her, and make her cell phone worth its monthly charge.

“Oh, honey, those boys would be worth it. Then again, ’cause I like ya, if you noticed them too much I’d reel you in so fast you’d leave skid marks on my linoleum.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Zoe tried to feign only a mild curiosity while she pushed another dumpling around her bowl. But on the inside she felt her excitement growing by leaps and bounds. This might be her big break. The one that answered the questions Zoe had been looking for all her life.

God knew all of her other plans had seemed to fail
these days. Phone calls to the Bradford businesses, and even a couple of drop-in visits to the mansion—not that she’d gotten past the security gate. The last time, she’d been told by one security guard that if he saw her there again, he was calling the cops.

Heck, last week, she’d even tried following the limo when they’d left the house, and got herself a nice little ticket for running a red light that she didn’t run. The cop who gave her the ticket suggested she go find another old fart to seduce because Mr. Bradford wasn’t in the market for an Anna Nicole.

“Nothing wrong with those three guys if you like suspected murderers.” Dixie arched her painted brow.

“They’re murderers?” Zoe asked.

“I said ‘suspected.’ They used to be cops. Supposedly, they got involved in some seedy drug deals, and then they got arrested for brutally murdering this couple. Practically decapitated the woman.” She ran a finger across her neck. “Then they got convicted and went to jail.”

Zoe touched her neck. “And what? They escape every Tuesday just for your chili cheeseburgers?”

Dixie laughed. “Hey, my cooking’s that good. But actually, they got let go.”

“So, they’re not guilty?” Zoe hoped that was the case. If she was going to look them up, and you could bet she was, she’d like it if they weren’t murderers.

“Well, that depends on who you talk to. You know small towns—folks around here get one thing in their mind, and changing it is about as easy as chewing glass. My neighbor has a son-in-law who works for the Glencoe Police Department where they worked. According to him, they had those three down and dirty. But then they got
themselves… What do you call it when the governor lets someone go?”