Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) (16 page)

Seth as the older man. She’d bet half a dozen teenage fantasies he wouldn’t be amused.

The ache of her first crush, softened by time, by living, by maturity was winsome memory. But at the time, the rejection had hit her like a bulldozer. He’d been her English teacher. Blond hair, blue eyes, a sweet mustache. The way he’d smile at her in class and say her name… When he announced he was leaving Tulsa at the end of the semester, she locked herself in her bedroom for two days.

Love is like air, Kirby-nee. You cannot imagine it. You must breathe it.

She hadn’t understood what Grandy meant. She pressed her lips together and tasted Seth. Maybe she did now.

“How do you know he’s interested in you?”

A high wail escaped from Brittany. “I hate you
so
much. If it wasn’t for you, Mr. Maguire and me, we’d be together by now.”

“Are you sure? Mr. Maguire could be a lot for you to manage.” Mr. Maguire could eat Brittany for breakfast and be hungry by noon. Not that he would. Would he?

“Says you.”

Like a certain blond English teacher, Seth was probably oblivious to the teenage angst swirling around him. “Maybe I should talk to him for you. Feel him out.”
Warn him.

The red stain on Brittany’s cheeks deepened. “You wouldn’t dare,” she squealed. “We’ll work it out ourselves. When we’re ready.”

“It’s your relationship.” Kirby threw up her hands.

A cunning gleam lit Brittany’s teary eyes. “You owe me thirty dollars. For Manny and stuff.”

“Sure thing.” Grateful to get off the subject of Seth, Kirby opened her bedroom door and flipped the switch. The envelope was in the dresser next to her Glock. She pulled out a fifty. “Don’t have any change.”

“Whatever. You still owe me.”

Kirby held out the money. “I really appreciate your help with Manny. I want you to have all of this.” Thirty bucks for Brittany’s help and another twenty bucks’ penance for being the one to dash her romantic dreams. Because Kirby was not letting Seth go. Not to feed this girl’s fevered imagination, not to please Grandy, not to respect Frankie, not even to save herself from a broken heart. Not for anything.

Brittany snatched the money. “I deserve it. Manny wasn’t very nice at first.”

“I hope he didn’t say anything inappropriate.”

“I sort of invited myself to his house by mistake, and he got mad.”

“Maybe he’s just shy.”

Brittany’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “For a slut, you’re pretty smart about people, huh?”

Then she spun on her heel and ran. Her voice rose above the clonk of boots pounding down the corridor: “Even if you pay me a million dollars, Mr. Maguire is mine. I’m not that stupid.”

Kirby’s cell buzzed. “Hi, Frankie.” She settled on the bed.

“So what’s going on?” In the background crickets chirped.

“Are you outside?” Kirby asked.

“Sitting on your patio. It’s nice here. So what’s going on?” Frankie asked again.

“I met Zack. He was in pretty bad shape. Homeless and broke. He was camping out at the quarry.”

“Really? Poor guy. Did you give him some cash?” Frankie asked.

“Not exactly. Seth gave him a job and put him up in the bunkhouse. He acted like there was a secret between you, but he wouldn’t say what.”

“Come on, Kirby. The man’s a drunk. He’s scrambled his brains. I’ve met guys like that before. If they don’t get a drink, they start to see things.” There was a pause. “I told you to stay clear of Maguire. You’re doing that, right?”

Dang.

Kirby moved the conversation onto neutral grounds.

“Do you know who Susannah is? Mr. Shaw talks about her like I should know who it is.”

“Susannah. Hmm.” Frankie spoke the name slowly. “Not really. I mean, I think maybe I’ve heard it, but Cousin Eenie is always going on about people he knew a million years ago. I can’t keep them straight.”

True enough. The man spent a lot of time in the past. “You’re right. It’s probably not important anyway.”

“So you’ve spent some time with Cousin Eenie,” Frankie said. “Do you think he suspects you’re not me?”

“He seems like the type who would just say so,” Kirby said.

“Maybe. He’s pretty smart, though. And sly.”

“He’s convinced your momma isn’t missing,” Kirby said.

“He wants you to believe that. It’s him and the she-hawk. I swear it is. Look at how they treat me. Isn’t that just a little suspicious?”

Kirby frowned. “I guess.”

But Mr. Shaw seemed so peaceful, so kind, so
Zen
. It was hard to picture him as manipulative or sly. It occurred to her that she’d begun to like Mr. Shaw. A distinct no-no during an investigation. And not just Mr. Shaw—Seth. Yesterday he’d been a suspect, too. In fact, with the exception of Miss Bea, everyone on the ranch was beginning to grow on her.

She was losing her edge. It was time she got it back by remembering who she was and why she was here. Brittany was right. She was meddling where she had no business meddling.

Chapter Seventeen

It was barely six, and the sun already burned hot against Seth’s neck. Today would be a scorcher—a scorcher during which he was destined to pick freaking apricots. Shaw was insane. If this didn’t prove it, nothing did.

Kirby was on the front steps when he pulled up to the house, looking both cool and hot in a jean skirt that barely covered her thighs, a white tank, and a pair of Miss Bea’s work boots.

“Did you wear that skirt for me?” he asked when she slid, knees locked, into the Jeep.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m trying to look like Frankie minus the stilettos.” She tugged at the skirt’s hem. A futile attempt at modesty, but it sure got his blood pumping.

The rest of the world must be blind. No way she’d ever pass for oversexed Frankie. Kirby was the kind of girl they grew wild in these parts. The sort you went crazy with on Saturday night and took home to Momma on Sunday for chicken dinner. The sort he’d avoided because Sunday always rolled around, and he didn’t have a momma and he wasn’t the domesticating type. But he wasn’t passing up Saturday night. Not this time. No matter what hell Sunday brought.

A light flashed across the valley. Kirby’s head snapped around, and her thick veil of hair parted, revealing a purple bruise on her arm.

“Where’d you get that bruise?”

She brushed her hair over her shoulders. “Must have banged into something.”

“Bullshit. Someone slugged you.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Because they think you’re Frankie. It was Miss Bea, wasn’t it?”

“Miss Bea was asleep when I went in last night.” She sighed. “Nothing happened. It was my own fault. Honest.”

“Kirby—”

“Do you think we can drop this?” She folded her arms across her chest.

She was lying. A damn fool could see it. He’d like a rematch with Miss Bea, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Kirby…especially if he wanted her in his bed. “Whatever you want. Just saying, is all.”

She studied him. “It’s not like you to let something go that easy.”

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant until she turned away.

In El Royo, the sidewalks shimmered with heat, and the cool air inside the Limestone Diner washed over Seth like spring rain. Manny waved at them from a booth in the back.

Kirby pressed a hand to his arm. He could guess what was coming next. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I am not sitting at the counter while you have a private conversation with Manny.”

“But you’ll intimidate him—”

“You better hope I don’t. Come on.” He pressed a hand to the perfectly curved small of her back.

Manny played with his hands nervously when Seth pushed into the booth beside Kirby. “I thought you were coming alone, Miss Frances.”

Kirby shot Seth a narrow-eyed
I told you so
.

“I’m just here for a cup of coffee.” He motioned to Angie and held up three fingers. “Anything you tell Miss Frances is off the record.”

Kirby’s jaw dropped.

“As far as I’m concerned.”

If his sexy lady cop wanted to get her shorts in a bunch because he was sticking around, nothing he could do about it.
No one
told him to get lost. Besides, Manny wasn’t going to tell her anything worth going to the police about. He’d bet his last dollar on it.

Manny rubbed at a spot on the table. “Yes, boss.”

Kirby leaned across the table. Her top pulled up in the back, revealing golden skin. His throat dried.
Damn!
He had it bad for this one.

“Thanks for coming, Manny,” Kirby said. “The reason I invited
you
here was to ask after my momma.”

A smile pulled at Seth’s mouth, and he pretended to rub his chin until he could get his expression under control. He did like a woman with some attitude.

Manny nodded. “Miss Charleen?”

“Exactly. She’s been gone a long time, and I’m worried.”

Manny’s gaze met Seth’s. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Manny, please look at me. Mr. Maguire drove me here. That’s all. He’s not accusing you of anything. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m hoping you saw something that would help me find my momma.”

“I didn’t see anything, either.”

She laid her hands, palms up, on the Formica. What would those slender fingers feel like when they touched him? Gentle? Eager? Rough? His loins tightened.

Angie plunked three mugs on the table. “Anything else?” she asked him tightly.

“I think we’re good.”

Her gaze ping-ponged from him to Kirby. She smirked. “Looks like you could use some R&R. Next time you’re in town, give me a holler.”

Kirby’s eyes widened.

Oh, boy.
“I appreciate you thinking about a poor cowpoke like me, Angie, but I’m real tied up on the ranch.”

“I’ll just bet you are.” She scribbled some numbers on her order pad, tore off the paper and slapped it on the table. “Pay the cashier on your way out.”

Kirby’s eyes were burning a hole in the side of his head. He stuck his nose in his mug and took a big, noisy slurp.

She shifted her attention back to Manny. “Here’s what I’m wondering. What if someone got mad at my momma and did something to her? They’d need stuff if it happened at the ranch, wouldn’t they?”

Manny’s eyes met Seth’s. Wide and frightened. A child’s gaze. “How would I know, boss? I mean, if a coil of rope was missing, that could be you or Miss Bea just doing your jobs, right?”

At twenty, Manny was far younger than Seth had been. He’d have already guessed where Kirby was going with this and walked away before he ended up in the middle of a mess he had no business in. It was Shaw’s fault Manny was still a colt. He babied the boy. The sooner Manny figured out Shaw couldn’t fight his battles forever, the better. Otherwise he’d never survive.

Before Seth could tell Manny to grow some balls, Kirby threw out a new question. “So you noticed rope was missing.”

“There was a rope hanging in the barn, then it was gone. But Miss Bea might have taken it.”

“Does Miss Bea take rope often?”

“Well, no. I mean, I just thought it had to be her because she’s the only one who comes in the barn. Except for the boss, I mean.”

“So normally Miss Bea doesn’t use rope, as far as you know.”

Seth watched Manny squirm. The kid wasn’t a criminal, and Kirby had no business coming down on him so hard. “I think Manny just said that, didn’t he,” Seth said.

Kirby whipped her head around. Her gaze was cool, but her lips were pressed together with irritation. “Thank you, Mr. Maguire,” she said tightly. “I’ll do the interpreting, if you don’t mind.”

Seth let his mind roll between Manny’s discomfort and Kirby’s sweet face. The sweet face won. He presented her with half smile and lowered his eyelids. “Sorry.”

Kirby’s gaze narrowed. Then she turned back to Manny. “Anything else out of place recently?”

“Not sure.” He pressed his lips together.

“When was the rope taken?”

“About two weeks ago. I thought the boss took it, but then he asked me about it, so I figured it was Miss Bea. That’s all.”

“Did you notice it was missing in the morning when you came to work, or was it later in the day?”

“Morning.” He stared into his coffee. “I have to go.”

Kirby turned in Seth’s direction again. More irritation.
This is your fault.
Behind the green contacts, he thought he saw desire flicker. He’d have dived into the middle of a cattle stampede for what that look promised.

“This is my fault, Manny,” Seth said. “I should have taken more notice. Please answer Miss Frances. Nothing you say will get you into trouble.”

“Yes, boss. When I came to work—this was maybe two, two and a half weeks ago—the barn door was unlocked, and the rope was gone, and Miss Bea’s gun. That’s all I know. I swear I thought it was Miss Bea.” He looked like he was about to cry.

The boy didn’t know anything. So what if Miss Bea sneaked around at night snitching rope and taking her own gun? Did Kirby really think “someone” had done Charleen in with Miss Bea’s little rifle and a twenty-foot rope? “Manny has told you everything he knows. If you want to stop at the police station about the missing-person report, we better get going. I’ve got a truckload of pickers coming in an hour.”

One corner of her sweet mouth grimaced. “Right. Do I have time to run to the ladies’ room?”

He let her out. “Go on then.”

Manny rose, too. When the bathroom door closed behind Kirby, he cleared his throat. “Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“You know Brittany?”

“Yeah.”

“She wants to come over to my apartment on Sunday.”

What was that pesky girl up to now? “What for?”

“Listen to music.”

“So what’s your question?”

Manny looked away. “I’m just a little nervous, is all. I don’t know what to say or anything.”

Seth glanced toward the ladies’ room. “Make her do the talking.”

“Won’t she think I’m rude?”

“With women, you want to set boundaries or you’ll end up hog-tied and shackled for the rest of your life.”

Manny’s brows knitted. “You think she wants to marry me or something?”

“All I’m saying is don’t get yourself in a tight spot by saying the wrong thing.”

“Right, boss.” Manny glanced over his shoulder at the ladies’ room. “I didn’t want to say anything because maybe I imagined it, and I don’t want to get Miss Frances going, but I thought I heard something funny back when the rope and rifle went missing.”

“What did you hear?”

“A scream coming off the ridge.”

This was guaranteed to get Kirby all riled up just when he most wanted her undivided attention. Besides, if Manny had heard something, it was probably just Frankie and Zack up to no good. “The ridge is at least a mile from the barn.”

“I was in the lavender field. It was the day you sent me to weed.”

“Maybe it was a hawk.” The ladies’ room door opened, and Kirby emerged.

Manny followed Seth’s gaze. “Right, boss. Anything else would be crazy talk.”

…

“Hey, Swope, look who’s back in town. What’s doin’, Frankie?” The beefy police officer patted his lap. “Need a place to set yourself down, sugar?”

The second officer—young, blond, thick lipped, ostrich necked—snickered, exposing bright yellow teeth. “You need a real engineer for that hot engine of yours, Frankie. I’ll take you round the world without leaving the men’s room.”

Officer Beefy hooted.

If the El Royo police station were the only thing standing between order and anarchy, Kirby’s money was on anarchy. It was a cramped room holding six steel desks, fluorescent lights blinking and buzzing overhead, one fat cop and one wise-ass cop, the
cnaawk, cnaawk, cnaawk
of drunken snores from the holding cells, and air scented with urine and sweat and stale bodies.

She smiled, keeping her lips together to hide gritted teeth. “Just dropped by to see if you’d found my momma.”

“You try the no-tell motel, Frankie?” The fat cop winked at her. “Maybe we can go over and look together. What d’ya say?”

Kirby shoved her fisted hands into the pockets of Frankie’s too-short blue jean skirt, but the outrage seeped into her words. “I say you do your job and tell me if you’ve found anything.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Why would I know anything about Charleen? She likes the rich meat, don’t she?”

“What about the missing-person report I filed a few weeks back?”

“Hey, Swope. You know anything about a missing-person report from Frankie?”

Swope grinned at Kirby. His teeth gleamed like sunbeams. “Nope.”

So they hadn’t filed Frankie’s report. Her outrage grew. These men—men who had no right to call themselves cops—had ignored Frankie’s request. They’d let Charleen’s disappearance slide by, not for hours or days, but
weeks
. A vein in her neck throbbed.

The station door swung open. A gust of hot air swooped in, and with it, Seth. Officer Beefy sat up straight. Officer Buttercup sobered.

“Got tired of waiting in the Jeep.” Seth flashed a grin at the officers. “Ed. Derek. How you boys doing?”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Kirby said. She glanced at the fat cop’s shirt for a name badge. “Officer Jones was just about to look for Charleen’s missing-person report.”

Jones glowered at her. “There’s no fucking report, Frankie. What kind of shit are you pulling on me?”

Her eyes met Seth’s.

His shoulders lifted slightly.
I told you so.

“I called weeks ago,” Kirby said.

Both cops shook their heads, mouths firm, jaws tight. They were telling the truth.

“Could another officer have taken the report?” Kirby asked.

Officer Swope held his hands out, palm up. “No missing-person reports have been filed in the past year and a half. Not since that kid went missing. Found him at the ranch, as I recall. Floating in the old quarry.”

Seth stepped forward. “Frankie’s a little forgetful now and again. She meant to file a report. Since she’s here now, maybe we can start fresh.”

Had Frankie been confused, or had someone taken the report who didn’t want Charleen found? Or had Kirby misinterpreted what Frankie told her? Thinking back on it, she wasn’t sure. Frankie had been desperate, then drunk, then incoherent. Facts and feelings spun together into a whole cloth. A whole cloth with a loose thread. She felt its presence, but she couldn’t see where to pull.

Stop thinking with your head, Kirby-nee.

It’s the only way to think, Grandy.

Not if you know how to listen to yourself.

“Frankie? The report? I’ve got a harvest to get to,” Seth said.

Introspection, ancient riddles, loose threads. They would have to wait until the apricots were picked. “Yes. I’d like to file one now.”

The radios attached to Jones and Swope’s shoulders began to squawk like hens at feeding time.

Swope barked into his transmitter. “Go ahead.”

A female dispatcher, sounding tinny and matter-of-fact and far away, said, “Dead body found on Shaw Valley Ranch. That’s all I could get, but a Miss Vine will be waiting at the main house.”