“Her what?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Then I’ll give you a road map. Point A is where we’re at now. Point B is I file a lawsuit against the county first thing in the morning. Point C is publicity, and Point D is a messy jury trial before the destination of Point E, your reelection campaign.” Michele shoots Maggie a thumbs-up.
“There’s no need—”
Michele pantomimes an explosion with her hands and fingers as she mouths “Boom” to Maggie, then points at her.
Maggie nods. “Hang up, Michele. I’ve heard enough. File the lawsuit.”
“Stop,” Len shouts. “Fine. Junior, get the trespasser out. Maggie, if you cross that barricade or do anything to tamper with evidence, so help me, we’ll—”
Maggie’s voice sizzles. “I can’t tamper with evidence that doesn’t exist, and it sure isn’t going to be at the house I haven’t been able to enter in two weeks, which, by the way, is not barricaded.”
Michele smiles, then draws a line across her throat at Maggie. “We have what we need here. Thanks for doing business, Len.”
“Whatever.” He hangs up.
“Go,” Michele says to Junior.
Maggie points at him. “You going to make any more problems for me on this?”
“No. I’ll give you a ride.”
Maggie throws her words over her shoulder as she spins and stomps out, Louise scampering after her with hindquarters tucked. “No way in hell. I’ll meet you there.” She shakes her finger at Louise. “Not you. You’re staying here.”
Twenty-Eight
Maggie and Junior wait on the front porch of her house. Maggie is fuming, and Junior’s eyes are down and away, careful not to make contact with the death rays shooting from hers.
He rings the bell and knocks again. “She won’t answer.”
“We’ll see.”
After he tries for the third time without success, he shouts. “Lee County Sheriff’s Department. I’m with the homeowner, Maggie Killian. If this door is not opened within one minute, I’m entering by force with her authorization.”
Something makes rustling noises and soft thuds inside. Junior leans his ear toward the curtained window pane in the door. At forty-five seconds, the door opens a few inches, displaying a security chain that is as new as the deadbolt locks.
“Leslie?”
“No.”
Maggie’s laugh is a near-hysterical cackle. “Right.”
Junior adjusts his gun belt. “I’m told your name is Leslie DeWitt.”
The woman Maggie knows as Leslie says, “I don’t care what you’ve been told. That’s not my name.”
Maggie harrumphs. “Oh really? Well that’s the name you used for our contract.”
The woman’s barely visible blue eyes narrow. “It’s not my name.”
Junior sighs. “Ma’am, whatever your name is, you need to leave. Now. This house belongs to Ms. Killian. She’s told you that your contract is up and given you notice that you need to vacate the house.”
“I have a signed lease.”
Junior holds up the documents Michele gave him. “And the term of that lease is over.”
“That’s not what she said.” A long finger points at Maggie.
Maggie shakes her head. “She is the biggest liar. Ever.”
“I asked to stay, and you said I could.”
“I told you to leave. Repeatedly.”
“You said you’d pick up my check later.” A check slips out the crack in the door.
Junior reaches for it and Maggie slaps his hand down. “Don’t touch it. We never talked about a check.”
“Assault of an officer,” he whispers at her.
She glares at him and gestures to the door with a jerk of her head that doesn’t move the hair sweated to her face.
Junior speaks to the door. “I need you to remove the chain so we can have a conversation out here on the porch.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You have no right to enter, and I don’t know if you’re who you say you are. I do know I’m scared of her.”
Junior’s lips move again and his head shakes like he’s arguing with himself. Maggie steps on his toe and digs her heel in.
He jerks his foot away.
“She made unauthorized changes to the home by changing the locks.”
Junior holds his badge up to the crack between door and frame.
Maggie jangles the chain. “And adding this. And God knows what else.”
“I told this woman how scared I was after that fire and the dead body they found in her store. She told me I could change the locks so I’d feel safer.”
Maggie looks up at the sky and grabs the hair above either ear. “Argh. It’s all total crap.”
“A word, Maggie?” Junior points at an oak tree in the yard. He walks over to the shade.
Maggie stomps after him. “What?”
“This isn’t as straightforward as you led me to believe.”
“Of course it’s not straightforward. She’s lying like a dog on a rug. She’s also been going around town telling people I’m selling the house to her.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course not! She’s catfishing me. Stealing my life.”
“It doesn’t help your case.”
“Do you see a for-sale sign out front? Come on.”
“Can’t you see it makes it sound like you’re okay with her being there and are thinking about leaving?”
“Junior, it’s not true. You have the paperwork, and what I’ve told you, which refutes that.”
“It’s your word against hers about the locks and the extension. And the sale.”
A 2000-era Oldsmobile floats to a stop in the driveway. Maggie and Junior turn to it as one. Two doors open. Two sets of sensible shoes hit the ground, and two ladies with beauty-parlor-fresh hair climb out. Two doors close. Two sets of feet walk toward the house.
Maggie’s voice is choked. “Oh Jesus. The church ladies. My mother’s friends.”
“Yoo-hoo, Maggie, hello!” Gray Bob calls to them, waggling her fingers. “Deputy.”
Maggie pastes on a smile. “Hello, ladies.”
Junior lifts a hand. “Ma’am. Ma’am.”
Blue Hair stops at the bottom step. “How are you dear? I swear, I was just praying about you an hour ago.”
“That’s great. What can I do for you?”
“We’re just dropping in to talk to Leslie about joining the church.”
Junior shoots Maggie a long look.
Maggie smiles grimly. Leslie has said she’s not Leslie. So she says, “Leslie’s not here.”
“That’s her car.”
“Yes, but Leslie definitely isn’t here.”
The ladies hem and haw, finally leaving with farewells and more promises to pray for Maggie, for the sake of her dear mother and departed father.
When they’re gone, Maggie closes her eyes. Their visit makes her turn to prayer herself. Dear God, please make this hell stop. Amen.
Junior interrupts her confab with the big man. “Listen, I know you’re upset. I know you want back in your house. But it’s almost dinnertime. Can I get with the county attorney tonight and we do this first thing in the morning?”
“Really? Really?”
“If you’ll just give the renter real clear notice that her permission to stay here is revoked—”
“Which I’ve done until I’m blue in the face.”
“Work with me, Maggie. Revoke it, and let me hear you say that you did not give her permission to change the locks. I’ll tell her I’ll be back to arrest her tomorrow morning. I promise.”
Maggie holds up a finger. She speed-dials her sister and updates her. “What do you think?”
“Sounds reasonable. I hesitate to say smart, even. Let’s do this ultra-legal.”
“I’m drinking heavily tonight.”
“I release you from your promise to cut back, for one night only.”
&n
bsp; Maggie hangs up. Her words are barely a mutter, but loud enough for Junior to hear the acid in them. “If she’s not out of here by eleven, there’s a lawsuit against the county by noon.”
“Understood.”
“Then let’s get this over with.”
Junior follows Maggie back to the house to listen to her go through her lines, and Maggie reminds herself that Junior’s dead body on her front steps won’t help her cause.
Twenty-Nine
Maggie needs to make a liquor store run in a bad way. It only takes her fifteen minutes to park, shop, and queue up in the checkout line at Stoney’s.
The cashier is a pregnant woman with meth peg teeth. She mutters to herself as she rings it up. “Balcones. Single Malt. Two bottles.”
“Can you special order a few bottles from a distillery in Wyoming for me?” Maggie asks, pulling out her wallet.
“You need to talk to the manager,” she states in the form of a question. “He’s in on Wednesdays. Two to four.”
“How about leaving him a message?”
She gives Maggie her total and takes her credit card. “I’m just filling in.”
Behind Maggie, two women are talking. She pays them no mind until she hears her name. Not addressed to her, but in their conversation about her. She gives up on passing a message to the manager through the cashier and turns to the women. She’s immediately sorry she did when she discovers Gary’s little sister and his skanky ex-lover.
Maggie sighs. “Hello, Kelly.”
Kelly Fuller bats her eyes. “Maggie Killian. I didn’t see you standing there. Did you see her, Jenny?”
The curvy redhead examines her nails. “See who?”
“So great that you found someone for a playdate, Kelly. You girls have fun.”
“Oh, we will. It’s hard not to when you’re young and not going to jail for murdering my brother.”
The cashier says, “Here’s your credit card.”
“Thanks. The blonde behind me is underage, by the way.” Maggie shoves the card in her wallet.
“Bitch,” Kelly says.
“Tell your mother I said hey.” Maggie hustles out before she gives the girl the beatdown she’s got coming.
When Maggie puts Bess in gear, she finds herself driving somewhere besides home. Lumpy’s. It’s past time for her to check on him, and it will only take a few minutes. His place is barely even out of the way.
When she reaches his property, his truck is parked at the house. She feels optimistic until two solid minutes of knocking convinces her he’s not coming to the door. Calling the sheriff’s department is out of the question for the obvious reason that they don’t believe anything she tells them. Her next step is to look for Lumpy inside, but to do that, she’ll have to break and enter. Lumpy doesn’t believe in hidden keys. She decides to try one more thing before busting her way in. She’ll just borrow his four-wheeler and make a quick circuit of the place to see if he’s out working on fence or clearing brush or something. It will only take five minutes.
The four-wheeler is in the shed he uses for vehicles and sports gear. As she backs the utility vehicle out, she passes all his hunting and fishing gear, which look untouched. She starts her circuit of the property by riding his fence line. When she finishes the loop without finding any sign of him, she turns onto a trail that bisects his property perpendicularly. Halfway across, she sees a ladder on the ground, along with several pieces of plywood and two-by-fours. She parks the four-wheeler and cuts the engine.
A thready voice calls out, “About damn time.”
“Lumpy?” Maggie looks around in all directions but doesn’t see the big man.
“Up here.”
Maggie cranes her neck up, then up some more.
Lumpy waves limply from high in a live oak.
“What the hell?”
“Would you mind putting that ladder against the tree? I’d really like to get down.”
Maggie hurries for the ladder, shoving it around until it’s in position. She spots Lumpy as he climbs down, ready to break his fall. The ladder creaks and groans under his bulk. As he steps off the last rung, he falls to his hands and knees. His hat topples into the dirt. He’s a big man, even crumpled on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
He stands, brushing off his hat. His slow country accent is music to her ears. “Dehydrated. Hungry enough to eat a skunk. Tired. Weak like a newborn kitten. But I’m going to live. Help me over to the ride.”
“Whew, you’re ripe.”
“Pardon me, ma’am, but there’re no showers up there.”
“I’m so glad I found you.” Maggie props him on her shoulder. He’s heavy, but he carries most of his own weight.
“Not as glad as I am.” He climbs on the four-wheeler, making it look harder than it usually is. He scoots to the back to make room for Maggie.
“Did your ladder fall?”
“It did. But not without help.”
Thirty
Inside his stuffy house, Lumpy has a hasty shower, water and coffee—a lot of both—and two ham and cheese sandwiches thrown together by Maggie. Afterwards, he takes Maggie out to his porch swing, where he tells his story.
“I’ve been working on a new deer blind.” He stands and hooks his thumbs in his suspenders, holding them away from his generous beer gut.
“You were too high.”
“Are you going to let me tell my story or tell it for me, little lady?”
“Sorry.” Maggie pushes off with her toes and starts the motion of the swing. It stirs a light breeze that fans the sweat on her brow.
“I’d been staging the ladder and materials out there, and Saturday I finally got some time to work on it. I was setting up a pulley system in the tree when I heard a woman’s voice.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but she shouted ‘Yoo-hoo,’ and I waved to her. She was trespassing, but she was a purty little thing. Curvy. Nice, um, bosom.”
“Bosom. Okay. Go on.”
“I was sitting up on that high branch where you saw me when she walked to the ladder and knocked it to the ground, pretty as you please.”
“What in God’s name would she do that for?”
“She didn’t bother explaining, other than to say I should be more careful who I pal around with. Then she waved again and took off. But that’s a tall tree, as you noticed, and I was so high I had a view back to the house. The little vixen took some wire cutters to the goat panels in the pasture where I was keeping Omaha and Nebraska.”
“Which I fixed. The goats are at Michele’s now. But I don’t get it.” Suddenly, though, she thinks she might. “What did you say she looks like?”
“Jessica Rabbit.”
Maggie laughs. “You were hallucinating, then?”
“No, she’s a curvy redhead. Pretty young one.”
Bingo. Maggie’s damn sure she knows a curvy redhead who would stoop to endangering animals and a nice former Texas Ranger to get back at Maggie. Now she wishes she’d figured out which car belonged to Jenny at Stoney’s so she could have keyed it.
“If you’re up for reporting this to the sheriff tomorrow, I know who did it, and I probably know why.” She tells Lumpy her suspicions and fills him in on the fire at the Coop and the dead body inside, even about Gary, Merritt, Tom, Thorn, and Kelly.
“Sounds like I was safer up my tree than you were down it. Sure, we’ll go report this. Together, when we clear your name.”
“Thanks. So you were up there that whole time, without food or water?”
“I had one bottle of water in my pocket. I was getting pretty parched, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Why didn’t you climb down?”
“I tried, believe me. But that’s not a climbing tree. I’d decided that if no one found me by tonight, I was going to have to risk jumping.”
She stops the swing with her feet and holds on to the handrest. “Oh, Lumpy. You could have broken every bone in your body.”
�
�Could have. Should have. Would have. Thing is, I didn’t, because you came back for me. Thank you, Maggie.”
“What are friends for?”
Thirty-One
Back at Nowheresville, Maggie finds her laptop and a note on the kitchen counter.
Out shopping. Overnight to Austin w/R&A&C. Back around 5 to grab bags and update you. And hear how it went and what you need to tell me.
Maggie pours her Balcones and retreats with her laptop and dog to what is fast becoming her bedroom. She piles pillows on the bed, then balances herself on them, leaning on the headboard. Louise jumps up, uninvited.
“Warning, dog. I’m not in my happy place.”
She hears Michele and her friends in the kitchen, bustling about.
“Knock, knock.” Michele walks in.
“Make yourself at home.”
“It is my house, after all.”
“That’s what Leslie says about mine, too. Hey, Lumpy’s back. I found him up a tree.”
“What?”
Ava appears in the doorway. “You want something to eat?” She’s carrying a tray with a bud vase that’s holding a plastic daisy. A banana, jar of salsa, bag of tortilla chips, and plate with a fat sandwich slide to one edge of the tray. “Whoops.”
A smile creases Maggie’s face. “It’ll slow down getting my drunk on.” To Michele she adds, “Lumpy’s fine, but some Jessica Rabbit type knocked his ladder down and left him for dead.”
Ava sets the tray down and Louise goes for the sandwich.
Maggie catches the dog by the collar. “Get your own, Fucker.”
“I don’t get it. About Lumpy.” Michele scoots the dog out of the room and shuts the door.
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.” Maggie gestures at the food. “This is probably smart. You didn’t poison it, did you?” she asks Ava.
“I thought about it. I decided stress would probably kill you anyway, so I don’t have to.”
A laugh escapes Maggie’s lips. “You guys are headed to Austin?”
Michele sits in the spot the dog vacated. “Chuy’s and some band Ava wants to see at a club I’m going to hate. On a Monday.”
Sick Puppy (Maggie #2) Page 18
