All My Exes Live in Texas

by Aimee Gilchrist

  Connie B. waved a hand to one of her secret service guys, and he melted silently into the crowd. "So they didn't get along, you say?"

  "Well, last night I could hear him and his wife screaming at each other through my soundproofed walls. Today I saw one of his employees backhand him in the face, and one of them huffed away from him, about to have a heart attack. So, yeah, I'm pretty sure he wasn't that factory's man of the year."

  She tsked. "My, my. Such a shame, not to get along with your family that way." She turned to Floyd. "Can you take this body to the coroner's office and my men and me to the nearest sheriff's office? I am going to do the autopsy myself, of course, but I need a place to do it."

  Floyd cleared his throat. "I already called my men to come and get him. You'll find him there once they come. It's in Tallatahola."

  She smiled brightly at Floyd. "Well, aren't you just the sweetest. I'll meet you there in just two shakes of a lamb's tail, don't you know." She turned back to Aodhagan and Dwight. "Now where can we talk to people?"

  Dwight shook his head. "The nearest office is in Tallatahola. Around here if we need to meet, we just use someone's house. Aodhagan's or Helen's." He indicated to us, as though we hadn't just been introduced literally moments before.

  She eyed us both for a long time, probably looking for signs of guilt, but she wasn't going to see any. I knew I hadn't killed Carl Crowe since I'd been with myself all day, and I was certain Aodhagan would never hurt anyone, no matter what the provocation. She kept a longer connection with Aodhagan, and I knew she suspected him more than me, so it wasn't a surprise when she smiled. "Let's go to your house, sir. What's your name again? Aodhagan? What an unusual name. How's that spelled?" She poised her pen to her paper.

  He spelled his name for her, which was nothing like it sounded. The name was the Irish spelling with the Scottish pronunciation, but for us without Gaelic parents, it was just a confusing name. She also jotted down his address, though it was pointless. There was no way she was going to get lost following us in a town like Birdwell. She directed me to follow along with Aodhagan and headed back toward his house, walking of course. Aodhagan's car was being taken into evidence, but even if it weren't, I wouldn't have gotten into it. Even as a true crime author, hopping into a Cadillac where a dead body had been was outside of my comfort zone.

  Aodhagan's house was the other nice place in Birdwell. Everything outside of our two houses was exactly as my aunt Penny's had been before I'd razed it. Squat ranchers sided in either chipping stucco or rotting boards. Aodhagan's house was nice only because his father had built it and they'd sold it to him before moving a few years before. Mine was nice only because it was meant to be a fundraiser. Birdwell didn't require high class. His place was a two-story, white-sided colonial type with green shutters and all the decorations his parents had left behind. He was still in denial, I thought, that he was in Birdwell at all. I didn't know quite where his own things were, but they sure weren't in that house.

  Connie and one of her goons arrived, and she stood on the manicured lawn, taking in the oddly suburban country splendor of Aodhagan's house. What she was getting from the evaluation, I couldn't begin to guess. Whatever it was would be inaccurate, since it had taken me several days of living with Aodhagan to realize that his parents had done up this place and he'd just simply never done anything to undo it. Whatever this house spoke to, it wasn't a precise representation of him.

  Connie stepped onto the wide porch that worked its way around the house. "Well, this is a lovely place, don't you know." She gave Aodhagan another placid smile. She gave me the creeps. Not in a she's going to kill someone way, but in a nothing I say or do right now can be trusted way. Even her compliments seemed designed to accomplish something. "Lead the way."

  Aodhagan turned the handle and gestured us inside, waiting for Dwight to catch up. The door wasn't locked, because of course it wasn't. No matter how long I was here, I couldn't picture ever leaving my home unattended and unlocked, even if I'd gotten to the point I might leave it unlocked during community meetings. Once Dwight was inside, Aodhagan led us to the formal living room, home of white and green plaid couches and pictures of mallards, rather than his private den where the only hint of his real personality resided. He gestured for Connie to sit. Dwight and I just picked our own spots.

  Connie smoothed down her tennis outfit and perched on the end of her chair. "Now then, let's talk before the family comes. I've sent my friends to get them."

  I was somewhat mystified by the term friends for her employees, but it was her department. Maybe it fostered morale. Or something. I also wanted to know why a medical examiner was asking so many questions. It was really odd. Where were the real state police investigators? I got that she had been closer, doing whatever sport she'd clearly been doing, but why did she have so much leeway to interview people?

  She stared at the three of us expectantly, as though she were waiting for one of us to do…something. I wasn't sure what. The silence stretched, and I think she expected us to be uncomfortable and fill in the blanks. I might have, but I had nothing to say and the high-pressure-silence tactic was one of my mother's favorites. It no longer worked on me. Aodhagan just kept staring back at her placidly, and I heard a small snort from Dwight that suggested he'd actually fallen asleep. After probably a solid five minutes of silence, Connie B. finally gave up. If she wanted to interview us before the family arrived, she was going to have to choose a different tactic.

  She consulted her notebook. "Now then, Helen." The use of my name did jolt me, though. Like I was misbehaving in class and the teacher had just called me out. "What time did Mr. Crowe leave your house this morning?"

  I shrugged. I wasn't trying to be obtuse. I didn't know. "I have no idea. I was waiting for them to leave to come out of my room. I mean, we weren't friends or anything. They were at my house because there's no hotel. I came out of my room around seven, and they were all gone. There are so many of them, I'm not kidding. There was no way I was going to make them breakfast or something. So they were gone before seven. That's all I can say for sure."

  "How many are there, exactly, in the victim's party?" She held her pen above her notebook.

  "Eleven, but they're not all related to Carl Crowe. Just some of them. The rest work for the company."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Well, that's a lot of people in one house. Why would you let them stay with you?"

  "Because there's no hotel," I repeated.

  "But why is that your problem?"

  I could tell from Aodhagan's face that he was irritated by the question. His sense of community probably told him that something like this was everyone's problem when it would benefit Birdwell in the end. Too bad I wasn't that selfless. They were with me because I didn't want Vi staying with Aodhagan. It was that simple…and that complicated.

  I licked my lips, trying to figure out a way to explain why I would do what I'd done that didn't involve the green-eyed monster. "My aunt lived here. She loved this town and hated to see it in decline. When she died, she left me her property and a certain amount of capital and asked that I use it to help the town. I started a 5013c to help build up commerce and community. It kind of falls under my wheelhouse to encourage the possibility of a factory in Birdwell. Plus, they had offered to buy my house, which was built for the specific purpose of selling for additional charity funds. It's best for Birdwell if they stay."

  She cocked her head and asked a question that didn't have to do with the case as far as I could tell. But it did leave me feeling a little sad, despite the fact I'd been living for my charity for six months. "Where will you go then?"

  "Back to New York, I guess. I mean, I don't live here really. I'm only here to help." I willfully ignored the sinking feeling in my gut at the answer.

  She considered the words with narrowed eyes and then smiled again. "What did the Crowes talk to you about?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, nothing. Just about the factory and how they wanted to buy my hous
e. I'm not…friendly." I couldn't think of a better way to phrase it. "And they aren't great guests either, to be fair. Vi and Carl were fighting in the hallway, which I mentioned. They turned down my heat and then blared music into my room at the crack of dawn. I mostly just hid."

  "What were they fighting about?"

  I shrugged again. "I don't know. I couldn't actually hear what they were saying. I was sleepy, it was the middle of the night, and my walls are soundproofed. I didn't expect to be woken up by screaming. They must have been shouting as loud as they could. I think there was something about a car or a card? But I might have been confused, given I was mostly asleep."

  She jotted some notes on her paper. "Did you see anyone else acting strangely?"

  "During the fest today, I saw Daisy, the head of Public Relations for the Crowe company, slap Carl in the face. I saw the two teenage sons probably buying drugs. I saw Glen, the head accountant, shouting at Carl until he looked like he was about to stroke out. But I don't know what any of them were saying or anything. I saw it all from across the field at the Spring Fest."

  She jotted down all of my comments and turned back to Aodhagan. "Now then, did you know the family?"

  I flinched before he even answered the question. I had put the pieces together, but I wasn't looking forward to hearing it spelled out, and it was just going to make him look even more suspicious.

  "I knew Vivienne Crowe. When I was a teenager."

  She cocked her head. "I see." I could also see. Her curiosity was piqued, and that was never good with an investigator. "How did you know her?"

  Aodhagan didn't remotely try to dodge the truth, though I could tell he was slightly uncomfortable. "She was my girlfriend when we were nineteen. Her father owned properties here in Birdwell, and we dated for a summer."

  Connie's eyebrows arched. "Well, that is interesting."

  "It was over twenty years ago," he pointed out, sounding mildly disgruntled now.

  "Did you have a bad breakup?"

  He shrugged. "No worse or better than any other teenage breakup. I had to go back to college on the East Coast, and she was at Texas Tech. There were no theatrics or anything. I just…left."

  "Have you spoken with her or seen her since then?"

  It was a valid question, and I dreaded hearing the answer.

  "No. It wasn't the most deeply profound relationship in the history of mankind. We weren't even friends. We were just kids having a lot of sex. It was over decades ago."

  I could tell that Connie doubted that statement, but she was keeping her thoughts to herself at the moment. She returned to her notebook. "Now, I noticed that poor Mr. Crowe was stabbed between the C3 and C4 vertebrae. He would have been killed instantly. What do you think about that?"

  His eyebrows drew together, and I could tell he was both annoyed and confused by the question. "I think it's horrific. Is there another way I should be thinking about that?"

  He'd given me a lot of crap for talking back when I'd been a murder suspect, but when he was in the same shoes, he didn't seem to be handling it much better at all. Dwight woke with a start and a loud snort, as though he knew what we'd been talking about and remembered the crap I'd given him after Penny's murder.

  "What?" he pretty much shouted.

  Connie's smile was tight. I could tell she was getting irritated with the lot of us. Wait until she tried to question the rest of the Birdwellians. Boy was she in for a surprise. Comparatively, we were deep wells of philosophy and information. Finally, she turned her head back to Aodhagan.

  "Do you think that would have taken medical knowledge, Mr. MacFarley?" Again, she tried to ask the question like it was innocent and casual.

  Aodhagan's shoulders slumped. He wasn't going to try to get around any of these realities. It just wasn't the kind of man he was. I would have tried to at least dodge the question and tell myself I could deal with it later. It was how I made it through life.

  "Yes. Or a very lucky shot. And you don't need to bother asking. Yes, I have medical knowledge. I'm a doctor. But I still didn't kill Carl Crowe."

  Her smile was genuine this time. "Well, how interesting."

  I was starting to really dislike Connie B. I almost blurted out a few interesting things Connie could do with her suspicions of Aodhagan, but the door opened and I could hear Crowes and staff filing in. We all headed to the foyer to greet them. It was clear the only one who'd been struck enough by Carl's death to cry was Daisy, and she hit me as the kind of person who also was struck enough by dog food commercials to cry. Her face was nearly as red as her hair. Faith looked unsteady, but even she wasn't crying. Vi looked like she wanted to file her nails or something. She couldn't have been less bothered by the news that she was newly a widow, as far as I could tell. Robert and James looked grim but not sad, and both teens seemed completely indifferent. Maybe the news hadn't actually set in yet. At least I could hope that was the problem. Human Resources Leslie, big-chested Glen, and pretty boy Jackson seemed a little dazed, and I suspected they weren't sure what would happen to their jobs now.

  Connie still didn't bother to introduce the two deputies who followed behind the Crowe Appliances team. I was left to call them Thing One and Thing Two to differentiate between them. The problem was they were nearly identical, both tall brunette men with wide shoulders and identical uniforms. Thing One had a mole, and that was clearly going to have to be enough. Thing Two separated the Crowes and crew into three groups. Connie took one group—Faith, Daisy, Apollo, and Aries—into the dining room. Thing One led Glen, Jackson, and Leslie into the kitchen. Thing Two brought Robert, James, and Vi into the living room. Dwight tagged behind them. Aodhagan and I were left alone in the foyer without a single indication that Connie viewed us as suspects who might run. Then again, this was Birdwell. Where would we go?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I wanted to eavesdrop. Especially on the group that contained Vi. But it was impossible to get into, or even close to, the formal living room without passing through the dining room or the kitchen, and then the police would see us. I was resigned to listening to the kitchen or the dining room, but I wasn't sure which group would be the best. Aodhagan just stared at me, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Probably he was just thinking. Processing the information and what it all might mean. It was kind of what he did.

  "You're going to eavesdrop, aren't you?" Aodhagan hissed at last.

  "Of course," I whispered back, waiting for the inevitable judgment from Aodhagan, who didn't approve of those sorts of tactics.

  He bit his bottom lip, and that was a reminder I didn't need. It would seem even murder had little effect on my libido. "I'll take the kitchen, and you take the dining room."

  I knew he was compromising on his ethics or whatever, but I was not so secretly delighted to see him resorting to the same thing he'd given me a speech about six months before. I skirted the wall next to the dining room door. I stood flat against the plaster immediately next to the doorway. There was no door on the open room, so I didn't even have to press my ear to anything. There was no door on the kitchen either, and I watched Aodhagan creep in that direction.

  I took a long moment listening to people talk so I could try to figure out which voice belonged to whom. I wasn't entirely sure about Apollo and Aries, but I could easily tell the difference between Faith and Daisy even from the hallway. Faith's voice was soft and quiet, so hushed I could barely hear it. Daisy's voice was strong and energetic. I recognized it without trying, as she'd been the only person to say much to me. The boys had nearly identical voices.

  I heard Connie making her little humming noise that I thought was supposed to signify she was content. Her artifice was creeping me out. "Okay, then. Here we are, hmmm."

  No one responded to her comment, even though she waited a long moment in silence, as though she somehow expected them to. I wasn't sure what she was waiting for them to say, but she'd done the same thing to Aodhagan, Dwight, and me. Maybe sometimes it worked. Just not so far that
I had seen.

  "So let's talk, shall we, boys? I'm so sorry about your dad, don't you know."

  Neither boy responded, and I wished I could see their faces. Were they sad? I was pretty certain they were high, so if they were upset, it might not show. The long silence stretched and continued.

  Suddenly, someone burst into tears, and I was fairly sure it was Daisy, considering she was the one who'd already presented with grief. Then again, Connie had taken all the people I had immediately pegged as softer, so maybe someone else had finally gotten a suitable dose of reality. Connie just let the person cry for a while before saying, "What's your name, dear?"

  There were a couple of sniffs and then a long blow of a nose. Connie probably carried tissues in her tennis skirt. "Daisy Wentworth."

  I wasn't surprised. I couldn't tell what Connie thought. Again, I wished I could see inside. They would probably notice if I stuck my head into the room and then be wary I was listening, but I wanted to. Maybe it was worth it just to get a tiny peek, but I thought better of it.

  "Oh, Miss Daisy. I remember hearing your name just so recently. You seem very sad for someone who slapped the victim just a couple of hours ago, wouldn't you say?"

  I heard someone gasp, so thready and soft that I assumed it must be Faith. My eyebrows arched, and I gave Connie a bit more credit. She wasn't my favorite, but she was getting things done.

  Daisy sniffed again. "Carl wasn't always my favorite person, but it's still sad when someone dies so young. I don't understand. How did he die? Was it a heart attack? I was always telling him to be careful what he ate."

  Thing One and Two hadn't bothered to tell them how Carl had died. That was something. Maybe that wasn't the sort of thing you shared in a couple of state police cars headed over from a festival. "Well, now, he was stabbed. Right in the neck. Just one tiny stab. What about that, eh?"

  My nose wrinkled. I wasn't the captain of saying things politely or practicing most kinds of restraint, but I wouldn't have talked to the family of a victim the way she was. Maybe because I had to persuade victims' families to talk to me as a true crime writer. Connie had pretty much carte blanch to say whatever she wanted, hiding behind her badge as she was.