All My Exes Live in Texas

by Aimee Gilchrist

  Aodhagan glanced at me. "You in?"

  I didn't love Aodhagan's plane. It wasn't a jumbo jet, that was for sure. It was a little prop number, a Cessna that he only used if he was trying to get somewhere that would take more than five hours in a car. He hated flying and, much to his chagrin, was afraid of it. He also didn't have time to drive everywhere he needed to get. So he'd taught himself to fly. I'd only been in the Cessna a couple of times, to Denver and Houston for short, just-for-fun trips. He used it often, to take business trips that I now realized must have been attempts to keep abreast of current cancer research. I bit my bottom lip. If Aodhagan planned to do something dangerous and stupid, like use his appropriated badge to investigate a company that we had no business being in, I was planning to do it, too.

  "Yep."

  We bumped fists, and Aodhagan grabbed his keys from the table by the door. "Keep them busy," he reminded, and then we were gone.

  It took half an hour to get to the private airfield outside of Tallatahola, the county seat. It was only staffed by a single elderly man and contained mostly crop dusters. It took a few minutes for Aodhagan to check over his plane and file a flight plan, and then we were on our way. It would have been a six-hour drive, at the least, from Birdwell to Dallas, but it was just under an hour on Aodhagan's little death machine, and I spent the whole time gripping my seat in utter anxiety. I would never get used to this thing.

  He laughed into the headphones. "You know I'm a good pilot, right?"

  I glared at him. "Says the man who's afraid to let others fly. I assume that you know there were five hundred and fifty-six aviation deaths in 2018?"

  He laughed again. "You're really a bit of a creeper—you know that, right?"

  "I call it being prepared," I shouted into the microphone.

  He laughed again, yelling out a warning that we were preparing to land, which was my least favorite part. I gripped the seat harder and waited for it to be over. We pulled into Dallas Executive Airport around lunchtime. It was only a ten-minute drive from there to downtown Dallas, where the corporate offices of Crowe Appliances were apparently located. Aodhagan requested an Uber, and I got acclimated to the heat, which was considerably more significant than Birdwell was currently sporting.

  "How are we going to get in?" I asked, still having to shout a little to be heard over the landing and leaving planes.

  He shrugged, dark hair ruffling in the breeze. "I don't know. We'll figure it out when we get there. If all else fails"—he reached into his pocket, flipping the badge out between his fingers—"there's always this."

  Our Uber driver arrived, driving a Creamsicle-colored boxy SUV. He had hair nearly the same color as his car, and he grinned at us like he was greeting old friends. When we were inside and buckled in the back, he flashed another ridiculously huge smile. "I'm Moe. Your driver this fine day. Where to, boss?"

  Aodhagan read the address of Crowe Appliances from his phone, and Moe saluted us before jetting into traffic. He drove like a lunatic, which suggested maybe he might not have the best rating as an Uber driver. I could tell Aodhagan was on the verge of laughter the whole time. He might have thought it was funny, but I certainly didn't.

  "Have you been doing this long, Moe?" he asked delightedly. I would never understand this side of him. The one who thought inappropriate things were hilarious. I had an untoward sense of humor, but never when it involved me potentially losing my life in an orange freaking SUV.

  Moe rubbed one hand over his mouth and gestured with his other hand, leaving exactly no hands on the wheel. I wasn't the best driver, but even I knew that wasn't really the way to handle a vehicle. "I move through this world with speed. I explore, I define, I find my next reality."

  "So, this is your first day?" Aodhagan was grinning like an idiot, and I hated him slightly.

  "Yes, sir," Moe said with a grin, finally returning a hand to the wheel.

  "Good Lord," I muttered, wondering if taking the crash position was also useful in a car and not just a plane.

  Not shockingly, Moe took that moment to slam into a curb, hard enough to jolt us all. I bit my tongue and cussed like a gangster rapper for the next two minutes straight, while Aodhagan and Moe both jumped out of the car to check to see how the front was faring. I was surprised that no one had been hurt now that we were parked on the sidewalk, but everyone nearby was just watching in half curiosity and half horror.

  I was busy drinking my own blood until my mouth got a little less chewed, and Aodhagan was kicking the front tire with concentration. Moe was doing nothing so remotely reasonable. I was not entirely surprised when Moe did a back flip and landed into a handspring. Standing on one hand, he picked up a basketball from the sidewalk with the other and began rotating it on his feet, with his free hand out to the side. The rational part of my brain was screaming in fear, but after months of living in Birdwell, I could barely hear it.

  "Sometimes life is just like this," Moe told us.

  "Bizarre?" I offered, murmuring since my mouth was still bleeding, though I was certain he could hear me through the open door.

  Even Aodhagan seemed slightly perplexed. "Like a circus act?"

  "Both, both." Moe started jumping from hand to hand and singing "Jimmy Crack Corn," all the while keeping the ball spinning. Suddenly, he let the ball fall to the ground and did a double back flip into an upright position. The rest of the crowd was now completely speechless.

  Wiping off his palms, Moe added, "Life is a delicate balance. You have to do amazing things to keep yourself in the balancing act. But most of all, life is bizarre. It's strange. It is, in fact, like a circus act. Full of vanity and nonsense. But if we can remember to see the humor in life and survive even if we drop our ball sometimes, then we'll always come out on top. Stick of gum?"

  For a moment, I thought he meant something philosophical. Then I realized he was merely offering us a stick of gum. I shook my head, shredded mouth pressed tight.

  Aodhagan shook his head too. "I think you can drive it off the curb. Not too much harm done."

  Moe nodded. "You betcha. Back in we go."

  He was still in a ridiculously good mood, and even though I was angry, Moe was hard to hate. He was peculiar and annoying, but he was hard to hate. He drove us the rest of the way to Crowe Appliances without hitting a single sidewalk, which I appreciated, or a single pedestrian, which I was sure they also appreciated.

  Crowe Appliances was located in a smaller high-rise next to a turn-of-the-century brick building that was once a bank, if the old signage was to be believed, but was now a club of some kind and a high-class furniture store. Moe pulled into one of the few available spots on the curb and glanced at us. "You want me to wait?"

  I would have said no.

  Aodhagan nodded. "We might be a while. Will you be okay waiting?"

  Moe nodded solemnly. "I'm always okay, man. I'm always okay."

  My tongue was finally in less pain and I could speak, so I grabbed his arm as he started to get back into his Popsicle. "Hey, if you find me some decent Thai while you wait, I swear there's a hundred bucks in it for you."

  He smiled. "You are speaking my language now, fair lady." He reached into his car and slapped a food delivery company logo onto his window next to the Uber one. "Your wish is my command."

  I nodded seriously. "Good man."

  He hopped back into the car and took off, nearly hitting some man in a suit on his way.

  "That kid is a menace."

  Aodhagan laughed. "I love him. So very much. I think he's my new best friend."

  I pouted. "I'm ousted that easily?"

  "You think juggling with your feet is easy?"

  I shook my head. It seemed neither easy nor sane. "If he brings back good food, he might be my new best friend, too."

  "Understood."

  We squared our shoulders and headed into the lion's den. It was cool inside and decorated in late aughts business sleek. Everything was the standard black, metal, and glass, exuding about as
much warmth as one of the refrigerators that Crowe apparently manufactured. That wasn't a small appliance, and I didn't know they made them. Actually, there was a lot I didn't know about Crowe. Their walls were plastered with framed posters for many of the brands that I knew very well and simply hadn't realized were made by Crowe under other names, dating all the way back to the fifties. A housewife in a flowered dress was flashing us a gleaming smile next to a squat blue refrigerator in a massive ad right behind the reception desk.

  I never thought much about appliances at all, despite their being "the only truly beautiful thing on earth." Their corporate building was enormous. It wasn't a factory, just a building where the paperwork was done. And it was still seven stories and at least half the city block in property. They really had been circumspect in bringing only eleven people. It seemed weird that I had never heard of Crowe Appliances before they'd arrived in Birdwell, though I had heard of their brands.

  We approached the security guard behind a kidney-shaped desk in the center of the room. Aodhagan flashed his badge, though it meant very little to be the sheriff of Birdwell. This guy didn't know that, though. He obeyed easily, saying offhand how sad it was that Mr. Crowe had been murdered. That certainly hadn't been the general feeling offered by his family, but we took the plastic badges without saying so. We attached them to our clothes, and the security guard offered us free rein of the entire building without telling us where we could or couldn't be or offering someone to escort us. He clearly didn't realize how dangerous that was. I was super nosy when my interest was piqued, and it certainly was at this moment.

  Aodhagan leaned on the desk. "What floor was Carl on?"

  The guard seemed surprised by the question, though I wasn't sure why. "Seventh, of course."

  Of course.

  We thanked him and headed for the elevator. "Let's start at the bottom and work our way up. I have a feeling that the staff upstairs might not take too kindly to our questions. We don't want to wear out our welcome before we have a chance to poke around," Aodhagan whispered while we waited for the ding.

  I glanced at the map on the wall, realizing there was very little on the first floor that was of interest to us now. A gym, a daycare, a pool, a cafeteria. The stuff designed to make working for Crowe Appliances easier and more appealing. So once we were in the elevator, I pressed the number two. Whatever was there, we'd find out if anyone knew anything noteworthy soon enough. The second floor didn't have a map outside the elevator. I had no idea what we were looking at here, but I wasn't opposed to just wandering around until we came across something interesting. The doors didn't even have information outside letting us know what was within. I shrugged after staring at the first door for a long moment and pushed our way inside.

  There was an expansive office on the other side, and it was so large that I could tell several of the doors down the hallway also had to lead to this singular warren of offices. The décor was tidy and serviceable but all gray. The rows and rows of filing cabinets headed down the hall to our left didn't suggest what they did on this floor, but the tiny gold sign hanging about the receptionist's desk did. Legal.

  Aodhagan and I exchanged a glance. If we could get legal to talk to us, there was plenty of information to be had. The receptionist glanced up and smiled pleasantly, clearly not alarmed or particularly impressed by the presence of strangers. Aodhagan flashed the badge again and gave her one of his winning smiles.

  He was introducing himself when I noticing a young woman holding a pile of folders while trying to walk and push up her glasses all at the same time. I kicked Aodhagan in the back of his shoe. She tried blowing hair out of her face. She was perfect. I headed in her direction, and I could tell Aodhagan was following. I didn't know who this woman was, but she was a hot mess. A hot mess was my favorite kind of victim. I mean witness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Aodhagan offered the woman a short glance at his badge, which she clearly had no idea how to process. She glanced at us quizzically, still trying to balance the massive pile of files and get hair from her face. Aodhagan leaned forward and smiled, holding out his hands and offering to take the folders. Clearly relieved, she offered, and then with empty hands she pushed up her glasses and tucked her hair behind her ears. "You can put them over here," she directed, leading us down the long hallways. The receptionist evinced no reaction or even the slightest bit of curiosity while we wandered away with the other woman.

  The woman we were following finally indicated a table at the end of the row of filing cabinets. "You can put those here. Now how can I help you? You're cops?"

  "Sure," I said with a shrug. Neither of us were actually cops. But Aodhagan did have a badge.

  She cocked one eyebrow, suggesting that I should have probably put a little more effort into it. "What is this about?"

  "I'm sure you heard that your boss, Carl Crowe, was murdered."

  The woman nodded, her expression not indicating that she had any particular relationship with Carl Crowe outside of being aware he existed and was responsible for her paychecks.

  "Well, the town where he was murdered is called Birdwell. I'm the sheriff there. Can we go somewhere to talk?"

  She seemed still slightly unsure what we wanted, but she agreed, leading us back up the hallway in the opposite direction until we reached another door, this one with a tiny gold plate listing her name—or at least what was very likely to be her name anyway. Lisa Lignon.

  Once we were inside, we all took seats in the gray tweed chairs around the desk.

  "I'm Lisa," the woman told us after Aodhagan gave our names. It was clear she wasn't understanding exactly what his name was, but I couldn't really blame her for that. She had that blank look after he told her that suggested she wanted to ask again but was either too polite or she couldn't see the point, considering it was clearly something she wouldn't recognize, even if he told her again.

  "What exactly do you do here in legal?" I asked her.

  "Oh, I'm a law clerk. So, like, I'm an assistant, I guess."

  "Do you need a law degree for that?" I asked.

  She nodded. "It's what we usually do for experience early on. I should be in line to move up in a year or two."

  I did a little math. "Oh, so you must be around the same age as Faith and Jackson."

  Her nose wrinkled. "I guess so, if you mean Faith Crowe and Jackson Spenser."

  "We do," Aodhagan agreed smoothly, waiting for her to take up some kind of narrative.

  She shifted nervously and then finally did. "I don't know them well. I mean, we all know the big-time is on the seventh floor, and sometimes we see them around. Jackson is in charge of marketing, you know. And Faith does…something. And, I mean, you know, we hear the gossip."

  I leaned forward. Gossip was exactly my speed. "Gossip?"

  She seemed slightly alarmed by my interest, but then she glanced at Aodhagan, as if suddenly remembering he was a cop, in a manner of speaking anyway. "Everyone says they're going to get married. But everyone also says he…you know, gets around." She leaned forward and whispered the last two words.

  "They're engaged?" Aodhagan asked, clearly annoyed no one had mentioned it.

  Lisa bit her bottom lip. "Not really. I mean, they're dating I think, but he's dating the entire secretarial pool, so I'm not sure how much that's worth. I do get the feeling that Faith, at least, expects him to marry her."

  "Do you think he will?" I asked curiously.

  "I don't know." She leaned forward, some of her shyness disappearing. "But I do know Faith holds a lot of stock in the company. Maybe he thinks if he marries her, they can get a controlling share somehow. I think he'd do pretty much anything to get in there."

  I gripped the table and whispered in Aodhagan's ear. "He can. Remember the contract, Aodhagan? He's got five percent. He just has to have a bit more than all the other Crowes. Which he would if he marries Faith and she agrees to allow him to have her shares."

  "Anything?" Aodhagan asked, leaning in Lisa's di
rection. "Do you think he'd kill Carl Crowe to get there?"

  She seemed truly startled by the question, as if she'd somehow failed to connect Carl's murder with the fact someone might actually want him dead. "I don't know. I mean, you know." She bit her bottom lip for a long moment. Then she blurted out, "Carl Crowe didn't like Jackson. I think that's why they weren't already engaged. I mean, everyone said he thought Jackson was an idiot. I always felt like Faith wasn't his favorite child, but I also felt like he didn't want Jackson to be part of the family and legacy."

  Aodhagan and I exchanged glances. Now that was interesting information. "Why didn't he like Jackson? Just because he thought he was dumb?"

  Lisa bit her bottom lip. "I can't say for one hundred percent sure, but I think he thought that Jackson hadn't worked for his high position in the company. I mean, he just got in because he rode on Faith's coattails. She's been friends with Jackson since, like, forever. And Jackson has shares in the company—all the group managers do. If he marries Faith and she lets him have hers, he'll have controlling shares."

  I wasn't the only one who smelled a motive. I cocked my head. "Is that what everyone believed?"

  She shrugged self-consciously. "All he does is hang around Faith's office and hit on other women." She flushed as though she'd said something highly inappropriate. "I don't know. I've only been here six months. I spoke out of turn. I'm sure he does plenty and I just don't realize it."

  Aodhagan gave her a comforting smile, and she brightened. He was excessively hot and excessively nice. It wasn't hard to get people to talk to him. "You're such a big help, Lisa. We can't thank you enough. Was Carl liked around here?"

  She flushed again, looking vaguely guilty. She was about to speak ill of the dead and wasn't terribly comfortable about it. "He…well, he liked to…visit with the staff."

  It took me a long moment to sort through that oddly loaded sounding, otherwise innocuous statement. Visiting with staff was probably a good thing in an owner. Unless the visits were unappreciated and inappropriate. Daisy's comment about Carl being improper with her came back.