by Becki Willis
“When will you get the results of the autopsy?” Madison knew there wasn’t one scheduled, but it didn’t hurt to put the suggestion out there.
Collette sat up straighter in her seat. “What autopsy?”
“You asked for one, didn’t you?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
A waitress came to bring menus and water. “Thanks, Louise,” Madison murmured.
“I’ll tell Miss Genny you’re here. She’s in the kitchen cooking and didn’t see you come in.”
“No rush. I’m visiting with my new friend.”
The older woman smiled before moving away. “For a minute there, I thought you were doing business out of the booth again.”
Seeing the concerned expression on her companion’s face, Madison was quick to assure her, “Oh, nothing illegal. Before I had my own office, I often met clients here to take on new cases.”
Still holding herself stiff, Collette asked warily, “What kind of new cases? Are you a social worker? Or some sort of private detective?”
Madison laughed away the notion, but a touch of irony lingered in her voice. “No, although I sometimes have trouble convincing my clients of that! They hire me for the strangest things, but in actuality, I have a temporary service. You probably heard it mentioned on the show. In a Pinch.”
“Oh, yes, right. Of course.”
Madison steered the conversation back on course. “Do I understand that you didn’t ask for an autopsy? You aren’t curious to know what your husband died of?”
“Well, yes, but not enough to, you know… hack up his body.”
Madison cringed at her crude way of expressing it. “I understand, of course,” she murmured. “But I would think the uncertainty would be worse than the thought of—” She stumbled over the next part, concluding with a weak, “of conducting the autopsy.”
“Why? Cutting him up won’t change anything. He’ll still be dead.” Collette grabbed her menu and opened it, sticking her nose inside.
Reluctant to give up so easily, Madison pressed the issue, “Did he have a history of health issues?”
“He was overweight, if that’s what you mean.”
“Are the doctors thinking heart attack?”
Collette shrugged from behind the menu. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“But an autopsy would eliminate the guessing and put your mind at ease,” Madison pointed out gently.
Collette lowered her menu to glare across the table. “What are you, some sort of ambulance chaser? My husband is dead. Knowing what killed him won’t bring him back.”
Madison was duly chastised. “You’re right. I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please forgive me.”
The distraught widow pushed out an uneven breath. “Did you ask for an autopsy when your husband died?”
“No,” she admitted. “But Gray died in a car accident. The cause of death was rather obvious.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he had a heart attack before he crashed. Maybe he had a stroke, or an aneurysm, or a spider bite. Something else could have caused the wreck, even if the crash was what killed him. Same thing with Bobby Ray,” she continued stubbornly. “He could have died of a heart attack, or an aneurysm, or some sort of rare gastric disease that cut off his blood supply. It doesn’t matter, because either way, he’s dead.” She stuck her face back into the menu. “Is the tilapia good here?”
Madison knew when to let a subject die. “Yes, it’s excellent. Genny makes a special sauce to go over it with fresh dill.”
“She really does the cooking? I thought that was faked for the show.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that!” Madison laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “She insists on preparing as much of the menu as possible. Most are her own recipes, tweaked to perfection and to a level only she can achieve.”
After Louise returned to take their orders and to deliver a plate of assorted appetizers, compliments of the chef, Madison spread her napkin across her lap and leaned in to initiate a conversation. “Tell me more about yourself, Collette. What is it that you do?”
“I’m in medical sciences.”
“Oh, really? Don’t tell my kids, but science was always my weakest subject.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“I thought I’d never get through with school,” Collette admitted. “I specialize in genetic testing, particularly as it pertains to genealogical diseases.”
“Wow, that sounds very… smart. And very involved.”
“It can be,” Collette agreed.
A new thought occurred to Madison. “Say. You may be able to answer a question I have about DNA testing.”
“Maybe. What would you like to know?”
“For starters, how accurate are these do-it-yourself kits?”
“Actually, they’re fairly accurate for what they test. Most use autosomal testing. Half of your autosomal DNA comes from your mother, half from your father, so a test can tell you that you’re related to another person, but it doesn’t necessarily detect which side of the family they come from. Some tests use Y-DNA, which is passed from father to son, and still others use mtDNA, to trace maternal lines. Mothers pass mtDNA to all their children, but only daughters pass it on to the next generation. So, it largely depends on what your goals are when determining how accurate the tests are.”
“What if a person was looking for nieces and nephews? Next of kin, so to speak.”
Collette pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed in thought. “It would help. But remember, most DNA testing is only as good as the shared data.”
“Meaning?”
“A DNA test can reveal a trove of information on that particular person, but you must compare it to other people for a familial match. If other people aren’t tested, or if there are no written records to trace their lineage and connect them to specific family lines, then you have nothing to base a relationship match on.”
“So, you’re saying it only works on other people who have done DNA tests?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I guess I don’t understand.”
Collette tried to explain the science behind DNA testing, but soon lost her student.
“Give it to me in layman’s terms. I don’t speak science,” Madison reminded her.
“You need to think of these tests as just one of many steps in genealogical research. They don’t wave a red flag and say, ‘Sally Smith is your sister!’ They will tell you that you share a percentage of DNA with someone else in their system, and what they predict the relationship is… mother, sister, half-sister, etc. They tend to show degrees of separation—shared ancestors, if you will—rather than predict aunt or uncle, niece or nephew. Most matches are referenced as cousins. For an accurate confirmation, you need to contact the other person, if they’re willing, or find written documentation to support the connection.”
When Madison’s forehead still crinkled, Collette continued, “It may be easier to explain how DNA can rule out someone being related. Let’s say you and your sister both use the same company for testing. Your tests come back and reveal that you share no DNA, whatsoever. You are not biological sisters despite the way you were raised and what you were told. DNA doesn’t lie.”
Madison pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “Basically, you’ve confirmed what I already suspected. I guess I was hoping you knew a few shortcuts I wasn’t aware of and could save me a few hours of research.”
“Sorry. It doesn’t work like that.” Collette bit into a loaded nacho chip and spoke from behind her hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you searching for your nieces and nephews?”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for a client. He’s an older gentleman who never married, never had any children, and who was estranged from his only living siblings. Now he wants to find any family he may still have.”
Collette’s forehead knitted into a complexed pattern. “Why?”
“I’m not sure,” Madison said. “Like I said, he�
��s older. I guess he’s feeling the pull of time.”
“Is he rich?” Collette wanted to know.
Reminded of her commitment to confidentiality, Madison didn’t answer directly. “Let’s just say that if you judged him by his home, you would assume he was a pauper.” She was relieved to see Louise returning with their meal. “Oh, look. Here comes our lunch.”
After they bit into their food and both agreed their dish was delicious, Collette picked the conversation back up. “Have you found any of your client’s relatives?”
“No definite matches so far. Anytime a name pops us, he assumes it’s a niece or nephew. He calls a dozen times a day, giving me new leads and new suggestions. So far, none of them has panned out. That’s why I hoped you knew a shortcut!”
“He’s all alone, huh? No family?”
“I haven’t had any luck, as of yet.”
“I’m alone, too, you know.” Collette made the announcement out of the blue. It was the first real thing she had revealed about herself.
Madison took encouragement from the admission. Maybe Collette was slowly coming out of denial. “You have no family?”
“Not really. I never knew my father, and my mother split as soon as I graduated from high school. Bobby Ray and his mom were the only family I had after that. His mom died a couple of months ago. And now Bobby Ray.” A look of extreme sadness moved over her face, making her appear older. “I’m alone now. No family, whatsoever.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madison murmured. Again, with so many cousins, aunts, and uncles of her own, she couldn’t imagine being alone in the world. “Is there anything I can do? Help you plan the funeral service, perhaps?”
“There won’t be a funeral. Why bother, when there’s no one to come?”
“Surely you and Bobby Ray have friends. Co-workers. People who would like to be with you in your time of need and pay their final respects to your husband.”
“Why go to the expense and the bother, when cremation is so much simpler?”
“Are you certain you want to do that?” Madison asked softly.
Collette batted her big blue eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Madison knew she was pushing the issue, but if Collette had his body cremated, they would never know the full details of Bobby Ray’s death. “Because if you should change your mind about the autopsy…”
To her surprise, Collette Erickson burst into tears.
CHAPTER TEN
“Madison! What a pleasant surprise!” Lydia deCordova hugged her future daughter-in-law before ushering her into the rambling ranch house. “Twice in one week, no less. To what do I owe the honor?” A wary expression crossed her face. “I haven’t done something wrong with the wedding plans, have I? I promise. I cut back on the tulle.”
“It’s not about the tulle,” Madison assured her. “Although I do appreciate it. I’m just not a tulle sort of girl.” Not to mention there had been yards of it at her first wedding, much of it encrusted with twinkling rhinestones and dazzling glitter. She’d been too timid to stand up to Annette, but she felt comfortable enough with Brash’s mother to be honest with her.
“Then we shall cut the tulle,” Lydia assured her. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure.”
They settled on the sun porch off the dining room, with cups of freshly brewed coffee and homemade peach cobbler.
“How are the plans coming for the revamped reception?” Madison asked. “Any push-back from Annette, or any of the guests?”
Lydia’s blue eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t tell you if there was. But, no, actually everyone seems to completely understand.”
“How did Annette take the news of no sit-down dinner? I know I took the coward’s way out, making you break the news to her.” Madison had the grace to look ashamed.
“A brilliant play on your part, I must say. The new mother-in-law couldn’t appear more understanding than the first. Annette had to agree, if only to save face.”
“We just want a nice, relaxing evening with friends and family. Nothing fancy.”
“With crawfish and barbecue, I don’t think that will be an issue, dear.”
Madison knew a moment of uncertainty. “Too redneck?” she worried.
“Only if you’re inviting society’s most elite to the wedding. Everyone else will think it’s the best menu ever.”
“Not that it’s anywhere near high society, but you will never believe the call I got this morning. A radio station in Waco wants to know if they can offer a contest to win—mind you, win!—an invitation for two to our wedding! A listener called in and wanted to know if they were doing a promotion to offer ‘tickets’ to our wedding, since they do it for the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo and all the major sports events. Can you believe the gall of some people?”
“And the radio station went along with it?” Lydia gasped.
“They thought it was a grand idea! They offered to send a live band for the dance if we allowed them to sponsor our nuptials! Can you believe it?” It still made Madison’s blood boil, simply thinking about the ridiculous phone call.
“No, dear, I really can’t.” Lydia shook her head in amazement.
Stewing into her coffee, Madison finally cooled down enough to tell Brash’s mother of adding another name to the guest list.
“No worries. We’re ordering enough for an extra fifty people.” Lydia reached for a notepad and asked, “Who’s today’s addition?”
“A new acquaintance, actually, but I just felt so sorry for her. Her name is Collette Erickson, and I’ve already invited her. She’s the widow of the man who died at Washington-on-the-Brazos Sunday.”
“Yes, you told me about that, but I didn’t realize you had made such a connection with her.”
“I didn’t, really. She invited me to lunch yesterday, and she just seemed so… so pathetic. She has no family of her own, and even her mother-in-law recently died. I felt guilty being so happy and having so much to look forward to, when I know how bleak and miserable her own future must look. I was in the same position, not so very long ago. Before I quite knew what happened, the invitation just slipped out.”
“You don’t have to explain to me, sweetheart. It’s your and Brash’s wedding. You can invite anyone you like.”
“In that case,” she dared to say, wincing slightly in mock fear of pushing her luck, “I want to add one more.”
Lydia smiled and picked up the pen again. “And that is?”
“Nigel Barrett.”
“Our neighbor Nigel Barrett?”
“Well, he’s all alone, too,” Madison defended her decision. “And he’s actually one of my clients right now.”
Lydia wrote his name with a flourish. “Done. Anyone else?”
“Not at the moment. But I do have some questions for you.”
“Yes, we mailed the invitations,” she volunteered. “No, we didn’t ask for RSVPs. It’s too short of notice, and most everyone you’re inviting is sure to come.”
“That’s good, but that’s not what I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask what you thought about your neighbor Nigel.”
“As a potential guest? Inviting him is up to you, dear.”
“No, I wanted to know what you think about the man himself. He’s a bit crankier than I remember him being when I was a teenager.”
“You have to remember, he’s aged, as well. Not everyone does so gracefully.”
“Granny Bert said something about him going through a rough time financially a few years ago, before they struck oil on his place. She thought that might be the reason he’s so grumpy now.”
“It could be,” Lydia agreed. “For years, Nigel refused to try anything new. He was determined to do everything old-school, just the way his pappy and his grandpappy had done it.” She did a good imitation of his craggy old voice, making Madison smile. “Refusing to update your wardrobe and your carpet is one thing. But in farming and ranching, refusing to update equipment and fertilizers is something entirely different. He
paid for his stubbornness with failed crops and a loss on his herd. He was forced to sell some of his land, just to pay taxes and his winter feed bill. I suppose that could make anyone bitter.”
“What can you tell me about his family?”
“The poor man doesn’t have any.” Lydia clucked her tongue in an expression of empathy.
“I understand he may have some nieces and nephews in the McLennan County area?”
“Possibly. You have to understand, Nigel was brought up in different times. His folks were hard people. Hard workers, and honest to a fault, but they didn’t believe in showing affection. If there was ever a family hit by hard times and hard luck, it was the Barretts. They had eight or nine children, but only half of those lived to see twenty. The ones that lived to adulthood couldn’t wait to get away, except for Nigel. He was the only one to stay behind and take care of the farm. I’m not sure if he thought of the others as traitors, or if he resented them for leaving him behind, but he cut all ties with the two siblings he had left. They both married and started families of their own, so yes, I’m sure they have children and grandchildren, possibly even great-grandchildren, but Nigel never knew any of them.”
“Do you know if Nigel got a bad report when he went to the doctor recently?”
“I don’t know about recently, but before Christmas, he told me he was sick. He didn’t elaborate, but I think it must be something serious. He normally doesn’t go to the doctor but once or twice a year.”
“Do you think it’s something life-threatening?”
“The man is well into his eighties. A simple cold could become life-threatening,” Mrs. deCordova pointed out. She arched her brow and gazed at the woman who would soon share the title. “Why all the questions? Surely, you don’t screen all your guests this thoroughly!”
“Just trying to do a good job for Mr. Barrett. I thought if I understood him better, it might make my job easier.”
“I knew his mother. I can’t imagine the heartache she must have endured, but she never let it show. She kept it all stored inside, never missing a day of farm work, not even to bury her husband or her children, one by one. I remember her once saying that land was the one true thing you could count on. When all else failed you, you could depend on your land. I’m sure it was a hard pill for Nigel to swallow, being forced to part with some of that land. His mother drummed into his head that it was practically sacred.”
