by Becki Willis
As expected, her daughter’s attention was quickly derailed. “Yes, and it was so cool! You know how we do that double flip and split? We nailed it perfectly, and they caught it all on tape!” Her blue eyes twinkled with excitement as they stepped into the crowded house, leaving Brash alone in the dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Days passed before the shimmer and shine of stardom began to dim.
Everywhere Madison went, people talked about the show. Most were thrilled with the small part they played in the quest for fame, if only by being a part of the collective whole. There were a few, however, who took offense to some remark or some shot captured on film. Those were the ones who made special efforts to seek Madison out and complain. Loudly.
Home Again: Starting Over wasn’t just the talk of The Sisters. The show had exploded on a national scale. The numbers were in, proving the first episode a bona fide hit. Like the pilot before it, the two-hour special broke more network records. Amanda was ecstatic. Nick was under more pressure than ever to perform. Eager to be a part of the momentum, Kiki Paretta wanted to push the date up for their meeting. Television stations as far away as Denver wanted to schedule interviews.
Old friends from Dallas started calling, eager to catch up with their ‘dear, dear’ friend. Madison let most of the calls go to voicemail, most of the text messages go unanswered. Where were those dear friends when she needed them most?
It was easiest to hole up at the police station, where she could numb her mind with old files and faceless names. Her list was coming along nicely, narrowed down to just a few dozen families. She hoped to pare that down soon, providing Brash a good, solid list from which to work.
A week after the fiasco with the chickens and the van, Madison got her car back, good as new. The garage rushed the job, spurred by quick payment from the network and hopes of getting their name on television.
With the cameras now turned off at home, at least for the time being, Madison took more of the old journals home to read at her leisure. She still had to sneak them into the house as before, but once inside she no longer had to hide them from the all-seeing eye of the camera. Granny Bert helped her pour through the entries, although her grandmother was often sidetracked down memory lane. She enjoyed reliving moments from the past, as told through the pen of her friend and benefactor.
“This might be something,” Granny Bert said one evening, looking up from a book dated later in the years.
She read the passage from the old journal aloud.
I had a visitor today. I am still so angry my hands are trembling; I may be incapable of writing. Hugh Redmond had the audacity to step foot on my property! And he brought the children with him! Two little stringy-haired children with snotty noses and ragged clothes. He came begging for money. He claimed it was for food, but I could smell the liquor on his breath. He had the nerve to remind me that the children were Darwin’s own blood. My dear late husband’s grandchildren, borne by his illegitimate daughter. Naomi may have named her child the ridiculous name of Love, but she was not conceived in love, she was conceived in deceit. Not a day went by that Darwin did not regret his ill-fated night with my hussy of a sister. She tricked him into her bed, seducing him with strong liquor and evil wiles. He never loved Naomi. Never would have wanted her child, nor her children.
But I regress. This is not about the scandalous woman I have the misfortune of calling my sister, although I have no doubt she put her son-in-law up to his brazen visit. Since her daughter’s unfortunate death, Naomi has become more spiteful than ever. I am certain she put the man up to this farce, filling his foolish mind with notions of claiming what is mine. Encouraging him to come here and humiliate not only me, but himself.
He threatened me. That lowly, filthy mechanic actually threatened me. Said he would get a lawyer and sue me, taking half of my estate for Love’s children. He said it was their right as a Blakely heir. I immediately called Asa. He assured me I have no need to worry. Father gave everything to me. The land, the house, the town. In the brief but blissful time Darwin and I were married, he made no contribution to my wealth, so therefore his heirs have no claim to my estate. That filthy, desperate man will have to seek elsewhere for his next bottle and his free ride in life. He will never see a dime from me.
“Wow,” Madison said when her grandmother finished reading the entry. “Miss Juliet was certainly bitter. Perhaps with just cause, but bitter, nonetheless. Who was Asa?”
“Asa Bryant, her lawyer. But if Hugh Redmond threatened to sue back then, he might still be hoping to make a claim against her estate. He tried fighting the will when she left most everything to me, claiming his children deserved it more than I did. He — or some of his rowdy brood — may be trying to torment you now, scare you off the property so they can swoop in and take over.”
“Maybe,” Madison said, chewing on her lip. “I’ll run it by Brash, get his take on it.”
“Is he coming over tonight for episode two?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, I didn’t invite him.”
“And why not?” her grandmother challenged. She glared at Madison over the tops of her reading glasses. “I warned you about messing things up with that man! I hope you haven’t already blown it.”
“It’s not that. But we have decided to keep things—”
“Don’t say slow. I never did understand why people always claim they want to take things slllooowww.”
Madison frowned at her grandmother’s dramatics. “Not slow, exactly. More like quiet. We both agreed that making our relationship public would only complicate matters right now. The press has enough to feed on without throwing out a juicy little tidbit like this.”
“So you admit there is a relationship!” Granny crowed with pride.
Madison could not help but blush. “I think one is definitely in the works,” she finally conceded.
“So why do you look so worried? That’s the best news I’ve heard in ages!”
“I don’t know. I get the feeling that Beth might not be too thrilled with the thought of me dating again. I think Blake would be okay with it, but Bethani was definitely a daddy’s girl. I think it may be too soon for her to adjust to the thought of me with another man.”
“Give her a chance. Ask her and find out.”
Almost on cue, Bethani came bounding into the room. “It’s almost show time! Megan’s on her way over. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Of course, honey. She’s always welcome here.”
“Is that hunk of a father bringing her over?” Granny Bert asked.
Bethani shrugged, but her eyes darted to her mother. “I dunno. I think he may be working. Or on a date. I think she said he was busy, so her mom is dropping her off.”
At mention of a date, Madison arched her brows and sent Granny Bert an I-told-you-so look.
“Oh? Who is he dating?” Granny Bert prodded.
“Oh, I think he has lots of girlfriends. Megan says women are always calling him and chasing after him. Not that he runs away very fast. I think he might have a bit of a reputation as a lady’s man.” She glanced again at her mother, seeing if her words hit their mark.
Instead of getting upset, Madison chuckled. “Some things never change. You should have seen him in high school! All the girls were crazy over him.”
“Including you, as I recall,” Granny Bert broke in. “So you’re right, some things never change.”
Madison glared at her grandmother, not appreciating the prompt.
Bethani, however, paid them no heed. “From what Megan says, Mr. de only has eyes for her mom. That’s why he never remarried. He’s still in love with Mrs. Aikman, even though she’s married to his best friend now.” She looked her mother in the eye, slaying her with her desperate blue gaze. “It’s like that with you and Dad, right, Mom? He was your one true love. You would never remarry someone else… Would you?”
Madison was at a loss for what to say.
“Sweetheart, I did love your father,” she started softly. That much was true. At one time, long ago, she had loved Gray, back before he had an affair and destroyed their marriage. “But he’s gone now, sweetie. And one day, I may meet someone and decide to remarry. Not anytime soon, but one day. I’m still young, you know.”
“Young? You’re almost forty!”
Granny Bert bit back a snicker. Madison sent her another stern look before turning to her daughter with an indulgent smile. She touched the girl’s long blond hair and played with the ends, arranging it where it fell over her shoulders. “Believe it or not, that’s not so very old. And one day, if I’m fortunate, I will meet a man I love as much as I loved your father. You want me to be happy, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes, of course, but… but why do you need a man? Aunt Genny doesn’t need a man to be happy!” she challenged.
“I don’t, Bethani. I’ll be perfectly happy, simply being a mother to my two wonderful children. You and Blake are all I need to be content with life.”
The teen was not easily appeased. “Content,” she fairly spat. “That’s different than being happy.”
Madison pulled her daughter in for a hug. Who was this stranger, and what had she done with her sweet daughter? “I love you, Beth. I love you and your brother with all my heart. I am more than merely ‘content’ being your mother. I am proud and thrilled and ecstatic. Over the moon. I don’t know how we got on this subject, but you have nothing to worry about. I promise you, sweetheart, I have no intentions of getting remarried anytime soon.”
But as she made the solemn promise to her troubled daughter, a shadow slipped into her heart. Another stipulation, this one to her own happiness.
Her future with Brash just hit a major complication.
***
A noise woke Madison in the night. Somewhere along the side of the house, she heard a thud. Probably a stray cat, she thought drowsily as she turned onto her side and listened. Hearing nothing more, she bunched up her pillow and tried to reclaim her comfortable position.
Another sound brought her eyes opened. It sounded like wood gently sliding against wood. A chair, perhaps? Was Granny Bert awake?
Madison glanced at the clock. 1:08 a.m. She doubted her grandmother was rummaging around in the living room at this hour.
As silently as possible, Madison eased from bed. She tiptoed to the bedroom door and listened. Over the ticking of the ancient mantel clock, she heard a slight thud. Someone was definitely in the living room.
It could be Blake, she told herself. Even after eating two bags of popcorn during the show, he complained he was starving. According to her fifteen-year-old son, popcorn was little better than eating salted and buttered air. He might be raiding the refrigerator, tiding himself over until breakfast.
She eased through the half-opened doorway, stepping cautiously into the hall. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor as she crept down the darkened path. She glanced at the closed doors along the corridor. If Blake or Granny Bert were up, they had shut their bedroom doors behind them.
Trying to convince herself she was being silly, Madison paused when she reached the end of the hall. Tucked as she was in the shadowy safety of the hallway, she surveyed the dark room before her. Soft electronic light radiated from a half dozen appliances, casting circles of diffused light into the darkness. Weak moonlight filtered in through the window blinds and the curtain on the front door. Except for the clock, the room was silent and still.
She eased into the room, feeling more confident. She would check out the adjacent dining room and the kitchen beyond, just to be certain.
A patch of moonlight lay across the dining room floor. Light that normally was not there.
Madison’s heart hammered in her chest. That window had been closed when they went to bed.
She groped behind her, her fingers curling around the baseball bat Blake always left in the corner. For once, she was thankful the boy ignored her constant pleas to put away his gear. She pulled the bat into swinging position as she inched closer.
A figure dressed in black stood over the table, quietly leafing through the journals she had so carelessly left there. The person’s back was to her, blocking most of the soft light that spilled from a handheld device and illuminated the pages. This was no random prowler. He — or she — was here for the journals.
Madison tried to take in as many details as possible. The person was tall, several inches more so than she. Outweighed her by a good fifty or so pounds, too. It was difficult to tell much about the person’s shape, as it was covered by a loose-fitting black jacket and dark pants. But on the air was a hint of Old Spice, giving Madison the distinct impression their intruder was male.
Even armed with a baseball bat and the element of surprise, Madison knew she was no match for a man who was larger and stronger than she was. Her best option was to back silently away and call for help.
Her plan might have worked, except for the fact that she bumped into the wall and knocked a picture off its nail. As the old family portrait crashed to the floor amid the shattering of glass, the intruder whirled around.
He shone the light directly into Madison’s eyes, bumping up the beam’s intensity so that she was blinded. By the time she thought to shield her eyes and peer through the slits of her fingers, the person had grabbed the journal, backed his way to the window, and disappeared into the night.
“Hey! Hey, you!” Madison yelled. She ran to the window and hung her head out, careful not to disturb any fingerprints he might have left.
Any further yelling was useless. The dark figure had already melted into the night.
***
“Let’s go through this one more time,” Brash said as Maddy and her children huddled together on the couch.
“We’ve already been through this twice. I’ve told you what little I can.”
“You know what they say, third time’s a charm.” He flashed a smile that was full of its own unique charm, but Madison was in no mood to be mollified.
She replayed the night’s events once more, offering as much detail as possible.
“Close your eyes. In the split second that he turned around and saw you standing there, before the light was in your eyes, what could you see?”
Madison closed her eyes in concentration, trying to recapture those brief moments in her mind. “He was silhouetted against the window. There was an odd point to his head, so he was either wearing a beanie or having a bad hair day. I think there was something between his ears and his jacket collar. Maybe his hair was a bit on the long side, or maybe curly.” She fingered her own short ends, imagining her brief impression of the perpetrator. Her eyes popped open. “That’s all. That’s all I saw, before he shone the light in my eyes.”
“But that’s something,” he said with a warm smile of encouragement. “That’s good, sweetheart. Really good.” He used the term of endearment as he jotted down notes in his ever-present notebook. If anyone noticed the slip, it was forgotten as he continued briskly, “So we know your intruder was a tall, average-sized man with hair that came below his ears. So now, off the top of your head, spit out the names of five men that fit that description. Go.”
Madison blinked in surprise, unprepared for the rapid-fire demand. Sputtering for just a moment, she rattled off the first men that came to mind. “Uhm, uhm … Cutter Montgomery. My cousin Darrell Hamilton. Uhm, uhm, Nick Vilardi. Hugh Redmond. Jimbo Hadley. Bart Nedbalek.”
“Good, good. Now I’ll call out a few names. Tell me if they fit the image, or why not. Say the first thing that pops into your head. Ready?”
Madison closed her eyes for better concentration and nodded. It was like a television game show. She rattled out her answers as quickly as he ticked off the names, even if they made little or no sense.
“Jerry Don Peavey.”
“Too thin.”
“Hank Adams.”
“Too old.”
“Rudy Dewberry.”
�
��Too black.”
“Luis Gonzales.”
“Wrong kind of hat.”
“Nick Vilardi.”
“Too sexy.”
With her eyes closed, she missed the infamous arched brow. Brash never missed a beat, but there was an extra bite in his voice as he called out the next name. “Don Ngyen.”
“Too short.”
“Derron Mullins.”
“Way too short.”
“Barry Redmond.”
“Maybe.”
“Arles Bishop.”
“Maybe.”
“Stewart Combs.”
“Don’t know him.”
“Allen Wynn.”
“Too pudgy.”
“Nobles Baines.”
“Not right.”
“Marion Crowder.”
“Too stooped.”
“John Montgomery.”
“Hair’s too short.”
“Tom Pruett.”
“Too old and crazy.”
“Bernie Havlicek.”
“Too scrawny.”
“Dirk Simon.”
“Haven’t seen him in forever.”
“Enrique Hernandez.”
“Who? Oh, no. Too stocky.”
When a beat passed without a name thrown at her, Madison opened her eyes. The inquisition was apparently over.
“What-What was all that?” she asked, feeling like she had been caught in a whirlwind.
“Just trying to get a better description.”
“But I told you, I didn’t see him well enough to get a description!” she wailed.
“But you got an impression, Maddy. And this little exercise was all about split-second first impressions.”
Still skeptical, she pursed her lips. “I don’t see how it helped.”
“But it did. Based on your first impression, the intruder was a white male, somewhere between twenty-five and forty, in good physical condition.”
Madison was in awe, amazed he could deduce anything from such random bits of information. “You’re amazing,” she murmured.
