by Becki Willis
With a worried glance toward the structure behind her, Madison asked a question of her own. “Is the fireman still inside?”
She wondered about the policeman’s short but humorless laugh. “Don’t worry about Montgomery. The kid apparently has an iron stomach. He’ll be fine.”
“Why did the fire department show up, anyway?” It just now struck her as odd.
“We do things a little differently in small towns than what you’re used to in Dallas, ma’am.” His drawled voice was openly condescending. “Our volunteer fire departments respond to a variety of emergency situations, not just fires. Most of the department is out on the highway right now, working a wreck and providing traffic control.”
“He seemed very efficient,” she murmured somewhat lamely.
“Be assured, Montgomery is one of our finest First Responders.” Brash cleared his throat and pulled the conversation back to the victim. “You were telling me how and when you first discovered the body.”
“Yes. Right. Well, I got here around eight this morning and started in House 6. It took me about an hour and a half to walk the first two houses. I had already made one round on the opposite end of this house and started down toward this end. I noticed several chickens were . . . taller than the others. I knew they sometimes ganged up on injured birds or stood on top of dead ones, so that’s what I thought was happening. As I got a little closer, I noticed the smell. It was horrendous.”
She stopped to clear her throat, trying, too, to clear her nose of the putrid memory. “It was worse than anything I had ever smelled before. I-I thought it must be a chicken that was several days old. There was a horribly messy one in House 6 that just . . . fell apart when I lifted it. I-I remember thinking this one would be even worse. And then- And then I saw it. Him. There was a - a rooster perched upon his chest, strutting about like he was king of the roost. It was horrible.” Madison clenched her stomach, afraid she was going to be sick once more.
“I know this is difficult, ma’am. You’re doing great. Just hang in here with me a little while longer, we’re nearly done. By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”
He probably wouldn’t recognize her name, any more than he had recognized her face. She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Reynolds. Madison Reynolds.”
His russet head snapped up and he peered at her with new curiosity. “Maddy? Maddy Cessna, is that you?”
***
Brash stared at the woman before him. She was covered in filth and looked like death warmed over. At the beginning of the interview, her face had been bright red, all splotchy and mottled, but the color had drained slowly away as she recanted the day’s events. She was now as pale as any ghost might be. He remembered Maddy Cessna as being a cute brunette with a straight, slim figure and killer long legs. In this garb, it was impossible to tell what kind of figure now hid behind the baggy shirt and tattered jeans. Even though he knew he wasn’t catching her on her best day, he was guessing that the years had not been kind to the girl he once knew.
“It’s Reynolds now,” she said stiffly.
“I heard about your husband. Sorry for your loss.” He offered the rote sentiment as he pushed the brim of his cowboy hat up with one finger.
“Thank you.” She dropped her eyes as she murmured the weary reply.
Brash was an expert at reading people’s expressions. It was necessary in his line of work. He watched as the emotions flickered briefly across Madison Cessna Reynold’s grimy face. He saw sadness and regret, a touch of resentment, a lot of worry, but the one emotion he did not see was grief. He made a mental note to find out more about that later; right now he had more important things to worry about than whether or not she had been in a happy marriage.
“I heard you moved back,” he said conversationally. “I know Miss Bert is glad to have you home.”
Bertha Cessna, or Miss Bert as she was commonly known, was Madison’s feisty eighty-year-old grandmother. She was a cornerstone of the community and more or less the matriarch of Juliet since the namesake’s death in the early 1980’s. Miss Bert only recently resigned as Mayor, saying the duties interfered with her love to travel. After all, she wanted to go as much as possible now, before she got too old to enjoy the sights, particularly those seen from behind the windshield of her brand new motor home.
For the first time, Brash saw a glimpse of the girl he remembered. A smile flashed across Madison Reynold’s face, transforming her haggard features with the glow of genuine affection. “She’s thrilled to have someone to fuss over again.”
“And to cook for, I’m sure.”
A grimace created new creases in her dirt-streaked face. “Except that she’s on a new health-food kick. I made the mistake of giving her a juicer for Christmas, so now she’s experimenting with a ‘liquid’ diet. Believe me, there are some foods that are not meant to go into a blender.” As her shoulders shimmied with distaste, Brash could not help but laugh. He could only imagine some of the combinations Miss Bert would come up with.
A gust of wind whipped away his burst of laughter, rendering the atmosphere solemn once again. His next question was all business. “I don’t suppose Mrs. Gleason has been down here this morning?”
Madison looked up in surprise. “I-I guess I didn’t realize there was a Mrs. Gleason.”
“And why is that?” Something in her expression set off warning bells.
Madison Cessna Reynolds shrugged. “He never mentioned a wife, for one thing. I got the impression there was no one else to walk houses for him when he was out of town.”
Brash tried to imagine Ramona Gleason stepping foot in the chicken houses. It would be one of those high-heeled shoes, no doubt; hadn’t Shannon called them stilettos? He had a mental image of one of those heels impaling a hapless chicken.
“You said ‘for one thing’. What else?”
“Well, he was a little … flirty,” Madison admitted reluctantly.
Before he could stop himself, Brash dropped his gaze to trail over her, frightful clothes and all. Her face flamed in humiliation after his silent assessment, particularly when he questioned, “Flirty?”
Madison lifted her chin with defiance. “Yes, flirty.” This time her voice held more conviction. Her hazel eyes flashed with irritation. “A true gentleman would never sound so surprised,” she snapped.
Brash found her ire amusing. He even had the audacity to grin. “You knew me in the early days. Never claimed to be a gentleman,” he drawled. When she merely sniffed in disdain, he returned to business once again. “I was surprised because he’s married. Happily so, from all indication. And because you are newly widowed. I know these days that doesn’t account for much, but I figured Ronny for the faithful sort.”
She softened only a fraction. Her tone was still frosty when she spoke. “I said he was flirty, not that he propositioned me. And my marital status has nothing to do with it. I can assure you, I did not flirt back.”
Brash waved a large hand with an air of surrender. “Never suggested you did, ma’am.” It seemed safest to address her with the respectful —and less personal— title.
Now she huffed at him, still clearly agitated. “Are we through yet? I still have three houses to walk, and I would like to get out of these filthy rags before they start to set up.”
Glancing over his notes, Brash checked out a few last details. “What did you do after you discovered the body?”
“I ran back outside and called 9-1-1. My cell phone was in the golf cart he left for me to use.”
“Did you come back inside the house?”
She gave him a withering look that only mothers knew how to perfect. He vaguely recalled hearing she had twins, hence the three newest citizens to their community. “Not until the fireman arrived. And only then because it seemed the humane thing to do.” Her haughty tone faltered as she added, “You know, with the chickens, and all.”
Brash took mercy on her at that point. Most women he knew would have fallen apart long before now. Many me
n would have done the same. “I think that will be all for now, Maddy, but I may have more questions later.”
She sighed wearily. “You know where to find me if you do.” She turned to walk away, mustering as much dignity as possible when covered with chicken poop and vomit.
***
Madison went through the rest of her duties on autopilot. She numbed her mind to the images which danced through her head with alarming frequency. Each whiff of a dead carcass brought on a fresh wave of nausea, each sight of two or more chickens converging in a group filled her with dread. By the time she finished her rounds and threw the last of the dead birds into the incinerator, her nerves were frayed, her head was pounding, and her mind was no longer numb.
More officials had come and gone on the scene, numerous people were milling around the farm, and the county coroner’s van was now backed up to the end of House 4, alongside another fire truck and several cop cars. She pulled the golf cart up next to the fire truck and got out. Her body was aching from all the walking and bending and, if possible, she now smelled even worse. If she never stepped foot inside another chicken house again in her life it would suit her fine. She was considering eliminating the versatile fowl from her kitchen, as well.
She caught sight of Brash deCordova’s broad back and made her way toward him. As she approached, she heard a woman’s high-pitched whine. “I just can’t believe this! He can’t be gone, he just can’t!”
“There, there, Ramona.” The police chief made a clumsy attempt to console the woman in front of him. He moved just enough for Madison to get a glimpse of bleached blond hair, a bright pink jogging suit, and the same neon pink and black designer sneakers her own teenage daughter had her heart set on. Mrs. Gleason, she presumed.
The woman clung to the officer, pressing her voluptuous body a bit closer than was necessary. Madison took an immediate dislike to Ronny Gleason’s widow. She told herself it had less to do with the officer involved and more to do with the inappropriate spectacle she made of herself. Having had a recent similar experience herself, Madison certainly had not thrown herself at the man delivering Gray’s death notice.
Madison hung back, but she suspected the odor emanating from her clothes announced her presence. Brash turned, looking so grateful for the interruption that she almost smiled. Almost. This was still a solemn situation.
“Ah, Miz Reynolds,” Brash said, setting the weeping woman away from him. “Did you think of anything else that would be helpful?”
There was such desperation in his tone that Madison started to pretend she had recalled another tidbit of information, just to save him from the clinging widow. But her pride still stung from his earlier implied insult, and she had the distinct impression that Brash deCordova could handle himself in most any situation, particularly those that involved the fairer sex. Dashing his hopes of an escape, she shook her head. “No, I just thought I would let you know I’m heading home now.”
“Are you- Are you her?” The simpering note in the other woman’s voice was so exaggerated that Madison almost rolled her eyes.
Brash made the introductions, using the opportunity to move several feet away from the woman in pink. “Mrs. Gleason, this is Madison Reynolds. Madison, Ramona Gleason.”
“I’m so sorry about your husband, Mrs. Gleason,” Madison said with utter sincerity.
The blond sniffed delicately. “Thank you. I’m-I’m so sorry you had to find him like that. Oh, my poor Ronny!” Another wail of sorrow had her reaching for the chief’s arm again.
An awkward moment stretched into two. Over the top of the crying woman’s head, Brash sent Madison a beseeching look, silently begging her, Do something! Madison shrugged helplessly, which earned her an exasperated stare from the officer. She finally gave into the urge and rolled her eyes, then reluctantly moved forward.
Touching the other woman’s shoulder, her voice was compassionate as she asked, “Mrs. Gleason, is there anything I can do to help?”
She pulled away from the broad shoulder she camped against. “Why, yes, yes there is,” Ramona said unexpectedly. “Would you continue to take care of the chicken houses for me?”
Madison’s jaw fell open in dismay. It was the very last thing she wanted. “I, uh, I’m afraid I don’t know very much about them, ma’am.”
“You were planning to work here for the week, weren’t you?” There was something almost challenging in the question.
“Well, yes.”
“Then I’ll expect you to honor your commitment.” For a grieving widow, her tone had the definite ring of business. “I trust that you and Ronny had some sort of contract?”
“Yes,” Madison nodded reluctantly.
“Then it’s settled. At least for the week, you’ll honor your agreement with … my husband.” Her voice crumpled on the last words.
Brash must have anticipated the fresh round of tears that was coming, because he quickly moved away and out of her reach. He turned his attention to the activity stirring at the door of the chicken house, where the coroner was leading the way out for the stretcher carrying Ronny Gleason’s torn and battered body.
This time when Ramona Gleason wailed out mournfully, there was no one there to hold her.
CHAPTER THREE
A shower never felt as good as it did that day. Madison stayed under the spray until the water turned tepid and her freshly scrubbed skin began to pucker. Only then did she step from the shower stall and slip into gloriously fresh clothes that held no odor of chickens.
She considered burning the outfit she had worn that morning, but knew she would need them again, possibly even the next day. There was no need to ruin another set of clothes, after all. She used extra portions of detergent, but doubted the shirt and jeans would ever come truly clean; at the end of the week, she could drop them into the dumpster and be done with them.
Just as she slid into fresh jeans and a soft sweater set, Madison’s cell phone rang. When she saw the number that popped up on the caller I.D. screen, she grabbed the phone and answered with an unsteady hello.
“Is it true?” Genesis Baker demanded. “I just heard the most horrible news!”
Hearing her best friend’s voice was her undoing. The tears she held at bay sprang free, leaking from her eyes and streaming down her face. “Oh, Genny, it was- it was horrible!”
“Where are you? Are you all right?”
“I’m home. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right,” she admitted on a sob. “You can’t imagine how he looked…”
“I’ll be right over.”
“You can’t do that! You’re at work!”
“Of course I can! I’m the owner, remember?”
Madison wanted to be brave and insist that she didn’t need her friend to come, but they both knew it was a lie. She had to compose herself before the twins got home from school, and Genny was her best chance at doing so.
“If you’re sure…” she whispered.
“Be there in a jiffy!” Genny promised. Before she hung up the phone, Madison could hear her friend’s voice ringing out, “People, watch the café for me. Got a family emergency!”
***
Ten minutes later, Genesis Baker bounded up the steps of the three-bedroom craftsman-style home. She let herself in and found her friend in the kitchen, exactly where she knew she would be.
“Oh, honey, are you all right? You look terrible!” Genny said the words with love as she folded her best friend into her embrace.
“I’ve been getting that a lot today,” Madison said dryly, returning the hug.
Genesis frowned and stepped back to examine her friend. “Who said such a thing to you?”
“Of all people, none other than Brash deCordova. Although in his defense, he didn’t say the words out loud, and even if he had, he would have been right.”
Genny gasped. “You saw Brash? On today, of all days?”
“Well, he is the chief of police, and I did find a dead body. The two sort of go hand-in-hand.”
“Sit down and start from the beginning. I want to hear everything.” Genny deposited a white sack onto the table and drew out two of her signature Genny-doodle cookies, the same delectable treats she sold at her newly opened café and bakery in downtown Naomi. Before joining Madison at the table, she poured them both a cup of coffee as if they sat in her own kitchen.
Madison relived the gruesome morning once more, instinctively knowing this would hardly be the last time she was asked to do so. Genesis interrupted her story more times than Brash deCordova ever dreamed of doing, but she found her friend’s questions far less disruptive. When she finally got to the end of her tale, she sagged in exhaustion and watched Genny’s eyes fill with sympathetic tears.
“You poor thing! I’m so sorry you had to see that!”
“I have a feeling I’ll be seeing it again tonight in my sleep. And I doubt I’ll ever get that stench from my nostrils.” She sipped at her coffee, needing the warmth it provided. She was still chilled to the bone.
“Well, at least you don’t have to go back.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Ramona Gleason wants me to complete the week. In fact, she insisted that I do.”
“She would, that peroxide floozy!” There was uncharacteristic disdain in her friend’s normally cheerful voice.
“I was a little surprised when I saw her,” Madison admitted. “In fact, I never even suspected that Ronny Gleason was married. He actually made a pass at me the first day I went to his farm. After seeing his wife, I can’t imagine what he thought he saw in me.” Madison frowned into her coffee mug as she cradled it with both hands.
“Oh, please, not that again!” Genny rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You really do have to buy yourself a mirror, Maddy, and not one of those ripply ones that comes out of a carnival. You’ve always been gorgeous. And unlike Ramona Gleason, your beauty is real. Hers comes from a bottle.” She grinned from behind her own coffee mug, displaying her trademark dimples as her sense of humor returned. “Well, actually, I hear that her boobs came from a clinic down in old Mexico.”
