Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas)

by Mari Manning

  She didn’t smile.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I mean, it had to be Miss Bea.”

  “If there were fingerprints on the knife, the cops have her dead to rights.”

  He’d never noticed it before, but the corner of her eyebrow lifted when she was puzzling out a problem. The hell with Miss Bea. “Why don’t you let Ed and Derek worry about Miss Bea.” He pulled her against him.

  “This is serious, Seth.” But her arms slid around his waist. “Someone attacked Frankie’s bed with a knife last night and stole my Glock.”

  An unexpected sense of alarm gripped his chest. “Jesus, Kirby.”

  “I’m fine, but it had to be Miss Bea or Brittany. Who else had access? Brittany seems incapable, and Mr. Shaw is convinced Miss Bea’s innocent, and, well, I don’t know, the way she reacted when they arrested her…shocked and confused. Innocent.”

  “Did you expect her to act guilty?”

  Outside, the empty, sunbaked yard rippled with heat. In the barn’s cool shadows, they were alone. Manny would be at the orchard. Brittany in the house.

  “Seth?”

  “Hmm?” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sweet girl in his arms.

  “I do have a few questions I hope you can answer.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Nothing too personal.”

  “Seriously.”

  His eyes sprang open, but he didn’t let her go. “A few means two.”

  “Not including follow-up questions.”

  “That right? And what do I get for being a cooperative witness?” He let his fingers slide down her spine and over the curve of her waist.

  Her breath quickened; her lips nibbled the base of his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “You still owe me a quickie.”

  “I do?” Her voice softened, grew throaty.

  “From the parking lot the other night. When you were attempting to hide certain facts.”

  “I was a bad girl, wasn’t I?”

  His penis shot to the upright position. “Come here.” He pulled her into a stall and unzipped her pants.

  For a moment her eyes widened. Here? But she let him push her jeans and panties down to her ankles.

  He dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her thighs, letting his hands roam over her bottom and between her legs. He buried two fingers inside her, where the slickness and building heat waited for him. His tongue flicked out and teased her.

  Her hands cupped his head and pulled him to his feet. “No. My turn.” She kicked away her jeans and knelt in front of him. “Undo your pants.”

  He did, pushing them down to his knees. She captured his penis in her silky hands. His loins tightened. “Kirby. Baby. You don’t—”

  “Hush, now.” She lowered her head. Her hair brushed his hips, releasing a soft fragrance that made him dizzy. Her wet mouth slid over him. Her tongue played with his shaft.

  He leaned against the wall, shut his eyes. She was loving him. Kirby. His lady cop, his lover. Desire for her hardened, clutching his stomach, tightening his muscles, softening his heart. Her dark head moved against his thighs, driving a fierce possessiveness into him. His. She was his for as long as he wanted.

  He pulled her away, sank to his knees, tangled his hands in her hair. “Straddle me, baby.”

  She settled her bottom on his thighs. “Like this?”

  “Like this.” He gripped her waist and lifted her up.

  Her fingers found his erection, guided it into her. Her mouth found his ear. “Ready for your quickie, cowboy?”

  Then she pushed down, burying him. A hunger rose up in him, wilder and more urgent than any he’d ever known. He bucked up his hips, wanting to touch deep inside her where no one had ever gone—would ever go. Her breasts brushed against his chest, yielding to his body. Her breath blew hot against his jaw, gasp after gasp. She pulsed around him, fingers tearing at his shirt buttons, nails digging into his chest, knees hugging his waist, body soaking up his desire like a hungry child. He let go, spiraling into her warmth and softness.

  “Baby.” He kissed her. “You’re amazing.”

  Her dark lashes fluttered against golden cheekbones and opened. Her eyes shimmered. I love you.

  Not yet. Not now. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t ready. He checked his watch. “What about those questions.”

  A flash of uncertainty crossed her face, the love light dimmed. She jumped away from him, and retrieved her clothes.

  “Mr. Maguire? Where are you?” Brittany called to him from the barnyard.

  Kirby dug her panties out of the straw. “Can you hold her off?”

  “Sure.” He hitched up his jeans, grateful for the diversion and ashamed at the same time.

  “Wait.” Kirby snatched some straw from his hair and examined him. “Okay. But button your shirt. She’ll think you’re boinking the horses in here.”

  He tried to grin, but he just didn’t feel like laughing.

  Brittany was a dark blot against the sunlight. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Minding my own business.”

  “Thought I heard someone.”

  Irritation chafed him. He arched his back, releasing some of his tension. “What are you doing out here?”

  She batted her eyes. “Thought you’d want to know. Miss Bea got hauled off to jail. She killed the guy in the bunkhouse.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And Mr. Shaw said to tell you to bring the car around in exactly one hour. He’s going to get Miss Bea.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Tell Shaw I’ll pick him up in front.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t move. “There’s no one around. I mean, if you wanted to talk or anything.”

  Behind him, straw rustled. “I’m kinda busy right now.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Her eyelids fluttered again. “Later.”

  He returned to the stall.

  Kirby was slipping into her shoes. “What did Brittany want?”

  “Got to take Shaw into town to see Miss Bea.”

  She grimaced. “You think they’ll let her out?”

  “It’s probably just a visit. Why?”

  She looked away. “Nothing.”

  His gaze fell on her mouth, still swollen from lovemaking. Her hair was knotted where he’d fisted it. His throat closed with an unfamiliar emotion. “What about those questions you had? I need to get back to work.”

  “Right. Do you know who Susannah is?”

  “The name’s not familiar. Why?”

  “Mr. Shaw mentioned her. He said I—uh, Frankie—was putting Susannah at risk.”

  “Sounds like Shaw’s opening up to you.”

  “We’ve had a few talks. He reminds me of Grandy a little. There’s a spiritual quality about him.”

  “Unlike me.” Why was he acting like a jealous asshole?

  “They’re older. They’ve figured out what they want from life.” She smoothed back her hair. “So. You don’t know who Susannah is?”

  “Don’t think I’ve heard that name. Could be one of his animal friends.”

  “Maybe. He met her when he was out in L.A. Something happened to her. She might have overdosed or something. But why bring up Susannah and not Sarah Slade or Old Tom?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Let’s assume Susannah is a person, and let’s assume she matters to Mr. Shaw. How could Frankie put her at risk?”

  He eyed the sagging rafters in the barn. “Could be financial.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Frankie throws money around like it’s lettuce. She had a fancy decorator do her room, and her clothes”—he nodded at Kirby’s silk shirt—“she isn’t shopping at Walmart with the rest of us. Don’t even know where you’d buy a getup like that around here. Last year she bought the Mercedes.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Charleen had to borrow Shaw’s Escalade to go into town or do some shopping in Austin. Fra
nkie got a car. An expensive one. Maybe she had something on Shaw.”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous. Frankie wouldn’t hurt Mr. Shaw.”

  As far as he could see, Kirby had a huge blind spot, and its name was Frankie. He glanced at his watch. “I have to go.”

  “Sure.” Her eyes glittered with hurt. She swung away.

  He couldn’t bear to leave her like this. “Kirby. Wait.” He grabbed her arm.

  “Let me go.”

  “No. Listen. You…you’re special. To me.”

  “Thanks.” The word sounded like an accusation. She tried to pull away.

  He had to make her understand without fencing himself in. “I know I don’t deserve it, but you have to give me some time. This is all new.”

  “This?”

  “Us. Remember what you said about your soul mate being your best friend? That’s what you are to me.”

  She studied his face for a moment. “I guess you were right about virgins. We do want more than a good time.”

  He swooped down and brushed her lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m sorry about anything. Because I’m not.” She was the most amazing woman he’d ever met.

  Hermit or not, Shaw still wielded authority in El Royo.

  Fifteen minutes after Seth dropped him at the station, he emerged with Miss Bea. Her skin was ashen, and her eyes were red. Her fingertips were black from the fingerprint ink.

  Seth sprang from the car and helped her in. Normally she’d shake his hands off. I can manage, Mr. Maguire. But she didn’t seem to notice him.

  In the car, Mr. Shaw murmured to her. Comforting words, optimistic words, bullshit words floated past Seth. “Everything is going to work out, Bea. They’re going to find the real killer soon. I have a feeling about this.”

  She sniffed. “What if they don’t?” A tear seeped from her swollen eyes.

  How gullible could Shaw be? What if he was the next one to get a knife in the back? Seth glanced in the rearview mirror and met Shaw’s eyes. Beams of emotion clashed like swords. Shaw’s jaw tightened.

  So did Seth’s. Damn fool. He snapped his gaze back to the road. If Shaw wanted to stick his skinny old neck out, there wasn’t much Seth could do about it but say “I told you so” when Miss Bea got her hands on another kitchen knife.

  “I’m pleased that you and Frances have finally buried your differences and become friends, Mr. Maguire.”

  “I guess.” He rolled his shoulders.

  “You’re a fortunate man. She’s a fine woman.”

  “Eenie!” Miss Bea was appalled.

  “Calm down. You might not have noticed, but Frances has turned a corner.”

  Miss Bea folded her arms. “You’re hallucinating.”

  Shaw leaned forward. The sharp scent of Bengay hit Seth’s nose. The old man spoke softly. “Frances told me about your sister.”

  The saliva in Seth’s mouth curdled. Kirby, the girl he was hot for, the girl he thought he could trust, had blabbed to Shaw. Seth could just imagine their smug sympathy as Kirby recounted the Maguire parents’ ridiculous end and how frantic Seth had been when the state took Hannah away. They’d probably shaken their heads and called him pathetic for losing track of his sister. Of course, he was pathetic or he would never have trusted Kirby. But the rest? He’d kept it to himself because he didn’t want Shaw’s pity. Kirby knew that. She knew he’d turned himself inside out for her, and she’d bleated it to his damn boss anyway.

  Was there an intelligent response to a sucker punch? “Yeah?” was all he could manage.

  Shaw patted Seth’s shoulder. “She asked me to look around. I still have some connections in L.A.”

  The old man leaned back, but the ghost of his touch lingered on Seth’s shoulder like a bruise. Because Kirby—the girl who was supposed to have his back—had turned him into one of Shaw’s ridiculous charities.

  “What’s this about, Eenie?” Miss Bea’s voice quavered from the backseat.

  Fuck!

  Shaw leaned back. “Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. Mr. Maguire’s sister ran away a few years back.”

  “Are you looking for her?”

  “I’ve asked Mr. Cargill to do a legal search since he’s out in L.A.”

  “It’s not necessary, Mr. Shaw.” He sounded ungrateful, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from seeping into his words.

  Shaw leaned forward again. The minty scent of his ointment stuck in Seth’s throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Frances meant well.”

  “And it can’t hurt to look, can it?” Miss Bea asked, sounding almost chipper. She was probably enjoying his humiliation.

  Why argue? They wouldn’t find anything. Tracking down a girl who’d disappeared eight years ago would be like looking for a flea in a sandstorm. Good luck. As long as he didn’t have to hear about it. He’d already faced the disappointment of losing Hannah. Put it behind him. Kirby should have understood.

  Trusting her had been a mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tires crunched against gravel.

  Dang! Mr. Shaw was back.

  Kirby stuffed a mini screwdriver into her back pocket and grimaced at the securely locked door to the west wing. She had to get her weapons back before bullets started flying.

  The front door creaked open, and Kirby skittered across the landing to her own wing just as Mr. Shaw limped across the threshold supporting a wilted Miss Bea.

  He half dragged, half hoisted Miss Bea upstairs. When he stopped at the landing to catch his breath, his pale eyes found Kirby.

  “Wait there while I get Bea settled. We need to talk.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” wailed Miss Bea. “She’s poison. I told you she’d bring trouble into this house. She and her slutty momma both.”

  From deep in the parlor, Sarah Slade called out. “Poison, poison. Hell’s bells. Poison.”

  Mr. Shaw pulled an old-fashioned brass key from his pocket. With a twist of his wrist, the west wing doors swung open. “Come on, Bea.”

  After fifteen minutes and several dozen “Poisons” from Sarah Slade, Mr. Shaw reappeared. “Come with me,” he whispered.

  Adrenaline pumping, Kirby followed him to his study. The wing was hushed and still, heavy with foreboding and curious, watchful eyes. But no Miss Bea and no Glock appeared.

  “Have a seat.”

  “Mister—uh, Cousin Eenie, I really don’t think—”

  “Sit.”

  She did.

  He perched on the edge of his chair and leaned into her. “I know you have it in your head that Bea is guilty of killing that ranch hand, but you are way off.”

  She understood how he felt. Mr. Shaw liked Bea. Of course he didn’t want her to be a killer. But he needed to recognize that no one would be safe until Beatrice Vine was locked up. “Her fingerprints were on the murder weapon,” she said softly. “I know you see the good in everyone. It’s a wonderful quality. But not everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

  “It’s not a murder weapon. It’s her kitchen knife. She uses it every day.”

  “What about Bobby? Her reading glasses were by his body.”

  “Why would she wear her reading glasses to chase after a squirrel?”

  Kirby tried again to make him see reason. “Someone tried to shoot me with her rifle.”

  “Someone? You never saw who?”

  Frustration pulled at Kirby. He was being stubborn. She understood how he felt. Hadn’t she been holding on to her grief over Grandy’s death? And holding on to Scott because he’d become a comfortable companion? Why should Mr. Shaw’s wrongheaded feelings count for less than hers? Why should he change when she hadn’t been able to?

  But she was changing. With Seth’s help, she’d let go of her grief and seen how wrong it would have been to let Scott think she loved him just because it was easier than dealing with the truth.

  “Cousin Eenie.” She pressed her hand over his. It shook slightly. “I wish it wasn’t Miss Bea. I swear, I do. But
all the evidence points to her.”

  “Not Bea.” His mouth tightened.

  Kirby sighed. He was never going to listen. The police could produce boxes of evidence and a thousand exhibits for trial. Mr. Shaw would still believe in Miss Bea’s innocence. “Why do you think she’s innocent?”

  He met her gaze. His eyes were steady and clear, and a prickle of doubt touched her. “It’s almost too neat,” he said. “And what about motive? Why would Bea do all these terrible things?”

  “Maybe she’s trying to get rid of me so she’ll inherit the ranch. There’s no love lost between us, you know.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t deny there’s been bad blood, but now that you’ve agreed to drop your threats, I think Bea will come around. Especially if you return the letter.” A gray brow rose.

  What letter? She tried a delicate probe. “Can we talk about that a little more?”

  He rose. “We’ve talked enough. It’s time you see the reality behind the letter. Follow me.”

  Any room in this wing could be hiding an armed—and vengeful—Miss Bea. “Someone stole my gun. It was in my dresser.”

  He spun on her. Shock rounded his Humpty-Dumpty face. “You brought a handgun into the house?”

  “For protection. I suspect Miss Bea took it and has it stashed over here.”

  “Bea did not touch your gun.” He shook his head. “You have put your life in jeopardy, my dear. Please be very careful. Stick close to the house and don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “I don’t understand? Do you know who has my gun? If you know where it is—”

  “I don’t know where it is. But tomorrow someone will be here who can shed light on who.”

  A name popped into Kirby’s head. “Mr. Cargill is coming.”

  His eyes widened, but all he said was, “Tomorrow.”

  A blade of light pierced the study window. Kirby spun toward it. The beam was coming from the ridge. “Someone must be up at the quarry. I just saw a flash.”

  “Kids go up there sometimes. It’s the local version of lovers’ lane. I’ll let Mr. Maguire know. He can shoo them off.” Mr. Shaw opened the door. “Follow me.”

  He halted before a door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said before slipping into a room.