by Angie Fox
He stiffened. "There's all kinds of hokum I can't explain," he shot back, "like how I ended up stuck with you."
Charming.
"All right," I said, notching up my chin, refusing to let him get to me. "Let's do it."
I called Lauralee. When she didn't answer, I left a message while Frankie watched, fuming. Because his bad attitude would certainly help get things done. And then I clicked over to my voice mail and fielded seven messages from Beau.
This day was just getting better and better.
You know what? I couldn't do a thing about the dead gangster in my kitchen, but right now, I was going to put an end to Beau's insane attempt to win me back. I gathered up my courage, punched in his number, and prepared to lay out the facts in no uncertain terms.
Instead, I got his voice mail.
"This is Beau Wydell. You know what to do," he drawled.
I certainly did.
"Beauregard Herworth Wydell, this is your ex, Verity. 'Ex' meaning someone you do not call, you do not gift with old photos, you do not contact or even speak with unless we meet on the street and then I will greet you with a pleasant 'hello.'" This wasn't as harsh as I'd planned. "That is it. Good-bye," I said, hanging up quickly.
Frankie stifled a laugh.
"Can it," I ordered, pointing the phone at him. Just because I wasn't ruthless didn't mean I deserved to be ignored.
I'd done all I could for the moment, so I unpacked my yummy chicken dinner and tried to forget about ghosts, exes, and psychic visitors.
All three would find me soon enough.
Chapter Twelve
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I was giving Lucy a bath in the kitchen sink while my resident gangster hovered over the counter and watched. Frankie's right foot had reappeared, although I didn't think he'd want to hear any congratulations from me.
"Why don't you go sit out by the apple tree?" I suggested as my skunk struggled to climb out of the soapy water, away from Frankie. Lucy usually loved bath time. No doubt Frankie was making her uncomfortable.
"Nah," he muttered, idly passing his hand back and forth through my purse, which lay next to him. Poor guy couldn't even pickpocket anymore. "I'm too hopped up. If that psychic was any good, she'd know to hoof herself over here."
He was worse than a three-year-old. "Lauralee's passing the message along."
Suddenly, my bag began to buzz and vibrate.
"Jesus!" Frankie shot away from the counter.
"Relax." I dried off Lucy's face so no soap got into her eyes, then reached past the hovering gangster and pulled my cell phone out from under his urn. "I forgot I set it to vibrate before I went to see Virginia yesterday."
He settled back down slowly, still a bit out of sorts as he regarded the phone. "I don't like those things."
Yes, well, I didn't enjoy the fact that a wet skunk was currently making a run for it down the other side of my counter. I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed for a towel. "Here, baby," I said, gathering her up so she could get comfortable and dry. The poor thing was shaking. "I've got you."
I barely had her towel-dried before she started struggling to escape. I let her, knowing she'd dart straight for my bed and blankets. It was where she felt the safest. I supposed I owed it to her—and my sheets would dry before bedtime. I hoped.
"Was it the psychic?" Frankie asked, as I retrieved my phone. "Call her back."
I hit the redial button. "Relax, it was Melody."
Luckily, she was better at answering her phone than I was.
"Tell me you're taking care of yourself," she said.
Static shot through the line. "I went and saw Virginia Wydell yesterday," I said, walking toward the back porch, hoping for a better connection.
"Why on earth…" she began. "Never mind. I want to hear about it, but listen, I have to tell you. I found Madeline Angelica."
Thank goodness. "Is she alive?"
"Yes. And she lives here in town. Never left." My sister hesitated, which was uncharacteristic of her. I stood on my back porch and waited, the breeze stirring my hair. "Verity, you know her," she said, as if she wasn't quite sure how to say the next part. "Madeline Angelica Learner…well, Wydell. She goes by the name of Maisie Hatcher."
I stood in shock for a moment. Maisie Hatcher. Most people knew her as a fiercely independent woman who rarely left her farm. She had been my grandmother's friend, not a close one, but she'd been a fixture at carry-in dinners, church luncheons, and sewing parties since I had been old enough for Maisie to slip me candy from her purse. She'd fallen on hard times recently and I'd used my ghost-hunting skills to find some money hidden on her property. Then she'd turned right around and given me a loan to help save my house.
She hadn't had to do it. But she was a good person. Eccentric, maybe, but she had a good heart. Maisie had suffered a lot over the years with a bad marriage and health issues, so she'd earned the right to be a little unusual.
And now she was heir to the Wydell fortune.
As long as we could prove it.
I retreated straight back into the kitchen to grab my bag and my car keys. I had to go see Maisie. "Do you think she knows?" I asked Melody, motioning for Frankie to join me.
"I doubt she's aware," my sister said as I locked up and hurried for my car. Frankie grumbled, but he stuck with me. "I had to go through marriage records to find her. Her birth record is nonexistent and nobody else knows about the document you saw."
Except for Darla's killer. Even without my sister's research skills, that person could track down Maisie eventually. My heart thudded in my chest. We might already be too late.
I fired up the engine. "I'm heading over there right now."
Melody's voice hitched. "I know you've got to do it, but please be careful."
"I will," I assured her. "Let me get off the line. I'm calling Ellis."
I took the main road until I reached a smaller side road that snaked through the woods. I turned onto the road less traveled and cringed as my car bottomed out on a pothole.
Ellis would know the best way to approach Maisie. He liked to stop in on her, make sure she had what she needed. He'd done it out of the kindness of his heart, because he was a good person.
Unless he knew she was kin.
No, I couldn't think that way. There was no reason to suspect he'd keep that sort of information hidden.
I also needed Ellis to know where I'd be just in case someone with evil intent beat me to Maisie's house. Or arrived after I did.
My car bounced past the overgrown entrance to Johnson's Cave. I steered while fighting with the wire of my hands-free system. It had gotten tangled up with my phone again. One of these days, I was going to chuck it out the window.
But Ellis didn't answer his phone, despite my repeated attempts.
Frankie didn't seem to care one way or the other. "Just so you know, I'm not here 'cause you ordered me," he pointed out. "I'm here 'cause I want to see what happens."
"Like an impartial observer?"
He trailed a hand out through the window. "More like a rubbernecker at a seven-car pileup."
I'd take it.
We drove farther into the backwoods where Maisie lived. I made a right onto the near-deserted road to her house, all the while hoping with everything I had that I'd arrive soon enough and that I'd find her alone.
Chapter Thirteen
MAISIE'S HOME SAT far back in the woods. The rough-hewn pine planks, gray with age, blended into the surrounding trees and underbrush. She'd lived here as long as I could remember, probably since she married back in the '50s. Her redneck husband had passed a long time ago, which was good, because I'd heard he hadn't treated her well.
My tires crackled against the rock driveway and I prayed I wasn't too late, that Maisie was safe inside.
I didn't want to imagine the alternative.
The windows stood dark. Wind rushed through the trees, scattering dry leaves and whipping up a small dust storm. The dry boards of the house creaked under the
assault, but nothing else stirred.
Perhaps Maisie was out walking her property.
I knocked on the rough plank door. "Maisie?" I pounded again for good measure. "It's me, Verity."
After our last adventure, I told her I'd come see her again. That was nearly a month ago, I realized with a twinge of guilt. I'd only dropped by once since then, and she hadn't even been home. I should have tried again.
"Hello?" I called, as the front door creaked inward, all by itself. I smelled a hearty mix of beef and vegetables with rosemary and garlic. But I didn't see anyone.
A dark couch and coffee table hunkered in the shadows. The only light filtered from a kitchen window in the back. It illuminated a beat-up wood table and 1960s-style gold-and-brown flowered wallpaper.
I fought the urge to duck my head inside. Maisie owned a shotgun and wasn't afraid to use it. I'd learned that the hard way last month when I'd trespassed on her property.
"Maisie?" I asked, louder this time.
What if she lay dead inside? Injured? The killer might still be here.
Or I might just need to rein in my imagination. I took a deep breath. It's not as if I could have envisioned a good majority of the surprises I'd received lately. In fact, most of them had turned out far worse than I could have predicted.
I tugged a hand through my hair. Dang me, I had to stop giving myself pep talks.
All right. Something was definitely wrong if Maisie had left her house unlocked and unguarded. Yes, I didn't always bolt my doors, but I lived near people. And I wasn't as paranoid as Maisie.
She may have left in a hurry.
I made my way around the side of the house, my fingers skimming the rough, cracked wood. I kept an eye out for anyone lurking along the tree line—although it wouldn't be hard to hide.
Maisie's blue beater truck sat on a rocky patch at the back of the house, with Ellis's squad car parked haphazardly next to it.
There was no sign of either one of them.
The light bar on the top of his car sat dark. Perhaps this was a social call. Ellis treated Maisie like a favorite aunt.
Still, I'd gone and riled Virginia up. I practically implied that I knew she would lose her fortune. What if I'd driven her here? She as good as admitted she would kill to keep her fortune.
Just beyond the cars, a single gardening shoe lay near the woods. My mind snapped back to the image of Darla's white pump, motionless and half covered by the display table.
Oh, no. Not Maisie, too.
But I didn't see a body. At least, not yet.
My heartbeat sped up. Sweat slicked my palms as I made my way toward the shoe.
Voices sounded in the trees beyond the small clearing that made up Maisie's backyard. From this distance, it was impossible to say who it could be or what they were saying.
One thing was for certain: I was not going to call out again. I wouldn't betray my presence or my location, not yet at least. Good thing I'd never taken my cell phone off vibrate. I stuffed my keys into my pocket and clutched my bag to my side to silence any clanging of the urn.
If it was Maisie or Ellis, they'd be glad to see me, even if I sneaked up on them. If it was the killer?
Then I'd run faster than I ever had before.
Quietly, carefully, I picked my way through the trees, avoiding the dry leaves on the ground, any sticks that might snap and betray my location. I kept to the right of the voices, finding the cover of thick trees, my movements precise.
I remained hidden away until the exact moment when a hand grasped my right arm.
"Ha!" I spun away and jammed an elbow straight into my attacker's rib cage, just as I'd learned at YMCA self-defense classes, levels one and two.
"Oof." Ellis took the hit. He bent over, closing both his arms around me, pressing my back into his chest. "What the hell, Verity?"
"It's you." I slumped against him, relieved. Boy, he felt good. And warm. "Sorry about that," I added, a bit guilty to be enjoying his embrace after elbowing him as hard as I did.
He loosened his grasp, turned me around.
His blue waffle shirt set off his eyes. "Nice ninja moves." He stayed bent over a little, even as he tried to play it off. Poor guy. "What were you doing trying to sneak up behind me?"
"Thought you might need saving," I said, honestly.
He smiled at that, even though he was tall and strong and gorgeous, and I was still short even when wearing heels. "Thanks. Good to know you have my back."
"And your front," I added, relieved, happy, and mortified as soon as the words slipped out. My hands ran down his chest for a second before I pulled them back like I'd been stung. "Whoops."
"You're fine," he said, his attention following the movement of my hands, his voice gravelly all of a sudden. He cleared his throat and leaned closer. "Just keep your voice down. Maisie's over here. We have something to show you."
"I can't imagine what," I whispered.
"It's a surprise," he said, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading me deeper into the woods.
I was willing to bet the surprise I had for them was just as big. I wanted to break the news to each of them in different ways, one at a time. They both deserved that consideration.
I'd have to think on exactly how to accomplish it.
Ellis picked his way through the underbrush even more quietly than I had. I didn't see much of a trail as we ducked around a fallen log and skirted past a copse of old-growth pines.
"Here," he said gently, and I saw Maisie crouched at the base of one of the larger trees, her old hunting boots digging into the loose soil. Her wild auburn hair stood out like a beacon. Her olive-and-brown plaid shirt and woolen trousers blended into the autumn brush. Low, heavy branches skirted the ground, which was covered with rich green needles.
She smiled, showing her crooked teeth, and motioned me forward.
I crouched next to her as she lifted the branch.
Four tiny baby bunnies huddled together in a pocket of grass. Their eyes hadn't fully opened and their perfect little ears lay tight against their heads.
"Oh, how precious," I gasped. Their mottled brown fur, flecked with black, had to be so soft. I couldn't get over their little pink noses. The smallest one reminded me of Lucy when I first found her. She kept tilting up her head, as if she had to know what was going on.
Maisie sat back on her haunches. "Had a rabbit eating up my winter garden. Ellis and I were setting no-kill traps until we found this."
He chuckled. "Now Maisie's ready to let them eat this year's harvest and next."
She replaced the branch and stood, wiping her knees off. "You get rid of those traps? That nursing mama doesn't need us to hassle her."
"Consider them gone." He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me off the ground.
"Let's pull two of the winter cabbage and plant them at the edge of the tree line. Make it easier for them to get. In the meantime, I'm going to fetch some dryer lint and leave it for them to find. I hear it makes good bunny bedding."
"It's like she's done this before," Ellis mused. Maisie waved him off as she trudged through the woods toward the house.
I couldn't help but smile. "You two realize there are bound to be other little furries eating her garden, not just these rabbits."
"True." He shrugged as we followed Maisie back. "But if she's happy feeding every critter in Sugarland, I don't mind helping."
I clapped him on a broad shoulder. "You're a good man, Ellis Wydell."
He kept his eyes on the ground, shaking his head. "I'm just glad you're still talking to me after you went and saw my mother."
"She told you." I silently berated myself. Of course she did. And Ellis would know exactly what I'd been up to. "Frankie didn't find anything," I assured him.
He met my eyes then. "Did you honestly think he would?"
Yes. But my answer would only hurt Ellis, and he of all people didn't deserve that. So I kept my mouth shut.
As far as I was concerned, Virginia had th
e means and the motive. She certainly had the temperament. Some irrefutable piece of evidence would turn up soon, I was sure.
It would be painful enough for Ellis when I found proof of his mother's guilt. So in the meantime, I wasn't going to argue. Instead, like a good Southern girl, I changed the subject. "Tell me, Sheriff Wydell," I began, drawing out his name, enjoying the sound of it, "are you taking up bunny raising as a side job, or merely a hobby?"
He laughed at that, and I found myself joining him. I liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how he smiled without any pretense. He pressed his lips together, eyeing the forest. "I came here to look at her heater, but we got distracted."
"I didn't realize you were so handy."
"Maybe I'm not," he said, as we stepped out into Maisie's backyard. "I thought I fixed the thing last year."
"Ouch."
He began picking up several traps at the edge of the yard, simple metal cages with narrow, funneled entrances. "I'm all she's got, though. She can't afford a repairman. Or"—he held up a trap—"critter control."
He popped his trunk and began storing the traps inside. "She won't let me spot her the cost. Says she doesn't want charity." He shrugged. "I get that. So I figured out how to do these things myself." He closed the trunk and faced me, as if he feared my reaction. "It's good for me, too."
To have someone appreciate him, respect him for who he was. I understood better than he realized. Ellis liked to help people, and he cherished his independence. It only made sense he'd want to help Maisie hold on to hers.
"No work today?" I asked, leaning up against his squad car.
He reached down and pocketed his keys, but not before I saw the frustration flicker across his face. "I took off. Marshall's not letting me work on the murder case anyway. Figured I'd try to cool it."
Then this certainly wasn't his lucky day. "Ellis," I said, my voice hitching on his name. "I have to tell you something and I'm not sure how to do it, so bear with me."
"Okay," he said, facing me, prepared for whatever I had to say. That was Ellis. Hit it head-on and deal with it.
